A Husband in Time

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Jane blinked. Dying? He had a son, who resembled her own, and that son was dying? “My God,” she whispered, and the bat fell to the floor with a bang. “My God, no wonder you’re so messed up.” Warily she moved forward. And when she stood close to where he knelt, she touched his hair, stroked it away from his face and felt the tears that dampened it.

His arms closed around her legs, his head resting against her thighs. “I meant to go back, Jane. I meant to go back, so I could save him. Before he was ever exposed to the blasted virus. I meant… But I failed. A miscalculation. Something. I failed, and now I might have lost him forever.”

Crazy talk again. But then, how sane would she be if she ever lost her Codester? A little chill raced up her spine, but she went right on stroking his hair. His entire situation resembled the history of Zachariah Bolton. No wonder he’d wandered here in confusion. “It’s all right,” she whispered, because there was a lump in her throat that prevented her speaking louder. “It’s going to be all right. I’ll help you. Okay?”

He said nothing. But she knew he was devastated. He clung to her, shaking, crying perhaps, confused and in terrible pain.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“Zach,” he muttered. “Zachariah Bolton.”

She stiffened, and he must have felt it, because he straightened away from her. He pressed a hand to his forehead, as if trying to rub away a pounding headache, and then he slowly got to his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m falling apart. What must you think?”

“I think,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that you’ve been through something horrible and it’s left you…confused.”

“Insane, you mean.”

“Of course not.”

He shook his head and paced away from her. “You look at me as if you believe I’m insane.”

“I…well…look, it’s just that Zachariah Bolton would be over a hundred and thirty years old today.”

He stopped pacing and stood, toying with the black box in his hands. “Zachariah Bolton,” he said softly, “is thirty-five years old, Jane. He was born in 1862.”

“That doesn’t make any— What is that thing you’re playing with?”

He looked up, blinked. “So the house belongs to you now?”

“Yes. My son and I, yes.”

“Your husband…is he at home? May I speak with him?”

“I don’t have—” She bit her lip, averted her gaze. Since when did the handbook on survival in the nineties advise women to tell insane housebreakers that they were all alone? “He’s not here right now.”

The man who claimed to be Zachariah Bolton frowned, and his gaze shifted downward. To her left hand, she realized belatedly. “You’re not married, are you?” She didn’t answer. He shook his head in wonder, and looked down at the box in his hand once more. And then he swayed a little, blinked as if his vision were blurring.

“You’re not well,” she told him.

He drew a fortifying breath and eased himself down onto the edge of the bed. “No. No, physically, I’m not at all myself. Side effects, I suppose. I hadn’t expected them to be quite so severe.”

“S-side effects…to what?”

He looked her squarely in the eye. “You’ll run off to send word to the local asylum if I tell you. But I don’t suppose I have much of a choice right now, do I? I need you, Jane. I need you to… Ah, but I can’t make you understand this way. Come here.”

She blinked, took a step backward, eyeing him as he patted the spot on the bed beside him.

He frowned, and then his brows went up and he nodded. “Yes, I don’t suppose I behaved as a gentleman when I found you here earlier, did I?” And his eyes, for some reason, fixed on her lips, and remained there a moment too long. “I don’t know what that was, Jane. A memory lapse of some sort. Side effects, as I said. I was remembering a time when two of my colleagues hired a…” He gave his head a shake. “No matter. I apologize for that. Please, come over here, just for a moment. If you stand there, you might be hurt when I show you what this device does.”

She tilted her head. “What is it, some kind of stun gun?”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know that term, but no, that’s not what this is. I only want to show you how I got here, Jane, because if I tell you, you’ll think I’m insane and throw me out before I can offer proof.”

She took a step toward him. He held out a hand. “I am Zachariah Bolton, Jane, and if you’ll just come over here, I’ll prove it.”

Sighing, she picked up her baseball bat. He glanced down at it, lifting one eyebrow. Jane went to him, sat down beside him on the bed. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you traveled a hundred years forward in time, and that this little remote control gone haywire is your time machine.”

He frowned hard. “How on earth could you know—”

“Oh, everyone around here knows about Zachariah Bolton. He was a genius. A man light-years ahead of his time. But he got a little crazy after his…” Her voice trailed off, and she lost her breath.

“After his son died? Yes, I suppose I will go a bit crazy if that happens. But, Jane, I have no intention of letting it happen.” Her eyes widened as she stared at him. He glanced down at himself. “I’ve been wearing these clothes all night, as I sat up with him. No wonder you were so afraid of me. I look like a common tramp. I hadn’t expected anyone to be here…except for Ben and perhaps Mrs. Haversham.”

She stood up, shook her head. “Stop. Just stop talking this way. It’s…”

“Crazy?” He nodded. “I know. I know. That’s what all my colleagues kept saying. That time travel was physically impossible. That I was wasting my talents working on it. I was close, oh, so very close, for months. When Benjamin took ill…it did something to me. Gave me something…extra.”

She was still shaking her head, still backing away. But his hand came up and caught her wrist, holding her still, bringing her close to him. With the funny-looking remote, he pointed. “That spot, right there, Jane. A spot some thirty-five feet above the ground, a spot that this house ended up being built around…There’s a wrinkle there. An invisible wrinkle in the fabric of time. A doorway, Jane. And I can open it.”

His thumb touched a button on the remote, and she heard a low-pitched hum. A pinprick of light appeared in the air halfway between the floor and the ceiling, at the room’s center.

“My intent was to go back, and only a few months. I wanted to go to my Benjamin before he’d ever been exposed to the virus, and take him away before he could become infected. I wanted to save him. Surely you can understand that, can’t you, Jane? Only hours ago you were willing to face me down with nothing but a wooden bat in order to save your own child. You’d do anything for him. You know you would.”

She didn’t like the way his eyes were blazing, or the tightness of his grip on her forearm. She pulled, but he got to his feet, gave one good tug, and she was pressed tight to him. His free arm snapped around her waist like a padlock’s hasp, and he held her immobile. The fingers of his other hand worked the dial on the little black box, and the box began to hum. But the light remained the same.

“I messed it up, Jane,” he said, his voice close to her ear, as he slowly turned a dial with his free hand. “My calculations were off somehow, and I came forward instead of going back. And not just a few months, but a century. A hundred years.”

He gave the dial another twist, his grip on her waist tightening. She shook her head, but stopped pulling against his embrace. “This can’t be,” she whispered. “This just can’t be.”

Zach twisted the dial once more, but the light only flashed brighter for an instant and then died. For a long moment, Jane just stared at the spot where it had been.

He fiddled with the box, twisting the knob again, but nothing happened.

“Damn. I’m forgetting… I’m not insane,” he whispered, and she realized, a little belatedly, that he was still holding her. Her back nestled intimately against the front of him, and his hand remained, lightly now, but snugly, at her waist. “The device needs time to recharge. How I let that slip my mind, I don’t know. Three days, Jane, and I’ll show you a wonder you’ll never forget. I am exactly who I say I am. I swear to you. And I need you, Jane. I need you to let me stay here until the device can recharge and I can get back to my son.”

She turned in his arms, stared up into his eyes and knew, without any doubt, that this man fully believed every word he was saying. This poor, beautiful, sick man.

“You won’t turn me away. I know you won’t. There’s kindness in your eyes, Jane. I see it there. You won’t—”

“You need help,” she whispered. “Let me help you find it.”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping forward as if he were too exhausted to go on. “At least,” he whispered, “let me stay until morning. I’ll think of a way to make you believe me by then. I’m too tired now. I can’t think….”

“All right.” Stupid, she told herself. Stupid to let an insane man stay the night. But she couldn’t turn him away, not with that pain in his eyes. She just couldn’t.

The relief in his face, in his eyes when he opened them again, was incredible. He pulled her closer, hugged her, rested his cheek in her hair. “Thank you, Jane,” he told her. “Thank you.”

She was, he mused, perhaps the kindest woman he’d ever known. She’d suggested he get some rest, expressed concern over his health before she retired to her bed. Truth to tell, he was more than a bit concerned himself. That memory lapse…and this incessant weakness, and the recurring vertigo… Coming through the doorway had altered him physically, and he still wasn’t certain of the extent of the damage. He’d fallen asleep instantly, and only awakened just now, to the sun rising high in the east. And he still felt exhausted and battered. His head ached intensely. But he had no time to waste lying in bed and waiting to recover. For all he knew, he might get worse, rather than better. Best, he decided, to get to work right away.

Work? But what work? What the hell could he do? Nothing, he realized slowly. Nothing but wait. He couldn’t return to his own time until the device had recharged. So for three days he’d be here, unable to do a thing to help his son.

It wasn’t hopeless. Merely a setback. He’d wait, and then he’d return. He’d return to the exact time whence he’d come. Benjamin’s condition would not have had time to worsen. And from there, Zach would simply start over. Make a few adjustments, and try again. In the meantime, there was very little he could do. His main task, it seemed, was proving himself to Jane, convincing her to let him remain right here, for there was no other place….

Yes. He’d have to convince Jane to let him stay. Fortunately, Zach thought, influencing reluctant females to his way of thinking was one of his areas of expertise. Second only to science, in fact. Or had been, once. He wondered briefly whether he could drum up enough of his legendary charm to sway her. He had to try. There was more at stake than conquest here. There was Ben. Benjamin was safe…for the moment. So Zach was free to pursue the matter at hand.

But first…

He glanced down at his rumpled clothing and wrinkled his nose. First a bath, and a change of clothes. His carpetbag still lay on the floor, where he’d dropped it when he first came through. So at least he had the most recent notes—torn hastily from his journal in case he might need them—a few basic tools, a change of clothes and some toiletries. He carried these with him into the bathroom down the hall, and then marveled at the wonders to be found there.

At first he wondered how he’d manage without a lamp or a candle. But then he recalled the electric illuminator in Benjamin’s—er, Cody’s—room, and searched the spot on the wall just inside the door, where the control for the other one had been. He found the switch, moved it, and the bathroom filled with light. Zach simply shook his head in wonder, and explored further. The tub was huge, with spigots fixed into it. Water, hot, as well as cold, ran into the giant shining tub at the touch of a knob. Far more advanced than his own bathroom had been, and his had been the very latest in technology. Judging by the force with which the water spewed from the spigots, he knew there must be more power behind it than mere gravity. The necessary, too, was sparkling-clean and water-filled. Warm air blew gently from a register low on the wall. He smelled no wood smoke. Something else was obviously heating the water, and the house, as well. The very essence of day-to-day living, he realized slowly, had changed. Drastically changed.

He ran water into the tub, and soaked for a long time as he tried to imagine what other advances he’d discover in this new era. Automobiles… Had they proved practical, or been a passing fancy, as so many of his colleagues had predicted? Had this new generation of humanity wiped out disease? Achieved world peace? And this woman, Jane, owning this house filled with modern wonders and raising a son all on her own. Was this common today? Zach frowned as he considered it. Something told him that nothing about Jane was common.

He’d kissed her. Yes, he’d been in the throes of some sort of delirium when he did it, but not so much so that he couldn’t recall every instant of that kiss. And her sleepy response to it. Her soft breath in his mouth, her hands splayed on his shoulders. She’d set a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Perhaps ever. Oh, there’d been passion between him and Claudia, one he suspected was based more on his own youth and energy than anything else. But they’d really had very little in common. And, of course, he’d learned later that he’d been no more than an amusing diversion to her. She hadn’t cared for him in the least. He’d been young, with little money and few prospects. She’d been married to a wealthy man, a woman of social standing who couldn’t risk it all by admitting to her frequent affairs with naive young men. Much less admitting that she had become pregnant as a result of one of them.

She’d gone abroad to visit an aunt, or so the story went. Months later, Benjamin had been dropped upon Zachariah’s doorstep, with a note promising Zach he’d be ruined, both socially and financially, if he ever breathed a word about the child’s mother. She’d never wanted to lay eyes on the baby or on his father again.

And so she never had.

It had been, Zach mused, the best education he could ever have. Oh, he’d learned all about women. They were practical creatures. No woman would be truly interested in a man who was less than wealthy—particularly if he was less wealthy than she. Claudia’s interest had recently been renewed. No doubt due to the fact that her rich husband had passed, leaving most of his money to a nephew. And in the years in between, Zach had acquired his own wealth and social standing. But he was no longer interested in Claudia. For a time he’d become a user of women, the way he’d once been used by one of them. Once he understood how the game was played, he’d suffered no further delusions about romance or love.

Perhaps the lovely Jane had learned the lesson, as well, in a manner much the same as he’d learned it himself. Or perhaps she was simply a lonely widow. Though most widows of Zach’s acquaintance continued to wear their wedding bands. That gave him pause.

Jane. Beautiful, brave, passionate Jane. She looked like an angel. But she kissed like a woman too long without a man. He could, he mused, take care of that problem for her. His thoughts surprised him, since he’d given up his roguish ways long ago. But then, he’d been very long without a woman’s touch, and hers had been…incredible. He had three days here, after all, and little else to do besides wait.

Oh, yes. And a well-planned seduction would probably go a long way in helping to convince the little skeptic that he was who he said he was. Or at least convincing her to let him stay.

He swallowed hard at the thoughts racing through his mind. Was it some added side effect of the time travel making him addle-brained, or was it her? Either way, it didn’t matter. He thought he had come up with a far simpler means to convince her now.

As he soaked, there was a knock at the door, followed by Jane’s voice. “Are you decent?”

Some devil came to life inside him, all over again, and it was that devil who made him call, “Come in.” Perhaps he was testing her to judge her reactions, so that he might gauge what sort of woman he was dealing with. A test, much like the many other experiments he’d performed in his day. He ignored the tiny voice in his brain that told him that theory was nothing more than self-deception. The woman got to him, in a way that disturbed him far too much to admit, even to himself.

The bathroom door opened, and the woman he’d been thinking about stepped inside. Aside from an initial start of surprise, she showed no reaction at all. Keeping her eyes averted, she moved through the room, extracting big, emerald green towels from a cabinet, and then a small pink plastic item, and a can of some sort. “If you were trying to shock me, you chose the wrong method,” she said. “I was raised with brothers.” She set the towels and the other items on a shelf beside the tub, and still without looking at him, turned to go.

“Jane?” She stopped, her back to him. She wore a robe now, over the thin nightgown of the night before. Pity. But that glorious hair still hung loosely down her back, making him ache to run his hands through it once again. “What is this?” he asked.

“I thought you’d want to shave.” She still didn’t turn.

Frowning, Zach leaned forward and picked up the pink thing, turning it this way and that. “This bit of a thing is a razor?” He could clearly see, upon closer inspection, that that was precisely what it was.

“Of course it is.”

He sighed loudly, and achieved the desired results. She turned, but kept her eyes carefully glued to his face. “Could you…could you show me how it works, Jane? They’ve changed drastically in the past hundred years.”

Her eyes narrowed as they searched his, and he tried desperately to keep the mischief hidden. He started to get up. “Stay where you are,” she told him.

“I’ll need a mirror—”

“Not if I’m doing the shaving,” she said. Then she knelt beside the tub, picked up one of the towels and handed it to him. “Cover your—yourself,” she told him.

“And soak this wonderful towel?”

Frowning at him, Jane dropped the towel into the water, so that it landed right in his lap, no doubt concealing the parts of his anatomy she’d rather not be tempted to look at too closely. Then she took up the can, shook it and depressed a button on its top. Mounds of white foam oozed from the spout and into her palm. Zach felt his eyes widen. Then she leaned over and smoothed the lotion onto his face. Her touch was warm, and trembling, and so good that he closed his eyes and relished it.

When she finished, she dipped her hands into the water to rinse them clean. Her fingertips brushed his thigh, and he knew then that certain bodily functions had not been damaged by the side effects of time travel. He hoped she didn’t notice the change in the shape concealed by that towel.

“Now, you just take the razor and…” She demonstrated, by drawing the blade very carefully down over his cheek. “Just like that. You see?”

“Mmm…” he said. Then he opened his eyes and saw her scowling at him. “I mean, yes, of course. But…suppose I cut myself?”

“If you are who you say you are, then you’ve managed a straight edge in your time. And if you can handle that, you can handle this.” She set the razor on the edge of the tub and got up to leave.

“I am who I say I am, Jane. And you’ll believe it before breakfast. I promise.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and this time her eyes betrayed her, dipping down to gaze at his chest and belly. Hastily she turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Jane leaned back against the bathroom door and tried to steady her breathing. Whoever he was, the lunatic in her bathtub was incredible. And that made him dangerous. The sooner he was out of her house, the better. She closed her eyes, but still the image of that muscled chest, beaded with water, kept resurfacing in her mind. “The sooner the better,” she muttered, and headed downstairs to start breakfast.

When she had the coffee brewing and Cody’s favorite blueberry muffins in the oven, Jane went upstairs again to wake her son. But Cody was no longer in bed when she stepped into her room. For just a second, his absence startled her. And then she heard the reassuring sounds of his Nintendo game from down the hall, and sighed. As she dressed, she glanced up at the painting that hung on the wall above her bed…and then she went still, falling into the brown eyes of the man in that painting. The inventor. The time traveler.