39. Chapter 39
Chapter 39
T o do her grand confession, Fabienne decided on a picnic. The weather was cloudy, but at least on the warmer side of early spring. She and Brayden went down to the stream and spread a blanket in a meadow spotted with white and yellow flowers.
“And that’s why, when you substitute a wrapped string for an actual ball, you should always make sure the string is truly well wrapped,” Brayden concluded one of his stories. He lifted his head from where it rested in her lap.
She laughed. “Still sounds like fun. Oh! We should try baseball. I never had the opportunity to play it. Is it very hard?”
“Depends on your coordination. You’d certainly be good at the running part.”
“I don’t know if we have enough people. I doubt Gertrude would want to join us.”
“I doubt you would want Gertrude to join us.”
“You don’t know that,” she accused him in a playful tone. “I could employ some ladies at the Sanitary Commission. Perhaps Mrs. Plaskett would consider a charity game. She’ll like anything if it has charity added to it.”
Brayden shook from silent laughter.
“What?” she said. “Am I amusing you?”
“You’ve been different for the last few days.”
“Have I?”
“You haven’t thought about such things earlier. And you’d never arranged a picnic before.”
“Not only have I arranged a picnic, I baked jelly tarts, too. I’m saving some for after supper, but if you’re persuasive enough, you can have a preview.”
He remained serious. “I’m glad you’re well.” He toyed with her fingers. “I’m sorry about my accusations. I was too hasty. We went from meeting to marrying in one year, with most of that year spent apart. With everything else going on, it was no wonder you had a hard time adjusting.”
“No, please.” She spread their joined fingers. “You’d done everything right. It was me. But it’s also all in the past, I promise.” With the other hand, she smoothed his hair and played with a lock, wrapping it around her finger. “We got lucky in the end. We figured out we can live with each other. Imagine being hasty and then finding out the opposite.”
“There was always the option of a divorce.”
“Don’t ever mention that again. I’m not letting you go anywhere.” She bowed down to kiss him. “At least not without me.”
He cupped the back of her head. Little by little, he drew out the pins holding her bun, and strands of hair descended around them like a privacy curtain.
“You’re going to have to arrange that back,” she said with a smile.
“Can’t we say you got caught up by a branch?”
She shifted so she lay half on top of him, her hands resting on his chest. Somewhere near, a bird chirped. The clouds opened enough for a ray of sun to shine down on them. It was time. Her heart skipped a beat.
“I love you,” she said.
His lips quirked. “I love you, too.”
Her blood was replaced by liquid happiness. She gave him another quick kiss, then sat up energetically. “Tarts? With strawberry jam, Mrs. Tatham’s specialty, and a bit of my help.” She uncovered the neatly arranged pastries in the basket, handed one to Brayden, then bit into her piece. “Delicious. Even if I do say so myself.”
The air trembled. For a moment, she had a strange feeling—of something being there, when it wasn’t—and then it all returned to normal.
Brayden took a bite of his tart. “They are good. Do we need to save them for supper?”
“I can always bake—”
Brayden coughed. Then he coughed again and grabbed his throat. A redness spread up his neck.
“Brayden?”
His speech was cut off. The convulsions escalated.
“Brayden!” She leaped across the blanket. He fell back, his breathing rapid, pupils dilated.
“What’s wrong? Tell me what…” She scratched at his chest, pulled at his clothes to loosen them. When that did nothing, she cradled his head. “Just breathe. Breathe. I’ll run for help—”
His breathing calmed. His eyes rolled back, and his head fell limp into her hands.
Everything stilled.
Something shifted behind her. Icy dread traveled down her spine. She’d felt this unnatural absence of sound before. Time freeze.
A dark shape paused beside her, and a voice whispered into her ear. “Hello, Fabienne.”
She jerked back, keeping hold of Brayden. The man, previously crouching, stood up. He wore dark clothes and a hood, concealing the upper part of his pale face. Beneath it, something on his head glimmered silver and blinked blue.
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble.” His voice was calm, too calm. “But I think you’re not a stupid person, and you’ll realize what I’m doing, and why I came to visit you.”
He stopped time. But how could she still move? It shouldn’t be possible.
“Brayden—”
“You’ve changed the game. I’m afraid I must change it back.” He crouched again and tilted his head. “You’ll finish the mission we recruited you for. Your incentive is not to bring someone back from the dead.” His long fingers brushed Brayden’s hair. “It’s keeping him alive .”
“You can’t—”
“Does it look like I can’t? Go ahead. Try me.” Cold, cruel lips quirked in a smile. “You weren’t able to stop me now.”
“What makes you think I’ll do it, after you… after you had…” She squeezed Brayden’s immovable form to her chest. She didn’t need frozen time to know he was hanging on by a thread. And they were at least a mile from the nearest help.
“I’ll let him live. This time,” the man continued, still in that maddeningly calm voice. “This was a warning. Now, remember. You’ll do what you’re told. Any step out of the way, any spoken or written word of this to anyone, any attempt to weasel out of it—and trust me, I’ll know—and the next time, I’ll let the poison run its course. Do you understand?”
Next time? But how—
“Do. You. Understand?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. You have a meeting, tomorrow, three in the afternoon, at this address.” He handed her a small piece of paper. With the other hand, he laid a small, octagonal-shaped metallic object on the ground. A point at the top blinked yellow. “Remember to behave. Good luck.”
Something punched Fabienne in the stomach. Her entire body vibrated, the pain clouding her vision, pushing her into a void. When it cleared, she was lying beside Brayden, who was messing with her hair.
“Can’t we say you got caught up by a branch?” he said.
She pulled away, staring at him.
He was fine. Breathing. Alive. She enveloped him in a hug, covered his body as if this could somehow protect him. But it couldn’t.
The man was gone, but Brayden wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe for him .
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“I guess it is a bit cold for a picnic. Can we go back?” Surprisingly, her voice came out stable enough.
“If you wish. And if you’re cold, I have a few solutions for that.”
She tucked her head under his chin, seeking comfort he didn’t know he was giving her.
It wasn’t as if Fabienne didn’t try. She didn’t dare to travel back and prevent the picnic from happening in the first place—the man would find another way of proving his point—but she went further back and tried other changes. Robbins said they were hard to make, but he also lied about her family.
Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be lying about this. Fabienne traveled to the day Robbins first approached her with the mission and tried to reject his offer. She got thrown back before she could say a word. She tried writing herself a note, hiding the watch—nothing helped.
She had no other choice but to meet Robbins in town. Strange, that he’d want her to go there; he’d always insisted on the cabin. Even stranger: the address led to a grimy street near the river, and a shoddy building that may have once been a boardinghouse. Fabienne waited there for fifteen minutes, nervously glancing over her shoulder whenever she heard voices from the perpendicular street. Then a figure approached from the other side; a man, with the collar of his swishy coat turned high.
He brushed past her. “In here.” He unlocked the door to the boardinghouse and, without checking if Fabienne followed him, headed up the rickety old stairs. Neatly slicked dark brown hair, dark, almost black eyes—she’d never seen him before.
“Where’s Mr. Robbins?”
“As a result of your last meeting, Robbins had been assigned to other duties.” The man led her into a small, light room with spartan, threadbare furnishings. A narrow bed; a soiled desk with a single chair; a dusty armoire.
Fabienne gulped, worrying about what this man could do to her here, alone—when she noticed they weren’t alone. An old man sat in a wooden wheelchair, his skin pale and saggy, save for a few dark blue blotches on his hand and neck. Rashes… just like the reaction she had to almonite. His eyes were an almost colorless blue as he stared out the window, giving no indication he’d noticed the visitors.
“Meet Mr. Olmstead.” Robbins’ superior gave Fabienne a cynical smile. “You’ll excuse him if he doesn’t meet you. He can’t.”
“What happened to him?”
“Our little group has interesting ways of punishing those who break the rules. Robbins told you of horrific accidents that can happen with botched time travel, yes? A particularly inspired scientist discovered a way to recreate one of those accidents —intentionally.” The man walked up behind Fabienne; she shivered as his coat brushed her dress. “Mr. Olmstead used to be one of us, until one day, he used time travel to try to erase a clerical mistake he’d made. Small thing.” The man shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Broken rules are still broken rules.”
“How—”
“They twisted the almonite inside his body—the same that’s flowing through your veins—to make him into this. Nothing more than a vegetable. We assume he still understands, but he can’t talk, move…” The man strolled to Olmstead and patted him on the shoulder.
Fabienne fought against a sickening feeling in her stomach. “Why are you telling me this? Your lackey has already been very effective.”
“My lackey.” Amused, the man caressed his mustache. “Yes, he is good, isn’t he? But you’re stubborn. And I have a feeling you’ll try to weasel out of this. Especially when I tell you the rest of your mission.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me.” Fabienne gestured to Olmstead. “You need me.”
“Oh, no, not you, dear.” He came back to her and gently touched her shoulder from behind. “Your husband.”
“B-but he… he’s not…” The room swirled. “Brayden isn’t…”
“Oh, Brayden is .” The man smiled. “Don’t you know who you were robbing the other night? Don’t you know why?” He clucked his tongue. “You two ought to share more. You’re married, after all. Oh, right.” He let out a short laugh. “You can’t tell him, because we’ll know, which means the Watchers will know, and then we basically hold a race to who punishes your husband first. My assassin or his employers.”
“He’s not involved in any of this.” Brayden, a time traveler? No. Impossible.
“He’s not, but you are. And he is responsible for you. Adjust a few more pieces, and everything falls neatly into place.”
Fabienne only shook her head.
“You’ll need some time to adjust. I understand. I’ll leave you be.” He strolled to the door, then put his hand up. “Ah, of course. You will need to go to Washington. If my information is correct, your husband will be going in ten days. Go with him. You’ll receive further information there.”
“I don’t understand.” She loathed the begging in her voice, but couldn’t prevent it. “Why do all this for a simple package delivery?”
“Right. That is what Robbins said you’d be doing.” The man paused by the door. “In theory, he hadn’t lied. You are delivering a package. Poison.” He bowed his head goodbye. “For an assassination.”
One week later, the war ended.
Brayden took Fabienne to Hartford for the festivities. Businesses were closed for the day, and people cheered and sang on the streets. The city was decorated with star-striped flags and banners, and a celebratory shooting of guns paved the way for a day that would not be forgotten anytime soon. Fabienne plastered a smile on her face, but the happiness radiating from the others passed straight through her. The bright blue sky felt awfully gray, and the joyful songs sounded suspiciously like a funeral march.
Back at home, the good mood prevailed, if Brayden and Jim’s boisterous voices were anything to go by. Fabienne paused by the parlor, trying to find the sadness for those she knew from New Orleans, the happiness for everyone she knew here. But fear engulfed it all, and the last words of Robbins’ superior repeated in her head like a mangled song.
The killing had finally stopped.
But not for her.
“Why are you lurking?” Brayden peeked out from the parlor. “Come inside.”
The table hosted a half-empty bottle. Jim swung a glass in his hand. “There she is, Fabienne! The hero of the nation!”
Wrinkling her forehead, Fabienne looked at Brayden. “What is he—”
“You see,” Jim leaned forward confidentially, “Brayden only stayed home as per your request, and that was a great thing because without his blundering, our forces could finally win.”
Brayden covered his mouth to conceal a laugh.
“How much did you two have to drink?”
“Fabi, old gal, if I’m to be drunk on one day in my life, I choose it to be this day.”
“He’ll be fine,” Brayden said. “We’re just celebrating.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Within the limits of decency,” he added. “Jim can do what he pleases. As for myself, I’d rather not tempt a headache. I’m leaving for Washington first thing in the morning.”
An invisible fist clutched her heart. “You are?”
“We have busy days ahead of us. Plenty of things to sort out.”
Time travel things? She brushed the thought aside—it was too much to deal with. The man could only be manipulating her; it was all he’d done so far, wasn’t it?
But his lackey… a poison didn’t need almonite to work.
Words stuck in her throat. Behind her back, she clenched her fists and forced herself to continue. “Can I go with you?”
“With me? To Washington?”
“These are monumental times. I don’t want to be here alone.”
Please, say no. Say I’m better staying off here. But any pleas would be useless; she’d sealed Washington as her final destination many months ago.
“Do I count for nothing?” Jim said.
“You can come. I’ll have work, but I’ll find time to show you around.” Brayden looked at his friend. “You’ll be fine, Jim. And for God’s sake, while we’re gone, just go to Lorraine already.”
“Thank you,” Fabienne said.
If only he weren’t so obliging. If only he’d still suspect her a spy and not let her within a hundred miles of that city.
In the slowly rising fog of the next morning, Fabienne turned to look at the house before she entered the carriage, drinking in every detail. Remember the life before. Who would she be when she returned? Would she ever return? And then, how could she carry on with her life, with the soul of a murderer?
The sight that had grown into her home offered her no solace right now. The garden would need tending soon. The roses… She could almost see her past self bending over the bush in that corner, turning around to see Brayden.
A lifetime ago.
Brayden helped secure their luggage on top of the carriage, then came to her. “Ready?”
She squeezed his hand and closed her eyes. No. “Ready.”
As if all forces had joined to get her to her destination as soon as possible, there were no delays on the road. Switching trains in New York took almost no time at all, and before she knew it, they were headed for Washington.
“Things are going to change,” Brayden said. From her seat by the window, Fabienne watched forests, farms, and creeks roll by. How peaceful it all looks. “For the last few years, we’ve all been occupied with the war, and many lives took different paths. Before all this, I frequently spent time in Washington.”
She swiveled her eyes to him. “And you think you’ll be doing that again?”
“We need to organize ourselves first. The usual season is from winter to spring. Washington isn’t very pleasant in the summer. But it’s not all about the members of the Congress or us, smaller fish.” He smiled. “It’s a ladies’ world, as much as it is men’s. There are many women you could meet, wives and daughters and sisters of politicians. They have their net of parties and salons, and some have a lot of influence.”
Do they accept traitors, too? “Do you want me to be that? A—a society wife, a politician’s wife?”
He took her hand. “I won’t force you into anything. You don’t have to become a prolific hostess, nor watch a single debate in Congress. But we’re at a point where everything is reshaping. We can take that opportunity to figure out what we want.”
As Washington drew near and the day to a close, an outline of a low building emerged on the nearby hill, slowly disappearing into the darkening sky.
Brayden followed Fabienne’s gaze. “That’s Fort Lincoln. And you have Fort Thayer on the other side. Protecting the railroad. I think there are over sixty forts, all around the city. And earthworks, and batteries placed in the spaces between. It’s the most fortified city in the country. All of this, to prevent the enemy army from invading.”
They moved on, and the trees obscured the view. Yes, you would deter an army, Fabienne thought.
But the enemy can still come inside.