Page 6 of Across Time

"And how do you propose to keep me here once my powers have returned?" I demand. "You're going to kill me? That's your plan?"

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "No. It's not my plan. I just haven't come up with a better one yet."

I was being sarcastic. I’m not sure he is.

"Look,” I say with a heavy exhale. "I don't know what you think is going on here, but I'm not evil. I'm just a stupid college student who thought she might be able to help you, and you live more than five decades before my time anyway. What possible use is your sister’s location to me?"

Marie-Therese looks at her brother as if it's a valid point, but I see something in his eyes before he averts them. Fear, knowledge. What does he know about this situation that his sister does not?

"You may remain until we figure it out," says Henri.

He rises and I watch as he returns to the vineyard. My sense of self-preservation tells me I should run at the first opportunity. Except I’ve barely got the energy to walk, so running is out of the question.

Marie places a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. I know my brother. He talks big but he doesn't have it in him to kill a pretty young girl."

I raise my worried face to hers. "I'd feel better if you'd just said he doesn't have it in him to kill anyone."

Her smile falters. "I wish I could tell you that too."

4

I return to bed for most of the day, so ill I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps I just truly have the flu, because the exhaustion feels exactly the same. Even when I try to wake up I find myself drifting back to sleep, my dreams feverish and illogical, blending the morning’s incidents with memories from home in various ways I’m certain never happened.

When I finally get downstairs again, Marie-Therese pushes me to sit and I’m too tired not to obey, but I also feel guilty just lounging here while she appears to be doing five things at once.

“Let me help with something,” I say.

“You could knead the dough?” She slides it to me on a floured wooden board and goes back to check on whatever’s bubbling on the stove.

When she turns back a minute later she laughs. "What are you doing?" she asks. "You have to form a ball and punch it down, with your ummm…" She holds up her closed hand. "Fist? Is that not how you do it in your time?”

I raise a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.”

Her jaw drops. "Never? Mon Dieu. How? You must be quite wealthy."

My family is anything but wealthy, which is sort of ridiculous given how many ways my ancestors and I could get money. "It's just not a thing people do in my time," I explain. "We’re too busy. We just buy it at the store."

She frowns. "What is it that keeps you all so busy?"

I bite my lip. I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. “Well, most women work or they’re in school. They aren’t home to make bread.” But it's not as if Marie-Therese has a life of leisure here, and when I’m not in class I have plenty of down time. “I guess maybe we’re not all that busy. We’d just rather, you know, read. Or watch TV.”

“TV?” she asks.

It slipped, but is there any harm in explaining it? "Television. It's like a box in your house that plays movies and shows. I guess it hasn’t been invented yet.”

Her eyes go wide. TV has never struck me as a wondrous invention, but I see in her face that it really must have been something when it first came out. Like a rollercoaster that comes to your home when you want to ride it. “I’ve heard of something like this—it was at the world’s fair, I think. I just never imagined it would become common.”

“What about you?” I ask. “What do you do for fun?”

Her smile grows a little sad. “I help with the language classes at the church or sometimes see my friends. Things changed…after my mother left.”

I feel my first flicker of guilt and dismiss it. I’ve done what I agreed to. I found Marie. If she and her brother don’t want to know about the future, there’s not much more I can do, and doing any more would be breaking a promise I made to myself, and also to Mark, even if he doesn’t know I made it. I don’t care what Marie-Therese or her brother say. The second I’m recovered I’m going back home.

* * *

Henri comes in just before dinner. Even after a day outside, with sweat on his brow and bits of hay falling from his trousers, he's the picture of a handsome 1940’s soldier or movie star. All chiseled perfection, a lock of hair falling forward.

He walks into the room and sets apples on the table in front of me. His hands are large, tan from days spent outdoors. "So you won't need to steal them," he says.