The Time Traveller (Part Five)

Joanna rose and crossed to sit beside Emily on the sofa. Hesitantly, she took the younger woman's hand—her ancestor's hand. 'I can't imagine the burden you've carried,' she said softly. 'The guilt, the grief, the loneliness of your existence. But perhaps there's a purpose to it all that we can't yet see.'

Emily looked down at their joined hands. 'What purpose could there possibly be in Charlotte's death? In my eternal punishment?'

'I don't believe you're being punished,' Joanna said. 'I believe you've been given an extraordinary opportunity to witness the ripples of your life across time. To see how your love for Charlotte, your determination to save her, created something beautiful—a family that continues to this day.'

I watched them together, these two women connected across centuries by blood and circumstance. There was something profoundly moving about their interaction, something that transcended the impossible nature of our situation.

'The photographs,' Emily said suddenly, looking up at me. 'May I see them again?'

I handed them to her. She studied them carefully, her finger tracing the outline of the woman with the pram. 'This was taken outside the Wilkins' house, she said. 'I remember passing it during one of my time shifts. I never went inside.'

'But Emma did,' Joanna said. 'He owned the shop on the High Street. My grandmother told me that's where she met Thomas Wilkins.'

Emily's eyes widened. 'So in this timeline, I—or Emma—married the haberdasher?'

Joanna nodded. 'They had three children. My grandmother was their youngest daughter.'

Emily looked at the portrait photograph next. 'And this? Where was this taken?'

'The garden at Willow Cottage,' Joanna replied. 'It was their home for forty years. It's still standing, actually. My cousin lives there now.'

A strange expression crossed Emily's face. 'I've been there,' she whispered. 'During one of my time shifts. I appeared in that garden and saw a woman hanging laundry. She looked right through me, as if I wasn't there.'

'That might have been Emma,' Simmington suggested. 'Your alternate self. The temporal overlap would explain why she couldn't see you.'

Emily handed the photographs back to me, her decision evident in her eyes. 'I want to be anchored,' she said firmly. 'I want to stop drifting.'

Simmington nodded, relief clear on his face. 'A wise choice.'

'But not in your time,' Emily continued. 'I want to be anchored here. Now.'

The professor frowned. '2025? Why?'

Emily glanced at Joanna. 'Because here I have family.'

Joanna's eyes filled with tears. I felt my throat tighten with emotion.

'It's possible,' Simmington said slowly. 'But not simple. The anchoring process requires specific conditions, specific equipment.'

'Which you have in 2027,' Emily said.

'Yes, but—'

'Then go back and get it,' she interrupted. 'Bring it here.'

Simmington sighed. 'It's not that straightforward. The equipment isn't portable.'

'Then take me forward to 2027, perform the procedure, and return me here afterwards,' Emily insisted.

The professor shook his head. 'Once anchored, you can't travel again. You would be fixed in 2027.'

A frustrated silence fell over the room. I turned the problem over in my mind, searching for a solution that would allow Emily to remain with us—with Joanna.

'What about the watercolour?' I asked suddenly. 'And the photographs? You said they were anchors that helped Emily control her time shifts.'

Simmington looked at me with fresh interest. 'Go on.'

'Could we use them somehow? Create a... I don't know, a focal point for your procedure?'

The professor's eyes lit up. 'A temporal nexus,' he murmured. 'Using objects that already have a strong connection to Emily across multiple time periods...' He turned to Emily. 'It might work. It would be experimental, but...'

'I'll risk it,' she said without hesitation.

Simmington nodded. 'I'll need to return to 2027 to gather some equipment. Not everything, but enough to attempt a modified version of the procedure.' He checked his watch—an oddly ordinary gesture for a time traveller. 'I can be back by morning.'

'How will you find us again?' I asked

Simmington smiled. 'The watercolour. It's a fixed point in time—a nexus around which Emily's temporal shifts have always orbited. I can use it to navigate back to this exact moment.'

He turned to Emily. 'Are you certain this is what you want? Once anchored, there's no going back. You'll live and age like everyone else. And Charlotte...'

'Will remain in the past,' Emily finished quietly. 'I know. But perhaps Joanna is right. Perhaps there is meaning in all of this that I've been too blind to see.

Simmington nodded, satisfied. 'I'll return at dawn. Have the watercolour and photographs ready.'

With that, he departed into the night, leaving the three of us in a strange, contemplative silence. Joanna was the first to speak.

'You'll need somewhere to stay tonight,' she said to Emily. 'The spare room is made up.'

Emily smiled gratefully. 'Thank you. For everything.'

After showing Emily to the spare room, Joanna and I retired to our bedroom. As we prepared for bed, I could see the questions swirling in my wife's eyes.

'Do you believe all this?' she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 'Time travel, temporal fractures, alternate selves?'

I pondered the question. 'Twenty-four hours ago, I would have said it was impossible. But now...' I gestured vaguely. 'The evidence is sitting in our spare bedroom.'

Joanna sat on the edge of the bed, her expression troubled. 'If she really is my ancestor—if I exist because she became Emma Wilkins instead of remaining Emily Cartwright—what happens when she's anchored here? Doesn't that create some sort of paradox?'

'I don't know,' I admitted. 'Perhaps Simmington can explain it tomorrow.'

'If he comes back,' Joanna said.

'You think he won't?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know what to think anymore. Part of me still believes this is all some elaborate hoax.'

I sat beside her, taking her hand. 'I saw her face when she recognised you in the hallway. That wasn't acting, Joanna. She knew you, somehow.'

My wife leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. 'It's strange,' she murmured. 'I've always felt drawn to that old photograph of the girls—Emma and Charlotte. Grandmother said I had Emma's eyes.' She laughed softly. 'I suppose now we know why.'

We fell asleep eventually, though my dreams were troubled by images of burning cottages and women in Victorian dress vanishing into thin air.

I woke at dawn to find Joanna's side of the bed empty. Pulling on my dressing gown, I padded downstairs to find her and Emily sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly over cups of tea. They looked up as I entered, and I was struck again by the subtle resemblance between them.

'Good morning,' I said. 'Any sign of our time-travelling professor?'

Emily shook her head. 'Not yet.'

I made myself a cup of tea and joined them at the table. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Better than I have in years,' Emily replied. 'There's something comforting about knowing you've made a decision, even if it's a difficult one.'

Joanna reached across the table and squeezed Emily's hand. 'I've been showing Emily our family albums. The Wilkins-Cartwright line.'

'Your grandmother kept meticulous records,' Emily said, gesturing to a leather-bound album open on the table. 'It's strange to see the lives that stemmed from... well, from a version of me I never got to be.'

I glanced at the album, at the faded photographs of stern-faced Victorians and smiling Edwardians, all connected by invisible threads to the young woman sitting at our kitchen table.

To be continued…