Chapter 7
Seven
Mary Abbott blinked. “You’re not my sister?” she echoed. “Funny, you could have fooled me. How come you look like her, talk like her, dress like her and happen to be in the middle of her bedroom, wearing her dressing gown?”
Susan shook her head. It had been a crazy impulse to blurt out the truth. Not only would Mary Abbott not believe her, but she’d think she was crazy, as well.
She turned her face away from the little girl who would someday know her far too well. “Sony, just a stupid joke on my part,” she said in a deliberately casual voice. “Tell Mom I’ll be down as soon as I change.”
Mary didn’t say a word, but Susan could feel her calm blue eyes surveying her. “You don’t call her Mom,” she said finally. “You call her Mummy, or Mother if you’re annoyed with her, or sometimes even Elda. But you don’t call her Mom.”
Susan kept her back turned. “My mistake,” she said. “Go away and let me get changed.”
“You’ve never been particularly modest, either,” Mary continued. “Unless you’ve got some new bruises you don’t want me to see.”
That startled Susan into turning around. “New bruises?”
“Check your arm. The old ones are probably faded by now, but there may be new ones.”
Susan slid off the chenille bathrobe and surveyed her right arm. It was smooth and soft, without the firm muscle tone she was used to.
“The other arm,” Mary said patiently.
They were fading now, a yellowish-purple memory on her upper arm. She stared down at the bruises in surprise. It would have taken a fair amount of force to leave that kind of mark on her.
“How did it happen?” she asked.
“You told me you walked into a door.”
“But how could a door do that?”
“Exactly,” Mary said. “So why don’t you remember? I don’t think you even know who I am.”
“Of course I do. You’re Mary Abbott, you’re nine years old, born April 25, 1940, and you’re my...sister.” She barely hesitated.
Mary, with her precocious face, looked far from convinced. “He hit you, didn’t he? Is he the reason you don’t remember anything?”
“He didn’t touch me!” Susan protested hotly. “He was just sitting by the window, smoking, when I woke up and?—”
“I’m not talking about Jack. Jack would never hit a woman, though he might be tempted. I’m talking about Neddie. He’s the one who left those bruises on your arm, and it’s not the first time he’s done it. I can understand your lying to Daddy, but you don’t need to keep it from me.”
“Why would I lie to Daddy?”
“Because this marriage is too important for the family, and you know it Daddy made a lot of money during the war, but it was all with Neddie’s help.
And things haven’t been so good lately—I’ve heard Mummy and Daddy fighting about it If you marry Neddie the business partnership goes through, and they’ll build all those little boxy houses in all the poorer towns of Connecticut New York and New Jersey.
And the Abbotts will be very rich once more, and everyone will live happily ever after.
Except poor Lou, who should have run when she had the chance. ”
Susan pulled the maroon dress over her head, searching and finally finding the zipper on the side of the dress, under her arm.
She zipped it then sat back down at the cluttered dressing table and stared in the mirror.
Mary Abbott was reflected behind her, young and old at the same time, mother and sister, child and parent.
She turned to face her. “Do you trust me, Mary?”
“Yes.”
“Then will you help me?”
“Help you get away from Neddie? Absolutely.”
Susan shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s what I’m supposed to do. If that’s the lesson I need to learn. I’m here for a reason, and I haven’t the faintest idea what that reason is.”
“You’re here because you were born here,” Mary said flatly.
Susan shook her head. “No, I wasn’t I was born twenty years from now. I’m not Tallulah Abbott I’m her niece, Susan, and somehow I’ve gotten trapped inside her body.”
Mary didn’t say a word. She just looked at her for a long, solemn moment, then shook her head. “You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Mary came up to her and put her small hands on Susan’s face, cupping it as she looked deeply into her eyes.
It was the strangest sensation—Susan had felt that loving touch, that gentle gaze many times in her life, but this time the hands were a child’s hands, the eyes that looked into hers were innocent.
They stared at each other for a long, silent moment and then Mary spoke. “If you’re Lou’s niece that would make you my daughter.”
Knowing how absurd it would sound, Susan shut her eyes for a moment. “Yes.”
Mary released her face, taking a brisk step backward. “I almost believe you.”
“I know it’s impossible to imagine, but...what?”
“I almost believe you,” Mary said again. “Your eyes are different They’re the same shape, the same color, but there’s someone else looking out of them. I’m guessing this is probably a dream, but I’ll go along with it for now. What do you need from me?”
“Thank God,” Susan breathed. “I need you to help cover for me. I only know the barest details of Tallulah’s life and family. My mother...er, you... never talked much about her, or the family.”
“You never met Tallulah? Why?”
Susan didn’t want to tell her the truth. That Tallulah Abbott died on her wedding day, fifty years ago, three days from now. “She died young,” she said evasively.
“How young?”
“I don’t think you really want to know the future, do you? Besides, this is a dream. Personally I think it’s my dream, not yours, but that doesn’t matter. Sooner or later we’ll both wake up and be back where we belong, and you don’t need unhappy memories?—”
“You die,” Mary said flatly.
“No.”
“All right, Tallulah dies,” she corrected herself impatiently. “When?”
“I don’t think?—”
“If you want my help you’ll have to tell me, or I’ll go back downstairs and leave you to fend for yourself,” Mary said in her mature little voice.
Susan took a deep breath. Mary had always been a stubborn soul, and she had no doubt she meant what she said. “Three days from now,” she said finally. “On her wedding day.”
Mary took a deep, shuddering breath. “No,” she protested.
Susan reached out a hand to touch her. “Well, I think it would be clear why I’m here. I’m supposed to stop it. Stop Tallulah from dying.”
“You’re right You shouldn’t be marrying Neddie, anyway, and we both know it You’ll have to call it off. If Lou doesn’t get married, then the future will have to change.”
“Maybe. It’s the best I can come up with on short notice.”
“You’d better come down to dinner,” Mary said. “The sooner you face them all the easier it will be. You can say you’ve got a headache. You haven’t been very talkative in the past few weeks, anyway, so no one will probably notice if you just sit there.”
“And then what?”
“And then maybe we’ll both wake up. And Lou will be back and everything will be all right.”
“You’re only nine, but I bet you know that doesn’t happen,” Susan said.
“Lou isn’t going to die,” Mary said fiercely.
“That’s a promise,” Susan said.
The shoes were horrible. High-stacked heels, when Susan hadn’t worn anything but flats and running shoes for the past ten years. Her ankles almost collapsed as she made her way down the wide, winding staircase of the old Abbott mansion, but Mary was beside her, providing physical and moral support.
She’d seen photographs of the old house, and her mother had occasionally told her stories of it, but it still was far from what she imagined.
She’d pictured something out of an old Cary Grant movie, but this place was in color, slightly shabby, as if there hadn’t been enough money for new slipcovers or carpets in the past few years.
The war hadn’t been over for that long, Susan reminded herself.
Maybe there was still a shortage of goods, even for wealthy people like the Abbotts of Connecticut.
The elderly man standing at the makeshift bar glared at her as she entered the room. “It’s about time,” he said. “You’re too late for cocktails, but then, your mother’s made up for it The others are out on the patio—we’ll go in for dinner now.”
She stared at the querulous old man. He had to be her grandfather, Mary and Tallulah’s father, the esteemed-Ridley Abbott He looked like an old man, and yet he couldn’t be much older than fifty.
“Why don’t I see if I can help serve?” she suggested.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have servants to take care of such things. Go find your mother and your fiancé and tell them you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.” He whirled on Mary. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” Mary said in her admirably calm voice. “Lou and I will go call the others.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “Lou can get them by herself. I want to have a little talk with you.”
Susan squashed down her sudden feeling of panic. She had absolutely no idea where the patio was, and if there was anyone out there besides Elda and Neddie she was going to be up a creek without a paddle.
“Not now, Daddy,” Mary said. “You can yell at me after dinner. I’m too hungry right now.”
“And whose fault is that? Your sister’s, that’s who. And now we’ve got that nosey, parker here as well, which doesn’t improve my disposition, let me tell you.”
“Which nosey parker?”
“You know who I mean,” Ridley said, pouring himself another glass of whisky. Straight. “I can’t wait till this damned wedding is over.”
“Neither can I,” Susan murmured. But the old man had already dismissed her, concentrating on the dark amber of his drink.