Erina enjoyed the drive to St. Mary's Cathedral, since the Cherokee didn't travel too fast this time, and she got a chance to see more of the changes that had taken place since 1896. When they'd gone to breakfast and to his home before, they'd stayed along the beach, on a road that Mr. Kirby--Grant--called Sea Wall Boulevard. He'd explained that the sea wall had been built after the hurricane of 1900, but Erina still had a difficult time understanding how the island had been raised so many feet and such a massive undertaking had been executed.
She looked away from the scenery outside the window and watched him drive. Both of his large, work-roughened hands rested on top of the wheel that steered the Cherokee. He looked straight ahead, his nose straight, his chin solid and strong. She knew from memory that when he smiled, a rare occurrence indeed, a dimple appeared in his cheek.
His hair brushed the collar of his jacket and slightly curled under. She wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. She wished she could reach out and touch the tawny curl, much as she would Colin's hair. But there was nothing childish about how her imagination seemed to be working. The feelings Grant inspired in her were not motherly, and definitely not appropriate. Not when he'd made it clear that he would accept her affections--and that he wouldn't take them forcefully.
She was simply a guest in his time, and whether she stayed forever or just a few days, she had to think of Colin first and not allow her own nature to lead her astray. She'd done that before with Jerrold Kirby and had more than learned her lesson.
They drove through business and residential areas, passing many buildings that she recognized. The roads looked so very different though, and the vehicles--she'd learned that was the proper term for these modern carriages--parked along the sides of the road. So many of them! Did no one own a horse and buggy any longer?
"Do the trolleys still run down Broadway?" she asked, craning her neck to see what she could as they crossed that major street. The Kirby mansion was close, along with many other homes that she hoped still stood.
"No, just buses."
"What are buses?"
"Come on, Erina," he said in an exasperated tone.
She continued to stare at him. Finally, he explained. "They're like trolleys, but not electric or pulled by mules. They have engines, like my Jeep. I think Galveston does have a trolley of sorts, but it's really a bus that looks like a trolley. There's a historic route and people pay to ride."
"I'd like to ride this new trolley," she said, distracted as she looked ahead for the church. Above the large palm trees and oaks stood the statue of a pale gray Virgin Mary, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, rising behind the cathedral like a protective mother.
"I think the parking lot is on the side of the church," he said as he pulled the Cherokee off the road and steered through an open area in a tall fence. He switched off the engine and turned to her. "Do you want me to come in with you?"
"If you would like." In truth, she didn't know how she'd feel about having him inside the sanctuary as she gave her personal thanks for the miracle. She didn't even know if he was Catholic, although she suspected he was because all the Kirbys were.
"I'll walk in with you, but I think I'll stay in the back."
"I won't be long."
"Take your time. It's good to be away from the hospital."
"You needn't stay if you'd rather get back to your work," she said. "You've been more than generous with your time and money. I've been meanin' to tell you that I'll be payin' you back, but it might take awhile."
"Erina, I don't want you to pay me back. And I wasn't complaining about being in the hospital so often or so long. I did what I did because I wanted to help Colin--and you. Whatever I gave you was a gift, not a loan."
"But I'm understandin' that things are a lot more expensive now than I'm used to, and I know that you're not a wealthy man, so if--"
He unfastened his seat belt and turned to face her. "What?"
"Your hands. They're big and rough, like a workman. And you don't wear suits, just the denims and cottons of a working man. I'm not complainin', mind you. I think you look grand in them, but I know that you must work for your money, and needn't spend it on me and my son."
"You can jump to the oddest conclusions of anyone I've ever seen. What are you trying to do, get me to admit how much I'm worth?"
"Mr. Kirby! I'd be doin' no such thing. It's none of my business how much money you have, and it's not even proper to discuss it with you. I'm just informin' you that I'll pay you back when I can."
"Erina, I won't accept a penny of your money. You're making me angry just talking about it."
"I told you it wasn't a proper subject."
"And I told you I have plenty of money to take care of you and Colin," he replied, scowling at her.
She would dearly love to ask him how he'd come by this money, if he indeed had any. Had he inherited it from his family? Surely that must be it. But if he did, he must still work--at something. Good manners forbade her from inquiring, no matter how she longed to know more about him. But how ironic that Jerrold Kirby's money was finally being used to help his son!
"I'll just be goin' into the church then," she said when he remained silent.
He got out of the Cherokee and walked around, opening her door forcibly. "You could have looked up my personal or family income in one of the Texas business journals." His eyes flashed and a muscle in his jaw where that dimple sometimes appeared, now jerked in repressed anger.
"I don't know what you mean," she said warily, hoping he didn't become abusive when he was in a temper. She didn't believe he was the type of man who would strike a woman, even if he was more than willing to tell her what to do.
"Don't you? Even though my mother is the primary stockholder, Kirby Investments is still my company. I run it. And we have assets in excess of $400 million."
With that announcement, he took her arm and steered her toward the front doors of the church. She felt numb, her mind refusing to comprehend what he'd just said as her feet automatically moved her forward. As they neared a statue in the midst of a small garden, Erina dug in her heels and stopped.
"$400 million dollars?"
"Yes," he said before urging her on.
Lord in heaven! How did one man, or even one family, acquire that kind of wealth? Even if tea cost five dollars a cup, $400 million dollars was too much to comprehend.
But then she entered the vestibule of the church, passed through the heavy oak doors that she knew so well, and slipped inside the darkness of the rear of the church. Finally, something familiar.
"Wait," she said, turning back toward the door. "I need to cover my head."
"You don't need to do that any longer."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I remember clearly when my mother gave away an entire closet of hats to charity."
"If you're sure . . ." She turned around and looked in wonder, expecting the cathedral to appear much the same as it did when it was only fifty years old, back in her time. But so much had changed! Instead of pews reaching almost to the doors, a strange sort of display had been erected. Colorful signs and banners, along with pamphlets of different sorts, covered the latticework walls and wooden table tops. There were brightly painted shields of each diocese, but she didn't recognize most of the names.
No, not even her church was familiar any longer. That realization filled her with sadness and a longing for something solid and real in this new world.
The holy water resided in the middle of this new area, so Erina knelt, touched her fingers to the liquid, and made the sign of the cross. At least that tradition had remained the same. As she walked up the aisle toward the altar, more changes became obvious. The beautiful gas lamps were gone, replaced by smaller ones that looked like they should hold candles, but appeared to have the glass bulbs she'd seen before in electric lamps. Gone was the communion rail. The whole area was now raised from the original floor by tiles of white and black marble. Behind the dais was a carved wooden piece that seemed too small for the area. Stained glass windows faced each other high on the wall, but sunlight did not shine into the church there. She imagined that a wall had been added which blocked the sun.
Most of all, she thought as she approached the Virgin Mary's altar, the statue had changed. The face was different, looking down from a marble table instead of the sturdy oak one she remembered. But this was just an image of Mary, Erina told herself. She could still give thanks, even though nothing about the Holy Mother seemed the same.
What had happened to her statue, the one she'd prayed before with Colin? It must have been replaced long ago by some well-meaning bishop or due to an accident or natural disaster. The fact that she'd transcended time, that she was here when the statue of Mary was long gone, struck her with awe.
Erina knelt at the marble rail that fronted the statue. "Holy Mother, I'm here to give thanks to you for savin' the life of my son Colin. You granted my miracle, and guided the hands of the doctors as they operated on him. And I want to thank you also for sendin' me to this new time, and lettin' me experience all the wonders of this world."
She stopped her prayer and turned toward the back of the church. Just as she thought, Grant Kirby sat in a back pew, hands folded across his chest, looking at her. $400 million dollars. That was unbelievable. Incomprehensible.
She quickly looked away. Resuming her prayer, she closed her eyes and tried to block the sight of him. "I want to thank you for sendin' me into the care of Mr. Grant Kirby, who has been more than kind to me and Colin. And I ask for your blessin' on him also, because he really is a good man, even if he doesn't believe where I'm from.
"In the name of Christ your son," she ended, crossing herself, "I pray."
Erina stood, but still didn't turn back to the rear of the church. She needed to absorb the feeling of peace she'd always found in church, but with his eyes on her, she knew peace would elude her
As she stood there, uncertain and confused about her feelings for Grant Kirby, a priest entered the church from a door beneath one of the stained glass windows above the dais. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, Father. If you have time to hear my confession, I'd be very grateful."
"Certainly. Evening mass isn't for another forty-five minutes. Come right over here."
Erina looked at the place he'd indicated with a sweep of his arm towards the front of the church. Nothing more than a table with two chairs, and a tiny screen, it looked more like a place to dine than a confessional. Grant would be able to see her there, and she'd feel his eyes on her when she should be concentrating on seeking peace and forgiveness. Then she remembered the velvet draped confessional she'd seen in the back of the church.
"Father, may I give my confession in other one? The closed one."
"We don't use that one any more. It's merely a relic of the past."
"But that the kind I'm accustomed to. Please, Father. It would mean so much to me."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Just for you. Come."
Erina followed the priest toward the back of the church, glancing just once at Grant. Her heart beat a little faster at his intense look. She slipped inside the confessional, feeling comfortable for the first time in such a long while. Here was something familiar, something from her own era.
"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," she began. "It has been two weeks since my last confession." Two weeks and a hundred years, she amended silently.
The priest said his words, she responded, and then it was time to admit to her sins.
"I doubted the power of the Blessed Virgin on one occasion, and lost my temper twice," she admitted. "And I was kissed by a man who is not my husband," she added hurriedly.
"Are you married?"
"No, Father."
"Then that is no sin."
"But Father, I . . . I felt . . . I felt lust for this man."
"Did you act on this lust?"
"No, Father."
"Then you have committed no sin. Go in peace, my child."
"But Father!"
She heard the slide of the velvet curtain, then the faint footsteps of the priest as he walked away.
She also thought she heard him chuckle.
Erina frowned. Why hadn't the priest told her to say a dozen Hail Mary's, or give up something she enjoyed, or attend an extra mass? He didn't seem at all concerned that she'd admitted her feelings for Grant went beyond gratitude.
Shaking her head, she exited the confessional. Near the back of the church, she saw him place some paper money inside an envelope and slide it into a slot on a wooden box. "Are you ready?" he asked, looking up as though he knew she'd be standing there.
"Aye, I'm ready," she said, still feeling a bit sour over the priest's dismissal of her confession.
"Church must not agree with you. You don't look like you're in a good mood."
"I'm just not understandin' this time of yours," she said peevishly. "Some people act more than a bit odd."
With that, Grant Kirby burst into laughter--and in church, of all places!
#
Grant returned Erina to the hospital after buying her lunch on The Strand and listening to her "ooh" and "ahh" over the "changes." Probably since she'd been to Galveston last time, he thought to himself as he drove back to the condo, a year or so ago. And she was so excited by the horse drawn carriages standing along the streets that she'd spooked one normally placid animal. Grant had slipped the driven a ten and apologized for Erina's exuberance. She was from the country, he said softly so she wouldn't hear, as if that explained her unusual behavior.
She was not from 1896, despite her convincing portrayal of an young, innocent, Victorian, Irish-Catholic . . . What? She wasn't old enough or worldly enough to be a woman, but she was a mother. Grant had no doubt that Colin was her son. She loved that baby too much to be anything else.
She was too damned young, that was for sure. Too young to be a mother, too young for him . . .
He pulled into a parking spot near the elevators and slammed the door of the Cherokee. He couldn't get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many times he told himself she was not his problem. No matter how often he told himself to make sure the baby had what he needed and forget about the mother.
The cold front that had come through on Saturday was rapidly dissipating in the warm breeze off the gulf. As he opened the door of the condo and stepped inside the air-conditioned comfort, he again wondered how Erina had managed to break in without setting off the alarm system. He knew he'd turned it on before slipping into bed. In many ways, he'd become a creature of habit--mostly out of necessity. Being a real estate mogul did not come naturally.
He hadn't wanted to run his father's business. He'd wanted to become a geologist and was well on his way to his undergraduate degree when his father had died.
So he'd transferred to Harvard, only after strong alumni recommendations and academic counseling, to learn business instead of rocks. Without Brian Abbott's help in getting into Harvard and by holding Kirby Investments together, the company would have folded years ago.
Grant eased into a comfortable chair and dialed Brian's office.
"Where have you been, son? I've been trying to reach you on the cell phone."
"Believe it or not, I've been in church. I had the phone off."
"Church? You?"
Grant chuckled. "Don't sound like the earth is going to split open and swallow me up. I went with a . . . friend."
"It's that woman, isn't it? I knew she'd have a strange effect on you."
"She is different," Grant said, looking around the living room. How did the modern furniture look to her? Too stark and plain?
"How's the kid?"
Grant smiled. "He made it through surgery just great. Erina's at the hospital with him now."
"Good. Now maybe you can get your mind on business. We need to meet with the Phoenix people on Thursday. That's the latest I could make the meeting. We're pushing it at that."
"Okay. I can make Thursday."
"Well, hot damn, Son. I'm glad to hear it," Brian said sarcastically, his voice booming over the telephone as though he was right there in the room.
"Don't get on my case. I've had a few things on my mind."
"Grant--"
"What time is the meeting?"
"Ten. I'm having lunch brought in so we can get finished in one day."
"Fax me whatever I need. I'm staying down here until Thursday morning."
"Hell, Grant, come on back to Houston. Your mother's having a dinner party on Wednesday night for one of her pet projects--Friends of the Library, I think. Why don't you--"
"I'm staying down here, Brian. I know you can't accept this, but I'm going to be involved in that baby's recovery."
"It's not the baby I'm concerned with," Brian replied.
Grant ran a hand through his hair. How could he reassure Brian about something he didn't fully understand himself? "I'll be in around nine thirty on Thursday. Just send me what I need before then."
He hung up the phone, concerned that Erina and Colin were coming between him and Brian. He hoped not. Brian was like an uncle, at least. Maybe even a father.
Grant pushed out of the chair and walked around the condo. Funny, he'd always thought of it as peaceful and quiet. Now it seemed empty. Barren. Not at all like Erina, who glowed with warmth and motherly love.
He walked into the guest bedroom. She'd need somewhere to go after Colin was released from the hospital. No one had ever used this extra bedroom except her, when she'd changed clothes after her bath. When was that? Yesterday? It seemed much longer than that.
She'd need a crib for Colin, plus some baby clothes and diapers. And other things. He had no idea what a baby needed outside the basics. The guest bedroom contained one double bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. A crib would fit nicely at the end of the bed. And even another chest, if needed, to store the baby clothes.
He needed to do something about that soon. The doctor had said that Colin could be released in a week.
Across the room, he heard the fax machine receiving. The information about the Phoenix management firm, no doubt. He had to look at it, just to make sure he had what he needed for the Thursday meeting.
Then he was going back to the hospital and check on Colin. And convince Erina that she should stay at the condo.
#
Erina learned a lot that afternoon, reading magazines in the Intensive Care waiting room. She didn't understand many of the words that were used, and wanted to know more about some of the historical events that were sighted, but she got a good picture of how modern women were supposed to act.
She was shocked to the roots of her hair. Grant had asked to her act more "normal," but there was no way she was going to behave like these women, with their short, revealing clothing, their quest for perfect lovers, and their constant concern over what they ate and drank. She couldn't believe all the articles about the sexual act. Women seemed obsessed with it, for what reason she couldn't imagine. The very idea made her flushed and hot. Despite her attraction to Grant, she didn't believe that the act of coupling could be as wonderful as the writers expressed.
Could it?
She was debating the issue with herself when the object of her speculation appeared in the doorway. She dropped the magazine like a hot pot and tried to calm her racing heart.
"Sorry I've been gone so long. How's Colin?"
"He's fine," she said, sounding somewhat breathless to her own ears. "They let me see him every hour, but only for a few minutes."
"I'm sure he'll be out of ICU soon. I talked to the doctor on my way in."
"You sought him out?"
"No, I saw him in the hall and asked."
"What did he tell you?"
"Basically that Colin was doing great, but he was worried about you."
"And why would the doctor be worryin' about me?"
"Maybe because you look like a strong wind would blow you over."
Erina thought back to the magazines she'd read, the pictures of the tall, curvy models. She supposed she did look underfed and unkempt compared to them. Was Grant Kirby accustomed to those kinds of women? And if so, why was he spending so much time with her?
She raised her chin. "I'm just a bit on the short side, Mr. Kirby."
"Have you eaten anything this afternoon?"
"No, not after the lunch you fed me."
"It's almost dinnertime."
"Then I'll eat a bit soon."
"We'll go out to dinner. Do you like seafood?"
"You mean fish and the like?"
"Yes. Gaido's is what you need. Great food, large portions."
"I'm not leaving Colin again."
"You can't stay here constantly."
"I slept here before. I don't see why I can't stay again."
"You had a cot in his room. Now he's in ICU. You can't stay in these chairs overnight."
"I don't see why not."
"Well, you just can't," he said imperiously. "Let's get some dinner and then we'll come back to the hospital and see Colin again."
She thought of the fresh water, the toothpaste and sweet smelling soap at his home, and longed for a moment to refresh herself. But she couldn't put her own needs first.
"Colin is fine. He'll sleep most of the time anyway, so you might as well get some food and rest."
"Why do you want to take me to dinner?" she asked, looking up at him. He wasn't smiling. His arms were crossed over his wide chest in a gesture she'd come to recognize as extreme stubbornness.
"Just because I do. Now why don't we ask if they'll let me see Colin before we go."
"But--"
He walked toward her, stopping in front of her chair and holding out a hand. "Come on, Erina. I'm starving, even if you aren't."
She gazed up at his handsome face, wondering how he'd become so familiar to her in such a short time. She should tell him to go to dinner alone, that she'd stay with Colin here all night, even if the hospital didn't want her to sleep in this chairs. But he looked so earnest, and seemed to care so for Colin's welfare.
She should tell Grant Kirby that Colin was her child and she'd take care of him. Colin wasn't this man's responsibility.
She held out her hand. "I'm just goin' to dinner with you, Mr. Kirby, and only if Colin is fine."
He pulled her up quickly, catching her against him as she titled forward. "I asked you to call me Grant."
"I . . . I'm tryin' to remember."
"Remember this." She felt a rush of excitement as his head descended, as she felt his hot breath and then his firm lips lock over hers.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of pleasure. His lips slanted and coaxed a response she couldn't deny. Just like in the magazines, she thought. She finally understood what the nurse meant by "hunk." But not even the nurse could know how wonderful he kissed, how he made her feel as though she were floating off the floor in a mist of stars. When she felt his tongue brush against her closed lips, she didn't even try to resist his gentle invasion.
"Ms. O'Shea?"
She barely heard her name, but suddenly his lips were gone and she dropped back to earth in a dizzying fall.
"Yes?" she whispered, still staring into the blazing eyes of Grant Kirby.
"You can see Colin now. Sorry to interrupt."
Erina pushed away, but he held her steady when her knees threatened to buckle. The nurse was gone, they were alone again, and yet the spell was broken.
"Do you mind if I go in with you to see him?"
"No," she said, not meeting his eyes.
"I'm not sorry I kissed you, Erina," he said softly.
"I should slap your handsome face," she replied before thinking. As soon as the words left her mouth, she looked at him.
He smiled, the dimple appearing like magic. "I don't think you're into violence, so I'll ignore the threat," he said easily, "but I'm glad to know you find me appealing."
"I didn't say you were appealin'," she said, blushing and looking away. "I just said you had a handsome face. Now I'd like to see my son."
"Whatever you say," he replied with a chuckle.
Colin looked very peaceful, even with all the tubes and bandages across his little chest. Erina knew she was getting used to seeing him attached to machines and things that she'd learned were monitors to check his heart and breathing. She no longer wanted to cry when she saw needles stuck under the skin of her baby. She wished he didn't have to suffer, but she was grateful for the doctors' ability to save Colin's life.
Standing beside her, Grant filled the room with his large body and warmth. He reached out and stroked his finger down Colin's cheek, brushing against her arm as he bent toward the bed. Erina's heart seemed to flutter at the image of the strong man and the tiny child. How wonderful it would be if Colin had a father like Grant.
What was she thinking? She'd been sent to this time for a Colin's surgery, not for a husband for her and a father for her baby. And he'd get what he needed to save his life, of that Erina was sure, whether it was in the form of the doctors, the hospital, or a generous man like Grant Kirby. The Holy Mother had not let her down. To ask for more would be selfish and foolish.