Willie had Helen in his arms. Her back was against his chest her fingers threaded with his as they lay on their sides in the bed in her room. He was relaxed and drowsy now, a sense of peace around him. He thought everything bad that happened to him when he arrived in this century had been worth it to feel this way. He would endure another flogging if he had to to have this kind of contentment.
He kissed the back of Helen's neck, then her shoulder. "I love ya, baby," he whispered.
"Oh, Willie." She sighed wistfully, pulling his hands to her lips. She didn't tell him what she was thinking. How lonely it would be to wake up in the morning without him, or feel his gentle touch in the night, or see his sweet, intense eyes admiring and adoring her. Her single consolation was the child growing within her. It would make up for his absence and fill the void he would leave. Her mother and father and her sister loved her, but they would not make her feel she was so special the way Willie did. Without him, she would have to face Mitch again, though he was not cruel, merely gruff. She could deal with him now perhaps without being afraid of him.
Sleep came, then morning with its cold dewy smell at predawn twilight. With the naturalness that came from repetition, Willie reached for Helen after a long muscle stretch. He snuggled against her warmth and comforting familiarity, his mind not yet ready to wake. He became aware of her stroking his back, so softly it tingled and made desire stir in him. His mouth found hers and moved with a slow, intense ardor; his arms held her to him and his hands caressed her soft skin. They spoke no words, none were needed, this was their final time to make love to each other. They made it last, giving everything possible and sharing a moment in time where all else fell away but the joy of existence and the knowledge they both felt it.
By some unspoken agreement neither said what they felt. She clung to him, and he held her close for a long time.
"You'll take good care of yourself," Willie said quietly. "You and the kid. Don' work too hard now."
"You needn't worry, love, I want this child more than any other thing."
"You gotta promise me somethin', Helen." His eyes held hers.
"Name it, and it's yours."
"When it comes, make sure they record it in the town records."
"They do that already."
"Yeah, well, be sure they put its name there."
"Why?"
"Because I— I want it recorded, that's all." He smiled. She would think he was mad if he told her the real reason.
"Shall I name it William if it's a boy?"
"Yeah," he chuckled.
"What about a girl?"
"I dunno." He kissed her cheek softly.
"Patience," she said. "I shall name her Patience if it's a girl, because I will need a lot of it to get through the waiting without you."
He hugged her hard. "I'm sorry. I don't want to leave."
"I know, Willie. It's all right. But I have the feeling I'll never see you again or even hear from you."
"I'm sorry. Where I'm going, I couldn't even write. But I'll try. Sometimes you jus' think of me, and I'll be with you 'cause I'll be thinkin' of you."
"Every time I look at the baby, I'll think of you."
The sound of a neighboring door opening and closing made Helen aware of her duties, chores she would normally have been doing for an hour now. She reluctantly let go of Willie and rolled out of bed.
He sat up and watched her, feeling an emptiness inside without her body against him. Determined not be gloomy, he gave a low, appreciative whistle at the sight of her plump body, the very essence of femaleness, he thought, totally feminine and utterly desirable. He watched her wash from a basin, admiring her efficiency and quickness.
She dressed after winking at him for his whistle. Her expression grew serious when she was ready to leave. "Willie, come see me before you go."
"Of course." His eyes burned. "I love you."
She went to him, and they embraced. He felt her sob and bit the insides of his mouth to keep from it himself. Helen left him abruptly after a few long, silent moments. Willie washed and dressed, bundling his twentieth century clothes into his jacket and going out to find Barnabas. He had little to say, his grief at leaving someone he loved so much dominated his mind. It was, he had decided, feelings that life was all about. One went from day to day seeking or trying to maintain good ones or trying to avoid bad ones. Nothing else mattered in comparison. Leaving a loved one for loneliness brought on unhappiness and dissatisfaction. He was understandably depressed.
Barnabas was waiting for breakfast, sitting alone when Willie joined him, setting his clothes in the empty chair next to him.
"Would you like something to eat?" the older man asked.
Willie shook his head. "I don' wanna go, Barnabas."
"You must," he said after a long pause, searching his face. "I doubt you would be allowed to stay here."
"I know. But I don' want to go. What I'm goin' back to. . ." He fell silent, not wanting to share his self-doubts.
"You probably don't want to hear this, Willie," Barnabas told him, looking down for a moment. "But you're welcome to stay at the Old House."
He shrugged. "Huh. I knew you'd say that."
"You have a standing invitation. And if you ever need help. . ."
"Thanks." He shook his head, almost smiling. "Maybe someday I'll come back around."
"I hope you will."
Willie only shrugged again. He had nothing to tell Barnabas now. He waited for him to eat when his food was ready. He felt an anxiousness inside, almost a sense of urgency to be away from the inn or even the town. Yet his love and affection pulled against this, making him want to stay. He finally decided he was too restless to wait for Barnabas to finish.
"I— I'll go see to the horses." He picked up his clothes and darted away before the other man could answer.
Barnabas did not hurry though he knew he should as the same compelling feeling of impatience to be gone affected him, too. But he suspected Willie had gone to tell Helen goodbye as well as prepare their horses.
She met him in the stable, empty but for the horses who stirred restlessly.
"I don' know which one is Barnabas'," he said, having narrowed it down to two possible candidates when she came in.
She glanced at the animals in their stalls and pointed to one of them. "That's Mister Harken's horse. He comes every month, so this one over here must be your. . .friend's."
Willie abruptly grabbed her, pulling her into an empty stall and kissing her fervently. He couldn't get close enough to her it seemed and crushed her in his arms.
Helen responded in kind, her strong body not hurt by his intensity, her hands pressing the hardened muscles of his back and shoulders.
They exchanged words of friendship and love until she could no longer bear the idea of separating if they went much further. She pulled away.
"Goodbye. I'll always love you, and I'll love our child enough for us both."
He nodded, trembling. "Yes."
"Fare well, Willie." She picked up her skirts and hurried out, Willie's voice only a soft sound in her ears as she left him.
*
Willie's silence did not surprise Barnabas as they rode slowly out of town. He did not disturb him out of respect and understanding. They both knew where they were going. The sensation of urgency pulled them inexorably toward the woods away from the town and people.
They had just reached the near vicinity of the Townsend estate when a powerful gust of air ripped them from their horses' backs. Willie expected to feel his body hit hard ground. Instead, he continued to fall, dizzyingly through the soundless, black void which overcame them.
He awakened on the floor of the Old House, lying curled on his side. His head still reeled from the flight through time. His chest heaved with hard breathing. Opening his eyes, Willie peered from them without moving. It was definitely the drawing room of the Old House. He was on the rug near one of the chairs.
Slowly he moved, fighting the swirling images in his head.
"Willie?" he heard Barnabas' voice say from somewhere above him. "Are you all right?"
Willie sat up to find the other man in the chair behind him. "Yeah, I'm okay." The lightheadedness faded as he got to his feet. He was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of unreality and had to force himself not to ask Barnabas if it had really happened. He slumped into the other chair. The warmth in his heart had not faded, despite an empty longing. Helen had been real. So real.
Now what? he wondered. He glanced at Barnabas and caught him staring. From the way the older man leaned back in his chair, he seemed to be feeling the effects as much as Willie.
"Guess I should be goin'," Willie said, then acknowledged to himself that it didn't feel right to say that now. He glanced at his watch, forgetting to look at the time as he realized he was once again dressed in twentieth century clothes, those same ones he had bundled behind him on the horse. Barnabas was also now appropriately dressed.
Willie didn't remember when the bus to Bangor would be departing. He had to think hard to recall the hour he was going to leave. After a moment he concluded that, provided it was the same day, only thirty minutes had passed. He'd lived over a month while only thirty minutes passed here in the present. And he had missed the bus.
"Willie, you're more than welcome to stay here as long as you like," Barnabas told him quietly.
"Thanks, but I, uh, got some things I have to do." Find the archives for that town, look up his kid, try to trace its life and find out why he had gone back, certainly not just to heal his heart. . . "What if this isn't the same day as when we left?" he asked Barnabas suddenly.
"I'm sure it is."
"Well, I'm not. I gotta find out." He stood up. "Let's go. I can get a newspaper in town and see when the next bus leaves."
"All right." Barnabas pushed himself up. His mind was still in the past. To somehow be thrust back into the twentieth century was utterly depressing. His heart would never be here. Willie's rejection of him seemed only fitting, and he wondered if there would ever be a time in which he wanted to live.
He followed Willie out, not oblivious to the other's nervousness. Willie had picked up his suitcase, finding it exactly where he had left it. He was anxious to be gone, away from this place with all its supernatural occurrences, its bad memories. As a whole person now, he looked back on his staying so long as idiocy.
They got in the car, Barnabas driving. Willie picked up a paper from a stand in the bus station, relieved to find the date was the same as when they left. He had over an hour before the next bus to Bangor departed. He stood outside the small station and looked at Barnabas, not knowing what to say.
"Well, I shall certainly miss you, Willie," the taller man said.
"Yeah." He nodded. "Well, I appreciate that. I'll miss you, too, I guess. Thanks for the things you've done for me. Sorry you had your problems." Willie held out his hand. "I'll let ya know how I'm doin'."
They shook hands. "Where'll you go?"
"New York. There's some people I wanna see." Cherrie, he thought.
Barnabas gave him a kind, knowing look. "Roxanne?"
Willie hadn't let himself consider that. The name cut right to his heart. "I dunno. She's probably married to somebody else now. I blew that."
"For me. I'm sorry, Willie."
Willie shook his head. "Nah, Barnabas. That one I did on my own; you wanted me to go. But I wasn't thinkin' of goin' to see her. I got some research to do. Gotta find some answers."
"Good luck. Take care of yourself, Willie."
"Same to you."
Their eyes locked for a moment, and they looked away at the same time. Barnabas turned away and walked to the car. Willie watched him get in and drive away. This leaving was harder than he'd thought it would be. Somehow getting away from Collinsport was not as sweet as he'd expected. He was a little sad. But the world awaited him. Uncertainty was harder than it had been before. And he was alone again.
Willie bought a ticket and sat in the lounge to wait. His previous determination to never return to Collinsport was mostly gone. Everything had changed. He wanted companionship now. Not someone to make him forget Helen, but someone to be with. Yeah, he thought. When he hit New York, he'd look up Cherrie. She'd be surprised to see him. It'd be good to see her, show her he was okay.
It sure was hard to leave, though. He would miss Barnabas and Julia, Carolyn and Professor Stokes. He'd send them cards. And he'd get on with his life at last. That was all there was left to do.
He waited for the bus, and the time dragged by.
The End