The kettle clicked off. Margaret took her time making the tea, not looking forward to the conversation with Robin that she’d delayed too long. Now that she was well over her stomach bug and a doctor had declared her healthy, it was time to lay her cards on the table, so to speak. No more, “I’ll wait until I’m sure I’m better.”

  Robin wasn’t in the study; she was in the living room, sorting through Christmas decorations for the artificial tree Margaret hadn’t believed existed when Robin first told her about it. But there it was, standing in the corner they’d cleared, waiting for its lights and—oh, no tinsel, or anything else Mitzy might swallow. Margaret had joked that soon there’d be artificial people. When Robin had said, “Well, there are blow-up, life-sized dolls, but you don’t want to know,” Margaret had taken her at her word.

  She paused in the archway. Robin was hunched over a string of lights, muttering under her breath. If she was already irritated, maybe now wasn’t a good time to—no. No more excuses! Margaret set the teas on the coasters on the coffee table and knelt next to Robin. “Problem?”

  “Yeah, one freaking light isn’t working, and now I have to figure out which one. This is the type where one light not working means none come on. We need new lights! These are ancient!”

  “Let me do it,” Margaret said, after watching Robin for a minute and grasping the method she was using to find the bad light. Robin eagerly handed over the string. Margaret set to work, unscrewing a light and screwing in the light Robin handed to her. No, not this one. She moved to the next. “I want to talk about your mother,” she said, focusing on the lights and glad her hands were occupied.

  “Why?” Robin asked flatly.

  She’d anticipated Robin’s response. “Because she’s coming between us. I want to understand why.” When Robin sucked in her breath, Margaret knew she’d surprised her. Perhaps Robin had expected a lecture about her mother’s treatment of her, or her mother’s alcoholism. But Margaret knew there was no point starting there. She’d tackle those in time. First Robin had to open herself to the possibility of their love again.

  “Jesus, Margaret, do I need to spell it out for you? You were there on my birthday.”

  “Yes, I was,” Margaret said evenly.

  “Then you should understand why.”

  Suspecting she’d see anger, Margaret resisted the urge to give her a sidelong glance. “I understand that your mother’s a drunk and she treats you terribly. What does that have to do with us?”

  Robin jumped up. “What does that have to do with us? Are you serious? Do you think I’ll subject you to that? Do you think I’ll let her treat you the same way she treats me? I told you, there are other lesbians out there, normal people with normal families that don’t have vodka for breakfast.”

  Margaret looked up. “I love you.”

  “Shit.” Robin grabbed her head. “I said I’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens.”

  “I want more than that.”

  “Of course you do! You left so much behind. You deserve more.”

  That wasn’t what she’d meant. Dismayed, Margaret dropped the string of lights to her lap. “I want you, Robin. If you don’t want me, say so. Don’t hide behind your mother.”

  “I’m not!” Robin shouted.

  Good, Margaret had broken through. “Aren’t you?”

  “No!”

  “All right,” Margaret said, even though she didn’t believe her. “Then tell me why you’ve held me at arm’s length since your birthday. Did I do something wrong? Or perhaps now that we’ve come to know each other better, your feelings for me have changed.”

  “No!” Robin’s hands clenched. “Damn it!”

  Margaret picked up the lights and unscrewed a blue bulb, sure it was where she’d left off. She replaced it with the bulb she’d palmed. Had Robin tested this bulb? What if it was the one that didn’t work?

  “You can do better,” Robin said quietly.

  “I love you.” And she was frustrated beyond measure! “Do you want to be with me?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  Silence, then, “I have to think about what’s best for you.”

  “That’s up to me, isn’t it?” She moved on to a red bulb. “I know I’m learning my way around this time period, but I’m a grown woman. I can decide what’s best for me.”

  Robin sighed. “Why do you want to be with me, Margaret?”

  Despite the tension in the room, Margaret smiled. “If you’re asking me to explain love, I can’t. I just know that my heart leaps when you’re near, and how much I look forward to seeing you when you come home, how my life would be so much poorer without you in it, and how much I want to be here for you, how I want to share in every aspect of your life.”

  Robin barked a laugh. “Including my mother?”

  “Yes, Robin, including your mother.” When Robin didn’t reply, Margaret stole a glance at her, and refused to be discouraged by Robin’s glare and folded arms. She unscrewed a yellow bulb. “Perhaps you’ll give us a chance, instead of assuming defeat. Do you want us to be together? Do you want to try?”

  Robin’s hands went to her hips. “It’s not a matter of—”

  “If your mother wasn’t . . . your mother, would you give up on us so easily?”

  “I’m not giving up!”

  Margaret couldn’t resist lifting her head and raising a brow.

  Robin crouched next to her and met her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I do love you, more than I can express. That’s why I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

  Margaret’s throat tightened.

  “Back in 1910, I should have told you to go back to the main house. If I hadn’t been so selfish, we could have avoided this.”

  “Avoided what? This terrible life together? I’m sitting here with Christmas lights in my hands, in a warm house, with a nice hot cup of tea, with the woman I love at my side, whom I’m free to be with. Yes, I can see how you regret subjecting me to this terrible existence.”

  Robin threw up her hands. “You’re impossible to argue with, you know that? Not to mention you have quite the sarcastic streak running through you.”

  “Now you sound like my mother,” Margaret said. Robin’s eyes brightened; the atmosphere palpably lightened.

  Robin heaved her shoulders. “Speaking of Christmas, if you think my birthday was bad . . .”

  Margaret dropped the lights and reached for her, hoping Robin wouldn’t leave her looking foolish with her arms outstretched. She breathed a sigh of relief when Robin tipped forward onto her knees and embraced her. No, she couldn’t explain love; she just knew that her heart felt like bursting and that the woman in her arms meant the world to her. Robin hadn’t been selfish back in 1910; she’d allowed Margaret to truly live and be herself. It would have been a wondrous gift, had Margaret remained in 1910. To live honestly for the rest of her life . . . yes, she’d given up much, but oh, what she’d gained in return. Janice wouldn’t deny her and Robin a life together, not while Margaret had anything to say about it. She drew back. “Do you usually go to your mother’s on Christmas?”

  Robin nodded. “After her mom died, Pam went with me, which actually made things worse.”

  “Why don’t you invite your mother here this year?”

  Robin shook her head. “She won’t come.”

  “Are you sure? If she’s here, we could limit her alcohol consumption, or at least slow it down.”

  “Margaret, she’ll be drunk before she even gets here. Christmas brings out the worst in her. All the wrongs committed against her, her broken family, how much better Christmases used to be . . .”

  Margaret could imagine Janice rambling on about her awful life and how she had nothing, thereby dismissing her two children as they dutifully sat and listened to her. Would that be how they’d spend their Christmases? In that case . . . “Why don’t we have our Christmas on Boxing Day, then?”

  “You mean, me and you?”

  Margaret nodded. “With the visit to your mother out of the way, we’ll be able to relax and enjoy ourselves, have a day just for us that doesn’t involve unpleasantness.” There was no point trying to pretend that visiting Janice would be anything but unpleasant and uncomfortable. Robin had lowered the drawbridge; Margaret wouldn’t reward her trust with platitudes and empty reassurances. She would share Robin’s burden—willingly. “Let’s start a new tradition. One that’s ours.”

  “I like that idea,” Robin said, then she groaned. “My knees are getting sore.” She shifted to a cross-legged position.

  “Here.” Turning, Margaret lifted Robin’s tea and handed it to her. “Drink this before it gets cold.” She sipped her own tea, then returned her attention to the lights and screwed the spare bulb into the second to last socket. The string lit up. “Oh!” She gazed at the lights, pleased that the conversation had gone well. Robin surveyed the string with troubled eyes, the glow from the multicoloured lights reflecting off her cheeks.

  Margaret wasn’t naive; Robin would still fret over her mother’s behaviour, and she’d be horrified if—when—Margaret exchanged cross words with Janice. But the conversation had renewed Margaret’s hope that she and Robin would marry and spend their lives together. Robin would come to accept that Margaret loved her, wanted to be with her, and didn’t regret destroying the book. In fact, insisting that they burn the book was one of the best decisions she’d ever made.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Feeling light-headed, Pam stumbled into the street with Doris. “God, Doris, I feel so guilty. I never should have encouraged you to—”

  “Do what I really want to do?” Doris clucked her tongue. “Don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere.”

  Pam wasn’t so sure. They’d looked at several rooms she wouldn’t rent for Mitzy. Noisy, dirty, a pot for a toilet . . . Jesus. She’d figured Doris’s parents would eventually come around—okay, she hadn’t figured much at all before she’d shot off her mouth—but Doris and Oliver insisted that their parents would throw Doris out on her ear and tell her to lie in the bed she’d made. Fortunately they’d be in Europe for Christmas, but they’d return in February, which didn’t leave Doris much time to find lodgings on her limited budget. Then she’d have to work for at least six months to scrape together the tuition for the first year, or at least her portion, since Oliver was chipping in. Not only that, she’d have to work while studying in order to pay for her subsequent years, and would drag herself home every night to sleep in a dump. How long would it be before she cursed the day she’d listened to her new friend from Toronto and told herself that maybe Elliot wouldn’t have been so bad, after all.

  “I’ve been thinking that I might not apply to medical school right away. It might be better if I apply when I’ve earned enough money to cover all the tuition and to keep myself for a few years.”

  “That could take forever!” Pam wanted to scream. Doris’s parents were loaded. If only they’d see sense. Didn’t they want their daughter to be happy? Stupid question.

  Doris shrugged. “It will take time, but if I’m accepted to medical school, I don’t want to fail. I’ll want to fully devote myself to my studies. Working full time now will be better than working part-time later—” she turned to Pam and raised a finger “—and should mean that I’ll be able to save what I need more quickly.”

  Doris would live in a hovel, while mom and dad dined on caviar.

  “I’m going to apply to work in one of the factories.”

  Pam had overheard women talking about the back-breaking, monotonous work, the long hours, the heat . . . The thought of Doris slaving away for pennies made her sick. “There has to be something else.” No, really, she felt ill. “Do you mind if we sit down for a minute?” she said feebly.

  Doris peered at her, then grabbed Pam’s arm and steered her over to a bench outside a butcher shop. Pam gratefully sank onto it and closed her eyes.

  “Margaret.”

  Maybe she’d picked up some bug.

  “Margaret. Pam!”

  Pam opened her eyes. “Shh.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! It’s your childhood nickname, isn’t it? One that Jasper’s now using, too?” Doris smiled, but her forehead was creased with worry.

  Despite the sudden urge to deposit her breakfast on the sidewalk, Pam returned her smile. Jasper would jump at the opportunity to use her real name; he was terrified of slipping up.

  Doris was still staring at her. “You’re awfully pale.”

  “I feel nauseous. I always feel this way in the mornings, lately. Maybe it’s stress. The wedding’s only a couple of weeks away now.”

  “Sick in the mornings?”

  Pam nodded.

  “When was your last menses?”

  “What?”

  “Your last period.”

  “Um . . .” Oh. My. God. “You don’t think . . .”

  Doris lifted her eyebrows. “You’re pregnant.”

  *****

  After one last look in the mirror, Margaret lowered her veil and turned to Mother. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mother. When I introduced you to Robin . . .”

  Mother smiled. “As long as you’re happy. Come. It’s time.” She extended her elbow.

  Margaret slipped her arm through Mother’s and slowly walked to her bedroom door, careful not to trip over her wedding dress. A misty-eyed Sally swung the door open for them, and Margaret stepped into the church.

  Father turned to her as he walked her up the aisle. “I wish you all the best, my darling.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Halfway to the front of the church, she searched for Robin. There she was, up near the altar, in a suit, of all things. Well, what had Margaret expected, a frilly dress? Hubert stood next to Robin; he’d better not have forgotten the ring. She wanted to smile and wave at Robin, but Robin was facing the altar.

  Another few steps and Margaret was almost at Robin’s side. A smile spread across her face as Father lifted her hand and offered it to Robin. Robin turned and—Jasper nodded at Father and reached for Margaret’s hand. No!

  Margaret’s eyes snapped open. She bolted upright and pressed her hand against her forehead, her breathing quick and ragged. A dream. Just a dream. What time was it? She twisted toward the clock on the night stand. Only 10:45! She’d turned off the light at 10:30, and had apparently fallen into a deep sleep and had a dream—a nightmare—that had felt so realistic. It had also spooked her. Had she seen an alternate life, what would have happened if she’d remained in 1910? Good Lord, she hadn’t been transported back, had she? No, the clock was digital, but she turned on the light for good measure, never imagining that she’d be so pleased to see Robin’s computer. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to see Robin.

  Climbing out of bed, she padded down the hallway and peered into Robin’s room, intending to reassure herself that Robin lay sleeping and then go back to bed, feeling silly. But Robin was awake, reading a notebook by the light of the small bedside lamp.

  Sensing Margaret’s presence, Robin looked up. Her brows drew together. “You all right?”

  “I—I had a bad dream.” She should go back to her bedroom, especially since she stood there in her nightie, but her heart still pounded and she wanted to be with Robin.

  “What was it about?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Not knowing what to do with herself, Margaret leaned against the doorframe. “What are you reading?”

  “I’m just reviewing my notes for my exam tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” But she couldn’t bring herself to walk away, either.

  “It’s okay. I’m ready for it.” Robin frowned at Margaret. “That must have been some dream. You sure you don’t want to tell me about it?”

  “I was back in 1910.” Margaret shook her head. “It was only a dream.”

  “But . . .”

  “It frightened me. You’ll think I’m foolish, but I wanted to make sure you were still here.”

  “If I wanted to be sucked back, I’d prefer Thursday. I could use an extra month to prepare for the exam I have on Friday.”

  Margaret chuckled. Her breath quickened when Robin grinned at her. Heat rushed to her nether regions as she imagined what was underneath Robin’s baggy t-shirt. Her gaze went to Robin’s chest; she dragged her eyes back to Robin’s and saw the desire she knew was in her own eyes.

  “Do you want a hug before you go back to bed?” Robin asked.

  They stared at each other. Robin’s words before their fateful first kiss came rushing back. Can I hug you good-bye? I promise not to mess up your hair. If she were to hug Robin now, her hair would be messed up; she wouldn’t return to her own bedroom that night. She knew it, and Robin knew it.

  Margaret glanced down the hallway in the direction of her bedroom, then pushed herself away from the doorframe and went to Robin.

  *****

  Margaret opened her eyes and blinked into the morning light. Robin’s face came into focus. After a confused moment, Margaret realized that Robin wasn’t in the bed; she was kneeling next to it. “Hey, sleepyhead,” Robin said.

  “Good morning,” Margaret mumbled. She sat up, and noticed that Robin was dressed, and that she . . . wasn’t. She pulled the blanket up against her chest and cleared her throat. “How long have you been up?”

  “About forty-five minutes. I have to leave for my exam. It’s a good thing I’d already set the alarm before you showed up, otherwise I might have forgotten to do it.”

 

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