Page 31 of Across Time

"Then I will walk home and leave you for dead, of course."

I laugh. "It was probably your plan all along."

He nods, rubbing his chin contemplatively. "I do wish I'd thought of it sooner."

He helps me lower myself into the grass and I lie back, letting my face turn toward the sun. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and when I open my eyes, he's watching me with a hint of a smile.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm wondering if you've realized yet what happened the day before yesterday?"

"That I broke my ankle? No, I didn't realize it at all. No wonder it's so painful and encased in plaster."

He laughs. "Always so sharp-tongued. I was referring to the fact that you asked—no begged—my sister to use a gift you yourself claim to neither need nor want."

"I certainly realize she refused."

"That's not the point. The point is that some part of you desperately wanted this thing you claim you hate. What makes you think you won't need it again, just as badly?"

"I won't. Mark’s family is very well connected. There's nothing they can't access."

"They can heal a broken bone with the blink of an eye, then?" he asks. "Money can accomplish that in your time?"

He has a point, of course, but I refuse to consider it. "No, it can't. But a bit of suffering is part of life, and using time travel constantly—it becomes a habit, an addiction, to avoid things you'll live through just fine. Maybe you'll even grow from them."

"But you didn't want to grow from the experience of this broken ankle, it would seem."

I’ve come around to Henri, but his constant harping on this topic is getting old. I frown at him. "This is different. It's a special situation. I'm not in my own time. I'm ready to be a different person, and I can't do that until this is all behind me."

He's silent for a moment while the lilies rustle in the fragrant breeze. "I don't think you need to be a different person," he finally says.

"What about my unladylike behavior?"

He grins at that. "True. I'll amend what I said. You don't need to be an entirely different person."

* * *

By the end of my first week in a cast, I've finally realized my sulking does not seem to be changing Marie's mind in the least.

I take over baking the bread and help her make preserves of the strawberries she's picked for days and days. It's hard to do much else, however. I can milk the cows, but I can't carry the milk. I try to feed the chickens, but I'm not coordinated enough to do it while holding onto the crutches. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop feeling resentful—of her freedom, of her mobility, not at all helped by the fact that she’s now busier than ever. Between her language classes and all the things she does for the church, she’s never home. I’d suspect she was doing this hoping a romance might blossom between Henri and myself, except it’s just too absurd. Surely she must realize that even if I didn’t have someone waiting at home, I could never give up my own time to stay here.

Though I’d be lying if I said I never thought of Henri that way. We’re spending so much time together it would be hard not to. He’s been coming in from the fields early on the days when Marie is gone and we spend those afternoons together on the porch, reading or playing chess. I reread Mansfield Park, which isn't as bad as I remember, and finish Tender is the Night out of desperation. I find a new stack of books on the porch a few days later, better books. Some that I’ve read—Sense and Sensibility, Gone with the Wind—and some that I haven’t, such as A Handful of Dust, Decline and Fall, and Howard’s End.

It’s not a bad way to spend a summer, yet I can’t get past being annoyed that I’m confined while Marie’s not. When I enter the kitchen the morning after I’ve found the new books, she is packing her bags to leave. The rain is going to start at any moment, yet I still envy her ability to go at all, to control her life in small ways I cannot. I should be home right now, doing the only thing I can to win my mother over, and every minute I stay here puts that off, which is aggravating because I’ve already waited a lifetime. How could Marie possibly think this situation will persuade me to do anything for her?

I have to force myself to be polite. “Thank you for the new books.”

Her brow furrows. “I didn’t get you any books. I haven’t been back to the library this week.”

I bite my lip. It’s strange that Henri would have done it. And that he’d have chosen so well.

“I’ll be out until after dinner,” she continues. “You and Henri won’t kill each other while I'm gone, will you?"

The rancor between Henri and me has grown into an odd thing. He still routinely acts like it’s an unpleasant surprise to find that I’m here, and I still ask if he’s thinking of killing me. But almost anything he says to me, no matter how terrible, just makes me laugh.

"I'm small and I don't know how to handle a gun. Also, you might not be aware of this, but I have a broken ankle. So I think your brother is safe. No promises on his end, however."

A small smile turns her full lips up at the corners. "I suspect you're safe. And you've forgotten you do have a weapon or two."