Page 42 of Stolen Time
Was brunch even a thing in 1926?
The car disappeared from view, and I found myself wondering whether the wanprima-in-waiting was accompanying her mother on this errand, or whether she had stayed home. She didn’t seem like the type to get out much. Did they have some other family member who lived at the house and acted as a governess of sorts? Abigail seemed a little too old for that, but I knew that witch clans tended to be protective of theirprimas-in-waiting, even before they turned twenty-one…when they became especially vulnerable. It was during that year that they had to find their consorts and marry them so their magic couldn’t be taken and controlled by someone who might wish them ill.
I only knew that because the formerprimusof the Wilcoxes, Damon, had kidnapped Angela right before her twenty-second birthday in an attempt to bind her to him. The plan had backfired spectacularly on him, but that made me think about how that hadn’t been the first time my clan had made such an underhanded attempt at seizing power. Sometime in the 1940s, theprimusof that time, Jasper Wilcox, had tried much the same thing, only he’d been thwarted because theprima-in-waiting in Jerome, Ruby McAllister, had been a strong witch who’d been able to send out a mental call to her clan to save her.
Somehow I doubted that Abigail possessed those sorts of resources.
Seth hadn’t talked about my clan very much, which I supposed made sense. He thought I was a civilian, and would have no reason to give me any warnings about the Wilcox family. Had there been much contact between the two witch clans during this time? I couldn’t remember for sure, since anythingthat had happened before the 1990s felt like the Dark Ages to me.
Ruth came into the front parlor then and set a brown paper parcel down on the coffee table. “I thought it better not to send a plate, just in case,” she told me. “But I wrapped the cookies in two layers of paper, so they should be plenty secure.”
“Thank you so much for that,” I said. “I know the cookies will make our picnic even better.”
“Oh, you can be sure of that,” she replied. “As I have no idea what Seth might have rustled up for the two of you. I can only hope he went to his mother for help — she’s a very fine cook.”
Although I certainly didn’t want Seth to impinge on his mother too much by expecting her to provide a full picnic lunch, I had to admit my interest was piqued. Maybe our meal would turn out to be a bit more than some quickie sandwiches and a couple of apples.
Seth pulled up to the curb then and got out. Because the weather was so fine, he had his convertible’s top down again, and he wore a pale jacket I thought might be linen over his white shirt and brown trousers.
Just seeing him come up the front walk was enough to make my heart leap. How could he be so handsome, so absolutely wonderful, and still be interested in me? It wasn’t that I hadn’t dated at all in high school or college, but in general, I’d kept to myself, embarrassed and troubled by my unpredictable talent, and I knew my reticence had served to keep a lot of guys at a distance.
Seth wasn’t keeping his distance, that was for sure.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Ruth said, obviously spying her cousin’s progress up the front path as well. “Dinner’s at six, though, so don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I promised as I got up from the sofa and leaned down to pick up the parcel of cookies. Her words warmedme even more; clearly, she expected me to spend the whole afternoon with Seth, and I was just fine with that.
Way more than fine, actually.
She left the parlor just as he knocked at the door, so I went to answer it.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
I supposed it was afternoon…just barely. “Afternoon,” I replied, and hefted the parcel I was carrying. “Ruth made us some chocolate cookies.”
“Perfect,” he said, taking them from me. “Shall we get going?”
“Absolutely.”
We walked down the stone path to the gate, and then he opened the car door for me so I could get in. I’d been hoping he would have the top down, which was why I once again had my straw cloche hat jammed down over my ears.
Not that I thought we’d be speeding too much. Even modern cars couldn’t go very fast along the switchbacks that cut their way up the face of Mingus Mountain, and I had to believe Seth would be careful, just as he’d been when he drove us to our dinner on Friday night.
He got in the driver’s seat and started up the engine. “How has your day been so far?” he asked as we pulled away from the curb.
“Quiet,” I said. “Yours?”
A smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “Not as quiet, since I was busy getting our picnic together. But it was a good kind of busy.”
Now I really wondered what he had planned for us. Nothing he’d said to me so far had made me think he was a gifted cook or anything like that, but people did have their way of surprising me.
I supposed I’d find out in a few minutes.
He did seem a little less weighed down by whatever had been bothering him on Friday night, although I had no way of knowing whether that was because the problem had been resolved or whether he was just doing a better job of hiding his worries. Whatever might be going on, it seemed as if he wanted this outing to be a success, so I certainly wasn’t going to ask too many questions.
One of which was resolved as we pulled off the highway into a clearing I recognized well enough. True, I didn’t see the small building that housed the bathrooms in my day, but otherwise, the open area under the tall ponderosa pines was familiar enough. I’d eaten a few picnics of my own here since coming to Jerome, on those days when the weather was just hot enough that I wanted to take a break in a place that reminded me of my hometown of Flagstaff. Up here, the trees and terrain were similar enough, thanks to the nearly thousand feet of elevation we’d gained since looping our way out of the little mining town.
No picnic tables, but Seth got a basket and several heavy blankets out of the car’s trunk and spread them out on a patch of grass that would help to provide some cushioning. After setting down the basket, he reached out a hand.