April 11, 1820 London, England #3
“The dome is perfectly curved, so sound waves can travel along the wall. It’s called a ‘whispering gallery.’ Theo was obsessed with them when we were kids. There’s one in New York City, too. Or there will be, in about ninety years.”
“You’re not here to talk to someone important, are you?”
“Sure I am,” Oliver says. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
Beatrix rolls her eyes, even though she’s sure Oliver can’t see it from this distance.
“Tell me something,” he says.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Beatrix laughs. “How much time do you have?”
“I’m a time traveler.” She can hear the smile in his voice, even through the whispering wall.
Sitting in the St. Paul’s that is now old but new to her, Beatrix thinks of her St. Paul’s, the one Oliver has never known.
She wishes she had shared that part of her life with him on the day they met in London.
But he was nobody to her then, and she couldn’t have known what the future would hold for her or the cathedral. Or for them.
Oliver sits quietly, his head tipped against the wall. She knows he will listen to her words. That he will remember them. She hopes the cathedral walls do, too.
“St. Paul’s was the first place I came to, when I arrived in London,” she whispers.
It took her almost a fortnight to reach the city from Lancaut. Hunger gnawed at her insides, a feeling that would become as familiar to her as the city’s crooked streets. It was a comfort to her that night. It meant she was alive.
“I slept there, my first night.”
Beatrix can still remember the terror coursing through her veins as she pushed open the church’s massive door, the heavy silence pressing against her as she stepped over the threshold.
“There was this window of colored glass at the end of the aisle. It was a massive thing. Not like the ones that are here now,” she says.
“It was shaped like a flower.” She can still see it when she closes her eyes.
“It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I never even imagined something like that could exist.”
Tears prick behind her eyes. “I was here when it burned. The fire had been raging for days, and St. Paul’s…
it was supposed to be safe.” But St. Paul’s burned the same as the rest of London.
“The roof melted and then the glass…” She brushes a tear from her cheek.
She can’t bring herself to put the rest into words.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says. He’s next to her now. When did that happen?
“It’s silly of me to cry over a building, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think it’s silly. You miss your home.”
“It wasn’t home,” Beatrix whispers. But her words are hollow.
“I won’t pretend I know how you feel, Bea. But I think I can understand.” His eyes are clouded now. “After my parents died, my brother left college to raise me. He was only nineteen. We stayed in the same house. He didn’t change a thing. But it wasn’t home anymore. I moved out as soon as I could.”
She takes his hand.
“I know Theo tried his best, but we aren’t as close as we were before, and I don’t know…” He slumps against the stone wall. “Sometimes it feels like I lost my brother, too.”
“I am so sorry,” Beatrix says. She understands the unique pain of losing someone while they are standing right in front of you. “If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t allowed to attend either of my sisters’ weddings.”
Oliver grimaces. “Ouch.”
Beatrix nods. It had hurt, even if she didn’t let Alice or Isabella see it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to visit old St. Paul’s with you,” Oliver says. He sounds disappointed. No. Defeated.
“I would have liked that,” she says. “But I’m sure you’ve seen more important things.”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“You can’t do everything,” Beatrix says.
“I know. That doesn’t keep me from wishing I could.” He shakes his head. “I guess I thought it would be easier to choose.”
“The choice is easy,” Beatrix says. “It’s what comes after that’s hard. Wondering if you should have done things differently. Wishing you could go back and change it.”
“Zoe would say regret is a waste of time,” Oliver says. “She’s a friend of mine. I think you’d like her.”
“I’m sure she’s right,” Beatrix says. Regretting a choice won’t change it. But like Oliver’s desire to do everything, knowing she can’t change her past doesn’t stop her from wishing she could. “Good thing I have loads of time to waste.”
A shadow passes over Oliver’s gaze. He rises to his feet and picks up her bag. He offers her his free hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, even though she’s already placed her hand in his.
He pulls her to her feet. “To the nearest pub,” he says. “I want to hear all about the old St. Paul’s.”
Beatrix searches Oliver’s face. If he’s humoring her out of pity, he doesn’t show it.
“I told you, I want to know everything.”
She’s surprised that Oliver wants to hear her stories, and even more surprised to find herself eager to tell them. “So do I,” she says.
Oliver raises an eyebrow. “About?”
She smirks at him. “I want to know everything there is to know about Oliver Rhodes.”