Lost in the Mist

by Wanda C. Keesey

  "You sound like a walking history book,” Brian said. He enjoyed listening to Connie. In some respects she reminded him of his mother.

  Pauline Eckart was largely responsible for her son's interest in American history. She taught high school social sciences, the term used to group history and geography into one manageable class. Her gentle ways and soft words helped Brian through many a crisis.

  Peter Eckart spent the first twenty years of his marriage to Pauline as an army accountant in the auditor's office. Brian grew up on military bases scattered across the United States and a few in Europe. When his father retired sixteen years ago, he and Brian's mother bought a house near Erie. His father opened his own CPA office and his mother registered as a substitute teacher and tutor with the local school district. Both retired two years ago and were at present on a cruise.

  Brian thought of his parents with pride.

  * * * *

  "What can I say? The Civil War has always interested me. My mother...” her voice caught for a second as Connie remembered her mother working at the kitchen table littered with papers and books. “...started working on a genealogy while I was still in grade school. She told me once that the Civil War Era was one of the most confusing times in our history and one of the most important. She was right. It's become a big part of my life. I've made a career from it."

  As Connie walked further out onto the dock, she noticed someone standing near the end doing much the same as she was, looking across the quiet river, but something was different.

  Snowflakes lazily drifted from the sky. The familiar green cloak moved with the gentle wind. Victoria must have felt her presence. She turned slowly to face Connie. A sudden gust blew the hood of her dark green cape back from her face.

  "Who are you? What do you want?” Victoria's words were hollow, and unreal.

  "My name's Connie Hart. I just want to know you."

  The girl shook her head. “Are you a spirit?” She backed away a few steps.

  "No, I'm not a spirit. I'm a woman, like you.” Connie didn't move. “I'm from a different time. A time in the future."

  Victoria approached slowly. “I have seen you before."

  Connie waited, rubbing her arms against the cold. What a sight I must be to this nineteenth century teenager.

  Victoria reached out. Connie stood still, raising her hand with the palm up, she felt Victoria's cold fingers brush her own. A charge of static shot down her arm.

  Victoria's eyes widened. “What are you? Where do you come from? You must be a spirit.” She drew her hand back to the protection of her fur muff.

  "I don't know how I come to be here, but here I am. I've told you my name is Connie Hart. I'm not a spirit; I'm just a woman like yourself.” Her teeth chattered.

  "I am Victoria Brentwell."

  Connie nodded. “I've been reading your journal."

  "You could not. I have just started it. I made the first entry today. It is a birthday...” Anger darkened her blue eyes.

  "Storm clouds on the horizon,” Connie's mother used to say when Connie had the same reaction.

  "I see, you've found the first one. While you were meddling in my room, no doubt. Yes, that is where I saw you, and across the street from the general store. Were you spying on me there as well?” Victoria reached behind her head and pulled the hood over her hair.

  Connie stared with surprise, her mouth open. Victoria didn't understand. “Wait! It's not like you think.” It was too late. The young woman started to disappear in the increased swirl of snow, or was it the gathering mist?

  Like some B movie, Connie imagined the pages of a calendar being torn away by some invisible hand as time brought her back to the present. November fifth, eighteen fifty-seven, November fifth, eighteen sixty-seven, November fifth, nineteen oh-seven, November fifth, nineteen thirty-seven, November fifth, nineteen fifty-seven...

  Brian was saying her name from somewhere nearby.

  "We have to stop meeting like this,” she whispered, fighting the spinning world. His strong arms held her upright.

  "You're right. I don't know about you, but this is tough on me.” Relief was evident in his worried tone. “You're cold. I swear I saw snow melting in your hair."

  "You may have, but I'm all right.” Connie straightened, using Brian's arm to steady her first steps. “I could use some coffee, though. Let's go somewhere warm and I'll fill you in."

  The pent up heat inside the small car felt good. Connie watched out the window, enjoying the sights and sounds of spring.

  * * * *

  Emptying her cup Connie pushed it aside. “Can you imagine? I talked to a girl from the nineteenth century. How can I make her understand who I am, and where I come from?"

  Brian didn't respond. How could I deny what I saw with my own eyes? Any good actor could pull off the theatrics at the river, but who handled the special effects?

  Connie stood. “Let's go home. It's getting close to dinner time."

  Brian paid their bill and followed her to the car.

  * * * *

  Pulling into the small parking lot behind the B&B, Brian parked in a vacant space next to the Handleys’ Harley.

  "Thank you.” Her eyes bright with excitement, Connie opened the door as she spoke. She walked toward the house. How did she top this? Connie wondered. She'd stood on a dock talking to a pre-Civil War teenager. Where did she go from here? More important, how did she get there?

  Val stood in front of the sink washing salad greens when Connie reached the kitchen. The smell of frying chicken and fresh baked pies filled the room. “Dinner smells great, Val.” Connie said.

  "Thank you, Miss.” Val answered, before returning her attention to her preparations.

  As she climbed the steps Connie considered the repercussions of tripping. Should I go back? Remembering the movies she'd seen and books she read, Connie thought of the dangers of “time-travel". Of course they were fiction and this is real, still ... I could change the course of history. I could be responsible for an entire line of descendants not being born, or just as bad, a line of ancestral maniacs.

  The question was moot at this point, she reasoned. I don't know how or why I'm being drawn to the past, and I have no control. And that's frightening. I have to find a way to control my trips ... or stop them. Connie felt a wave of sadness.

  Soft knocking at her door interrupted her thoughts.

  * * * *

  Scarcely taking notice of his surroundings, Brian followed Connie. When he reached the landing, her door was closed.

  Brian knocked lightly. “Can I come in for a minute?” he asked.

  Silence greeted him. About to give up and go to his own room, Brian heard the knob turn. Connie's flushed face smiled up at him. How could he have doubted that face? He repeated his request. “Can I come in?"

  Pulling the door open, Connie stepped back allowing him to pass.

  "Sorry I ran out on you,” Connie apologized as they moved to the furniture near the windows. “I'm still reeling. I'm excited ... and I'm scared to death."

  "I guess so. It's not something that happens everyday. Well, not to everyone.” What do I want to say to her? Why did I feel it so important to talk to her? What kind of hold does Connie Hart have on me? Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Brian turned to face her. “I think we have to talk about it.” As he searched for the words, a chasm of silence grew between them.

  "Let's sit down.” Connie indicated the wing backed chair as she went to clear a place on the small sofa for herself, putting papers and envelopes in a neat pile at one end.

  Brian lowered his tall frame onto the chair. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

  "Brian, if you have something to say to me, say it.” She paused. “I'm not crazy,” she added quietly.

  Looking up Brian smiled weakly. “I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind.” Pulling himself up, he looked into Connie's eyes. “A few other things crossed my mind, too, but I'm becoming a believer.” Every part of
his being wanted to trust Connie. He needed her reassurance.

  "There isn't anything I can say. I don't know what's going on myself.” Tilting her head slightly, Connie asked, “Can you tell me exactly what you saw?"

  "Where? At the church? The river?"

  "Both. I don't know if it would help, but I have to know more."

  "Okay.” Brian paused, gathering his thoughts before he continued. “At the church, in the records room, you were looking at the book. Then you ... a cloud, a mist surrounded you and you faded. I don't know how else to describe it. I could still see the cloud, but not you. When I asked where you were, you didn't respond. But I knew. I followed the cloud when it moved. I could hear you talking. Your voice was hollow, like it was coming from the inside of an empty room, a really big empty room, and far, far away. I couldn't make out the words, but it was a comfort just to hear you, and know you were all right. When I tried to touch the cloud it moved away from my hand. I felt a sensation like ... like static electricity.

  "In the vestibule, the mist ... you stopped and hovered over the pedestal with the book. And you came back. At first, I could see a swirl of colors, then I saw you.” Brian paused. “I've got to say I was worried. You were white as a ghost and shaking."

  Standing, Brian started to pace in front of the sofa. “The bridge ... the bridge was worse. I was looking at the water, when I looked up you were gone. I could hear you. I had to look closely to see the mist. In the sun it's not as murky; I could see through it, it was like looking through some of that wavy glass you were talking about.

  "Once I found you, I stayed with you. From what you've said you were talking to Victoria. What did she have to say for herself?"

  Connie smiled. “Oh, you know, just things. She wants to know who I am, if I'm a spirit, and why I broke into her room and stole her journal. That kind of stuff.” She got to her feet and stood facing Brian.

  "I want to see her again, but to tell the truth, I'm scared out of my skull. What if I can't come back? I don't leave the same way that Joe does. I don't make any conscious effort to slip into the past. Who's to say that I can will myself back? I need your help, but I can't ask you to get involved. You have to make that decision.

  "You've seen what can happen. I don't know what else might be waiting out there. Victoria is the only person who has seen me and right now she's angry."

  Brian reached for her hand. “Fair Lady, it would be my honor to be your Knight in Shining Armor. Just tell me what I can do."

  "Just be there, it's a comfort to know I can count on you.” With a gentle squeeze Connie released Brian's hand.

  Putting his hands in his pockets, Brian hid his disappointment. “Maybe we should start with learning as much as we can about this mist. I've told you what I see; tell me more about what your end is like."

  "Okay,” Connie returned to her seat on the sofa. “It's a strange feeling, like you might imagine being in a cocoon would feel like. I can hear my own voice just fine, but Victoria's sounds hollow, like she's in an empty room, but not far away like you said, I can hear her loud and clear. Everything around me is a little distorted, wavy. I could feel the page of the book in the church and the heat from the pot-bellied stove, the cold air of winter and the snow falling on the bridge. I felt the static too, when Victoria touched me. I know I'm being pulled back when the shell I'm in starts to get cloudy, and the world starts to spin.

  "Does that help?” she asked.

  "I don't know. But I found the best way to solve any problem is to know all the facts. So it can't hurt. There has to be an answer in there somewhere.” Brian looked at his watch.

  "You should get some rest. Dinner is in forty-five minutes. I'll knock on your door in thirty-five. Okay?” When she nodded Brian went back to his own room through the connecting doors.

  * * * *

  Connie smiled at the closed door. The room was empty without him, she thought wistfully. Touching her fingers to her lips, she stood and took a step toward the bathroom.

  She stopped. What had gotten into her? One quick kiss and she was ready to fall into bed with a man she barely knew. Looking back at the pile of papers on the sofa, Connie changed direction. She had work to do.

  Connie picked up her notebook and settled in the armchair. She started writing everything she could remember from her encounters with Victoria. The work soon took over, moving Brian to a back burner. She became lost in the events of yesterday and today.

  Her pen stopped, poised over her clean, rounded script.

  The journal.

  Victoria mentioned a second journal.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Fourteen

  Victoria's hands shook in the warm rabbit muff. The strange woman faded, disappearing in the gray swirl of snow. Had she been here at all?

  I touched her. Yes, I touched her and talked to her. She had a name, Kone Heart. A strange name, but everything about her was strange, the way she appeared and disappeared, the clothes she wore or the lack of them, the mass of uncontrolled curls that crowned her head, and she was taller than most men.

  Remembering the anger she felt when Kone told her she has been reading her journal, Victoria wondered how she knew of the book. What has she read? Did she read all of my secret feelings? No, she must be mistaken; the book is in my room, hidden and safe where no one would think to look for it. “I know it is,” she said aloud to convince herself that it was so. “She saw it when she was in my room ... she must have. I don't know how long she was there before I found her that night."

  Victoria wondered where Kone had gone. Where does she go when she disappears? She strained to see through the swirling snow. Is she here, hiding? Will she come back? With a smile she realized that she wanted to see the strange woman again. She would have much to write in her new journal today.

  Mama said my vision was caused by the misery ... Mama. I can't tell mama or papa or anyone about Kone. They will think I am mad. No, Kone will be my own secret. If I am mad, it is a nice kind of madness.

  Pulling her cloak snuggly around her neck, Victoria walked to the road. Her feet were cold; her shoes provided little protection against the gathering wet snow that quickly soaked through the thin leather. What had possessed her to take a walk on such a threatening day? How could she explain to her father the uncontrollable urge to go to the river, now?

  Victoria was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the horse and buggy approach.

  "So there you are. My dear girl, what strange impulse brings you out for a walk on a day such as this?” the man asked.

  "Mr. Brewster, I will be profoundly thankful if you would offer me a ride home. I'm afraid that I made a poor choice of activities. My shoes have gotten wet. My feet will be frozen if I must walk."

  "And if I did not offer you a ride, it would be your right to spread the word that Evan Brewster is a cad and an oaf, not worthy to sit at table with any respected family of the community.” As he talked, Evan climbed down from the covered conveyance.

  "By your leave?” he asked, receiving a nod of assent he pulled a step from the carriage and assisted Victoria onto the seat before walking around the impatient horse to reenter from the other side. He spread a blanket over both of their laps.

  Victoria glanced shyly at her benefactor. “How did you come to be on this road? I thought only doctors like my father and foolish girls like myself ventured out in such weather."

  "I have been out searching for you, my dear. I stopped to pay my respects to your parents only to find that you had gone out in this terrible weather. I offered my services to your father, and here I am.” Turning to look at the figure huddled next to him, Evan asked, “How is it that I found you at the dock? Surly, you weren't expecting an arrival tonight. It has to be the coldest spot in all of Fredericksburg, with the blowing wind and snow coming off of the icy water."

  "I often come down here to watch the ice on the water. I find the chill a pleasure and I'm afraid I lost track of time. If it hadn't started to snow
... It was a foolish thing to do, and I promise that I will be more careful in the future.” Victoria watched her father's friend. How impressive he was, so handsome and charming, and papa said he is a successful barrister.

  Evan picked up the reins and gently snapped them against the horse's flank. “Lacy is making hot toddies for us. You will need to tend to your feet, before harm comes to them.” As the carriage started to move he turned his attention to the perils of the ride.

  Victoria smiled. So Mr. Brewster will have a hot toddy with me. Annabelle will be envious. She knew her long-time friend would like to have the Barrister Brewster court her, but Victoria had the advantage.

  Evan Brewster and her father had met at a meeting of the church elders. Mr. Brewster having newly arrived in Fredericksburg sought membership in their church. Dr. Brentwell and the barrister found mutual interests and quickly became friends.

  He became a frequent guest at meals, bringing Prudence out of her depression. But Victoria noticed, too, that he was very attentive to her own needs and comfort.

  Putting her hands deeper into the rabbit fur muff, Victoria admitted that she enjoyed his nearness. She could smell the cigar smoke on his coat. She felt so young next to his mature years. She had no illusions. Mr. Brewster would seek out the beautiful daughters of the plantation owners outside the town or those of the well-off merchants, for companionship and marriage, not the likes of herself or even Annabelle, but still ... she could dream.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Fifteen

  Connie found the small block wrapped in cloth in the bottom of the wardrobe where she had moved it after cleaning up the mess at the fireplace just days ago. Could it be? Carefully removing the protective cover, she discovered a leather-bound book, the cover peeling and brittle with age.

  Her hands shaking with expectation, Connie carefully opened the cover. The spine cracked in dry protest. “Victoria Brentwell” was neatly printed near the center of the first page. The second line was a date, “November 1857". Under this was one word, “to,” and nothing else.