“What did she mean by ‘layers of time?’” Maggie was spellbound by the direction the conversation had taken.
“She believed that time wasn’t a big long line of events. Grandma said time was like layers of thin cloth folded back and forth, one layer above the other, accordion style. She said sometimes certain events seeped through from one layer to the next, creating a stain that was visible even on the uppermost folds. Visible to some, at least.”
“So something happens in the past -- a powerful event or something that is repeated enough to create a…a stain and that stain seeps through to the present?” Maggie pondered aloud.
“That was her theory. It made sense, especially given that she was constantly seein’ people and things from the past. She steered clear of places that were part of her family history. She felt like the blood connection with an ancestor, combined with a location where that ancestor had lived, created a conduit – a place where the layers of time were so thin as to be precarious to someone with her gift.”
Gus stood and walked to Maggie. Leaning down a little so he could make eye contact, he spoke very slowly and succinctly. “You have her gift, Miss Margaret, the same gift as my grandma. It is a gift YOUR grandmother had, as well. Your grandma lived in this house, and you live here now. That’s some mighty thin layers…”
“This house could be a…conduit?” Irene fluttered her hands in front of her face, as if she’d just been told the house was haunted. She looked ready to collapse, and Gus reached for her hands apologetically. He soothed and shushed, reassuring Irene that the house was nothing of the sort, but he looked at Maggie over Irene’s bowed head, and though he said nothing more to her on the subject, his eyes spoke volumes.
~5~
A Time to Cast Away
“He wants to see you, Maggie.” Jillian Bailey stood at the door and hunched her shoulders against the March winds that signified the last gasp of winter. April would be here shortly, and soon Honeyville would be awash in spring. Maggie wished it would hurry. She was cold all the time, inside and out. With spring came graduation, and May couldn’t come soon enough. She had no desire to leave Irene, but Honeyville had become a very painful place to be.
Maggie rose and came to the door. She still wore the clothes she had worn to bed. It was still fairly early for a Saturday morning. Jillian Bailey looked tired and thinner than the last time Maggie had seen her. I guess having your brother rise from the dead had that effect. For Lazarus it had only been days….for Johnny it had been decades.
“Did he tell you why?” Maggie asked quietly, looking into the woman’s weary face. Hope was threatening to well up inside her heart.
“No. He just asked me if I knew where to find you.” She hesitated a moment. “He rarely asks for anything….so when he does, I like to help him if I can.” Maggie felt the grip of the guilt and pain she always felt when she thought of Johnny these days.
“If you want to grab your coat…I can take you right now.” Principal Bailey looked so hopeful. But Maggie didn’t want to ride with her. She would see Johnny, but she wanted to be able to leave if and when she needed to, without having to ask for a ride home “I need to jump in the shower and get dressed…I’ll be there in an hour. You can tell him I’ll see him then.”
Jillian looked as if she wanted to protest but then nodded her head briefly. “All right. Just…please, don’t take too long. The fact that he wants to see you is a good sign, I think. I don’t want him to change his mind before you get there.”
Maggie nodded and shut the door behind Johnny’s careworn sister. She ran for the stairs, pulling her things off as she went. Less than 45 minutes later she was showered, dressed and blow-dried, and grabbing the keys from the rack. She wore the same blue jeans and purple shirt she’d worn that day in the school mechanics shop, the day she and Johnny had shared their first kiss. She hesitated for a moment, an idea popping into her mind. It couldn’t hurt. She raced back up the stairs and wrenched up the lid of her window seat, lifting Roger Carlton’s old scrapbook up and out. It might give Johnny some answers…or some proof of what had happened in the years he had lost.
Jillian Bailey lived in the same house she had been born in. It was a tidy bungalow with a wide front porch and a garage that had been added on in more recent years. The grass was neat, and the flowerbeds had been cleared of winter debris, the dirt turned in preparation for spring flowers. Irene said it had been Clark Bailey’s childhood home as well. He had lived there as a bachelor and then when he’d married Johnny’s mother it had become their home, the home they had raised their daughter in. Maggie wondered if Johnny would find remnants of his mother there and if it would bring him comfort. She hoped so. She slid into the drive. Belle the Caddie had run perfectly since Johnny had given her the tune-up. She wondered if she should tell him about it.
“He’s in the garage,” Jillian Bailey said without preamble as she opened the door to Maggie’s knock. “Walk around to the side and give the door a good rap. He’s got some music on in there….so if he doesn’t hear you, just go in.”