Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (3 page)

She'd told Simon about her gambler father, of course, and even how he'd died when she was just seventeen. But what she hadn't spoken about was how that made her feel. How standing in the dry dusty cemetery in Texas as they lowered her father into the ground had been the loneliest moment of her life. No matter how loved she felt now, she could still feel the bite from the cold wind and taste the dust in her mouth. That singular moment when she realized she was completely alone.

Simon reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His hand was warm and strong. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to know more, that he wanted to help, to take away the pain of the memories, but he loved her and trusted her enough to wait until she was ready.

Nestled next to the comfort he offered was a mirror to her pain. Simon was no stranger to loss, she reminded herself. He'd buried both his parents and his grandparents and had spent the better part of his life alone. She was hardly a special snowflake.

Feeling suddenly embarrassed at her indulgent self-pitying, Elizabeth squeezed his hand and gave him a sniffley smile. “It's silly. It was years ago…”

“Some moments never fade,” Simon said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Not all of them bad though.”

Elizabeth nodded and let go of his hand as the waiter arrived with their wine. As Simon approved it and their glasses filled, a gentleman and two very attractive women entered the restaurant. They must have been well-known, because a few of the patrons stared and whispered appreciatively. Judging from their make-up, so much rouge and lipstick were hardly de rigueur for the typical Southern woman, they might be from the showboat that docked at the landing earlier that day. One of the women even winked at Simon as they passed by.

Simon coughed to hide his embarrassment.

“Too bad Jack isn't here,” Elizabeth said not bothering to hide her amusement. “He would have enjoyed that.”

Simon took a sip of wine. “No doubt, but I think he made the right choice in staying home. He needs some time to himself.”

That was probably an understatement. Jack's broken heart had a long way to go before it healed. If it ever did, Elizabeth thought sadly. Since they'd returned from 1930's Hollywood, Jack hadn't been the same. Oh, he'd dated. A lot. But his heart wasn't in it. He'd sacrificed his chance at love to protect the timeline and the wounds were still raw even a month later.

“He'll be fine,” Simon said as if he'd read her thoughts. “And, after all, we'll be back before he has a chance to miss us. Or miss you, at least.”

“You're probably right,” Elizabeth said. “But it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to have another set of eyes on this.”

“It is a bit of a puzzle, isn't it?”

The waiter arrived with their meals — stuffed chicken and new potatoes for Elizabeth and roast mutton and asparagus for Simon. They both smelled delicious. Now that she'd had a chance to cool down and recover from the day, she realized she was actually starving.

She took a bite of chicken and then washed it down with a little wine.

“If she is our Mary, what are we supposed to see tomorrow? I mean, who goes to visit a grave in the middle of the night?”

“Someone who doesn't want to be seen.”

“The two women we saw there today didn't mind being seen. We should track them down tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Simon said. “They were an odd pair, weren't they?”

Their clothes were definitely from different social strata. “Neither of them looked very motherly.”

Simon swallowed a piece of his mutton and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You could tell that from twenty yards away?”

“Maybe. You have to admit, neither of them looked like you'd expect a mother to if she'd just lost her child.”

Simon nodded. “True.”

“Did you see all of those children's graves? Can you imagine?” The memory of it made her shudder.

“Considering the infant mortality rate is nearly one in ten and worse still until adulthood, I'm surprised there weren't more.” He took a long drink from his wine glass. “But, no, I can't imagine.”

The topic settled like a lead balloon on the table between them. The idea of burying her own child chased away Elizabeth's appetite. She reached for her wine.

“We should start with the priest tomorrow,” Simon said, neatly closing the door to that topic. “I'm sure he can tell us where we might find those two women.”

“Good idea.” Elizabeth put her glass down and ran her finger along the stem. “I've been thinking. If she is our Mary, why don't we go back earlier in time,” she continued, “and help her before she…”

“Dies?” Simon finished for her. He frowned. “I've thought about that as well, but however tempting, I don't think it's wise. We have no idea the repercussions a change like that might bring to the timeline.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I know. I just…” She shook her head.

Simon reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze before letting go. “We have to trust that we've been given this window, here, now, for a reason. We have to trust my grandfather. We have to trust the list.” He picked up his wine glass and stared into it before meeting her eyes again. “No matter how difficult that might be.”

He was right, of course. She'd known that in her heart already. But knowing it didn't make it any easier.

The rest of dinner was subdued. The thought of what they might face tomorrow preoccupied them both. And things lingered unsaid.

~~~

Simon stood at the window of their hotel room and watched the morning street traffic. Horses and riders varied as much as cars and drivers back home. Instead of a beat-up pickup truck, an old swayback or ancient mule carried a poor tenant farmer. In place of a luxury sports car, a high-strung thoroughbred pranced among the carts and wagons with a wealthy planter astride. The more things changed…he thought.

A particularly large cart stopped just beneath the window. The driver barked orders to some unseen men who appeared and began to unload the supplies in the back. A large crate was mishandled and dropped to the sidewalk with a thunderous crash.

Simon spun around to see if the noise had awakened Elizabeth. He smiled to himself and shook his head. She continued to quietly snore away. That woman could sleep through anything. He'd always envied her that. Always a restless sleeper and early riser, he'd gotten used to being up well before she opened her eyes. Those quiet moments in the morning, before the whirlwind that was life with Elizabeth, gave him a chance to reflect and consider. It gave him time to thank the powers that be for sparing him from the life he'd felt sure he was destined for. He could still feel the shadow of that world, but the loneliness that used to pull him under was gone. Never in a thousand years had he thought he could be part of something, or more to the point,
want
to be part of something outside himself. Now, he couldn't imagine life any other way.

Elizabeth moaned softly and rolled onto her side. Her arm flopped onto the side of the bed he'd vacated. She must have been expecting to find him there and the shock of finding an empty space instead pulled her from sleep. She blinked against the morning light streaming through the tall window where Simon stood.

“Good morning,” he said.

She mumbled something unintelligible and blinked rapidly several times.

“Natchez,” Simon supplied, having gone through the same confusion an hour earlier when he'd awakened.

Elizabeth nodded and smiled sleepily.

Simon turned back to the window. “It's a beautiful day. Not too warm, I hope.”

He heard Elizabeth slide out of bed and pad over to join him. She leaned against his back and her warm hands slipped inside his half-buttoned-shirt. He covered them with his own, and turned around in the circle of her arms and kissed the crown of her head.

She nodded sleepily against his chest. “Morning.”

He chuckled, and led her over to a small table with a pitcher and washbasin. He poured some fresh water into the bowl for her and left her to splash water on her face and come fully awake.

While she did that, Simon slipped on his vest and took his pocket watch off the wooden stand on the side table. He checked it, as a force of habit, and slipped it and key fob into his vest pocket. “The desk clerk will probably be able to tell us where we can find the priest. If I remember our research correctly, there weren’t many Catholic churches in Natchez, so he shouldn't be hard to find.”

“Breakfast first,” Elizabeth said as she pulled off her long cotton nightgown and tossed it onto the bed.

Simon watched her naked form appreciatively for a moment before turning back to the window. They had a long day ahead of them and couldn't afford a late start no matter how tempting.

He heard her rustle around in her trunk, grumbling as she did. “Crotchless drawers. I feel trapped and half naked at the same time.”

He didn't envy her. All that clothing must have been incredibly cumbersome. He was grateful all he had to do was wear a three-piece woolen suit.

“I'm going to need your help with this…thing again,” Elizabeth said, as she held out her corset in front of her like it was a live snake. She walked across the room and sat in front of the small vanity.

Frowning at herself in the mirror, she poked at what was left of her hairdo. “Do you know how to braid?”

“Darling,” Simon said. “I will help you get dressed. I will most happily help you get undressed. But doing your hair is where I have to draw the line.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Fair enough. I see why people had ladies’ maids. The whole kit and kaboodle is designed to keep you reliant on others.” She raised her tiny fist and shook it in mock anger. “Down with the man!”

Despite Elizabeth's protests, she managed quite well and before too long they were ready to face the day, and more importantly, that night.

After a quick breakfast, they went to the church and eventually found the priest they were looking for at the building site of the new cathedral in town. He was more than happy to help them.

Mary Stewart, as it turned out, was an orphan and the two women at her burial were associated with the orphanage. Mrs. Nolan ran the Children's Home and Miss Catherine Stanton was one of the Female Charitable Society volunteers.

The orphanage was a fairly large building on the edge of town. Its stern Federal-style architecture gave it an aura of institutionalized living that the sign out front echoed loudly and sadly.
Natchez Children's Home, Orphan Asylum for Destitute and Abandoned Children.
All of that was in bold opposition to the beautiful old maple and sycamore trees that surrounded the property and the sound of children's laughter caught on the breeze.

Elizabeth squinted up at him, shading her eyes from the bright morning sun that promised a hot day ahead and reached for his hand.

“Remember, we can't save them all,” Simon warned her. With her heart, she'd want to adopt every child and take them back to the future. She nodded reluctantly, but he was worried about how the experience might affect her. And, if he were honest with himself, how it would affect him.

Ever since Father Connelly had told them about the orphanage, Simon had been tense. He was not a sympathetic man by nature. Unlike Elizabeth, who threw herself with abandon at every lost cause, he was far more cautious. For the most part, he kept his heart neatly bound. There were few things that tugged at his heartstrings. Among them, however, were children. Perhaps it was the loneliness of his own youth, the lack of nurturing parents or hard lessons taught on cold nights at boarding school. Whatever the cause, Simon felt his heart constrict at the thought of a wounded or lonely child. Here on the footsteps of a 19th century orphanage, he knew he would see nothing else.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand, and together they walked up the short set of steps to the front door. Just as Simon was about to ring the bell, the door opened and a dozen or so young boys burst out into the sunshine. Like prisoners furloughed for the first time, they whooped and hollered with joy at the sheer freedom of being outside. They shoved each other and scuffed at the dirt as they formed two rough lines at the bottom of the steps like a ragged bunch of little soldiers.

In their wake, a large plump woman with a ruddy complexion and a bellowing voice followed. “Good. Stand up straight, Clayton James,” she said sternly at one boy who immediately pushed back his shoulders. “Y'all be back in your room in two hours. I've got a switch and I'm not afraid to use it. Isn't that right,
Jimmy Davis
?”

One of the boys, presumably Jimmy, looked up to face her. The angry set of his jaw faded into reluctant submission as the woman glared down at him from the top step.

He was slightly taller than the others and reed thin. Most of the children's clothes were ill-fitting hand-me-downs, but his clothes were easily two sizes too small. His jacket strained to keep just one button closed at the front and pulled tightly against his chest and shoulders. His dirty, dark brown boots, ankle high, still didn't touch the hem of his pants and pale gangly legs showed through the gap. Subconsciously, the boy reached around and rubbed his bottom and nodded.

“Good,” she said with a firm nod and then crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Now, go on and don't come back until y'all are good and tired, you hear!”

Once the boys had all run off, the woman seemed to see Simon and Elizabeth for the first time. She narrowed her eyes at them as if she didn't have time for more disobedient children. “And you would be?”

“You must be Mrs. Nolan,” Simon said with his most gracious smile. “Father Connelly told us of your good work and we came to see it for ourselves. Very impressive.” He gestured to where the boys had stood. “We're hoping to emulate your success. In England and perhaps elsewhere.”

The compliment had the desired effect and the woman's expression softened. “England? Really?”

“I know you must be terribly busy, but if you could spare us just a few moments,” Simon continued. “My wife and I would be most grateful.”

The woman preened at her hair and tried to control its unruly curls. She had better luck with the children. “Of course, I can spare a few minutes.”