Lost in the Mist

by Wanda C. Keesey

  Connie stopped at her room. With her hand on the knob, she turned to look at Brian. “Thank you, for being there for me,” she said, acutely aware of the lingering scent of his aftershave and remembering the warmth of his hand in hers. Fleetingly, she thought of Phillip. His touch had been cold and brusque. Would Brian...?

  Who cares? It's just for a week.

  "I'm going to attend the services at the Chapel of Mercy tomorrow morning. I could use some company,” she said.

  "What time?” Brian asked with a smile.

  "The service starts at ten. Breakfast at eight-thirty should give us plenty of time."

  Brian nodded in agreement.

  Questions hung in the air between them and doubts, but there was hope too.

  The silence stretched out, making them both uncomfortable. Connie turned toward the door, her hand on the doorknob. Brian's hand gently turned her back to face him. As he lowered his mouth to hers, Connie saw the desire in his eyes that echoed her own need, or was it lust?

  The kiss was warm and brief. Its softness lingered. Brian's hands remained on Connie's arms.

  "Supper will be ready in less than an hour. I have to get ready,” Connie said, but she made no move to enter her room.

  "If you need me, yell and I'll come,” he said as he reached past her head and pushed the door open.

  As Connie quietly closed the door between them, she felt strangely safe knowing he was nearby. She leaned against the painted wood, listening for his footsteps and the sound of his door closing.

  * * * *

  Refreshed by her shower and a change of clothes, Connie peeked into the hall. Her eyes went to Brian's open door. A shaft of dim sunlight spilled into the hall. The light was temporarily cut off when Brian stepped over the threshold.

  Connie watched him close his door and take a step in her direction. She smiled at the flutter in her stomach.

  "Hey, you two going down for supper?” Tracey's cheerful call was followed by conversation and footsteps on the stairs as the Handleys descended.

  Brian and Connie followed them to the dining room.

  * * * *

  Brian wondered at Connie's simplicity. She's everything she seemed to be. Traveling through time. That certainly isn't simple, and it can be dangerous. Fear for her drove him to protect her from this danger, but how? What can I do?

  Joe interrupted Brian's daydreaming. “Tracey and I are planning a picnic later this week. There's a small area of the Battlefield Park south of town where a stand of trees and a marsh once stood. Jeremy was bivouacked in the area north of there.” He paused. “I'm going to trip back to the day of the battle and look around."

  "Have you ever gone back to the battle before?” Connie asked.

  Brian listened as he watched Connie's interest build.

  "Yes, several times. I've gone early in the morning and caught the shelling at four A.M. on the eleventh. I watched Barksdale's sharpshooters keep the Union engineers at bay and delayed the building of the pontoon bridge. The actual battle was on the thirteenth. Like I said, I was there a couple of times. They did a lot of shelling.” Joe seemed to be lost in his thoughts. “It was a foggy and tense morning. The real slaughter started later in the day, when it cleared. It was unreal.” Joe shook his head. “I haven't been able to stick it out to the end. It's pretty gruesome. I want to give it another try. Anyway, you and Brian are welcome to join us for the picnic part, if you like."

  "Why do you keep going back? Aren't you in danger?” Brian watched as Joe shrugged.

  "There's no danger to me.” Joe held his empty cup between his hands. “I can't be shot or wounded by the fighting. The only dangers are the dangers of tripping.

  "Why I do it? I guess because I can. I wonder sometimes if there isn't some reason that I found the buckle instead of someone else.” Joe stood taking his cup to the coffee urn. “But too much wondering can get you lost, so I don't question the gift, I just use it."

  "I'd like to go on the picnic, but I don't think I'll trip,” Connie replied. “I doubt if Victoria was there. Nothing in the documents I have explained what happened to the household during the war. They probably evacuated. Besides, I don't think I can watch men kill each other."

  She turned to Brian. “Will you go too? If I do trip..."

  Brian didn't hesitate. “Yeah, I'd like to see the area. And maybe we can find out more about what's happening to you, and how."

  "Great.” Tracey took a bite of the apple cobbler in front of her. “We can ask Betty about a lunch basket."

  "That sounds great,” Connie added. “Can you check it out, Tracey?"

  "Joe and I took a lunch with us yesterday. There's a small charge, but the food's great and there's plenty of it,” Tracey said. “Joe, can you guys take care of the transportation and a couple of blankets to sit on ... oh, yeah, and the drinks?"

  "Transportation isn't a problem. We can take my car. Have you set a day?” Brian looked at Joe.

  "The weather is supposed to be nice on Thursday. If that's okay with everyone we can plan it for then.” Joe put his fork down and stood.

  Today's Saturday, Thursday's years in the future. Brian pushed his chair back and moved behind it. He replaced it at the table to allow Connie to get past. Neither of them said anything as they left the room together. It was just as well. Brian was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. On one hand he was looking forward to spending a day with Connie, but on the other, he worried about what might happen in the next four days.

  Would the tripping continue? Would Connie get hurt because he wasn't able to help her? And the one question that scared him the most, would she get trapped in the past?

  A cold wave of apprehension swept through him.

  * * * *

  The steps hadn't been this hard to climb earlier. The long day and late hour was only part of it. Brian longed to hold her, but Connie made no move to encourage him. She was distant, perhaps distracted by her own thoughts. The kiss had been a mistake ... but he couldn't help it. Being close to her ... feeling the heat of her ... he hadn't been able to stop himself.

  He waited until she closed the door before going to his own room. He stopped at the door and turned. An impulse to go back and knock, demanding to be admitted came and went. Shaking his head, Brian wondered at the effect she had on him.

  He lay awake staring into the dark room for what seemed like hours. His head spun with memories of her touch, the feel of her hand in his, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed and darkened to a deep indigo when she was frightened. If only there wasn't this other thing. If only...

  His sleep was as restless as his thoughts had been. Visions of Connie mixed with the dozens of portraits and ambrotypes scattered throughout the house. They came to life.

  As Victoria smiled at him she began to change, she was Tracey, then Joe, and now Connie, each of them smiling, urging him to trust them. Brian groaned quietly in his sleep.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Thirteen

  Except for the chorus of birds and bees outside her window, the room was quiet. Connie glanced at the glowing green numbers on the clock radio, only seven ten. She groaned. Doze for another twenty minutes or get up. The thought of listening to even a few seconds of annoying DJ chatter was the deciding factor. Hitting the shut-off button, Connie rolled over and sat up on the bed.

  A shower would wake her.

  The bathroom was damp from steam. Rivets of condensed water ran down the mirror. As she closed the door, Connie moved across the small room and turned the lock on Brian's side; she could hear Brian opening drawers and humming. Smiling at the comfortable feeling it gave her, Connie stepped under the hot spay.

  She had to keep reminding herself that not all men are like Phillip. At least, she hoped not.

  Connie remembered the anguish she felt the day she'd surprised him—or rather Phillip had surprised her. Turning off the water, Connie stepped onto the cold tile floor. As she toweled herself off, her mind returned to the
anger and self-pity she'd felt that day nine months ago.

  Her attention was pulled toward the room next door and its occupant. Am I ready to commit to another man? Why am I even asking myself the question? The fear of another Phillip is too much to think about.

  With a sigh, Connie unlocked the connecting door to Brian's room and returned to her own to dress.

  Selecting a yellow sundress and jacket, Connie dressed and fixed her hair. While applying a touch of makeup, she heard noises from the bathroom. Trying to ignore her acute awareness of Brian's presence on the other side of the door, Connie picked up her purse and transferred the things she would need from her canvas bag.

  It couldn't hurt to get to know him better, that's certainly not a commitment. His kiss had both disturbed and excited her.

  As she prepared for the day, flashes from the Victoria's era overlaid the present. The array of bottles and tubes, and makeup mirror disappeared, being replaced by a Bible laying on a crocheted doily, and a glass candlestick. A blazing fire burned in the fireplace. Lacy came into the room and went to a small table laden with a bowl and pitcher. Connie remembered seeing her at the market yesterday. The servant reached under the bed and removed a chamber pot. Lacy left the room as it returned to the present day arrangement.

  Connie waited for the dizziness to pass. I wonder what that was all about. Is tripping getting easier? Just like the everyday chores I saw Lacy doing, are my trips to the past becoming an everyday part of my life? I sincerely hope not. If only I could learn how to control them.

  * * * *

  "How's the article coming?” Betty greeted her cheerfully.

  "Good. Brian and I are going to services at the chapel where the Brentwells worshipped. Tomorrow I hope to visit the cemetery. Those old stones can fill in a lot of gaps.” Connie took a cup of coffee to the table.

  "I'm anxious to read it.” Betty set a bowl of fruit on the sideboard. “It will be strange seeing our little B&B in a magazine."

  Betty opened the kitchen door for Val to bring in the breakfast breads. “I hope you plan on being here for Sunday dinner. Val's making old-fashioned southern-fried chicken. Sundays we eat at one, and have potluck for supper."

  "Sounds great. You can count on me."

  "Me, too.” Brian entered and went to the buffet. He was wearing a camel suit, pale blue shirt, and navy and brown striped tie.

  Betty looked from Connie to Brian. “Well now, don't you two just make a handsome couple."

  Connie smiled at the compliment.

  "If you need anything, yell.” Betty called out as she went back into the kitchen.

  "Good morning, I didn't see you come in.” Connie carried her plate and cup to the table.

  "Good morning.” Brian sat across from her. “Do you want to walk to church, or shall I drive?"

  "It's a long walk in heels, even low ones, so I think drive. If you're sure you don't mind."

  "I don't mind.” Brian idly fingered pieces of his pastry.

  They finished their meals in a silence broken only by muffled sounds coming from the kitchen.

  * * * *

  "I'm sorry if I offended you last night.” Brian spoke as he watched the traffic move in and out of side streets.

  "You didn't offend me. I'm just not ready."

  "Say no more. Let's just be friends.” Quickly he glanced over at his passenger.

  Connie couldn't help smiling. “I can use a friend,” she agreed.

  Skillfully maneuvering his battered blue car into a parking place, Brian stopped the engine and turned to face her. “It's a deal then?” He held out his hand.

  Warmth spread from his hand to her own. “Deal.” Connie opened the door and stepped out into the morning sun before she could follow her impulse to kiss him. Maybe she was ready after all.

  * * * *

  "You're making an impression,” Brian whispered in Connie's ear. Eyes followed them, as the couple was led to one of the boxed-in pews near the front of the church.

  "Me? I think they're watching you. You're pretty impressive all dressed up, you know."

  Brian worked the knot in his tie back and forth, as if it needed to be adjusted. “You could be right. They are probably looking at me,” he teased.

  They settled on the hard seats to study the bulletin. As quiet organ music started, a couple with two pre-adolescent boys joined Brian and Connie in the pew, giving them an excuse to share one of the scarce hymnals.

  Connie let the warm serenity of the small church envelope her. The stillness of the sanctuary should have given her peace, but her last visit to the Chapel had ended in a walk in the past.

  As a child and teenager she had often attended church with her mother. Her father worked a Sunday shift at the steel plant and was seldom able to join them. Connie had been young, only seven, when her father died of a heart attack. She remembered his gaunt, ruddy complexion and thinning blond hair. He'd read the newspaper every evening before going to bed. He had always been kind to her and, she knew now, had provided for both her and her mother as best he could.

  In school Connie had been shy and withdrawn. Always a full head taller than the tallest boy, she felt like a freak. Until high school, when the boys started to grow, and some of the girls. In all that time her mother never allowed her to wallow in self-pity. She encouraged Connie to make friends and to be a good friend in return. Soon she had more friends than she could have dreamed possible. In every crisis in her life her mother had been there to help and advise her, all but this one and one other, her death. Thoughts of her mother brought a surge of grief and loneliness.

  Well Mom, Connie thought, what do I do now?

  Taking a deep breath Connie quickly brushed away the tears with trembling fingers. Here, in this church, in a strange city far from home, she was finally able to accept her loss, really accept it.

  The first chords of the opening hymn sounded, calling the congregation to stand and sing their praises. Connie was unable to join the chorus, her throat tight with sorrow, but she listened to the words of “How Great Thou Art” as the music filled the air. Connie tried to control her emotions by concentrating on the small altar graced with a vase of colorful flowers and a large Bible.

  * * * *

  Brian held the book so they both could read the words. With a start he realized Connie was shaking. She couldn't have a chill; it had to be ninety degrees in here, with only a few floor fans to move the air around. She wasn't in the past, not yet anyway.

  Listen to yourself, Brian. People don't just go back in time. We don't live in a Jules Verne novel. But Connie does. I've seen her myself. Still ... The argument had raged in his thoughts all night. The morning hadn't brought any answers, just the same old questions.

  Shaking off his doubts, Brian reached for Connie's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze without looking at her upturned face.

  * * * *

  As the last note faded, the congregation bowed their heads for the benediction.

  Connie emerged from the shaded doorway, and turned her face to the sun's hot rays.

  "Are you all right? You seemed upset.” Brian dug in his pants pockets for his keys.

  "I'm okay. The church service brought back some memories. Sorry I got teary on you."

  "Don't be sorry, we're friends. That's what friends are for.” A blast of super heated air escaped when Brian opened the car door. Connie lowered the window before getting into the car. Putting her head back, she closed her eyes and waited for the breeze to replace the stifling air with fresh. She felt Brian slide behind the steering wheel and crank his own window open.

  They had driven only a short distance before the car slowed and came to a stop. Connie opened her eyes. They couldn't be at Fraiser's, they hadn't been driving long enough and she hadn't heard the gravel of the B&B parking lot.

  Connie could see the river through the windshield. The car was parked on a side street that was vaguely familiar. Brian stood beside the open driver's side door, removing his tie and loosing t
he buttons at his neck. His suit jacket was already on the back seat.

  "Where are we?” Connie looked around at the small park and the dock that reached out into the river, but she knew. Behind them, on the other side of the Sophia Street was the short stretch of preserved “Rocky Road".

  On the other side of the river, was the location of the shantytown that Lacy and Sam had called home. It had been built above the swampy riverbanks. Victoria or Max Jr. had been sent many times to fetch either Lacy or Sam when their help was needed. She knew the run-down shacks she was remembering were nothing but dust, having collapsed long ago, the land reclaimed what was its own. Victoria had come here often after church to be alone. It was a quiet place to think. Connie could feel her presence.

  * * * *

  "We have over two hours before dinner. I thought we could go for a walk along the river, unless...” Brian stood by the open door. He waited for Connie's decision.

  "A walk's a great idea.” Her eyes were glued to the old wooden dock, Connie got out of the car, leaving her purse and jacket behind. “It's so peaceful."

  Brian locked the car and followed Connie. He watched the straight line of her back and curve of her hips through the thin pale yellow fabric. What did he know about Connie Hart? Nothing. Less than nothing. He had never known what that meant, “less than nothing,” until now. When he came to a question, he filled in the blank for himself, right or wrong, thus, less than nothing. Not only didn't he know the right answers, but he was supplying wrong answers that were feeding his doubts. Doubts that he didn't want. But what were his options?

  For one, he didn't have to be here, Brian reasoned, but he was and he wanted to be.

  To be fair, what did Connie know about him? She'd put her trust in a man that she'd only known a little over a day. And like a fool he'd made a pass. Well, in his own defense, he thought, she is something. He'd never met anyone who had impressed him the way Connie had.

  "This dock's been preserved and it's used today for the paddle boats that take tourists up river. It used to receive ships that came from Europe and from the North. It had to be repaired after the Battle of Fredericksburg, but you remember that from the tour yesterday.” Connie stepped onto the worn planks. “All the bridges had to be rebuilt. The Confederates destroyed them when Burnside arrived."