Time Will Tell (Timeless Series)

by Loyd, Sandy

  “Thank you,” Libby whispered, swallowing hard. “You and Gus have been so wonderful to me. I’ll never forget you when I go home. I love all of you.”

  Still wrapped in Berta’s arms, she squeezed and wished with all her heart things could be different.

  “Ja, we love you too, child.” Leaning back, she smiled. “It’s so hard for me to get used to your age. Looking at you now, you seem so young. Take care, Libby.” Berta released her and nudged her toward the kitchen door. “Now, off with you.”

  Nathan hugged her, and wiped his tears with his shirtsleeve. “I’ll miss you, even if y’are a prissy girl. You’re a good frien’.”

  She hugged him back. “I’ll miss you too. Remember what I told you about the horses.”

  During the walk to the big house, Libby’s heart ached. She truly did love everything about this place. Well, not everything. There was plenty she wouldn’t miss when the trees took her home. Funny, some of that stuff hardly bothered her anymore. Not as much as the thought of never seeing any of these people did. Libby shoved the negative sentiments aside, determined not let anything destroy the next few days.

  She was about to knock when the door suddenly opened and Colin leaned toward her.

  “Just think, I have the next three nights with you all to myself,” he whispered before kissing her cheek. He straightened, then indicated a woman Libby now noticed. “Giselle, may I introduce my fiancée, Libby Edwards.” He turned back to her. “Libby, this is Giselle Franklin. She’ll be your companion.” He caught her eye and his tone brooked no argument. “She is to be with you at all times in the city. Do you understand?”

  Libby nodded. “I understand.” Louisville wasn’t that bad, but Colin had given her the rundown on what was expected, which in her mind might take some getting used to.

  Introductions now over, Libby grabbed her companion’s hand. “Come on, Giselle, and help me make sure I’m presentable. Oh, and call me Libby. As someone once told me, we aren’t that formal here on the farm.”

  Colin stood watching them start up the stairs to the guest room. She glanced back to catch his smile. They shared a look for a few seconds as the truth zinged through her. He remembered that night he told her to call him Colin.

  “Oui.” Giselle’s soft accent pulled her attention. “It will be Libby in private. Other times, Mademoiselle Edwards.” Her smile was broad. “If I am to be a servant I must act the part. The wealthy in town are touchy about their servants speaking too informally to their employers.” They entered the huge room decorated in yellow. “What do you wear today? I will help you dress.”

  Libby went over to the gown she’d picked out. While Giselle assisted her with all of the undergarments, she asked, “I take it you weren’t born here? You and your sister have French accents. I’d love to see France. Is that where you’re from?”

  “Yes, but I’m only half French. My father is an American.”

  “So you’re French and American?”

  “Yes. Papa lived and worked in Paris for the American government, where he met Mamma. We have lived in Shelbyville not quite four years.” Giselle talked nonstop while slipping the corset into place and helping her tie the laces. “Papa retired and brought us back to his home. My sister was married, but her husband died of the influenza. So she came with us. Mamma was a seamstress. She and my sister can make the most exquisite creations.” Giselle finished trussing her up, reached for the two-piece day dress, as it was called, and helped Libby shrug into it.

  “This outfit, along with all the others, fit that description,” Libby said, glancing at the transformation in the cheval glass. Despite feeling like a turkey on Thanksgiving, she liked her feminine appearance. “So, your mother was a dressmaker in Paris?” No wonder the gowns were beautiful.

  “Oui. But Mamma does not work much anymore. She helps Marguerite when she gets busy. Shelbyville is not Louisville, but ladies like to look nice no matter where they live. If they can find what they are looking for without going to the city, they buy it. Marguerite makes other things too. She’s quite talented.”

  As Giselle fastened the back of her blouse, Libby glanced at her companion’s reflection in the mirror. She looked like a teenager. She must have left Paris at a very young age. Did Giselle miss her home?

  “How old are you,” Libby asked, suddenly curious.

  “I turned twenty on my last birthday.”

  “You left your home at sixteen? That must have been hard.”

  Giselle thought a moment. “It was hard, but not intolerable. My family was with me and soon the new place becomes home,” she said, shrugging. “Now I would be sad to leave here. And if I did, I would know that wherever that place was, it would eventually become home.”

  Libby decided her response was something to reflect upon later.

  “There, you are ready.” Giselle finished buttoning her dress and patted her shoulder. “Such a change. You go from boy to beautiful woman so easily.”

  Noting her disapproving expression, Libby laughed. “Boys’ clothes are much more comfortable.” Not only that, they allowed a person to breathe. Then thinking about Colin’s reaction, her smile broadened. How hard could it be to endure a little discomfort for a couple of days?

  “Yes, but not so pretty, non?”

  “No.” Still grinning, Libby grabbed her hand. “Come on. I’m eager to see Louisville.”

  “It is a very nice city with much to offer. Of course, it’s not like New York or Chicago and nothing like Paris, but it is closer.”

  Libby led her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Funny, how Giselle’s description of Louisville in the nineteenth century was very much like her own description of the modern city in the future.

  “My God, Libby, look at you!” The thought dissipated when Colin’s stunned voice registered. “How I ever mistook you for a boy, I’ll never know. You take my breath away.”

  Libby’s gaze sought his. Obvious appreciation shone in those blue depths. Happiness shot through her.

  At the bottom step where Colin waited, she curtsied. “Why, thank you, kind sir. You’ll spoil me with all of your compliments.” She inclined her head at his more formal garb. He was dressed in a vested morning suit with snowy white shirt and cravat. “You’re not so bad, yourself. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you looking so nice.” He was a fine male specimen who made her insides quiver. Why, if she met him in her own time, she’d find him just as attractive.

  “When visiting the bigger city, one must dress for it. Of course, it’s worth it to see you looking so fetching, my dear,” Colin said, chuckling.

  He tucked her arm in his and led her out to the waiting open carriage. The minute George, the driver Colin hired, saw them coming down the steps, he stood to assist them. Their bags were packed and placed in the storage area. Within moments, George guided the horses down the dirt road.

  Birds chirped and insects buzzed as Libby sat back, unwilling to miss any detail about this trip. Seeing Louisville in an era so long ago was like a dream come true. She had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t asleep. Of course the idea of being with Colin in social situations was more than exciting.

  Even his superior attitude tickled her feminine side. Another smile tugged at the edges of her mouth as she surreptitiously watched him through half-lidded eyes. So what if he thought himself supreme ruler of his house? As long as she was in 1874, she’d be by his side.

  Chapter 15

  As the carriage rolled along, Libby tried to take a deep breath, but wearing a corset wasn’t conducive to breathing. How did women in this day and age tolerate the confining clothes? Her gaze landed on her companion. Giselle didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable or bothered by the heat.

  Air-conditioning was definitely an underappreciated luxury of modern times, she decided, wiping perspiration from her forehead. She glanced out of the dusty carriage from under the brim of her bonnet, wishing she could also chuck the hat. It weighed a ton. She’d never worn one befor
e. Not even to the Derby, where women usually tried to outdo one another for the most creative headgear. The few times she’d attended she sat in the infield with a hundred thousand other partiers. Hats out there weren’t a necessity.

  “I’m looking forward to tomorrow night,” Colin said, drawing her attention. “The Mayfields are holding a ball. I can’t wait to show you off.”

  Libby nodded, wondering what she’d do while he was busy during the day. Besides delivering three horses to buyers and interviewing associates interested in using his stallions as studs, Colin planned on attending meetings about the racetrack. The never-ending search for studs to mate with his thoroughbred mares would also take up a good amount of time. He’d already explained why she couldn’t join him. Females had their place and it clearly wasn’t in the paddocks.

  Three saddle horses were tied to the back of their carriage, along with two others that were sold, together kicking up quite a bit of dust. Libby was excited to see Louisville in the past and Colin was excited about showing her where the new racetrack was to be built.

  Several hours later, Libby wondered how much longer their trip would take. She tried not to fidget, but her rear end was numb. With all the shade trees along the route and the absence of concrete and asphalt, she’d have thought it would be cooler. Not so! It was still hot. And humid. What she wouldn’t give for a Coke or Pepsi. Her once crisp two-piece cotton dress was wilted with sweat. The tight, formfitting bodice that barely allowed her to breathe earlier now seemed oppressive as did the long sleeves. Puffy at the top, they tapered to the wrist, allowing for little airflow along the arms. The high collar rubbed against her neck, making her yearn for shorts and a T-shirt.

  Looking around, she recognized the road they were riding as one of the main thoroughfares out of the city, yet nothing looked familiar. Shelbyville Road or Highway 60 in her time was one of the busiest. This part of the dirt road in 1874 was treelined and narrower. At least it was fairly smooth.

  A slight breeze hit her face. She held her head higher, trying unsuccessfully to get cooler air down her neck.

  “Where are we?” Libby said minutes later, turning to Colin. Everything around them was rural—nothing but a few limestone walls or wooden fences here and there.

  “The town we just past a few miles back was Middletown. We’re south of Lyndon, just north of Jeffersontown.” Her jaw dropped in stunned disbelief. This area was the site of the future mall where she used to work, she realized as he added, “We still have five miles or so before we reach the city’s outskirts. Another hour at the most.”

  They traveled another quarter of an hour before the road widened. Houses appeared every now and again, hinting that civilization loomed. As they rode farther, Libby began to recognize landmarks as the Crescent Hill area. Homes were a little closer together, but still nothing like what she was used to.

  A few minutes later, the stench practically gagged her. Libby covered her mouth and nose with her hand.

  “Sorry,” Colin said. “There’s no avoiding the smell.” He shrugged. “Butchertown,” he added as if that answered everything. “The porkers do a thriving business, but I wish the slaughterhouse wasn’t right off the main turnpike into town.”

  The road became more crowded. Taking in all the activity, Libby forgot her discomfort. Horse-drawn wagons and single riders coexisted with plenty of pedestrians. Vendors pushed their cars and pawned their wares on street corners. Men yelled, “Meat pies,” or “Get your copper pans here.” The smell of cooked meat infiltrated her nostrils as did the scent of horses, urine, and earth.

  “That’s the Louisville Glassworks Company,” Colin said, pointing to a building.

  She nodded, then noticed people around what looked to be a hand pump set right in the middle of the next street. “What are those people doing?”

  Colin looked to where she indicated. “They’re filling water jugs. Those are public wells. Louisville’s progressive and one of the few western cities to pump water directly to houses. Still, there are some who’re squeamish at drinking river water.”

  Libby hadn’t even thought about the water or the microbes most likely living in it. Thankfully, she’d gone weeks without a problem. “I don’t know which is worse.”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Water is water. The city waterworks is massive and includes a filtration process. It’s a matter of taste.”

  Eventually they turned onto Main Street. The scenery changed, became more congested, and the road widened. Only now it was cobbled, making the ride bumpier. The buildings were side by side, most between two and four stories high. Libby tried to find structures that lasted into the twenty-first century, but nothing looked familiar.

  “Our hotel isn’t far,” Colin said. “We’re staying at the Galt House.”

  “Really?” The hotel was a landmark in her time.

  “Yes. I prefer its central location. The original burned some years ago. Of course the Louisville Hotel also offers luxurious accommodations. I have no problem with switching if you would rather.”

  “I’m sure your choice will be fine.” She smiled, then glanced at Giselle, who’d remained silent for most of the trip. Libby cleared her throat, leaned into Colin, and lowered her voice. “So, are we clear on where I come from?”

  “Yes,” Colin said, chuckling. “You’re a friend of the family and lived in Chicago until a couple of months ago when your parents, Thomas and Elizabeth Edwards, died. You came to the farm as a favor to my mother, who was your mother’s best friend when they were younger. No one will question it.” His smiled broadened. “How can anyone claim you don’t exist when the great fire wiped out all family records three years ago? Everything is being recreated by word of mouth. You really are quite inventive, my dear.”

  “I only hope I don’t encounter anyone from Chicago. I have no idea what the city looks like or what’s there in 1874.”

  “Do not worry about that,” Giselle said, speaking out for the first time in hours. “I was there six months ago. I can tell you about the city if anyone asks. It is much different than before the fire.”

  “You’ve visited Chicago? Before and after the fire?”

  Giselle nodded. “My uncle. He lives there. We take the train and visit often.”

  Really?” Libby fought to keep amazement off her face. Too many of her friends in her own time didn’t like traveling. Despite the ease of traveling by air, some never went more than a couple hundred miles from home. Yet here sat Giselle in 1874, who’d traveled from France to New York, to end up in Louisville by way of Chicago. The woman most likely could teach her something about being adventurous.

  “You’ll have to educate me on Chicago before I go into public. That way, I won’t blow my cover.”

  Her companion shook her head, clearly not understanding. “Your cover? Qu’est-ce que c’est? What is that?”

  “Sorry, it’s slang.” Libby laughed. “Blowing my cover means letting people in on my secret, which is that I’m not from Chicago. I don’t want people to know that. We invented a cover story to tell people when they meet me. I’m only working on Colin’s farm until I can figure out a way to go home. He was kind enough to offer to bring me along on this trip, and hired you to help. It’s all very complicated.”

  Grinning, Giselle patted her hand. “French women are much more tolerant of affairs of the heart. Here, it is such a question of morality. But to me, it seems very judgmental. I think what is in your heart is much more important.”

  “I’m not sure about the affair part, but my heart belongs to Colin,” Libby murmured. The woman was ahead of her time.

  “It appears both your hearts are engaged.” When Libby’s brow furrowed, Giselle added, “I do not mean to be rude. It is just that never have I seen anyone so engaged with each other, non? It is no simple affair you two share. I may be young, but I understand amour.”

  Libby glanced at Colin, who’d obviously caught the exchange. Their eyes met. The heat and desire emanating from that ga
ze zinged her insides. No one could mistake that look.

  The lady is right, Libby thought. “Definitely more than a simple affair. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Thorpe?”

  “There’s nothing simple about you, Libby,” Colin said, offering a lopsided grin.

  They were saved from exploring the subject further when the carriage slowed. Colin released Libby’s gaze and she turned to peruse the hotel now in front of her. It was grand, yet nothing like the hotel in her century.

  She also noticed that the street sign on the corner read Second Street and Main.

  This wasn’t the same hotel that stood into the next century—hers was at Fourth and Main. The fact that the Galt House was well-known in both times comforted Libby, although she had no clue as to why.

  George stepped down, moving to help Libby and Giselle out. Colin was right behind.

  “If you would unload the bags here,” he said. “I’ll have a bellman take them up to our rooms. Your room will be next to mine, George. After unloading, take the carriage and horses to the livery.” After giving final instructions, Colin then turned to Libby and Giselle. “I’ve reserved a suite of rooms for you two. That way you’ll have Giselle close by, Libby.” He held out both his elbows. “Shall we?”

  Now inside the hotel, Colin quickly registered and received instructions along with keys. Arm in arm they set off for the staircase. The bellman preceded them and had the bags in their rooms quickly, despite having to climb two flights of stairs.

  “I’ll let you ladies unpack,” Colin said. He turned and caught Libby’s gaze. “Then we can have lunch together before I need to go to my first meeting.”

  “Do not worry about me, Mr. Thorpe,” Giselle interjected. “I find I am quite tired from all this traveling.” Then winking at Libby, she took the key to her room, unlocked the door, and went inside.