Page 9 of Across Time

"You think you're being brave," he says softly. "But bravery like that will get you killed one day, kelpie."

That word again. "That's the second time you've called me that,” I murmur. “If you're going to insult me, have the balls to do it in English."

He raises a brow. "A lady would not use that expression. And not only do you not know French, you don't know your own language as well. Kelpie is a Scottish word I think. A myth."

"So enlighten me,” I say, as he sets me on the couch. “What is a kelpie?"

He hesitates, his eyes on my face for a long moment before he turns away. "A monster in human form."

* * *

By the time Marie-Therese returns, I've already taken a nap but don’t feel much better for it. She prepares a broth over the stove, her mouth pursed with irritation over Henri’s edict about me remaining on the farm, though in truth I’m probably too tired to make the walk anyway.

I cut carrots for her while she peels potatoes and asks me question after question about university. She wants to know everything: the classes I’ve taken, my plans for the degree, what it’s like to live on my own. Each question sounds more wistful than the one before it.

"Did you ever think about going?" I ask.

She grabs the carrots I've chopped in two certain handfuls and drops them into the pot on the stove. "I couldn't leave Henri all alone," she says. "Perhaps when he marries."

"That poor woman," I sigh. "She has no idea what she's in for with him."

She laughs. "Oh no. Did you see him today? Is he still being a beast?"

"Yes, and he called me a kelpie for the second time, which is apparently a monster in human form."

A small smile graces her lips. "If it's any consolation, it's actually a monster who takes the form of a beautiful woman."

I grimace. "It's not really much of a consolation."

“Poor Henri. We finally get a beautiful girl around here and she hates him. Like I said, you've seen him at his worst. He was so different before he came back from England.”

“England?”

She nods, blowing on a steaming spoonful of the broth to taste before bringing it to her lips. “He was there for university."

For some reason the news surprises me, though it shouldn’t. His posh British accent was one of the first things I noticed about him, after all. "I didn't realize he'd gone."

"It wasn't for him so he left,” she says with a shrug. “But please just ignore him if he’s being rude. I know you can’t see it yet, but there’s not a sweeter, more caring man alive than my brother. Your presence here worries him, and I suppose he’s lashing out a bit because of it.”

“If he’s threatened by me, I’m guessing he’s threatened by almost anything,” I say with a sigh. “As you’ve both pointed out, I’m terrible at time jumping and not even good at stealing.”

Her shoulders fall as she turns back to the stove. “We've already lost both our parents, and I think he blames himself a bit…for not being able to help our mother.”

For reasons I doubt I’ll ever understand, only women can time travel. It hadn’t occurred to me until now how painful it must be for Henri that his sister could choose to charge back and save their mother, but he cannot.

“He’s made it his sworn duty to keep me safe and yet the Germans are getting bolder—it's said they've now crossed the river into Allemagne—and with Madame Beauvoir popping in unannounced and now you…these things happen and it makes him feel like he’s failing."

I don't want to feel sorry for Henri, I really don't. But in both of them I’m seeing a life of promise that's been waylaid somehow. If I planned to stay, and I don't, I might think this is what Kit wanted me to fix. That perhaps she wanted me to save Marie-Therese and Henri from themselves, from this sad, isolated little life they've created, though I wouldn’t have the first idea how. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m definitely not staying.

* * *

Over dinner Marie-Therese is all smiles and laughter, while Henri continues to regard me like some kind of vampire who might lunge forward at any moment to sink my fangs into his neck. The more his sister seems to like me, the more his aversion grows.

"Henri," Marie chides, "you must smile at least once tonight so Amelie realizes you're capable of it."

"She's the guest," he says, eyes on his stew. "I believe she's the one who should be charming."

I pat my lips with my napkin and give him a saccharine smile. "I'm not generally charming to men who've held me at gunpoint. It's a personal thing."