When the Moon Falls

by Kathryn Kaleigh

Half a million men.

  That number stuck in Samuel’s head.

  Somewhere between half a million and a million.

  His brother, their friends, and all the rest were sorely mistaken.

  This was not going to be some kind of conflict that came and went quickly.

  It was going to destroy their lives.

  He watched as Ella wrapped the watch around her wrist.

  Somehow it looked like it belonged on her.

  Maybe it was the way she handled it with such confidence. Confidence that came with familiarity.

  Samuel had studied the watch for hours.

  He’d carried it around with him, fascinated.

  Then when it stopped working, he’d hidden it away in his room and tried to forget about it.

  He hadn’t forgotten about it though. It was always there. Reminding him that there were things he didn’t know.

  But he hadn’t understood that those things had to do with the future until he’d gotten to know Ella.

  Watching her, knowing that his wasn’t her world, tore at his heart.

  Her smooth pale skin. Her long thick lashes. Her lips that beckoned to him.

  “Can you fix it?” he asked, mostly to distract himself from the direction of his thoughts.

  She shook her head and met his gaze. “Not in this time period. That’s a whole other thing that I couldn’t even begin to explain.”

  “It’s ok.” He put a hand over hers.

  “I wonder what brought Vaughn here. To you.”

  ‘I’ve asked myself that question a million times. I don’t have an answer.”

  She started to take it off.

  He put a hand over hers. “You keep it,” he said.

  He didn’t know why he wanted her to have it. It had been one of his most cherished possessions. But he’d known it didn’t belong to him.

  Maybe Ella could return it to Vaughn.

  When she returned to her time.

  The thought of her returning to her time was like an arrow shooting through him, ripping him into a thousand pieces.

  He realized in that moment, that it was inevitable. She’d leave. Just as Vaughn had left.

  She didn’t need to be here anyway.

  Being here was dangerous.

  He felt sick to his stomach.

  But he pushed past it.

  “You need to go,” he said.

  She blinked at him in confusion.

  “You need to go back to your own time.” Now that he’d started, he didn’t seem to be able to stop.

  She wrapped her right hand around her wrist, covering the watch.

  “How do you expect me to do that?”

  “I don’t know. You got here. You should be able to get back.”

  She looked confused. But he ignored it and stood up. Walked to the fireplace keeping his back to her.

  “I didn’t come here on purpose,” she said. “It just happened. I don’t know how to go back.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  Fought the urge to go to her. To wrap his arms around her. And kiss her senseless.

  But that wouldn’t be right. For either of them.

  He’d be devastated when she left.

  And she didn’t need to be in this time during the war that was to come.

  Not when she could be safely in her own time.

  “You’ll find a way,” he said, gruffly and stormed out of the cottage.

  He walked blindly toward the river.

  His emotions at war inside of him.

  He was so mixed up, he didn’t know what to do.

  What he did know was that he’d fallen in love with this woman.

  This woman who couldn’t… shouldn’t… be here.

  37

  Ella sat on the sofa, listening to the echo of the slamming door.

  The watch on her arm was out of place.

  She wore a long, full skirt with ruffles. She’d pulled her hair back and tied it with a swatch of silk she’d found on the dresser.

  There was absolutely nothing modern in her clothing or her surroundings.

  Except this watch.

  What had happened? Why had he suddenly insisted that she return to her own time.

  She huffed out a breath.

  She would have done it days ago if she knew how.

  What was wrong with him?

  She held the watch in her hand.

  What was Vaughn?

  Some type of time traveler who flitted from one time period to another? Was it just at random or did she have some kind of control over it.

  Standing up, Ella wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and walked to the window.

  There were storm clouds coming in.

  She distinctly remembered the last time she’d gotten stranded in a storm.

  Samuel had just stormed out and left her here.

  Was she supposed to stay here or go back to the main house?

  She turned and looked around.

  Even though he’d started a fire, she couldn’t stay here.

  There was nothing to eat.

  And, besides, it smelled… musty. And she didn’t like being here by herself.

  She turned and studied the clouds.

  She could make it if she left right now.

  She slipped the watch back onto her wrist, the Velcro snapping easily into place, raised her skirts high enough that she didn’t trip on them, and took off toward the house.

  Her heart was racing by the time she reached the veranda. But she’d made it before the storm.

  Even though he’d abandoned her, she couldn’t help but wonder where Samuel had gotten off to.

  Leaning across the railing, the wind tugging her hair out of the silk tie and tossed it across her face.

  Lightning flashed over the tops of the trees and thunder rumbled in the distance, getting closer by the minute.

  She hoped Samuel wasn’t caught out in this. It looked like it was going to be a bad one.

  After a few minutes, when she saw no sign of him, she went inside.

  The storm was fast moving and fierce.

  She stepped into the foyer just as the grandfather clock began to chime the hour.

  Standing in front of it, she stared up into the clock’s innocent face.

  This clock represented everything that was happening.

  Time.

  Nothing could stop it.

  But was it really linear?

  Or did this clock and others of its kind, even like the one she wore on her wrist merely give humans the illusion that time only moved in one direction?

  She had no answers.

  No one did.

  Except maybe Vaughn.

  Vaughn was some kind of time princess.

  The door opened, and Samuel stepped inside, bringing a flurry of wind and rain with him.

  He closed the door and stopped.

  They stood and just looked at each other.

  Then his expression softened.

  “I’m sorry…” he said, but his voice sounded far away. Perhaps muffled by the thunder.

  He held out a hand and she reached for it, but it seemed just move further and further away.

  Lightning flashed between them, blinding her.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her sight, but there was no doubt.

  He had vanished.

  Or… more like she had vanished.

  The grandfather clock stood silent.

  38

  Samuel had walked off his anger.

  And in truth, it wasn’t anger so much as it had been fear.

  This war was rushing toward them like a freight train. And like a freight train, there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it.

  The problem was he seemed to be the only person who was privy to what was to come.

  It wasn’t Ella’s fault. She hadn’t caused it.

  She’d merely told him about it.

  And he’d known it already anyway.

  B
ut like everyone else, he’d had no idea just how big it was going to be.

  Four years.

  That seemed like an eternity.

  Hell, it was an eternity.

  And he’d been wrong.

  He didn’t want Ella out of his sight, much less to go back to her own time.

  He wanted this to be her time.

  Or hers to be his.

  He didn’t really care.

  He just knew he wanted to be with her.

  And he was on his way to tell her when the storm hit.

  She’d already left the cottage, so he’d gone looking for her at the main house.

  He’d found her standing in the foyer.

  But something was wrong.

  He felt it the moment he stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him.

  He reached for her.

  But he was too late.

  She vanished right before his eyes.

  He saw the confusion in her eyes just before she vanished.

  A rumble of thunder shook the house as though punctuating her departure.

  “Why?” Samuel called out. “Why?” He looked up. Maybe the answers lay with a higher power.

  But he got no answer.

  His brother John came from somewhere in the back of the house.

  Stopped. Scowled at him. Then just kept walking, making his way upstairs.

  Samuel almost laughed.

  Even his clueless brother knew enough to know that this wasn’t a good time to say anything to him.

  Samuel wasn’t sure how much time passed as he stood there. Staring at the spot where Ella had stood.

  This was his fault.

  He’d told her to go.

  And even if she hadn’t meant to go, something in the universe had taken him seriously.

  He went into his father’s empty study. Poured a glass of whiskey and drank it down.

  Thought about throwing the glass at the bricks, but instead, he slammed the empty glass against the fireplace hearth.

  The kick in the pants was that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

  He’d found the love of his life.

  Then he’d turned her away.

  It didn’t matter that he didn’t actually want her to go.

  He’d only been trying to figure how out to protect her.

  Well… he’d got what he wanted.

  Hadn’t he?

  39

  Four Years Later

  * * *

  Ella slid the lid off the box. She already knew what was in it.

  A large hardback book with gold lettering.

  Relationships Between A Quaternary Model of Psychological Type and Perceptions of Time.

  This one book represented four years of hard work.

  She had been different from her other doctoral classmates. Out of the six students getting their doctorates in psychology, Ella was the only one who’d walked in the door with a topic for her dissertation.

  She’d gone to her advisor and told him she wanted to research time.

  He’d been impressed that she wanted to get started on her dissertation so early in the program. But her topic was too broad. He suggested she use this year to read everything she could find about the concept of time.

  Become an expert on it, he’d advised.

  Ella was already an expert, all right, but not in any way he could understand. Or even any way that she could understand.

  But she’d done as he advised. She’d read everything. Then she’d narrowed down the topic enough that her committee approved it.

  Her Apple watch tapped her wrist and she checked her phone messages.

  It was a text message from Garth, a fellow graduate student who’d become a close friend.

  Garth: Did you get it yet?

  Ella: Just arrived.

  He’d asked me this every day for the last two weeks. Ever since she’d gotten the shipping notice. Apparently the shipping method from the academic publishing company moved at a snail’s pace.

  Garth: How does it feel to hold it in your hand? To finally be finished?

  Garth was still working on his paper. He’d only chosen a topic two years ago and, like most graduate students, his project was slow.

  She picked up one of the books.

  Ella: Heavy.

  Garth: LOL

  She knew he wasn’t asking how it felt literally.

  Garth: So… graduation is Saturday and it’ll be official.

  Garth: Dr. Ella Sinclair.

  Ella: I know… right?

  She didn’t tell him that it was anticlimactic.

  That even after four years of studying everything that had been done on time and looking at it from her own unique perspective, she was no closer to finding the answer she’d been searching for than she was when she’d started.

  Garth: Celebrate? Tonight? University Pub?

  Ella: Sure.

  She slid the book onto her bookcase.

  And just stared at it.

  Unlike the other students, the Ph.D. itself wasn’t what she’d gone to graduate school for.

  Sure. She knew the only way to land a good job in psychology was to finish graduate school, but it had become more than that.

  She’d buckled down and kept herself focused.

  Garth had been the only one who could pull her out of a student session to grab a cocktail now and then.

  He’d been a good friend.

  But Ella had been looking for answers.

  She wanted to know everything there was to know about time travel.

  And she didn’t care so much about the technical stuff. She wanted to know the psychological side.

  Unfortunately, after four years of study, she’d come to the conclusion that there were no answers.

  So despite having a box of heavy books that was a culmination of four years of research, she was back where she’d started.

  40

  Ella sat at a little table in the crowded bar. It was the end of the semester, so there was a lot of celebrations going on.

  And it would get worse before the night was over.

  Ella, however, had every intention of being at home long before the drunken college revelries started.

  She was wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. Not exactly going out attire. The only thing different she’d done for the occasion was to put on some eyeshadow and mascara.

  Meeting Garth for a drink wasn’t a date. Ella, in fact, hadn’t had a date in over four years.

  But it had been over four years since she’d had any interest in going shopping for anything other than necessities. And ninety percent of what she considered necessities came through the mail.

  She checked her rose-colored Apple watch with the pink and orange Velcro band.

  Garth showed up, ten minutes late as usual. She could set her clock by his tardiness. Since she tended to be ten minutes early for everything and he was ten minutes late, she was used to have twenty minutes of waiting for him.

  But this time he came bearing dirty martinis. So for once, he hadn’t really been late.

  He dodged a passing group of guys and carefully set one glass in front of her. Then he slipped into the seat across from her and held up a glass.

  “To Dr. Ella Sinclair,” he said.

  She held her glass to his and took a sip of her martini. Perfect as always at the University Pub. Though most of the students drank beer, the pub was known for its perfect martinis.

  “How does it feel?” Garth asked.

  Ella shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell him that something was missing.

  He’d ask questions.

  And she didn’t want to—wouldn’t—answer them.

  Besides, he would never in a hundred years understand that the thing—actually a person—missing from her life was a man who’d been born two hundred years ago.

  He’d probably have her committed to a mental health f
acility.

  And maybe he’d been right.

  Ella had questioned herself so much over the last four years that even she barely believed herself.

  She kept herself busy during the day. Researching. Studying. Working as a graduate assistant.

  It was only at night when she was falling asleep that she allowed herself to think about Samuel.

  “Come on, Ella,” Garth said, glancing around the room crowded with undergrads. “Give me some hope that all this work wasn’t for nothing. You’ve got to tell me that you feel different.”

  Ella blinked at him.

  Tried to think of something positive to tell him.

  Because the truth was she did feel different.

  But not the way he wanted to hear.

  She felt sad.

  She felt sad that she didn’t feel different.

  Taking another sip of her martini. She did what any good friend would do. She made the truth sound like a good thing.

  “It feels unbelievable,” she said.

  Garth slapped the table. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew it had to life transforming.”

  Life transforming.

  Ella wasn’t sure that getting a graduate degree was life transforming.

  But there was one thing for certain.

  She’d never stopped believing in Samuel.

  “Garth,” she said. “I need a favor.”

  41

  The war was over. Finally.

  Samuel sat on the veranda, his feet propped up on the railing.

  The railing needed painting. The whole house needed painting.

  But right now, the mist of a morning spring rain made it impossible to do anything other than wait.

  Samuel had gotten good at waiting.

  It had been a long four years.

  Just as Ella had said it would be.

  His mother and sister had come through the war unscathed.

  Thank God.

  But since then the fellow named Daniel had come back and married his sister.

  Samuel had given them money sent them away. To Texas. Far away from this place.

  Not a day had passed that Samuel hadn’t worried about his mother and sister.

  It had been hard being far from home.

  John had left first, of course. He’d been chomping at the bit to take up arms. No one had heard a word from him since the day he’d ridden off to war.