Читать книгу Home In Time For Christmas - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 7

Okay, that was all she needed.

The mental-man thought that her house was his.

She inhaled deeply. “Okay, okay, I hit you on the head really hard. But you can’t go in there telling my folks that this is your house.”

He was staring at the lights. It was as if he had never seen such a vision.

Well, to be truthful, not many people had. Her folks did get carried away.

“Jake.”

“Um, yes! Sorry.”

He looked at her again. His eyes gave the impression that he was entirely sane, completely honest, and giving her his steadfast attention. She felt a little start. Something that tightened and trembled within her.

Why did he have to be a madman?

They were striking eyes. They made him something other than just a handsome man. They made him real. Deep and hazel, and seeing her, really seeing her.

“Jake, whatever happened before in your fantasy world, trust me. My folks own this home. They paid off the mortgage several years ago. They worked hard, they love it—and they own it.”

“Of course.”

“You’re not ready for this,” she said worriedly.

He had turned to stare at all the lights again in pure wonder. “How do the lights work?” he marveled.

“Electricity. Your buddy, Ben Franklin, laid all the foundations. Hundreds of years later, I think Thomas Edison got it all really going, and hey, now we’re in the age of real technology—you cannot stare at everything like a kid in a candy store!“

He looked at her. “I’m sorry. But it’s just wonderful. The colors, the brilliance! So very, very beautiful. Ben always was a genius.”

“Yes, of course. There have been a few improvements,” she said dryly. Oh, this was going to be a disaster. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and groaned. “What am I going to do?”

He waited. “My dear young woman, it will be all right.” He smiled.

She gave him a fierce stare. “Listen, we can’t tell my family the truth or they will take you to the nearest hospital. Let’s say we know each other for now—until I can figure out what to do. Soo… We met at college. You’re an historian, okay? You dress up and give people tours.”

“All right. Tours of what?” he inquired.

“Um—Boston. You work for Boston Tours, Incorporated. All right?”

“Boston Tours, Incorporated. Yes, I understand.”

He still stared at her.

She shook her head. “Just follow my lead. And don’t gape at anything that’s—that’s not familiar to you in your, um, current state of mind.”

He smiled, but his eyes were grave, as was his tone. “You must understand. I was hanged during the Revolution.”

“Sure.”

He looked at the house with the Christmas lights blazing and then looked back at her, that odd and endearing smile teasing his lips once again. “You need to learn to believe in magic,” he told her. “But, I do understand. We met at Boston College. I studied English literature. Now, I’m working for Boston Tours.”

“You’re a costumed interpreter,” she said, nodding.

“The lights are beautiful,” he said.

She shivered suddenly. Reality. It was getting cold in the car.

“Come on. Let’s go in,” she said.

She leaned over and opened his car door. He grimaced, thanked her and stepped out into the glittering snow. Then he waited.

She got out of the car, questioning her own sanity once again as she walked around and crooked a hand around his arm. They hurried up the walk and onto the porch together. As they neared it, the door burst open.

Her mother had been waiting for her.

Mona wasn’t exactly a hippie. She was a strange combination of old-fashioned lady of the house with a bit of the wild child thrown in. She had tons of thick, curling blond hair that had only a few strands of gray. She loved yoga and Enya and anything that smacked of man’s peaceful coexistence with his fellow man. She had grown her own food years before the word organic had begun to appear in supermarkets.

She’d been at the original Woodstock.

She always wore long, flowing shirts and dresses, like the flower grower’s version of Stevie Nicks.

Her one great drawback was that even though she had passed that mark of having lived on the earth for over half a century, she saw no evil in anyone, and believed that all could always be made right with the world. She had no enemies. Strangers were always friends waiting to happen.

“Melody! Mark. Oh, Melody, I thought you said that Mark couldn’t come with you—oh, goodness, I’m sorry, you’re not Mark!” Mona said, a hand fluttering to her breast.

“No, ma’am, I’m Jake Mallory. How do you do? I’m sorry to be a strange and uninvited guest, but Melody assured me that you would not mind the intrusion.” He spoke naturally, even if his accent was more than strange. More England than New England, Melody thought.

But he was doing well enough. He was natural and courteous. Her mom greatly appreciated common courtesy in anyone. Manners were a main grievance with her—Mona believed they cost nothing and made the world a better place.

Mona smiled, accepting his hand. “Well, of course, you’re welcome here. Everyone is welcome here, young man.” There was warmth in her tone, but confusion in her eyes. She looked at Melody, questioning.

Melody gave her mother a big hug. “Mom, I found out Jake was going to be at odds for Christmas and picked him up last minute in Boston. He was working, and didn’t have time to change, and when we realized we’d forgotten his things, I was already on the road.”

“Oh, and the weather is horrendous!” Mona agreed, hardly listening as she ushered them inside. “And here I am, chatting away on the porch. You young people come in and sit by the fire and I’ll make some hot chocolate.” She turned, heading into the house. Melody and Jake followed. She paused, telling Melody, “Take Jake to Keith’s room, get him something comfortable to wear. Poor dear, working all day, and then that long drive.”

Poor dear! Oh, yeah. Poor lunatic!

The house was old, very old, some parts of it were built sometime in the early 1600s. A small entryway led directly to a massive parlor. A curving staircase led to the second floor where there were five bedrooms. Behind the massive parlor were the kitchen and dining room on one side, and a family room on the other.

Behind the house itself—now covered in snow—was her mother’s summer garden.

And her father’s office. Laboratory, as she and her brother called it. Her father had a fascination with waves. Radio waves, microwaves—sound waves. Any kind of wave.

A happy baying that seemed to fill every inch of sound space came to their ears; Brutus, the basset with wheels for hind legs, came clip-clapping happily into the room, his tail wagging a mile a minute. He was followed by Jimmy, the sheepdog, who was now fat and healthy. Melody knelt down to pat both dogs and they wove around Jake.

“Ingenious,” he said, hunkering down to meet Brutus.

“Yes, and he does quite well,” Mona said happily. “He’s a darling. That’s Brutus. And the pile of fluff there is Jimmy. There’s a cat running around, and that’s Cleo. She’s blind, but she has an excellent sense of smell and hearing. Just don’t panic if she walks into something—she still does that upon occasion.”

“Charming,” Jake said.

“We do love our strays,” Mona assured him happily.

Melody stood. “Okay, we’ve done the petting thing for the moment. Come on up, Jake, and I’ll find some of Keith’s things for you to wear.”

“Poor young fellow!” Mona said, “You’re soaked, you must be freezing. Hurry along now, get into something warmer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said.

Melody headed for the stairs. She stopped and looked back.

Jake Mallory was in the parlor, looking around. She started to snap at him again, but her words froze in her throat.

There was something about his expression that seemed so pained and nostalgic that it was almost… real. She wondered if he wasn’t suffering some kind of tormented dementia. Maybe he really believed that he had been a Revolutionary War soldier. He had fallen out of a time warp in the sky and landed on an ice-covered road more than two and a half centuries later.

She let out a sigh. She honestly didn’t think he was homicidal, and she had been the one to strike him down on the road. She needed to practice patience.

“Jake,” she said softly.

He looked at her, startled, then nodded and followed her. They walked up the stairs together, and turned. “This is your brother’s room?” he asked, stopping at the door where Melody pointed.

“Yes.”

They went in. She left him standing by Keith’s bed, staring at the posters of her brother’s favorites, Axl Rose and the Killers. There was also a large poster of Keira Knightley dressed up for her role in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

“Beautiful,” Jake said.

“Keira Knightley? My brother thinks she’s the most beautiful woman alive,” Melody said.

“I mean—the art. Amazing.”

“It’s a poster from a photograph.”

He started to repeat the word, but didn’t. Melody smiled broadly. “Okay, photograph. It’s from an invention that captures the image of…well, just about anything. Cameras capture the stars now, through telescopes. Oh, a telescope—”

“I’ve seen telescopes,” he said. “Just not…a photograph. Or a camera. But it sounds like an exceedingly wonderful creation. To capture images without charcoal or paints.”

“Right. There are movie cameras, too. They capture—movement. Anyway…”

“Does your brother still live here?” he asked.

“My brother is still in college. But he comes home often,” she said.

She dug into Keith’s wardrobe, grateful that her brother was a lot like her mother—he never minded in the least if anyone else made use of his things.

She found a pair of jeans and an Armani Exchange sweater and handed them to Jake, then hesitated, found a pair of Keith’s briefs, socks and sneakers. She had no idea how to judge foot size, but Jake and Keith were about the same height. Maybe Keith’s feet would be a little bit bigger, but rather too big than too small.

As she produced the sneakers, she found him playing with the zipper. “Ingenious!” he told her.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a zipper. Figure it all out. You know the house. We’ll be in the family room,” she said dryly.

“The family room?”

“Now it’s a family room, I don’t know what it might have been before. You know, when you owned it. Whatever. It’s just below us,” she said. She paused. He’d been drenched. Covered in snow and mud. “The shower is just next door.”

“The shower?”

“Oh, my God, did I pick up a parrot?” she demanded. Okay, play the game. She shook her head and sighed. “The bathroom.”

“An indoor washroom?” he asked, seriously trying to understand.

She crooked a finger at him. He followed her.

Leave it to her mom. It wasn’t all traditional New England decorating that she’d used—it was more New England meets Goth. Her folks loved pirates. The upstairs bathroom was done in early Blackbeard; the shower curtain boasted pirate flags, the decoration had ships—and the standing toilet paper holder was a silver-colored spyglass replica.

She pointed to the toilet. “Indoor…necessary, I believe. Sink. Water comes on and off when you twist the faucets. The shower works just the same. Be careful—they have a mega water heater and when you turn on the hot, it gets hot.”

He still stared.

She pulled a towel from the rack.

“Shower. You turn on the water to your temperature liking. Stand beneath the spray. Use soap. Rinse off. Dry with towel—put on clothing. Okay?”

“Amazing,” he said.

“Oh, God! It’s a hot shower. Get in and get out. And come downstairs when you’re done. No gaping. We have a stove and a television and—”

“Television?”

“Television. You see moving images on it. Fiction, and nonfiction. The news, the weather.” She made a face. “Reality shows for entertainment.”

“Reality as entertainment?” he inquired.

“Precisely.”

“But a television…”

She let out an oath of absolute impatience and hurried on out, closing the door.

In the family room, she found her father. He had been seated in one of the wing-back chairs by the fire, but he stood when he saw her, a tall lean man with a cap of snow-white hair. Cleo had been happily curled just behind his neck and she mewed a protest at his movement. Her father absently patted the cat, then came to Melody. He folded her into his arms. “Melody! I was getting worried about you coming today, the news about all the accidents on the roads has been terrible.”

She gave him a fierce hug in return, and they parted. “So, what’s up, Dad? How’s it all going?”

“Beautifully,” he assured her. “I like being retired.”

Her mother breezed into the room, carrying a tray laden with cups of cocoa and fresh-baked cookies. “He nearly blew up his study last week,” Mona said.

Her father shrugged, a tolerant smile for his wife on his face. “I did nothing of the kind. I had a little spark and a tiny fire going, and that was it. I keep a fire extinguisher on hand at all times, and I was never in any danger of losing the study.”

“Humph,” Mona said, rolling her eyes. She sat. “So, my dear, I don’t remember you mentioning this Jake fellow. Is he related to Mark? He resembles him quite a bit.”

“No, no, they’re not related at all.”

“You’re kidding,” Mona said. “I thought he’d be a cousin or something…even a brother. Wait till you see him, George,” she marveled to her husband.

“And when is the man of the hour coming up?” her father asked, a sparkle in his eyes. “I’m referring to Mark, of course.”

“Mom, Dad, Mark isn’t the man of the hour,” she said seriously.

“But…you were dating him, and you seemed to like him so much!” Mona protested. “He’s such a gentleman, always opening doors for you, trying to get you to sit and relax…he’s a lovely man, really. What happened?”

“He’s still a lovely man, Mom,” she said. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, my Lord, he hasn’t been mean or rude to you, has he?” Mona asked indignantly. “I’ve asked him here for the holidays!”

“He hasn’t been mean or rude, and I hope he enjoys the holidays, and I hope we can remain friends,” Melody said.

“Mark is such a nice young man,” her mother said sorrowfully.

“Mom—”

“I see. You’re not as fond of the fellow as he is of you,” her father said, nodding as he sat back more deeply into his chair.

“Melody,” her mother said sternly, “you haven’t brought your other friend—this Jake—to…I don’t know, to upset Mark, have you?”

“Mom, I brought him because…he really had nothing else to do,” she said.

“Is there a romance there?” her father asked, laughter in his eyes again.

“Good God, no,” Melody said. “Please, no matchmaking with Mark, Mom, Dad. And none with Jake. Got it?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” her mother said. “You’ve got to live your own life.”

“Never,” her father promised.

“So, I’m confused. Aren’t you and Mark working together?” Mona asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re not going to stop doing the book, are you?” her father asked.

“I hope not.”

Jake came into the room then. Keith’s clothes fit him well, and Melody had to blink, he suddenly looked so right. With his hazel eyes, sandy-brown hair and good bone structure.

“Well, there now, you look more relaxed and comfy,” Mona said. “Jake Mallory, my husband, George. George, this is Melody’s friend from college, Jake Mallory.”

“Pleased to meet you, and welcome. So, you’re staying the week?” he asked politely.

Jake glanced at Melody. “If you’ll have me, sir.”

“With pleasure, with pleasure,” George Tarleton said, indicating the sofa and returning to his rocking chair.

“Cocoa, dear,” Mona said, handing him a cup.

“Thank you most kindly,” Jake said.

Melody looked downward, wincing.

“You sound almost as if you’re from ye old mother country,” George said lightly, taking a sip of his own cocoa.

“No, sir. I was born and bred right here, in these parts.”

“It’s a charming accent,” Mona said.

“Thank you,” Jake said. “My folks were born on British soil.”

“There you go,” George said, knowingly looking at his wife. He wagged a finger in the air. “I am good at discerning the little things in accents, huh, dear?”

“Yes, dear, if you say so,” Mona agreed.

“How strange, though. I’m sure I don’t know your folks,” George said. “We don’t have any English friends—do we?”

“My parents have been gone many years,” Jake said.

“I’m so sorry!” Mona said.

“Thank you,” Jake told her.

“But where is your home now?” George asked, concerned.

“He’s living in Boston, Dad!” Melody said, jumping in quickly with the information. She grabbed a cookie and munched it quickly. “Mom, these are delicious. Jake, have a cookie. My mom’s a wonderful baker.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Wonderful,” he agreed.

“Where in Boston are you?” George asked.

Melody couldn’t reply quickly enough—not without spewing sugar cookie over them all.

“I’m right off the Common,” Jake said.

“Lovely area, lovely!” George applauded.

She’d be a nervous, twitching wreck if this went on too much longer, Melody decided. She had to get him off alone again. She leaped up. “Would you two mind if we run out before dinner. Um, Jake hasn’t been around here for a while. I was going to take him down to the pond.”

“Lovely idea!” Mona said. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen all they’ve been up to by the pond. They have some charming shops, and a little bar—I’m sure you’ll have a nice time. Oh, Keith should be home by supper. I’m planning it for around eight.”

“That’s great, Mom.”

“Wait a minute. It was snowing so much—” George began.

“I think the snow has stopped,” Melody said. Even if there was a nor’easter pounding, she was leaving the house.

She grabbed Jake’s hand. “Jake, let’s get going so you can see the pond before dinner. Come on, now, please?”

“Of course.” He stood immediately, trying to replace his cup on the tray, a little awkward since she was tugging at his arm. “Thank you so much. This was a truly enjoyable repast.”

“Let’s go!” Melody persisted.

Her mother was laughing. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You must be a fantastic guide. How absolutely charming. Children, do have fun.”

“There’s skating—weather permitting,” her father called out.

“Okay, Dad, thanks!”

Melody managed to grab two parkas from the hooks by the entry and get Jake out the front door. A pale streak of winter’s day touched the sky; the snow had come down to just a few flurries.

She thanked God for small favors.

As they stood on the porch and she surveyed the muted light of the late-afternoon December sun, Mona popped out on the porch. Melody hoped that she didn’t physically cringe.

“Skates!” Mona said, holding up two pairs of skates. “Keith’s shoes fit you all right, don’t they, Jake? If so, I’m sure his skates will do.”

“I am more than comfortable and quite grateful, ma’am,” Jake said.

“Thanks, Mom.” Melody snatched the skates from her mother and hurried to the car. Jake followed her. She was already in the driver’s seat when Jake joined her.

Mona called something from the porch.

“We have to stop, she’s speaking to us,” Jake said, sliding in beside her.

“It’s okay—she’s just telling you that I’m a klutz,” Melody said. Before he could ask her what a klutz was, she added, “I have no coordination. I’m horrible.”

He smiled, looking ahead.

“You can skate. You’ve heard of skates, right?”

“Yes, I have.”

She started to drive, glad then that her home was Massachusetts. They were darned good at snow. Plows were always out in a matter of minutes. The roads were decent.

“Your parents are exceptionally kind,” Jake said.

“They’re—yes, they’re good people. A little crazy, but good people,” she told him.

“How do you see them as crazy?” he asked.

She hazarded a glance his way. “Pirate-themed bath-rooms? Sculpted ravens, skeleton art, fairies and ghosts and goblins all over—you’ll see. It’s so strange. I feel like I grew up with the Addams Family or as the normal child niece in the Munsters’ home.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” She looked at him again and groaned. “How on earth can I give you a crash course in pop culture? Don’t—don’t you dare copy me! Pop culture is… what’s popular now. Too bad it wasn’t my dad who ran into you. He was a professor. He’d have you up to speed in no time.”

“Up to speed—”

“Oh, God!”

“No, no, I understand. I find it a charming expression.”

“Of course you do,” she murmured.

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s just that…oh, never mind. No. Are you always so…agreeable?”

“You wish me to be disagreeable?”

“No. I wish you to—snap out of it. And don’t repeat after me!”

“All right.” He was smiling, studying the scenery as they passed. “It’s so remarkable. We won the Revolution, and there have been many more wars. So many inventions. Remarkable.”

They had reached the pond. There were a few skaters out, and a few children running around the outskirts, laughing, throwing snowballs at one another. The bar—aptly name the Pond Bar—was just opening. Melody parked and stepped out of the car. She wasn’t sure what to do. She had driven to the pond because she was afraid she was already lying so much she’d start to confuse even herself.

But now…

“You’ve forgotten the skates,” Jake called.

“I suck.”

“Pardon?”

“I wasn’t lying, I’m awful.”

“Well, I’m a decent skater. Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

Skate. Maybe while she was falling on her ass she’d figure out how she’d gotten into this mess.

“All right, all right, bring them.”

There were benches by the pond. They sat down. The skates might have been somewhat modern compared to what he’d thought he had in the 1700s, but they were still basically skates. When they had both laced up, he stood, testing the way they fit, testing his own ability to walk in them.

“Aren’t you going to say remarkable, marvelous, fantastic—or something of the like?” she asked.

“They’ll do. Come on.” He stretched out a hand to her.

“You go. I’ll sit for a minute. Please.”

He watched her for a moment, then went out on the ice. At first, he moved slowly, testing the skates and then the ice. He picked up speed.

She watched him, feeling blank.

Keith picked up strange creatures. She picked up crazy ones.

A moment’s panic set in. What if he was really hurt? If his head had been badly bruised? Was she doing the wrong thing, keeping him away from the hospital?

She thanked God that Mark wasn’t due until Friday. He’d have given Jake the third degree by now, and the police might have even been called in. Mark wouldn’t have gone against her parents’ wishes; he’d have done it on the sly, certain that he knew what was best for everyone else.

So, great. What was she going to do? This wasn’t like Keith, bringing in strays when he was younger. Can we keep him, Mom, can we keep him?

She was going to have to figure something out.

A spray of ice brought her back to the moment. Jake was stretching a hand out to her again. “Will you join me?”

“I’ll make you fall.”

“No, you won’t.”

She was unsteady as she teetered out to him. “Look, I’m usually all right if I’m just going forward,” she said.

“You will be fine, no matter what we do,” he assured her.

And they were. If she hesitated, he was sure. He was so comfortable on the ice that his balance and support leant her a steady hand. He didn’t try to do anything outrageous; he just kept moving, picking up a decent speed, one hand supportive on her back, as they glided along.

Gliding. She was gliding!

The icy coolness of the air rushed at her face, and felt delicious. The world danced by them. She could hear the sound of their skates upon the ice, and it was exhilarating.

“Backward?” he suggested.

“No!” she protested in panic.

“You were born here, and you grew up here?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, I actually did.”

“It’s all right, you don’t even have to move your feet,” he said.

“But—”

“Trust me.”

“I do trust you—on the ice,” she said.

And he did prove to be trustworthy.

She didn’t have to move her feet.

He twisted and turned, they skated backward, forward and backward again.

“Want to try a spin?”

“No!”

He laughed. “All right. We’re good for the day, I imagine.”

He slid effortlessly to a halt. She was looking into the green-and-gold sparkle of his eyes and didn’t realize at first that they had come back to the bench. He was still supporting her.

“Oh, yeah, well, yeah, you know, next time, maybe,” she said. She tried to draw away, certain she could at least make the steps to the bench on her own.

Her legs started to split. She was about to go facedown—or butt-side down, if she overcompensated—on the ice.

But he caught her. Without making any kind of big deal out of it. She smiled. “I told you—no coordination on skates!”

“It will come. It’s all in learning to trust your instincts.”

She cleared her throat, made her way to the bench and took off her skates. As she did so, she saw the bar across the pond. “Time for a drink.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You drink?”

“Right now? You bet. Anything wrong with that? ”

“No. Pop culture, I assume.”

She stood, shaking her head. “And look, keep your story straight. I know a lot of people around here.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t keep telling me that.”

“As you—all right.”

“When we’re out, and you don’t know, just let me answer—please.”

“Of course.”

As they walked toward the bar, he was thoughtful.

“What?” she asked, exasperated.

“Eventually, you will believe me,” he said quietly. “Somehow, I have to get back to my own…place.”

“At the end of a hangman’s noose?” she asked sharply.

“No. Right here. But when I’m supposed to be here,” he said quietly.

She studied him for a moment. “You need a drink worse than I do,” she told him.

“If you don’t believe in magic, couldn’t you even stretch a bit and try to believe in a miracle?” he asked. “What I’m telling you is the truth. Serena loves me, and she tried to save my life. Obviously, since I do seem to be flesh and blood, she did save my life. And maybe her magic worked because it was like a prayer for the innocent or the righteous, whichever way you want to see it.”

“Serena?” she said. “Your—wife?”

He shook his head, smiling. “My sister. Adopted, as a child, by my parents, when hers were killed in an Indian attack. She was my only sibling, and we were close. She shouldn’t have been in New York—she should have been here, in Gloucester. I was so afraid for her. Am so afraid for her. And I have to make sure that she did make it home, that. I mean, good God, you really can’t imagine what it is—was—like. Some believed the Revolution was a deadly and tragic mistake. Others saw it as a right to freedom. There were fine British sympathizers and soldiers. But those capable of cruelty come in all uniforms. I’m very afraid for her. She is my family, you see. Somehow, I have to find a way …back.”

Melody stared at him blankly, unable to believe for a moment that what she’d felt at first was actually jealousy. Of an unknown woman.

His sister.

Adopted sister.

Was she crazy herself? Was that jealousy again?

Insane. The whole thing was insane.

“Look, Jake, we do have the Internet now, planes that fly at supersonic speeds—but as far as I know, there is no pathway that leads to years gone by. No time travel. We just haven’t gotten to that yet.”

“Maybe it’s time to get to it,” he said. “There has to be a way.”

She hesitated. “We can go and try to check through some of the church records. And this area does live in the past sometimes. So many of the houses are really old—diaries and the like are always being found. Maybe we can research and find out what went on. My mom might have some old books that will help us.” She hesitated. “My mom…she thinks her ancestors were pagan healers, or Wiccans. She’s always researching the past for what was really going on when the British came over. She has the entire trial records from the Salem witchcraft mania.”

“Really? They never did hang any more witches, did they?” he inquired.

“Not that I know about.”

“I really need your help. I’m most grateful. We have to discover a way for me to get back.”

She shook her head, exasperated. He was crazy—and persistent. “I really need a drink.”

And with that, she headed for the bar.