Was she the kind of person who could possibly send someone else to his death just so she could get home?
She hesitated, thinking of everything she would be losing. In her own world she was treated as almost an equal. Here, she would always be looked down on. No matter how good she was, she would always be a little like a trained monkey; amusing, but not something to be taken seriously.
Her entire lifetime and its body of work would be lost. She would never see Lucy or her parents again. She would lose Perry and Jimmy.
She’d be trapped in a time before antibiotics, before birth control. In only two years the world was going to war; in six years the Spanish flu would kill a sizeable portion of the world population.
Living here, in this time, she’d always be a fish out of water. She would know what was coming; the horrors of the both world wars, of trench warfare and of the holocaust. She’d doubtless make countless mistakes that people who were born to this time would notice.
She’d never be able to force herself in the tiny life that most women here had.
Yet wasn’t part of the reason she’d become a reporter was to change the world? If time was changeable, and Clark didn’t go forward, that would mean that other things could be changed as well.
She might be able to alter the outcome of things to come, stop Hitler before he ever came to power, create a new world better than the one she’d come from.
Either time was immutable, in which case telling Clark wouldn’t matter, or it could be changed.
If it could be changed, didn’t she owe it to the world to at least try?
Clark simply stood, staring at her. She’d been standing silent for several seconds as she debated.
Ultimately she would have to live with whatever she decided. Was she the person that Clark obviously thought she was, or was she the person she’d always assumed herself to be in Metropolis?
There was no guarantee that she herself would survive a second trip through the time vortex. There had been no sign of the thug who’d come with her after all, and for all she knew he’d been thrust out into the depths of outer space, or been trapped in a permanent loop, doomed to spend eternity reliving the same times until he died.
Yet there had never been any question in her mind that she was going to try to go back. Clark represented her only chance to get home. Although other portals might exist, finding them would be almost impossible and might take decades.
“Clark,” she said finally. “Do you believe that there is more to the world than what we can see?”
“Are you asking if I am a God-fearing man?”
“No, I’m not talking about religion. I’m talking about other things…” Lois hesitated, unsure of how to continue.
“If you are asking about spiritualism, I wasn’t sure until I met Robinson’s medium,” Clark said. “After one meeting, though, I was a believer.”
In Lois’s experience, psychics were mostly frauds. She’d done a report once on some of the underhanded tactics they used to draw in the gullible. They were often very good observers of subtle cues. That and the power of suggestion, along with a handful of other tricks was more than enough to separate the gullible from their money.
She was a little disappointed that Clark had been so easily taken, but now wasn’t the time to argue.
“What about…”
She didn’t have time to complete her sentence.
A strange expression on Clark’s face was followed by a sigh. “We must depart quickly.”
“What?” Lois asked. “Why?”
“The lighthouse keeper is on his way back. If he finds us here, alone, he’s certain to spread all sort of unspeakable rumors.”
The rain had mostly stopped, although a few drops were still falling here and there. Before Lois could protest, Clark pulled her outside.
He pulled at her hand and she had no choice but to follow. They made their way quickly around the square brick building, and just as she made her way around the corner, Lois saw the lighthouse keeper in the distance.
The man had to be at least a hundred yards away, walking silently over wet grass. He wasn’t whistling or making any noises in particular, and he was looking at the ground and avoiding walking in puddles.
How had Clark known?
He’d been facing away from the doorway; in any case the keeper wouldn’t have been visible from the door. Yet he couldn’t have heard the man, not from that far away.
Maybe the reason Clark was so gullible in the face of a fake psychic was that he was a real one?
Lois scowled. Now who was the gullible one?
There had to be a rational explanation. Just because portals in time existed didn’t mean everything did. If she continued down this line of thought, she’d start believing in ghosts and angels. She’d be no better than those rednecks who thought aliens were real.
She might as well start writing for the National Inquisitor.
Telling Clark was the only decent thing to do, but she’d wait. She’d left her purse back in her room. If he saw her IPhone and a few of the other things in her purse, his chances of believing her would be a lot greater.
She’d be a lot less likely to end up in an old-style insane asylum. The last thing she needed was a lobotomy or electric shock.
*****************
Her dress was the worse for wear, despite having mostly dried. It had a little mud on the hem, and Lois didn’t want to look at the seat, even though Clark had gallantly draped his coat on the wet seat of the rowboat so she would have a place to sit.
If she’d been wearing mismatched clothes before, she looked like a ragamuffin now. Clark had been tactful enough not to say anything, but she knew what she looked like.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to do without a dress. These people changed clothes several times a day, possibly due to the lack of air conditioning. It was going to be increasingly obvious as the evening went on that she was essentially homeless.
As she stalked through the lobby, she was surprised to be called over by the desk clerk.
“Your clothes have arrived,” he said. “I took the liberty of having them sent to your rooms.”
His tone was much more respectful than it had been earlier in the day. Lois wasn’t certain why, but she was immediately suspicious.
Given Clark’s concerns about rumors, Lois wondered if his manager had mentioned that she was a reporter for the Daily Planet.
He might be angling for a glowing report about the hotel. If she were actually writing for the current day paper, she’d give high marks for the hotel itself, but her report about the front desk staff might be considerably different.
“An older gentleman also came calling,” he said.
Lois frowned. She didn’t know anyone in this time period.
“Are you talking about Mr. Robinson?”
He shook his head. “Mr. Robinson is well known by the hotel staff.”
“Then who is he?”
“He wouldn’t give his name, but said that he would return at a more amenable time.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Lois said, frowning. “Maybe he has me confused with someone else.”
“I wouldn’t be able to say.”
“Call my room if he comes around again,” Lois said.
*************
As Lois stepped into the room, her mouth went dry.
There had to have been some mistake. The dress she’d ordered hadn’t been anything like this. The dress she’d ordered had been simple, something she could afford.
This dress was beautiful.
It was a dream of lace and pure white chiffon, clearly another evening gown, but of much higher quality than the gown she was wearing.
A note was lying on the bed.
She scanned it quickly. Apparently there had been an accident and the gown she’d ordered had been partially burned.
This gown had been ordered but never collected. Unlike many gowns, this one would require neither corset nor girdle. Apparently the owner had been struck by Lois’s irritation at the idea of a corset.
She stared at it for a long moment. She still didn’t have a day dress and would still be out of place, but she was only going to be around for one more evening.
As much as she wanted to try the dress on, she needed a shower first.
************
It fit like a dream.
Staring at herself in the mirror, Lois couldn’t believe what a transformation it made. She felt beautiful; a little like Eliza Doolittle on the night of the ball.
For the first time she regretted her pageboy haircut. Long hair was beautiful, but it was impractical for a woman as busy as Lois had been for the past few years. Her hair didn’t get in the way, and it was easy to maintain, but her options were limited, especially given the time she had. She wouldn’t have known where to find a hairdresser in this part of the country even in her own century.
The best she could do was use a clip to pull her hair back in a ponytail-bun using a hairclip. It wasn’t one of the sophisticated hairstyles she’d seen the other women sporting, but it looked better with the dress at least.
She’d stand out less in the crowd, at least because of her hair, although the dress might just make up for it.
For some reason, the thought of Clark seeing her in the dress made her heart race.
She’d tell him tonight. She was to meet him before the play to wish him luck, then she’d see the play and they’d have a later dinner together.
Maybe the dress would make her news a little easier to bear.
******************
“I’m supposed to meet Clark Kent,” she murmured.
Apparently this wasn’t the best idea. Preparations for the play were ongoing and backstage cast members and the crew were rushing back and forth. Lois had to weave in and out among busy people who were impatient.
It was their last night, apparently, before the troupe moved on to their next venue. It was important to make a lasting impression.
She could hear the audience outside beginning to filter in to the auditorium.
Waiting until after the play would have been a better idea, but she’d agreed, and Clark had been emphatic about wanting to see her before the play.
Maybe he was still worried about her safety.
“Have you seen Clark Kent?” she asked a young stage hand.
“He’s getting his photograph taken,” the young man said. “In the back.”
Lois nodded and slowly made her way through to the back area, which had been screened off. A cloth backdrop had been set up, and she could see a man with an old fashioned boxy camera.
He was the same man who had been taking the picture out on the lawn earlier in the day.
She wove her way through props and large stage pieces, and she overheard the man speaking.
“A little smile please.”
Still unable to see, she stepped forward.
“It’s still not quite right. Perhaps if you think of something happy or bright.”
Lois stepped around a tarp. Clark was sitting on an armless stool, looking distinctly uncomfortable. His smile was patently false.
As she stepped into view, he looked up. His smile changed, becoming genuine, intimate.
It was a smile to be shared between lovers, even though they’d never even kissed. It was profoundly intimate, and yet seemed strangely familiar.
“There we go,” the photographer said. There was a flash as the picture was taken.
Lois felt chills up and down her spine as she realized where she’d seen that smile before. When she’d first seen the picture, she’d thought no one would ever look at her that way, and it had made her feel profoundly sad.
She’d felt drawn to it, feeling that it almost seemed meant for her.
It would have been impossible to guess how true that was. The first time she’d seen the picture on the wall of the Grand Hotel, she’d fallen in love a little.
That was nothing compared to what she was feeling now.
