by
Elaine Kehoe

Julia Hoffman looked at the date written on the empty page of her journal. Valentine's Day, she thought bitterly. The day of love, of hearts and flowers. Not for her. She certainly had the flowers, but her heart had never felt so heavy.

She sighed. There was little point in making another entry today; it would read no differently from so many of the entries before it. She flipped back through the pages. There is still no sign from Barnabas... I am so worried....What could have happened to him? Why hasn't he returned?.....Will I hear anything, find out anything at all, today?...

It was nearly a year now since Barnabas had disappeared--gone back into the past once again, this time in search of a way to end the Leviathans' curse. Nearly a year's worth of empty days, so many she had stopped counting, days marked by nothing but sleeping and waking and long hours spent waiting.

The picture in her mind of that night remained vivid, unclouded by time. It was the culmination of several days' discussion and speculation on their part. She remembered how Barnabas had made the decision to once again risk everything in a perilous journey to 1796, where the Leviathans had first captured him, to try to destroy them and their temple before they could spread their evil in the present day. He believed that because they had made him their leader, because the shrine had transported him from the past to the present, it could also draw him back. She had, again, pleaded with him not to go--to try to find some other way--yet she had known, as he had, that there was no other way. So she had gone with him that night, a cold feeling of dread in her heart, to the shrine in the woods. She had watched him enter it and disappear from her sight--the last she had seen of him. She stood there, her eyes fixed on the spot where he had gone, when to her astonishment the entire structure vanished before her. Her first reaction had been joy and triumph--he had done it! But her satisfaction gave way to fear again when he failed to return. Minutes, hours, days passed, and he was gone.

As time passed it became obvious that he had succeeded. The Leviathans had not appeared in Collinsport. Megan and Philip Todd were a happily married couple who were now expecting their own baby, not being forced to raise a Leviathan child. Yet Barnabas had never returned.

She finally had to admit the possibility, despairingly, that this time they had played the game with fate once too often. This time, perhaps, there was no way back for him. The dreaded possibility that he was dead began to creep insistently into her mind. Perhaps he had finally had to pay with his life for his valiant attempts to change history, to save the lives of others. Those thoughts seared her heart so deeply that she forced them away; there had to be other possibilities. Perhaps he hadn't yet found a way to return to the present and was still searching, trying to get back. Or perhaps--a thought that gave her little consolation--he had decided to remain there; perhaps he had been reunited with Josette and had no intention of returning.

This time there had been no prepared cover story to explain his absence to the family. She had made up something about his having had to return to England suddenly. But for all they knew, he had simply gone as mysteriously as he had arrived four years ago, leaving no message behind, no word as to when he might return. They were of course surprised and hurt; certainly they missed him, and she had had many uncomfortable conversations in which they had tried to learn more from her--to learn what she herself didn't know, what she longed to know more deeply than they did. If only there were some way to communicate with him, to reach him across time! She knew her own life would be forever fragmented until she knew something--anything.

Julia shook her head as if to shake off the obsessive thoughts that gave her no peace. She closed the journal, got up from the desk, and walked to the small table in the center of the drawing room, the table on which sat a huge vase containing eleven of the most extraordinary roses she could ever have imagined--they were, in fact, beyond imagination. Not only was their color--a brilliant, deep vermilion--unprecedented, to her knowledge, in roses, but their size and shape were remarkable. They were huge, and absolutely perfect--each one bloomed in layers of flawless, heart-shaped petals, and their fragrance was magical.

Eleven roses. They had arrived over the past eleven days, one each day. Arrived by messenger, for her, with no card or acknowledgment of any kind. She smiled with a small measure of satisfaction at the memory of the stir they had caused among the family. How surprised they had been to find that Dr. Hoffman had a secret admirer! Again they had tried to question her, although discreetly--they all knew that she was a private person, and they respected her privacy. But when the twelfth rose had arrived a short while ago, and Carolyn had brought it to her, Julia could see in her manner and teasing comments that Carolyn suspected the truth. Of course, Carolyn, with her intelligence and intuitive nature, would undoubtedly figure it out. After all, she was one of the few people who really knew the extent of Julia's feelings for Barnabas. She had been a source of comfort and friendship since his disappearance, and Julia was immensely grateful to her for that.

Realizing with a twinge of guilt that she had simply laid the twelfth rose in its box on the table--her mind having been filled with other thoughts--she picked it up now, opened the box, and set it in the vase with the others. It was the largest and brightest one of all, and as she rearranged the flowers in the vase, she realized with surprise that every one of the roses still looked as fresh and beautiful as the day it had been delivered. Twelve days was an extraordinary life span for a rose, she thought--and it was obvious again that these were no ordinary flowers. Why? she wondered again, with a trace of sadness. Why should it be me?

For the origin of the roses was no mystery to her. Several months ago she had become aware, somewhat to her consternation, that Eliot Stokes was beginning to show more than a friendly interest in her. It had begun gradually. After Barnabas' disappearance, she had sought him out, hoping to learn as much as she could, without revealing too much, of what he knew about the hazards of time travel and its potential consequences. In the end she had realized with disappointment that even his vast knowledge was limited when it came to that phenomenon, and her inability to tell him everything for fear of endangering their long-held secrets made it impossible that he would be able to help her this time. However, she found some comfort in his company, and he seemed to be growing to enjoy hers more and more. Soon he was paying more frequent visits to Collinwood on pretexts of discussing mutual research interests with her. Occasional lunches together grew into dinner invitations, and their conversations began to progress from intellectual matters to a more personal level. She realized with some surprise that his somewhat haughty and arrogant manner concealed a man who was lonely, whose life had been almost entirely immersed in learning and academic pursuits, and who was now, for perhaps the first time in his life, beginning to experience entirely new feelings. She didn't know exactly when she had begun to realize what was happening; he had never said anything to her or made any overt gestures; but she had started to notice a certain way he looked at her, a certain tone in his voice, a subtle difference in the way he touched her, and intuitively she understood. Yet she found it incredible--and rather incongruous--that this immensely dignified, solitary, independent, cerebral man should have fallen in love with her. And what an unfair trick for fate to play on him--for she could never return his feelings, and she suspected he knew it.

Nevertheless, twelve days ago the roses had started to arrive, and it was suddenly very clear: he was making his statement to her. Of course he with his myriad wide-ranging interests--horticulture among them--would be just the one to have found a flower like this, so unusual and undoubtedly rare. And to court her with them, she thought sadly.

Julia's thoughts were broken by the sound of a knock on the front door. She heard it creak open and Carolyn's voice: "Professor Stokes. Come in." Of course she had known he would come. She heard him ask for her, and Carolyn directing him to the drawing room. She drew a deep breath. She would have preferred not to have to see him just yet, but of course she couldn't turn him away, and she owed it to him to be as receptive and cordial as possible.

She smiled warmly as he came into the room, and extended her hand to him. "Eliot! I'm so glad you've come by!" He came to her quickly and took her hand. "Hello, Julia. I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"Not at all. In fact, you caught me admiring my flowers." She looked directly into his eyes. "Thank you, Eliot--very much. They are so beautiful--and such a surprise. I never expected anything like this."

"Didn't you?" he said softly. She could see that he was pleased with her frank acknowledgment that she knew from where they had come. "I'm very glad if they've made you happy. I have cultivated them myself for several years now, and I must say this is the finest yield I've ever had. I'm quite proud of them."

"I've never seen anything like them."

"Few people have, at least in this part of the world. I believe mine may be the only ones grown in the United States. They are beautiful indeed. They are also very rare and very special--as you are, Julia. That is why I thought them so appropriate for you."

She felt a rush of heat to her face and turned away. She wasn't used to hearing such heartfelt compliments--or declarations, for she knew that was what it was. That it should come now, from this man, struck her as supreme irony; yet here it was, and now she was going to have to do something about it, to hurt him. The thought lay heavy on her heart.

He moved closer to her. "Julia," he continued, "you know I'm not a man who is very often at a loss. However, in this case I find myself in that unfortunate position. The feeling I have for you is something that I frankly have very little experience with; it has come as quite a surprise to me, as no doubt it did to you, for I'm sure you've guessed it before this. Perhaps most men have some sort of repertoire of romantic gestures to call on, but I'm afraid I have not. So this was the way I chose to express my feelings to you. Perhaps I could have chosen a better one."

She was moved; her throat felt tight. She did her best to smile as she looked up at him, her hands clutching her arms as she struggled to control her emotions. "No, Eliot. It was a beautiful gesture...thoughtful and romantic. And it means a great deal to me. I am very flattered to know that you feel--that way--about me. But..." her voice trailed off.

He spoke in a slightly lowered voice. "But.... It's still Barnabas Collins, isn't it?" She looked away, and he read her answer in the gesture. He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Well, at least it doesn't come as a great shock. I've always known how you felt about him, yet I dared to hope that time might change that." He touched her again, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes. "Julia," he said softly. "I don't wish to hurt you, but don't you think you should be realistic? Barnabas has been gone for months now, with no word to anyone as to where he went or when or if he plans to return--unless you know more than anyone else does." She hesitated a moment, then shook her head slowly. There had been something in the tone of his question that made her slightly uncomfortable, as though he were hinting that he himself suspected the truth. But he gave no further indication. "Maybe it's time you started to forget and go on with your life." The gentleness in his voice took the edge off his words. "I would like to help you--if you will let me."

She felt her lashes dampening as tears began to come to her eyes. She certainly didn't want to cry in front of him. He deserved better than that she should lose control over another man in his presence. Of course she couldn't expect him to understand how she lived through her days, feeling that half of her soul had been torn away. She swallowed back the tears and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Eliot. You may be right but...I just can't make myself believe it. As long as there is any hope at all, I have to hang on to it. I--I know you can't understand that, and I don't blame you."

He sighed. "Actually, Julia, I do understand, better than you think. Ironically enough, one of the things I value most about you is your capacity for deep love and loyalty. I only wish it weren't all directed to Barnabas Collins," he added ruefully. "But then how many of us are ever fortunate enough to choose who we fall in love with? I remember trying to explain that to Adam about Carolyn. Little did I think it would apply to myself someday."

She felt a rush of affection and gratitude toward him. She took his hands in hers and smiled at him, a smile that briefly restored the brightness to her eyes. "Thank you, Eliot. You are a dear, kind man. And a good friend. I wish--I wish I didn't have to hurt you."

His hand came up to caress her face softly. His expression was tender, his eyes sad. "I've waited all my life for a woman like you, Julia. It never occurred to me that when I found her, it might turn out that she would not be waiting for me. I shall have to guard against such hubris in the future." He spoke wistfully, but when he continued, it was in a slightly harder tone. "Barnabas Collins is a very lucky man. Perhaps someday, wherever he might be, he will realize that. For your sake, I shall hope that happens."

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Impulsively she raised her face to his and touched his lips with her own. His arms tightened around her, pressing her close to him, and he kissed her with a strength and intensity of feeling that astounded her and took her breath away.

He released her abruptly. "That is so that you will remember that I love you, and that I will always be here if you should need me--for any reason." With those words he walked out, leaving her too shaken to speak.

After he had gone, Julia leaned against the desk to steady herself and to try to control the trembling that was beginning to run through her body. She could still feel the warmth of Eliot's kiss on her lips, but inside she was cold and numb. She had been on the verge of tears all the while he was here, but now she no longer felt the urge to cry. Her despair was too deep for that. For she knew--chillingly and surely--that he was right. He had forced the knowledge from the back of her mind and made her look squarely at it. The fact was she no longer had any reason on earth to hope that Barnabas would ever return. For a year she had waited and hoped. For a year she had searched for a way to find him, to reach him, to somehow discover his fate, and she had failed. He was gone--quite likely forever--and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

She raised her head and looked around the room that was so familiar to her, and suddenly it appeared alien, threatening. She could no longer bear the sight of it; she had to leave. Her gaze fell on the bouquet of roses. No, they didn't belong here, any more than she did. There was another place for them, a place where their fragrance would be better spent. They would live and die there, and take with them the last part of herself that she would leave behind.

TO BE CONTINUED

Top of Page

Back to the Fanfiction Index