1841 Parallel Time Parallel Time
Originally Published on 6/22/98
"Damn that bastard Bramwell!" Morgan swore as he walked through the foyer. He had planned to go into Collinsport to get some work done, but now his mind just wasn't on it. His sister-in-law, Daphne, was dying, and her husband, Bramwell, was the cause of it.
Morgan stalked to the door and through the woods to the old house.
Josette answered the door. "Morgan! What brings you here?"
"I'm here to see Daphne."
"She isn't in any shape to receive visitors, Morgan."
"I just wanted to come in and spend some time with her before . . ." he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
Josette hesitated and then opened the door to admit her daughter-in-law's brother-in-law.
Morgan had always loved his uncle Barnabas, and he'd come to visit him frequently during his early childhood, while Bramwell was away at boarding school, so he knew the layout of the old house well. He walked up the stairs as quietly as he could and then down the hall to the room set aside for the wife of the master of the house.
The hinges had recently been oiled, so the door swung open silently. The drapes had been drawn shut, and the only light in the room was provided by the dying embers in the fireplace. Morgan was stunned by what he saw on the bed.
Daphne, who had always been so vibrant and cheerful, was a shadow of herself, with pale skin and dark circles under her eyes. At first, Morgan was afraid that she had passed away already, but when he looked more closely, he could see the sheets over her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.
Morgan kneeled by the side of the bed and took her hand in his, remembering the healthy 13 year old girl who opened the door when he first came to call on her older sister.
Daphne awoke briefly, just long enough to see the dark hair of the man holding her hand, and to ask, "Bramwell? Is that you?"
Knowing the answer that she wanted, no, that she needed to hear, Morgan did his best imitation of the accent that Bramwell had picked up in boarding school, "Yes, my dear, it is I. I won't leave your side until you're well again."
Later, Josette came in, but when she tried to open the drapes, Morgan stopped her. He took her out into the hall to explain why they needed to remain closed.
"She thinks I'm Bramwell."
"Don't you think you should tell her who you really are?"
"Why? What good would it do her? She needs her husband, and if I have to pretend to be him in order to see her well again, that's what I'm going to do."
Josette, seeing the determination in Morgan's face, chose not to argue with him, and Morgan resumed his post at the side of his sister-in-law.
Twelve hours into his vigil, Daphne was seized with a bout of vomiting. Morgan wept silently as he held her hair back and wiped her face with a cold cloth afterward.
He placed cold compress after cold compress on her forehead, trying to relieve her fever. But mostly, Morgan was just there for Daphne, a warm hand for her to cling to, trying to will her back to health.
Over the next days, Daphne gradually gained strength. She began to stay conscious for longer periods, and then she was able to have her head lifted up and be fed a few spoonfuls of broth.
Morgan, knowing that her recovery depended on her belief that he was Bramwell, began to fear that Daphne would realize that he wasn't her husband. Morgan scoffed silently at that, {Her husband! What kind of husband is he, leaving his dying wife to go off and meet secretly with another woman!} Fortunately, the room stayed dark and Morgan's imitation of his cousin was sufficient to convince Daphne that he was Bramwell when she was strong enough to speak.
The day that Daphne ate soft food for the first time since the onset of her illness was the day that Bramwell decided to pay her a visit. Josette came in and called Morgan away from Daphne's bedside. Morgan, hopeful that a visit from the real Bramwell would be what Daphne needed to help her get well, acquiesced as gracefully as he could, and went to sit in the drawing room.
Josette stepped into Daphne's room before Bramwell's entrance, to open the drapes, comb Daphne's hair, and remove all of the evidence of her illness from the room. Josette knew that if she wanted Bramwell to continue visiting her daughter-in-law, he needed to be convinced that she was going to get well.
Daphne awoke while Josette was in the room. "Where did Bramwell go?"
Josette toyed briefly with the thought of telling Daphne that Bramwell had to step out for a minute but that he'd be back soon. Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed, took Daphne's hands in hers, and said, "That wasn't Bramwell that's been with you this whole time. It was Morgan."
"But that can't be. He spoke to me. It was Bramwell's voice."
"He was imitating Bramwell. He knew that what you really needed was Bramwell's attention."
"But Morgan's place is with Catherine . . . " Daphne began, but Josette interrupted her, looking at her meaningfully.
"Evidently, he decided that you needed him more than Catherine did." {Or maybe that he needs you more than he needs Catherine,} Josette added silently.
Josette left the room then, and Bramwell came in. He kneeled in the same place where Morgan had stayed for day after day, and took Daphne's hand in his own.
Daphne smelled the air around Bramwell. The fact that Bramwell smelled of cedar, while the man who had been by her side for days smelled of lavender convinced her that Josette had been telling the truth. It hadn't been Bramwell who had been by her side.
Daphne wanted Bramwell to leave so that she could have Morgan back by her side. "You need to get some rest." She reached up and touched the side of his face gently. "You haven't left my side for days now."
Daphne very nearly felt guilty over the pleasure she got seeing Bramwell's discomfiture. "I promised that I wouldn't leave your side until you were well again."
"I know. I love you." Daphne turned her head to one side and began breathing deeply, as if she had fallen back asleep.
Bramwell took this opportunity to leave the room, where he bumped into his mother. "Bramwell! That wasn't a very long visit!"
"She fell asleep, mother. I figured that I could do other things until she awakes again."
While the two were arguing, Morgan slipped silently up the stairs and into Daphne's room, where Daphne peeked at him through her eyelashes as he drew the curtains shut.
He returned to his usual place by her bedside. Comforted by his presence there beside her, Daphne fell into a real sleep.
When she awoke later, Daphne found that Morgan had placed his head on the bed near her shoulder and had fallen asleep. When she lifted her hand to stoke his hair gently, the movement woke Morgan up.
Daphne decided to capitalize on his disorientation. "You've been sitting here for days, now, and you haven't once kissed me. Please kiss me, Morgan."
Morgan had placed his lips on hers before realizing what she'd said. "Why did you call me Morgan?" he asked in his Bramwell-accent.
"I know that you're Morgan. Bramwell would never kiss me like that, with such," she paused to find the right word, "warmth."
Morgan spluttered a little at that.
"And besides," she added, "you don't smell like Bramwell."
"What?"
"Bramwell smells like cedar. You smell like lavender. Or at least, you do when you've bathed recently," she smiled. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, could you kiss me again?"
Everyone was amazed at the speed of Daphne's recovery from then on. Within a week, she was almost her old self, with only the drawn cheeks of her weight loss to show that she'd ever been ill.
Daphne and Morgan started meeting. Sometimes in secret, oftentimes openly, for only Quentin and Josette had any knowledge of the bond that had formed between the two, and it so pleased them to see Daphne and Morgan happy that they kept that information to themselves.
One of their favorite places to meet became the Collins mausoleum up at Eagle Hill Cemetery. Morgan had told Daphne how close he had felt to his uncle Barnabas, and the two felt safe there in the place where the courtly gentleman had been entombed.
During one such meeting, Morgan pulled Daphne close to him and kissed her hair. "Let's run away together."
"Morgan, you know that we can't. Because of the curse."
"Damn the curse!" Morgan exclaimed, but a moment later, he saw the logic behind Daphne's statement. "I know that we can never be happy until we're away from here. There's only one thing to do for it. I'm going to have to end the curse."
"Morgan! You can't!"
"I think that I could do it. I know that I'll have to do it if we're to be happy."
"When?"
"Tomorrow night."
As sunset approached the next night, Morgan walked, accompanied by Quentin, down the hall to Brutus Collins' bedroom.
Quentin unlocked the door and held it open for his brother. The two allowed themselves one moment of weakness and embraced briefly before Morgan walked into the room and Quentin locked the door shut behind him.
Morgan sat down in one of the chairs and closed his eyes, trying to conjure up an image of Daphne to sustain him through what was to come. He became amazed by the power of his imagination when he smelled the lilac perfume that Daphne always wore. Then he got the fright of his life when he opened his eyes and found Daphne sitting in front of him.
"Am I hallucinating?" Morgan asked.
"No, Morgan, you're not. It's really me. I couldn't bear the thought of having to carry on if you were to die in here, or worse. So whatever's going to come for you is going to have to come through me to get you."
"Daphne! You shouldn't be here!"
"Yes, I should. My place is here with you. With the man that I love. And you're going to have to pick me up and carry me out if you want me to leave."
Morgan looked prepared to do just that, but finally he relented and said with markedly bad humor, "all right. You can stay. How did you get in here, anyway?"
"Quentin locked me in here an hour ago."
This increased Morgan's bad humor. His brother, the man who was so firmly against women spending the night in the locked room, not only allowed a woman to be locked in here, but he put her in the room himself!
After she'd allowed Morgan to sulk for a few minutes, Daphne came over and perched on his lap. "You know what I see over there, Morgan?"
"What?" he asked, continuing to pout.
"I see a bed. It's kind of a pity that we're here together in a big room with a nice big bed like that and we don't take advantage of it."
"You want us to be -- together -- in Brutus Collins' bed?!?"
"Why not? I don't think that he'll be needing it."
Morgan tried to continue sulking, but when Daphne leaned over and kissed him, he was powerless to resist. His arms went around her and as he kissed her back, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
Meanwhile, Bramwell strode into the drawing room as if he were the master of the house.
"May I help you, Bramwell?" Julia asked disdainfully.
"Yes. I'm here looking for my wife. She's disappeared again and when she disappears, I can usually find her here."
"I haven't seen her all evening, Bramwell. If I do see her, I'll be sure to tell her that you're looking for her."
Bramwell caught the flicker of movement in the foyer out of the corner of his eye. Judging by the height of the person he saw, he knew that it had to be Quentin, and somehow, Quentin always seemed to know where Daphne was when she disappeared. Bramwell stepped into the foyer and followed his cousin up the stairs towards Brutus Collins' bedroom.
In their weeks since discovering their love for each other, they had kissed, but had done very little else, since Morgan wanted the circumstances to be perfect when they made love together for the first time.
Morgan realized that if things went badly tonight, they would never have a chance to find the perfection he wanted to share with her, so he accepted that this bed -- Brutus Collins' bed -- might be their last chance.
They began to undress each other slowly, not wanting to miss a second of their discovery of each other, until they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Quentin said, "It's me. Are you still . . . all right?"
"I'm fine, Quentin," Morgan responded, whispering, "better than fine," to Daphne as he kissed his way down her right clavicle.
"I just thought you'd like to know that Bramwell is downstairs. He's looking for Daphne. I haven't told him anything."
"What haven't you told me?" Bramwell asked as he rounded the corner.
"Well . . . ," Quentin was at a loss for words.
"He hasn't told you that I've decided to end the curse," Morgan supplied, as he walked toward the door. When Daphne opened her mouth to speak, Morgan silenced her with a look. {Shhh!} he whispered to her.
Bramwell chuckled depreciatingly, "I am amused by the notion that you would think that I'd care about such a thing."
"I'm ending the curse, Bramwell, because I've decided that I need to take the woman I love away from your influence, once and for all," Morgan finished this declaration by covering Daphne's neck and shoulders with kisses.
"Catherine!" Bramwell exclaimed, as he dashed down the stairs and out of the house.
Quentin watched his cousin leave, chuckling. "Nicely played, big brother," he congratulated Morgan, "I'll have to remember that if I'm ever in your situation." He paused, and when he got no response, he said, "Morgan?"
Again, there was no response. Deciding that Morgan must have more important matters on his mind, Quentin walked down the hallway to his own bedroom.
Morgan continued his journey of discovery, and once their clothing had been discarded and lay in a lilac- and lavender-scented tangle on the floor, he carried her back to the bed.
Several minutes later, Daphne's expression grew distant, "James?" she asked, looking at Morgan.
"No, darling. It's me, Morgan." He kissed her then, all of the love he had for her flowing through his veins.
Her eyes focused on him again. "Of course I know that it's you, Morgan. I'm no longer so ill that I can't tell the difference between you and Bramwell." She returned his kiss.
Eventually, exhaustion overwhelmed them, and they slept.
Toward morning, Brutus appeared and addressed the lovers in the bed. "I let the two of you live with your sanity intact, not for your sake, but for the sake of the child that you conceived tonight."
"A child?" Daphne asked, mingled fear and joy in her voice. She glanced over at Morgan, and her fear dissipated when she saw the pure joy in Morgan's eyes.
"Yes. She will have the intelligence of her father and the determination of her mother, and she will deserve the name of Collins, but in order to achieve this, she will need both of her parents, alive and sane."
Morgan stood up and swept Daphne up in his arms, kissing her soundly. "Do you know what this means?" he asked.
"This means that we can go away together?"
"Yes! Finally, you and I can be together! We'll divorce Bramwell and Catherine. Hell, we'll let them divorce us! I don't care, just as long as I can make you Mrs. Morgan Collins."
They kissed then, but before the passion between them overwhelmed them, Morgan forced himself to pull away from her and resume dressing.
They left the room, but before they parted ways, Morgan said, "I'll bring the carriage around for you in an hour. Will you be ready by then?"
"I'm ready to go now, Morgan!"
"No. We need to say our farewells. Some people here deserve our respect," he said, thinking of Flora and Quentin.
"That's true," she responded, thinking of Josette.
Morgan made the requisite appearance in the drawing room, to demonstrate his safe return from the locked room, realizing that, while most of his family had gathered around him during the tale, his wife was conspicuous by her absence.
He took Quentin aside. "Daphne and I will be leaving soon. I need to find Catherine and tell her that she's free to divorce me whenever she chooses, and I think I know exactly where she is."
Quentin clapped his brother on the back. "Good luck."
On his way to the front door of the house, Morgan took Flora to one side and said, "I'll be going away for a while, Mother."
Flora gazed at her eldest son in disbelief. "What about Catherine? Will she be going with you?"
Morgan shook his head. "No. But I somehow think that she won't miss me." He gave his mother a farewell hug and headed out for the gazebo.
He found them there, together, as always. Bramwell was chasing Catherine around the gazebo, and Catherine was running away from him in the coquettish way she had that made men chase her all the harder.
He stepped out of the brush surrounding the gazebo, then, clearing his throat. Bramwell fairly snapped to attention at the sound, and Catherine hastily smoothed her skirts and hair so that they wouldn't look disheveled, as if she were shopping in Collinsport and not trysting with her lover.
"I've come to say goodbye, Catherine."
"Goodbye?"
"Yes. I'm leaving." Morgan, who had once wanted Catherine more than life itself, was astounded at the depth of his apathy toward this woman who had taken his heart and used it as a boot-jack.
"But, Morgan, you can't leave me! I'm pregnant!"
"Catherine!" Bramwell cried out.
Reminding himself of another child that waited for him, his child, Morgan gave Catherine his best steely-eyed look. "Well, madam, I'm sure that Bramwell will be happy to lay claim to whatever it is you whelp." And with that, he walked off to the carriage house.
Morgan hitched up his matched grays to one of the carriages and drove down to the Old House to pick up Daphne.
He sat in front of the house for several minutes, fearing more with each second that Daphne had decided to stay with Bramwell rather than leave with him.
"You'd better hurry, dear," Josette said to her daughter-in-law as she watched Morgan sitting in front of the house, "Morgan Collins is not the most patient man in the world."
"I know. I'm just finishing up my note to Catherine." Daphne shook a little sand onto the note to dry the ink, and slipped the note into an envelope marked with her sister's name.
She handed the three notes, one each for Bramwell, Quentin and Catherine, to Josette. "Good-bye, Josette. You were the best mother-in-law a woman could ask for!" she said as the two women hugged. Then she picked up the suitcase which contained her nightgown and an extra dress and nearly ran out the front door and into Morgan's waiting arms.
As they passed through the gates of the Collins estate, Morgan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet-covered box. "I took the liberty of purchasing this yesterday. I hope I guessed the size right."
Daphne opened the box. Inside was a simple gold band.
"I know that we can't truly be married until we've gotten our divorces," he said, "but at the very least, I wanted you to be able to wear a ring that I gave you, until I can make it legal. You can . . . "
Daphne had pulled off her left glove, and Morgan noticed that she wasn't wearing Bramwell's wedding ring. "I can what?" she asked.
"I was about to suggest that you could mail Bramwell's ring back to him . . ."
She sighed melodramatically. "Men! You never notice anything! I haven't worn Bramwell's ring since the night you told me that you intended to break the curse."
Morgan pulled the carriage over to the side of the road and helped Daphne down. Then he took her left hand in his, and slipped her wedding ring onto her finger. Then he pulled her to him for a kiss as eloquent as any spoken vow.
When they pulled away from each other, the clouds that hung over Collinsport parted momentarily, as if in benediction, and they knew then that nothing would ever separate them again.