Epilogue

GRACE

AUGUST 1, 1914

NEW YORK CITY

Sunshine beat down upon our heads as Luc and I stood on 5th Avenue. I wore a large hat with a wide brim to shade my eyes, but it was still bright. There were no clouds to mar the beautiful blue sky or offer relief from the glare to those on the street. My lavender gown was soft and lightweight, helping with the heat, which I was thankful for as I had recently entered my seventh month of pregnancy.

"Mr. Hearst seemed pleased with your latest article," Luc said as he held my hand. He looked handsome in a black suit and tie with a black fedora on his head. He had to speak loudly over the noise of the crowd. "But are you certain you should cover this story?"

I grasped the strap of my brown leather bag, making sure I didn't lose it in the melee outside the church. Hundreds of people had gathered to watch the event unfold, and I had been sent by Mr. Hearst to take pictures and report back to his newspaper. Luc and I had arrived nearly an hour ago to get a good place to stand, and my feet were aching—but I was too excited to think about it for long.

"I didn't ask for this job," I said, feeling a little sheepish, "so I saw no reason to turn it down when it was offered."

"No reason?" he asked with a laugh. "There is every reason to turn this one down. You could have made an excuse to Mr. Hearst."

"No one says no to William Randolph Hearst." Even as I said the words, I knew it was just an excuse.

I wanted to be here today.

Ever since I'd recovered from the accident, Mr. Hearst had been paying me to write articles for his newspaper, the New York Journal. I still wrote for the New York Globe and had begun writing for The Washington Times after we moved to DC. Writing for two New York newspapers required regular trips to the city, but I didn't mind coming back. New York would always feel like home.

"I'm not sure how many trips I'll be able to take once the baby arrives," I told him as I laid a hand on my growing midsection, "so I'm taking advantage of this opportunity while I still can."

"Mr. Hearst capitalizes on sensationalism, which is often at the expense of people's privacy," Luc said, his voice reflecting his dislike of Hearst's business practices. "That's why he sent you here. Are you sure you want to add to her misery by writing this article?"

I looked down the street at the approaching carriage and tried to contain the feelings surging within me. Anticipation, excitement, fear—but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling right now.

"Whether I'm here or not," I said, preparing my camera, "she must endure today. She won't even notice me. I'm simply a face in the crowd." I couldn't contain my eagerness, and I smiled at him. "I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to see her."

He smiled as he put one hand on the small of my back and kissed my temple. "Who knows what adventure life will throw at us next?"

"A baby. That's our next big adventure."

He grinned. "I can't wait."

For the past eighteen months, Luc and I had been busy establishing our careers. While I had been writing for three newspapers, he had started a flying school in DC and had begun advising the government on use of aeroplanes in the military. His business had grown faster than we anticipated and occupied much of his time. But he was happy to be done with exhibition flying, and I was happy to know he would never perform the death dive again. Years ago, Mama had mentioned that WWI was on the horizon, and though I hadn't mentioned it to Luc, I knew he would be instrumental in developing aviation for the war effort. He would be invaluable as a consultant and instructor for the US government.

As for me, I hadn't flown an aeroplane since the accident in Long Beach, but Luc had convinced me to go up with him as a passenger on several occasions. I loved the feel of the air and knew it would always be in my blood—I just had no interest in piloting an aeroplane ever again.

I was thankful Luc was able to be here with me today. When Mama heard what I had done, she'd probably scold me. Luc would be a buffer between us, though she wouldn't stay mad for long. Not once I gave her a copy of the picture I was about to take.

The beautiful black carriage drew closer to St. Thomas Episcopal Church. Yards of white flower garland had been draped on the sides of the carriage. As it passed through an intersection, a police officer stopped the cross traffic and doffed his cap at the bride and her father, who sat within.

My heart pounded as the carriage came to a stop in front of the church. The crowds cheered, and the bride's father waved his white-gloved hand at the onlookers. The driver stepped down from his perch and opened the door, allowing the bride's father to exit first. He turned and offered his hand to his daughter. She took it and stepped out of the carriage.

She wore an exquisite gown of white silk with a long train embroidered with flowers along the scalloped edges. Her veil covered her face, but she was so close, I could make out her features clearly—and though I couldn't see them, I knew she had tears upon her cheeks.

Women tossed flowers onto the bride's path as her mother pulled up in an automobile and was escorted into the church without looking at her. A servant arranged her train and veil and then handed her a bouquet of flowers before offering a gentle smile and disappearing into the church.

As the bride took her father's arm and looked up at the imposing Gothic fa?ade of the church, I lifted my camera and snapped a picture.

Her gaze slipped to mine, and I held my breath.

For a heartbeat, I looked into the beautiful green eyes of my grandmother Libby. She was only twenty and just embarking on her own journey. She didn't know who I was—would never know me—but it was enough that I knew her.

Just as quickly, she looked down at the ground and allowed her father to walk her into the church. Someone closed the heavy doors behind her, and the moment was over.

Several people began to walk away while others stayed, waiting for the bride and groom to exit the church after the wedding.

But I had what I needed, and I was ready to leave.

I had no desire to see Libby's husband, Lord Reginald Fairhaven, the Marquess of Cumberland. Especially knowing he would make my grandmother's life miserable—until she found her happily-ever-after with my grandfather Henry.

"Ready to go?" Luc asked as he offered me his arm.

I set my camera in my leather bag and then wrapped my arm through his and nodded.

As we walked away from St. Thomas's, Luc asked, "What are you thinking about, ma chérie?"

"Hope."

He smiled as he set his hand over mine. "When do you not think of Hope?"

"I wish she was here with me."

"You say that every day."

"I wish it today, most of all."

He lifted my hand and kissed it. "You also say that every day."

I smiled up at him. My heart would never be the same without my sister, but I took pleasure in knowing that she was happy. Because even though we were parted by centuries, I knew, without a doubt, that she had found peace with Isaac. Hope lived on. I could feel her, as if she were standing beside me.

And that made me happiest of all.

My only wish was that she knew about the baby I carried, but as I set my hand on my rounded stomach, marveling at my active child, I had a feeling that somehow, some way, she would.

HOPE

AUGUST 1, 1694

MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY

The day was warm, but not overly hot, as I sat beside Isaac on the wagon. One of my hands was wrapped around his arm, while the other lay gently on my rounded stomach. I had just entered my seventh month, and the child was active. Each time I felt it, I smiled.

"Happy?" Isaac asked me. "Even though you're a farmer's wife and you live in Salem Village?"

I chuckled, recalling my words to Grace two years ago, when the witch hysteria had just begun. How wrong I had been about Isaac.

"He's a rule-follower. He bows down to the elders without question. He is content to stay on his farm, attend meeting, and work himself to death. I would shrivel up and die if I had to submit myself to such a life. I want more than Salem Village can give me."

Yet I had everything I had thought I would hate—and I was completely and utterly content. My struggle to find a place on the Broadway stage and my daring flights seemed so foreign and unwelcome. The hustle and bustle of New York City in 1912 felt loud and crowded now.

"I'm very happy." I filled my lungs with the pure New England air and knew I would not take back the life I had once known, even if I were given the choice. I had found purpose and joy in being Isaac's wife, in caring for our home, and in growing our farm. I still hated cleaning—but I enjoyed cooking and baking. It made me feel closer to Grace.

There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think about my sister. Her death in 1692 had been harder than I had anticipated, and I had spent months in deep grief. But slowly, the grief had dulled, and I could think of her with joy again.

"Are you ready to meet the rest of your family?" Isaac asked.

"I have longed for this day for many months." I was especially curious about Rachel Howlett's child. I had thought of her often, praying for her as I did my own unborn child.

My hand settled on my stomach as I thought about the growing babe. If he or she was a time-crosser, I would deal with the reality, though I prayed they were not. There were blessings that came with crossing time, but the difficulties far outweighed the joys.

We entered the outskirts of Sandwich, and Isaac turned down a winding lane. He'd been there once before and knew how to find Pricilla's home.

I thought of our own home, which had suffered while we were in New York. The servants had done their best to keep the farm running, but many things were out of their control. It hadn't taken long for the authorities to realize that Isaac helped me escape the gaol, so a warrant for his arrest had been issued, and Sheriff Corwin had confiscated all his livestock under justification of the law.

It had taken us a year to rebuild what was lost, but Isaac was a good manager, and we were thriving once again.

In October, on the day Grace left us for good, Governor Phips had halted all court proceedings in Salem and ordered an end to the arrests. By January, while we were still in New York, the charges against me had been dropped, as were those against many others. By May, Governor Phips had pardoned the rest, and everyone who could afford their debt to the gaol had been released. To pay for Tituba's debt, Reverend Parris sold her, and she was sent out of the colony. John Indian soon followed.

By the end, almost two hundred men, women, and children were accused. Fourteen women and five men were hanged; one man was pressed to death; and three women, one man, and one baby died in prison. But every person in Salem Village and the surrounding communities had been scarred with emotional and mental wounds that would never go away.

It was something I both feared and hoped would never be forgotten.

"There," Isaac said as he pointed at a simple brown house up ahead. "Pricilla Baker's home."

It was a charming property with large trees all around and a split-rail fence encircling the generous yard.

As we came to a stop, the front door opened, and several women stepped outside. I recognized Pricilla instantly but wondered who the others were.

"They're your family," Isaac said as if he knew my thoughts. "All of them."

Delight bubbled up inside me as people poured out of the house and into the yard, waving at me as if I were returning home after a long journey.

And perhaps I was.

"Hope!" Pricilla cried. "Thee hath finally come."

I had written to her several times, telling her about Grace and asking if I could come to visit. She had written back with a resounding yes.

Isaac stepped out of the wagon and helped me down. The child I carried made the process a little more difficult. The moment my feet were on the ground, I was engulfed in hugs.

"This is Virginia and Esther and Joanna and Alice ..." Pricilla's introductions continued, but I could only laugh, knowing I would never remember everyone's names the first time. There were aunts, uncles, and cousins to greet, and they all looked so much like me—so much like Grace—that I felt completely at home.

"Come inside," Pricilla said. "There are cakes and doughnuts and more food than thee could ever eat. And bring thy good husband."

I took Isaac's hand as one of the cousins led the horse and wagon to the barn. Isaac seemed just as pleased with all the family as I was. When his mother died, he had been alone in the world—until he'd married me. I also felt orphaned in a way. Since our return to Salem Village, I had not spoken to my father or Susannah. I saw them at meeting and admired their little boy, but we acted as if we were strangers. It was easier that way, after all we'd been through. I didn't know if we'd ever reconcile, but I trusted that God would find a way for us to move on.

Now we were surrounded by family who loved us, and nothing else mattered.

As we ate, I asked for the introductions again and discovered that my mother Tacy had been one of eight sisters and two brothers. All but one aunt was married or widowed, and there were dozens of cousins.

And they spoke openly about their time-crossing.

"Two of our sisters, Abigail and Hannah, chose their other paths," Pricilla said.

"Are all of you time-crossers?" I asked.

"No." Buela shook her head. "Damaris and I are not."

I looked around the room, and one of the sisters raised her hand. "I'm Damaris."

Laughing, I shook my head. "I'm sorry. It may take me some time to learn everyone's names."

"Don't worry," Pricilla said as she touched my knee. "Thee hath time."

Isaac stood behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. I reached up and rested mine on his. I did have time.

"And who are Rachel's parents?" I asked, looking around the room.

Everyone turned to John and Patience, whose quiet sadness gripped my heart. I recognized their grief.

"I was with her until the very last," I told Patience, who had married into the family and was not a time-crosser.

Tears rimmed Patience's beautiful blue eyes, and she nodded. "Thank thee, Hope. It brings my heart comfort to know thee were with her."

"Do you know what happened to the baby?" I asked quietly.

"Yes," Patience said. "We've inquired after her and learned that her father, Josias Reed, took the baby with him to the Carolinas. It seems his wife died on the ocean crossing and never made it to Salem Towne. He is raising the child, and we have no right to her."

"I'm sorry."

"He named her Anne," Pricilla said, "and we are praying that God sends her a guide, just as He provided one to thee and Grace."

I had written to Pricilla about Tacy, as well, and all that Grace had told me about her life in 1912.

"And what of my cousins?" I asked as I looked around the large room at dozens of men, women, and children, all different ages.

Pricilla smiled. "Not all are time-crossers, but there are many, and they span the ages both past and future."

The child in my womb rolled, reminding me that he or she would be joining this strange and wonderful family. And for the first time, I felt at peace knowing that if they were a time-crosser, it would be okay. Somehow, Pricilla made me feel as if this was a normal experience—something that had never felt normal before now.

"Thank you," I said to Pricilla and the others as I met their loving gazes. "For welcoming Isaac and me into your family. You don't know how much it means to us."

Isaac gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze—and I knew I was exactly where I belonged. The only thing that would make it better was having Grace here with me—but she was where she belonged, as well. And I knew, deep within, that Grace was happy.

If I had learned anything, it was that God's plans were far better than our own.