Echoes of Time

by Calia Read

  The minute Nat takes her place and the priest tells everyone to stand, Étienne slowly lifts his gaze to mine. His stoic face doesn’t crack for a second. To anyone else, he might not appear to be a love-sick groom, but I know better.

  My heart beats so rapidly, I almost place a hand on my chest. Livingston has to take the first step down the aisle before my legs figure out what to do, and even then, it feels as though I have two left feet. Halfway to Étienne, I become lost in his eyes and block out all of the noise around me. This is the time I belong in, and the man I’m walking to will be the person who will love me for the rest of my life. We have fought for every second together and mourned for the moments spent apart.

  By the time I reach Étienne, most of my jitters have evaporated. I give the priest a small smile and then immediately go back to looking at Étienne.

  Before Livingston steps away, he looks at Étienne and me. “Treat my sweetheart right,” Livingston says deadpan, and for only Étienne and me to hear.

  Étienne closes his eyes and shakes his head. My shoulders shake as I welcome Livingston’s lighthearted joke. It’s a balm for any residual nerves. Livingston lets go of my hand and steps off to the side near Étienne.

  Taking a deep breath, Étienne and I link hands and face one another.

  My eyes well up with tears numerous times as the priest speaks. I’m more emotional than I expected. I’d like to blame it on my hormones, but who are we kidding. I never thought in a million years Étienne and I would get to this point, and we did.

  We finally did.

  When the priest asks us to repeat after him, my hands shake. I know I’m going to become tongue-tied. Étienne’s deep voice is steady and loud. Mine is softer than normal with a slight quiver.

  When I’m finished with my vows, I can’t help but feel a bit of relief. I stumbled over a few words, but I didn’t butcher them as I imagined I would.

  The priest continues to speak, but my eyes lock on Étienne’s. He quotes scripture and talks about the sanctity of marriage and then says the five words that feel amazing to hear: “You may kiss your bride.”

  In front of the tree where I carved my name, where I made my presence known in time, Étienne kissed me for the first time as his wife, and it was the best damn kiss he’s ever given me.

  The priest clears his throat, and someone whistles from our small number of guests. Smiling against his lips, I pat his arm, and he pulls away with a half-smirk.

  We face our standing guests to their smiles and clapping. I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier as I walk down the aisle officially as Mrs. Étienne Lacroix.

  I make sure that as we walk toward the driveway, my train and veil don’t catch on a tree branch, and when we reach the clearing, I let go of my veil, feeling it billow behind me. Together, we walk back toward Belgrave. Our home. I don’t care if I have to pee. Sometimes you need to trade realism in for some romanticism.

  Every so often, I can’t help but look up at Étienne. For the rest of my life, I will try to understand what brought him and me together.

  Was it time? Love? Attraction?

  Perhaps an accumulation of all three? Or maybe it was none of the above. Maybe it was chance and circumstance. No matter the driving force, Étienne and I were meant to be, no matter the era.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  That is a question Étienne has frequently asked after Old Serene left. He knew what occurred four months ago still weighed on my mind. It weighed on a lot of people’s minds. Last I heard, Scarlett’s family said she was with family “up North.” I was willing to bet a lot of money that was code for “insane asylum.” I don’t pity Scarlett. She got caught up in the entire situation through her own jealousy. But Old Serene … she truly didn’t know what she was getting herself into. It wasn’t her fault. Yet I couldn’t help but feel relief knowing she was gone. As long as I loved Étienne, there could never be two Serenes in one era.

  “That this is final,” I reply. “That our worries are over.”

  “Those are some mighty big words.”

  I squeeze his hand and face him. “But I mean them. Don’t you feel the same?”

  Étienne can’t help but be honest to a fault. It’s a trait I love about him. He looks at me and nods. “I do.”

  We stand in front of Belgrave. Once I stood in the same spot while this mansion’s remains were crumbled, in another life it disappeared, and now here I am, while it’s thriving. Leaving a lasting dynasty.

  In a lot of ways, that describes the story of Étienne and me.

  His hands curl around my elbows, firmly holding me in place, and smiles. “Are you ready to go inside, Mrs. Lacroix?”

  I’ve waited for what feels like forever to hear those words. Mrs. Lacroix. I’m not playing a role. I’m not Old Serene.

  I’m Serene Lacroix, and it feels damn good.

  Impulsively, I push myself onto my tiptoes and kiss Étienne one more time. Is this our happy ending? God, I hope not. Because I never want this to end with Étienne.

  “I lost my heart but found my soul in you. This was all worth it. My surviving trace.”

  “Surviving trace,” I whisper back.

  We walk up the steps where all our guests are waiting in the dining room for us.

  Is this the end of our story? I hope not. I once thought Étienne and I were unfinished business. A story that is never-ending. And I still believe that.

  Our story will continue through photos and stories. Our dynasty begins through the lives of our children and their children.

  We didn’t make it this far in our journey to stop now …

  Five days ago, in the middle of the day, my life changed forever.

  The girl I’d newly hired, Lauren, had quit. She claimed a man came in a week ago demanding to speak to me and was rude to her. She said a woman with red hair similar to mine stood next to him. Lauren was fairly new at the antique shop, and that particular day she was by herself. It’s not as if Étienne’s Antique Shop gets a lot of hecklers, but for Lauren, that moment set a precedent in her head. She called me, and said, “Maybe this job wasn’t for her.”

  Since then, me and my friend, Eliska, have been working extra hours. To say things have been hectic is an understatement. I partially blame myself for not being with Lauren the day the man came in. I was visiting my parents. My grandmother had passed two weeks prior. My parents and I stopped by her house to begin the process of going through her belongings. I always find it interesting to go to flea markets and estate sales. But when the items are attached to someone you personally know, they take on an intimate quality, making it next to impossible to get rid of anything. You almost have to be cold and brisk with your approach. Don’t look, just pitch.

  But when it comes to antiques or anything from the past, I’m uniquely drawn to it. And that’s exactly what happened when I found the stack of letters, scrapbooks, and shoe boxes of older photos. That day, the plan was to get through the majority of the house. The pile of donate items was staggering compared to the number of belongings we were keeping. Things part of the keep collection were the photos and letters I found. Think about it. They had survived all these years and were saved for a reason. There was no way I was giving them up now. They needed to stay in the family.

  Five days ago, in the middle of the day, I was sifting through stacks of letters. I hit the antique jackpot when I was going through my parents’ basement and found boxes upon boxes filled with letters and pictures. Some letters were beyond readable due to the water damage. Most of the pictures were curled at the edges, but they’d all withstood the test of time.

  I had no intention of selling these items. They belonged to my family. I only planned to sort through them during my free time.

  The door flew open, causing the letters to scatter across the store. Photos fluttered in the air, and my smiling relatives floated around me. I jumped from my chair at the abrupt noise and watched as the bells tied to the front door clanged loudly. The ribbons
attached to the bells became buoyant. I walked around the front desk, intent on closing the door. In the middle of the walkway, flanked by antiques, I unexpectedly become stopped by some unseen force. My left leg lifts, intent on going forward, but I can’t move. It’s almost as though an invisible wall is in front of me. I place my hands, palms up and can distinctly feel the barricade against my skin.

  I feel a momentary sense of panic because I’m trapped with seemingly no way out, and remarkably, the people walking down the sidewalk are unaware. How is that possible? What is happening to me right now?

  It’s that very moment, as I’m scanning the street, I spot the woman. She’s standing slightly hunched over with her hand on the hood of a car, staring wide-eyed at the papers flying out of my store. Someone finally sees what I can see! It’s no victory for me, though, because the woman doesn’t really see me but through me.

  There’s a fleeting thought, “Am I dreaming this?”

  Exhaling loudly, I squeeze my eyes shut, but when I open them up, the papers and photos continue to make a small tornado directly outside my store. And the woman slowly retreats from the store, agony written across her face, and gets back into her car.

  Flying papers and pictures continue to move around me, and right as the woman drives out of sight, everything stops. The wall falls down, and I lurch forward, barely saving myself from falling on my face. The front door slams. Papers slowly flutter to the floor, resembling large snowflakes.

  Panting, I look around and try to get my bearings. What just happened? It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt as though it lasted for hours. I tuck my hair behind my ears as I observe the mess. It’s not going to clean itself. Sighing, I bend down and begin gathering the papers. Perhaps I thought I saw the woman, I reason to myself. And there could’ve been a random wind gust. Very slim, but a possibility. Slowly, I make my way to the door. The stack of papers and pictures in my hands getting larger.

  I open the front door and begin to gather the papers and pictures as quickly as possible when two strangers hurry over to help me.

  The blonde is dressed in a chic lavender dress, and the man is in black slacks and a white dress shirt. I didn’t know where they came from, but I was happy for their help.

  “Thank you,” I say gratefully as I slowly stand. I gathered all the papers and photos I could although I’m certain some letters got away.

  They rise to their full height and hand over what letters they could find. “It’s our pleasure,” the woman says. “We had just got out of our car when we saw the papers flying in the air as if from nowhere.”

  “Yes, it was certainly spontaneous,” I agree. I look them over again, trying to place their faces, but they don’t look familiar. “Are the two of you from Long Grove?”

  The woman shakes her head. “No, we live in Pennsylvania. We’re on our way back from Chicago for a friend’s wedding. I had to talk him into stopping here. This place was just calling to me.”

  I give them a wobbly smile. My heart is still racing from the door banging open. “Well, I’m glad the two of you stopped by.” I nudge my head toward the now closed door. “Please come in and take a look.”

  “I would love that.”

  Stepping back, I let them walk ahead of me. I make a mental note to put all these letters and photos away once I get behind the desk. I can sort through them once I get home. I can wait that long, right?

  Right.

  I follow behind them, ignoring the loud clang of the bells. The woman looks around the store with wide-eyed interest while the man stares on with a bored expression. He’s only here for her.

  She’s halfway down the aisle when she looks down at her feet. I see the photo at the same time she does. I rush to grab it, but she bends down and picks it up and carefully inspects it. The photo got swept in the windstorm, but it hung on and didn’t become lost. The woman continues to stare at the picture. My fingers begin to twitch. I need her to hand that over. It belongs to me.

  “I love this photo,” she says in a hushed whisper to the man next to her. “Look how hauntingly beautiful it is.”

  They hover close to one another. The woman is far more interested than the man.

  Abruptly, the woman lifts her head. Her bright eyes are wide and filled with determination. Turning to face me, she flips the picture around so the four men are staring at me. “I’ll buy this from you … I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  Placing the stack of papers and pictures in my opposite hand, I hold my hand out. “Alex. Alex Trimble.”

  “I’m Liz, and this is my fiancé, Will.”

  “Nice to meet both of you.”

  “What do you say, Alex?” Liz gives me a hopeful smile as we stand in the middle of my store. “I’m hoping to open an antique store in the near future and would love to showcase a broad range of vintage items.”

  “And you want a picture?”

  “Absolutely. Sometimes they’re worth a thousand words.” She holds the photography between us, almost as if she’s giving me one last chance to look at it. “What do you say?”

  If she asked me an hour ago, I might’ve said yes. In my eyes, most vintage items are for sale. That’s before I read a portion of that letter that tugged at my heart and saw a picture that clawed at my soul. How is that possible?

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. That’s a family heirloom.”

  Her lips turn down. “Oh, that’s too bad.” She gives the photo a final look before she hands it over.

  Once in my possession, I feel a small sense of comfort. Ridiculous, I know. I don’t know anyone in the picture.

  Will and Liz continue to look around the store while I walk around the front desk. I make a neat stack of the picture and letters, placing them off to the side. Every few seconds, my eyes stray in that direction. I know I’m not going to be able to wait until tonight to read the rest of the letters. I don’t have that much willpower.

  Fifteen minutes or so pass before Liz walks up to the counter. “We’re going to head on out. Before I leave, I wanted to give you my card. You have some beautiful items, and if you ever want to sell anything, I’d be very interested. I’m always at flea markets, estate sales, and looking online to fix things up, but nearly everything of yours is in gently used condition.”

  I give her card a brief look. Past Repeat Antiques is in a bold font with a telephone number and the address. Where is Greensburg, Pennsylvania? Lifting my gaze, I smile at her.

  “That sounds great. We’ll be in touch.”

  Once the two of them are gone, I walk around the counter and place the stack of papers down. I glance at the signature of the writer and see the name Asa. I can’t read the last name, but I know it starts with a C.

  My heart isn’t pounding as badly, but I’m slightly rattled. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. My gaze goes to the front door. It remains closed. Outside, there’s no sign of a breeze picking up.

  I take a deep breath and resume looking through the box.

  There’s something intrusive about opening up someone else’s journal. It’s their thoughts they wrote down, and whether they were sad, happy, angry, or heartbroken is beside the point; what matters is they felt compelled to write it all down.

  But this journal is so worn. The writer has to be passed on, so a little sneak peek wouldn’t hurt. As I unravel the string, I slowly open a letter faded with time, expecting to find correspondence from two loves separated by war, or maybe friends conversing. I received none of that …

  If you’re reading this, you must know you are the surviving trace to something greater than yourself.

  You see, once upon a time, I fell in love with a man. There was nothing fairy-tale like about our love. We fought hard to stay together. We fought hard for our love. In the end, it wasn’t new like it once started out as, but it didn’t make it any less exciting. I will confess something to you; it made me love him more. Added depth and layers.

  Before
you read on, you need to know my story is made up of unpredictable moments that will cause you to suspend reality.

  You may not believe me.

  I beg of you, please do. Because the moment you do, you will hear the echoes of time and know anything is possible.

  Love,

  Serene Lacroix

  acknowledgements

  It seems as though I repeat myself in every acknowledgement, but this bears repeating because I am so grateful for all the people who help bring my stories to life.

  BIG thanks to my beta readers- Talon Smith, Alyssa Cole, Allie Siebers, Melissa Jones and Beth Suit. Thank you for always dropping everything you’re doing and reading through the rough draft, and always giving your honest feedback.

  To my proofreaders: Rea Loftis, Michelle Clay and Kim Svetlin! Thank you for everything! I am so grateful!

  Annette Brignac and Michelle Clay from Book Nerd Services. You ladies are beyond amazing. Never leave me.

  Beth Suit and ‘The Researcher’: Thank you for going a step further and finding information that I never dreamed possible of the past!

  Thank you to Hayfaah from Opulent Designs for the gorgeous edits!

  Thank you to Jenny Sims from Editing4Indies for doing such a fantastic job. It’s always so amazing working with you.

  Thank you to Juliana Cabrera from Jersey Girl Design for formatting Echoes of Time. Now get back here and love me!!

  MAC PACK: I may become quiet and lost in the writing cave, but you ladies are always there for me no matter what. What was life before you two??