Chapter 9
Nine
There used to be some television show about someone who traveled through time, trying to fix people’s mistakes.
She’d never been into TV much, except for old movies, but she’d seen an episode or two and liked it.
Maybe that was why she was here. To stop her aunt Tallulah from making the mistake of her life.
To change history. And then Tallulah might still be alive.
Except this wasn’t an episode of “Quantum Leap,” and there was no gorgeous actor around.
Well, Jack McGowan did happen to be unsettlingly attractive, but he wasn’t the one traveling through time.
And neither was she. This was a dream, a crazy, mixed-up dream, brought on by the stress of the wedding.
She simply needed to get through it and she’d wake up back in her own bed, ready for her own wedding.
She grabbed the chenille bathrobe and headed for the luxurious, pink-tiled bathroom, which Mary had assured her was the recently remodeled height of modern plumbing conveniences.
There was no shower stall, but the huge tub at least came equipped with a shower head, and even smoked-glass doors, and she had every intention of getting thoroughly clean.
She couldn’t wait to get the smell of cigarettes out of her hair.
She hadn’t taken into account how strange it would be to brush someone else’s teeth.
Her mouth wasn’t that dissimilar from what Susan was used to, but the body was strange indeed.
She’d never soaped such ample breasts before, and the flesh beneath her hands was softer, less muscled than the body she was used to.
Obviously women in the late nineteen forties didn’t work out.
There was no way in hell she was going to put on that horrific girdle again, though she had no choice with the holsterlike bra that turned Lou’s already generous endowments into Madonnalike missiles.
It took her forever to find a pair of baggy Levi’s, and she almost wept with relief when she did.
There were no T-shirts, of course, but she found an oversize man’s dress shirt that worked perfectly if she tied the tails in front of her.
She even found a pair of blue sneakers, and for the first time she began to feel slightly human, even with the unfamiliar mane of long wet hair trailing down her back.
There was no sign of anyone else as she made her way down to the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee.
The comfortable-looking woman who worked as the Abbotts’ maid stood at the stove, busy with something, but she looked up when Susan walked in.
Hattie, her name was, Susan remembered. She was someone her mother still occasionally talked about.
Hattie had been more of a mother to Mary Abbott than anyone.
“’Morning, Miss Lou,” she greeted her placidly. “You’re up early this morning. You don’t usually get out of bed before nine.”
Susan glanced at the clock on the wall. It was seven-thirty in the morning—no wonder the house was quiet.
“I was too restless,” she said, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs and yawning. “I couldn’t sleep any longer. Maybe I’ll go for a run.”
“A run? Now why on earth would you want to do a fool thing like that?”
Oops, Susan thought. “Well, a brisk walk. I need some fresh air. Something to clear my head.”
“You didn’t have anything to drink last night, sugar. Why would you need to-clear your head? Unless you’re thinking twice about marrying that young man of yours.” Her voice was soft and noncommittal, but Susan didn’t miss the faint undertone.
“You don’t like Neddie, do you?”
Hattie turned to look at her. “Mr. Marsden’s all right,” she said carefully. “If he’s what you want, then that’s fine. I just hope you know what you’re doing, Miss Lou. I’ve taken care of you since you were a little baby, and you’re like one of my own. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
“I’ll be okay, Hattie,” she said. Wishing she could be sure of any such thing.
“You go on into the dining room, and I’ll bring you your tea, baby,” Hattie said.
“Er...I’d rather have coffee if that’s okay. And couldn’t I just have it here with you?”
Hattie stared at her. “Miss Lou, you never liked coffee. And your mama would have a fit if she found you in here eating with the help.”
“She’s not my mother, and I really don’t care what she thinks,” Susan said. “And I’m in a coffee kind of mood. If you don’t mind the company?”
Hattie gave her a radiant smile. “I’m gonna miss you, Miss Lou.
If it weren’t for Miss Mary, I’d finish up here.
Things have never been the same since your real mama died.
” She set a cup and saucer down on the oilcloth-covered table in front of Susan, then poured her a cup of oily black stuff out of the aluminum percolator on the stove.
“You gonna keep your promise to your little sister?”
“Don’t I always keep my promises?” Susan replied, hedging. The coffee was too strong and almost flavorless, but she suspected that was more a fault of the can of supermarket coffee sitting on the counter than Hattie’s culinary failings. She dumped some sugar in it and drank it, anyway.
“This is no house for a little girl. Even if you can’t take her to live with you like you promised, maybe you could arrange for her to visit.
If Mr. Marsden doesn’t mind. If he doesn’t want her around, maybe you could arrange for her to go away to boarding school. I think Miss Mary would like that.”
“He’ll want her around,” Susan said firmly, remembering the fading bruises on her arm, and wondering if bringing Mary into that household would be taking her from the frying pan into the fire.
For that matter, what was Tallulah flunking of, marrying a man who hurt her? If he had no qualms about bruising her before marriage, what would stop him once she was his legal property? And Susan had no doubt Neddie Marsden would consider any wife of his just that. His possession.
No, she had to stop the wedding. If this was some kind of weird, time-travel experience then it was her chance to change history and save Tallulah’s life. If it really was a dream, then there’d be no harm done.
But how would Neddie Marsden take to being jilted the day before his wedding?
“Everything’s going to be fine, Hattie,” she said calmly. “I promise you.”
“I surely do hope you’re right, Miss Lou,” Hattie murmured, looking doubtful. She glanced out the kitchen window to the formal gardens, her broad face creasing. “Now what is that man doing here at this hour?” she said, but there was affection in her voice. “It’s too early for visiting.”
A sudden chill went through Susan’s body. Or was it Lou’s? “Neddie’s here?” she demanded, unable to hide her alarm.
“No, ma’am. It’s that Jack McGowan.” Hattie tried to sound disapproving and failed completely. It was clear she had a fondness for the man. “You take him a cup of coffee and get rid of him, you hear? If Mr. Marsden was to show up there might be trouble.”
“Why would Neddie show up?”
Hattie shrugged her solid shoulders beneath the starched uniform. “He likes to keep tabs on you. You know that Now see what Mr. Jack wants and then get rid of him before there’s trouble.”
At that moment Susan thought she’d rather face a grizzly bear, or at least Tallulah’s unpleasant fianc6, than deal with Jack McGowan first thing in the morning. Whoever and whatever she was, she was far too vulnerable to him, and it only complicated an already-difficult situation.
She stepped out onto the flagstone patio in the early-morning sunshine, the coffee in her hand. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” he replied, looking up at her. Reaching a hand up to shade the glare of the rising sun behind her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Hattie sent me out with a cup of coffee for you and strict orders to get rid of you,” she said cheerfully, coming down the stone steps and into the shadows. “What do you want?”
“I promised Mary I’d help her with something,” he murmured absently, taking the delicate cup from her hands. He should be drinking from a mug, she thought, but obviously people didn’t use mugs in 1949, just those delicate, hardly hold anything teacups.
“What?”
He took a deep drink, obviously stalling. “Hattie makes some of the best coffee in the world,” he said.
Susan kept a straight face at that one. “Are you going to keep acting like a television commercial or are you going to answer my question?”
“Television?” he echoed, startled. “I didn’t know the lordly Abbotts owned such a plebian appliance.”
“They don’t,” she said, guessing. “But the ads must be the same as the radio, right?”
“With the added benefit of pictures,” he drawled. “What’s between Mary and me is a secret She likes surprises, and she doesn’t realize what a joke this wedding is. I think she just wants to get the happy couple a wedding present.”
“It’s not a joke...”
“Okay, okay,” he muttered, draining the coffee. “You want to tell me why you’re dressed like that?”
She glanced down at the jeans, the white shirt, her sneakered feet. “It’s comfortable. I’ll have to dress up later so I might as well wear what I want now.”
He reached out a hand and caught one long, damp strand of hair. It curled lightly against his fingers. “I’ve never seen you without your hair curled and arranged, your clothes just right I sure as hell have never seen you without makeup.”
“Sony,” she said, unrepentant. “Now you get to see what a hag I really am.”
“Not quite,” he murmured. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”
She glanced down, startled. “What makes you think this is yours?”
“Because I gave it to you, five years ago, after the dance at the country club. You had a fight with your parents and you’d taken off, and by the time I found you you’d fallen and skinned your elbow.
Like the perfect gentleman I always am, I gave you the shirt off my back to bind your wounds and then drove you home. ”