Margaret nodded, hoping the details she and Robin had discussed wouldn’t elude her at the worst moment.

  “All right, here we go.” Robin pulled the door open and ushered Margaret into the café. “She’s here.” Robin waved; Margaret followed her gaze. A woman sitting alone nodded, then shook her head when Robin pointed at the mug that sat on the table in front of her. “Come on, let’s get our teas,” Robin murmured.

  Too soon, Margaret had a tea and two large cookies in hand. Breathing rapidly, she followed Robin to the table and tried not to stare at the woman who peered curiously at her. Good Lord, was that a tattoo on Cathy’s forearm? Her hair was barely longer than Robin’s, and a leather jacket was slung over the back of her chair. Did all lesbians wear leather jackets, jeans, and t-shirts? No, Margaret recalled seeing a photo of one in a dress in the newspaper, and her shock at the accompanying article’s casual and brazen discussion of the woman’s lesbianism. Robin hadn’t been lying when she’d stated that things had changed over the past one hundred years.

  Unlike Robin, Cathy wore earrings, which also suggested that not all lesbians were alike. Margaret had gathered that individuality was important in 2010, so she shouldn’t be surprised.

  “Hey,” Robin said. Cathy smiled, but her attention remained on Margaret, who felt Robin’s hand on her back. “This is Margaret. Margaret, Cathy.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Cathy said, apparently taking the introduction as permission to openly study her. Her brows lifted when her gaze settled on Margaret’s hair.

  “And you,” Margaret said. Following Robin’s lead, she set her tea on the table, shrugged off Pam’s fall coat and hung it over the back of the chair, and sat down.

  Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “Robin’s been very coy about you. I’m glad you’re the reason she’s been in hermit mode for the past month.” Her gaze shifted to Robin. “Mike said you haven’t grouped with him for a few weeks.” She winked. “You must have it bad.”

  Robin chuckled. “Stop it.”

  Already lost, Margaret remained silent as one of the tactics she and Robin had discussed ran through her mind: Only speak when I understand the conversation.

  Cathy leaned forward and curled both her hands around her mug. “So how did you meet? When did you meet?”

  “Through Pam, believe it or not,” Robin said. Only lie when we have to. “Margaret stopped by the house to see her, and we got talking.”

  “It must have been some conversation. So you’re a friend of Pam’s?” Cathy asked Margaret.

  Despite Margaret’s nerves, the story she’d rehearsed was at her fingertips. “Yes. I stopped by the house to drop off a book.”

  “Pam wasn’t home,” Robin said, smoothly picking up the story. “But she was on her way home from work, so I offered Margaret a tea, and—”

  “The rest is herstory!” Cathy stated. She waggled her eyebrows at Margaret. “You could have just left the book. But you wanted to have that tea with Robin.”

  Margaret felt herself blush. The prospect of taking tea with Robin had intimidated her, but she hadn’t wanted to be rude. By the time Jasper and Pam had returned from their outing into town, Margaret had hoped for more conversations with Robin. Attraction had stirred then, but Margaret hadn’t recognized it for what it was until she’d slipped her arm through Robin’s that fateful afternoon.

  A sly smile spread across Cathy’s face. “Did Pam forget the book somewhere? Maybe she deliberately left it and then made sure she wouldn’t be home when Margaret brought it by, if you know what I mean.”

  Robin shook her head. “Pam didn’t intend to bring us together. It just happened.”

  Margaret smiled down at her lap, then lifted her head. “How did the two of you meet?” Asking questions was a safe way to engage in the conversation—especially when Margaret already knew the answer. “As long as it’s about Cathy, not about something general that you ‘should’ already know,” Robin had added.

  Robin and Cathy both spoke at once, then stopped. “You go,” Robin said.

  “At university,” Cathy said. “As you might have figured out, I’m an older student, too. So when I showed up for my Intro to Programming course and spotted Robin slouched in the back, I made a beeline for her, especially since she looked like a dyke.”

  Margaret sipped her tea to cover her confusion. Why would Cathy think that Robin looked like a dam?

  “You know when you meet someone, and you can talk to them as if you’ve known each other for years?” Apparently not expecting a reply, Cathy carried on, wagging her finger between Robin and herself. “That’s how it felt when we started talking. It’s hard to believe we’ve only known each other for just over a year.”

  It sounded like Margaret’s friendship with Helena. From the day they’d met four years ago, conversation had come easily between them, though they’d seen less of each other since Helena’s courtship with, and then engagement to, Teddy. Margaret shook herself. Helena was dead. So was Teddy. What had Helena thought when “Margaret” ran away to Halifax without saying good-bye, never to be heard from again? She’d probably been beside herself. I’m sorry, Helena. It wasn’t me.

  “We really hit it off! As friends,” Cathy quickly added. “I was seeing someone at the time. The less said about her, the better.”

  Margaret wouldn’t have dared to pry anyway, and gave Robin a sidelong glance. Would it be rude to ask Robin about her former girlfriends? Not here; when they were alone.

  “So you guys have been seeing each other for . . .”

  “A couple of months,” Robin said, stretching the truth a little.

  “A couple of months? I guess things suddenly grew serious over the past month, when you disappeared.”

  Oh, if only Cathy knew the truth of her words!

  “What do you do, Margaret?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out,” she said, dutifully regurgitating the words Robin had told her to say. She’d thought the answer inadequate, but Cathy said, “So many people are doing that now, what with the economy and layoffs and all that.”

  Due to Margaret’s newspaper education and subsequent chats with Robin, she understood every word and felt quite proud of herself.

  “Do you live in the same neighbourhood as Robin?”

  Margaret sensed Robin tense.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Cathy asked when Robin shifted in her chair.

  “We’re living together,” Robin mumbled.

  “Living together?” Cathy’s wide eyes and sharp tone conveyed her surprise. “The old U-haul on the second date, eh? And with Pam gone now, things must be cozy.”

  Blood rushed to Margaret’s cheeks. Cathy assumed they were sharing a bed! Fortunately Cathy’s attention was still on Robin. Margaret lifted her mug, hoping that Cathy would attribute her beet-red face to the hot tea.

  “Funny how things always work out like that, isn’t it?” Cathy said. “Margaret came along just as Pam left. And I’m glad you did.” Her smile appeared genuine. “It’s about time Robin had someone special in her life. I think she’d convinced herself that—”

  “Okay, enough, enough,” Robin said, much to Margaret’s chagrin. “Can we talk about something else, like—why don’t you tell Margaret about your singing?”

  Cathy’s face lit up. “Sure!”

  Margaret nibbled on a cookie as she listened to Cathy describe her practices and concerts with a local choir. When the conversation turned to local news, Margaret was able to throw in a word here and there; in fact, she held her own for the rest of the evening, thanks in large part to Robin, who always deftly steered the conversation onto more general topics whenever Cathy tried to uncover more details about Margaret and her relationship with Robin.

  “You guys are coming to the women’s dance at the Y, right?” Cathy asked as she pushed back her chair and grabbed her jacket.

  “We haven’t talked about it,” Robin said.

  “Come on, you can come out of your cocoon for one night.”

  “We’ll think about it.” Robin ignored Cathy’s pointed look.

  They walked together to the streetcar stop, where they said good-bye to Cathy. Margaret had ridden a streetcar in her Toronto, albeit in an earlier model, so climbing aboard at the stop near the house earlier that evening had evoked a feeling of déjà vu. Now, when the streetcar arrived, she boarded first and dropped the token Robin had given her into the slot. The driver grunted. In her time, she would have exchanged a few words with him, but not here. She slid into a seat and smiled when Robin sat next to her.

  Margaret had several questions for Robin regarding the conversation with Cathy, but they’d have to wait until nobody could overhear them. She gazed out the window, wondering if the feeling that she and Robin were engaged in nefarious activities would ever go away. It was the secretiveness, and the knowledge that, should she ever speak of her background to anyone other than Robin, people would think her mad, or a liar. Although she was sitting in plain sight, she was hiding—a time intruder. Would she feel the same way in five years? Ten? Twenty?

  Based on what she’d experienced so far, the chances of tripping herself up with a stranger were slim. People kept to themselves. When she ventured outside the house with Robin, she worried about getting lost, not about inadvertently alerting others to her background. She was an anonymous woman among a mass of anonymous people. The population must have grown ten times since 1910, yet she would be hard-pressed to make friends, were she ready to do so. Then again, walking about the neighbourhood and riding the streetcar would be less intimidating because she wouldn’t have to worry about strangers striking up a conversation with her.

  Not long later, she relaxed when they stepped into the house. Margaret hung her coat and turned to Robin, who was locking the front door. Robin grinned at her. “You did great. You’ve definitely been paying attention to the newspapers. And you’re very brave. I don’t know if I could do it.”

  Margaret flushed at Robin’s praise. “I can only do it because you’re with me.”

  “Soon you won’t need me.”

  “I will always need you.” She wanted to touch her. She hesitated, then reached for Robin, and closed her eyes when Robin’s arms slipped around her waist. Oh, how she’d longed to hold Robin in her jacket. She ran her hand up Robin’s back, revelling in the sensation of the smooth, cool leather underneath her fingers. “You were wearing this jacket when I realized I . . . felt more for you than I should,” she murmured.

  “When?” Robin asked, her breath tickling Margaret’s ear. “Here, in the hallway?”

  “No. Walking along the boardwalk.” She’d never imagined then that she’d act on her feelings, partly because she’d considered them perverted, and partly because she’d assumed that Robin would be revolted by any display of affection.

  “Is that why you wanted this jacket? Remember when I asked what you’d want?” Robin said.

  “Yes. And yes.” Dare she ask a question that had teased her ever since their first conversation in the Bainbridge guest house? “When did you know that you cared for me?” She regretted the question when Robin drew back, then held her breath as Robin’s fingers traced her lips.

  “Well, it’s probably more a question of when I admitted it,” Robin said softly. “I think I fell in love with you during those nights in the study. But I couldn’t let myself go there. I didn’t let myself think about it. I told myself I was keeping you company while Pam and Jasper were, um, occupied. After all, you were straight. And engaged.”

  Now she was neither. She would never be “straight” again. But engaged? She hoped so, if Robin would accept her as she was, with her old-fashioned ways.

  Robin met Margaret’s eyes. “I’m glad you kissed me. May I kiss you?” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “I might mess up your hair.”

  “That’s all right,” Margaret said faintly. “We’ll be going to bed soon, anyway.” She sucked in her breath. “Alone. I didn’t mean—”

  Robin’s face was alight with amusement. “I know what you meant. Now stop talking so I can kiss you.”

  Margaret was happy to oblige. When Robin’s lips touched hers, heat raged through her, and when Robin’s lips parted, hers did too . . . and the world melted away. When their mouths finally drew apart, Margaret’s heart was pounding, her fingers were in Robin’s hair, and her face felt as hot as Robin’s looked. The story she could tell her friends now! She slipped her hands down to Robin’s cheeks and held her face. A lump formed in her throat. She’d never felt such a fierce love for anyone.

  Something was tugging at her hair; she realized that Robin was disentangling her fingers. Margaret had possessed only a vague awareness of Robin’s hands in her hair when they were kissing. Lost to her bliss and desire, she wouldn’t have noticed a train racing toward them!

  Robin leaned in again. They shared a sweet kiss, then Robin pulled Margaret into a hug. Margaret lay her head against Robin’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. She’d left so much behind and faced an uncertain and frightening future, but there wasn’t another time period or place she’d rather be, than in Robin’s arms in 2010.

  Chapter Eight

  Pam was examining herself in her bedroom’s full-length mirror when a knock at the door startled her. “Coming!”

  She opened the door to Bella. “A letter for you,” Bella said, presenting it to Pam with a flourish.

  “Thank you.” Excited, Pam shut the door. Her heart sank when she saw that it wasn’t from Jasper, but a letter from Toronto. When the hell would she see Jasper again? Since the dinner at Oliver’s the day they’d arrived, she’d seen him only twice, and never alone. She was about ready to poke her eyes out with one of those dreaded embroidery needles! He’d better be looking for a place to live so they could marry, pronto—but shouldn’t she be with him when he looked at properties?

  With a sigh, she read the return address on the envelope. Hmm, it was from a Miss H. Morgan. The woman must have gotten the address from Jasper’s father, or perhaps Margaret’s parents. Pam ripped the envelope open and unfolded a piece of flowered stationery.

  Margaret,

  How could you? When I heard, I was horrified. I thought we were friends! Four months pregnant? How long were you carrying on with Jasper? Did you think about how it would affect me and Teddy? The looks I get! I make sure everyone knows that I value my innocence and that having you as a friend was an unfortunate lapse in judgement. Teddy and I can hold our heads high, which is more than I can say for you and Jasper.

  Your poor parents. Did you think of them? No, of course you didn’t. You were too busy giving in to your carnal desires.

  If you were thinking of returning to Toronto for my wedding, don’t! The last thing Teddy and I need is a woman of such low moral character staining our perfect day. You’re a liar, and a harlot, and I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again.

  Helena

  Jesus. It was a miracle anyone had children in this time period. Pam was tempted to write back and tell her to fuck off, but she’d probably be arrested. Who would have guessed that pretty, dainty, flowery paper could convey such venom? Margaret, if you’ve ever wondered who your true friends were, you can scratch Miss Helena Morgan off your list. One transgression and you were history.

  Pam refolded the paper, stuck it back in the envelope, and reluctantly opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Another exciting day at Pembleton Manor with dour Doris, whose fiancé was a barrel of laughs, too. Pam had started to believe that he was a figment of Doris’s imagination, but she’d finally met him the day before yesterday. Elliot was uptight, brusque, and spoke to Doris as if she were a five-year-old. He was also handsome, but that didn’t make up for his lousy personality. What did Doris see in him? She was plain and almost twenty-five. Maybe she was desperate, but there had to be better prospective husbands than Elliot.

  After a quick detour out the back door to deposit Helena’s lovely letter in the trash—after ripping it up, of course, to save it from prying eyes—Pam went to the dining room, where Doris was already tucking into breakfast.

  “Good morning,” Pam said breezily.

  Doris jumped and dropped her fork, then quickly pulled an open book at her elbow over something else. Another book? What was she hiding? Doris glared and picked up her fork. “Good morning,” she mumbled.

  Resisting the urge to ask what Doris was reading, Pam pulled out a chair and sat, plucked an orange from the fruit bowl, and began to peel it. “Would you like to go for a walk after breakfast? I’d love to see more of the grounds.” And to get out of this freaking house.

  “Yes, all right,” Doris said, sounding as if she was about to undergo a root canal.

  Ava, a waifish girl who worked in the kitchen, stepped into the room. “A boiled egg and toast for you this morning, Miss Wilton?”

  “Yes, please.” Pam leaned to her left as Ava poured her a cup of coffee, and took the opportunity to glance at Doris’s open book. There was definitely another book hidden underneath it. Pam could hardly contain her curiosity. Was Doris reading something naughty? What passed for porn here? People wearing shorts? Men probably had access to lewd sketches of nude women, even photos. Pam would be surprised if the equivalent existed for women, and a woman of Doris’s breeding wouldn’t be caught dead with such items, anyway. What had she been reading? When Ava straightened, Pam quickly refocused on her orange, not wanting to alert Doris that she’d noticed the other book.

  Doris made no pretense of wanting to converse, so Pam munched her way through breakfast in silence. As she was dabbing her mouth with a napkin after finishing her last piece of toast, a voice out in the hallway made her want to push back her chair and leap into the air.

  The butler who’d taken Pam’s hat the day she’d arrived stepped into the room. “Mr. Bainbridge,” he announced, then turned on his heel and left. Jasper appeared in the doorway, clutching his hat in front of him. He inclined his head. “Ladies.”

 

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