Disclaimers: See Part 1
Chapter Twenty
Anne awoke on her apartment bed, and she hurt all over. Her neck especially throbbed. Can this be? She was alive. She lived. The theory had been correct. Anne allowed no celebrations, not yet. She felt her neck. No bumps, no ridges. Nothing. She examined herself in a mirror, and the pain pervading her body vanished, like vapors, like ghosts. She was the same as always.
Dead in 1536.
Alive here.
Pray God no more nosebleeds.
Anne shuddered. She remembered the shoes, the sad dirty shoes in their subdued colors, remembered the pinprick at her neck before her head fell. Her executioner had been skilled indeed, and for an instant, she wished he had not been. The neck of Mary, Queen of Scots, had not been as disposable. Her executioner had to strike it thrice, and she had no doubt endured terrible pain.
Anne wished pain had filled her last moments of life in 1536. Pain was something she could carry with her, pain was something she could secure in her heart to remind her to appreciate her happiness. What she had had was a puny neck-prick. Her neck, her being, her majesty, tossed aside so easily. Dirty shoes. Dirty shoes.
Sobs racked Anne's body, relieved sobs, angry sobs too, and she started to dial Yalia. What would Anne say? Please come. Now. You and Helen. Please. It's over. I'm fine now. Let us start our lives together. And there's Benjamin. He's out there. He's playing God again.
Anne stopped the call before it went through. She was strong. She could handle this herself. She found Jordan outside. "Take me to Benjamin."
*****
Jordan led Anne to Benjamin's office. Benjamin wore the Icarus security guard uniform, and his hair was immaculately groomed. He showed no signs of having been roused from sleep.
He rose from his chair. "What brings you here so early, Anne?"
"I think you know."
Benjamin licked his lips, looked to Jordan . "Please excuse us."
Jordan left, and Benjamin indicated a chair for Anne.
"I shall stand," she said, and a thought hit her. What if Benjamin was at her execution because of the words she was about to say? What if he was at her execution because she told him he was? And he went to ensure history would not change.
No.
His eyes were flinty, steely. Unsurprised. He knew why she was here.
"The time machines are not broken," Anne said.
Benjamin nodded. "You are correct."
"Why did you lie?"
He shrugged. "Is it not obvious? Easier to lie. But worry you not. I take occasional journeys into the past. I bring no one forward. I am a sightseer, that is all."
Anne's rage grew. "What else have you lied about?"
"I have something to show you. Please excuse me a moment." Benjamin left the office, and Jordan entered a few minutes later.
"I am to take you to Ward C," Jordan said.
"Why?"
"I do not know," Jordan said, and for the first time, his voice was uneasy. Strained.
"Did you know?" Anne asked.
"About what?"
"About the time machines not being broken."
Jordan 's eyes widened in what seemed to be genuine surprise. "The...what? That cannot be. We have worked so hard to get them back up."
"Oh, they're up," Anne snapped. "Believe me."
Jordan opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Finally said: "To Ward C, ma'am."
"What's there?"
"A medical facility."
Anne touched her hand to Jordan 's shoulder. She suddenly regretted not getting to know him, at least superficially. " Jordan ?" she asked. "What kind of man are you?"
Jordan glanced up. Cameras. Of course. He would not brazenly betray his employer. "Please come along, ma'am," he said.
*****
Jordan showed Anne into a lobby. Benjamin was waiting, his wide grin unnerving her. She was glad to have Jordan at her side.
"Please excuse us again," Benjamin said, and Jordan swallowed. Hesitated. Nodded at last and walked out the lobby.
"I have a surprise for you," Benjamin said. "I hope you will accept this token as my apology. You may do with him as you wish. Take your revenge upon him. The secret is ours only."
"Him?"
"In the few minutes you took to walk here, I spent an hour in 1547. Come."
Benjamin led Anne into the first room on the right. In bed was a man, hardly recognizable and at the same time, quite recognizable. He moaned feebly in his sleep. His head was bald, and his skin sagged like a man years older. His beard was gray, thin and lifeless.
Anne's heart clamped shut. Oh my God.
"Your husband is dying," Benjamin said. "Perhaps you would like to give him, as the saying goes, a taste of his own medicine."
Anne could only gape. This was not Henry. Could not be! This pale, sickly form was not her husband. Anne had read countless accounts of Henry's final days. Delusions. Hallucinations. So feeble he could not lift a glass of water. Inflamed ulcers on his legs, skin about to burst due to choked veins, open sores giving off an atrocious stench, constant pain.
The words did not begin to compare to the reality, and Anne wanted to weep for the pitiful creature in the bed. She was not sure why. Did she have some fondness for her husband, after all? Or was she sorrowful to see this once-mighty ruler succumb to reality?
"I wish to do nothing to him," she said through clenched teeth, "nor do I wish him to see me. Take him back."
"I cannot," Benjamin said reasonably. "If I took him back, there would be two dying Henrys. Anne, take a few minutes. A few hours. Get used to the idea that the power is yours, not his. You may torture him as he tortured you."
Anne clenched her fists. Unclenched them. If this incident told her anything, it was this: Benjamin Franklin was dangerous. He must not be allowed to go on like this. That look in Benjamin's eyes! He actually thought he would please Anne.
Anguished moan. Henry's eyes fluttered open. He managed to twist his neck. They stared at each other, and the nearly five hundred years whooshed backward. She remembered meeting him the first time, her sister introducing them, remembered the gentleness with which he danced with her sister and then with her. She remembered his feverish love letters to her. His ardent desire. Henry likely had no idea he was a player in her father's grand scheme.
"Anne," he said, and his voice was a croak. A smile lit his faded eyes, and then spread to his lips. "Anne, darling. Your hair."
Anne touched her hands to her hair. "It is short," she agreed.
"Mine own sweetheart, I have missed you." His voice was strong and held nothing but love.
Delusions. Henry was, at least in this moment, living in the past. The past past. He did not realize he had ordered her dead.
"Excuse me," Anne said.
*****
Jordan drove Anne to Front Royal. Through her swirling haze of haunting thoughts, she managed to tell him what happened.
"What will you do?" he asked.
"I do not know." Options whirred through her: get a doctor, wait, Jordan was a doctor, he took care of Anne, Henry should get some treatment, just ignore Henry, let nature take its course.
But what to do about Benjamin?
The time was four a.m. when Jordan pulled into Helen's and Yalia's driveway. He stayed in the car, and Anne rang the doorbell. Yalia answered a few minutes later, and Anne stepped into her arms, clutched her whole being to Yalia. She cried, and Yalia let her cry, and then Helen was there, and Anne was crying some more.
"I did it," she said at last. "I died in 1536. But Henry's here."
*****
Excitement filled Helen on the drive to the Icarus building. Excitement and shame. She wished she was not excited, but she was about to meet Henry VIII. That called for some excitement, no?
Yalia was driving, and Helen was in the back with Anne, holding her hand. Jordan was in his car, trailing them. Anne's gaze was numb, unbelieving. "Benjamin has to be stopped," Anne said. "I would rather kill him than kill Henry."
Helen thought of her mother, thirteen or fourteen years old. If she stopped Benjamin, she risked losing her mother. Risked the chance of getting to know her mother. Just as well. History is not to be trifled with.
But the pull...the pull was so damn strong.
"I want to know my mother," Helen whispered.
Anne rubbed her forehead. "We cannot get everything we wish."
"But..." But there was no but. Some things in life never got resolved, and this would have to be one. Helen would have to let the teenage girl who gave birth to her go. Helen had a bright future and two lovely women to share her future with. Looking to the past would do more harm than good.
*****
Henry was moaning and writhing in pain when Helen, Yalia and Anne entered. The smell of disease, of death, hit Helen right away. My God, Helen thought. Whenever she pictured Henry, she saw the man from the famous portrait by Hans Holbein the Younger. Ironically, the portrait had been done about the time Anne was executed. In the portrait, Henry was strong, broad shouldered, and while not handsome, he was authoritative. He had a presence, a joie de vivire. This was a man to be reckoned with.
The man in the bed was entirely different.
His anguish was tremendous, and Yalia said: "Jesus. He needs a painkiller or something at least."
It appeared that Benjamin had done nothing to ease Henry's suffering. Helen could smell and see soiled bedclothes, no doubt from bodily functions and from erupting sores.
"Has he faded?" Anne asked Benjamin.
"Yes, a few times. You are safer not touching him."
Anne went to Henry, and he stopped his groaning. He shrunk back, his gaze fearful.
"A ghost has come upon me," Helen thought he said. His English was, well, it was old English.
"What did he say?" Yalia whispered, and Helen told her.
So he's in his right mind now. Helen slipped her cellphone out. She took a quick picture, a real picture, none of this portrait business, this portrait guesswork, of the king and the queen together. She replaced her cellphone, and a weight crashed down on her. She was incapable of breath, and giddiness might as well have lifted her to the sky.
This is real. Since her father had told her about Anne, Helen had felt like her life was a dream, some sort of blurred reality. Her times in 1536 felt real, too real, in the moments. But now, with some distance, they took on the tinge of blurred reality.
This was real.
Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn in the flesh. Helen had a picture of the king and the queen. A picture worth billions of dollars.
Helen realized just how immense this was, how historic this moment was. It was the last, unwritten chapter of Henry VIII's life, and her mind at last clicked in understanding of why her mother and her father did what they did. They had abducted people. Kept people prisoner.
For moments like this.
They no doubt had pictures of Anne Boleyn and Benjamin Franklin together. Greatness, indeed. With the time machines up, Helen could get Edward as a baby. They wanted a baby, her, Yalia and Anne. They could get Edward, and why not Mary I while they were at it, and Tudor history would continue. All these players could develop new relationships. Instead of being an evil stepmother, Anne could become a caring mother to an infant Mary. Mary, Edward and Elizabeth could grow up a couple of years apart rather than the tremendous age differences separating them.
Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots. Their rivalry had been bitter, with Elizabeth ordering Mary's beheading in the end. But what if they had a chance to talk in modern times, to become friends? To find an understanding and--
Shit.
Helen gulped lungfuls of air, her thoughts scaring herself. Unchecked, she would do bad things. She was sure of it. So this program needed to be destroyed. Anne Boleyn was going to be part of Helen's life. Helen had made love to Anne Boleyn, loved her immensely.
Anne needed to move on, and so did Helen.
"Henry," Anne said.
He bellowed a tremendous cry of pain and shielded his eyes. "Be gone, witch!"
"Morphine," Anne said to Benjamin. "Give him an overdose of morphine so that he will die peacefully."
Benjamin blinked. "Pardon?"
"I have no interest in revenge or anything of the sort. Perhaps if he was healthy and in control of his faculties, I would. But dare you not retrieve him in any other form again. Ever."
Benjamin frowned. "Morphine? Your Majesty, I beg to differ."
Your Majesty. Helen bit her lip. So Anne was a queen again to Benjamin, and the immensity of the moment squeezed Helen again. This is the king. This is the queen.
"This man lopped your head off," Benjamin said. "And you propose for him a peaceful death?"
"His death is nothing but peaceful!" Anne shrilled. "He groans and screams in pain. His sores erupt. You shall get morphine, and you shall inject it yourself."
*****
Henry fell quiet not five minutes after the morphine injection, and he still lived. His breathing became more labored.
"You did right," Yalia said to Anne.
"I hope so," she whispered. Anne went to him. She took his hand in hers. A frail hand it was, and he opened his eyes.
He smiled. "My flower," he whispered. "I dream of you."
Anne would be a better person than he. She would not stoop to his level. She replayed the look in his eyes when they were married and chose to believe that was the real Henry. She would do it for her daughter's sake, at least. And her own. She would not let bitterness drag her down. "Our child," Anne said, "will be a great ruler. She will be a girl, name of Elizabeth ."
"Girl?" Raspy whisper.
"Girl," Anne affirmed. "A girl more than ten boys together. A warrior girl, a warrior queen, a girl no match for anyone. You did what you set out to do. Your legacy is safe in our daughter."
"I would not thought it possible," he breathed.
"Me either," Anne murmured, and Henry shut his eyes.
No death rattle.
He opened his eyes again, and she saw fear. He looked to her neck, and she knew he was in his right mind again.
"I am innocent," Anne whispered. "You know that, do you not? I hope the cruelty of what you did to me and George and everyone else gave you forever nightmares."
"Anne," he whimpered, and with that, Henry's chest rattled and he died.
Anne decided to bury him in the courtyard, under the mural of Elizabeth 's family tree. She, Helen, Yalia and Jordan dug the grave while Benjamin watched from a distance. The digging was hard going, owing to the hard, cold ground. But at last they were done.
Jordan and Benjamin sterilized the body and embalmed it, making it safe for burial. Benjamin had a coffin delivered, and the king was lowered into the ground.
"Goodbye, husband," Anne said, and peacefulness came over her. Perhaps Benjamin had been right to grant her closure. She had much to discuss with him, but such a talk would have to wait. She was exhausted.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, Yalia got up early. She dug a little, paper-shaped grave in her back yard. Helen and Anne were asleep, and Yalia hoped they would stay that way for awhile. She wanted to be alone for the time being. Henry's burial had given her an idea. She should bury Louis. Symbolically, of course, because the real Louis was buried in St. Louis , Missouri , the city where he was born and the city he was named after.
Yalia unfolded the piece of paper she brought. LOUIS was written across it in blocky black letters. Yalia crouched and placed the paper in the grave. She filled the grave up and marked it with rocks. She would tell Helen and Anne later today why the rocks were there.
Yalia sat by the grave. "Louis," she said.
I'm here.
"Hey, buddy."
Don't make me go.
Yalia swallowed.
Please, Yalia. Don't. I'll be so lonely. No one else talks with me.
"Okay," Yalia whispered. "I won't make you go." Louis would always be part of her past. And a part of her future. He would always live on in her mind. The guilt, anyway. That would live on.
"I am sorry," Yalia said.
I know. It's okay.
"Good."
You could get me.
Yalia gave a start. "No. No way."
Don't deny you've been thinking about it.
"I haven't."
You have. Subconsciously.
"Whatever."
The time machines are up. You could get me, anytime before I'm shot, and let me live the life I was meant to live. And it'd be better with you and Anne and Helen. I wouldn't be anyone's Satan stepson. You'd be a cool mom.
"I would love to get you, honey. But..."
But what? You're chicken?
"I'm not chicken," Yalia said indignantly. "Just that so much is unknown. Fades. What if you couldn't go anywhere or...I don't know. Leaving history alone is best."
I will be fine. History will be fine. We can figure whatever out later. I'll always be here, you know. You're going to get me one day, Yalia. You could get it over with and do it soon, or ten years from now. It's your choice. But you WILL get me one day, because my voice will get louder and louder in your head. Getting me will be the only way to stop it.
Goosebumps covered Yalia's skin. She stood and wiped grass and dirt off her jeans. "Get Louis," she murmured, and she pictured him in her mind, his floppy brown hair, his brown eyes, the gap-toothed smile in his obituary picture. She pictured holding baby Louis in her arms, taking three-year-old Louis to the park.
Yalia felt weak. Faint. I am actually considering this. She was not the only one contemplating something unsavory. It was easy to tell that Helen wanted to meet her mother and get to know her mother. Bring her mother back, even. Save that young girl's life. And doubtless Anne wanted Elizabeth .
They needed solve the problem of the fades, of the dual existences. That was the big thing. If there was some way to bring Elizabeth and Louis forward without them knowing who they were in another life...
If they could solve that somehow, then...
"No," Yalia said with a groan, and she headed back inside. To her future. She undressed, got into bed with Helen and Anne. Kissed them good morning.
*****
The doorbell rang about eleven a.m. , and Yalia dragged herself out of to bed to answer it. The visitor was Jordan , looking snappy in a business suit.
"Give us a few minutes," Yalia said. She got Anne and Helen up, and they met Jordan in the living room.
Jordan sat and fixed an intense gaze on Anne. "I want to apologize to you, ma'am," he said. "I truly had no idea what was happening. I would not have sanctioned it."
"Thank you," Anne said carefully.
Jordan nodded. Sighed. "I suppose the three of you know as well as I do that very little will stop Dr. Franklin."
"Yeah," Yalia muttered. They could, and most likely would, meet with Benjamin. Today, even. Hurl heavy words and threats around. You have to stop, the machines have to be destroyed, blah blah blah. In one ear, out the other. Benjamin would say glib words, spout glib lies.
"I've a plan," Jordan said. "But I will not implement it without your permission."
Helen shifted uneasily. "Isn't this house bugged?"
"Bugged? Oh, no. No."
Yalia cocked an eyebrow. "Really? That's nice to know."
Jordan grinned. "Here's my idea. When Benjamin fades next, I'll destroy the time machines. And I could destroy more, if you think it prudent."
"What other things?" Anne asked.
"Computers. Everything. Maybe the entire building. Undo years of progress."
"What would you do with Benjamin when he reappears?"
"That's the big question, isn't it?" Jordan murmured. "Now, I've talked with the others. Not as bluntly as this, but enough. None of them like Benjamin. This project wasn't what they, or I, signed up for. We were supposed to go into the past to observe history, to see things happen as they actually happened in real time. We were never supposed to interfere. I wanted to study the Borgias, and I haven't been allowed into the past yet." Jordan turned his gaze upon Helen. "Two years after I joined, I was horrified to find out interference had already happened, with you."
Uncomfortable swallow from Helen. "Mmm."
"We don't appreciate being lied to," Jordan continued. "That's all that has been happening the past few years. It has to stop. We just need to wait for the next fade." He clasped his hands together. "That's the plan, anyway. The three of you talk it over. Call me when you've reached a decision."
"Benjamin's a smart guy," Helen said. "Surely he has hidey-holes. Secret hiding places outside the building. He must go out from time to time and secrete time-machine stuff."
"I suspect he does," Jordan agreed.
"You can try destroying," Helen said. "But it might do more harm then good."
Jordan nodded. "You're right. It will make Benjamin furious and possibly more dangerous. But we gotta try. He might not think we are capable of such actions. Maybe he hasn't hidden anything."
*****
One week later, Anne surveyed her clothes and selected an outfit. She dressed and made sure her dildo bulge was not too noticeable. Helen and Yalia were picking her up in a few minutes to meet Yalia's parents for dinner. It would be the official "we're in a relationship, so let's get to know the parents better" dinner. Anne was nervous. How could she not be? Helen and Yalia were undoubtedly nervous too.
The past week had gone by okay. Anne had spent most nights with Helen and Yalia. No more nosebleeds. No more stalkers. Anne seemed fine in every way. Henry's quick appearance and just as quick disappearance weighed on her, and she hated Benjamin for putting her in that position. She wanted to kill Benjamin, she truly did. She comforted herself with the fact he would get his comeuppance one day. He had to.
Knock knock.
A grin leaped to Anne's lips, and she rushed to answer the door. She hated being away from Helen and Yalia.
"Hey!" Helen hugged her first.
Kisses and more hugs all around, then Helen patted Anne's crotch area. "Ooh, good. I hoped."
Anne grinned. "Why's that?"
Helen shot Yalia a sly glance. "Yalia got horny about halfway on the drive over. A certain kind of horny."
"Intense, pounding-fuck horny," Yalia affirmed. She wore the same dress she had to Anne's art exhibit opening.
"We have a few minutes," Helen said.
"Happy to oblige," Anne replied, and Yalia got lube from a drawer.
"Chair," Helen said, and Anne sat. Yalia mounted her and pushed aside her own underwear.
Helen made herself comfortable on the bed, and Anne groaned when Helen slid her hand into her own pants. Anne's had yet to see Helen masturbate--or Yalia, for that matter--and her horniness skyrocketed.
They would be late for dinner. No way about it.
*****
They lucked out. Traffic caused Yalia's parents to be late too, and they all arrived at the same time.
Yalia took Anne's arm. Her tryst with Anne had relaxed her somewhat, but not enough. "Mom, Dad. You remember Anne, don't you?"
Michelle smiled, but smile did not quite reach her eyes. "Indeed we do! How are you?" At least she was trying.
"Very well, and you?"
They made small talk until about halfway through dinner, when Michelle apparently tired of tiptoeing around the matter.
"So," Michelle said, leaning back in her chair and fixing Yalia with a piercing gaze. "A three-way relationship."
Yalia popped a French fry into her mouth. "Yep."
"How is it going?"
Yalia forced a smile. "I won't speak for Helen and Anne, but it's going pretty well."
"Michelle," Helen said. "If you asked me a year ago if I could do a three-way relationship, I would have said no. But I hadn't met Anne then. Yalia had not met her. It's like..." Helen gestured, her hands coming together to form some sort of ball shape. "Yalia and I were having problems. I don't deny that. There are many ways to address problems, and Yalia and I consider ourselves lucky that we have Anne. It means a lot to us that you accept Anne."
Stiff smiles from Michelle and Andy.
"I have to say something," Andy said. "Doesn't having another person increase the number of problems you have?"
Yalia sighed. "It might eventually. Who knows. But I don't think so. This whole journey has changed me. I'm really working on being a better person. A better communicator."
"But the jealousy," Andy whispered. He shot Michelle a proud look. "I couldn't share her with anyone."
"Well, I won't lie and say I don't feel jealous sometimes," Yalia said. "Because I do. All three of us do. We talk it out. It's worth it on balance."
Michelle sighed. "Anne, dear?"
"Yes?"
"Do you love my daughter?"
"Yes." Anne's answer was earnest.
"Good luck," Michelle said. "To the three of you."
*****
Three weeks after the dinner with Yalia's parents, Anne was finishing up a shift. She had just put in a request to Rosemary for a transfer to the Front Royal Starbucks when Jordan strolled in. Anne wrapped up her conversation with Rosemary and went to greet Jordan .
"Hey," he said. "It's done."
"Benjamin faded."
"Yep. And we destroyed everything."
"When will he be back?"
"At least not for a week, I suspect. He was gone a week last time, five years his time."
"Are you sure he faded and that it was not an intentional trip?"
"Oh yeah. I'm sure. All the time machines were accounted for."
"He could have another you are unaware of."
"Yeah. I try not to think about it." Jordan ran his hand through his hair. "Shit. I wish I'd never gotten involved with this crap. I really do."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Yalia kissed Helen's stomach and her pussy. Then Anne did the same. Yalia took Anne into her arms, and their tongues parried with each other, long and hard. Jesus H., Yalia thought. This is incredible. Lovemaking with three people was the best. Of course, the fact that the three of them genuinely loved and respected one another played a large part in it.
They were about to play what they called the "five-minute" game. They had a timer, and they took turns telling one other person what to do.
Anne went first and selected Helen. "Touch yourself."
Helen touched her hands to her own breasts. It did not take long for Helen's fingers to find their way inside her, and Anne watched in rapt attention. So did Yalia. Helen was more adventuresome. Yalia, too. But this Helen was different. Good different.
"Jesus," Helen moaned. She gritted her teeth. "Jesus. Jesus."
She would come before the five minutes was up, no doubt.
*****
That night, after they were done, they lay entwined. Life could not get better than this, Anne thought. This was heaven. This was her paradise.
"I wonder sometimes," Helen said.
"Wonder what?" Anne whispered sleepily.
"If Benjamin had something hidden away. And if he did, would that be so bad?"
Anne sat up, and Helen flinched. Anne wondered what her own expression was like. Shocked? Betrayed? But a moment later, Anne admitted: "I wonder also."
"Louis said I should get him," Yalia said.
Helen turned wide eyes onto Yalia. "Really? Do you want to? Because you could get him, and I could get my mother. Anne, you could get Elizabeth . We'd have to figure out the fades first, but that's doable. Has to be. We'd get them young. They wouldn't have to know who they were. Best that way."
"You did not know who you were," Anne said. "And you were angry."
"I got over it. If they found out, and that's a big if, they'd get over it too. Would you get Elizabeth ?"
Anne shook her head. "No. No. Not Elizabeth ."
"Someone," Helen said. "You could get someone. Who would you like to? Your brother?"
The room was suffocating. Anne did not like this discussion. She preferred not having a choice. Preferred being helpless. Sometimes, anyway.
"I wronged so many people," Anne whispered. "Katherine, the first Katherine. And Mary. I miss George and Elizabeth tremendously." Elizabeth 's laughter rang in Anne's ears, and she pictured George picking Elizabeth up, tossing her over his shoulder. Them both laughing and laughing and laughing. "But it does not matter what we do. Whatever happened still happened."
"Yes," Helen said insistently, "but--"
"We can get them young," Anne said. "That is true. It also means they will not be the same people."
"Would you get Louis?" Helen asked Yalia.
"I would need to think about it," Yalia equivocated.
Helen kissed Anne. "In theory," Helen said. "In theory only. Who would you get?"
Anne knew who she would get. She had known all along. She had known in 2008 after she read her first history book on the Tudors. After that book, Anne's sins, her misdeeds, jumped out at her. Her misdeeds could be explained away by blaming her father. In every case, with every person. Except one person. With that person, Anne had been cruel and spiteful, and that person had died an agonizing death after living a life that basically amounted to nothing. Mary had only wanted happiness, a man to love, a baby to love. It had been apparently too much for her to ask.
Maybe it was the futility of Mary's life and her tragic death that touched Anne. So much like Anne's own. A lot of waiting, a bunch of nothing. In comparison, Elizabeth 's life had been relatively long and by any standards, successful.
But getting Mary as a baby would change nothing. That Mary would not be the same Mary Tudor who became Queen Mary I, a.k.a. Bloody Mary. Anne wanted for Mary the same happiness Anne felt now.
Anne wanted, desired, yearned for Mary's forgiveness.
At what age would it be best to get Mary? Perhaps while Anne was still alive. 1535, maybe. Or...
"Well?" Helen prompted.
Anne allowed a ray of sunshine to pierce her heart. A trembling, panicked ray. Do not do this. You will not be able to stop at one. Well, maybe you could. But Helen could not. The world will explode, the galaxy, the universe... "Mary," Anne whispered. "In an ideal world, I would get Mary in 1535. She would be nineteen years old, and she could live a happy, healthy life here. She would miss her mother deeply, and maybe she would decide to get her mother. Mary would adjust eventually. She would meet a man who loved her through and through. They would have babies, beautiful babies."
"Let's make it happen," Helen said. "We'll find a way. We'll talk to Benjamin when he gets back."
Anne wondered if Josiah Franklin had known this would happen. If he had known that Helen truly was his daughter in the way that counted.
Anne put her arms around Helen. "I love you," Anne whispered. "I love you very much."
They fell asleep, the three of them, and Anne imagined Mary's wide eyes, her gasp.
"Welcome," Anne would say to her stepdaughter. "Welcome to the rest of your life."
THE END
I hope you enjoyed this first draft! It has been complete about a month and a half, and the published and polished version is coming out in a few weeks. Keep tuned for details. More scenes, more depth, more everything! :)
E-Mail me at yllek_q@yahoo.com! :-)