“Yes, but it was the American Revolution,” I protested. “Surely he remembers that?”
“What do you remember about the invasion of Panama, or the first Gulf War?” Matthew shook his head. “My guess is very little.”
“I didn’t participate in either of those conflicts. Marcus did.” So did Matthew, come to think of it. “Wait. Did you write to Philippe while you were in America with Lafayette?”
“Yes.” Matthew sounded wary.
“Are the letters here, do you think? I could use those to flesh out the details that Marcus might not remember.” The prospect of examining primary sources further sparked my historical curiosity. I specialized in an earlier period, a different country, and was not a military or political historian, but being a student again was thrilling. There was so much to learn.
“I can look, but it’s far more likely they’re at Sept-Tours along with the records of the brotherhood. I was in the colonies on official business.”
The Knights of Lazarus, the de Clermont family’s supposedly secret military-slash-charitable organization, seemed to have their fingers in every political pie, even though creature meddling in human politics and religion was strictly forbidden by the Congregation.
“That would be fantastic. If it’s here, you’ll find it much quicker than I would.” I studied my computer screen for a moment before shutting the lid. “The fall of Ft. William Henry sounds horrifying. Obadiah must have suffered for years because of what he witnessed.”
“War is always terrible, but what happened to the British army when they left the fort was tragic,” Matthew said. “A lack of understanding, followed by miscommunication and frustration, led to unspeakable violence.”
The account I’d read had made it clear that the Native Americans who attacked the British army and their followers had expected to take the spoils of war—guns and weapons—back home with them as symbols of their valor. But their French allies were obeying different rules and allowed the British to keep their muskets so long as they surrendered the ammunition. Deprived of the guns, the Native Americans took other prizes instead: captives and lives.
“And Obadiah saw it all.” I shook my head. “No wonder he drank.”
“Battles don’t always end just because someone negotiates a truce,” Matthew said. “For some soldiers, the fight goes on for the rest of their lives, shaping everything that happens afterward.”
“Was Obadiah one of those soldiers?” I thought of the bootjack, and the wary look in Marcus’s eye when he spoke of his father—even though he was a grown man now and not a little boy, even though he was talking about events that had happened centuries ago.
“I think so,” Matthew said.
No wonder Marcus’s memories were so snarled and angry. It wasn’t the red door and the lilacs that were causing him pain, but his forbidding father.
“As for the bigger historical picture,” Matthew continued, taking my hand, “I think you’re going to have to do a lot more digging before you discover what that is—never mind its significance.”
“When we timewalked, I was surprised by what life was really like,” I said, thinking back to the time we’d shared in the sixteenth century. “But it was still possible for me to fit what I discovered into what I already knew. I suppose I thought I could do the same with Marcus’s story.”
“But remembering the past is not the same as timewalking through it,” Matthew observed.
“No. They’re entirely different kinds of magic,” I mused.
I was going to have to be very careful where I asked Marcus to dig into his former life.
* * *
—
SARAH AND AGATHA arrived around midday.
“We weren’t expecting you until late this afternoon,” Matthew said, giving first Sarah and then Agatha a kiss.
“Diana said it was an emergency, so Agatha called Baldwin,” Sarah explained. “Apparently, he has a helicopter on standby in Monaco and was able to send it for us.”
“I never said it was an emergency, Sarah,” I corrected her.
“You said it was urgent. Here we are.” Sarah took Philip from Matthew’s arms. “What is all this fuss about, young man? What have you done now?”
Philip presented her with a carrot. “Horsey.”
“Carrot,” I said. Sometimes the twins confused what the animals ate with the animals themselves.
Becca had forgotten the horses and was totally absorbed in greeting Agatha. She had her fists in Agatha’s hair and was examining her curly locks with fascination.