With a shake of his head, he said, “I can’t wrap my mind around it, but that hasn’t happened for you. Yet.”
“No.” I could hardly wrap my mind around it, either. I was going to marry Austen in seven days at St. John’s. Which meant I would stay in 1888 and leave Mama and Papa on my twenty-fifth birthday. I had time to say good-bye to them and prepare myself for that, but I had a question for Austen now. “Have the last fifty years been good?”
Austen grinned, and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Joy, passion, and love radiated from his smile. “They’ve been extraordinary.”
I returned his smile, overcome with my own happiness. I wanted to be in Austen’s arms—young Austen—but I would have to wait until tomorrow.
Papa took a step forward. He placed his hand on Austen’s shoulder as if he was a young man and said, “Anyone Kathryn loves is someone we love. You have our blessing.” He turned to me and placed a kiss on my forehead. “You have our blessing, Kathryn.”
Mama hugged me next, her tears still falling. “I knew it,” she whispered with happiness.
When I pulled back, I turned to Austen again, not sure how to ask my next question. “Am I—here?”
He shook his head. “She—you—stayed home today. She wasn’t sure if you would want to see yourself as—well, fifty years from now.”
“Was she there when I saw you outside Wilton Crescent? The day I discovered the portrait?”
“She was. She watched from an upstairs window, since she knew exactly when you’d be there.”
“And when I went to Wilton Crescent the other day? To ask you about Mary?”
“We both knew you would be there, so we made sure we weren’t. We knew you would come looking for answers, but we couldn’t give them to you. You had to wait until God was ready to reveal everything.”
“There is a time for everything,” I said, thinking of the Bible verses in Ecclesiastes.
“A season for every activity under heaven,” Austen added. “Sometimes, we want to hurry those seasons, but God knows what is best.” He turned to Mama and Papa. “It’s been almost fifty years since she’s seen you. She understands how difficult and strange this is, but she misses you. If you’re willing to see—”
“Yes,” Mama said with a decisive nod. “Forever yes.”
Austen smiled at Mama. “I’ll bring her by tomorrow. I’m sure the general would like some time to rest.”
Papa nodded his appreciation. “It’s been quite the week. We’ll be ready to see her tomorrow.”
Austen then turned to me. “And you?”
I took a deep breath and shook my head, not fully understanding my choice, but knowing it would be the right one. “I think I’ll stay away. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to see myself. It’s too ... odd.”
“I don’t blame you.” He studied me for another moment and then said, “I should go. I don’t like leaving her—you—for long.”
“I’ll walk you out.” I followed him to the front hall and stood for a moment with him as he continued to look at me.
He put his hat on and shook his head. “I kept the portrait of you for as long as I could.”
Frowning, I asked, “The one you painted in 1889?”
He nodded. “It’s strange, but I painted it because I knew it would be used one day to fulfill God’s plan. I didn’t think I could paint anything other than landscapes, but you’ll go back to 1888 tomorrow and tell me all about what’s happened. After we’re married, I’ll begin the portrait and I’ll realize it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever painted. It will hang in our cottage at Loch Lomond for forty-nine years until a young man comes to the village in searchof my paintings.” He smiled. “You’ll immediately recognize him as a man named Calan McCaffrey, and you’ll insist that I sell him the portrait for the Royal Museum of Scotland. I’ll agree—only because I know it’s part of God’s plan—and because I’ll know that I get to see you as a young woman again.”
I smiled and shook my head in wonder.
“It does my heart good to see you young,” he said. “But I sure do love seeing you as the woman you’ve become over the last fifty years. I’m blessed that God chose for me to walk this path with you, Kate.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the greatest adventure of my life.”
When he pulled back, there were tears in my eyes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow in 1888, Austen.”
He winked. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
And with that, he walked away.
