by Calia Read
The white chain looped around my ankle tugs, and I’m yanked down right as Edward pulls the trigger. Shouting for Étienne, I even go as far as to reach out for him, but I’m merely a spectator. This time, I can do nothing.
I’m pulled down through the ground. The impact rocks through my body as though a car hit me. Everything becomes murky and sluggish with only the force of time dragging me along. Then, my body becomes weightless again. My ears pop, and it’s the same sensation you get when you’re on a plane and reach high altitude. Air teases my skin and billows around me. I open my eyes and look down. Below me is traffic, their horns honking. Inches away from my feet is the St. Charles Hotel, and I look at my left and then right, and see Emmeline falling right alongside me. She doesn’t see me beside her. Her fear has built walls around her. Frantically, her arms and legs claw at the air, reminding me of a child in the shallow end of the pool, learning how to swim. On the ledge above us is a dark figure. Emmeline screams for Uriah, and as the ground quickly approaches, she tearfully says her Henry’s name.
My body is seconds away from hitting the ground, but I’m positive of one thing. I won’t break. My time isn’t ending. Emmeline’s time is, though, and I can’t bear to watch. To hear the sickening crunch of her body hitting the ground.
I keep my eyes closed as my body plunges through the concrete right as Emmeline’s cries stop. I don’t want to know where I’m going next. I don’t want to know what time is showing me. There’s a whirring of noises around me. My body is tugged this way and that so severely I feel as though I’m going to throw up. I close my mouth to keep the bile from rising in my throat. Just when I think I can no longer take it, the pulling sensation stops. Opening my eyes, I discover I’m back in the pink room in Belgrave. The chain is still wrapped around my ankle although I’m no longer weighed down by time. All the windows are open. Curtains billow into the air as the wind sweeps into the room. Outside, clouds are rolling in. Thunder appears in the distance, and lightning brightens the sky. The air becomes permeated by the smell of rain. None of that matters, though, because my feet are back at the very edge of the windowsill.
My hair becomes tangled around my face as the wind picks up. My palms are splayed against the house. Am I now experiencing my own death? No. It can’t be because Belgrave is no longer standing.
In the room, I can hear voices. Terror and confusion fill the energy emanating from the space. When I look over my shoulder, though, no one’s inside. As I face forward, I exhale and hear the sound of my own breath. Twisting to my right, I find Old Serene staring at me in the same position as myself. She’s wearing the same outfit as me and looks just as fearful. Every blink I make, she does the same. It’s as though I’m staring at myself in the mirror.
At the same time, we look down. My eye catches on my ankle, but there’s no pocket watch there.
“I just want the truth,” she repeats, and somehow, I find myself repeating those five words.
This may be the only time Old Serene and I ever agree on something.
And as I’m having this oddly peaceful moment in the midst of chaos, the two of us fall. We’re pushed forward by an invisible force, and it’s all wrong because nothing’s tethered around my ankle.
I look to the left, and then to the right. Once again, my gaze colliding with Old Serene’s. “Help me,” she says. The words don’t come from her lips, but her soul.
She’s terrified. Maybe the most terrified she’s ever been in her entire life.
It’s a dream! I want to tell her. The moment before impact, you’ll wake up.
However, before I get the chance to open my mouth, I hear someone yell my name.
And then, I land hard on the ground, and Old Serene disintegrates into thin air. Right in front of my very eyes …
“Serene!”
I wake up gasping, and suddenly sit up in bed. In front of me, the TV is on, and the flickering lights splay across the white sheets. Étienne sits beside me and places a hand on my arm. “It’s all right. It’s all right,” he repeats. “You were havin’ a bad dream.”
Panting, I nod and focus on taking deep breaths; however, I replay the events of my dream the entire time. I know I was being shown the timeline of events of every life-changing decision I’ve made. And it makes sense that Belgrave was the backdrop. I have so much love for the beautiful plantation. What doesn’t make sense is the final dream sequence. Why did I see Old Serene on the ledge? Perhaps it was the trick of the mind. She was dressed identically and had a pocket watch chained to her ankle as well. There are so many loose threads I can pull at from this nightmare, but I don’t have the time to go over it. Tomorrow, Étienne and I will hit the ground running in Charleston, and we won’t stop until we get answers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Étienne asks after a few seconds.
Slowly, I shake my head. In a strange way, to speak about my dream would almost be like wishing it into existence. And that’s the last thing I want.
I’ve fallen in time. I’ve loved through time. I’ll die in time.
My Charleston does not resemble the city I’m staring at.
The Charleston I knew had a steady heartbeat that could only be heard by the locals. We were protectors of this Holy City.
But as I watch the world slowly come alive from the hotel window, I see all the unfamiliar faces walk down the sidewalk and cars parked along the road. It’s a stark contrast to the scenery of my time.
One thing that remains the same is the way the sun rises in the sky and over the water in the distance. Neither time nor man can change that. However, not even that thought can settle my racing mind.
Since yesterday, anxiety has caused my stomach to churn.
The plane ride here was surprisingly miserable. It turns out, my need to control extends to the air. I thought the high speeds would make the trip similar to the drive I took in the country, but the second I took my seat next to the window, folding my long limbs into the small space, I immediately wanted to get up.
Upon takeoff, the force of the engines shoved my body back against the seat. My hands gripped the armrests so tightly it was a miracle I didn’t rip them off the seat.
“You hanging in there?” Serene murmured as we slowly ascended in the sky.
I glanced out the small window. My stomach lurched, and I instantly regretted the action. “I’m fine. Never been better,” I said through gritted teeth.
Thirty minutes later, with my body hunched so as not to hit the ceiling of the aircraft, I found the restroom. Serene said it was called a lavatory. I proceeded to battle with the small bifold door because it wouldn’t completely shut. And when I thought it was fully closed, it would burst open. A stewardess came over to help, and by then, I was so furious with the damn door, I let her. I promptly emptied the contents of my stomach. When I press the flush button the wall behind the toilet, the suction noise is so loud, my back hits the door.
I was convinced the bathroom was a hazard.
When I found my way back to my seat, Serene was sitting near the window. She patted the seat nearest to the aisle. “You might feel better if you sit here,” she simply said.
For the rest of the flight, I battled my nausea, and when the massive piece of machinery touched the ground, I’d never been more grateful to see land.
My Southern manners became a second thought as everyone began to deplane. Another word Serene had to explain because what I saw resembled a herd of animals.
“Zip it, Lacroix,” Serene says from behind me.
I look at her behind my back. “Manners are obsolete here!”
“You’re right, they are. But look on the bright side.”
“What is the bright side?”
“You’re so angry right now that you’ve forgotten how nauseous you’ve been the entire flight, and look! Nearly half the passengers are off the plane.”
Disgruntled and tired, I glance at the pathetic excuse for an aisle and find it clear. People are now slowly heading toward
the front of the plane. The lively woman who greeted us when we first boarded is now saying good-bye to everyone.
“There’s an exit up there.” I fling my hand toward the direction of the door in the middle of the aircraft. “Why can’t we use that?”
“That’s the emergency exit.”
I kept quiet because I knew it was wise to save my questions until later. I knew if the landscape of Charleston appeared so unfamiliar from the air, it would be even more overpowering up close.
I had such a desire to come back here, to a place I recognized, when I first arrived in this time. But the anticipation is gone because I’ve finally come to the realization that my Charleston no longer exists. It faded with time and was replaced with the present.
Tension has been in my shoulders since we left Illinois, but now that we’ve landed, it’s spread up my neck and extended across my skull, creating a pounding headache that won’t abate. I took a shower when we got to the hotel room with the hope of unwinding but found myself a bit sidetracked.
I can’t shake the ominous feeling I have about this trip. I’m tempted to tell Serene we should find the first flight out of Charleston and not look back. As badly as I want to seek answers for myself and Serene, I want to protect her and our child. And there’s no denying the indisputable fact that right now, in the present, they’re free from harm.
Do I truly want to untangle that for the sake of answers?
Turning around, I look at Serene’s sleeping form. The only time she seems to be at peace is when she’s asleep. Being in the present day has made me realize everything she’s sacrificed to be with me. Is love truly worth everything she’s giving up? Before I came here, I would have said yes, but now that I’ve spoken to Serene’s family members and seen how much they love her too, there’s no disputing she is giving up more for us.
Beside her on the nightstand is the clock. It’s almost 7:15 in the morning. When Serene wakes up, I know she’ll want to immediately start the day, and there will be no changing her mind.
But then I remember why we have to keep going. Every moment Old Serene is alive, my Serene fades from this time.
If my past experiences have taught me anything, it’s to never go into a situation without a backup plan.
Our obvious backup is Belgrave.
Even though the house no longer stands, it’s impossible for either one of us to be in Charleston and not go to where it all started. But first, there’s one stop we have to make.
For once, I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, dressed and ready before Étienne is even out of bed. I’m not surprised, though, because he tossed and turned all night.
With the promise of coffee, his hulking frame rolls out of bed. I talk at a rapid pace about what’s in store for today while Étienne grunts out one-word replies.
By the time we make our way down to the lounge where the complimentary breakfast is being served, Étienne’s a bit more alert. And when we step outside, he’s fully the Étienne I know—stern, quiet, and mind running a mile a minute.
We’ll use the rental car for the drive to Belgrave, but our hotel is in Historic Charleston. Minutes away from St. Philip’s Church, Dock Street Theater, Charleston City Market, The Powder Magazine, and a fourteen-minute walk to the Alton House.
The walk will be a perfect time to go over any questions we might want to ask Sylvia. That’s my original course of action. But as we walk through town, I become lost in my thoughts; the past clings to every facet of Charleston. In the stucco and uneven brick paths, the iron fences that are heavily weather-beaten but still standing. Last time I was here in the present day, there was the option to tour Charleston in a horse-drawn carriage. Because of the impending storm, there are no tours. That gives this coastal town a silence I remember from Étienne’s era. I simply need to close my eyes, and everything will be back to the way it once was.
If I feel this way, how does Étienne feel?
“Can you not stare at me in such a manner?”
“In what manner?” I ask.
“As though you’re observin’ a wild animal in its natural habitat.”
Étienne’s comparison causes me to grin. “Can you blame me? I’ve always wondered how you’d react to your home turf in the present day.”
“This isn’t my home turf. There are structures from the past but so much has changed in Charleston.”
“Fair enough,” I reply, mildly disappointed.
Étienne looks at the tree limbs canopied above us. “But, yes, it’s rather peculiar,” he finally admits.
Turning his way, I point a finger at him. “Ah-ha! I knew it!”
All too quickly we’re on the street where Lacroix House stands. Goose bumps prickle my skin, and as we approach the narrow structure, I look at the second floor. Immediately, I find the window where I would spend countless hours staring outside, listening to the conversations of the people passing by. I wonder if whoever moved into the room after me did the same thing.
Étienne opens the gate with a finesse that comes with experience. Before we walk toward the front door, I stretch my shirt across my lower stomach. Today I’ve reached the fourteen-week mark in my pregnancy. To the unaware eye, my belly looks like a small pooch, almost as though I’ve eaten too much at a family dinner.
Within a few weeks, it will be impossible to hide. It gives me a thrill to think everyone will be able to see the life growing inside me.
I’m pleased to see the impeccable garden is still taken care of. I can only hope we find the same for the house too.
Étienne stops in front of the door and takes a deep breath. He bypasses the knocker and gives two sharp raps with his knuckles. A few seconds pass before there’s the click of a lock, and the door opens.
A woman who can’t be much older than my mom gives Étienne and me a curious yet friendly smile.
“I’m Serene Lacroix. I emailed you briefly in regard to my ancestry.”
Recognition fills the woman’s gaze. She holds her hand out to me and then Étienne. “Oh, yes, yes, I remember now. I apologize. I was finishing my lunch and getting ready to open the house back up. Sylvia Legare.”
“Étienne Lacroix.”
It never gets old hearing Étienne introduce himself. He punctuates his last name with extra emphasis. Sylvia doesn’t know who he is, but his confidence lets her know he’s someone of importance.
“Étienne. Serene. Please come in.”
Étienne’s massive frame swallows up the narrow space as we walk into the foyer. Sylvia suggests we head to the sitting room to talk. I’m very familiar with that room but keep my mouth shut and follow Sylvia. When the space opens up into the sitting room, he pauses and looks around. I know we’re both thinking the same thing.
This is all wrong.
The olive green valances are wrong along with the ivory carpet. The décor in the room seems as if it was purchased from Pier 1 or Pottery Barn. This is vintage mixed with present day, and I don’t like it for a second.
The ancestors hanging on the wall feel like cheap imitations of the Lacroix-Livingston family tree. Étienne cuts a look in their direction, his gaze screaming, “I’ll find a way to make you pay.”
We follow Sylvia and sit on the Victorian-style couch that appears re-upholstered. Flanking the couch are two accent chairs in the same style.
Sylvia sits on the one nearest to me, places her notebook on the coffee table, and gives me a bright smile. “I must say, it’s rare that I’m asked to look up information about the Alton House.”
“It’s understandable when you have Drayton Hall and Magnolia Hall to contend with, but when I was looking at my family tree and the Alton House popped up, I was fascinated. It’s so beautiful.”
“That it is. I like to consider it one of Charleston’s hidden gems.” Sylvia lightly claps her hands together. “So. Let’s begin and see if I can help you find the ancestor you mentioned in your message to me?”
Sylvia stares at me expectantly and so does Étienne. Clucki
ng my tongue, I stare at the ground and stall for time.
“Right, right, my ancestor’s name is … umm … her name was Nathalie Lacroix, I believe?”
“Nathalie Lacroix,” Sylvia repeats as she writes the name. With her head down, Étienne and I exchange glances. His eyes widen with shock, and I shrug. I blurted the first name that came to my mind, and I’m praying to God it doesn’t backfire on me.
While Sylvia begins to sift through her notes, Étienne and I quietly sit there. She lifts her head and smiles. “While I’m searching through my notes, the two of you are more than welcome to walk through the first floor. This shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes.”
We don’t have to be told twice. Étienne and I are up and off the couch within seconds, anxious to see what has changed about the former Lacroix House and what hasn’t.
Once we’re out of earshot, Étienne dips his head, and murmurs into my ear, “Nathalie, really?”
“Well, I didn’t know. She put me on the spot!” I hiss.
“Let’s just hope she doesn’t become suspicious when she comes up empty-handed.”
I wave his words away. “I’ll just make up some bullshit excuse. Don’t worry about it. All you need to worry about is looking around.”
Étienne nudges my side but gives me a reluctant smile and does that.
Walking through the foyer gives me such an incredible sense of déjà vu. It feels like yesterday I was walking toward the sitting room with a hungover Livingston beside me. Nathalie visited shortly after, and we caught up on everything I had missed since I’d been gone. I can still hear the faint echo of her heels on the heart-pine floors.
Étienne walks past me, heading toward the kitchen while I stay back, lingering around the staircase. Something about this area calls out to me. They can change the furniture, curtains, and even repaint the walls, but the foundation remains the same, and the staircase is part of the foundation. Thousands of footsteps have echoed in the stairwell, and just as many palms have glided up the oak railing. Most importantly, Lacroix footsteps and hands have made their mark.