Home In Time For Christmas. Heather Graham
at her face, and felt delicious. The world danced by them. She could hear the sound of their skates upon the ice, and it was exhilarating.
“Backward?” he suggested.
“No!” she protested in panic.
“You were born here, and you grew up here?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, I actually did.”
“It’s all right, you don’t even have to move your feet,” he said.
“But—”
“Trust me.”
“I do trust you—on the ice,” she said.
And he did prove to be trustworthy.
She didn’t have to move her feet.
He twisted and turned, they skated backward, forward and backward again.
“Want to try a spin?”
“No!”
He laughed. “All right. We’re good for the day, I imagine.”
He slid effortlessly to a halt. She was looking into the green-and-gold sparkle of his eyes and didn’t realize at first that they had come back to the bench. He was still supporting her.
“Oh, yeah, well, yeah, you know, next time, maybe,” she said. She tried to draw away, certain she could at least make the steps to the bench on her own.
Her legs started to split. She was about to go facedown—or butt-side down, if she overcompensated—on the ice.
But he caught her. Without making any kind of big deal out of it. She smiled. “I told you—no coordination on skates!”
“It will come. It’s all in learning to trust your instincts.”
She cleared her throat, made her way to the bench and took off her skates. As she did so, she saw the bar across the pond. “Time for a drink.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You drink?”
“Right now? You bet. Anything wrong with that? ”
“No. Pop culture, I assume.”
She stood, shaking her head. “And look, keep your story straight. I know a lot of people around here.”
“As you wish.”
“Don’t keep telling me that.”
“As you—all right.”
“When we’re out, and you don’t know, just let me answer—please.”
“Of course.”
As they walked toward the bar, he was thoughtful.
“What?” she asked, exasperated.
“Eventually, you will believe me,” he said quietly. “Somehow, I have to get back to my own…place.”
“At the end of a hangman’s noose?” she asked sharply.
“No. Right here. But when I’m supposed to be here,” he said quietly.
She studied him for a moment. “You need a drink worse than I do,” she told him.
“If you don’t believe in magic, couldn’t you even stretch a bit and try to believe in a miracle?” he asked. “What I’m telling you is the truth. Serena loves me, and she tried to save my life. Obviously, since I do seem to be flesh and blood, she did save my life. And maybe her magic worked because it was like a prayer for the innocent or the righteous, whichever way you want to see it.”
“Serena?” she said. “Your—wife?”
He shook his head, smiling. “My sister. Adopted, as a child, by my parents, when hers were killed in an Indian attack. She was my only sibling, and we were close. She shouldn’t have been in New York—she should have been here, in Gloucester. I was so afraid for her. Am so afraid for her. And I have to make sure that she did make it home, that. I mean, good God, you really can’t imagine what it is—was—like. Some believed the Revolution was a deadly and tragic mistake. Others saw it as a right to freedom. There were fine British sympathizers and soldiers. But those capable of cruelty come in all uniforms. I’m very afraid for her. She is my family, you see. Somehow, I have to find a way …back.”
Melody stared at him blankly, unable to believe for a moment that what she’d felt at first was actually jealousy. Of an unknown woman.
His sister.
Adopted sister.
Was she crazy herself? Was that jealousy again?
Insane. The whole thing was insane.
“Look, Jake, we do have the Internet now, planes that fly at supersonic speeds—but as far as I know, there is no pathway that leads to years gone by. No time travel. We just haven’t gotten to that yet.”
“Maybe it’s time to get to it,” he said. “There has to be a way.”
She hesitated. “We can go and try to check through some of the church records. And this area does live in the past sometimes. So many of the houses are really old—diaries and the like are always being found. Maybe we can research and find out what went on. My mom might have some old books that will help us.” She hesitated. “My mom…she thinks her ancestors were pagan healers, or Wiccans. She’s always researching the past for what was really going on when the British came over. She has the entire trial records from the Salem witchcraft mania.”
“Really? They never did hang any more witches, did they?” he inquired.
“Not that I know about.”
“I really need your help. I’m most grateful. We have to discover a way for me to get back.”
She shook her head, exasperated. He was crazy—and persistent. “I really need a drink.”
And with that, she headed for the bar.
Chapter Three
The Pond Bar was neighborhood friendly and pleasant. It was a quiet night so far—probably because it was fairly early and the day’s weather had been so bad. More people would come out later, Melody was certain, glad to escape their houses or the harrowing drives they had made during the day. But at the moment, the little place was quiet.
She chose a small table next to the cast-iron potbellied stove, and pulled her gloves off as they sat. Jake Mallory was once again looking around—then he focused on one young woman in the place who was wearing stiletto boots and one of the miniest minidresses Melody had ever seen.
His shocked gaze moved to her and he lowered his head to whisper, “Is that. I mean, is that woman a. lady of the night?”
Melody moved closer in, as well. “College student, probably,” she said.
“One goes to college for that occupation now?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. Her outfit is modern—daring, especially in winter. But I don’t think she’s a hooker. Sorry. I believe the term hooker came from the Civil War—Hooker’s girls. Never mind. I don’t believe she’s a prostitute. That’s called a minidress. She’s got the youth and the body for it, looks pretty cute.”
“Ah. I’m sorry—it wouldn’t be considered decent at all in my…world,” he said.
“Thank God you didn’t fall to earth on Miami Beach,” she said.
He gazed at her, refraining from asking her about Miami Beach. She was glad—a waitress warmly clad in corduroy jeans and a turtleneck sweater came to the table. Melody opted for a totally fattening Kalhùa and hot chocolate, and Jake said that he’d have the same.
The