A Circle of Time (6 page)

He had frozen in midstep, staring straight ahead. Allison followed his gaze. Beneath two tall pines, in a slanting ray of afternoon sun that splintered the branches, stood a doe and her fawn. Mother and child seemed locked in time, their brown bodies blending with the tree trunks and dry pine needles, providing perfect camouflage.

Allison held her breath. Her mother always said, “Seeing a deer in the forest is the closest thing to heaven on Earth.” She couldn't agree more as she looked into the dark, limpid eyes of the mother deer.

Joshua squeezed her hand. She looked up into his ever-smiling face, and a silent understanding passed between them. She knew he felt exactly as she did at that moment. Allison was also aware that a new bond had been formed—a bond between Joshua and
Allison.

Bubba returned a few times while Allison and Joshua meandered through the forest. The little raccoon would glare at them for a moment, scurry ahead, stop, and look back, as if to say “Hurry up, slowpokes. What're you waiting for?” Then, impatiently, he'd scamper on and vanish in the underbrush.

At last, they came to a small clearing beneath the pines, at the edge of which a tiny cottage huddled in deep shade. The front yard was swept clean of pine needles, exposing moist ground spotted with crazy-quilt patches of thick moss. Gem-colored primroses bordered the sides of the cottage, and low ferns guarded the front door like stubby sentries.

Bubba scrambled across the yard. When he reached the cottage door, he scraped the wood with his front claws. Allison and Joshua watched from the edge of the clearing as the door opened and the raccoon scuttled inside. A woman stepped into the doorway, her face hidden by the shadow of the eaves.

“I have prepared sarsaparilla tea,” she called out, “and stew. Come.” She turned, leaving the door open, and disappeared inside.

Allison turned to Joshua. “Was she speaking to us?”

“Yep.” Joshua led Allison by the hand. “Best not keep her waiting. Magda's not partial to being kept waiting.”

“How'd she know we were out here?” Allison ran to keep up with him.

“Magda knows lots of things.”

They stepped through the doorway into a cool, dark room full of exotic fragrances. Allison first recognized the strong scents of lavender, rose, and lilac. Then the more subtle aroma of cooking herbs and other strange, foreign smells tickled her senses. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see that most of the smells were coming from dried bunches of flowers, herbs, leafy branches, and gnarled roots hanging upside down from the rough-beamed ceiling.

The cottage was made up of one small room divided by a curtain at one end. A crude table took up most of the middle of the room. The walls were covered with shelves and hanging cabinets that held dozens of bottles, vials, and tiny cheesecloth bags stuffed to bursting. At the wall opposite the front door, Magda knelt in front of a stone fireplace, lifting the teakettle from the fire.

“Sit, sit.” Magda turned and shook raven-black hair from her face—the most incredible face Allison had ever seen. Magda reminded her of an exquisite doll Allison had once admired at an antique shop: a milky complexion in contrast to her dark hair, the perfect features of an ancient Greek sculpture, and alert blue eyes that adorned her face like jewels. But Magda's most striking quality was the serene expression of someone who is at peace with herself and her surroundings.

Magda rose and moved toward them, seeming to stumble, but when she took the next step, Allison noticed the woman had a severe limp. It was impossible to tell whether Magda's limp was due to a deformed leg or one that was significantly shorter than the other because her legs were hidden beneath a heavy burgundy-colored skirt that swept the floorboards as she walked. Magda poured the steaming brown liquid into earthenware cups.

“Are you hungry,
muchachos
?” Like Teresa Cardona Pomales, Magda spoke with a delicate Spanish accent.

Joshua stretched and patted his belly, winking at Magda. “You know me, Magda, I'm always hungry.”

“Becky?” Magda turned her intense eyes to Allison.

“It's strange, it feels like hours since we ate, but I'm not very hungry.”

“Not strange at all,” said Joshua, taking a sip of tea. “You always eat like a sparrow.”

“Finish your tea, and I will serve you both some stew. You need not eat very much if you do not wish to, Becky.”

“She'll eat,” Joshua said. “She needs some meat on her bones.” He attempted a frown, but his laughing eyes and the grin that seemed to always play with the corners of his mouth ruined the effect.

Allison was about to protest, disliking anyone to order her about, but she realized that Joshua meant well and was really thinking of her as Becky, so she decided to keep quiet.
It's what Becky would have done.
Instead, she took a sip of tea. Not bad. She'd never tasted sarsaparilla. It tasted a bit like flat Dr. Pepper, her favorite soft drink.

“Before we eat, Magda,” said Joshua, “could you take a look at Becky's arm? I thought you might use some of your special liniment on it.”

“She hurt her arm?” Magda sat next to Allison.

“Something like that,” Joshua muttered.

“May I see, Becky?”

Allison pushed up her sleeve. Magda's placid expression remained unchanged while she gently lifted the girl's arm. But as she held the arm in her hands, examining the bruises, the woman's face suddenly contorted with pain. She cried out and turned away.

Alarmed, Allison pulled back her arm. “Are you all right, Magda?”

Magda doubled over and swayed back and forth, moaning as if in a trance. Joshua leaped to her side and knelt beside her, his face full of concern.

“Magda?” he said softly.

When she didn't respond, Allison said, “Joshua, shouldn't we do something? What's wrong with her?”

“We can't touch her. We have to wait for it to pass.”

“Wait for what to pass? What's happening to her, Joshua? She seems in horrible pain.”

Magda's moaning and writhing lessened, and she began to sit up.

“Magda, are you back?” Joshua whispered.

“Sí,
Joshua, I'm here,” she said between deep breaths.

Joshua placed his hand on her shoulder. “Did you see something?”

“Un momento
—give me a moment.” Magda covered her face with her hands and took another deep breath. When she removed her hands, Magda turned to Allison. “I see a large woman moving toward a girl. Reaching for her, grabbing her, pulling her hair and arms. The girl struggles; the woman wrenches her arm behind her and twists. The girl screams. I feel her pain, her terror. I recognize the girl's face, her body. It is this face, this body.”

Magda touched Allison's face with her fingertips. She looked down at the bruised arm, then moved her gaze slowly back to Allison's face. In a hushed voice, she said, “But the girl who screamed was not you. You are
la otra
... the other.”

 

Magda led Allison to her bedroom, the space behind the curtain, and helped Allison remove her dress so Magda could apply liniment to the bruised shoulder and upper arm. The liniment was cool and soothing and smelled of camphor, eucalyptus, and wintergreen. And Magda's touch itself felt warm and healing.

Allison glanced around the tiny enclosure. It held a small cot, above which hung a large, elaborately sculpted silver crucifix. The remaining space was taken up by a homemade shrine. A wooden prie-dieu stood before the modest altar. The narrow kneeling bench had a prayer shelf at the top, on which lay a worn leather prayer book and an ancient Bible, its pages warped and its corners dog-eared from years of handling.

The altar was covered with white linen embroidered in gold thread. On it stood a delicately carved and painted statue of the Virgin Mary surrounded by several statuettes of saints. Votive candles burned in red and blue glass tumblers. A crystal-beaded rosary lay at the foot of the Virgin.

When they were done, Magda led Allison back to the kitchen table. The moment he saw them, Joshua flew up from his chair, toppling it backward. “I can't stand it anymore. Will one of you tell me what's going on?”

“Siéntate,
Joshua, ” said Magda,
“y ten paciencia.”

“All right, I'll sit,” he replied, standing his chair upright. “But I won't be patient.”

Magda set an earthenware bowl in front of Allison, then another in front of Joshua. “The stiffness should be gone by morning, and the soreness soon after,” she said to Allison.

“Magda, please,” Joshua insisted.

Magda sighed. “I cannot tell you any more than I have, Joshua. The rest is up to Becky.”

Allison stared into the empty brown bowl. Bits of iridescent enamel gleamed in the dim light of the kerosene lamp. She bit her lip as she thought of what to say.

“I'm not from here. I was born in 1982, and—”

Joshua gave a short, nervous laugh. “You mean 1892, right Becky? You're fourteen, and you were born in 1892.”

“I
am
fourteen years old, but I was born in 1982.” Allison glanced sideways at Joshua. “And my name is Allison Anne Blair.”

Joshua's face turned pale. He looked as though he had eaten a piece of bad meat and needed to throw up. Allison looked at Magda. Her face was as calm as a clear lake on a windless day.

“I was in an accident a few days ago, I think—I mean in 1996. I fell down a ravine and hit my head. A girl found me and got help. I was taken to a hospital in a coma—unconscious. The girl who helped me was Becky Lee Thompson. She took over my body and sent me back in hers to help her. But I don't know what she wants me to do.”

Joshua sat with his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth. “This can't be true. Becky, maybe you're just having one of your spells...”

“Allison—my name is Allison. I know it sounds crazy, Joshua. How do you think I feel?” Allison reached over and placed her hand on Joshua's. She had to make him believe her.

Joshua stiffened at her touch. “It sounds worse than crazy, girl. What you're saying is that Becky Lee is possessed by the ghost of a girl that's not even been born yet.”

Allison gave him a wry grin. “I think you have to be dead to be a ghost. I don't think I'm dead yet.”

Joshua shook his head again. “This is nothing to joke about. The only thing that's making me listen to this crazy talk is that I don't even know you anymore. You aren't anything like my Becky.”

Allison thought for a moment. “What's the date? Maybe I can prove to you I'm from the future.”

“April 17, 1906,” Joshua said in a resigned voice.

Allison gasped. “April ... 1906? Are we still in northern California? Near San Francisco?”

“About seventy-five miles northeast of San Francisco.”

“Well,” said Allison, “it's close, but maybe not close enough. A day or two from now, the eighteenth or the nineteenth—I can't remember exactly—there's going to be a horrible earthquake in San Francisco. What isn't destroyed by the quake will be burned by fires. But I don't know how much we'll feel up here. Anyway, that's still at least a day away, and I need you to believe me now.”

“I already told you I know you're different. It's this girl-from-the-future thing, and inside my Becky, no less! It—it makes my head hurt.” He groaned and covered his head with his arms.

Allison thought about the movie
Aliens
and all the other science fiction and horror movies she'd seen in which an alien
thing
was living inside a perfectly normal-looking human being. The last thing she wanted was for Joshua to be repulsed by her, to think she was a freak or a grotesque creature of some sort.

“Joshua,” she whispered, “please don't be afraid of me. I'm still a person. I'm not a ghost or a changeling or a ghoul. I'm the same person you laughed and played with in the creek and who held your hand in the woods. I'm just not Becky.” When Joshua still didn't reply, Allison added, “But I do need your help.”

Joshua was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his head and looked up at Allison. His eyes studied her face. The tiniest grin began to wiggle the corners of his mouth. The intense look in his eyes relaxed.

“If there's something I can't turn my back on, it's a person in distress—'specially a lady.”

 

“Magda,” said Allison as she finished the last of her stew, “you said I was ‘the other.' How did you know that?”

“I sensed it. You did not seem to have knowledge of the terror, of how you got the bruises. The vision came to me from touching your body, just as a vision might come to me from touching something that belonged to someone who had experienced violence. It was as though your body were a foreign object, not a part of you. I did not feel your emotions. I felt the body's energy.”

“But that still doesn't explain your choice of words—you said ‘
la otra
—the other.' ”

“I have been expecting you. The last time I saw Becky, I had a...
presentimiento
...”

“Premonition,” Joshua said.

“Sí,
a premonition. I sensed her future held danger, but I did not know how or when it would happen. So I did not say anything to Becky. I did not wish to frighten her. The words came to me: ‘The other shall be here soon.' That is all I know.”

Allison shivered at the thought that someone could sense the future. “Have you always been”—she searched for the right word—“psychic?”

Magda brushed strands of long black hair away from her face with slender fingers and nodded. “Ever since I was a child. My brother used to call it
un don
—a gift. My mother called it a curse. Sometimes I agree with her. But it is as much a part of me as my arms and my legs. I would not wish away any of them. One takes the good with the bad.”