INTERLUDE

 

While we live, we live to please the Lord. And when we die, we go to be with the Lord. So in life and in death, we belong to the Lord.

(Romans 14:8)

Back to the Present

I look down at the sleeping child beside me, so peaceful. So, she’s fallen asleep after all. Rising slowly, I ease the small form gently down on the settle and approach the bed. John is still sleeping peacefully, his breathing ragged and halting. You’re still with me, my darling, but for how long?

Looking outside, I notice that the rain has ceased for the moment. I also notice a lone figure approaching the house on horseback. He is huddled deep within the warmth of his cloak, but I can tell he is cold and sodden. When he reaches the porch, a small boy takes his horse and for a moment my son, Alexander, looks up at me and waves. I smile back a greeting. I am so thankful that he arrived in time to see his father, before the Death Angel removes this wonderful man from our lives. It appears, however, that he has come alone. The source of his estrangement with his father, my staunchly Quaker daughter-in-law, has thankfully elected to remain at home.

It wasn’t long before Alexander enters, crosses the room and takes me into his arms.

“Oh, Mother, is Father still alive? Did I make it in time? All along the way from Wethersfield, I hoped and prayed. I need to tell him I’m sorry for everything.”

“He’s still with us, but only barely. He sleeps now—the sleep of the soon-to-die.”

Alexander glances at the bed with a look of despair on his face. “I’d hoped to speak with him.”

“I doubt he will awaken, but I’m certain he can hear you, if you wish to speak to him.” I knew from studies made in the 20^th century that upon awakening from deep comas, patients sometimes remembered hearing the voices of loved ones during their sleep.

“Do you think so?”

I feel so sorry for my son. “Why don’t you go and try.” I pat his arm. Alexander approaches the bed and kneels. I can’t hear what he’s saying and don’t want to intrude, but it is a wonderful blessing to finally see father and son in the same room again. It had been so long. Alexander had left Salem several years previously under rather disturbing circumstances. John had not approved of his marrying a Quaker girl, and Alexander’s refusal to bow to his father’s wishes had opened a rift between them that time had been slow to heal. Neither of them had spoken to the other in many years.

Finally, after several minutes, Alexander kisses his father’s cheek and wipes the tears from his eyes. He kisses me and says he was going to bed. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mother. You should get some rest, too. You’re going to need all your strength in the days to come.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I need to stay with him. You understand?”

“I understand. I know how I would feel if it was Alice. And I know how stubborn you are. Do you want me to put her to bed?” he asked, looking behind me at the precious little girl, sleeping peacefully.

“Would you please?”

“Of course I will.”

He tenderly scoops little Sarah into his arms. Stopping at the door, he turns and winks at me, smiling. “Don’t worry. It’ll be alright, Mother.”

“Goodnight, son,” I say, as he silently closes the door.

Left alone with my dying husband, I sit down again on the settle, curl my legs up under myself, and cover my lap with the blanket that so recently covered my granddaughter. Reliving my life with John has calmed my spirit somewhat, and so, I think I’ll resume my journey down memory lane.

 

*************

 

Sitting on the front porch (oh, well, excuse me, veranda, as Mary corrected me yesterday) during the evening had quickly become a daily event, since my arrival in King’s Lynn three months ago. It afforded me time to think. I had quickly recovered from my amazing journey through the time warp, and decided that for the time being, my best course of action was to assume Sarah Cheever’s identity, until I could get the information I needed or until she appeared on the scene herself. Then, I could just pop out of here and be gone. The problem was that even though the genealogical records recorded her as marrying John Keeney, no one in the area could recall a Cheever family ever living anywhere near here.

Another problem, however, was also rearing its head and threatening to undermine my entire plan: I was beginning to have feelings for John. Since my arrival, John had made it his life’s work to see to my every need, and want, for that matter. All I had to do was voice a wish, and he moved heaven and earth to fulfill it. It was obvious to almost everyone around that he was smitten with the Keeney’s new house guest, and gossip was running rampant in the village. Just today, Elizabeth, Mary and I had turned a corner in town to find three other ladies discussing me, of all things. Of course, propriety reigned supreme and the conversation was quickly hushed, but not before my hearing the word “marriage” bandied about between them. Just the thought of being the talk of the town humiliated me.

My musing was interrupted by Mary stepping out on the porch. Mary, at sixteen, was just coming into her femininity and romance was her most current craze. She was an energetic, vivacious young woman, with bright, laughing eyes and a personality to match. She resembled her father, Sir Thomas, more than she did her mother and was the only child in the family to do so.

“Here you are, Gayle, uh, I mean Sarah. Sorry,” she said, suddenly abashed at her blunder. “I thought I’d find you here. Mother has been worrying about you, you know, especially after today’s latest incident in town.”

“I’m not worried about all that. People talk; it’s the nature of the beast.”

“Oh, Sarah, you speak so strangely sometimes. Do all the people speak so where you come from?” Mary had quickly become my confidant; however, I sometimes wondered whether she really believed my tale of coming through the time warp from the future.

“Some speak even stranger, Mary, especially the African-Americans in the big cities, who use phrases like ‘hey, bro, whazup?’” This produced a string of giggles from my new friend, as I knew it would.

“What are, what did you say? African-Americans?”

“They’re black people whose ancestors were brought from Africa to America as slaves and were…er…will be set free by one of our presidents in the 1860s.”

“Was this president like our own King, a ruler of A-mer-i-ca?”

“Something like that.”

“So, back to our original conversation,” Mary replied, with her uncanny ability to switch topics as quickly as a modern-day mom changing roles. “How are you and John getting along?”

“What do you mean ‘getting along’? We’re just friends, Mary, there’s nothing serious going on at all.”

“Oh, Sarah Cheever, I know my brother better than anyone, even Mother. He’s absolutely in love with you.” One thing you could say about John’s little sister, she cut quickly to the chase. No mincing words for this chick.

“Well, I…uh….”

“I knew it!” she shouted, with glee, clapping her hands and jumping up to stand in front of me, her blond curls bouncing. “You’re in love with him, too. I can see it on your face!”

“Now, Mary, I really don’t……Would you please calm down, you’re going to pull a muscle or something!” She was dancing around the yard with glee, hugging herself.

“You are, you are! Oh, this is just wonderful. Especially, after what that horrid Charity Northrup did to him last year. Serves her right, the twit!”

“What are you talking about? Who is Charity Northrup?”

Mary sobered up and reseated herself on the step, leaning closer and looking around, checking for eavesdroppers. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you this….”

“But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you?” I replied, smiling at her. Sometimes I wondered whether taking this young girl into my confidence had been such a good idea; she seemed unable to keep a secret. But so far, she’d not divulged my true identity.

Mary went on, keeping her voice low. “Charity is a friend of William’s friend, Agnes, you met Agnes last week.”

“Yes, I remember Agnes.”

“Well, Charity was very taken with John last summer, and they spent much time together, chaperoned, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Well, all of a sudden, after John had become thoroughly smitten (I like that new word you taught me), Charity married someone else. Oh, Sarah, I never saw John so destroyed. He moped around the house for weeks, after that. Wouldn’t eat—walked the halls late at night.”

“But, he seems fine now, Mary. What happened?”

“I don’t know. He went into the woods on a Sunday afternoon and didn’t come back for three hours. And then when he did come home, he was over her, just like that. He said Jesus helped him face the pain and had shown him the truth of the matter. And that was that. So, if you don’t love him, you must tell him now, because he’s falling for you really hard, Sarah.” I saw the unshed tears glistening in her pretty, blue eyes and knew she really loved her elder brother.

I know, I love him, too, I heard my heart say. I suddenly realized that Mary was correct. If John really was falling in love with me, it was only right that I set the record straight and tell him that I didn’t feel the same, even if it was a lie. I couldn’t let him fall in love with me. I’m only passing through this time period. I’m not staying here. There’s no future for us. The only problem with that logic was that I was pretty certain I did feel the same, but was too frightened of the ramifications to admit it.

“I need to think about this, Mary,” I told her. “But I promise I’ll not let it go too long. I don’t want to see John hurt any more than you do.”

I was saved from any further conversation about the matter by Lady Elizabeth calling for Mary. With a quick goodbye and a wink, Mary was off and running. That girl never walks anywhere, always running. She’d fit in well with the rat race I left behind. Mary’s comments, however, had set me to thinking again, and I found myself wondering if in reality Sarah Cheever had ever really existed at all; that perhaps, this was the real history of the Keeney family.

Dr. Einstein had taught me that the space time continuum was a revolving time-line, constantly repeating itself on different planes over the eons. Maybe this had all really happened: I had really traveled back into the past and in reality had become my own ancestor. Everything was just so unclear. What was certain was that in the months I had been here, I had been utterly unable to find any evidence of a Cheever family from these parts. And I also knew that Lady Elizabeth and Sir Thomas would not be adverse to a match between John and me. Even as gruff and stern as he was, Sir Thomas had taken an immediate liking to his new houseguest, as had John’s brother, William. And even Sir Thomas’ mother, Fionna, who rarely left her suite of rooms in the west wing of the manor and entertained no one, seemed to genuinely care for me.

She was of tough Irish stock and rarely showed her emotions, but I could tell that she would welcome me as a granddaughter-in-law. Maybe all this wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed. I really didn’t miss my former life very much. I had no one, except my mother, to leave behind, and we’d really never had a good relationship. I hadn’t been gone all that long anyway. And even if I stay here for the rest of my life…….

My thoughts were interrupted by John plopping down beside me. “How are you, Sarah? You’ve been unusually quiet since you returned from the village.”

“It’s nothing, John. I’ve just been doing a bit of thinking.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, also and I wanted to speak with you about something. I’ve been a little hesitant to broach the subject, however, not knowing your feelings on the matter. I mean…um…well…um. Well, I suppose the best thing is to just come out and say it: Sarah, I’ve come to have feelings….”

“Now wait a minute!” I jumped to my feet in a panic, leaving a startled and confused John staring at me. “I can’t talk about this just now. I mean, I need to think about this.” I could feel my heart racing and the palms of my hands beginning to sweat.

“Sarah, please calm down. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry if I frightened you. But I’d gotten the impression that maybe you felt something for me.”

“I’m sorry, John,” I replied, sitting down and trying to calm myself. “You see, the problem is….that I do have feelings, and I don’t know what to do about them. And there’s another problem: I’m not who you think I am and there are things about me that you’re not aware of. And I just really need to think about all of this before we discuss it.” I knew I was babbling and he was just staring at me.

“I see,” he said, a look of misgiving on his face. “Perhaps I’ve been a little premature. I’m sorry I was so bold. Maybe we can discuss this tomorrow after a good night’s rest. Would that be more to your liking?”

Always, the non-pressuring, humble John, putting others’ needs ahead his own. I felt my heartbeat slowing, and the moisture that had begun to trickle between my breasts dried up.

“Yes, John, that would be better. I need time to think and sort through my feelings. And I need to find a way to tell you about my past.”

“Sarah, I don’t care about your past.”

“I know you say that now, but you really can’t make that judgment before you hear it.”

“Well, I mean, you’re not a murderer or a cutthroat, are you? Or, God forbid, a lady of the night?” He had a look of utter confusion on his face, and I knew he was trying hard to understand my outburst and sudden panic at this announcement.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just….give me some time, please.”

“All right, Sarah. I’m discovering that I can’t seem to refuse you anything. We’ll talk tomorrow. Goodnight.” He rose and quickly entered the house.

Oh, Lord, I prayed. How in the world am I going to tell this man that I’ve been lying to him, to everyone, for months, everyone except Mary, that is. And what is he going to think of me when I tell him the truth? Lord, what is this going to do to his relationship with his sister, who has known the truth of my identity for a month and hasn’t told him? Does the “thou shalt not marry your first cousin” law apply here? He’ll think I’m either crazy or lying about my real past.

I fretted for several minutes, imagining every sort of scenario, from John’s intense anger to downright tragedy. Well, if everything goes awry, I suppose I can always go back and just publish the books as I’d originally planned. The only problem will be my heart, because I know now that I really love him. And I can’t bear to hurt him. I’d sooner cut off my arm than hurt John Keeney.

Realizing I was quietly weeping, I rose and started towards the great six-paneled oaken door of the manor house, intending to quickly get to my room before anyone saw me and questioned the tears coursing down my cheeks. However, as I stepped onto the central staircase, I suddenly felt a sense of utter peace wash over me like a great ocean wave I’d once experienced in Malibu, rinsing away the stress, fear and insecurity that had invaded my heart.

Just trust Me, I heard that still, small voice speak into my inner ear. I’m in control.

I knew at that moment what I would tell John the next day: I’d tell him the truth and let the chips fall where they may. If things go badly, I assured myself, I’ll just do what I do best: run. I’ll just leave this time and place and never look back, trusting Jesus to take care of any messes I might have made in coming back here.

I walked the rest of the way up the stairs to my room, drying my tears as I went, and slept better that night than I had for many weeks, secure in the truth that the Lord would work it all out for the best.