Chapter 18

When Sybil told Blake that Samuel Saint Martin and his daughter were coming to visit, he was dubious at first, and wanted to know how it had happened. The coincidence was too great, and the connection too slim. He questioned her intensely, and she admitted to having contacted him, and he expressed strong disapproval.

“You’re not supposed to meddle with these things,” he reminded her. “I thought we agreed to that in the beginning. It’s their lives and their destinies. We’re just the observers here, by virtue of a very strange freak phenomenon that none of us understand.”

“I’m not trying to change anything, or warn them,” which was what she and Blake had agreed not to do. They behaved at all times as though they were on real time, whatever the event, date, or century. They did not interfere or tell them the future. They felt they had no right to do that, whatever the outcome, or however hard it was to watch it unfold, like when Josiah went off to war, or knowing that Bettina would remarry and leave San Francisco.

“If they were meant to meet their great-grandchildren, they would have, without your help. What if they don’t want to and refuse to appear? Or it traumatizes them? Bert has no idea that the crash and the Great Depression are coming. He thinks they are secure for life. If he knew now that they were going to lose everything, it would break his heart. What if finding out about it now precipitates his death earlier?”

Sybil hadn’t thought about that and it panicked her. “I can warn Samuel if he meets them, and tell him he has to live by the same rules we do. They may not even see each other. The family may not want to include anyone else in that circle, and not appear.”

“I don’t think they have that choice,” Blake said to her seriously. “They didn’t decide to meet us. They were as shocked as we were. It just happened.”

“Supposedly it happened because we were open to it. Maybe Samuel and his daughter won’t be. We can’t predict that.”

“You’re playing with fire, Sybil,” he said sternly, and she felt mildly guilty about it after what he said, particularly about Bert and the stock market crash and the dire results for them. In fact, the consequences of it had killed Bert and Gwyneth within a very short time, and it was slowly approaching in the dimension they were in now, though it was still ten years away. “I think what you’re doing is very dangerous,” he reproached her.

“I don’t want to do anything to hurt them. I love them,” Sybil said with feeling. “They’re our family now too. I just want to help them complete the circle, and to know their children’s children, just like they know us and our kids, and love them. I want them to see that it came out all right in the end, in spite of the hard times they went through, and the end of the story is a good one. It does have a happy ending. We’re all together now. And they’re still together. It didn’t end with Bert, or Gwyneth, and losing everything. Don’t you think they should know that?”

“They’ve gone back to a comfortable time in their lives. Think about it. We met them in 1917 for them, before the war, when everything was still all right,” Blake reminded her.

“Yes, but Josiah was killed in the war anyway, and Magnus had died before we met them. We can’t protect them from the bad things that had to happen, any more than they can protect us.”

“But they teach us things that we wouldn’t know otherwise,” Blake said soberly. Bert had literally saved him from financial ruin in the past few months, sure disgrace, bankruptcy, and maybe even prison, with his experience and sage counsel. “I just don’t want you to break the rules we all respect, or hurt them. I think you’re taking a tremendous risk and I don’t like it. What if their great-grandson is an asshole and ridicules them, or exposes us or them in some way, and turns our lives into a freak show? That could happen. Reality TV at the Butterfields’, with Uncle Angus in a ghost costume playing the bagpipes.”

She laughed at the suggestion. “I don’t think Samuel is a jerk, and what I’m hoping for is that he’ll write a book about them. They deserve to have a really great book written about the family. They were important at the time, and it could be done with insight and dignity.”

“Why don’t you write it?” Blake suggested. He knew Sybil would do it lovingly and well. He trusted her, not a great-grandson he didn’t know.

“I’ve thought about it, and I’m not sure I’d do it justice. Their great-grandson is a historian, and a good one.” She had looked up his credentials too, and read a translation of his writing, and it was excellent. He’d had impressive reviews on all his books. They were said to be historically accurate and respected. A writer like Samuel Saint Martin was not going to exploit the emotional aspects of their tragedies. He would weave the important historical facts of the times into their story. They had lived at a key time in American history, when everything had changed dramatically socially, economically, industrially, and scientifically. She was sure Samuel would do justice to that, and to them.

“You may be right,” Blake conceded, “but I’m worried. I just don’t want anything to go wrong for them, and it could. I don’t care about him or his daughter, but I do care a great deal about the family we know and love, whom we live with. The privilege we’ve been given of knowing them, seeing them, and living with them in their time frame and ours is an enormous gift from an unknown source. Let’s not damage that, or hurt them.”

“I won’t. I swear,” she promised him, and reported the conversation to Gwyneth that night at dinner, in a whisper. She told her that Blake wasn’t in favor of the meeting, which was disappointing.

“I’m sure Bert wouldn’t be either, but I won’t tell him. Hopefully, it would just happen the way it did with you. Naturally, even if it surprised all of us.” Sybil smiled at the memory of their first dinner together, and how shocked they had been. And Gwyneth did too. “Are you going to cancel their coming?” She looked dismayed at the thought and Sybil shook her head.

“Blake will be furious with me if something goes wrong. But I think it’s important to do. And if you’re not meant to meet them, you won’t. It won’t happen. You can’t force it.” Alicia and others who came to the house had never seen them. No one entered their common dimension unless they were meant to. And for the past three years, that had been only the Butterfields and Gregorys, with very rare exceptions, and with their approval. It reassured both of them to know that. In some way, they were all protected. And the bond they shared linked them closely to each other, which kept them safe too. It was very much what Michael Stanton had said in the beginning. Others just could not see them, which was as it should be. It was extremely selective. And Sybil felt privileged that her family had been chosen. None of them knew why it had happened or who had ordained it. And there was no telling if the great-grandson and his daughter would be included in the magic circle. It was entirely possible that they wouldn’t be, in which case they could tour the house and learn the family’s history, but it would go no further than that and they wouldn’t see them. Both women found that reassuring.

No one had noticed them whispering at dinner, because Andy and Caroline had come home that afternoon and there was much chatter at the table, and a volley of questions aimed at both of them about school, their friends, and their romances.

“When is the blue-haired countess joining us?” Augusta asked him.

“In three days, Grandma Campbell,” Andy answered. It was what Sybil’s children called her now, and Augusta liked it. She had taken them into her heart long since, particularly Charlie, whom she thought was an endearing imp, and she liked Andy and Caroline too.

“She’ll have to give up that hair color when she inherits the title. Are you engaged yet?”

He guffawed. “We’re too young, Grandma.” Sybil smiled. Her children finally had grandparents after all.

“Nonsense,” Augusta responded. “How old are you now? Twenty? You should be married by next year, and she’ll wind up a spinster if she’s not careful. I was engaged two weeks after I came out, and married at eighteen. You young people are too slow these days. You’ll all wind up spinsters and fussy old men who never marry,” she warned him and everyone at the table laughed, thinking of Angus, who was just that. “I like her,” Augusta added. “You should get engaged. And you too,” she said pointedly to Caroline, who still had to finish college and wanted to go to graduate school. None of them had the least bit of interest in getting married, which was appropriate for them—but wouldn’t have been for the Butterfields in 1919, which was where they were. In nine days, it would be 1920 for them.

Christmas was as beautiful as it had been for the last three years together. Both families blended perfectly, exchanged presents, played charades, looked elegant at dinner, danced in the ballroom, and spent a memorable holiday with each other. And two days later, Quinne arrived from Scotland, with her hair slightly bluer, and a shocking pink streak in it. She looked a little more grown up, and had two new tattoos, and if possible her skirts were a fraction shorter. Everyone was delighted to see her, including Augusta. Quinne had just spent Christmas at Castle Creagh with her parents and siblings, which she said was very boring. She said even the ghost in the chapel tower hadn’t bothered to show up, and had probably died of boredom. She was delighted to join the Gregorys and their extended family in San Francisco. She and Andy were going to go skiing in Squaw Valley for a week on New Year’s Day, but they were planning to spend New Year’s Eve with everyone at home. And so were Caroline and Max, whom the Butterfields had graciously included in the group for Caroline’s sake. After that, Caroline and Max were joining his family in Mexico for a few days before they went back to school in Los Angeles.

Sybil told her children, but not the others, that they were expecting guests from Paris, and she hoped that they would show Laure around the city while she and Blake entertained her father. So far, no one had complained, and the kids said they would take Laure under their wing. Sybil and Gwyneth still had not warned the others about Samuel yet and had decided to see what happened when they arrived. And Blake still disapproved of the plan.

The day that Samuel and Laure arrived in San Francisco was bright and sunny, as San Francisco often was in December, although it was cool. But it had been snowing in Paris when they left, so the weather was a pleasant change for them. Sybil was home waiting for them anxiously, when Samuel pulled up at the gate in a rented white station wagon, and Sybil went out to the courtyard to let him in herself. He parked the car and got out, looking very French in a tweed jacket and turtleneck with a windbreaker over it, jeans, and hiking boots, and his salt and pepper hair was tousled after the flight. He was taller than Sybil had expected him to be, looked ten years younger than he was, and didn’t seem like a professor to her. He smiled as soon as he saw her, while a pretty young girl got out of the front seat. She was petite and very delicate looking with long blond hair and big blue eyes, and she looked instantly familiar to Sybil, but she wasn’t sure why. Sybil shook hands with both of them, as they gathered up their bags and followed her into the house. They were tired from the flight.

“You’re so kind to let us stay here,” Samuel said warmly, as Laure looked around the long front hall with interest, and glanced up at the Butterfield portraits. And before she could say another word to the Saint Martins, Sybil saw Angus walking toward them, with his enormous English bulldog trotting along at his side. He smiled when he saw Sybil, and glanced at her guests. He was wearing a velvet smoking jacket and matching slippers, and smoking the new pipe she had given him for Christmas.

“Sorry, dear girl, I can’t find my bagpipes. Have you seen them somewhere?” He seemed slightly confused, as Sybil walked hastily toward him and gently turned him around toward a door to the back stairs, just as Phillips emerged carrying his bagpipes. Phillips was in full livery, and Sybil was taken aback. She had never seen him around the house in the daytime, only serving dinner at night.

“Found them, sir,” he told Angus, ignoring Sybil.

“Excellent!” Angus said, and followed him through the door with a wave at Sybil and her guests. She was stunned to have seen Angus and Phillips in the front hall, and turned to Samuel and Laure to see their reaction and if they had seen them too. Samuel was smiling and it was obvious he had, which answered her question about whether they would choose to be visible or not. Decidedly they were going to be open with him, or Angus was. It was a start.

“Sorry, it gets a little chaotic here at times,” she said, trying to be nonchalant. Angus normally never wandered around the house either, and certainly not in the daytime with his dog.

“Your father?” Samuel asked, looking amused, although the elderly gentleman looked more like her grandfather, and had seemed ancient but good-humored.

“Actually, no. Not really.” She dodged the question, and they had just walked past Angus’s portrait on the way to the grand staircase, but neither Samuel nor Laure had noticed. “Are you hungry?” She stopped to ask them. “Would you like something to eat?”

“We ate on the flight,” Samuel said, still grinning about the old gentleman looking for his bagpipes. “You run a very formal home,” he commented to Sybil, referring to Phillips’s white tie and tails. There was no way to explain it to him, so she just nodded, and they headed up the stairs, and passed Alicia and José, who were in jeans and T-shirts, carrying cleaning utensils, which made Phillips’s uniform when they’d seen him seem ever more incongruous. Her guests said nothing as they looked around.

She took them to two large, beautiful guest bedrooms on the third floor, made sure they had what they needed, and said she’d be in her office down the hall, and told them which room it was.

“It’s a beautiful home,” Samuel complimented her, and Laure smiled at her shyly.

“Thank you.” She was still feeling unnerved by Angus’s unexpected appearance, as well as Phillips’s.

She left them and went to the room she used as an office and sat down to catch her breath, and as soon as she did, Gwyneth appeared, looking excited, and startled Sybil. She had simply materialized with a big smile, in a lovely dress.

“Are they here yet?”

“Yes,” Sybil whispered, so they wouldn’t hear her talking if they walked down the hall. “And Angus came down the front hall as soon as they arrived.”

Gwyneth was surprised at that. “He did? He’s not supposed to do that.”

“I know.” And Gwyneth had appeared out of nowhere too. They all seemed to be lively today.

“Did they see him?” She was whispering too, in case they could hear her.

“Yes, they did. Samuel asked if he’s my father.”

“What did you say?” Gwyneth looked amused and Sybil didn’t.

“I said no, he isn’t. He even had the dog with him, and Phillips came for him. He was looking for his bagpipes.”

“Oh, I hope he didn’t find them,” Gwyneth said fervently and Sybil laughed.

“Phillips did, worse luck.”

“Oh, dear.” And then she turned her attention to her great-grandson again. “What’s he like?” She was curious about him.

“Very handsome, young for his age. Quite distinguished actually.” And then something struck her that she hadn’t realized at first. “Actually, he looks a lot like Bert.”

“Really? How interesting!” She was pleased.

“And his daughter looks like Lucy. I just thought of it, but she does.” Gwyneth was happy about that too. Laure was healthier than Lucy, and stronger, but she had the same delicate features, big blue eyes, and blond hair. She’d been wearing jeans and a down jacket. Sybil wanted to introduce her to Caroline and Andy, but she knew they were out.

Gwyneth chatted with her for a few minutes and then left to see what Magnus was up to and have tea with Lucy and Augusta. Sybil answered some emails, and a little while later, there was a soft knock at the door. It was Samuel, and he said Laure was asleep.

“Do you mind if I explore a bit?” he asked her, and she offered to accompany him. He was carrying a camera, and seemed to be interested in every detail as they walked down the long hall. Sybil explained that there were children’s and guest rooms on that floor. It had been the nursery floor in the early years of the house, but that had been changed a long time ago, long before she and Blake bought the house. And she told him the top floor was all servants’ rooms that were no longer used, and then they walked down the grand staircase, to where she and her children slept, and they could hear Magnus and Charlie talking in his room, so she didn’t go in. She could tell they were playing videogames.

“I’ll introduce you to my youngest son later. I think he has a friend over.”

“You have a busy household.” He smiled at her.

“Only when my older children are home. The rest of the time it’s very quiet. My two oldest are in college,” as she had told him on the phone. “Charlie is nine.”

They continued down the grand staircase, and on the main floor she showed him the drawing rooms and the ballroom, and he studied the beautiful carvings, the exquisite curtains, the high ceilings, the furniture and chandeliers. He seemed vastly impressed and was silent for a moment.

“It’s much grander than I thought it would be,” he looked deeply affected, which touched her. “I thought it would be an interesting house, but I didn’t expect to be moved by it. I never knew these people. I barely knew my grandmother, and my mother and I weren’t very close. There’s no reason why the home of my great-grandparents should mean anything to me, and yet it does.” He was silent for a moment, out of respect. “You can almost feel them here, as though they never left it. You’ve preserved it beautifully, Sybil. It seems like a home and not a museum, and yet it’s so pure and so warm that I feel transported back into the time when the house was built. I am very touched by it,” he said as they walked past the dining room, where the Butterfields and the Gregorys ate dinner every night. She could see Phillips setting the table with the silverware and crystal, and wondered if Samuel could see him again since he didn’t react. As they walked back into the main living room with the enormous Aubusson carpet and antique furniture that Sybil and Blake had retrieved from storage three years before, Laure found them, looking sleepy but pretty, with her long blond hair and a white sweater and boots with her jeans. She and Sybil exchanged a smile, as her father pointed out important details to her, typical of the period when the house was built. They were looking carefully at the moldings when Sybil saw Charlie and Magnus run down the stairs and into the kitchen. And just at that moment, she heard Andy, Quinne, and Caroline walk in. They came to find Sybil, and she introduced Samuel and Laure to them, and they invited Laure to join them, and she left happily with the younger group.

“She’s a lovely girl,” Sybil complimented him and he looked pleased.

“She’s very impressed by the house. I’ve never seen her so quiet. But I am too. It’s truly the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen. And we have some very important homes and châteaux in France. But this has a soul, and it’s not so big you can’t feel at home here. You must enjoy living here. I can see why you fell in love with it.”

“We do love it,” she admitted, as they continued their tour, and everything he’d said about it was true. She could tell that he already felt a bond to it.

“I’m so glad we came,” he said, and thanked her again for having them. They walked into the library and sat down, and talked about his work, and leaving the university, and how strange it was going to be after being at the Sorbonne for so many years. Blake came home a little later, and enjoyed meeting Samuel, and the three of them sat for a long time, talking, and then Samuel went out to the garden to look around.

“How’s it going?” Blake asked her when Samuel went out a side door. “He seems nice.”

“They’re lovely people. The house has been crazy today. Angus wandered through the front hall. Phillips came after him. The boys ran down the stairs screaming, and were playing in Charlie’s room. They must think we’re nuts. And I’m not sure what to do about dinner. Should we take them out, or eat in the kitchen, or tell them to dress for dinner and then maybe no one will show up?”

“Is this some sort of a test or experiment?” her husband asked her, a little confused himself.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ll want to see him, and they’ll just come in as usual. Gwyneth is dying to meet him. I don’t know about the others. Maybe that’s why Angus turned up. I’ve never seen him in the daytime before.”

“Maybe we should just do what we always do, and see what happens,” Blake said, suddenly feeling brave. “Maybe they’re up for it and so is he. And what can he do if he sees them? Call the police and say he saw a bunch of ghosts having dinner? Let’s just do it.” After opposing their visit initially, he was willing to throw caution to the wind now. The Butterfields were Samuel’s ancestors, after all, not Sybil’s and Blake’s.

“Okay,” Sybil said, feeling nervous now and less confident than Blake. She didn’t want to explain it to Samuel, in case the others didn’t appear. And if they did, he’d be unprepared and confused. And Blake was right in a way, it was a kind of test. Did the Butterfields want to meet him or not? Were they willing to accept the French branch? And were Lili’s child and grandchild acceptable to them? Would they consider them Butterfields at all? Or simply ignore them and refuse to be seen?

As Blake and Sybil left the library, she asked him if he had noticed Samuel’s resemblance to Bert, and Blake laughed. “It’s funny that you said that. I thought so too, but I figured you’d think it was hokey if I said it. They have strong genes.”

“And his daughter looks like Lucy,” she said as they walked into the kitchen to see the young people. They were having a snack at the kitchen table, and Charlie had joined them, but not Magnus. And Max, Caroline’s boyfriend, walked in a minute later. They were a happy, lively group. Samuel followed the noise and joined them a few minutes later.

“Would you like to join us here for dinner tonight?” Sybil asked Samuel, trying to sound casual, and he looked pleased as he accepted for him and his daughter. “I should have warned you. We dress for dinner, but you don’t have to. You can wear whatever you want.”

“I can lend Laure a dress if she needs one,” Caroline volunteered, and Laure thanked her.

“When you say ‘dress’ for dinner,” Samuel asked cautiously, “that means? Tie and jacket?”

“We follow some of the old traditions of the house, and we wear black tie,” Blake said, embarrassed at how ridiculous he knew it sounded, like a costume party. But it seemed run of the mill to them now. And they even wore white tie on some nights, but Blake didn’t say so.

“How amazing!” Samuel looked surprised. “It’s a nice idea actually, and must have been then. And now that I’ve seen the house, I can see it, but if you had told me that on the phone, I would have thought you were mad. But the house is so perfectly of the period, I actually understand it.”

Samuel walked around the ground floor again, taking pictures, and Sybil joined him and pointed out some details, which Laure found fascinating too, as an architecture student.

“I’d love to see some of the photographs you said you have,” Samuel said after a little while, and Sybil walked him back upstairs to her office, and took them out of the box where she kept them. She went through the photos, explaining who was who, and he was fascinated. There was one of his grandmother Bettina holding his mother, Lili, when she was only a few months old, and all the dates and many of the names were on the back. And then he noticed the resemblance between Laure and Lucy. “What happened to Lucy again?” he asked Sybil.

“She always suffered from ill health, and she died of pneumonia right after the Crash of ’29, when she was twenty. I think it totally disheartened her father, particularly with the reversals they had. He had a heart attack and died about six months later. They sold the house for the first time when he did. That was when your great-grandmother Gwyneth went to live in Europe with your grandmother Bettina. Your mother must have been about twelve then.”

“I think she said something about it,” he said, jogging his memory, “about her grandmother coming to live with them, my great-grandmother, but she died soon after. My mother always said that her grandmother died of a broken heart after her husband died. Somehow that sounds very sweet. I don’t think women do that these days. If I had died during our divorce, my wife would have celebrated, although we’re good friends now.” He laughed ruefully and Sybil smiled. “We divorced a long time ago, when Laure was five. The relationship didn’t last very long. Now we’re fine just as friends and co-parents, but it took a while.”

“Did she marry again?” Sybil asked him, and he shook his head.

“No, but she has two children with the man she lives with, and she’s very happy. I think I cured her from marriage,” he said and they both laughed. It sounded very French to Sybil. And she remembered that Bettina hadn’t wanted to marry again after Tony, until she fell in love with Louis in Paris. So maybe Samuel would feel that way one day too. He had said he had never remarried either and didn’t want to. He was content with his daughter and his work, which Sybil thought was too bad. He seemed like a nice man.

They walked downstairs to the next floor together to Sybil’s bedroom, so she could dress for dinner. The young people had stayed together downstairs, and Andy was showing the guests the antique pool table in the playroom in the basement.

“I’m so sorry I don’t have a dinner jacket for tonight,” he said apologetically.

“Don’t even think about it,” she reassured him. She was convinced by then that the Butterfields weren’t going to appear anyway. The Saint Martins were strangers, after all, so all he’d see were the Gregorys overdressed and they’d eat in the kitchen and look silly.

“I have a tie and a blue shirt,” he offered, “but I didn’t even bring a white shirt.” She couldn’t give him one of Blake’s because he was taller and broader than Samuel, although Samuel was tall too, but Blake’s shirts wouldn’t fit him.

They met in the hall again an hour later, and Samuel looked very nice in his tweed jacket, pale blue shirt, and navy blue Hermès tie, with proper shoes and black jeans, and Sybil was wearing one of her less dressy evening ensembles, a long black velvet skirt with a black cashmere sweater, and he complimented her on how nice she looked.

They all reached the stairs at the same time, and headed down toward the dining room. Blake and Sybil exchanged a glance and were almost sure they would find the dining room empty, but as soon as they reached it, Sybil saw immediately that the silver and crystal were gleaming, the candles were lit, Phillips was standing at attention, and all of the Butterfields were in place, as though they knew precisely that guests were expected. Augusta looked them over as they walked in, like a drill sergeant inspecting the troops.

“What on earth are those on your feet, Countess?” she asked Quinne, who burst out laughing. She was wearing shocking pink velvet Doc Martens with matching fishnet stockings under a black velvet miniskirt, with a hot pink angora sweater. “Did you steal them from a soldier?” Augusta asked her, and Quinne giggled again. Her own grandmother hadn’t liked them on Christmas either, but she thought Augusta was funny. And she asked Magnus who he’d sold his hairbrush to. And then she saw Samuel and raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, one of those fascinating modern outfits. Blake wears them occasionally too. I never understand them,” she said, as Samuel stopped in front of her, thinking it was all a joke at first, bowed low, kissed her hand, and said, “Bonsoir.”

“Ah, of course, that explains it,” she countered. “French. Naturally. They used to wear satin knee breeches and brocade coats. So what can one expect from them now?”

“So do the British at court, Mother,” Gwyneth reminded her, and Sybil stepped up next to Samuel, to introduce him to Augusta properly. “Mrs. Campbell, this is Samuel Saint Martin. He’s Lili’s son, Bettina’s grandson.” There was a long silent pause where even Samuel looked stunned, and Augusta more so.

“Which makes him…my great-great grandson…” she said with a startled expression. As far as she knew, Lili was still a child herself. It was a big leap for her to understand.

“And his daughter, Laure,” Sybil introduced her as well, and she was wearing a proper black dress of Caro’s, and her own high heels, as Augusta stared at Samuel and his daughter, struggling to assimilate what had happened.

“I saw them in the front hall today when they arrived,” Angus added proudly.

“What were you doing there?” his sister asked him. He never left his room in the daytime, and wasn’t supposed to.

“Lost my bagpipes for a minute…Phillips found them. All well. Pretty girl,” he said, indicating Laure. Augusta glared at him and everyone laughed, which broke the tension.

“My brother has appalling manners where women are concerned,” she explained to Samuel. “And you’re French, then. But Lili is American. She was born here.” She was trying to sort it all out, and to Augusta, Lili still existed in the present. Gwyneth stepped in, from the other end of the table.

“She took French citizenship, Mother. Louis, Bettina’s husband, adopted her in France. Do you remember?”

“Oh, yes…of course I do…nice of him, since that other one disappeared,” she said, referring to Tony Salvatore.

“He died in the war, Mother,” Gwyneth corrected her. And Sybil led Samuel to a seat next to her at the table. Phillips had set the right number of places. He always did now, and had again tonight, as though someone had told him. She wondered if Gwyneth had. Samuel was looking bewildered when he sat down. Sybil introduced him to Gwyneth and Bert, his great-grandparents, who looked alive and well and in good spirits, contrary to the sad end he knew they had come to. And then Sybil introduced him to each of the children, while Caro and Andy explained to Laure who the players were, and their relationship to her. And sitting near each other, her resemblance to Lucy was even more striking, and so was Samuel’s to Bert.

“I’m not quite sure I understand,” he said softly to Sybil, as everyone watched him and his daughter. The Butterfields had obviously felt sufficiently at ease to include him and Laure at dinner that night, and be visible. After all, he was one of them, and so was Laure. They were Butterfields, whatever their name or nationality. “Have you hired actors to impersonate the family?” he asked her. How else could they all be there? What was remarkable was that they looked exactly like the photographs Sybil had shown him that afternoon. Blake felt almost sorry for him as he tried to absorb something that made no sense whatsoever and defied reason. Blake had been through it too, in the beginning, and he wasn’t even related to them.

“They’re not actors,” Sybil said gently, as Gwyneth overheard her and smiled. “We thought that the first time too. The family is all here. In this house. They never left after”—she chose her words carefully for their sake—“after they entered another dimension. They all came back, except your mother. She never really had any ties to the house. She was too young when she left.”

“Are you telling me,” Samuel stared at Sybil intently, “that the entire family is here, all of them, still living in the house a hundred years later?” Sybil nodded assent, and Samuel stared at them one by one, thinking it must be a joke, but as he looked at them, he knew it wasn’t. “That is unbelievable. It’s not possible. Did you know it when you bought the house?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Did they appear to you one by one?”

“No. We heard noises and walked into the dining room three days after we moved in, and everyone was here, just like you did tonight.” And she’d seen them after the earthquake the night before.

“It was quite shocking at first,” Augusta said to him. “But we all got used to it, and they’re very nice people and we love them. We wouldn’t live without them now,” she added warmly, which impressed Sybil and Blake, and touched them. “And you, dear boy, are related to us, so we had to have dinner with you. We wouldn’t miss it. I hope you’ll stay here with us.” She was being unusually gracious, and Samuel was nearly speechless. His daughter was very quiet too. It really was like entering another dimension, and he had no idea how it worked or if they were now trapped there. Sybil could see a slight panic in his eyes.

“You can come and go as you wish. It’s just an honor to be included in the Butterfields’ lives. And it has worked very well for us.” Except that Magnus was disappointed that Charlie was slowly growing up, but they still had fun together. Magnus would always be the age he died.

“Can others see you?” Samuel asked the group collectively, and they all shook their heads.

“Only the Gregorys and two of the children’s friends, Max and Quinne,” Bert explained. “We’re very happy to have them with us. And we hope you and your daughter stay too, for as long as you like.” Samuel let Phillips pour him several glasses of wine before he felt calm again.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you on the phone, or you would have thought I was mad or drunk when I called you,” Sybil said, and he nodded. “But I wanted you to come and meet everyone and see the house. I didn’t know then if they’d be willing to meet you or not. But even so, I thought it would be worth a trip to visit the house, and maybe you could write the family history.”

“It certainly is worth the trip,” he agreed. “And this is so much more…important…and exciting…and so moving. What an extraordinary experience,” he said quietly, and smiled at Sybil. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I would never have known otherwise.” He was sorry his mother wasn’t there, but he understood why. She had always been so adamant, even with him, about not having any tie to the house in San Francisco, and no interest in it, not being there since she was a baby, not being American, and being French. Her emotional ties were to the Lambertins, her adoptive father’s family, and not the Butterfields.

And then he wondered about something else and asked Sybil quietly, as his guide through their extraordinary world. He felt privileged to be there above all else, and felt a bond to them he never knew he had. Laure seemed to as well and loved her new friends. “What year are we in? I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

“It took me a while too. It’s 1919 for them, exactly a hundred years behind us, to the day,” which made sense from the clothes they were wearing and the events they discussed. It felt to him like asking about the time difference with another country where you were planning to travel. Only in this case it was measured in centuries, not hours. And if it was 1919 for them, he understood why his grandmother wasn’t there. She was in France then.

For the rest of the evening, Samuel joined in the conversation, and Laure and the young people had fun together. Angus offered to play the bagpipes for them in celebration, and everyone said another time. Having Samuel and Laure there had energized them all, and after the Butterfields had retired for the night, as mysteriously and instantaneously as they always did once they left the dining room, Samuel sat with Sybil and Blake for a long time in the kitchen, talking about it and drinking wine. He had never had an experience like it before, and doubted he would again, away from this house.

“Thank God you bought it. Imagine if we’d never known,” he said to his hosts. “And what do you do about the things you know and they don’t? We’ve both read the book,” he said, looking at Sybil. “If they’re in 1919, they don’t know what’s coming in 1929 and after that. Have you warned them?”

Sybil shook her head. “Blake and I have talked about it a lot. It doesn’t seem fair if we don’t tell them, but wrong if we do. We can’t change it for them. The war, the stock market crash, the accidents, the deaths. They all happened a hundred years ago. We can’t rewrite history. We can only try to gentle it for them when it happens, and console them. But, oddly, they have much to teach us, so we don’t make the same mistakes.” He hadn’t thought about that, and when he did, he realized she was right. In a way, it was a blessing for all of them. “And even when they die, they come back,” she explained. “They’re so tightly bound to one another and this house, they don’t leave for long. It took Josiah about four months to come back. And when Augusta died of Spanish flu, she was back in a month. She’s a strong soul.” They all laughed, and Samuel went upstairs that night, shaking his head over the remarkable evening he’d had, and slept till noon the next day. He came downstairs and found Sybil in the kitchen. He had a terrible headache and a hangover.

“Did I dream all that last night?” he asked her. “How drunk was I?”

“No, you didn’t, and you weren’t drunk.” She smiled at him. She had a slight hangover too, but he had drunk more wine. “Laure is out with my kids, by the way. And we’re taking you out tonight.” They wanted to show him and Laure a little of San Francisco, and she suspected that the Butterfields were worn out from the night before too. It cost them something to appear that strongly and be so connected to someone new. Gwyneth had come to see her that morning, and they had agreed to skip dinner that night. The next day was New Year’s Eve, and they’d all be up late again.

Sybil made him a cup of strong coffee and scrambled eggs, and he felt better afterward. And Blake suggested they go out for a drive and look around.

“I feel like I’m in another world, or caught between two worlds,” Samuel said to them and Blake nodded.

“You are, to some extent. Your old world is still here, just as ours is, but this other world that they’re part of is open to you too. We don’t know how it happened, but we’re very glad it did.”

Samuel thought about it for a minute, as he looked at the Golden Gate Bridge and smiled at them. “So am I. Thank you for finding me and getting me here,” he said, as Sybil patted his hand, and they drove back to the house. He wasn’t sure which world or dimension he was in, but he felt oddly at peace.