Page 27 of Across Time

Marie's arms fold tighter. "I think perhaps it was fate. And I am not one to interfere with fate."

The pain in my ankle makes it hard to argue and harder still to think straight but I do my best. "Why could fate possibly require I stay in 1938 for months while my ankle heals?" I demand. "I'm not even supposed to be here." I suppose I could jump on my own but the idea of it makes me wince, when I can hardly bear standing right now on my good ankle. But I’ll have to, if she can’t be reasoned with.

Henri sees the look on my face and scoops me up again. I want to weep with relief.

Marie shrugs. "I guess we'll know once your ankle is better," she says simply. "I’ll go call the doctor."

She walks ahead of us and Henri follows with me in his arms, careful to avoid jolting me. “I know you’re planning to jump backward yourself if she refuses,” he says. “Please don’t do it.”

I would laugh at how well he knows me if I wasn’t in so much pain. “Why not?”

His eyes close. “Think about how poorly you land under the best of circumstances. I knew you were in the barn both times you arrived here because I heard you falling. If you jump back on your ankle, in addition to how unbearably painful it would be, you’re likely to break something, and then what? Or what if you land in another place, or another time? You’ll survive a broken ankle. But it could be so much worse.”

I sigh. He makes a good point. Knowing me I’d wind up with a shattered spine in the wrong year. But if I spend two months here, two months will pass at home as well, and that can’t happen. “I guess it just depends,” I reply. “I have to be home by August, no matter what.”

He carries me inside, placing me on his bed rather than my own. I’d probably find this all pretty exciting but the pain in my ankle is getting worse and Henri seems to sense it. He pushes both hands back through his hair, gritting his teeth.

"The doctor won't drive at night," he says, dropping beside me. "I'll go get him but it might take a while. Thirty minutes at most. But first, let me try to talk some sense into Marie.”

He leaves the room and begins yelling at his sister in French, so quickly I can only grasp a few adjectives here and there—cruel, insane, thoughtless, selfish. The more urgent he grows, the more stubborn she becomes.

I know he’s given up when I hear the door slam behind him.

She comes to my side then with a bottle and a spoon. "Open wide," she says. "I don’t trust Doctor Nadeau to give you enough for the pain. He's quite stingy."

The fact that I’m going to need a lot of pain medication just angers me more. First, because it never works for me the way it’s supposed to. Mostly, because I shouldn’t have to take it at all. I move my head away from her. "Would you trust him more if he could fix my ankle with a simple blink of the eye and refused?"

She frowns. "I know what I'm doing does not make sense. I just have a feeling about these things sometimes, and I'm not often wrong. It's not so bad here with us, is it? You've been happy."

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.” It’s just so unlike her. Marie has been my ally for weeks, and now she’s actually making Henri seem like the pleasant, reasonable member of the household. "This isn't my home," I cry. "And I need to get back. Mark is expecting me."

She shrugs. "Then you stay here eight weeks and return as if you've been gone two."

I groan. "You know that doesn't work." I've done it before, on a smaller scale—reclaiming weeks you've already spent feels off, like jet lag that never quite goes away. My teeth grind as I force myself to appear cooperative. "Look, if you want me to stay, I’ll stay, but don't make me go for weeks and weeks in a cast. It's just cruel."

She hesitates, as if she’s actually considering what I’ve said, and then shakes her head. "Non. We already know you don’t mind lying. And sometimes fate is cruel.” She pats my knee with a smile that is either sweet or psychotic, depending on the context. "Now, open wide or it will hurt a great deal when your ankle is set."

* * *

A short while later the doctor arrives to pronounce what we already knew—I have one broken ankle, one sprained. He says it will likely take me six weeks to heal, and I once again consider the situation. I don’t want to stay here that long, but I could. I’d still be out of here by late July, which is weeks before I’m due to meet Mark in Paris, and means I’m not jumping backward on a broken ankle and risking a broken spine in its place.

The doctor gives me pain medication but—true to form—it doesn’t make a dent.

Henri stands in the doorway with his arms folded across his broad chest. He looks as if he could burn a hole through Marie, but she hardly seems to notice. She’s right at my bedside, pretending my ankle is her greatest concern.

“I’m going to set the bone now,” the doctor warns. "This will hurt, but only for a moment."

Marie grips my hand and I glare at her. "It doesn't need to hurt at all."

The doctor twists something and I gasp, meeting Henri's gaze over the doctor's head. He’s flinching, brow damp with sweat though the room isn’t especially warm. This is harder on him than it is on me, I realize, just before the doctor twists again and the world goes black.

12

* * *

When I wake, the sun is out and I’m in Henri's bed, wearing a nightgown. I look around the room for my dress before I realize it's probably in tatters from that fall.

Before I can begin worrying about poor Marie and the dress I've ruined, I remember that poor Marie has the power to go back and fix my ankle, yet refuses.