Page 23 of Across Time

I hold his eye. “You think Marie’s the hidden child.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and gives a particularly forced laugh. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it? Because she was conceived during the war and born after it, in France. You’ve referred several times to hiding Marie, and your mother said she thought the circle of light might be like Excalibur…something only a chosen one could access, but she knew she wasn’t the chosen one. But you can pretend I’m wrong if you want. I’ll just discuss the theory with Marie and see what she thinks.”

His jaw grinds. And then he exhales slowly, unhappily. "Fine, yes. In the last letter my mother wrote me, she told me what she believed and asked that I make sure Marie stays hidden here.”

I’m glad he’s admitted I’m right, but the whole thing still doesn’t make a lot of sense. Hiding Marie here because of a theory about who she could be is a little extreme, and Henri is usually level-headed. “But she might not even be the hidden child. I mean, lots of families probably conceived daughters during the war and gave birth to them afterward.”

“Yes,” he says, “but of the first four families to ever develop the gift, only one resides in France. Mine.”

“How could you possibly know that?” I ask.

“Nothing is certain, of course, but on my mother’s side it’s all been pretty thoroughly documented. Since so few of you can carry the ability, it’s pretty straightforward.”

I sit with that a moment. If he’s right, it pretty much has to be Marie, doesn’t it? So maybe it’s not extreme after all. “So when I first arrived here, when you were so awful to me..."

He looks away again. "I thought you'd found her. I meant to shoot you but I just couldn’t."

“And here I was just thinking you were an aggressive jerk.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. “I wouldn’t rule that out either.”

“I won’t tell anyone about Marie when I go home,” I say. “I assume that’s why you were worried about me visiting your mother in the first place.”

He shakes his head. “No, I already knew you wouldn’t. My concern was that you’d tell Marie.”

My eyes go wide. He can’t expect to hide this from her? “But—”

He holds up a hand. “Yes, she deserves to know,” he says, “but first I think she deserves to have a normal life. This circle of light, if she's this hidden child of the prophecy—we have no idea what it really is. How does she follow her heart with that kind of pressure? I want her to make the decisions she’s going to make, free of it. That’s what my mother wanted for her too.”

I put myself in Marie's shoes. You’d think this circle of light she’s supposed to produce is probably a child, but even if it isn’t, the responsibility of it could freeze her in place. Because how will she ever know if her next decision is the one she’s supposed to make. One bad choice—turning the wrong corner, choosing the wrong mate—could ruin it all.

"You'll need to tell her eventually," I reply.

"I will, but not yet. Let me give her a few more years. Let her fall in love, decide on the life she will have."

Meanwhile, he puts everything he wants from life on hold in order to protect his sister, to preserve her ability to choose a direction for herself.

"I won't tell her,” I say. “But I'm going to give her the information she seeks...about where your mother was headed.”

He stiffens, his head bent low as if he’s waiting for a judge’s sentence. “What year?”

He has stated before that he’s certain she’s dead, but I still wish I wasn’t the one who had to confirm it. “She went back to 1918,” I reply. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, his head still bowed. “I already assumed she was dead,” he says quietly.

I think of the moment they found Kit in the lake. The sight of the policeman carrying her tiny frame, her long hair a waterfall over his arm. Until that moment, it remained possible she was simply lost or playing a prank.

I lay my hand over his. “There’s a difference between suspecting something and knowing it for sure.”

* * *

Henri leaves me to dress and then I slowly walk downstairs. My speed has less to do with exhaustion and more to do with dread. I wish I didn’t have to be the person who destroys Marie’s hope.

She smiles at me when I enter the room. "Back safe and sound,” she says, so casual she could be mentioning almost anything—the weather outside, the amount of sugar in my tea—but her hands tremble as she places a plate in front of me. I glance up and in her face is everything: she remains a girl who longs for her mother. She is envious of the time I just had with her. And I envy her for having the mother she did, even for a short while. “I already know about your trip, to some extent,” she says. “You weren’t even back yet when I suddenly had this memory of my mother telling me about your visit, as if it was something I’d known but buried. Isn’t that amazing?”

I frown. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to change your memories.”