Athena slid her fingertips down the elegant, heavy white velvet train and lifted it around her shoulders, wrapping herself in its beauty. Again and again she traced the white satin iris design, each flower done by hand, which made the dress so unique, so special. She turned the train over in her arms so the lining of silver tissue and rhinestone edging glistened back at her.
Seeing and touching this gown made her feel connected to her mom’s passion for vintage haute couture fashion. She had been the epitome of beauty and had taught Athena to appreciate the grace of this lost world.
She ached to slide her body up and through the princess-style dress the way Bertha would have done. She ran the old, soft silk tulle along her neck and arms, loving the feel of it.
Drawn by the exquisite detail of the double white net ruffle around the hem, she sank down upon her knees and then lay on her back. She scooted beneath the skirt to look up at the white taffeta lining. She brushed her hot cheek against the cool fabric and sighed.
It felt so cool, so comforting she didn’t want to move. The dress fell around her like a wedding veil, beautiful yet protective. She felt content to merely lie beneath the gown, breathing in its history. She wanted to stay here forever, safe in Bertha’s kinder, gentler world. She heard a string quartet playing a waltz like they would have done that afternoon in London for Bertha. Athena closed her eyes, lost in the music, lost in a world she adored. Far away from the reality of the last few months.
She floated in peace until the musicians started repeating the same stanza, over and over and over again. She opened her eyes, angry at this rude, discordant interruption of her bliss.
“Athena! Athena! Athena! Can you hear me? Athena! Athena!” Bridget called excessively. “Come out from under that skirt. You’ve been lyin’ there for an hour!”
Athena tried to shake off Bridget’s strong hands tugging at her ankle, but she couldn’t. “No, I don’t want to come out. I like it here,” she shouted back.
“Athena, if you don’t come out, I’m comin’ in after you,” Bridget called and gave another hard tug at Athena’s foot.
Not wanting to be rude, Athena sighed and crawled out. After all, she loved Bridget—at this moment she loved everyone.
Blinking, she looked up.
It isn’t Bridget!
Bertha Palmer, Chicago’s proud social queen of the late 1800s and early 1900s, stood smiling down at her.
Athena screamed, scrambling to her feet. “This isn’t a time capsule, it’s a time warp! Bertha, you’re really here!”
Joy exploded through her hot, throbbing body. She gripped Bertha’s small, cool hands. “My mother loved you and what you did for Chicago. She loved powerful women of the past who blazed a trail for the rest of us.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a blur of movement, like someone else had come. She looked around but couldn’t focus her eyes. She shook her head, trying to stop the slowly spinning world. “Is someone else here, too?” She looked toward the last shimmering mannequin and blinked. Jackie Kennedy, wearing her famous blue pillbox hat and coatdress, stood watching her.
“Jackie, you’re here, too!” Athena called to her. “Mom said you were just like Bertha and knew the power of dress.”
The world spun faster and faster, making Bertha blur and Jackie vanish. Fearful she’d lost both of them, Athena gripped Bertha’s hand tighter. “Where did Jackie go?”
“Come with me, Athena. I saw Jackie go this way, toward the front.”
She laughed in relief and joy, twining her fingers through Bertha’s and running with her toward the harsh fluorescent lights in the decontamination chamber.
Outside, the sky looked so penetratingly blue its brightness hurt her eyes. She squeezed her lids closed. “I can’t see Jackie anymore. Which way did she go?”
“I see her, Athena. This way. Climb into the back seat of the car and we’ll follow her.”
Athena opened her aching eyes the tiniest bit to glance up at Bertha. For a brief instant a vivid gold encircled Bertha’s curls like a halo. Athena sighed. “You look just as beautiful as I knew you were. You were Mom’s absolute favorite. She called you Chicago’s angel.”
“That’s nice. In you go, Athena.”
The back seat smelled like new leather. Athena’s lids felt too heavy to leave open. She closed them just as she heard the loud, powerful car motor roar to life.
“Can you still see Jackie?” Athena whispered, so tired she couldn’t lift her head.
“Yes. Don’t you worry. Everythin’ will be fine. You rest now. I’m turnin’ on some nice, soothin’ music for you.”
Athena floated in a strange twilight contentment more profound than she’d experienced beneath Bertha’s exquisite gown. This time when the music came, it had words. “God Bless the Child.”
“I love this song.” The words vibrated through her head, and she began to hum the tune to herself. A burst of energy and joy exploded through her blood. Her voice sounded so pure and true and golden, she let the words pour from her throat.
Holding the last note, she lost track of her breathing. The twilight world behind her eyes swirled crazily around, blue, purple, orange, and, at last, a cool blackness. She rested again, floating contentedly in silent bliss.
CHAPTER
On any other perfect spring day like this in Chicago, Drew Clayworth would be sailing on Lake Michigan.
Today he kept his old Morgan 46 securely docked.
The wind called him like it always did, flowing around the mast, cool against his skin, bringing the taste of adventure and freedom. Irresistible. Drew took a deep breath, holding the flavor in his lungs, before he deliberately let it go, refusing to be lured today by sailing’s siren call. Instead he patiently listened to the complaints of the three teenage boys who were struggling into their orange life jackets and not happy about it.
Washington Thomas sneered up at him. “Hey, man, thought you were teachin’ us how to sail this tub.”
Drew grinned, meeting the eyes of Jefferson Adams, his first mate. Jeff had given him this same line of bravado three years ago, the first kid from the Youth Center Drew taught to sail.
“Yeah, I’m teaching you to sail this tub,” Drew drawled back. “First lesson is safety.”
“I ain’t afraid of shit.” Bruce Madison laughed. “I can sure as hell swim good.”
“Shut up, dog. I can’t so good,” Calvin Tremont, the smallest of the three, shouted to his friend.
Drew reached out and tightened Calvin’s life jacket, shifting it into place before meeting the eyes of all the boys. “Your goal is to stay out of the water. When sailing, the biggest threat to your life is hypothermia. Today the water temperature in Lake Michigan is fifty degrees. That means if you went overboard for fifty minutes, you’d have a fifty percent better chance of surviving wearing a life jacket.”
Everyone glanced at the seemingly benign waves lapping at the hull—except Calvin. He shot Drew a scared, wide-eyed appeal.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe,” he muttered to him, meaning every word.
“You goin’ to jump in and save me?” Washington taunted, balancing on the bow to get attention.
Drew got half the distance to Washington when Jeff grabbed the kid by the scruff of his neck and hauled him back from the edge.
“Hey, punk, I jumped in the water once, and if Mr. Clayworth hadn’t hauled my ass out I’d have froze my dick off. This is serious business.”
“Jokin’ around, dude.” Washington shrugged away. “I dig that Mr. Clayworth’s the man.”
“The man to keep us safe, right?” Calvin moved a step closer.