Read Time After Time for Free Online Page B

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doesn't want red wine served, or anything with barbecue sauce or
ketchup, because of the rugs. We'll roll up the one in the corner
and have a couple of children's tables there. The adults will eat
buffet-style."
    "That's fine. Do you have
trays, nesting tables, that kind of thing?" asked Liz. When Netta
frowned, Liz said, "No problem — I'll bring them."
    "We don't entertain much
anymore," Netta explained. And then she added with a petulant sigh,
"I hope the boy's springing for more than rolled baloney slices and
olives on toothpicks."
    The boy, as Netta termed
him, was hardly springing for that. "Don't worry about a thing," said Liz
reassuringly. "I guarantee that it'll be a birthday everyone
remembers. I'll call when I get a little farther along with the
plans."
    She took one last look
around the handsome room with its priceless rugs and rare antiques.
The Eastmans could easily entertain royalty here, but apparently
they chose not to. Liz's parents, on the other hand, didn't have
room to swing a cat, and yet they were always entertaining someone
or other in their chips-and-beer fashion.
    Ah, well, Liz thought. F. Scott
Fitzgerald was right. The rich are different from the rest of us.
    ****
    Three quick right turns
brought Liz spiraling back to her tiny cottage on its dead-end
street. It looked smaller now than ever, but Liz didn't mind:
Unlike East Gate, it made her feel welcome.
    Inside the house she
yoo-hooed for her daughter.
    "In the kitchen, Mommy!"
yelled Susy cheerfully.
    Ah, good; all
better, Liz decided as she strode the
half-dozen steps down the opened-out hall to the
kitchen.
    Susy looked up from her
coloring books with her usual happy grin. Victoria, who was sitting
at the table opposite the child with her back to the heavenly view
of East Gate, was completely immersed in a letter she was reading.
Almost as an afterthought Liz noticed that the table was covered
with letters — some in packets, some out of their envelopes, the
rest scattered on the floor like snowdrops across a lawn in
March.
    "We cleaned up your whole
mess," said Susy proudly. "You hardly can tell anything, except for
the hole in the ceiling."
    "Victoria!" said Liz. She
understood at last where all the letters were from. "You brought
down the trunk?"
    Victoria tried to tear
herself away from the letter: her head moved in the direction of
Liz's voice, but her eyes stayed glued to the heavy linen
stationery. At last, having finished, she looked up.
"What?"
    "Are those from the
attic?" asked Liz in an annoyed voice.
    "Of course they are," said
Victoria, surprised at her tone. "Susy, go out and play with Toby.
I just saw him stalking some birds again. Make him
stop."
    Susy rolled her big brown
eyes melodramatically and said, "You weren't even looking. You just
want to talk to Mommy by yourself." But she slid down from her
chair anyway and ran out to the backyard to amuse
herself.
    Victoria held out the
letter for Liz. "Look at this," she said in a hushed, almost
awestruck voice. The skin of her face, under its scattering of
freckles, was pale, almost translucent. "Look at this."
    Liz took the sheet from
Victoria and scanned it. "All right," she said. "I'm looking. So
what?" But she wasn't looking at all; she was too upset that
Victoria had beat her to the letters. Surprised by the petulance in
her own voice, Liz observed, "It's dated July 1881."
    "Exactly. Over a hundred
years ago. Now look at the signature."
    Liz turned the letter
over. "What incredibly flamboyant handwriting," she said, still
feeling misused. "It's as bad as yours."
    "Exactly!" said Victoria, her beautiful green eyes dancing
with triumph. "Read it!"
    "Hmph. It looks like
Victoria something."
    "Victoria St.
Onge," said Victoria, flipping her long
red hair over her shoulders. She scooped up a handful of letters
and held them up to Liz as if they were gold nuggets. "These are
almost all from her. It's beyond coincidence," she said in a low,
breathy voice.
    "What? That you're