AN: I've divided this, the penultimate, chapter into two parts because it turned out much longer than I'd anticipated. I've segmented it roughly in half to make it easier to read.
Part 1
At the Great House of the Collinwood estate, a day that began in uncharacteristic light and warmth has given way to an evening more typical of the enigmatic edifice—one that brings a mysterious new figure into the lives of the Collins family and the other inhabitants of the venerable estate.
Collinwood 1968
On that fateful afternoon at the Great House, one thing became clear to Dr. Julia Hoffman, her friend Barnabas Collins understood and communicated little of the power or the way of the I Ching before entrusting himself to it. She had watched Barnabas day after day in a deep, unrelenting trance state, without knowing any of the particulars of the I Ching's inner workings. As a result, she had no idea what to do when the I Ching delivered Quentin Collins to 1968.
Maggie, still in shock from seeing John Doe fade into nothingness, turned to Professor Stokes for advice and wisdom. While Julia kept watch over Quentin, Maggie made her way on shaky legs to call the occult expert. Given his almost encyclopedic knowledge of the occult, she hoped he would not disappoint her.
Her story poured out in a rush of words. She told him about John's strange ailment, and how she insisted on taking him to the west wing—and how, once there, John had literally disappeared and Quentin Collins emerged from the trance. Referring to the I Ching, she asked Professor Stokes, "What do you know about it?"
He told her, "I have a passing acquaintance with it. It is an ancient form of divination—a way of revealing one's own truth or path, or answering or resolving some issue or blockage in one's life. But no one is truly knowledgeable about it, save for a handful of skilled practitioners. The rest of us merely dabble."
Yet, he knew enough to tell her that he believed that John Doe was an astral doppelganger of Quentin Collins. He speculated that either the astral being had a limited time in this dimension, or that he could not continue to exist in such close proximity to the corporeal Quentin Collins. Much to her frustration, he could not tell Maggie whether Quentin Collins would retain his doppelganger's memories.
"Some believe," he continued, "that each set of wands is imbued with the will of the individual who crafted them. Thus each set is unique and unpredictable. One can imagine the possibilities. If the craftsman was sensible, reliable, and responsible, the wands may lead to similar ends. But what if the craftsman was puckish or a trickster … or a indeed, a craftswoman—the results might be very different indeed." He mused aloud, "Yes, I can imagine the possibilities. I'm sorry, my dear, if I've not supplied the answers you seek. In any case, this is a rare opportunity to learn more about the I Ching. I should very much like to examine the wands, and of course, meet Quentin Collins. I have so many questions I'd like to ask him."
At first, Maggie and Quentin circled one another warily.
From the moment he emerged, Maggie could see that Quentin was different from John. Though she couldn't name it, there was something in his eyes that had not been there before. As he looked around his rooms, it was clear that John's vulnerability was gone, replaced by self-assurance that bordered on cockiness. He was mercurial—changing from expressions of wonder to ones of despair with each passing moment. This, at least, Maggie chocked up to him having woken from a trance and discovering that 70 years had passed.
She had empathized with John, but now he was someone else. She no longer felt the same sense of connection with him. He was a Collins. She should have guessed as much. When he was John Doe, they were somehow more alike—bound by the common experience of losing one's sense of self, and identity.
For his part, Quentin could see the physical resemblance between Maggie and Rachel, but the resemblance was in features alone. Maggie's tone and manner of speech were so clipped, so blunt and direct; even the way she moved was at odds with his memory of Rachel. He'd watched as she left the room—moving so quickly and turning her head in a way that made her hair fly to and fro—to say nothing of the dress. She was exposed in a way he'd never seen Rachel, so he had no point of comparison as to their legs or bare shoulders. In his own time, he was a man who knew much of women, but here he found it discordant to see such exposure wedded to ordinary, daily life.
When Maggie returned and conveyed what little she'd learned from Professor Stokes, Julia took charge of the situation. There was much to be done before the rest of the family returned. First she proposed relocating Quentin to a guest bedroom adjacent to hers. He objected. "These are my rooms. Why can't I stay here?" He added, "Though I'm none too pleased about the addition of these walls," indicating the false structures that had concealed his existence for decades.
"The west wing has been closed and locked for years," Maggie told him. "No one is allowed to come here." To Julia, she added, "And now we know why."
"Yes," Julia responded.
"And yet, here you are," Quentin quipped.
"We wouldn't be were it not for you," Maggie told him sharply.
Julia intervened, "Let's continue this in the drawing room."
Quentin looked at his slightly disheveled appearance and said, "Fine, but I need to wash and put on fresh clothes."
Maggie looked at Julia. "We have a lot to do."
Julia was tasked with going to the Blue Whale and explaining to Ed that she and John Doe had made a significant breakthrough, and that he would be staying with her at Collinwood for the foreseeable future—which was the same as informing the entire town. She retrieved John's few belongings, which had been provided by the staff at Windcliff, and returned to the Great House.
It was two days after his astral and physical beings reunited that he was first able to bring all of his memories together. Under Julia's deft guidance he was able to remember emerging through the I Ching portal onto Peabody's farm. Later, he could remember all of John Doe's experiences, but it still felt as though they happened to someone else.
For her part, Julia had taken the opportunity to explore Quentin's memories from before he invoked the I Ching. She wanted to know what happened to Barnabas, how had he come to leave Quentin the note she found on the mantle of his room in the west wing. And in the end she learned a great deal, but not what troubled her the most—why Barnabas had yet to return from 1897.
After a few hypnotherapy sessions with Julia, Quentin grew impatient and restive. He had already grown tired of feeling as though someone else had inhabited his body. Though Julia counseled patience with the process, he told her he was not the patient type. In Julia, he found a worthy adversary—one who took his sarcasm and moodiness and handed it back to him. She, he found, was subject to neither his charms nor his biting temper. She told him flatly that she'd dealt with "tougher customers" than him. It was the start of rapprochement, then the therapeutic relationship, and finally friendship.
It was not so with Maggie. Maggie, he discovered from the start, was discomfited by his mere proximity. The accidental graze of her hand, or fixing her with his gaze would cause her cheeks to color. The first time it happened was the evening he'd come out of the trance. Julia had gone into Collinsport, leaving the two of them alone. He'd followed Maggie into the Great House kitchen, and watched as she made tea. She went to the cupboard, and when she turned back, he was there, close beside her. Her cheeks were aflame, as she took a retreating step away from him. He threw back his head and laughed. Her eyes flashed her annoyance, as she turned away and composed herself. He found he enjoyed inducing such a reaction.
In contrast to Julia, his wit and sharp tongue could provoke genuine anger and frustration in Maggie. She was quick with a rejoinder and sometimes her eyes were full of fury. Sometimes she'd go rigid with exasperation and he knew that his barbs hit their mark. Still, anything was preferable to her silent wariness. It was that that he sensed when she eyed him when she thought he wasn't looking.
It was only after his sessions with Julia that he began to understand Maggie better. It was only later when he could remember the thoughts and actions of his astral self—the so-called John Doe—that he understood that a nascent bond existed between them, one that was swept away when he emerged from the trance.
It was easy to understand how a man like Barnabas Collins could emerge from being entombed in 1795 into 1967 and immediately find his place in the world. He had used his status as a Collins and his supposed eccentricity to mask that he was a man out of his own time. He had meticulously restored the Old House to its original condition, eschewing modern conveniences and modern life in general. As a Collins, his eccentricity, his obsession with the past would be unquestioned, not only by the family, but also by the town—which is what it meant to be a Collins in Collinsport.
When Barnabas emerged in 1967, the portrait of his "ancestor" that hung in foyer of the Great House served as his calling card and introduction to the family. No one could deny that he was a Collins—namesake to the man in the portrait. All of which aided Barnabas in forever remaining a man out of step with time.
In stark contrast, when the I Ching thrust Quentin Collins into 1968, it left him marooned in a time that was not his own, with no plausible explanation to offer for his existence and no convenient portrait to establish his Collins bona fides. His fate was in the hands of two women and the unknown motives of the I Ching itself.
Carolyn had called to tell Maggie that she and Tony had gone away for the weekend, and to ask Maggie to cover for her if her mother called. Julia and Maggie were grateful for the few days they had before the residents of Collinwood returned home. It meant that they had time to craft an explanation for the existence of this new Collins "cousin."
It was Julia's idea to use Barnabas's long absence from Collinwood to their advantage. She would write a letter of introduction in Barnabas's hand. "We can say that the letter only just arrived. Had it arrived sooner, it might have helped their amnesiac John Doe remember who he was," Julia said. Further, Quentin could use his amnesia to cover any gaps in their story.
Maggie was saddened by hearing John referred to in the past tense, but she considered and began, "That might work for now, but what about when Barnabas returns?"
Julia and Quentin exchanged looks.
"What are you not telling me?" Maggie asked, wondering how Julia and Quentin could already share a secret after such a short acquaintance.
"Nothing bad," Julia replied. "Just that Barnabas may not return to Collinwood for quite some time."
"Oh," Maggie said softly.
"And when he does return, I'll explain the situation. I'm certain he'll want to help." There was an edge to Julia's voice.
"Of course," Maggie said reasonably, but her eyes betrayed her mistrust.
Later that evening after the three had shared a simple dinner of soup and sandwiches, they adjourned to the drawing room. Julia and Quentin each nursed a brandy while they talked through the points of what they planned to tell Elizabeth when she returned.
Maggie stood at the window, only half listening though she knew that getting their story straight was important. She was still wearing her blue sundress. At some point, though she couldn't say when she'd put her cardigan on, as the evening had grown cool. Earlier, the day was full of promise. It seemed ages ago that she'd been on the beach in the sun, enjoying a lovely afternoon. She and John were … but now …
"Maggie?" Julia's voice pulled her back into the drawing room.
Maggie turned away from the window. "Yes? You were saying?"
Julia looked puzzled by Maggie's behavior. "I was saying goodnight. It's been a long day, and I'm heading upstairs to bed." Noting that Maggie had not been paying attention, she added, "We can talk more about this tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Julia," Maggie said and turned back toward the window. She had misgivings about lying to Mrs. Stoddard. She knew it had to be done, but she was committing to looking her friends in the eye everyday and lying to them. That sort of thing might come easily to Julia, but it didn't for her.
She sensed his presence before she felt his hands on her arms. Quentin gently turned Maggie to face him, "What is it, Maggie? What's wrong?" He looked to her telltale cheeks, but she showed no sign of discomfort in his presence.
"I don't like lying to Mrs. Stoddard," she said flatly. "I'm happy here at Collinwood, and this job is important to me. I can't afford to lose it." She grew quiet. Her face was thoughtful, as she searched for something that had eluded her.
It seemed to him, in that moment, she was so like …
"Who's Rachel?" she asked out of the blue, as though she'd read his mind.
"Rachel?" It was his turn to feel discomfited. Even the sound of her name felt remote, as though someone else uttered it.
"Yes. When you first came out of the trance, you mistook me for someone named Rachel."
"Rachel is dead," he said bluntly. "She died not long before I entered the trance. She's buried at Eagle Hill cemetery." He realized all at once that Rachel and the others were long dead now.
"I'm sorry," Maggie said. It sounded inadequate given his demeanor.
He avoided her eyes and looked out of the window. "She died in my arms, right here in this room. And yes, you bear a passing resemblance to her—in features, at least," he added bitterly. He turned away and went to refill his glass of brandy. He sat in the armchair by the fireplace. Maggie joined him and sat opposite him on the couch. She was sorry she'd asked, as she'd clearly opened an old wound.
A long silence ensued before Maggie said, "It must be strange being here—the same, only very different—but Julia and I can help you." She stood. "Julia's right. It has been a long day." Then she hesitated. She wasn't sure she should leave him alone.
He settled the matter for her. "Don't worry, Maggie. I know the way to the guest room and I've nowhere else to go."
"We have to lock the west wing before the others get back," she observed, lest he think about returning to his familiar rooms.
He laughed. "I'm afraid you know me too well already. Goodnight, Maggie."
In the ensuing days, life at the Great House began to return to normal. Carolyn was the first to return. Julia and Quentin were sequestered in the library. Maggie was upstairs organizing the schoolroom when she heard the sound of a car on the drive outside. She went to the window and looked out. Tony gave Carolyn a hand out of the front seat of his low-slung car then retrieved her small overnight bag from the trunk. He set it on the ground beside her and took her in his arms. They shared a laugh and then a kiss that made Maggie feel uncomfortably like a voyeur. She turned away then and went downstairs to meet Carolyn in the foyer.
Carolyn, true to her nature, was thrilled to learn that the mysterious John Doe was actually a long-lost cousin. She was bubbling with questions about how and when and where he first remembered, but cared little for the practical implications. She wanted to know whether he planned to stay. The rest of the day was animated by Carolyn's enthusiasm and energy.
In contrast, the next morning Mrs. Johnson and her son, Harry, returned to the Great House. Harry had pulled the car up to servants' entrance to unload the pantry supplies along with their personal bags. So Mrs. Johnson entered through the kitchen and heard voices in the family dining room. She walked in, still carrying her handbag and wearing a coat that seemed too heavy for such a promising day, to find the four in residence having breakfast. It was little more than toast with butter and jam, and coffee, but it was sufficient for their needs. Carolyn was still peppering Quentin with questions; and he was responding, under Julia's watchful gaze—her eyes told him that caution was needed. Maggie pretended to peruse a magazine, but really listened closely to the friendly interrogation underway.
"Ahem," Mrs. Johnson said loudly. She stood in the doorway looking, to Maggie's eyes, like a character from a children's book, though she couldn't remember which one. "What's going on here?" she asked.
Carolyn answered, "You'll never guess—John is actually a long-lost Collins cousin. Mrs. Johnson, meet Quentin Collins. Cousin Quentin, our housekeeper, Mrs. Johnson."
"Oh?" Mrs. Johnson responded in a suspicion-tinged voice. "Is he staying here? Does Mrs. Stoddard know about this? " she asked.
Julia said, "No, not yet, but she's expected back tomorrow. I'll tell her then."
Mrs. Johnson fixed her eyes on Quentin and said, "So, you got your memory back and realized you belong to the most prominent family in this part of Maine. That must be convenient."
"Mrs. Johnson!" Carolyn bristled and adopted the imperious mien of a true Collins. "You've been with us a long time—long enough to be treated like part of the family, but you're not. And until my mother or Uncle Roger returns, I've decided he's welcome to stay."
Maggie felt terrible for Mrs. Johnson. The color drained from the housekeeper's face at having received such a stinging rebuke in front of the others. Mrs. Johnson turned on her heel and fled through the dining room door.
"Oh dear, I handled that poorly," Carolyn said, rising to follow the housekeeper and restore peace.
Julia, Quentin, and Maggie sat in silence for a time then. Each absorbed in his or her reflections on the awkward scene they'd just witnessed. Then Harry, Mrs. Johnson's son appeared in the doorway. "What have we here?" he asked, eyes fixed on Maggie.
"No concern of yours, Harry," Julia responded bluntly. It was one thing, Julia thought, for Mrs. Johnson to pry into family matters, but her rodent-like son was something else altogether. "I believe you'll find your mother elsewhere," she said to dismiss him. He took the hint and skulked away.
"Who is that?" Quentin asked no one in particular.
It was Julia who responded. "The housekeeper's son Harry—part time errand boy, part time chauffeur, and full time irritant. He's only here because Mrs. Stoddard is a soft touch." Julia rose and looked at her watch. "I'll see you at 11:00 in the library," she said to Quentin.
She left, leaving Maggie and Quentin alone together at the small dining table. She could practically feel his eyes on her. She looked up and met his gaze. "I think he likes you," he said.
"Who?"
"The housekeeper's son."
Her expression conveyed her distaste. She said, "No," she said. "I don't think so. Maybe in your time …"
He cut her off, "Boys like that are the same in any time period. I can spot his type a mile off—jealous, venal, obsequious; he aspires to have better than he deserves—in his case, you." Maggie colored deeply. The whole conversation felt inappropriate and embarrassing. He marked her change in countenance with a smile and a brief chuckle. "I daresay, he's not your type," he observed with a raised eyebrow.
"And you think you know me so well after one day's acquaintance," she responded tartly, folding her arms across her chest.
He laughed, "My dear Maggie, I wouldn't condemn any woman to a lifetime of that hell—and certainly not you."
For some reason, she wanted to argue the point, but how could she? She despised Harry Johnson, though she hated to admit that Quentin was right. She didn't know what came over her, but she couldn't suppress a giggle at the thought.
"So, what will you be doing this morning?" he asked. The change of subject was much to her relief.
"I've been organizing the schoolroom. Then I'll work on getting a few days ahead on lessons for the kids. What about you?"
He sighed and a wistful look came to his eyes. "I'll be getting reacquainted with the house and the grounds—seeing how things have changed and how they've stayed the same."
"Things will fall into place when the rest of the family returns," she said mostly to have something vaguely comforting to say.
He made a noncommittal noise in response. As they rose and left the dining room behind, he said, "Until later, Maggie." At the foyer, she headed upstairs and he exited through the front doors.
The following afternoon marked the return of Elizabeth Stoddard, her nephew David, and ward Amy, to the Great House. Carolyn had picked them up at the train station, and all the way back to the estate hinted about a big surprise awaiting them. Carolyn was ebullient as she inwardly focused on the novelty of having a handsome stranger join the family.
As they pulled up the drive to the house, Elizabeth asked one last time about Carolyn's surprise. Poor Amy, unbeknownst to Carolyn, harbored the hope that the surprise was the return of her brother, Chris. But Amy was to be disappointed, as she was so often by how life treated her.
"Hello," Carolyn called out as they entered the house. "We're back. Where is everyone?"
The doors to the drawing room opened. "We're in here," Maggie said. "Welcome back."
Amy ran to her and threw her arms around Maggie's waist. "Maggie," she squealed. "I missed you so much."
Maggie hugged her back. "I missed you too, Amy," she said patting the child's head affectionately.
"Where's the surprise?" Amy beamed.
"What?" Maggie asked in confusion.
The others had followed Amy into the drawing room.
Quentin rose from the armchair. He took in the others with his eyes. It was remarkable. It took all of his will not to run to Elizabeth Stoddard, embrace her, and call her Judith. Instead, he went to her, extended his hand, and said, "I'm Quentin Collins, your cousin." Then he turned to David, "You must be David. I've heard a great deal about you—both of you," he added to include Amy.
David was all excitement. "Really, how?" he asked.
"Why, from Maggie, of course," Quentin said. "She's told me quite a bit about the two of you."
He instantly endeared himself to David. And for his part, in David, he found young Jamison reborn. Similarly, in Amy, he saw Nora's suspicious eyes all over again—though he'd no idea what he'd done to inspire the girl's mistrust.
Amy looked up at Maggie. "I thought it might be Chris," she said softly, tears forming in her eyes.
Maggie hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Amy." There was nothing more to say to make it better.
"It's my fault, I'm afraid," Carolyn confessed.
Quentin and Elizabeth stood awkwardly getting acquainted. She had many questions, which Quentin pledged to answer to the best of his ability. But for the moment, he told her that Barnabas's interest in family history had led to the discovery of a heretofore, unknown branch of the family. During his travels, Barnabas had sought him out and encouraged him to connect with his family at Collinwood. He had set out to do so, but something happened to intervene, leaving him with a case of traumatic amnesia. He told Elizabeth that Julia feared that he might never recall what befell him, but Barnabas's letter of introduction confirmed why he had traveled to Collinwood.
Elizabeth took it all in, expressing sympathy, but maintaining some distance and reserve. Later she would call Roger and ask him to return at once.
Now that the Great House was back to its normal level of activity, Julia preferred to meet with Quentin at the Old House. They had reached the limit of what could be learned through hypnosis. Quentin had been able to remember and integrate John Doe's memories and experiences and describe to Julia his own circumstances that led up to him entering the I Ching trance. But still Julia persisted. If Angelique had arrived in 1897 and cured Quentin of the werewolf curse, why had they not returned? And why, she secretly wanted to know, did Chris remain trapped in the form of a wolf? Quentin could provide no further insights, but Julia remained convinced that she had overlooked something important. So she continued to meet with Quentin and talk through his memories of 1897, Barnabas, and the curse. For his part, Quentin acutely felt what he owed Julia, as well as Maggie. So he went to the Old House and answered question after question, watching Julia pace and think.
Quentin had just returned to the Great House from having a "session" with Julia when he encountered a man in the foyer who could only be Roger Collins. He was taken aback for a moment by the striking resemblance Roger bore to his own brother, Edward. He was impeccably dressed in the fashion of the time, marking himself as a man of wealth, position, and taste.
"Ah, here you are," Roger began, extending his hand. "You must be my cousin, Quentin."
Quentin shook the proffered hand, saying, "And you must be Roger. A pleasure to meet you."
"Come—join me in the library," Roger said in way remarkably reminiscent of Edward. He followed Roger into the library. Once there, Roger took a seat at the desk. Quentin took a seat across from him. Roger opened the bottom desk drawer and retrieved a small bottle of whisky and two glasses. He poured two fingers into each glass and offered one to Quentin. "Cheers," Roger said, lifting the glass to his new acquaintance. They each drank. Then Roger said, "So, another long-lost Collins has come back to the fold."
"Roger," Quentin began, preparing to deliver a well-rehearsed explanation.
But Roger held up his hand, "There's something I'd like to show you," he said. He ambled over to a painting of an 18th century sailing ship that hung on the wall. The painting opened out into the room to reveal a wall safe behind it. In a moment, the safe was open and Roger returned with stack of small volumes. He placed them on the desk and resumed his seat.
Quentin gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand."
"No," Roger said gravely, "I don't suppose you do. There is a tradition in our family—one known to only a few. Each generation, the family patriarch—usually the eldest son—is charged with writing a true and complete history of the Collins family during his lifetime. There are plenty of official histories here," he gestured to the shelves around them, "and in Collinsport, but none of them is true and complete. Some have been expunged of any bad deeds or family scandals. In others, the undesirable have been crudely redacted by means of a razor blade. But these," he laid his hand on the volumes, "these are the true histories. It is a charge that has been handed down from generation to generation, beginning with Joshua Collins, continuously to me, and I, in turn, will charge my son David with doing the same. So when Elizabeth told me that another cousin had surfaced, it was to these that I turned," he said indicating the books. "Would you like to know what I found?"
"Please," Quentin said, drawing a deep inhale.
Roger opened the thin volume on top. He had bookmarked one of the pages. He turned to it and showed it to Quentin. A primitive photograph of him as a young man was affixed to a page. He remembered the day it was taken in Boston—a novelty arranged by his grandmother, Edith. Roger continued, "Your namesake—the original Quentin Collins. The likeness is remarkable. His brother Edward chronicled his life. He was the black sheep of the family, I'm afraid—a notorious womanizer who dabbled in the black arts."
"What became of him?" Quentin asked.
"He left Collinwood one day, without a word to anyone, and never returned." They sat in silence for a moment as each sipped his drink. Then Roger resumed, "I suspect that you are his direct descendant. I should very much like to hear more about how Barnabas came to meet you, but I understand that that will have to wait until Barnabas returns. I look forward to getting better acquainted, but I've been away from the estate for too long. I have a great deal of catching up to do with the businesses and my son. Perhaps, we can speak again later this evening or tomorrow." Roger rose and Quentin followed suit. "In the meantime, welcome to Collinwood. Now that you've found your way back to our ancestral home, I hope you'll come to think of it as your home too."
"Thank you, Roger." Quentin was genuinely touched by such a welcome. The two shook on it and then Roger took his leave.
One weekend not long after Roger's return, Maggie drove Quentin to Bangor. She was surprised by the extent to which Quentin and Roger had taken to one another. Whether it was because Quentin was a Collins or they had found some other affinity, the two were spending a great deal of time together. Roger had taken Quentin to tour the cannery and the mill, as well as the estate. Perhaps, it was simply that Roger enjoyed male companionship of the sort that Barnabas had never provided.
Barnabas seemed to prefer the companionship of the women of the estate—be it Julia, Elizabeth, or Vicky during her time there. Barnabas with his eccentricities and obsession with the past was poor company for a man like Roger, charged with ensuring the family's—indeed the town's—livelihood and future. Quentin, on the other hand, had always enjoyed the benefits of masculine life and found that many such benefits endured in 1968. So he was content to allow Roger to act as an unwitting guide to many of the changes that had taken place in the family businesses and in Collinsport since 1897. And thus an unlikely (or so it seemed to Maggie) friendship was forged.
Roger had asked Quentin to "show the Collins family flag" at the mill while Roger was away attending to business in Boston. Roger had taken him to his personal tailor in Bangor and insisted on paying for his new clothes as a kind of down payment on his work at the mill. After all, Roger told him, "A Collins can't go about dressed in clothing provided by the local asylum—you must dress like a Collins."
Maggie had offered to drive Quentin on his return visit to pick up his new suits. On the road to Bangor, Quentin had been in an expansive mood—by turns sharing the details of the time he'd spent with Roger, and making observations about the world around him. His wonder about life in 1968 had evolved first to curiosity and then to appreciation. Everywhere he looked there was change—both superficial and profound. The world had evolved. And though a part of him would forever belong to 1897, until and unless the I Ching sent him back, he was a man of this world now, and he must learn to navigate it as best he could.
On the drive, Maggie listened to him with evident interest and amusement. From time to time, a smile graced her lips. Once at the tailor's shop, she convinced him to pick out a couple of casual outfits as well as the tailored suits. She and the tailor had helped him to select some casual slacks and sports-coats, a turtleneck sweater, and a couple of knit shirts that were not terribly different from those he was given at Windcliff, though clearly of higher quality—no doubt more costly as well. And although he did not believe the more casual attire suited him, both Maggie and the tailor assured him it did. After exiting the shop, Maggie pointedly told him that in his casual clothes, he would fit in more easily in 1968, as everyone dressed more casually now.
Then they had lunch at a coffee shop before making the return trip to the estate. They slid into a booth with dark green vinyl upholstery. The waitress gave Quentin an admiring look as she handed him a menu. She offered Maggie a knowing smile with her menu. Maggie sighed.
"Is something wrong?" he asked solicitously.
"No, nothing," she said, hiding a wry smile behind the menu.
"So, what sounds good to you?" he asked.
Later, as they ate, Maggie noticed that Quentin was in a good mood—ebullient even. He was still amazed by the world around him, especially the speed with which it moved. Although she knew what he meant, Maggie couldn't resist saying, "Yes, Roger seems to have taken to you immediately."
"I doubt that he would had he known that I am the black sheep himself—not just his descendant."
For some reason, Maggie felt compelled to take up for Roger. "You should give him more credit. He's capable of drawing his own conclusions based on your behavior."
He looked at her narrowly. "Perhaps. He looks so much like my brother Edward—like my brother did," he clarified. "But then, he's so different in demeanor—so much more open and welcoming. In truth, Maggie, it's like having the brother I longer for, but never had in Edward. It helps that I haven't run off with his wife—at least, not yet." He briefly recounted some of the acts that earned him his reputation as the black sheep—Laura, his marriage to Jenny, and his self-indulgent treatment of Beth. He carefully expunged Rachel, and the werewolf and its attendant crimes, from his narrative.
If she was shocked, she didn't show it. "It's a kind of fresh start for you," Maggie said. He turned his gaze out the window, and said nothing. She continued, "You're lucky. How many people get the chance to put their past behind them, wipe the slate clean, and begin again?"
"Yes, but it comes with a price too—never to see your family again. Edward, no doubt, is—was—fine with never seeing me again, but Judith and Jamison—they believed I left without even saying goodbye. That was never my intention. I never realized how much it matters to me that they know how I felt about them—that I never meant to leave without a word of goodbye," he told her wistfully.
Maggie instantly regretted the direction the conversation had taken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … well, you know."
He turned back to meet her gaze. "When I picked up the wands I never imagined they would lead me here. I thought I would go back, right a wrong, and then things would go on as before."
Maggie wasn't sure what to say. Though she longed to understand what drove him to the I Ching, she settled weakly on, "I see."
He continued, "I don't know what my place will be in this world, Maggie. And no one can help me with that—not you, not Julia, not Roger."
She bit back the need to try to make him feel better, or to tell him it would all come right in the end—though she believed it would. She knew from experience that some things you had to figure out for yourself.