“Are you okay?” I asked him, swinging the gate open. He nodded stiffly, and we pushed through to my yard. The silence made clear that our schnauzer Ruby wasn’t home: she’d bark at any sound. Mercifully, the spare key was still wedged beneath the untrimmed hedge.
I unlocked the back-porch doors and took a hesitant step inside. “Mom?” I called, my stomach in knots. Nick must’ve been sweating bullets as we entered the weathered clapboard house. To him, Carol Grace was more than his future mother-in-law—she was practically an alien from an unknown world.
Silence greeted us. Perhaps Mom was upstairs asleep after one of her overnight nursing shifts. Dishes clogged the kitchen sink, and a trace of coffee circled the bottom of a cup on the counter. A pile of unfolded laundry sat on the living room floor beside a fresh spaghetti-sauce stain on the carpet.
I left Nick on the couch and hopped up the stairs, two at a time. Mom’s unmade bed was empty, but her toothbrush felt damp. Prescription pill bottles sat opened on the counter, but I didn’t know what they were for. Remorse wrenched my insides apart. Had my disappearance made my mom sick?
Opening my bedroom door revealed the modest space mostly as I’d left it. The only thing different was my suitcase: it sat open on the bed with the contents unsettled. My old jewelry tackle box looked pitiful beside the neighboring trio of new sweatshirts I’d bought for London. All those hopes and plans that never happened. The book Mom bought me, A Student’s Guide to Living and Learning in London, had been searched through. She must’ve looked for signs for why I never caught that plane.
Feeling heavy with guilt, I untied the pieces of my Tudor gown and changed into jeans and a pale-pink sweatshirt. After tying on my sneakers, I wrapped my arms around myself, savoring the comfort of cotton.
“Mom’s not here,” I said, trotting back downstairs. “But she was home recently.”
Nick nodded, more color escaping his cheeks at the sight of my modern outfit. “We will wait.”
I spent the next half an hour tidying up while Nick tapped his thighs with his fingers, surveying the living room he’d seen once before. I could tell he was trying not to flip out, which I appreciated. His nervous gaze scanned the faded wooden dining table…the threadbare cushions on the couch…the paint-chipped walls…my masculine outfit. He must’ve thought my time was so drab compared with Hampton Court and his twelve thousand other palaces. Thank the stars he didn’t ask me about the black rectangle in the corner; he was so not ready for daytime television.
After washing up the dishes, I made us some tea and buttered toast. Nick inspected the neatly sliced bread before risking a bite.
When he glanced at me, it was clear that honey-wheat bread wasn’t the heaviest thing on his mind. “Tell me, Emmie; I must know. Is the King of England a Tudor?”
I choked on my crust. Last time we were here, I’d refused to tell Nick anything about the future. My presence in the sixteenth century was bad enough; we didn’t need its king editing his decisions to accommodate my version of what was to come. But we were getting married now, and he deserved something. So I explained the current state of the British monarchy and the added role of prime minister. Nick didn’t have a conniption or start foaming at the mouth, which was a relief. He then asked me about France and Spain, but all I shared was that Europe was mostly at peace. When I reminded him that America had no monarch but a president who was accountable to the people, his brows practically hit his hairline. “That is madness.”
“Actually, a democratic government is infinitely more equitable and fair than an absolute monarchy.” When I realized what I’d said, I rolled my eyes at myself. I was talking like him, even while back in my world. All those lessons with my ladies were starting to pay off.
“It defies the will of God Himself,” said Nick. “I am pleased that England remains dutiful of its princes.” He shook his head, glaring into his teacup, genuinely miffed.
I swallowed an urge to quote some of the Declaration of Independence—especially the part about all men and women being created equal. It wasn’t like I had no regard for the royals, but we’d come a long way since the divine right of kings.
Our shared silence was an agreement to disagree, and we finished our snacks with no sign of my mom. I considered calling her, but if she was driving, it might shock her into a car accident.
A distant vibration drummed a ripple across the sky through the screen door.
I stood up and grabbed Nick’s arm. “I know what we can do for a few minutes that won’t require a car. Come with me.”
We headed back to the field where two horses stood flicking their tails and crossed the field to Bayberry Street. Nick gaped at everything in sight, asking me what more things were, and I did my best to explain without freaking him out. We cut away from the street and onto a rustic path behind my friend Mia’s farm. It led to an abandoned fire lookout tower on the crest of a small hill.
“It’s over here,” I said, leading Nick to the tower. I climbed the first few rungs of the ladder, brushing the orangey rust residue off my fingers. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
“Not nearly as afraid as I am of your coaches bereft of horses,” he said behind me. He scampered up the ladder with ease. We paused at the top, my feet hovering a few rungs above his. “I never go onto the balcony,” I explained. “It’s old wood up there, so I’m scared it’ll collapse.” I dropped down a few rungs until we were eye level and carefully snuggled close to him without disturbing our footing.
Nick’s neck twisted in all directions. “Good God. Is this what you wish to show me? This gray matter?”
I chuckled. “The gray rectangles are roofs. The big ones are probably farms or warehouses. But that’s not what I wanted to show you.” I pointed to an overgrown strip of runway in the distance. “There’s a small airport there…mostly for recreational flying.”
“Flying?” His face crushed with a frown.
I grinned. “Just wait. It’s a beautiful day, and there’s a family with a huge farm out that way, bigger than Mia’s. I’m pretty sure I heard their plane already.”
I was supposed to be watching for the Cronin family’s light aircraft, but the sunlit flecks of green in Nick’s confused eyes were hard to look away from. The wind blew a wisp of hair across my face, and he brushed it away, my heart picking up speed. His fingertips drew a slow line down my cheek, his gaze becoming soft and intent. He tugged me forward without losing our balance on the ladder, and our lips and breath melted into one, tasting of heat and love. Despite our precarious position, my fingers instinctively dug into his pants, tugging at his shirt, when the sky growled. Our mouths parted, and our heads jerked up as the canary-yellow plane swooped past the tower with its wings outstretched.
“Forget cars; this is how the well-to-do travel,” I said over the wind and distant propeller, a smile of pride in my voice.
Nick blinked at me, his eyes enlarging. “Flight?”
“Aye, Captain.” I felt my chin lift. “It’s another form of travel in my time. In a big passenger plane, we could get to England from here in less than ten hours.”
His gaping face wouldn’t look away from the sky.