Now and Forever (14 page)

And he was going to convince Emilie to come with him.

#

For years Emilie had prided herself on her love of the Colonial era, but when she awoke that morning she realized how little she'd really known about the time. She could live without her electric sewing machine and her microwave oven, but indoor plumbing was another story entirely.

What on earth was she going to do?

Peering out the window she saw McVie and Zane engaged in animated conversation near the well. They looked as if they would be there for some time. Now if only she could find a chamber pot, maybe she could convince herself that the situation wasn't as dire as it was beginning to seem.

She scowled as she searched the lighthouse for the object. Did men have any idea how lucky they were? She doubted it. As a sex, they seemed to take for granted the ease with which they could perform necessary bodily functions. The thought of squatting down behind some prickly rosebush filled her with dismay, but the other alternative was even more appalling to consider.

Flinging open the front door, she stormed down the steps. "If either one of you comes anywhere near the rosebushes in the back, I will single-handedly see to it that neither of you reaches his next birthday."

With that she marched around the corner of the lighthouse and disappeared from view.

#

"Is she always thus?" McVie asked after Emilie had vanished from sight.

"She has a temper," said Zane. "No doubt about that."

McVie nodded. "She has the look of the Irish about her."

Zane knew McVie wanted to ask about the exact nature of his relationship to Emilie but the shorter man's 18th century caution kept him silent.

They had spent an interesting hour discussing the options open to both him and Emilie and it was agreed that throwing in their lot with McVie--at least for the time being--was the wisest course of action.

Besides, there was the issue of McVie's obvious distrust. Emilie's eyes had shone bright with admiration each time she talked with McVie and Zane had found his gut twisting with a jolt of white-hot jealousy, the likes of which he'd never experienced.

Only this time the jealousy wasn't directed toward a name in a dusty old history book but a living, breathing man. Emilie's lifelong hero was more competition than he'd counted on.

She saw McVie as a hero, the kind of man who would risk everything for the higher good. Funny thing, though: Zane had the distinct feeling that he and McVie had more in common than anyone, including Emilie, would think.

McVie was a risk-taker, but it wasn't the higher good that concerned the man. McVie was running away from something, sure as hell, and Zane intended to find out what it was.

He looked at McVie. "So what's next?"

"We leave when Mistress Emilie returns," said McVie. "If luck is with us, we'll be at the edge of Milltown before night falls again."

#

The first thing Zane noticed on the mainland was the absence of sound. Back when he was in high school he'd read
Atlas Shrugged
. The mysterious John Galt had managed to stop the engine of the world and Zane finally understood what that was all about. It was gone, all of it. No planes, no cars, no computers, no machines, no constant low-level sizzle of electricity keeping the world on-line.

McVie tied the rowboat to a tree stump a few feet away from the waterline then plunged into a thicket of branches and bushes with Emilie and Zane bringing up the rear.

"Milltown lies to the northwest," said McVie. "We'll make camp on the outskirts of town for tonight."

"We can't stay in the town itself?" asked Emilie. She had been thinking of a wonderful colonial inn, rich in atmosphere.

"Not Milltown," said McVie, glancing over his shoulder. "'Tis said the Britishers have made considerable inroads and with your unusual attire we should draw too much untoward attention."

There was no arguing with his reasoning. McVie planned to make contact with his cohorts in the spy ring and obtain proper clothing for both Emilie and Zane before daybreak so they would blend in with the populace once they reached Princeton.

"How do we know you're not going to turn us into the police?" Zane asked.

"You do not," said McVie. "As I do not know with certainty if you intend to thwart my plans."

"You have our word," said Emilie.

"As you have mine," said McVie, "and I do not believe that is enough for any one of us."

#

They walked in silence for what seemed like hours. Emilie had feared McVie would plot a course through the swamplands that dotted the boundaries of modern-day Crosse Harbor, but he led them instead into a forest of maples and pine trees that towered so high overhead that she felt as if she'd entered a cathedral. Outside the forest, the summer sun was blisteringly hot, but inside it was dark and cool. The forest floor was softly cushioned by fallen pine needles and dropped leaves and she found herself struck by the toll industrialization would soon take on the natural order of things.

They stopped by a stream to rest for a few minutes. McVie knelt down on the bank and leaned forward, cupping his hands to fill them with water.

"Don't do that!" Emilie said. "The water's probably--" She stopped, glancing down at the crystal-clear reflections in the glassy surface.

"The water's clean," said Zane, sounding as amazed as she felt.

McVie looked at them both with curiosity. "You act as if clean water is an oddity."

"It is in our time," said Emilie. She told him about medical waste and acid rain, and the absurdity of designer bars where people paid good money for a cup of clean water.

McVie looked at Zane. "Why is it you wish to return to such a place?"

"Freedom," said Zane. "We can go anywhere we want, do anything we want. Hell, we've even been to the moon."

McVie turned toward Emilie. "He speaks nonsense."

"He speaks the truth," said Emilie, sipping the cool fresh water. "The American flag flies on the surface of the moon."

McVie sat down on a mossy rock and looked up at the sky. "And how did the American flag reach the moon, Mistress Emilie? A high-flying bird, perhaps, or an act of God?"

She shook her head. "Hard work, brain power, and a dream."

Zane, however, understood what McVie was really asking. In broad terms, he described the principles behind jet propulsion and outlined the development of the space program.

"I was a little girl when the Eagle landed, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. 'One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.'"

"Neil Armstrong," said Zane. "For a while he was every boy's hero."

It sounded like a world of wondrous possibilities. Andrew's head swam with the notion of mortal men hurtling through the sky in a ball of flame, only to set foot upon the silvery surface of the moon. "And how is it you go about your daily business? In those...rockets you tell of?"

"All different ways," said Emilie, perching on a rock near him. "Some people walk to work, but most people drive."

"Horses?"

"Cars," said Zane.

McVie listened, eyes widening with surprise, as Rutledge described metal vehicles with rubber wheels that were powered by controlled gas explosions. "I believe you are making sport at my expense."

Emilie shook her head. "He tells the truth, Andrew. The country is paved with roads and you can drive anywhere you want, any time you want." She reached into her waistband for her embroidered purse then removed a hard and shiny piece of paper. "This is a driver's license," she said, handing it to him. "You take a test to prove your skill, then the state grants you the right to drive a car."

"What manner of substance is this?" McVie asked, tapping the license with his thumbnail.

"Plastic," said Zane with a grin. "It's everywhere."

McVie looked closely at the card. "'Tis your image, Mistress Emilie. The artist was quite proficient."

"There was no artist," Emilie said. "That's what we call a photograph."

Zane started to explain the principles of photography, but McVie stood up abruptly. "Time passes. We must continue."

"So much for your lectures, Professor Rutledge," Emilie commented with a laugh.

"He kept your driver's license," Zane said as they fell into position behind McVie once again.

"I don't think I'll be needing it. Besides, if it helps him to believe us, he's welcome to it."

"We're going back one day," Zane said with great determination.

"I don't think so."

"We don't belong here."

"Speak for yourself."

"Come on, Emilie. I saw your face when you headed for the bushes this morning. You wanted porcelain, tile, and running water."

"Too bad for me. I'll get used to it."

"Wait until December," he said. "You'll be praying for indoor plumbing."

"And so what if I do? That still doesn't change things. We're here and we're staying here."

"Not if I can help it."

"I don't think you can, Zane."

"It happened once," he said. "It can happen a second time."

"If you're planning to hijack another hot-air balloon, you'll have another seven years to wait until the first manned flight."

"We can build our own."

"Why don't we build a spaceship while we're at it and go to Mars."

"If it would get us out of here, I would."

He strode ahead, ostensibly to talk to McVie. Emilie bridled at his stubborn refusal to accept the fact that their lives had been changed irrevocably. He couldn't control this situation any more than he'd been able to control the hot-air balloon. Old rules no longer applied and the sooner he accepted that, the easier things would be for everyone.

#

"This is it?" asked Emilie two hours later when Andrew stopped for the night near an outcropping of rocks that overlooked a stream. "We're staying here?"

"There is a small cave beyond the lilac bushes where you may take shelter for the night."

"A cave?" Somehow her imagination hadn't taken her this far. "Bats sleep in caves."

It was Zane's turn to laugh. "You were expecting Holiday Inn?"

"Oh, be quiet!" she snapped. "I'm only thinking of you."

Even McVie recognized the humor in that statement and he barely knew her.

"The woods abound in game," McVie said. "Hunger should not be a problem."

Emilie determined that a shift to vegetarianism was in order.

"I'll need a pistol," Zane said to McVie, "unless you expect me to strangle something."

McVie retained his pistol but handed over his knife.

"You're leaving us?" Emilie asked as Zane carefully slid the knife into the waistband of his trousers.

"I'll return before dawn," McVie said.

"You won't let us down, will you?" Emilie implored.

McVie shook his head. "Nay, mistress. I will not."

#

The look on Emilie's face hit Zane like a slap. She followed McVie with her eyes until he disappeared then turned back to Zane with obvious reluctance. She'd obviously come to rely upon the rough-hewn patriot for a sense of security and that realization stung more than he cared to admit. He found himself wanting to reassure her that she was in good hands.

"If you're worried about starving out here, don't be. The broken arm will slow me down, but it won't stop me." He'd done his share of roughing it up in Alaska and down in Peru. Central New Jersey shouldn't pose too much of a problem, no matter what the year.

"Don't kill anything on my account," Emilie said, gesturing toward the berry bushes and wildflowers growing everywhere. "These woods have a better selection of produce than my local Foodtown."

He was just as glad she felt that way. Killing for sport had never done it for him. He knew he could kill if his life depended on it, but right now berries sounded fine to him too.