Her smile widened. “Oh yes. I think if they could meet you, they would not be worried about me at all.” She turned her face to kiss his palm, her expression thoughtful. “It’s silly, maybe, to miss her like this. After all, she lived in Berkeley and I lived in Belfast. But we used to talk all the time, almost every day.”
This kind of statement always gave Tom the shivers. What kind of technology was it, that allowed a mother and daughter to talk every day between Berkeley, California and Belfast, Ireland?
Casey gave a little laugh. “She had this uncanny knack for calling me just as I had sat down at a pub to do some serious drinking with my friends. It never failed that my phone would ring within ten minutes of sitting down.” Her voice changed as she mimicked the call. “‘Hi, Mom.’ ‘Hello, Sweetie. How are you? What are you doing?’ ‘Getting drunk, Mom. So, what are you doing?’”
They both laughed, and Casey looked at Tom in embarrassment. “You must think I’m awful, going out and drinking at pubs.”
He touched her hair, his expression serious. “You and I have had quite different upbringings, even not accounting for the time difference,” he said. “My mother was firm that none of us ever drink alcohol, and none of us does to this day. Alcoholism is such a problem in this country that I could never fault her for her insistence. But according to your society you weren’t doing anything wrong. It comforts me that you weren’t doing anything your parents weren’t aware of.” His fingers caressed her cheek. “I know you well enough to know how good you are. I think you’re…young.” He shrugged. “Maybe I never drank, but I did not always make excellent choices either, when I was your age.”
“I never got very drunk, you know,” she clarified, patting her stomach. “I can’t hold enough beer.”
He gave a little laugh and hugged her, more content than he had ever felt in his life. When Sam cleared his throat they broke the embrace, but didn’t move more than a few inches apart.
Sam just grinned and went into the kitchen to get dinner.
Tom stood and pulled Casey to her feet. “Come walk in the yard with me.”
She wrapped her fingers through his and led him through the house to the back door. It had been a warm spring day, but with the fading light, a breeze had come up. Tom slipped his jacket off, to help her into it. The yard had submitted to Casey’s ministrations and the grass was thick, with early plants beginning to rise along the border. Ash trees were spreading with leaves and some birds had built a nest. Tom smiled when he saw it, considering that a good sign.
It was a small yard and they soon traversed it, even though they strolled. They paused next to the hedges in back, to admire an early and brave rhododendron Casey spied within the branches. Rather, Casey admired the flower while Tom admired her, hands in his pockets, fingers caressing the ring he had there. He smiled steadily at her until she turned with a laugh. “There are other nice things to look at, sir.”
He tilted his head. “I’ll be the judge of that, Miss.” He reached into the hedge and plucked the flower, bringing it out and cupping it in his hands. Its red was almost black in the gathering twilight and he presented it to her, keeping the stem covered by his fingers.
“For you, my flower,” he whispered.
She didn’t take it right away. Instead, she reached to cup his face in her hands, her lips meeting his in a tender and languorous kiss. Not wanting to crush the flower, he could only stand there and return her kiss, shivering under her lips. He felt as if a wave of love had crashed over him, and he would gladly drown in it.
She pulled away, her expression dreamy, her hands a feather-light stroke on his face. She laughed a little as she remembered the flower and she took it in both hands, with a slight, teasing curtsey. He couldn’t speak, just watched her pleased smile change to astonishment as her fingers found the ring he had slipped around the stem, the diamond sparkling in the light from the house. As her eyes went back to his face, he took both her hands, enclosing the flower and ring, in his hands.
“I love you, Casey. I need you for all my life. Please Casey, will you marry me?”
His heart overflowed with joy as she nodded. He would forever hear her answer, “Oh yes. Yes, Tom,” and forever remember the look on her face. He slipped the ring onto her finger, joyful, nervous and excited all at once. He had no doubts at all.
Chapter 21
April 1907
Casey struggled to button her delicate, flouncy blouse before Tom arrived on Saturday afternoon to drive them to Ardara. Why is Edwardian fashion so enamored of fastenings in the back? It’s like they expect everyone to have a personal maid. She stared at her face in the mirror of her vanity: skin flushed, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. I can’t figure out what my role is supposed to be in Tom’s family. They think I was born in 1885! In how many ways am I screwing up what they expect to see? What do they expect of me as Tom’s wife, as daughter-in-law or sister-in-law or aunt?
Her stomach felt like a mass of buzzing bees. And even in her thoughts, she knew she was avoiding the Real Issue.
Irritated, she gave up on the blouse and pounded downstairs, demanding that Sam please get those last two buttons in the middle of her back. He did, but used the opportunity to bring up another sore point.
“We should think about hiring a maid for you, Casey.”
“What?” She whirled to face him, causing him to draw back in mock alarm. He spread his hands to show his innocence.
“It’s just a suggestion, dear. You’re going to have to have one sooner or later. Sooner would be better, for a couple of reasons.”
“Like what?” She tapped her toe, but Sam ignored it.
“You’ll be going out more often now, both with Tom, and with other women. Tea times. Shopping.” He watched her as she narrowed her eyes. “You’ll have to dress up more often and you need help with these outfits. And you’ll need a chaperone whenever you’re with Tom, and I don’t want to always have to be available.”
“I don’t want someone following me around all day. I’m still working. I don’t need a maid, there.”
“No, but perhaps we should hire a woman to be available on evenings and weekends. I’m not sure how it’s done, exactly, we’ll have to ask.”
“No, Sam.” The bees in her stomach began doing flips. “Constant chaperones are just another way of keeping women as chattel. I will not subject myself to that. I’m an adult; I’ve been on my own for almost four years. I’m not retreating into childhood, again.”
“Case, you have to consider how you look to the rest of society. At least, to Tom’s family. This isn’t about independence. It’s about fitting in. They don’t see you as a child.”
“No, they see me as woman. So I’m either weak and silly, and therefore unable to take care of myself, or I’m a source of evil temptation that Tom and I both must be protected from! This all makes me so mad, I could spit!”
“Yes, very mature.”
“You don’t have to deal with it, Sam!”
“Casey, people will talk about you. You and I know it’s ridiculous, but they’ll do it. And they’ll talk about Tom. He’ll never force you to do anything, but if you run around without a maid or chaperone, it will end up reflecting poorly on him.”
She closed her eyes. This was the one argument for which she had no response. Whatever else she did, she was determined that Tom Andrews would never suffer because a girl from the future had stumbled into his life one day in 1906.
“Am I making a mistake, Sam?”
He laughed, making her tighten her lips in frustration. “This is all just a case of second thoughts, isn’t it?” he said.