 A Husband in Time
Silhouette Fortune's Children mini-series
January 1997
ISBN 0-373-50183-8
Out of print
Fortune's Children
Silhouette Signature Collection
Special Promotion Reissue
March 2005
ISBN 0-373-38908-6
The stranger had come to Jane Fortune from out of nowhere. He couldn't
explain who he was, but Jane's young son could. The little boy insisted
Zach was his imaginary daddy come to life, the father he's always
wanted. And even Jane couldn't deny that he was oddly familiar. But the
clock was ticking on the family they'd formed, because Jane had
discovered Zach's identity--and only a twist of time could keep him
home.
Reviews
"The very
talented Maggie Shayne sparkles in A HUSBAND IN TIME
(4.5G), a moving tale certain to touch every heart." --
Debbie Richardson,
Romantic Times
Chapter One
September 4th, 1897
Six-year-old Benjamin Bolton rested
against a stack of pillows in his bedroom--the first room on the left,
right at the top of the stairs. He couldn't get out of bed very often,
not at all without his father's help. But Father had turned his bed
around, and tied the curtains open, so that Ben could see the sky as he
lay there. And tonight, as he stared up at the sparkling night sky, he
saw a shooting star...and then another, and a third. They zipped across
their blue-black home, leaving white hot trails, and though it wasn't
very scientific at all, Benjamin closed his eyes, and wished with
everything in him.
"Three shooting stars, that's
three wishes for me. I wish..." He bit his lip, thinking hard to be
sure he'd word the wishes right, and not waste them. "I wish to be well
again, so I can run and play outdoors, and ride my pony, and not die
like they all think I'm going to, even though they don't say it out
loud."
He drew a breath, heard the
wheezy sound it made as it whistled into his weakened lungs. His head
hurt. He ached most everywhere, and he was dog tired. His eyes tried
to fall closed, but he forced them open again. This was important and
he still had two wishes to go.
"I wish for a mother. A real
mother, who will love me and read to me.... And who isn't afraid of
bullfrogs like Mrs. Haversham is." He smiled after he made the wish,
because he was sure he'd worded it just right.
Licking his lips, Benjamin
squeezed his eyes tight, and made the third wish, the one he'd been
wishing for all his life. "And I wish for a big brother. I promise I
won't ever fight with him or tease. I would like for him to be smart,
and brave, and strong, just like my father. I'll even share my pony
with him."
Ben opened his eyes, gazing
out the window. No trace of the stars remained. But they'd been
there. He'd seen them. And now an odd, warm feeling settled over him
just like a big woolly blanket. Somehow, he just knew everything was
going to be all right.
# # # #
September 4th, 1997
Cody Fortune glanced up from
the lap-top computer his mom had given him for his tenth birthday,
turning his head just in time to see the three shooting stars arching
over their car as it rolled over the narrow, deserted roads of Maine,
heading for the coast and their new home.
"Wow," he whispered, craning
his neck for a better look. Of all the things he'd seen on this trip
from Minnesota, this was the most incredible. Three at once. It had to
be an anomaly.
"Did you see that, Mom?"
"What?"
"Three shooting starts, right
in a row!"
She smiled at him, only
taking her eyes from the road for a second. "So, why don't you make a
wish? Or are you too skeptical for that?"
Cody Fortune was far too
intelligent to believe in any such thing as wishing on stars. But he
knew his mom didn't like him taking life too seriously, and some touch
of whimsy moved him to close his eyes, and whisper the things that had
been on his mind the most, lately. "I wish I had a dad," he said
softly. "And a little brother, because it gets so darn boring being an
only child. We'd have great times together. And I wish..." He licked
his lips, opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. His eyes watered
just a little bit, but he blinked them dry again. "I wish for my mom to
be happy. Really happy. 'Cause I know she isn't. I can't remember
when she was."
He lowered his head, and his
mother's soft hand stroked his hair. "Of course I'm happy, Cody. I
have you, and a new house in a small town, just like I've always
wanted. What more could I need?"
Cody smirked at her. He knew
better, of course, but he'd never get her to admit her life was less
than perfect. "You realize I've just wished on three hunks of burned
out rock, don't you?"
"It was still generous of you
to use up a whole wish on me."
He shrugged and turned back
to the lap-top. It wasn't so bad that he'd lapsed into childish
fantasies for a second there. It was like his mom was always saying, he
was still a kid, even if he did have the brain of full grown nuclear
physicist.
"So, have you thought about
what I told you?" he asked, and saw her brows rise.
"About what, Cody?"
Cody sighed. When he'd spent
the weekend with his grandparents, he'd stumbled on to something he knew
must be important, but his mother, as usual, could are less about the
family business. "What I overheard when Grandpa took me to work with
him last week. Don't you remember. That witch Monica was there, and--"
"Cody, that isn't very nice."
"So? Neither is Monica.
Anyway, she was being really nasty to Aunt Tracey. Said she knew some
secret, and she'd tell if Tracey and her boyfriend--what's his
name--Wayne, yeah, that's it. Monica said she wanted them to go away,
or she'd tell some secret."
Jane shrugged. "I wouldn't
worry about it, Cody. We all know Monica's always wanted to get her
hands on the business. She probably sees Aunt Tracey as one more
competitor for it."
"Yeah, but Aunt Tracey only
just found out she was a Fortune."
"If she's a Fortune, Cody,
she can handle empty threats from Monica Malone." She sent him a
sideways glance. "This is just one more example of why I want no part
of the family business, pal. All the scratching and clawing and
fighting to hold on to it." She gazed out the window at the rugged
coastline as they passed it. "It's going to be so much better here."
Cody sighed. It was no use
talking to his mother about business. She just didn't care. He stared
at the dark ocean, and the white-capped waves crashing to the shore, and
then he thought maybe she was right. It was kind of pretty here. "So
how much longer till we get there?"
"I think...I think this
is--Oh, my, Cody, this is the place. Look at it!"
Cody looked up at the house
their headlights illuminated as the car turned into the gravel drive.
"Looks like something out of a Stephen King novel."
"Isn't it great?"
He grimaced at his mother as
she brought the car to a halt and killed the engine. "I thought you
liked Stephen King novels."
"Yeah, but I don't want to
live in one."
She smiled at him. Then he
turned his gaze to the house once again, and froze. From the corner of
his eye, he'd seen some kind of flash in an upstairs window.
Like...lightning or something. His mom was already opening her door,
but he put a hand on her arm, stopping her. "I think...somebody's in
there."
"What?" She frowned and
looked where he pointed. "I don't see anything."
"Maybe it was just a
reflection." But he didn't think so. He folded up the lap-top and
pulled his penlight from his pocket. He never went far without it, not
that it would make a very good weapon, but at least he'd be able to see
whatever horrible creature sneaked up on him. "Better let me go in
first, Mom, just in case."
She ruffled his hair, which
he hated. "My hero," she said, but he could tell she wasn't one bit
nervous about going into that big, empty, dark house. She must be nuts.
Headlights spilled through
the rear windshield, and Cody turned to see a second vehicle bounding
over the gravel drive. A police car. He bit his lip before he could
say "thank God!" Though he was still a bit nervous. In Stephen King
novels the smalltown sheriffs of Maine never failed to be good guys, but
they usually got killed off pretty early on, leaving the innocent
mother--and her son, who knew all along something wasn't quite right,
but who couldn't get anyone to listen--to fend for themselves.
Sure enough, a reed thin man
in a gray uniform with a shiny badge, stepped out of the car, and came
over just as Mom stepped out of theirs.
"Quigly O'Donnell, ma'am.
You must be Ms. Fortune. You're right on time." He had the same accent
as the old man who'd lived across the street from the main characters in
Pet Semetary. Cody shivered.
"Call me Jane," his mom said,
and shook the sheriff's hand. "And this is my son, Cody."
Cody nodded, but didn't
shake. He was too busy watching the house. "I thought I saw something
up there," he said, pointing, hoping the sheriff would go against
character and check it out, alternately hoping the guy would survive the
experience.
"Ayuh, I wouldn't worry about
that, son. Probably just the ghost."
"Ghost?"
"Some say the ghost of
Zachariah Bolton still rattles around the old place. Not that I'd give
it much credence, mind you. It's just a tale the old folks like to tell
now and again. Gives 'em something to talk about over checkers, it
does."
"Checkers," Cody said,
raising a brow. "Gee, Mom, thanks for bringing me to such a cultural
mecca."
"Mind your manners, Cody.
Sheriff O'Donnell, if you brought the key along, I'll--"
"Got it right here," he said,
and the last word sounded like "hee-ya." Mom would call that accent
charming and say it was local "flavor." Cody found it irritating as all
get out. The sheriff held up a big old key on a brass ring. Like a
jail cell key from an old western. Or the key to the dungeons in a
horror flick. Cody felt the tone slipping from King to Poe. This was
not a good sign. "I'll help you with your things, if you like. Power's
been turned on, and everything should be ready for you."
"That was kind of you,
Sheriff."
"Yeah," Cody put in. "I'm
glad to know we've got pow-uh."
His mom's elbow dug into his
ribs, but the doomed sheriff didn't seem to notice Cody's mimicking. He
just nodded. "Least I could do for your grandmother, ma'am. Kate
Fortune was one hell of a lady, if you'll pardon the expression. When
she asked me to watch after the place for her, I was more than happy to
do it. Pity we've lost her now."
Jane nodded. "I miss her
terribly." She slipped an arm around Cody's shoulders and squeezed.
"We both do."
The sheriff nodded, cleared
his throat. "Well, come on and follow me. I'll show you around. And
while I'm at it, I'll tell you all about our town's one and only claim
to fame. This place's original owner, and resident ghost, if you
believe in that kind'a thing. Zachariah Bolton." He walked as he spoke
in the slow, lazy pattern that left every sentence sounding like a
question. They followed him up the porch's wide steps and across it to
the front door, which was tall, and dark, and to Cody's way of thinking,
just a little bit scary.
Then Quigly O'Donnell opened
the front door and he decided he'd been wrong. It was a lot
scary.
# # # #
Quigly O'Donnell snapped on a
light.
It was fabulous!
Everything Jane had ever wanted in a home, was in this house. Oh, she
knew most of her family thought her hopelessly old fashioned, but she
detested modern society and all its trappings. Modern day values were
what had landed her pregnant and alone 10 years ago, and that shock had
gone a long way toward guiding Jane to her own, perhaps outmoded system
of morality.
This house was the embodiment
of the life she wanted for her and Cody. A simple, old fashioned life.
With one notable exception. There would be no father in this
traditional American family. Jane was mom and dad and everything in
between. Everyone said she couldn't do it all, that she was pushing
herself too hard. But she could. And she'd do it without her family's
money. She wanted no part of the family business or the wealth that
went with it. It was a rat-race, everyone fighting to hold on to their
share of the pie and always worrying about someone trying to take it
from them. No. That wasn't anything she wanted to be involved with.
This, though--this would be
perfect.
"I never thought my
modern-minded grandmother had a clue what to make of me," she whispered
as she moved through the modest entry hall and into the gothic living
room with its high ceilings and intricate, darkly stained woodwork.
"But Grandma Kate knew me better than I ever imagined. She must have,
to have left me this place." All around them, furniture stood draped in
white sheets, like an army of ghosts.
"And that guesthouse out
front will be perfect for my antique shop." She couldn't stop smiling.
The place was her dream come true.
"The house isn't the half of
it, Ma'am," Sheriff O'Donnell offered. "It's the history that goes
along with it, that makes it so special." He'd carried in two of their
suitcases, and he set them on the hardwood floor. "You've heard of
Quinaria Fever, of course?"
"Heard of it?" Jane glanced
behind her, but Cody was already off exploring nooks and crannies,
flashing his ever present pen-light into closets and cupboards. Her
heart twisted a little in her chest at the mere mention of the disease.
"I nearly lost my son from it," she said quietly. "He was exposed as a
baby. Thankfully, we caught it in time."
Frowning, the sheriff tilted
his head. "Well now, if that don't beat all..." Then he shrugged.
"Hell of a coincidence, ma'am, if you'll pardon the expression."
"Why's that, Sheriff?"
"Well, Zachariah Bolton was
the man responsible for finding the cure. Tryptonine, you know. Same
drug we use today, with a few modifications, of course. If it hadn't
been for him--ah, now here's the dining room. Floor to ceiling hardwood
cupboards on two walls, see there? Same as in the kitchen. And the
ones here on the wall in between..." He opened a cupboard door, left it
wide, then meandered into the kitchen. Opening the cupboard from that
side, he peered through at her. "See that? Accessible from either
side."
"That's very nice." But she
was more interested in the tale he'd been telling before.
Cody joined them then, having
heard the tail end of the sheriff's comments. "You're dead wrong about
Tryptonine, Sheriff," he said, then grinned innocently at his mom and
added, "if you'll pardon the expression."
"Cody!"
"Come on, Mom. Everyone
learns this stuff in fourth grade. The Quinaria virus was cured by
Bausch and Waterson in 1898."
Jane scrunched her eyebrows
and shook her head. "Are you a walking encyclopedia, or what?"
He shrugged and looked past
her to Sheriff O'Donnell.
"Well, now, that's a bright
young fellow you have there, Ms. Fortune. Cody, is it? Well Cody,
m'boy, you have part of it right. But you don't know the whole tale.
Did you know, for instance, that Wilhelm Bausch and Eli Waterson spent
most of their time competing against one another? Great researchers,
sure enough. But more focused on getting the jump on each other than on
the importance of their work. Blinded by ambition, you might say."
Jane saw Cody's eyes narrow
suspiciously. But he listened. "It was their friend, Zachariah
Bolton, who finally brought them together. And only by working together
were they able to find the cure." He waved a hand to indicate they
should follow him, and turned back toward the living room, then headed
up the stairs. "Come on, I want to show you something."
Jane knew she was grinning
like a loon, but she couldn't help herself. "Isn't this great,
Codester? A house complete with a ghost and a historical past?"
"Mom, you're too into
history. Get with the nineties, willya?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hurry up, I
want to hear the rest of this." She followed her son, noticing the way
he paused just outside the door of the room at the top of the stairs.
He stood still a moment, staring at that door. Then shivered and rubbed
the back of his neck with one hand.
"You okay, pal?"
"Yeah. Sure, fine. C'mon."
Sheriff O'Donnell headed into
a bedroom farther down the hall, snapped on a light, and waved his arm
with a flourish when they entered.
Jane caught her breath. "My
God," she whispered, blinking at the portrait on the far wall. "It
looks like a Rockwell!"
She moved closer, ran her fingertips
lovingly over the ornate frame, then touched the work itself. "But it
can't be. This has to be at least a hundred years old."
"You have a fine eye, Jane."
"I know antiques," she said
with a shrug. "It's my business. This is unsigned. Do you know who
did it?"
"Ayuh, unsigned, and no, I
don't know who the artist was," O'Donnell said. "But it's yours, along
with everything else in the house. Including the old safe in the attic,
still locked up. Might even be some of Zachariah Bolton's old notes and
such tucked away in there. Yours to do with as you please, just as your
grandmother's will specified."
Jane couldn't take her eyes
from the portrait on the wall. A very Rockwellian painting of a dark
haired man, eyes passionate and intense, hair rumpled, white shirt
unbuttoned at the neck. In one hand he held a small contraption with
springs and wires sprouting in all directions, and in the other, a tiny
screwdriver. Gold rimmed glasses perched on his nose and those
piercing, deep brown eyes stared through them at his work. And beside
him, right beside him, dressed in identical clothes--though in a much
smaller size--sat a little boy who couldn't have been more than 5 or 6.
He had carrot colored curls and bright green eyes, and he tinkered with
a tiny screwdriver of his own. The two sat so close they must have been
touching. And the connection between them was so strong it was
palpable, though they weren't even looking at one another. At the
bottom of the painting was a single word; "Inventor."
"That there is Zachariah
Bolton, ma'am," Sheriff O'Donnell told her. "And the boy is his son,
Benjamin."
"He looks enough like Cody to
be his..." Jane's voice trailed off.
"Little brother," Cody
finished, stepping further into the room.
"Bolton was a friend and
colleague to Wilhelm Bausch and Eli Waterson. In fact, they'd both said
publicly that they considered him one of the greatest scientific minds
of their time. One of the few things they agreed on, it was. Well,
sir, when little Benjamin died of Quinaria Fever--"
Jane gasped, her eyes
snapping back to the mischievous green ones in the painting. "Oh, no.
That sweet little boy?"
"Yes, ma'am. And the day the
boy passed, Zachariah Bolton went plumb out of his mind. The grief was
too much for him, they say. Locked himself in the boy's bedroom and
refused to let anyone in. When they finally forced the door, he was
long gone. And he'd taken the poor little fellow's body right along
with him. Bolton was never heard from again. Now Bausch and Waterson
were distraught enough over it that they vowed to find a cure for the
disease that took little Benjamin. And by heaven, that's just what they
did."
Jane blinked away the
inexplicable tears that came to her eyes as she heard the story.
"That's so incredibly sad."
"Yes, ma'am, that it is. I
can take that painting down, store it somewhere if it's going to bother
you."
"No," she answered quickly.
"No, leave it right here." Her eyes found those of the inventor, again,
and she could almost feel his pain.
"Hey, Mom?"
She turned, surprised that
Cody's voice came from a distance and not right behind her where he'd
been standing only seconds ago. "Codester? Where are you?" She
stepped out of the master bedroom, into the hall. Cody stood two doors
down, in front of that room at the top of the stairs. The one that
seemed to have given him a scare before.
"I want this room, if it's
okay with you," he said. Frowning, Jane went to where he stood near the
now open door. He looked in at a rather ordinary looking bedroom, with
no furniture to speak of, and nothing exceptional about it except for
the huge marble fireplace on one wall.
"I kind of thought this
room...gave you the willies."
"That's why I want it," Cody
said. He looked at her and shrugged. "If there is some kind of ghost
hanging out around here, I want to know about it."
"Gonna analyze it until you
convince it it can't possibly exist, son?"
"Maybe," he said, grinning.
"So when are the movers gonna get here with my Nintendo?"
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