LOVE THROUGH TIME

CHAPTER TWO

The storm had churned up the seabed, scattering seaweed and driftwood along the beach as far as the eye could see. While Syaoran looked at every piece of wood they came across, Sakura searched the dunes for the shape of a body. Syaoran was right. He couldn't be the only who survived. Perhaps they would run across someone else who needed help.

It was an hour before they saw the outline of a ship on the horizon—the only sign of life they'd seen since beginning their trek.

Sakura shielded her eyes. "Do you recognize it?"

"There are only a thousand or so yachts making their way between Atlantic City and Cape May. Why shouldn't i?"

"You may be cute, but you sure have a mouth on you," Sakura commented, dropping her hand and beginning to walk along the beach again."

"And you are just plain weird," he answered. "You wear men's clothes and odd shoes. And you speak in words unfamiliar to the East Coast—or the West Coast for the matter. I know. I took the train out there a few years ago."

A train? My, my. But he'd made and interesting, if incorrect observation. "What makes you say that?"

"Because only dockworkers wear that fabric. It's too coarse for most women. And those shoes look clumsy."

"Boy, talk about being behind the times!" Sakura exclaimed. "These are the best running shoes money can buy! As for my jeans, they're designer jeans. I don't know a single women left in the world who doesn't have at least one pair in her closet."

"I doubt it." Syaoran's derision hurt. "You're obviously demented. Someone must have opened the asylum door and let you out."

"No one had to let me out. And you're alive because of me."

"Well, if you think your clothes are the cat's pajamas, think again miss. Are you in the picture business? Those people consider weird ways of dressing."

Sakura laughed. "Like Cher and some of the others? No, I'm afraid not. Although my brother just finished a part in a movie."

Syaoran's expression was disapproving. "My sister wants to be in the moving pictures, but she doesn't know what she's doing. She just does whatever her boyfriend tells her to do."

The hair on the back of her neck rose. The phrase moving pictures hadn't been used for years. "Why do you call them moving pictures?"

"Because that's what they are. What do you call them?"

"Movies, show, films. I don't know anyone who calls them moving pictures."

He shrugged. "I guess it depends on what part of the country you come from."

"Where are you from"

"I live in New York. I'm down here for a vacation."

"I'm from Philadelphia," Sakura returned dryly. "In case you New Yorkers don't remember that's only an hour away by train."

"Two," he stated absently, his eyes grazing the shoreline once more.

"More or less."

"What part did your brother play in the pictures?" he asked as an afterthought. Obviously, his mind was somewhere else.

Sakura answered anyway. "He played a gangster in Al Capone's time. He was the crooked attorney from the mob."

"Say that again?"

Confused, she complied. "He played a crooked attorney for the mob."

"Al Capone's mob?"

"Yes." She didn't understand his sudden interest, so she guessed. 'Is your sister in that movie? Is that it?"

"Sakura, or whatever your name is. You must be mistaken. No one in his right mind would try to do a picture about Al Capone. They'd be dead in a minute. Sweet bejesus, haven't you ever heard of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre? Just last February they killed seven of their own. They don't give a damn whose lives they snuff out."

He was curious. Her smile slowly slipped from her face. The hair on the back of her neck stood up again. "Syaoran. What year do you think this is?" she asked gently.

He gave an impatient wave of his hand, as if dismissing the question as not worthy of an response. But he answered it anyway. "It's 1929."

She froze. Her feet refused to take another step until her mind figured out how much danger she was in. obviously the man had escaped one of the hospital in the area. Good looks or no, he was insane, which made him someone to be wary of.

"Sakura?"

Her gaze focused on him. He looked so normal. He also looked concerned.

"she smiled. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Ready?" she began trudging down to the edge of the water with more bounce in her steps. No sense letting him know she was worried, hell-she was scared!

Two minutes later, his hand grabbed her arm. "Slow down! This isn't a damn race, you know."

Her heart jump to her throat and her chest. "Sorry. I'm just anxious to get home."

"Well, if you live in Philadelphia, you won't be getting home anytime soon."

For a moment, she'd forgotten about her little Victorian house in Cape May. Good. At least she had kept her address a mystery. "I guess you're right."

"I've got a room here, if you need it. It's behind the Grand Hotel in a boardinghouse, but it's clean and private."

"How did you arrange that?" She asked, hoping to distract him.

"Mrs. Timmers, the landlady, is an old friend of my mother's. they knew each other before they married."

Sakura had to be careful. She didn't want to trigger any unwanted emotions, but she needed to keep Syaoran talking. That way his mind would be occupied with other things beside her. "Where is your mother now?"

It was a long moment before he answered. "She's living with her younger sister in the Bronx. She doesn't know anyone anymore. She just sits by the window all day and stares out at people walking by. The doctor calls it brain rot."

Sakura knew all about it. Her aunt Crissie was in a nursing home with the small illness.

"Alzheimer's," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"The name of the disease you mother has."

His lip curled in scorn. "And how would you know what the doctors don't?"

"I have a relative with the same disease. That's what it's called," she stated quietly. "I'm sorry. I know it has to be hard on you and your family."

"The family, as you call it, is just my aunt, me, and my sister now."

"What happened to your father?"

"None of your business," he said coldly.

For a man who thought he was in 1929, he seemed remarkably cogent. She wanted to ask more questions, but the distant look on his face silenced her.

The sun got hotter. It beat down on them with savage ferocity. It was one of those hot June days that came once or twice a summer. Sakura glanced sideways at Syaoran. His jacket looked hot and heavy, but he didn't seem to notice. It only proved to Sakura that the man had a loose screw. Anyone else would make himself as comfortable as possible for a long walk in that heat. They didn't even know where they were, for heaven's sake.

She stared straight ahead, willing her mind not to panic. Surely, they would come across someone, something soon. After all, the New Jersey coastline wasn't that sparsely inhabited. And when they did, she'd be safe from this good-looking maniac.

She stared ahead at the distant shoreline, promising God many things if He would let her find a person, a building, a town. Safely. But all she saw was a log just a little way from the shoreline, the water lapping at one end. Suddenly, the log moved.

Her eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun, she watched the long dark object. From this distance, it still looked like a log—then a branch rose up and feebly waved.

Syaoran saw it move, too. "Come on!" he cried, breaking into a run towards the log, his one shoe leaving deep prints in the damp sand.

Sakura ran right behind him.

The log turned into a person with wet sand covering most of his or her body. The closer Sakura came, the more she saw. It was a female, and she was up to her shoulder in water.

Sakura reached her side just seconds after Syaoran. He knelt in the sand and pushed wet hair from the woman's face. "It's Clair! Sweet Lord, it's Clair!" he said, pulling her limp torso into his lap.

The woman wasn't breathing. Her chest wasn't moving; her face was blue tingled.

"My God, she'd dead!"

"She's got water in her lungs," Sakura stated. "She needs CPR." Pulling the woman from him, Sakura rolled her over onto the sand until she was flat on her back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Syaoran asked angrily.

Sakura forgot she wasn't supposed to aggravate this man. She forgot everything except that just minutes ago the woman must have been breathing or she wouldn't have been able to raise her arm. "Trying to save her, you idiot! If you can't help, at least keep out of my way!" she began administering CPR, rhythmically pressing on the woman's heart, counting one, two, three, four, five.

"She's already dead!"

Sakura ignored him. The man must have lived in a box—or a mental institution—if he hadn't heard of CPR. She tilted the woman's head and began the kiss of life, pushing air into her lungs. Then she repeated the series of movements.

Suddenly Clair coughed, then choked. Sakura sat up, holding the woman's head as she spewed out salt water like a fountain. She waited a moment, holding her own breath as she watched Clair return from the dead. A feeling of exuberance flowed through her. She wanted to scream and dance at the same time. She'd taken CPR technique. Now, she'd just saved a woman's life. She'd actually saved her!

Leaning over, Syaoran pulled the woman back into his arms. "My God, I don't believe it," he muttered, looking at Sakura strangely. "How did you know how to do that?"

"I trained at work."

Clair's eyes fluttered, then opened. It took a moment for her to focus on the man holding her. "Syaoran?"

"Yes, Clair. You're alive! I didn't think anybody had made it except us. Thank God, we found you." He brushed back her hair, touching her face. One side was red from the sun, while the other was covered with sand.

"I thought I died," she sighted.

Syaoran gazed down the beach. "I wonder how many others made it."

Clair tried feebly to sit up, then stared around her. "I did make it, didn't I?" her voice was barely a whisper. She held her throat. "It hurts."

"Beside that, are you all right?" Syaoran's voice held concern. "Can you walk?"

"I don't know," she croaked, her hand twining around Syaoran's arm. "Stay with me. Don't leave me. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He held her up while she took several deep breaths.

His tone was so soothing, so gentle that Sakura stared at him in wonder. Right now the man seemed like the most sane, sensible person in the world. And apparently this woman, Clair, knew him.

Clair raised her head and stared at Syaoran. Her eyes glazed with tears. "Stoney did this, Syaoran. He shot a hole in the boat and then turned the gun on himself."

"You don't know that, Clair."

She nodded. "Yes, I do. He threatened to do it so many times I didn't pay attention anymore. And he finally did it. I think he must have planned it. He had that big shotgun in our stateroom."

"You don't know that he blew up the boat for a fact."

She nodded again, her hand at her throat. "And you goaded him. You and I both did."

Syaoran's face closed. "I don't know a damn thing about that. And neither do you. So don't say another word."

Obviously, Clair wanted to argue the point. Then, as she stared into Syaoran's eyes, all the fight ebbed from her. "All right."

Silently, Syaoran stood up and pulled Clair up to lean against him. For the first time Clair looked at Sakura. Then she held fast to Syaoran.

He read her question. "She was on the boat, too."

Clair shook her head in denial.

"I was one of the maids," Sakura said, backing up her lie. Until she had figured out what had happened to her, she wasn't going to tell these two anything.

Clair seemed to accept the falsehood. In fact, from that point on, Sakura felt she'd just been placed beneath the woman's concern. Clair completely ignored her.

Syaoran never even bothered to look at Sakura. His arms closed around Clair as they took one slow step after another along the edge of the water, and Sakura dragged five or six steps behind.

She remembered how still and stiff Clair had looked and her heart went out to the woman. No wonder she didn't pay attention to Sakura. Good grief, she'd just returned from the dead! By all rights, she should be in an ambulance and on her way to the hospital. If they didn't find civilization soon, they might all die of starvation and overexposure to the sun.

She licked her dry lips. Were there more like Clair and Syaoran around? If Clair was to be believed, the ship had sunk because of Stoney, whoever he was, and so far, these were the only two survivors. Sakura continued searching the shoreline, but saw nothing resembling a human.

Every now and then, Syaoran stopped and Clair would sink wearily into the wet sand, her head hanging almost to her lap. Sakura was as tired. Heat, hunger, and thirst were beginning to take her toll. It had been a long night for all of them.

The surf roared in her ears and Sakura wondered hoe she could have ever been foolish enough to think of ending her life. More than anything right now, she wanted to be home, in her own bed. She didn't care if she cried for her parents and her brother. They would want her to live.

"Sweet heavens," Clair moaned.

Clair and Syaoran had stopped, and Sakura came to their sides. She followed their gaze, spying what they had seen.

A pale turquoise wooden lawn chair was turned upside down in the sand.

"I was sitting on a chair just like that one before Stoney joined us on the deck," Clair croaked.

"It's not your fault," Syaoran said.

"I should have listened to him. All those people are dead because of me. So mnay…"

"You made it," Syaoran stated softly. "I made it. Sakura made it. The chair made it. There are more. You'll see."

They trudged past the chair, skirting it ass through it was a dead body. Sakura kept her eyes glued to the beach ahead. When she saw a dim, boxlike shape peeping over one of her larger sand dunes, her heartbeat picked up it's pace. Her eyes widened. It was a roof! It had to be.

She wanted to shout, to laugh, but neither of her companions had noticed the dark outline yet. What if she was wrong? She didn't want to raise their hopes only to dash them if she was mistaken. Meanwhile, she kept her eyes on the structure.

Slow step by painfully step, she watched the roof take shape. Just as she watched the roof takes shape. Just as she was about to say something, Syaoran turned in that direction.

"You saw it?" Sakura asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because it makes the journey seem longer when it's so far away."

Clair was in another world. She continued staring at the ground, trudging along as Syaoran practically carried her over the dunes.

The roof belongs to a weathered cottage, no more than two or three rooms, with a large over-hang shading the front from the sun. The way the shade fell right now, Sakura surmised it was one or two o'clock in the afternoon.

They went up the steps and Syaoran banged on the door with his fist. Nothing happened. "Hello!" he shouted. "Is anyone home?"

Still no answer.

With a strong push of his shoulder, he forced open the door and carried Clair into the darkness. Sakura followed, praying there was fresh water—cool, fresh water.

The house was almost as hot as outside. Shuttered windows and closed doors blocked the breeze. Going directly to the back door, Sakura propped it open with a chair, then did the same with the door they had just entered. With her last ounce of energy, she threw back the shutters.

Syaoran carried Clair to the bedroom off the main area and placed her on the bare mattress. When he stood, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He had walked with Clair, bearing her weight for at least five miles. After his night in the ocean, he had a right to be exhausted.

Her feet dragging, Sakura moved towards the kitchen. There had to be running water somewhere.

She found it in the form of an old-fashioned pump that spewed water into a crude metal bucket. She gave it a few jerks, but nothing happened. She felt so damn helpless! Tears formed, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Then Syaoran was beside her, grabbing the bucket and walking out the door. "Stay here and rest," he ordered. "I'll get water to prime the pump."

Sakura leaned against the wall, rested her head on her arms, and closed her eyes. Priming the pump. Of course, she'd heard the expression—usually in regard to money—but she never thought anyone actually did it. Apparently, they did.

Moments later, Syaoran was back. He poured sea water down the top and began pumping the handle. Suddenly, water gushed out.

With a groan, Sakura cupped her hands and drank, uncaring that the water spilled all over. After drinking, she rubbed water over her heated face and neck, then spread it on her hot arms.

Syaoran repeated her actions and when he finished, he slicked back his hair and sighted in satisfaction. "Find a glass."

If she'd been herself, Sakura would have told him what he could do with his orders. But he'd primed the pump and she was too tired to argue. Opening the only cabinet in the room, she found one crockery mug and gave it to him.

He filled the mug and left the room. Parries knew he was giving it to Clair. At least someone was thinking. She was too numb to do more than react instinctively.

She slid down to the floor and dropped her head on her bent knees. Instead of falling asleep, her mind relived those horrible moments of last night, when she'd thought she was truly drowning.

And she had lived! She thought of all those other people partying on the yacht who had presumably died. But she had lived. And now she felt guilty for living.

A sob caught in her throat. She lifted her head, squeezing her eyes shut so tears couldn't fall. This wasn't the time. Not now. She had to get back to civilization, get rid of the good-looking masculine mental case and the woman who knew Stoney well enough to know he'd blown up the boat. Maybe they were all mental cases—a whole boat full!

She didn't realize Syaoran was in the kitchen until he pulled her up and locked her in his arms. Suddenly, she didn't care that he might be crazy. Right now, she needed the solace that could come only from the living. Once more tears started to fall, and this time she couldn't stop sniffling.

"We made it, tootsie. Don't cry," he soothed, his hands rubbing up and down her back. "We made it. Right now, that's all that matters. We'll worry about why later."

Sakura was unable to keep the sobs from forming, but she refused to give them utterance. She would not cry! Instead, she clung to his shoulders as she had held on to the waterlogged boards in the middle of the ocean.

Syaoran pulled away and stared down at her. "I keep asking, but I need to know. Are you all right?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"Good girl." He let her go, and the air felt cool after the living warmth of his touch. "I'm going to take a look around outside. If I'm right, we shouldn't be more than a quarter of a mile or so from Clair's place. That means that we're less than a mile from town."

Hope replaced her earlier misery. "Are you sure?"

"No, but the landscape looks familiar. It's worth a try."

For the first time she noticed the lines of exhaustion etched around his mouth and eyes. He was dead on his feet, yet he found strength enough to comfort both women.

Too tired to keep up barriers, she placed her hand against his day-old beard, enjoying the scratchiness against her palm. "What can I do to help?"

"Watch Clair. I can't tell if she's hurt or if she's so exhausted she's disoriented."

"Okay." It was the least she could do.

His amber eyes stared into hers, and for just a moment, she was swept away to another, more protected world. He must have seen the longing on her face because he drew her to him. A contentment she hadn't felt in years washed over her and she snuggled closer. His arms tightened as if he was enjoyed her closeness as much as she did his.

Then she felt him stiffen. Suddenly he was gone, walking out the door and down the steps to the sand. She felt bereft, but was too tired to analyze the feeling.

It took Sakura several minutes to move towards the small bedroom. The springs squeaked as she lowered herself to the edge of the bed. Clair moaned and rolled to her side.

She was a pretty woman with high cheek bones and clear skin. At least her skin looked as if it would be clear once the thin film of sand and dirt was washed away. Sakura knew the sunburned side of her face would blister and peel. Her figure was excellent beneath the tattered, saltwater-stiffened dress. It was hard to tell the color of her hair, but Sakura thought it had a hint of brass in it. That meant bleached blonde.

Determined not to fall asleep until Syaoran returned, she looked around the room. One smell window high under the eaves shed dim light into he room. The clapboard exterior was probably the only insulation against the elements. The interior walls were made of thin one-by-fours. The floor, complete with sand, was also wooden.

Other than the iron double bed and a small table, there was nothing else in the room. Not even a closet. The table stood on spindly legs and held one drawer. In an effort to keep herself awake, Sakura pulled it open. Inside was a folded newspaper that looked fairly new.

She pulled it out and opened it up. It was an Atlantic City paper. The headline proclaimed that Leon Trotsky was expelled from the USSR. There was a large ad for a circus on the Steel Pier.

Sakura stared at the back letters, unable to completely absorb the words. She glance at the date—June 5, 1929.

It was a fluke. A joke. It was crazy!

It was impossible.

Crumbling the paper, Sakura stared at the woman on the bed, her mind whirling in confusion. This couldn't really be happening.

Even while her conscious mind refused to believe it, her unconscious mind accepted the weird fact that she was in 1929.

Everything around her screamed of the past. Syaoran's declarations, unusual suit, and dated speech patterns weren't the only clues. She'd just ignored the rest in order to survive. Looking back, she realized she'd refused to acknowledge that the seacoast had changed drastically. The beach she'd played on had whiter sand, was better manicured and filled with miles of condos or homes interspersed with hotels. From Atlantic City to Cape May Courthouse, there was hardly a spot she could walk for five minutes without at least seeing a building somewhere. And she'd bet the coast looked like that all the way down to Florida. No mater how far they were from Cape May, they should have seen some sign of civilization in a four- or five-hour walk.

And then there was the water and road traffic.

Or the lack of it.

She'd always seen barges from her window at the house. Here, she'd seen one yacht. And there were no cars. That was unusual in itself. The road was just beyond the dunes. At least that was where it was when she lived here.

Then there was the problem of Clair. As much as Sakura hated to admit it, Clair had attended the same costume party on the yacht as Syaoran. First, she wore a garter belt. Sakura had seen it earlier when they rescued her from the sea. Second, she had a hairpin—the wide, spindly kind Sakura's grandmother had worn to keep large rolls of hair in place. Clair's hairpin had clung tenaciously to a stiffen curl. A hairpin. Sakura knew only a few women who wore garter belts and no one who used hairpins.

If she wasn't in 1929, there was definitely something wrong here. And Sakura felt she was the only one not in on the joke—or the information. She was the only one who didn't quite fit in.

Footsteps, one heavy, one not, echoed in the outer room. It was Syaoran, she could tell. He still had one shoe on and one shoe off.

What difference did it make that he might be insane? For the matter, she could be the one off the deep end. Right now, what she needed most was his comforting, warm male body holding her and telling her everything was going to be all right.

When he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, she walked into his embrace, unable to stifle the small mouse like squeak that came from her throat. Gently wrapping his arms around her, he bent his head to hers. They clung to each other and comforted their weary souls.

If Syaoran was insane, so was she.