All the way back to Mr. Best's home, I pondered Marigold's words.
She knew the name of the train, the fact it had to have been named for her mother. Did she have any idea as to why? Was she even supposed to know?
My mind went back to things Seymour had rambled at me when he was dictating notes, showing me the schematics. Phrases like polluting the timeline and interfering with history haunted me. I was no genius let alone a scientist; I had no idea what I was doing here. I was an uncertain time-traveler with no clear plan how to proceed.
Maybe it was time to finally seek outright advice from the only person in this time I believed I could trust.
As Mr. Best ladled some sort of soup I didn't readily recognize into the bowl before me, I inhaled deeply of the steam rising from it. It didn't smell bad; food in general just made my stomach turn at the moment.
I couldn't help but wonder how Marigold was doing over at Prudence Finch's; if the woman were bossing her around in the manner to which she was accustomed, or if she were taking a kinder, milder approach given what the girl had been through.
I doubted she took a mild approach toward anything, but all I could do, for Marigold's sake, was hope.
"She'll be all right, Mr. Wainwright," Best said, as if reading my mind. "Prudence may be blunt and brash, but she's got a good heart beneath it all. Otherwise, I never would have taken Marigold to her, as fragile as she is."
"She's stronger than she seems," I replied.
Best nodded in agreement. He sat down at his place and began to sip at his spoon.
"True. Otherwise she'd never have survived the life she's lived so far. You've got a lot on your mind, son," he began, reaching for the cutting board; he set it down between us and started slicing bread upon it. "Want to talk about it?"
"I'm at a loss, Mr. Best," I said truthfully, rubbing my hand against the five o'clock shadow on my chin. "I believe Marigold has a right to know the truth about her lineage, the reason her father has always treated her so differently."
"So sure you know the truth, are you?"
"It's all in the book," I replied. "Would you like me to show you?"
"No," he said hastily, then repeated the word much more gently. He set his bread down and sighed. "No, thank you. It's probably better if I don't know the finer details. I know enough."
"Well, would you tell me once and for all what you believe you know, please, so I can see if what is written in the book matches with the things your wife knew?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I've already told you what I know. It supports what you believe, and what you claim the book indicates about Marigold's parentage."
I sat back in my chair. It was one thing to read one man's suspicions in a book, and another's declarations of love and circumstantial evidence to support a theory I desperately wanted to be wrong...but I couldn't doubt the truth now, no matter how much I wished to.
"She was never supposed to be born," I whispered. "Don't you see? J. Howard Fox was never supposed to have found his way through time to Wishing Cross, let alone father a child here. And there's more. I know you don't want to hear it, but I think that you should."
He steeled himself.
"He wrote that he was going to find a way back in time...to before Aurelia's death, and a way to take her and Marigold back with him, to his own time."
"Clearly he never did," Best said sadly. "Though I wonder what would have become of Wishing Cross if he had. How our history may have been different."
"My history as well. Though if the sad account of Jasper Wilson is to be believed, they would have perished on the trip and never made it to the other time."
He nodded. "What time was it that Fox came from?"
"The twentieth century. He couldn't have been more than thirty-five or forty at the time. Though he had a wife and family back in his time from the age of thirty, so I don't understand what he planned to do, exactly; how he intended to work everything out. I guess he figured if he managed to bring Aurelia Belle and Marigold with him, he'd deal with the rest as it happened."
A long moment of silence passed between us as we pondered Fox's intentions.
"So, you must take the Aurelia Belle back to your own time...again, I wonder, dare I ask how you even found your way here?" Mr. Best looked up at me over his spectacles in his usual fashion.
Again, Seymour's voice echoed in my mind, whispering desperately: Don't stay a moment longer than you have to. Don't say too much. Don't pollute the timeline.
"I think the less said about that, the better, sir. If you'll forgive me. I mean no disrespect, especially after all the kindnesses you've shown me. It's just...I'm not sure what could, what will happen, if I tell you."
He nodded his understanding. "What of the book?"
"I haven't decided yet. I still don't know how I'm supposed to get back to my time without it. But I do know this much...at some point, I'm going to have to show it to Marigold."
"Are you certain that's wise?"
"No. But I don't know if there's any other way to convince her of the truth," I whispered. "And it is a truth she has every right in the world to know."
He called after me once more as I turned to go. "Mr. Wainwright?"
I waited.
"Can you at least tell me the year you've come from?"
In for a penny...
"2015," I replied.
"2015..." he repeated, awed. "What must the world look like in 2015?"
"A lot harsher than you can imagine," I said softly, thinking of home. "There are still good people, but they are so much fewer and farther between. I'm grateful to have met you, Mr. Best."
I thought about Lila's family, how fortunate I was to have them in my life. Still they were so far away, all that could matter to me now was what was happening right before my eyes.
He raised his teacup to me as if to toast. "And I you, Mr. Wainwright."
I nodded to him, raising my hand to salute him respectfully.
"Thank you, again, for everything you've done for me." I paused, adding, "And for Marigold."
***
Once I'd settled into bed, I flipped open the dangerous book again.
I reread the passages I'd already finished, afraid to move forward. I was almost at the end. What if its final pages left me with questions I'd never find answers to?
It turned out worse than I'd imagined. The final pages would leave me with nothing, because there were no more notes of any kind.
There was only a drawing of a small symbol. It appeared to be a W with a higher point in the middle than on the sides, overlaid with straight lines forming a cross.
I'd seen that symbol before. Immediately, I realized it was the symbol Marigold wore around her neck on a chain day in and out. Suddenly the pieces fell into place, and I wondered, was there any way she knew what it meant? That it symbolized Wishing Cross itself to J. Howard Fox, the man who designed it and had it made especially for her mother?
I searched and searched the book for more, but after the drawing of the symbol, it all just came to a stop—nothing but blank pages. Vast amounts of empty space, which spoke louder than words ever could.
It all ended as abruptly, I was sure, as the forbidden romance between John Fox and Aurelia Belle had.
Only it didn't truly end, because Marigold still existed.
Marigold...
As I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep, my last thoughts were of her. Her soft, pale skin, her round full lips, the curves accentuated by the tailoring of her dress and her coat when it was buttoned around her.
I couldn't allow myself to make the same mistake J. Howard Fox made and get attached to Wishing Cross—or anyone in Wishing Cross.
I couldn't let myself fall in love with this angel, out of place and out of time.
I hated to admit to myself as I drifted into dreaming that it was too late.
I already had.