Timewatch Read online

  “How?”

  “He was knocked down in a street by a runaway hackney.”

  Without waiting to hear more, Susanna ran into the hall and found two men carrying an unconscious Paul. She directed them into Paul’s bedroom. After they had laid him on the four-poster bed, she dismissed them with a coin each.

  “Call a physician,” she ordered the housekeeper.

  “I have done so already,” said the woman quietly. She then left.

  Susanna turned to Paul. He lay with his eyes closed, his left leg at an awkward angle.

  “Paul, speak to me.”

  He looked so peaceful lying there. She bent down and kissed him. He did not stir. She put a hand to his nostrils. No breath. His chest was still.

  An overpowering numbness overtook her. She fell into a chair. Sometime later a physician came and confirmed the worst: Paul was dead. Now he would never know about the baby. Now they would never marry. After they led her away to her bedroom, she lay down, her grief so deep that she could not even weep. Mrs. Zeman came in, offering a posset, but Susanna turned away. There was no comfort anywhere.

  How long it was she did not know before she arose. The household was quiet. Paul was well out of the world’s troubles, she thought bitterly, but as an unmarried mother she would be a target for the malicious. She must get away from this place—and soon—before her condition became obvious to all.

  Going to Paul’s desk then, she pressed a spring that opened the secret compartment, which he had directed her to open in the event of his death. She drew out a letter addressed to her and dated a fortnight after she had agreed to live with him.

  My Dearest Susanna, You are perusing this letter because I have died. I hope that we have had many happy years together. Know that your presence has made me the happiest of men. Do not grieve overlong for me, but go abroad as soon as may be possible, for as you are a Catholic and living in the household of a Jew, there are those who may wish to do you harm.

  Tears blurred her vision. Angrily she wiped them away. She had no time to grieve. She had to plan how she was going to survive, she and the babe growing in her belly. She could depend only on herself. It was her good fortune that the money Paul had left her would make her a rich woman.

  She spent hours that night wrapping each coin and sewing it into her petticoat. It was early morning when Mrs. Zeman ushered in Antonio Carvajal.

  “My dear Susanna,” he said, wrapping her hands in his two big ones. “I hope you will pardon my intrusion on your mourning. I wanted to let you know that I will help you in any way possible.”

  “I thank you for your kindness, sir. Please come into the parlor.”

  As they sat down next to the cold hearth, Mr. Carvajal asked, “It may be too early to inquire, but have you thought about what you might do?”

  Susanna shivered. “I must get away from here. My brother, have you found him?”

  “My agents tell me that they tracked him as far as the West Indies.”

  “I would go find him. He is my only living relative.”

  “The voyage would be a long and arduous one—especially for one in your condition—taking at least six weeks.”

  Startled, Susanna asked, “How do you know about my ‘condition’?”

  “When Mrs. Zeman came to me last night and gave me the news about Paul, she expressed her opinion that you were pregnant. She is very concerned about you.”

  That explained the knowing looks the housekeeper had been giving her lately.

  “Jeremy is the only one left of my family. I would brave anything to see him again,” said Susanna in a low voice.

  “Then if that is truly your resolve, I will arrange passage for you on one of my ships.” He paused and, looking keenly at her, asked, “Have you given thought as to what you might do when you reach the colonies?”

  Susanna shook her head.

  “I have a plan,” said Carvajal. “I have a good, stout house in Salem where my agent lived until a month ago when he died. You could live there if you would consider taking over his job. Mrs. Zeman has given a good report of you. She says that you have an uncommon facility with accounts and a level head. I have need of both. I would, of course, pay you a fair amount for your services. What say you?”

  “Your plan has merit,” said Susanna slowly. “I should not wish to stay in England, not when Cromwell is so fierce against Catholics.”

  “You have nothing to fear from that quarter.”

  “Why not, sir? My father and aunt were both seized by the Roundheads and thrown into the Fleet, where they died. Why should I not suffer the same fate?”

  “I do have some influence with Parliament.”

  Susanna looked at Carvajal in astonishment. “Of what nature is this influence?”

  Carvajal shrugged his shoulders. “I have done some small favors for Cromwell.”

  “But I understood you to be a Catholic?”

  Carvajal gave her a wry smile as he said, “We Jews survive by doing what we must—as did Paul.”

  “He would never …”

  “Why do you think that Parliament gave me, as well as four other London merchants, the army contract for corn? Was it not because I had increased trade with Spain by bringing cochineals, dyes for cloth, from the Canary Islands where I once lived? My ships trade as far as the East and West Indies, Brazil, and Syria. Cromwell may suspect I am a Jew, but he dislikes Papists more and doesn’t mind profiting from the taxes I pay on my profits—and the information I bring him about what is happening in various parts of the world. Knowledge is power, Susanna. Cromwell knows that and is prepared to deal with anyone who can supply that knowledge.”

  “And Paul, too, worked for Cromwell?”

  “He worked for himself and occasionally brought me information. Don’t let this distress you, Susanna. Paul did what was necessary to survive, and in the process made a small fortune.”

  Her mind reeled. She had loved Paul, thought him so upright a man, loved him for his kind heart and his good works, and all the time he had worked for that wretch who had killed her father and aunt and ousted Jeremy and her from their home. But she dared not tell any of this to Carvajal, who was coolly assessing her, trying to divine her thoughts. She could dissemble also.

  “I had not known of these things, sir.”

  “I should not have expected you to. Come, Susanna. I need an agent and you need a place to live. Obviously, you cannot stay here. In Paul’s will, which I witnessed before you appeared, this house is to become an orphanage. But if you are willing, one of my ships will take you and your housekeeper to Salem on the coast of New England. I have already spoken to Mrs. Zeman about this. She would be willing to accompany you.”

  Susanna’s nails dug into her palms. So once again others were deciding her fate. But this would be the very last time. “Very well, sir. I will go.”

  “Ah, good, Susanna. You will find Salem quite different from here, but I see a brilliant future for the colonies. An abundance of wood, fish, and other resources are to be had over there.”

  “I should like to discuss the terms of my contract with you, the kind of goods you export and import, and the exact nature of the duties that I am expected to perform.”

  The merchant looked at her with respect. “I shall be most happy to oblige you. Paul said that you were a woman of good sense. Let us begin.”

  After they had finished their discussion and Mrs. Zeman had ushered out Mr. Carvajal, she returned to the parlor, where Susanna was pacing the floor.

  “Susanna, I hope you do not mind my accompanying you to Salem.”

  “You are determined to do this? Mr. Carvajal has told me that the voyage will be arduous. If it will be so for me, how much more arduous would it be for one of your age?”

  In a voice that was softer than usual, the housekeeper said, “I have been through events much more arduous than that.”

  “I would not uproot you from your home.”

  “Jews have no home, except with the people
they care for.”

  “I have no home to offer you,” said Susanna bitterly.

  “Mr. Carvajal has provided you with one—if you will but accept it.”

  “I have told him that I will take it, and the position as his agent.”

  “A wise decision, Susanna.”

  “Since I have no family or home, it is the only course left to me.”

  “It is a difficult thing to bear, I know, but does not your Christian religion tell you that it is by trials and tribulations that one is strengthened?”

  Susanna rounded on the housekeeper. “What care I for that, or for a God who allows such things to happen? The man I loved is dead. Sometimes I wish I were, too!”

  “It is men, not God, who are responsible for the ills of the world,” said Mrs. Zeman tartly. “Put aside thoughts of death and live for the sake of the babe growing in your belly. You will get through this, Susanna, and I will help you.”

  “Very well. I am pleased that you are coming with me, but I had to be sure of your determination to do so.”

  The next few days passed in a whirl of activity. Mrs. Zeman looked after the arrangements for Paul’s funeral and packing for the voyage.

  On the day of their departure, Susanna did not look back as the coach drove away from Paul’s house. What might have been was of no concern to her now, only survival. With difficulty, for the gold she had sewn into her petticoat was no mean weight, she walked onto the ship. Six and a half weeks later, she found herself in New England.

  It was a simple matter to pass herself off as the widow of a merchant, a Charles Morgan. And now here she was, her own mistress, living in the small town of Salem, where her neighbors were friendly but respected her need for privacy. In turn, even though she was done with religion, she respected the Puritan dedication to work and the stern philosophy that had impelled them to leave comfortable homes for the hardships of the wilderness. In this place, exposure to common dangers and hardships bestowed equality on them all. Here she would build a new life.

  Carvajal’s house, although much smaller than Paul’s, was adequate. Someday, Susanna vowed, she would own her own house and land. By good fortune, the law decreed that widows might own their own property. For instance, Margaret Hardenbroeck had taken over her late husband’s shipping business in New Amsterdam and become quite rich. Another independent woman, Anne Bradstreet, was an author who had written verse and was widely known as America’s first female writer.

  In Salem, no one would dare question her right to act as agent for so important a merchant as Antonio Carvajal. In time, she would own her own business and run things her way.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dan Morgan South of San Francisco on the coastal highway, June 21, 1992

  * * *

  They’d been driving south for almost half an hour, and Gerry had said nothing. Earlier that morning at five minutes to 10 A.M. everyone—except Gerry—had been seated in the limo, while Caleb had been looking at his watch and muttering to himself. Two minutes later, Gerry had arrived. Cummings was right there to hand her into the only seat remaining—beside Dan.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she’d said.

  “Just on time, young lady,” Caleb had said gallantly. “We can leave now, Cummings,” he’d said to his servant, who had started the engine and driven out into the heavy San Francisco traffic.

  Without looking at anyone, Gerry had taken her sunglasses out of her purse and put them on.

  The steady stream of traffic didn’t stop some drivers from taking chances in passing them on the two-lane Highway 1 as they headed south. With the Pacific Ocean thundering against the rocky cliffs on their right, where twisted pines clung precariously, and the hilly country to their left, there was no room for mistakes.

  Marjory smoothed down her navy print dress and said, “Last night Jeremy said that we would go back in time into our previous bodies to rectify certain situations. It sounds very much like reincarnation. You edited a book about this, didn’t you, Geraldine?”

  Gerry nodded but said nothing.

  Dan stole a quick look at her and said, “Gerry and I talked about this yesterday. She mentioned that people often reincarnate with others that they’ve known before.”

  “Do people have to be related to each other?” asked J.J.

  “Not necessarily,” said Gerry slowly, taking off her sunglasses.

  Her eyes looked tired, and there were purple shadows underneath them.

  I’ve fallen in love with her and she’s my cousin, thought Dan. What do I do now?

  “I was wondering,” said Marjory, “if Nicholas is supposed to be included in this task that Jeremy wants us to take on.”

  “You mean the one where we save the world, our world?” asked Laney.

  That was his girl, always the diplomat, trying to smooth over situations.

  “It would be my pleasure to help,” said Nicholas with a smile. “I guess we’ll find out today. This is the twenty-first of June, when, according to Jeremy, the window for cementing this present timeline in place will close.”

  “I don’t get this reincarnation thing,” said Laney, wrinkling her forehead. “I mean, how do we know it’s true?”

  “I remember reading about the famous American actor named Glen Ford,” said Marjory. “When he was hypnotized in 1975, he recalled a past life at Versailles at the court of Louis the Fourteenth as a cavalry officer named Launvaux. He was killed in a duel over a woman. Strangely enough, Mr. Ford now has a birthmark below his breastbone, the very same place where he was killed by the thrust of a sword. And the amazing thing is that during his regression he spoke flawless seventeenth-century French, a language unknown to him.

  “After being regressed to another past life when he was a music teacher in eighteenth-century Scotland, he could play the music of composers like Mozart and Beethoven. In this lifetime, Mr. Ford cannot play a note of music.”

  Nicholas straightened his bow tie and said, “I’m speculating here, but it strikes me that at least some of you Morgans, like Jason, seem to have unusual abilities. As Marjory has implied, you might have developed these in previous lifetimes. This might indicate why you have been asked to take on this task.”

  “How perceptive of you, Nicholas. You could be right,” said Marjory looking around at the others.

  “I don’t,” said Laney, “have a special ability, I mean.”

  “Not true,” said Dan. “You pick up right away on other people’s feelings, and even those of animals.”

  “And Aunt Marjory has the Sight. She saw this woman, Bryanna, from Celtic Britain,” said Gerry.

  Marjory smiled at Gerry and said, “Gerry has been having particularly vivid dreams about Susanna, whom Jeremy mentioned in his memoir.”

  “What about you, Dan?” challenged Caleb, who had been listening intently.

  “I get hunches, mainly.”

  “Hunches?” asked Caleb, his eyes boring into Dan’s.

  “Yeah.” Like the feeling that the driver of a certain Chevy van, which had been following them for some time, might be planning something bad for their health. But he didn’t want to mention anything that might disturb the rest of them.

  “One of my buddies in the Marines mentioned a rumor going around that after hearing that the Soviets were using psychics to steal information from the U.S., the CIA had recruited some guys from the military for a special program. After being trained, the ‘remote viewers,’ as they were called, would be given certain coordinates and asked to draw pictures of what they saw. But this is all classified stuff, so you won’t be able to find out anything yet.” Dan looked straight at Caleb and added, “We know that you have been having visions.”

  Caleb turned beet red. His left foot began tapping on the floor of the car. Laney looked with concern at him but said nothing. Obviously Caleb wasn’t happy about being reminded of his ability.

  “It looks as though I’m the odd man out,” said Nicholas in a light tone that held an undercurrent of anxiet
y.

  “Perhaps you have another purpose in being here,” said Marjory, who was sitting beside him.

  Nicholas turned sideways in his seat and looked inquiringly at her.

  “Maybe, for some reason, your presence is needed. Perhaps at some point in the past you were with some of us and have to go back to a turning point.”

  No one spoke, seemingly mulling over what Marjory had said. Dan looked at his new watch again. Laney had insisted on giving it to him as an early birthday present. Found it on sale, she’d said. Even so, how many kids would buy such an expensive present for their dads? But Laney had always been a generous person. What had he done to deserve a great kid like that?

  Now Cummings was turning left onto a side road, which a sign said led to the San Juan Mission. Farmhouses and clumps of trees dotted the rounded hills. In the distance near some buildings clustered around a church with a bell tower, grapevines marched up the hill.

  Shortly after, Cummings brought their car, the only vehicle there, to a stop in a car park. It felt good to get out of the car and stretch his legs.

  Laney climbed out of the car and turned her face to the sun. “Um, that feels great,” she said. “It’s a lot warmer here than in San Francisco.”

  “It gets warmer as you go inland,” said Caleb, loosening his tie and striding over to a monk working in the flower bed that ran along the front of the quadrangle with its roof and large arches shading a walkway.

  Gerry stepped gracefully out of the Lincoln, then stopped a little distance from the others and began digging into her purse.

  Dan drew alongside of her and asked, “You had a bad night? Sorry,” he said quickly. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, I notice things.”

  Gerry took a deep breath and said, “I had some more dreams about Susanna. I think I might have been her.”

  “Well, if reincarnation is a fact, we all had to be somebody,” joked Dan.

  “If you put it that way. The thing is, I might have met you there.”