The following two weeks were like a vacation Willie had never had. Restlessness made him want to go outside but contentment held him within the room most of the time. Only Helen's family knew she was not spending all her time attending a sick man. Her eyes could not contain the glow of her love from her mother, father, and sister. The hired hands suspected but no one admitted. If Helen was happy now, it didn't matter. Her husband would never find out from any of them.
As a result of their deception, Willie had to leave the room via the window and only when no one else was around to see him. He wore the brown pants and coat and coarse white shirt Barnabas had provided. Soft suede boots that were too big for him had come from Helen. But they were adequate for short jaunts into the surrounding woods when the weather was good. He and Helen shared a few picnics in a sunny meadow a mile away.
"You know what I want, Willie?" Helen looked down into his face, his head resting on her lap, cushioned by her ample thighs.
He looked back up as she stroked his hair. "What?" It was almost warm, and they sat in the shade of an oak tree. Willie was thoroughly happy in the romantic setting.
"Children. I want a little baby boy or maybe two and a girl of course." She ignored, as he did, the inevitability of their present relationship ending. Now was a time to cherish. "If I had a child to care for, I'd have everything."
"You will." He grinned. "I'll keep trying."
She smiled. "You know, Mrs. Tabby will be havin' hers soon."
"Yeah, any day now. You can feel 'em movin'."
"Yes." Helen's eyes became dreamy. "I want to have your baby."
"Yeah?" He felt a lump rise in his throat. "Nobody ever told me that before."
She smiled sweetly down at him, smoothing his hair back as she would have the cat's. "Willie, I think I am."
"What? You think you're pregnant?" He sat up and took her by the shoulders. He really was in luxury, he thought, possibly going to have a child, yet the responsibility of marriage and family would not be imposed upon him. Such a selfish observation made Willie glad he could not feel that way any more. While he did not want to stay in the eighteenth century, he did not want to leave Helen. Especially since there was no love between her and her husband. Yet he knew he could not stay. But to be able to see his child by a woman he adored would be a wonderful thing.
"Yes. I know it hasn't been long, but I just feel it. I don't know how I know." Her joy spread to him, and she hugged him. "I know it isn't Mitch's. I know that for certain."
Willie held her. "Sweet, lovely Helen," he murmured. He wanted so much for her to be a permanent part of his life now. Willie knew himself well, knew that he had never been satisfied in one place for too long. Could he even consider marriage? But he had found a friend and a companion who loved him as he did her. Could he be blinded by that? Yes, but he didn't care. She could come with him to the future perhaps. And what would he do with her? Live and work at the Old House, get an apartment in New York? She'd hate the city.
"Willie," she said quietly, as if she read his mind. "I know you'll be leavin' when your Mr. Collins comes back—"
"You could come with me." He rubbed his face in her hair, trying not to think.
"I knew you would say that, but I can't. My family is here. I love them. I'd be lost without them."
"You'd have me."
"For how long?" She pushed him back to look at his face. "I can see it in your eyes. You're not a man to settle down. All the places you've told me about—you couldn't've stayed long anywhere. You're just like my brother. I haven't seen him in three years. He's a good man, but he can't bear to settle down. I wouldn't want to be alone without my family when you go off to see more of the world."
"Let's not talk about this now," he said. He couldn't stand the thought of being without her now. His rediscovered joy in intimacy and pleasure were too much to give up. He'd been through so much pain that having someone to fill him with the healing warmth seemed like a gift from God. The old scars inside him were withering. He didn't want her to just be a brief oasis in a desert of lonely despair, he wanted this upswing to last.
"Very well." She could sense his anxiety. "But you should know I don't want you to go."
He nodded. "I don' wanna leave you to that crumb you married. I may not have any choice."
"Mitch isn't a crumb. He's a good man."
"Yeah, right, and he hurt you—"
"Willie! You don't understand. He didn't mean to hurt me. . . He just doesn't know as much as you do."
"Okay. You know him better than I do. I just don' like to think of ya with someone ya don' love."
"That's awfully kind of you. But I'm with my family most of the time."
"Yeah." His eyes dropped. "I don' wanna be without you. All this's meant so much to me. After everything that's happened, I don' think I could stand not havin' you." It was an exaggeration, but his heart felt it.
Helen didn't know what "everything" was. Willie had told her only that he'd had some problems recently. He was very vulnerable. She could see how the remembered pain would flare up in his face and knew he had been deeply hurt. "Well, you have me now. And I have you." Her kisses fell lightly upon his face, bringing his head up to respond.
"Oh, Helen," his voice quavered with emotion. It was so hard to keep it inside, especially with someone who gave so much to him. That iron control he used to have was out of reach under these circumstances. Barnabas had opened him up, perhaps for the better, but perhaps not. Willie knew that he had not been able to be insensitive to what others felt since he'd first been attacked. What he felt also showed, however, and that bothered him a lot.
That he was obviously fragile emotionally made Helen more empathetic, and she could turn his state of mind around quickly and effectively. He never felt manipulated by her, just grateful for her presence and the friendship they shared.
*
Willie "recovered" during the following week and volunteered to do some work for Helen's father to pay for his keep. He still had money that Barnabas had left for him, but was afraid to use it all. He was put to work doing odd jobs, from tending horses and chopping wood to repairing furniture—a skill he had learned working at the Old House.
Working during the day cut into his time with Helen, but she spent the nights with him in that same room Barnabas rented. Willie took the harder labor slowly to build himself up for it and because he had been sick. No one questioned him, and he found he wasn't inclined to the laziness or disinterest he'd always felt before about menial labor. Part of him was so full of energy he enjoyed the sense of purging he felt with hard exertion. Frustration had no place inside him. He allowed his mind to drift and the thoughts that came were contented ramblings about the coming evening or recent pleasures.
For Willie it was a time of peace and healing. He thought seriously about what life meant for him. Though he came to no conclusions, the sense of useless, helpless drifting was gone. The old wounds in his heart hurt less. It almost seemed like another man had been through the nightmare in Collinsport and Wyndecliffe. But dreams were effective reminders as they invaded his sleep some nights.
Helen became more certain that she was pregnant in that next week. Her joy over this infected Willie to the point where he almost wanted to stay in the eighteenth century. He knew he could not, however, and forced the idea from his mind. He would have to go back, he was certain.
Road-weary and frustrated, Barnabas returned to the inn. He had been everywhere one could travel on horseback in a month in the area surrounding Portsmouth. It was late now, close to midnight so he took care of his horse himself and went inside the inn. He walked down the hall to "his" room, and was confused then embarrassed to find Willie in the bed with someone.
Dim light from the hallway fell across the two, Willie entangled in an embrace, lying on top of a long-haired girl, moving rhythmically and kissing her passionately. He neither heard nor saw the door open or the invading light, but Helen noticed. She pretended not to as the door closed more quickly and quietly than it had opened.
Barnabas was wryly amused beneath his discomfiture. He guessed Willie had gotten over the whipping and exposure to the cold. He was glad he had not called to him, and he wasn't sure he had been noticed. Going through the parlor to the bar, he decided to get another room for the night. He and Willie could talk tomorrow.
Helen forgot to tell Willie about the intruder until they woke at dawn. He smiled at the thought of what must have gone through Barnabas' mind. Somewhere in the past month, he discovered now, he had mostly forgiven the man. He didn't hate him, and the resentment seemed unimportant. The only reason he really wished he had not returned was because it signaled an end to this peaceful time.
The woman left him before he was ready to rise as she usually did, but not before they made love again, both feeling a sense of urgency and desperation because it could be the last time they would have the opportunity for any intimacy. Willie promised her he would not leave before another night passed.
Dressed in the clothing Barnabas had left for him, Willie found him having breakfast in the cozy wooden dining hall. He still had not gotten used to the presence of wood in almost everything. Even when he'd been at the Old House, he still had to deal with modern things like Julia's lab equipment. There was nothing like that existing here. He'd had a hard time explaining to Helen what the buttons on his shirt were made of. Plastic would not be invented for about another two hundred years. It seemed so odd that there were no cars, no sounds of engines running, no hum of a distant freeway. The only sounds were natural ones. And this affected him on a subliminal level, comforting him and removing tension.
He thought about it now, because he would be leaving soon. But at the sight of Barnabas, he had to smile, sliding down into a chair opposite him at a small corner table. "Hiya," he said, grinning.
Barnabas hid any residual embarrassment and nodded. "Hello, Willie." He put his fork down. "Forgive me for—"
Willie laughed. "Ah, forget it. Sorry you didn't have a room to come back to. So, didja find anything out?"
"No, absolutely nothing." Barnabas stared at the other man, astounded by the change in him. Here was someone he had met briefly on a night in 1967. And this man was doubtless free of the greed that had led the other into a five-year long nightmare. Here was Willie Loomis, happy and whole. Barnabas could see it in his relaxed body movement, see it in his bright clear eyes, hear it in his voice, sense it in his speech. He was undeniably aware of a charisma and charm Willie freely expressed now. It had always been present, but Barnabas' own concerns blinded him. In his anger and frustration he refused to acknowledge it, and Willie defenses had pulled back on any outward expression of himself. But now. . .
"Nothin' at all?" He was dismayed; his expectations had not been met, he had no plans for this turn of events.
"No. What about you? Has anything happened here that you would consider important?" He thought Willie could have used a haircut.
Willie shrugged. "Nah. Not that I know of." He smiled a little lopsidedly. "Unless you count the fact Helen's gonna have a baby. She's real happy about it."
It didn't occur to Barnabas at first that Helen was the woman Willie had been with. Because she was married, he had incorrectly assumed the girl in the bed had been someone else. A mistake he should not have been surprised by since he himself did not consider all married women off limits. It was a touchy subject, one he had not settled his conscience about. But it was obvious to him by the look on Willie's face that Helen was the one.
"Am I to assume you're the father?" he said with a patient smile.
"She thinks so. I like to think so, too. It's what she wants. Her husband's here such a short time." His smile faded. "She doesn't even know him."
"That's not so unusual, Willie, for this time." There was something about the fact that Willie may have fathered a child in the eighteenth century that bothered him. Would that change the future? Or could that be the answer? "Willie, do you think perhaps this is it?"
"What do you mean?" He had actually given the whole trip to the past little thought when it came to the purpose for it. That was Barnabas' job.
"Perhaps you were the reason for this journey. To sire a child—"
"Couldn' be. I mean, it was an accident. I wasn't given anything like you were, like clothes and money."
"But had you been, things might have turned out differently. You would not've had the opportunity to be here with Helen."
"Ah, I dunno." Willie sank back in his chair thoughtfully. It was staggering to think his presence here now could mean the beginning of a new chain of life. Helen's husband may be sterile and never give her children. Then again maybe not, and it meant nothing that Willie was the father. Or her first child might not come as soon if Willie hadn't been here, and so not be at some crucial point in time which would have far-reaching effects on the future.
It was too much to figure out, but Willie now believed that he had come back in time to make Helen pregnant. The ultimate destiny of their child and its descendants could not be known now, but he intended to find out.
"I can imagine that you want to stay here," Barnabas said quietly.
"I can't—I mean, I don' think it'd be allowed. Whoever sent us back here is not gonna let me stay, I jus' know it."
"Do you want to?"
He looked hard at him, ready to snap that it was none of his business. But Barnabas was not looking down at him or trying to pry. Willie's defenses lowered again. "I don' wanna stay here in this time so much as I wanna be with Helen. But I knew I couldn't stay. She knows I'm gonna leave."
Barnabas was surprised they were being so realistic. Young lovers seldom were. He knew Willie at least had had some hard lessons in reality. "I am in no hurry to leave personally, but something is telling me to ride away from here. It is a feeling."
Willie had it now, too, but he had determined he would not leave until the next day. "We can go tomorrow," he said with no enthusiasm.
Barnabas nodded, sorry to see the joy fade from Willie's eyes.
* * *