Timeless (17 page)

As Michele studied the photo, the attic suddenly began to spin and shake. She fell to the ground, covering her head with her hands in terror.
Is this an earthquake?
But then, her hands gripping the wooden floor, her eyes squeezed shut, she felt the familiar downward plunge and knew she was being sent back in time.

When the spinning and shaking finally ceased, Michele gingerly opened her eyes to a blanket of darkness. There were no lightbulbs here anymore, and now the place was half empty, holding an assortment of cast-aside furniture and half a dozen brown boxes.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and she quickly scrambled behind a broken dresser. The door opened, and a young couple walked in, hand in hand, the man holding up a small candelabra. Michele peered around the dresser and recognized the dark-haired man as George Windsor—but almost twenty years younger, with a carefree expression that she hadn’t seen before on his face. He wore a crisp white shirt, a white tie, and a black vest with pin-striped trousers. The young woman was a beauty, with wavy red hair up in a pompadour, and she wore a simple white blouse with a long navy blue cotton skirt. It was clear from her plain, unembellished clothing and her lack of hat or jewelry that she wasn’t
part of the Windsors’ upper class, but from the adoring way George looked at her, Michele could see that he didn’t care in the least.

The young couple leaned side by side against the attic wall, grinning at each other, clearly relishing being in their own private world. The woman, who Michele recognized now as Clara’s mother, Alanna, wrapped her arms around George and pulled him close. The two of them kissed tenderly.

She really loved him
, Michele realized with surprise.

George pulled away and reached into his coat pocket. “A gift for you,” he said, handing it to her in a shy, almost boyish way.

“George!” Alanna beamed at him before delicately opening the box. George stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“A locket!” Alanna cried with delight. “It is so beautiful. George, you needn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” George said, pulling her in for another kiss. “I only wish …”

“Yes, darling?” Alanna asked. “What is it you wish?”

George was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I wish you could put our picture in the locket without fear of being found out.”

Michele watched as Alanna nodded, leaning into George and whispering something Michele couldn’t hear. Alanna pulled a pocket watch from her skirt pocket and sighed heavily. “It’s nearly five. Henrietta will be home any moment. We must leave here.” She looked up at him, her face filled with despair. “Why didn’t Time let us meet sooner?”

George took her hand and held it up to his cheek. “It’s not too late for us yet,” he said urgently. “We can find a way to be together.”

Alanna shook her head, and Michele saw her wipe her eyes. “You know you can’t leave her. You might never see your children again. No, we must somehow bear it.”

“How can I ever let you go?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Alanna shook her head, and began to sob on George’s shoulder. And suddenly Michele wanted nothing more than to get away from this painful scene. She closed her eyes, clutched the key necklace, and willed Time to send her back.

Michele opened her eyes to find that she was back in the attic in her own time. Taking the photo and Lily’s composition book, she ran downstairs to her room. She had to get back to Clara.

She tossed Lily’s composition book into her desk, grabbed Clara’s diary, and flipped it open to the third entry: November 1, 1910. Without even glancing at the first sentence, Michele held on tight to the diary, the photo, and the key. After a few seconds the spinning and swirling began again, sending her back to the November first of one hundred years earlier. She arrived to find Clara curled up on her bed, her head buried in a book.

“Michele!” Clara cried when she appeared, and jumped off the bed to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too. What have I missed?” Michele asked.

“Very little,” Clara replied. “I’ve been spending nearly all
my time in this room, avoiding the family—especially Mr. Windsor.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Michele said, handing her the photo. “I found this in the attic with George Windsor’s things.” As Clara’s eyes took in the image, her face turned white as a ghost.

“You have to talk to your dad,” Michele urged. “She
gave
this to him. She must have had real feelings for him. You need to know what really happened between your parents.”

Clara nodded slowly. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

Clara nervously gripped Michele’s hand as they made their way down the stairs to George Windsor’s study. Clara knocked on the door.

“Come in,” George called.

Clara stepped into the room, and George’s face paled when he saw who was there. He looked at her silently for a long moment. “Please tell me what happened … with you and Mother,” Clara said, breaking the silence.

George hesitated. “I don’t know what you speak of,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

Clara slapped the photo onto his desk. “Why have you been lying to me?” she asked sharply.

George stared at the photo in shock. He looked up at Clara, opening and closing his mouth as if unsure what to say. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded ragged, years older. “I’m so sorry … my child,” he said, his breath coming out in shallow gasps. “I never wanted to deceive you. I simply couldn’t bear the idea of you thinking less of your mother.”

Clara slowly sank into a chair across from her father. “I want the truth,” she said quietly. “All of it.”

George nodded. After a deep breath, he began. As he spoke, Michele sensed that he had never told this story before.

“I met your mother at the home of the Astors. I was fortuitously early that day, the first to arrive for a card game with the gentlemen. When I went into the library to wait, I bumped into Mrs. Astor’s new social secretary—Alanna. The moment I laid eyes on her, I felt … well, it was the most curious thing. I felt as though I had rediscovered someone precious to me, someone who had been missing all that time.”

Michele felt a jolt in her stomach.
That’s just how I feel about Philip
.

“She was like a dream come to life,” George continued, a faraway look in his eyes. “I had never forgotten my favorite journey as a boy, when I accompanied my father to County Kerry, Ireland. Since then, I had been entranced by the Irish culture, and so Alanna was simply fascinating to me, with her shining red hair and light Irish brogue, and the mesmerizing stories she wove about her homeland. As we grew to know and understand each other, it felt like we were kindred spirits.” George closed his eyes for a moment. “I was married when we met. Henrietta and I already had a son, with Violet on the way. I’ve always been fond of my wife, of course. But what I felt for Alanna … well, it was simply the only time I’ve ever known real love or true happiness. You can imagine my joy when she told me she shared my feelings.”

Michele and Clara both watched George intently as he spoke, riveted by the story.

“I desperately wished to marry Alanna, but please understand, as rare as divorces are now, they were even more impossible to obtain in the 1890s. The courts were extremely reluctant to grant them, and Alanna and I both knew that leaving Henrietta meant leaving my children. I couldn’t do that to them. And then Alanna discovered that she was pregnant—and she panicked.” George’s eyes filled with tears. “She was terrified to be pregnant out of wedlock, and she couldn’t bear for our child to be raised as an illegitimate.”

Michele looked at Clara. She was sitting motionless, her face frozen, but her eyes too brimmed with tears.

“Alanna had a lifelong friend from Ireland—they had both immigrated to the States at the same time, and took care of each other here. His name was Edmond, and he had always loved her.” George’s face contorted with pain. “When Alanna confided in him her secret, he offered to marry her and raise the child as his own. Alanna thought this was the answer to her prayers for our unborn child. They were married immediately at city hall. And then, on the most terrible day of my life, she came and told me everything, the wedding band on her finger. She said that I’d always be the love of her life, but for your sake, she had to pretend you were Edmond’s and move back to Ireland with him, where they would have the help of their families in raising you.

“I always wanted to be your father. I hated that Edmond was the one who got to hold you and soothe your cries and watch you grow. That should have been me.” George’s voice broke with anguish. “But Alanna wouldn’t separate from you. She said we had to end our affair immediately, before anyone
had a chance to speculate that you might be mine, and she insisted on taking you to Ireland as soon as you were strong enough for the journey. It was the most heartbreaking time of my life.” George took a shaky breath. “I tried to find you and Alanna for years. I hired a detective, and it took a decade to uncover the truth, for my detective focused his search in Ireland. But you three had never made it there. Alanna and Edmond tragically died of the Spanish influenza when you were four years old, just before you three were set to depart for Belfast. You cannot imagine my shock and devastation when I learned that my Alanna was gone and our daughter had been living in an orphanage this entire time, right here in my city.

“I love you, Clara, and all I’ve wanted all of these years was to be your father,” George declared, his tears now falling freely. “Might I have a second chance at that?”

Clara’s hands trembled.

“I—I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “It’s so much to believe. Everything I thought I knew about my mother and father … was wrong.”

George shook his head. “Not everything. You thought you had a mother and father who loved you, and each other, very much. And that is true. I miss and love your mother every day—and I’ve loved you all this time, even before knowing you.”

Clara stared at her father, and as the truth sank in, tears began to fall down her cheeks. She got up and took a tentative step toward him, and the two of them hugged, crying as they shared their first father-daughter embrace.

As Michele watched them, she was taken aback by her own mix of emotions. She was thrilled for Clara, but a painful ache
had settled into the pit of her stomach as she’d heard George’s story and watched him embrace his daughter. She thought of her broken family: her mother, who was gone; her grandparents, who were in their own distant world; and her father, who she would never know. She had never before felt the loss of him, but now, watching the emotional reunion of Clara and George, Michele felt as if her heart were being twisted by an invisible fist. She lifted the skeleton key necklace and stared at it. If only Henry Irving could somehow find her and give her the answers she needed … If only she could wake up the next morning and find herself no longer an orphan …

Michele quietly left the study and drifted off to Clara’s room to wait. When Clara returned a while later, her eyes were watery but bright. She threw her arms around Michele.

“I cannot thank you enough for uncovering the truth and bringing me and my father back together,” she said, clasping Michele’s hands gratefully.

“I’m glad I could,” Michele said. “You’re so lucky to have this chance at being part of a real family.”

“I’m so accustomed to loneliness,” Clara remarked. “It’s difficult to believe I might actually be loved.”

“Well, it’s clear your dad really loves you,” Michele said, giving her a tremulous smile. “And you also had a mom and a surrogate father who would have done anything for you. I think what Edmond did for you and your mom was pretty amazing.”

“Yes, it was,” Clara agreed. “I feel grateful and saddened by it, all at once.”

“When is George going to tell the rest of the family about you?” Michele asked.

“He wanted to tell them straightaway, but I asked him not to,” Clara replied, sitting down at her vanity.

“What? Why did you do that?” Michele looked at Clara in confusion.

“Well, Father is going to adopt me. So I am officially going to be Miss Clara Windsor.” Clara’s cheeks flushed with happiness. “And Violet has guessed the truth. But I don’t want to cause Henrietta and little Frances pain, and I know it would hurt them if Father confirmed that I’m his daughter. It’s enough for me that he and I know. And I know that I was conceived in love, but … well, you know how it would look to society. It would ruin the family reputation. I could never let Father do that for me.”

“Wow,” Michele marveled. “That’s really generous of you to keep that a secret your entire life!”
So I’m the only person alive in my time who knows the truth
, she thought with amazement.

“Father doesn’t like it, but I know in time he will see that it is the best thing for all of us,” Clara said.

“But how will he explain why he’s adopting you?” Michele asked.

“We’re going to say that my father was a childhood friend of his, and he couldn’t bear knowing that his close friend’s daughter was a penniless orphan,” Clara explained.