Chapter Eleven

 

 

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring...” Jaci recited her favorite holiday poem as she tucked Amanda into bed.

“I want to stay up,” the five year old complained, even as she rubbed tired eyes.

They had already celebrated a full day — gift giving with the servants; a marvelous dinner of turkey with oyster stuffing and all the trimmings; and singing as the Yule log was lit.

“If you stay up, Santa won’t visit, and we won’t get to take that sleigh ride your Uncle promised.”

“I know,” Amanda said on a sigh as her eyes drifted closed. Jaci bent to kiss her forehead, and then blew out the light on the night table.

Silently, she descended the stairs to the main floor, took her wrap from the hook and bundled up. Hoping not to disturb anyone, she let herself out into the night.

In the rush of getting ready for Christmas, she had pushed aside her conversation with Nancy Schaffer. Always, though, in the back corner of her mind, she had hoped to be home with her sister at Christmas. Even if her practical side said it was not to be. If, as Nancy assured her, she would know her purpose and recognize her window to return, she could do little but wait.

The air froze in her lungs as she inhaled. Snow swirled about her boots and tried to sneak past the fur that lined her cloak and hood. She couldn’t stay out long; she’d freeze even with the layers of wool she wore and the benefits of her fur lined muff. For a few minutes, though, she wanted to feel open space around her, even if the gray, snow-laden skies of Pennsylvania weren’t the wide-open blue that Texas boasted.

“I imagine this isn’t the kind of winter you’ve had in the past.” Nicholas voiced her very thoughts from behind her, and immediately Jaci felt warmer.

His features were somewhat obscured by the night and the fact that the fur fringing her face softened her gaze. She raised a hand to slip her hood back to see him better, but he reached out to stop her, his touch warm on her wrist.

“Don’t; you’ll catch cold.” He settled her hood back in place, but his fingers lingered on her cheek. She tilted her face towards his warmth.

“Why so sad? Christmas should be a time of joy and laughter.”

“I miss...” she began, tears choking her reply. She gave a slight shake of her head and turned away.

“Jaci.” He enfolded her in his arms as he whispered her name. She didn’t object as he pulled her back against his chest. They stood in silence among the swirling snowflakes and midnight sky.

He hugged her tighter, and she felt the stirrings of desire. No, it wasn’t desire she felt. The warmth spreading through her chest and surrounding her heart was more than desire; something much deeper and more lasting. Nicholas had slowly infiltrated her heart with his smile and had quietly unearthed her strongest feelings with his gentleness and caring. Jaci, the cynic, had come to realize that love did exist.

Oh, please, don’t let me love this man. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and I would die when it came time to leave.

“Do you know how right this feels — to have you here at Wildwood?” He whispered close to her ear.

“Amanda is a sweetheart, and I appreciate the fact you let me stay as her governess. I don’t know that I ever thanked you for that.”

He turned her in his arms and tilted her chin with a finger. Even in the dim light from the house, she saw the silver glitter of his gaze.

“You know good and well it’s not Amanda’s care to which I refer.”

Of course she knew; but it wouldn’t do any good to admit it.

“Jaci, I love you.”

“No, no you don’t.” She covered his mouth with her hand, hoping to block the words, but they hovered between them and Nicholas didn’t appear to want them back. “You don’t know anything about me; we argue constantly and I don’t do what I’m told.” She glanced back and forth, anywhere but at his face, looking for more excuses.

“And that’s one of the reasons I love you.” He pulled her closer, their hips meshing.

Panic welled in her chest. She didn’t love him; she didn’t; and it wasn’t fair of him to love her. “You love Lycinda.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re supposed to marry her. Her father said so.”

“No.” He grinned at her; that silly, little boy grin that lit his eyes and made her heart melt.

“You can’t. I can’t.” She said with dejection as she twisted out of his grip and stepped away from his embrace.

“Why not?”

Damn, he was persistent.

“I already told you. You don’t know—”

“I know that you’re lovely and stubborn and spirited and argumentative at times. I also know you love Amanda as much as I do and usually your arguments are on her behalf.” He paused, and she wondered if he wanted her to argue with him now.

“There’s more to me than that; things you can’t even begin to imagine.” It wasn’t simply that she came from a different century. She couldn’t allow him to love her when she didn’t know what was to become of her.

“Then tell me your secret so we can get on with our lives.”

“I...I can’t.” She rushed towards the door, aching for his touch but knowing it unfair to take what he offered when she couldn’t give in return. As she hurried inside, his words echoed behind her.

“I love you, Jaci Eastman. I won’t give up!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jaci slept fitfully that night, dreaming of Nicholas and declarations of love. “If only...if only...” she mumbled in her sleep.

“Wake up, wake up, it’s Christmas day!” Amanda bounced on her bed and her eyes flew open. In that short space of time between sleeping and waking, she was back in her bed in Dallas; Mandy clamoring at her to wake up and see what Santa brought. As she scooted out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold, wood floors, she sent a silent wish for a Merry Christmas across the century to her sister.

“Okay, okay, Amanda. Merry Christmas to you, too.” She hugged the little girl before heading for the privacy screen. “You might as well wake your uncle up, and I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”

As soon as Amanda left, Jaci washed her hands and face in the water provided in the pitcher. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair, she decided she needed to dress before going downstairs. Her puffy eyes looked bad enough; there was no reason for Nicholas to see her in her nightgown and robe.

Nicholas. What was she going to do about him? Jaci’s hands fumbled with dress buttons as she recalled their conversation last night. I love you. His words warmed her heart and gave her goose bumps at the same time.

She had wanted to seduce him; she still did, but lust was different from love. Besides, that was before she had found out there would be a window for her to return to Dallas. Now? She didn’t know what she wanted.

“Miss Eastman?” Amanda’s voice came from down the hall and Jaci closed her mind to the might-have-beens and descended the stairs with a Christmas smile on her face.

There were more presents under the tree than had been there last night. Jaci wondered when Nicholas had time to shop.

“Merry Christmas to you,” he said softly as he handed her a cup of coffee on a delicate china saucer.

“Thank you,” she returned, taking the coffee and letting her gaze linger over his appearance. His hair was pulled back, as always, but he had dressed casually in tailored slacks and a shirt open at the throat, covered with a satin, smoking-style jacket. His face was clean shaven, the creases around his mouth deepening as he smiled. She realized she was staring.

“You can have your heart’s wish, you know. All you have to do is ask.” He leaned close to whisper.

“I don’t...I wasn’t...” Jaci sputtered.

He laughed and left her standing in the middle of the parlor. She took a gulp of coffee. The nerve of that man — to think she was staring at him because she wanted him. Even if she did, it was very impolite of him to notice.

She settled in a chair close to the fire as Amanda passed out her gifts. She had drawn pictures for her uncle and Jaci — a horse for him and a field of flowers for Jaci. When Jaci asked who the two little girls were in the middle of the flowers, Amanda whispered, “Me and Mandy,” and Jaci cried.

Nicholas insisted Jaci pass out her presents next and leave his for last. Self-consciously, she handed him a small wrapped package. Amanda had already claimed her larger box in which Jaci had wrapped a riding habit and a jaunty little hat. She squealed excitedly when she opened the lid.

Jaci had agonized over what to buy Nicholas. She knew the rules governing gift buying must be radically different here than in her time. To tell the truth, even after living under the same roof as he for the past three months, she didn’t know his tastes, except in brandy, which she refused to purchase.

“The Gilded Age,” he read the title out loud when he unwrapped the book. “This is Twain’s newest treatise on the ruin of mankind, isn’t it?”

“You’ve read it,” Jaci stated, disappointed.

“No, I haven’t. Thomas mentioned last week how hilariously Twain wrote, but I’ve had little time to read.” He smiled in thanks. “This will make a most welcome addition to my library.”

“Now open Uncle Nicholas’ present,” Amanda interrupted as she shoved a package into Jaci’s lap.

As she opened her present, Nicholas got up and slid a wooden chest from behind the tree. She recognized the trunk which Nicholas had consigned Gustav Dentzel to make for Amanda. When Nicholas saw her watching him, he put a finger to his lips, his eyes twinkling.

She glanced down at the box in her lap. On a bed of soft satin lay a miniature carousel horse, cast in silver. “Oh, my,” she breathed as she lifted the delicate piece from its cushion. The carving was intricate, every detail revealed in the lines and etching in the metal.

“It’s a music box,” Nicholas supplied.

Jaci wound the figurine and set it on the table at the side of the chair. A tinkling melody, reminiscent of the waltz she remembered dancing at the Wildwood ball, floated about the room as the carousel horse gracefully turned on its center pole.

Tears blurred her vision as she glanced up at Nicholas. “Thank you; it’s beautiful.” The words seemed inadequate to express what she felt at that moment.

His smile, dazzling and heartwarming, completed her Christmas.

“Now, Muffin, it’s time for your big present.” He turned his attention to Amanda, and Jaci sat back to watch. However, his next words caught her off guard. “Your papa sent a message to the Shipmaster to say how sorry he was to miss Christmas, and he sent along this chest for you to put all your treasures in.”

Amanda squealed in delight when she opened the lid to find a pretty rag doll waiting for her hug. “I knew Papa wouldn’t forget. Did he say when he would be home?” She raced to Nicholas and gave him a hug.

“Soon, Muffin. He’ll be home soon.” He returned her hug, but his gaze connected with Jaci’s over the top of Amanda’s head.

She slowly shook her head when he winked at her. She smiled in return, silently mouthing the words, “You are wonderful,” letting him know she knew the truth and understood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sleigh bells jingled as the horse pranced across the hard packed snow. Amanda giggled when Jaci sang a song she called “Jingle Bells”, and Nicholas felt content with his world. He hadn’t declared himself to Jaci again; he didn’t want to pressure her. It didn’t bother him at all that she denied his love. The wonder in the kisses they had shared told a different story.

He lightly touched the reins to the back of the horse, clicking softly under his breath, relaxing to enjoy the winter scenery. Brown tufts of grass still showed sporadically, waving stiffly in the cold air. A continuously, curving set of parallel lines from previous sleigh rudders cut through the snow on the side of the hill. Those would disappear fast enough if another storm came through. The silence of a winter snow was overwhelming. As much power as the swirling masses of moisture contained, the white flakes bombarded everything in sight without a sound.

His musings were cut off when Jaci spoke, her thoughts reflecting his own. “The stark contrast between the pristine snow and dark bark of those bare trees makes me wish for my camera. I’d love to capture the beauty of Wildwood in photographs.”

“You take pictures?” He vaguely recalled her comments about being a photographer.

“Yes,” she sighed, “I did at one time. My idol was Ansel Adams. He took the most beautiful pictures — the contrasts were vivid — and yet he only used black and white film.”

“What other kind is there?” He didn’t know much about photography, but he did know it had progressed beyond the brownish tones of a daguerreotype.

She appeared taken back by his question, but shook her head and simply stated, “Never mind. Tell me about Wildwood.”

“My family has been here three generations. Grandfather tried farming, but decided breeding horses was a lot less work. He invested a tremendous amount of money purchasing the best thoroughbreds available anywhere in the world. My father continued that tradition, as have I.”

“Your house and arenas and track all look well-tended.”

“Breeding horses, either for show or racing, involves much more than the animals. It takes skilled people and good facilities. The birthing stalls are. . .well, never mind.” He flashed her a grin. “You’ll have to excuse me. When I speak of Wildwood, I tend to forget myself.”

“You have every reason to be proud. It’s beautiful.”

He did feel pride, not only in his home, but in Jaci, for she saw the hidden beauty of Wildwood as well as he did.

“Wildwood does tend to be isolated. We have no neighbors for miles around, and as you have probably ascertained, I’m not much for entertaining. In the winter, trips into the city become even less frequent.”

She responded as he hoped she would, although she couldn’t have realized how important her answer was to him. “I don’t mind the solitude. I never was much of a socialite.”

He clicked the horse into a trot for home, feeling good about his decision. He had no doubts that Jaci would marry him, though she might need convincing. He loved the lady sitting on the seat beside him, and knew she had intense feelings, too. He intended to explore those feelings more fully once he had released Lycinda from any obligation.

“I must go to Philadelphia,” he said without preamble. The sooner the better, he added to himself. “Tomorrow.”

“But Uncle Nicholas, you promised to take us ice skating. You even got me new skates for Christmas, ‘member?”

Nicholas sighed. “You’re right, Muffin. I’ll go to Philadelphia the day after.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day dawned crystal clear, and as promised, Nicholas bundled Amanda, Jaci, and Molly beneath blankets and furs in the sleigh, allowing Amanda to sit up front with him. At the last minute, Sir Lancelot jumped into the sleigh and snuggled down at Amanda’s feet.

“Go on with you now; scat.” Molly tried to shoo the dog away, but Amanda protested, hugging the dog around the neck.

“He’s an Irish Setter, isn’t he?” Jaci asked. “Aren’t they hunting dogs?”

“Well, Sir Lancelot here isn’t much of a hunter.” Nicholas playfully reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. “Unless you count hunting for a scrap off Amanda’s plate.” Sir Lancelot whined as though in protest and everyone laughed.

The single horse had no trouble pulling the sleigh across the hard packed snow on the lane, and Nicholas assured them the pond lay close enough to the road that they wouldn’t have far to walk. Immediately upon arriving at the pond, he gathered enough wood to start a small fire should they get chilled while skating.

While Molly helped Amanda put on her skates, Jaci struggled with her own, swatting aside petticoats and heavy velvet skirts. “It was much easier in pants and a sweater,” she mumbled under her breath, wondering how on earth she would ever stand up, much less skate across the frozen pond.

“What’s that, Miss?” The ever vigilant Molly lifted her head from lacing Amanda’s skates.

“Never mind. It’s of no consequence.” Jaci stopped in the middle of knotting the second skate. Dear me, I’m even beginning to talk like them.

Her thoughts were immediately diverted when Amanda squealed. She straightened her skirts carefully around her legs as she watched the child glide out onto the ice, her cheeks rosy with cold and excitement. For such a young child, she skated exceptionally well, and Jaci assumed it was the circumstances.

At Wildwood, the pond was always available in winter, and cost nothing. By contrast, she and Mandy used to go to the indoor rink at the Galleria, paying for the privilege of skating for an hour or two. Because of that, the opportunity hadn’t come along very often.

“Miss Eastman, perhaps you would stay warmer if you got off that log and moved about.”

She glanced up sharply as a shadow crossed her vision. Nicholas, handsome as always in his greatcoat and wool trousers, extended a hand to her.

She wondered when she had fallen in love with him. The words didn’t surprise her today, even though two days ago she had protested such an idea. Deep in her heart, she had already known the truth. She shook her head in wonder.

For most of her adult life, she had tried to avoid macho males who wanted to run her life, and yet here she was, stuck in the wrong century with just such a man. And the problem? She didn’t seem to mind it.

Nicholas had a magnetic personality which drew others to him, herself included, and his smile was enough to make a girl faint, or swoon, or whatever they did in 1874. He had a terrific sense of humor, talked to her intelligently and not in a condescending manner, and seemed to value her as an individual. Of course, when they argued, it was as violent as the thunderstorms that shook the earth, but even their fights had sent shivers of excitement through her.

So what’s the problem? She asked herself. Aside from the fact that she didn’t belong here and didn’t know how long she would stay? She shook her head to clear it as she allowed him to pull her out onto the ice, deciding today wasn’t made for worrying.

“You’re much more graceful on skates than the back of a horse,” he teased as he skated in front of her.

Her skirts billowed out about her, but she found they didn’t inhibit her movements like she thought they would.

Nicholas was showing off by tipping forward, one foot lifted behind him in the air. She pushed him, catching him off balance. He wobbled and fell on his fanny.

“Alas, it’s too bad you’re not. Do you always end up on your as...derriere?” She stood in front of him to judge his reaction.

His grin was infectious, and she threw back her head and laughed, tossing all her dire thoughts to the wind. She turned and skated away, but he quickly caught up with her.

“Here, try this,” he challenged as he expertly turned in front of her, capturing her hands in his and resting one of them on his shoulder. With no apparent effort on his part, he skated backwards while guiding her into the steps of a waltz. Though awkward at first, she soon found she actually did move more gracefully on skates with all her petticoats than she did on dry land. She began to hum a tune in time to their movements.

“I cannot figure you, Jaci. You have no apparent skills; you have said yourself you were not reared in any of the womanly arts. Yet you adapt to almost any task set before you — cooking, teaching Amanda, riding; even dancing on ice. However do you manage?”

He spun her in a graceful circle, his movements bringing her closer. She knew they could only have a relationship based on honesty, and her newly awakened love made her reckless. She flashed him an impish grin as she answered his question. “Television.”

“What?”

She had to clutch his shoulder tightly to keep from tumbling when he jerked her tight against him. She had tried to explain before, but he always refused to listen; forever falling back on that age-old male doctrine that women didn’t know what they were talking about.

“Television. It’s a machine that shows moving pictures to educate. You know, I watch the cooking shows on PBS, ice skating at the Olympics, and all the old movies on Saturday nights.”

He stopped abruptly and she slammed into his hard chest. She curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat before bringing her gaze up to the silver gleam of his eyes.

“I think we have had this conversation before.” Puffs of frosty air punctuated his remarks. “I wonder perhaps if you will ever fully recover from your original injury. I doubt you would still spout nonsense about magic boxes and flying machines if you had.” He had not let her go; his arms circled her in a cocoon of warmth; his breath only adding to the heat of her blush.

Did he feel the electricity like she did; the need to touch him even when she knew she shouldn’t? She tilted her head back, her gaze taking in the wayward lock of black hair falling across his forehead, the gray at the temples that only enhanced his appearance. When she shrugged negligently to relieve the tension, he grinned, his full sensuous lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. She lightly tugged on his lapels to bring him closer.

As often as they had kissed recently, she should have been prepared. Even so, it amazed her at how quickly passion ignited in his gaze. His lips swiftly descended to hers, capturing the breath from her body and bathing her in warmth. She had always laughed at her sister’s description of jolts of electricity from a simple kiss, but now she realized it could happen — it was happening.

The buzzing in her head reminded her of the accident at the carousel, and she wondered if she would open her eyes and be back in Dallas. Perhaps becoming involved with a man from the wrong century was what she needed to return to her own time.

When the pressure on her spine and mouth lessened and she opened her eyes, however, she found Nicholas staring strangely at her. Her mittened fingers shook as they touched her mouth, still tender from his kiss; her heart pounded a rhythm too fast to count. She had remained in Nicholas’s time. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she was immensely glad she had not been transported.

“Uncle Nicholas, Miss Eastman — watch!” Amanda called for their attention and she didn’t have time to dwell on her mixed up emotions.

She did notice that Molly, who preferred not to skate, sat by the fire, her gaze carefully averted. Even so, Jaci blushed. She didn’t know how her actions looked to Molly. With a sigh, she switched her thoughts and attention to Amanda, who was turning tiny circles further out on the pond.

“Be careful, Muffin,” Nicholas called to his niece, ever mindful of their safety. Jaci heard the yearning in his voice, and knew he thought of Amanda as his own daughter.

“Oh, Uncle Nicholas, you know I am. Don’t be an old fuddy-duddy.”

Suddenly her scream rent the still morning. Horrified, Jaci watched as, in slow motion, Amanda began to sink through the ice.

“Amanda!” Nicholas bellowed a denial even as he raced toward the hole that had swallowed his niece. Jaci scrambled after him, her heart in her throat and her breath coming in short gasps.

Nicholas fell forward and slid the last several feet as he reached for Amanda. He paid no attention to the popping and hissing, but before her eyes, the ice cracked open further around the hole. She stopped well away from the turbulence, realizing she would do no good if she, too, fell through the thin sheet covering this part of the pond.

She watched, terrified, as Nicholas snatched Amanda from the jagged edges of the ice. Although time stretched interminably, he had reacted quickly and it was actually only seconds before he clutched a wet Amanda to his chest. He jerked his coat off and wrapped it around the little girl.

“Hurry, Nicholas, we must get her dried off,” Jaci yelled as Amanda coughed and wheezed, shivering violently. He struggled to his feet, but as he began to skate forward, an ominous crackling vibrated around them. Jaci reached out as the ice gave way with a mighty groan.

Nicholas threw Amanda forward, and Jaci grabbed at her. Together, they fell backward, Amanda’s wet dress and petticoats causing her to weigh twice as much as normal. She bundled the girl in her arms, scooting backwards on her fanny, digging the ends of her skate blades into the ice to give her traction. She scrambled around at the edge of the pond, keeping her gaze focused on Amanda’s breathing.

Sir Lancelot yipped, racing around in a tight circle by Jaci, trying to get closer to Amanda.

“Miss Eastman, Mister Westbrooke — he’s...” White faced, Molly pointed.

Jaci turned to scan the broken surface of the pond. Where was Nicholas? Where?

“Nicholas!” Even as she screeched his name, she thrust Amanda into Molly’s arms and scrambled back onto the icy surface. Sir Lancelot whined, grabbing a mouthful of her skirts and pulling, trying to keep her from leaving the bank. The pond was literally falling to pieces, and huge cracks now criss-crossed the surface. Suddenly Nicholas’s head appeared from where he had fallen through another weak spot.

“Sir Lancelot, go for help, now!” The dog only raced back and forth between Jaci and Amanda, whining and yipping.

“Sir Lancelot.” Amanda’s hoarse whisper stopped the dog in its tracks. “Go.” She pointed towards the house and the dog raced off, this time barking loudly.

“Wrap Amanda in a blanket and get her to the house! I have to help Nicholas!” Jaci flung the words over her shoulder as she stepped further out onto the ice.

“Oh, Miss,” Molly wailed, “I can’t drive a horse. I swear—”

“Molly, you can do it. You can do whatever it takes to fetch help for Mister Westbrooke. Do you want him to—” She caught a glimpse of Amanda’s petrified face and didn’t finish the sentence. Her thoughts must have transmitted themselves to Molly, however, for the girl hustled Amanda into the sleigh and grabbed the reins. The harness bells jangled as the horse trotted away, and Jaci sent a silent prayer for help to arrive before it was too late.

Regardless of the thin areas, the cracks, the threat of falling in herself, Jaci inched toward Nicholas. When she skated as close as she dared, she dropped to her knees and scooted forward on her fanny. For once, she was thankful for all her petticoats as they insulated her against the cold.

Nicholas had dragged himself part way out of the icy water, his fingers digging into the ice. His face was taut with strain; eyes closed with the effort she knew it took to hold on.

“Nicholas, I’m here. Tell me what to do.” Her voice quivered. Further crackling echoed across the frosty air, and a vision flashed across her mind of her own dying. Though she might long to return to her own time, she didn’t want to die to do it. Nor did she want the man she loved to die. “Grab my hand. Let me pull you out.” She flattened out on her stomach and reached a hand to his.

“Get back.” His words hissed, as cold as the icy water in which he struggled. Though his words were only whispered, the ice cracked further, and she saw his gaze flash wildly around them.

“No, I won’t leave. I can help, I know I can. I’m stronger than I look.” She pleaded, “Nicholas, please.”

He didn’t answer. She glanced around for something to use to help them, but the few loose pieces of wood had been thrown on the fire. Just then, she saw a wagon appear across the far side of the pond. Too far away for the bundled figures to be recognized clearly, she thought it must be the twins.

“Toby! Travis! Help!” Even as she yelled, she felt the ice vibrate beneath her, and realized her mistake before Nicholas said anything.

“Don’t...yell,” he gasped, and she could only wonder at how cold he must be. She had no idea how long someone could stay in the icy cold water and survive; nor even how much time had already passed. But she did know the longer he stayed submerged, the less were his chances.

“If my yelling will crack this whole damn pond, I’ll do it. Then you can walk out of the water instead of me dragging you up from the bottom.” She didn’t know where she had the strength or determination to sass him at a time like this, but it did bring forth a watery smile, and for that she was glad. She glanced back to the far side where the boys had whipped the horse into a canter, the wagon bouncing precariously over the frozen trail.

“God, I wish I had a telephone.” The thought came unbidden to her tongue, but when she glanced guiltily at Nicholas, she noted his eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping. Sleeping? She knew that was the worst thing for someone in the cold. She shook his arm and urgently called his name. Every movement she made caused the ice to quiver, and it was only by chance that it didn’t give way.

“Jaci?” His voice was weak, but he was aware of her presence and Jaci took that as a good sign. “What is a telephone?”

Oh, dear, now she had done it. He had little patience for her stories of what he called imaginary misfortunes of her still rattled mind. But she had to do something, so she started talking. She voiced what she hoped were the most incredulous of all inventions. Anything to keep him alert.

“Where I come from, we have telephones, and telegraphs, and television. There are also satellites that fly through space...and videotape machines. If I had a video camera, I’d take pictures of how ridiculous you look...” She wanted to keep it light, but she sobbed, and fresh tears froze on her cheeks the moment they fell. She cautiously released one of his arms and raised her hand to his wet hair to brush it back from his forehead. God, he was so cold.

“Pictures? We have pictures. You know George Eastman...” His voice, already weak, faded until only a puff of white frost indicated he still breathed. His head lay sideways on one arm, his skin deathly pale. Jaci caressed his cheek with her hand, which she had removed from her mitten since it was wet anyway.

“No, silly. Moving pictures, not photographs.” The ice beneath her cracked again, and she clutched his arm with both hands.

“Let me go, Jaci.” Defeat and resignation edged his words. “Just let go and save yourself. This...ice won’t hold...” His eyes had been glazed but focused on her face. They now closed, the lids blue with cold, eyelashes spiked with ice crystals.

“No!” Her anguished cry of denial echoed against the silence of the woods.

In that single moment before his eyes closed, Jaci realized why Nicholas had always looked familiar. Those very same silver eyes had stared out at her from the glossy paper of a photograph; one she had taken at the carousel. That night in her dark room, what seemed like years ago instead of only months, Nicholas Westbrooke had cried out to her in pain; begging her for something that, at the time, she couldn’t identify.

Now, she understood. She had met her destiny and nothing she did would change that. Regardless of what Nancy Schaffer said, Jaci knew she did have a purpose for being here. She had come to save Nicholas.

Over the sound of her sobs, she heard someone call her name. She turned her head as far as she dared without releasing Nicholas, and saw Toby and Travis at the near edge of the pond.

Toby cautiously walked out onto the ice. When it popped beneath his weight, he looked helplessly at Jaci.

“Throw me the rope, Toby. I’ll get it around him. Get the wagon ready to move.” She knew the longer they waited, the higher the danger to Nicholas. Even now, his breath was extremely shallow and his arms shook beneath her grip. He had lost consciousness, and she dared not let loose of him for fear he would sink beneath the surface.

It took Toby two attempts to get the rope close enough that she didn’t have to let go of Nicholas to reach it. Her own limbs were numb with cold, and she prayed she could make the rope secure enough to bring Nicholas out of the water. She knew she couldn’t hold him if he started to slip. Her hands shook with fear as she tied the rope around him and yelled at Travis to start pulling.

The hardest part was yet to come, for as the rope became taut, Nicholas’s clothes hooked on the ice. Instead of pulling him up out of the water, they only succeeded in breaking more ice around him. She rapidly scooted back before she yelled at the twins to pull quickly enough to jerk Nicholas above the ice and out of the water.

Once they reached shore, she scrambled to her feet as Mackey and one of the stable boys came running down the hill. Together, the men lifted Nicholas from the frozen ground. Toby whipped the horse into motion as soon as they were all in the wagon. She removed her skates while Mackey piled warm blankets around Nicholas’s shaking body. Even so, his skin was blue with cold, and he mumbled incoherently. When Mackey started rubbing Nicholas’s arms beneath the blanket, she cried out.

“Don’t do that!” At Mackey’s look of surprise, she softened her tone. “Rubbing his skin is the worst thing you can do. It will damage the nerves.” Mackey’s incredulous expression said he doubted her word. She knew, however, from location shoots she had done, the effects of frostbite and exposure. How was she to make him understand?

“We need to keep him warm, and once we get back to the house, we’ll bring his body temperature up gradually. Too great a temperature change will shock his system.”

“What about pneumonia?” Mackey was clearly concerned about his employer’s condition, but she couldn’t reassure him. She wasn’t a doctor.

Instead she asked, “How’s Amanda?”

“I’m not sure. That mangy dog raced into the yard barking and grabbing my pant leg, and then here came Molly, driving that horse hell bent—” He cleared his throat. “Well, I imagine Mrs. Jeffrey’s got her bundled up in bed already. She didn’t stay in the water too long, did she?”

“No, not as long as Nicholas,” Jaci whispered. The old trainer’s gaze returned to Nicholas’s face. Her thoughts paralleled his, for she knew he wondered, too, how long was too long in the freezing water?