When I arrived at 44 Berkeley Square, I opened the front door and walked blindly up to the parlor.
Mama and Papa were sitting on a settee together. Mama was reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s latest book,Listen! The Wind, about her flight with her husband from Africa to South America across the Atlantic Ocean, and Papa was reading a newspaper. They both looked up at the same moment, surprise on their faces.
“Kathryn!” Mama said. “We weren’t expecting you for hours.” Her smile faded, and she rose from the settee. “What’s wrong?”
I walked across the parlor and sat beside Papa. I placed my head on his shoulder, and I let the tears fall.
Mama sat next to me and took my hand. “What’s wrong, Kathryn?”
“I went to see Austen just now.”
Papa sat up straighter, forcing me to lift my head and face them.
“What do you mean?” Mama asked.
“Austen still lives at 12 Wilton Crescent,” I said. “He’s seventy-five years old.”
“Kathryn.” Papa’s voice was full of both a warning and a censure. “What were you thinking? Mama has told you a hundred times not to let one path affect the other. You don’t know what kind of trouble you are placing yourself or anyone else in.”
“Why did you go?” Mama asked.
“I was impetuous and headstrong.” It was what Austen had said to me affectionately in my father’s study in 1888, but the truth was, I had tried to push God again.
I told them about the paintings and the portrait Austen had made of me. “I had to see him—”
“Why?” Mama asked.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, suddenly unable to remember what had prompted me. “I miss him. I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks in my other path.”
“So you thought to go to him now?” Mama asked, almost angry.“When he hasn’t seen you in fifty years? What might he be thinking, Kathryn? He is probably shocked and confused and heartbroken.”
I wiped my tears, frustrated that I was crying again. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t want to talk to me, and I became confused and panicked.”
“Why?” Papa asked.
“Because it occurred to me that I haven’t changed history yet. What if the history that Austen knows is the history where Mary still dies? I won’t change anything until November 9th, but then everything might change.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s just so confusing. I got scared.”
“This is why you shouldn’t go looking for answers,” Mama said. “It’s too dangerous, Kathryn. Your paths are so close—closer than any other I’ve ever heard of. I don’t know what that means or what might happen when you change things on November 9th.” Her eyes were so sad. “I just wish you wouldn’t have to change anything. My mama said that cataclysmic events have taken place when time-crossers have changed history, but I don’t know which events happened because of time-crossers. Maybe even wars, I don’t know. It’s just better to leave things as they are.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t save Mary?” I asked, incredulous.
Mama looked at Papa helplessly.
“We can’t tell you what to do,” Papa said. “But there is a reason why every time-crosser in your mother’s family has cautioned the next generation to leave things alone. You have a huge responsibility on your shoulders.”
“Do you think changing history could cause a war?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “Could it cause the next World War? If the Freemasons are involved with the Jack the Ripper killings—and I somehow change the outcome of that, or unmask the killer—might it cause World War Two?”
Mama lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know, Kathryn. I really don’t.”
My chest felt heavy, and I couldn’t seem to catch a breath. Was it all worth the risk?
When I thought of Mary living in Whitechapel, a victim of the information she had about the Freemasons, the injustice of it all brought air back to my lungs.
Yes, it was worth the risk. I couldn’t let my sister die a gruesome death. Not if I could stop it.
I didn’t know what would happen. I wasn’t sure if it would have a cataclysmic effect on history, but I had to try.
19
