Finding Your Heart

by McBride, Bess

  Finding Your Heart

  Bess McBride

  Finding Your Heart

  Copyright 2018 Bess McBride

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover art by Tara West

  Contact information: bessmcbride@gmail.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  Thinking of you, Washington State.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Books by Bess McBride

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Thank you for purchasing Finding Your Heart. First in a series of time travel romances called A Town Lost in Time, Finding Your Heart is set in mystical Washington State at the turn of the twentieth century. Here’s a bit about the story.

  Deep in the forests of Western Washington, near the majestic dormant volcano called Mount Rainier, lays a small town that exists only in history. Partially submerged by a lake and largely buried by mud, weeds, grass and trees, Kaskade is lost in time. Until it emerges one summer evening—vibrant, busy, teeming with life.

  Leigh Peters strolls along the shores of quiet Lake Kaskade at sunset, as she often does. A check of her watch shows that sunset is only minutes away. Reluctantly, she turns from the lake to head back to her car, but she never reaches the parking lot.

  Dr. Jeremiah Cook finds a woman who claims she is lost, not in place but in time. He knows the mysterious truth about Kaskade, but he is reluctant to tell her. She is not the first soul that Kaskade has stolen in time, and she probably won’t be the last. Jeremiah has no choice but to care for the woman Kaskade has chosen.

  For those of you wondering, this series is based on a real lake. I’ve changed the name to facilitate the use of literary license in this work of fiction.

  Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way!

  You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at bessmcbride@gmail.com or through my website at http://www.bessmcbride.com.

  Many of you know I also write a series of short cozy mysteries under the pen name of Minnie Crockwell. Feel free to stop by my website and learn more about the series.

  Thanks for reading!

  Bess

  Chapter One

  Leigh picked her way over downed birch and fir trees as she walked along the shoreline of Lake Kaskade. In no hurry to return to her quiet two-bedroom home in the hills above the nearby town of Orting, she savored the familiar scene. Birds chirped in the overhead forest.

  The lake was particularly beautiful that evening just before sunset. In the absence of a breeze, the placid surface mirrored the emerald-green Douglas firs surrounding it and the soft blue hills that swept away to the brilliant white snows of Mount Rainier. Heavy rains the week before had elevated the lake level to such an extent that the path she usually followed was under water, and she’d had to move inland a bit.

  Lake Kaskade had always fascinated her, tucked away as it was among the trees in a remote area of Western Washington. Pristine and quiet, she had seen fishermen in small shallow dinghies or canoes paddling along on the complicated little lake, but the dead tree stumps of a long-submerged forest probably kept motorized craft from entangling their blades in what lay close to the water’s surface.

  Leigh had read that Lake Kaskade had been formed by a mudflow from Mount Rainier, an active volcano, five hundred years before. The mudflow had dammed up the lake and flooded the forested valley.

  Lost in the beauty of the lake, Leigh tripped over a rock. She caught herself from falling and looked down, startled to see that it wasn’t a rock but the tip of a red brick paver embedded in mud.

  “How did this get here?” she said aloud. “Hey, little guy,” she murmured, crouching down to run her fingers along the smooth, weathered clay brick. “What are you doing here?”

  Leigh scanned her surroundings. “Are they dumping trash here? Is that where you came from?”

  Living in seclusion since her husband died in a car accident the year before had given Leigh a bad habit of talking aloud to herself. She worked from home evaluating disability claims for an insurance company, so she didn’t have a great deal of interaction through her employment either, other than the occasional office conference call or company email.

  “Oh, hello!” she said. “Here’s another one!”

  Beyond the brick she had tripped over lay another one embedded in dirt, and then another, the entirety resembling a walkway of some sort that led into a clump of bushes. Leigh rose and moved toward the bushes, parting the thick foliage to follow the bricks. She gasped at the sight of an old graying concrete foundation, thickly covered with layers of emerald-green moss. It was evident that some building had stood there at one time, a fairly large one at that, given the approximate two-foot thickness of the foundation wall.

  Fascinated, Leigh pushed through the foliage to reach out for the foundation. She ran her hands along the cool, glistening moss. As the bushes closed behind her, the birds stopped singing and the forest faded from view.

  ****

  Leigh awoke to a rhythmic tone that sounded like metal on metal. She opened her eyes to see the outline of a steam locomotive chugging along on a railroad trestle in the near distance. Through the dusk, she could see that the trestle, built upon a hill, spanned some sort of waterway, perhaps a creek.

  She rubbed her eyes and stared again at the train—a locomotive pulling several boxcars. Something about the scene struck her as odd. She shouldn’t have been able to see the train through the dense trees of the lakeside forest—if those trees had still been standing.

  But the forest was largely cleared, leaving a few solitary fir trees to stand guard. The train rumbled out of view, and Leigh pushed herself upright. Gone was the dense foliage surrounding the concrete foundation. Instead, a green lawn stretched away into growing shadows. Le
igh looked over her shoulder and jumped back with a shriek at the large white building towering above her.

  She spun around and tilted her head back to scan a two-story building, probably three if one imagined a basement. At eye level was the concrete foundation she had touched only moments before, no longer covered in moss. Light shone through several windows above, doing nothing to dispel the growing darkness around her. She reached out to touch the painted wooden siding. Her hand didn’t pass through the structure, as she might have hoped if she’d been hallucinating. The building seemed all too real.

  Other sounds, no longer drowned out by the rumbling train, caught her ears. She heard children yelling and screaming as if they played nearby. Another rhythmic sound grew louder, as if something approached, something that sounded distinctively like livery. A wagon? The sound stopped abruptly, and then she heard men’s voices.

  Leigh shook her head, hoping to wake herself up. Had she fainted? She remembered touching the old foundation, but nothing more until she woke up sitting at the base of the large white building.

  She pressed her back against the cool foundation, no longer able to hear much more than the loud pounding of her heart. Turning her head to the left, she strained to see in the waning twilight. The lake, only a few hundred yards away, twinkled with pink and orange reflections of the clouds over the setting sun. Above the darkening foothills surrounding the lake, the permanent snow on Mount Rainier’s peaks mirrored those rosy shades.

  The familiar beauty of the mountain and the lake calmed and grounded Leigh, and she steadied her breathing.

  To her left, a wagon appeared in front of the building, a cloud of dust trailing in its wake suggesting an unpaved road. Leigh couldn’t see the driver’s face in the dusk, but he wore a broad-brimmed hat. Horse and wagon lumbered by in a cacophony of clopping hooves and jingling livery.

  Deducing that the front of the structure faced the road, Leigh sidestepped in that direction, keeping her back plastered to the side of the building. She reached the edge and looked up to see a porch surrounded by wooden railings. Soft electric lighting filtered down onto the porch.

  Leigh paused, unsure of what to do, unsure of where she really was. The sight of Mount Rainier and the nearby lake fixed her position as near the shoreline, but that was all that seemed familiar. Everything else had changed, and though she was desperate to see more, the growing darkness surrounding her blocked any further inspection.

  “Hello there,” a deep male voice said from the direction of the road. “Do you need help?”

  The porch light highlighted a man on the porch steps carrying an old-fashioned medical bag. His direction suggested he was on his way into the building. He turned and descended the stairs to round the corner in her direction.

  “Do I know you?” he asked. He tipped a finger to a dark bowler cap and waited for Leigh’s response. He wore a dark suit with an impossibly high white collar and tie. His jacket hung casually open to reveal a vest. The lights reflected on a gold chain traversing his vest, as if attached to a pocket watch.

  “Miss?” he prompted. “Do you need assistance? Is that why you’re here? I’m Dr. Jeremiah Cook. Have you come to see me?”

  “Dr. Cook,” Leigh breathed. “You’re a doctor? A doctor?”

  “Yes. Have you come to see me then? Are you ill?”

  “Where am I?” Leigh asked.

  “You are at my home, miss. I see patients here. Are you injured? Do come inside.”

  Rather than approach Leigh, Dr. Cook held out a hand, as if encouraging her to come toward him and take it. Despite her confusion, Leigh couldn’t stop herself from walking toward him. The light fell on her face as she slipped her hand in his.

  Leigh heard Dr. Cook draw in a sharp breath as he closed his fingers over hers. His grasp was strong yet gentle. He eyed her from head to foot, and she blushed.

  “I do not know you, do I? Where have you come from? Though I think I already know the answer to that.”

  “I don’t know,” Leigh said. She wasn’t sure what she should say. From the historical style of the doctor’s clothing to the wagon to the building that hadn’t been there moments before, she suspected she was dreaming. Unconscious more like, since she didn’t think she had fallen asleep so much as fainted.

  “Come inside. I will have my housekeeper make you a cup of tea.”

  He pulled her toward the front of the building, a Victorian structure fronted by red brick pavers leading up to wide stairs of the same material. Leigh recognized the brick as similar to what she had seen buried in the mud.

  Four white columns supported the roof over the porch. Wicker chairs flanked a solid wood door and large plate-glass window. Dr. Cook released Leigh’s hand to open the front door, then allowed her to precede him. Dazed, she passed him, noting that the top of her head barely cleared his shoulders. From her much shorter vantage point, she caught sight of a charming cleft in his chin.

  Leigh stepped over the threshold to survey a small, though high-ceilinged, foyer with a warmly varnished dark-wood landing and stairs that led off to the left. Elegant beige-and-white wallpaper in a lacy pattern highlighted the walls.

  Several royal-blue upholstered chairs nestled against the base of the stairs. It was to one of these that Dr. Cook escorted her.

  “Rest here for a moment while I ask Mrs. Jackson to make some tea. She will also act as chaperone. You need have no fear on that score.”

  “Fear?” Leigh mumbled.

  The doctor set down his bag and removed his bowler hat, revealing shining black well-trimmed hair, parted on the side, that barely touched the top of his collar. He hung the hat on a coat and hat stand.

  “Yes, you must rest easy,” he said, looking down at her with a kindly smile of even, white teeth. As if he wasn’t handsome enough, deep dimples appeared in his cheeks. “I will return in a moment, and then we shall see what ails you.”

  “Nothing ails—” Leigh started to say, but Dr. Cook had moved away down the hall toward an open doorway. He disappeared into a well-lit room with pale-green walls. Upon seeing the side of a porcelain sink, Leigh surmised that must be the kitchen. She heard voices but couldn’t make out the words.

  Still bemused but assuming she must have been dreaming, Leigh studied her surroundings. She looked up to see a small globe light hanging from the ceiling. A warm ruby-red Oriental carpet ran the length of the hallway. Across the hall, open double wooden doors revealed a large room featuring a forest-green velvet sofa, an equally warm dark-green Oriental carpet and similar wallpaper. A modest electric chandelier lit the room.

  She recognized the house as a Victorian-style and assumed the room across the hall was a parlor of some sort. The doctor said he saw patients in his home. Surely he didn’t see patients in the parlor, did he?

  Dr. Cook reappeared in the doorway and walked toward her with an easy long-legged stride. Beyond him, a small, plump woman in a long-sleeved white blouse and ankle-length blue skirt followed, carrying a tray. A white apron covered her clothing. Gray hair had been pulled back to a bun at the nape of her neck.

  Leigh was unsurprised to see the housekeeper’s antiquated style of dress. She supposed herself to be in some kind of historical dream, though why, she had no idea. She couldn’t for the life of her understand why she had inserted a doctor into her dream.

  Dr. Cook reached Leigh’s side and held out his hand to help her rise.

  “This is Mrs. Jackson. She already had tea ready for me and has added a cup for you. Please follow me into my examining room.”

  “Wait! Your what?” Leigh exclaimed.

  Mrs. Jackson smiled kindly at her as she carried the tray across the hall into the parlor. She disappeared from view, and Leigh allowed Dr. Cook to take her hand and lead her into the parlor.

  “Did you say your examining room?” she asked, searching the parlor. Mrs. Jackson had disappeared, and she saw her in a connecting room setting the tray down on a bureau behind a large antique wooden desk. It was to that
room that Dr. Cook guided her. Upon entering, Leigh saw the same delicate beige-and-white lace wallpaper covered the walls, but that was the only bit of color in the room. The desk flanked one end of the room, with an old-fashioned swiveling wooden office chair.

  Several bookcases held books, brown glass bottles and what appeared to be medical supplies, such as gauzes and linens. Leigh’s upper lip started to perspire. The doctor had been serious when he called it an examining room. A metal table draped with a white sheet and metal stool centered the room.

  Leigh couldn’t hold back her panic any longer. She pulled out of Dr. Cook’s hand and backed out of the room.

  “No, I can’t do this. I’m terrified of medical things. I just can’t.” She stopped in the middle of the parlor. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I don’t need an exam. I’m just—” What could she say? Was she lost? Confused? In the middle of a dream?

  Dr. Cook and Mrs. Jackson came to the doorway to stare at her.

  “I’m just confused and a little bit lost. I’m probably dreaming,” Leigh said with a tremulous smile. “But my health is fine, and I don’t need an examination.”

  Dr. Cook moved toward her, his hands outstretched, and Leigh backed farther away. He dropped his hands.

  “Forgive me, miss. You are not the first person to be frightened at the doctor’s office. Very well. Then we shall just have tea in the parlor. Mrs. Jackson, could you bring the tea into the parlor? Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa, Miss...”