Page 13 of Across Time

I’ve just begun to milk the first of the two cows when I hear the crunch of hay underfoot. He stops a few feet away and I ignore him.

"If you pull from the top of the udder," he says quietly, "it'll come faster."

I brush my eyes against my sleeve, wishing he would leave so I could take a deep breath.

But he doesn’t. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I don't actually think you're a monster, or a thief."

I glance up at him. For the first time ever, he looks contrite. "Then why do you keep saying it?"

He rubs the back of his head. "Because with each hour you spend here, you're making things harder,” he replies after a moment. “No matter what you say to Marie-Therese, she's convinced you're going to find out where our mother went. Whether you intended to or not, you've gotten her hopes up."

I stand, wrapping my arms around myself. I liked it better when Henri’s objections to my presence seemed ridiculous. But this one isn’t. "I thought you agreed that me traveling back to see your mother was a bad idea."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I do. I know my mother wouldn't want Marie-Therese following her, and there’s probably a reason she left in secret. But my sister can't move on from her obsession while you're still offering some possibility of assistance.”

I stare at the ground, trying to gather my thoughts. What he says makes perfect sense. God, I'm tired of getting everything wrong. “And you want me to leave before it gets worse,” I conclude.

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. “I’m sorry. If things were different, I—”. His gaze rests on my face, more wistful than I’ve ever seen it, and then he shakes his head. “Things aren’t different though,” he sighs, more to himself than me, and he turns to walk out of the barn.

Once he’s gone, I lean my head against the back of the stall. “Kit,” I say quietly. “Why the hell am I here? What do you want me to do?”

There is silence, of course. Those nightmares drove me to the brink of insanity, but this was obviously all a stupid mistake. I’m not saving or helping anyone. I’m just making their lives worse, and it’s time I left well enough alone.

7

My departure plan is less than perfect. I’m not even close to being ready to jump home yet, so I will sneak out tonight after they’ve gone to bed and stay toward the outer corners of the orchard until my strength has returned. They don’t venture out that far much, and if I hear them, I can always just hide in the woods. The blueberries are ripe and I should be able to sustain myself on those until I get back.

Dinner is simple that night, ham and cheese and bread and fruit. When they are not looking, I push bits of ham and cheese into my pockets. I'm not sure they’ll stay good outside in the heat, but I'm probably going to be getting sick of blueberries before I can get home, so it’s worth a shot.

Over dinner, Henri is almost pleasant. He’s polite and manages not to call me a single name through the entire meal. What a shame that on the one night he's proven capable of behaving himself, I'm too exhausted and worried to appreciate it. I’m worried for myself, of course—the idea of sleeping outdoors with no shelter in particular—but mostly I’m worried for them. The Germans will be here within the next two years, and it's within my power to warn them. I'm just not sure if I should.

"If...something bad was coming," I venture, "would you want to know?"

"No," says Marie-Therese. "Of course not. I don't want to spend years and years dreading something that might not happen."

I glance at Henri. He looks less certain about that than his sister but finally shrugs. "She is probably right," he says. "It's best we just live the lives we were handed."

I wish this hadn't been their answer. It’s already too late anyway, I remind myself. If they die in the war, I can’t undo that.

This fact doesn’t reassure me at all.

* * *

I retire early, but when the house is finally quiet I sneak downstairs in the borrowed dress, the one with its pockets full of food, and write a quick note to Marie-Therese, telling her I hope we meet again, which is true. If I can find her in my time, perhaps then I can explain why I snuck out the way I did. I slip outside with my shoes in hand, holding my breath as I pull the door closed behind me.

The night is silent. A light breeze and crickets in the distance. There's a bright moon and once my eyes adjust, I think I'll have no problem picking my way through to the orchard’s outskirts. Yet as I put my shoes on, the plan feels a lot less simple than it did during daylight. The prospect of traversing the dark fields in the middle of the night has a chill inching along my spine, and falling asleep in them is difficult to even contemplate.

I cross the yard, going around the barn so I don’t wake the animals. Even in the moonlight it’s hard to see the uneven ground, and I stumble in a small divot, feet sliding a few inches over gravel before I regain my balance.

"In the mood for a stroll?" asks a voice. I jump, heart hammering, and turn toward the sound.

Henri. Sitting against the back of the barn, drowsy but unsurprised to find me here.

"You sleep outside?" I ask. It's all I can think to say.

"Not if I can help it," he replies, rolling the blanket under his arm and walking my way. "But I could only think of one good reason a guest would be shoving food in her pockets all night, and it turns out I was right."

I sigh heavily. "I'm just trying to do what you asked."