The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

You do not know in your conscious mind how to jump, but deep inside, in the heart of you, you know. I could not touch the shoulder of a Natural and drag him with me down through history. But you, you are already a time traveler.”

“Okay,” Nick said, dubious.

“Little priest. You must trust me.” Arkady’s smile was probably intended to be reassuring, but it was a trifle too wide; with his wild white hair sticking out from under his curly-brimmed beaver hat, he looked slightly manic, like Christopher Lloyd in Back to the Future, a film Nick had finally stopped renting after the girl in the video store started calling him “Marty McFly.” “When I reach out to the past, I will feel for it with my heart. I will sense it. When I have found the past in my heart, I will begin to pull myself back. You too will feel it, through my hands. Your heart will open to the feeling. It will come in like the flood. You will come along with me. Do you understand?”

Nick nodded, though really, they were probably both insane: two grown men dressed up like Mr. Darcy, holding hands behind a tree, trying to pull themselves by their heartstrings back to the long ago. Mad.

“Close your eyes, then, my friend. Yes, good.”

Immediately Julia Percy was there behind his eyelids, as if she were waiting for him. Closer than usual, emerging from the trees in her yellow dress . . . Nick felt a tug, then a sharp pull backward. It felt as if his stomach were trying to burst through his spine. He opened his mouth to breathe and found he couldn’t. Only the feeling of Arkady’s hands and the image of those dark eyes kept him from screaming. Then, abruptly, it was over. Before opening his eyes he breathed, and immediately he was weeping. The air was sweet, sweeter than any air he had breathed in ten years, and it smelled so powerfully of home that Nick began to sink to his knees.

“Goddamn it.” Arkady hauled him upright. “Do you want to ruin your trousers? Pull yourself together.” He shook Nick by the shoulders. “Now!”

Nick gasped and opened his eyes to a night so black he could hardly see Arkady beside him. He put out a hand to steady himself against the tree and stumbled as his hand fell through a foot of air; the tree was smaller. It was no longer winter; tiny new leaves were rustling in a slight, cool breeze. Plowed earth and freshly cut grass and wood smoke . . . He took a few deep breaths.

Arkady spoke more softly. “Are you all right?”

Nick nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry. The shock.”

“I must admit you have done better than most.” Arkady allowed some pride into his voice. “In fact, you have done the best. Most people completely break down. Except for me. Me, I jump back for the first time without a care. I arrive ready for my dinner.”

Nick could not be bothered with Arkady’s braggadocio, for through the shifting shadows he had caught sight of twinkling candlelight. Falcott House. Where his sisters and mother were probably sitting down to eat . . . he set off at a run.

“Wait!” He heard Arkady start out after him. “Do you want to break your leg?”

Nick didn’t care. The clean, rich air of home filled his lungs as he ran, leaving Arkady far behind. The gravel of the drive kicked up behind his heels. He vaulted up the stone steps and pounded on the door. “Mother! Clare! Arabella!”

The door opened to the butler’s shocked face.

Nick fell into the doorway, one arm gathering the little butler to his side in a strong embrace. “Winthrop, you old reprobate. Where is my mother?”

* * *

An hour later and a modicum of sanity was restored to Falcott House. It turned out that Mother and Arabella were in London for the Season, but Clare had flown into her brother’s arms and stayed there for a full fifteen minutes, crying and laughing and stroking him and calling him by all his childhood names, as servants emerged from every corner of the house to welcome Nick home. Arkady stood to one side and watched it all. Now the Russian was taking himself off to be settled in a guest bedroom. He had explained about their being robbed. Would it be possible to borrow a few things from Lord Blackdown’s wardrobe? Or had all his old clothes been discarded?

Nick’s mother had not cleared out his rooms after his “death”; his clothes were as he had left them several years ago, when he departed for the war. “Be sure to take all the very best things,” Clare said, laughing over her shoulder at Nick as Arkady bowed low over her hand.

“I will endeavor to please you, my lady,” the Russian said, straightening and keeping her hand in his.

Nick felt a rush of anger as he watched them flirt. He frowned, more at the feeling than because of it. The emotion felt so . . . antique.

Arkady went off to raid Nick’s dressing room, and Clare tucked her hand into the crook of Nick’s elbow. “I must have you to myself for at least three hours,” she said. “I want to hear all about your adventures.”

“And I want to hear about yours.”

“That will take two seconds,” she said. “During the winter I do nothing indoors, and during the summer I do nothing outdoors. And now my tale is done.”

“I don’t believe that.”

She smiled. “Nor should you. In truth I work very hard. Do you wish for some brandy or tea?”

Soon Nick found himself seated beside his elder sister on a delicate sofa in the little blue parlor. “I’m sure you could not get a good cup of tea in Spain,” she said, picking up the sugar tongs and getting ready to put a lump into his cup.

Nick held up his hand. “No sugar, please.”

Clare looked up. “Your tastes have changed.”

“Many things have changed in the years since I left for Spain.”

“Five years is