He didn’t answer. She glanced toward the window. Where were the trailers? The cameras?
Perhaps this was rehearsal. Or some type of immersion training to help get them into their parts. Sort of like learning French when the instructors only spoke French.
She looked back into his sky blue eyes. Tried to keep the panic from her own eyes, but suspected that she failed miserably.
Something was not right. She just couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It didn’t help that the handsome doctor… officer was watching her. “I need to find Jerry.” Since Jerry had been the last person who had made sense, it seemed like finding him was the best course of action at the moment.
“All right,” Augustus agreed. “I’ll help you.”
He reached for her arm as she scooted off the bed. She jerked back. “I can do it.”
He held his hands up, but stayed close to her. In fact, when her feet hit the floor, he stood only inches away. She stared at his broad chest and noticed for the first time that he was wearing the gray uniform of the Confederacy. She tilted her head up and gazed into those clear blue eyes.
He grinned at her and her stomach did a little summersault.
Until Arabella was about fifteen, her great-grandparents had taken her to museums and battlefields… Civil War reenactments. At fifteen, Arabella had begun choosing hanging out with friends to spending weekends with her family.
All those years spent watching reenactments and going to museums coalesced as she stared at Augustus.
Augustus was a Confederate soldier come to life.
Arabella swayed.
Chapter 14
Augustus had been right. Arabella had been going to faint. Unfortunately, he was a few minutes off on his diagnosis.
Now this elusive and beautiful woman was in his arms, her eyes closed, her body limp.
He gently laid her back on the bed, keeping her head up. “Arabella.” He whispered her name. When she didn’t answer, he squeezed her hand.
She blinked, then closed her eyes again. “You’re safe Arabella.”
She opened her eyes again and gazed into his. She was silent as the seconds ticked past. “You’re real.” Her voice sounded resigned. As though she had hoped he wasn’t real.
“I’m very real.” He held her hand tightly and swept the hair off her cheek. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve been better.”
“It’s been awhile since I had someone swoon at my feet.” Actually he’d never had a woman swoon at his feet, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He was rather enjoying the moment.
“I didn’t swoon.” She scoffed. “I was just lightheaded for a minute.”
His lips curved in amusement. “I’m a doctor. And I have two sisters. I know swooning when I see it.”
“So you say.” She went to sit up.
He put an arm around her shoulders to help. “There’s no need to rush. You’re safe here.”
“I’m okay now.” As though to prove her point, she slid off the bed and stood up.
Chapter 15
Arabella took a deep breath. It had been quite some time since she’d passed out. She’d moved past her blood phobia by learning to focus. She was sometimes still caught off guard, but she knew how to inhale quickly twice and gasp. It sounded a little funny, but it worked.
But this time, there had been no blood. There had only been a solider standing in front of her. Standing directly in front of him, she’d realized just how tall he was – over a head taller than she and he stood tall and straight.
And now he was treating her as though she were fragile. You’re safe. His words sent a rush of conflicting emotions through her. She felt petite standing so close to him. She also felt safe with his hand supporting her back. It was a reflex that had her jerking away.
Arabella was the strong one. The one who supported patients who were ill. Certainly not the other way around. Her eyes flicked to his face. He was watching her with genuine concern. He looked healthy. But then looks could be deceiving.
“You’re wearing your uniform.”
He glanced down as though noticing the uniform for the first time. A look of understanding crossed his features. “Your husband. He’s a soldier then.” It was more a statement than a question.
She hadn’t answered him before when he’d asked about a husband. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed for a moment, feeling her brow furrowed between her eyes. She shook her head. “No.” She opened her eyes and stared into his blue eyes, bright with concern.
“Jerry?”
Jerry. She thought of her fiancé, Matthew Caldwell Jennings, III. The man who wore a suit and tie to work everyday and never left the house in anything less than business casual – not even to dash to Starbucks to grab a morning latte. A bubble of laughter spilled from her lips. He tilted his head and the corners of his lips curved into the beginnings of a smile as he watched her.
“No.”
“But he’s a soldier?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. Shook her head.
“Then what-?”
Someone knocked on the side of the open door and his question was interrupted.
“Excuse me.” Villars stood in the doorway, his arms loaded with material. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Arabella answered quickly. “Please. Come in. You’re not interrupting.” Maybe a little, but she was thankful for the reprieve. The soldier’s questions were getting a little too personal.
Villars took two steps before Augustus dashed over to take the load from his arms.
“Thank you, Sir. I find it hard to walk carrying things anymore.”
“Think nothing of it.” Augustus carried the load and dropped it onto the bed. “You brought gowns.” He glanced at Arabella.
Villars stood next to them. “Yes. These are some of Mistress Erika’s things. I believe they will fit Miss Arabella just right.”
Chapter 16
Arabella stared at the dresses on the bed. Gowns. There were two of them. Long dresses made from yards of chiffon. Ribbons and lace. All quintessentially feminine. One was light aqua, the other a silvery gray. The light aqua one was a ball gown and the gray one was a high necked day dress. Though she recognized the antebellum style from her museum days, these dresses were different. They were clean and well… new.
She turned and looked into Villars’ eyes. Despite her insistence that the lot of them suffered from delusions, his eyes held something disturbing. As though he knew something important. Something that others would find disturbing.
Shaking off the fanciful emotions, she forced a smile on her face and reverted to what came natural. Years of training. “Thank you.” Whatever his delusion, he believed it fervently and it wasn’t her place to challenge those beliefs. “These were my mother’s?”
“Yes ma’am. They are. Your mother couldn’t take everything with her. There are others if these don’t suit you.”
Couldn’t take everything? “Where did she go?”
Villars grinned broadly. “She’s in New Orleans with Mister Brandon’s wife. They left after we seceded.” He scratched his chin. “That’s been about two years ago. Maybe more.”
Arabella looked questioning at Augustus. This man was babbling about her mother again. Her mother who had died when she was an infant.
Augustus watched her. “You didn’t know. You don’t remember your parents leaving, do you?”
It occurred to Arabella then that Villars may have known her parents. Perhaps they’d lived here, with her, before they had died. He thought they still lived.
Everything suddenly made sense. In the midst of a house full of people with delusions this man had dementia.
Chapter 17
Augustus watched Arabella carefully. If she were going to faint again, he wanted to be ready to catch her.
She watched both him and Villars with such distrust, Augustus was beginning to believe that she didn’t know where she was. Besides swooning, she was disoriented. Perhaps she’d suffered a b
low to the head.
“It’s all right, Villars. I’ll see that she’s taken care of.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yes sir. Of course.” He looked pointedly at Arabella. “If you need anything just pull the bell cord.” He turned and, using his cane for support slowly made his way across the room toward the door.
Arabella turned and glared at him. Augustus swallowed a laugh. This woman who protested the fact that she swooned at the drop of a hat, had a fire to her that he found intriguing. “Do you know where you are?” He needed to assess her level of awareness.
“Of course.”
He waited.
She scoffed. “I’m at my great-grandparents’ house in Natchez.”
“All right.” He didn’t doubt that the house had been in the family for generations.
“And your mother’s name.”
“Erika Becquerel. She died when I was an infant.”
Augustus crossed his arms and sighed. This was where things became problematic. Again a basic assessment was in order. “What year is it?
“I’m oriented to place and time.”
“Humor me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What can it hurt? Just tell me what year it is.”
She stared into his eyes, her voice calm and sure. “2018.”
Chapter 18
Arabella put a hand on the bed, then jerked it back when she felt the chiffon beneath her fingers.
Augustus was distracting her. With his intense blue eyes were locked onto hers, she had trouble focusing on what he was asking her.
She’d given thousands of mental status exams. She could rattle off the questions in her sleep.
He obviously hadn’t expected her to state the actual year. It was probably against the rules of whatever thing they had going to do so. But in her defense, he had asked. She didn’t like being tested. And she refused to get caught up in their insanity.
Augustus reached over and swept a strand of hair off her face and peered into her eyes.
She snickered. “What are you doing?”
“Have you hit your head?”
“No.” She didn’t try to hide her indignation. Still she searched her memory. Had she hit her head. No. This man was trying to plant memories in her head. Very unethical. Or… maybe he hit his head. “What year do you think it is?”
His lips curved up at the corners and her heart stuttered. She’d never been particularly attracted to men in uniform, so it wasn’t that, but there was something about this guy.
“It’s 1863.” He didn’t stutter. Didn’t blink. Stayed in character.
She crossed her arms. She should have expected no less. These people were obviously professionals. Or totally convinced of their delusion. Turn about was fair play. “Ok. I know you can’t answer me.”
His brows furrowed, he watched her with skepticism on his face.
“I admire your devotion. But it’s your turn to humor me. Just nod or shake your head.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you part of a reenactment group?”
He gave his head one slow shake.
Okay. This was going to be difficult. “Are you in some type of immersion thing?”
Again, a slow shake, his eyes still on hers.
“Maybe in preparation for a reenactment?”
“No. Look.” He glanced around. “I’m a doctor. We’re in the middle of a war, so I couldn’t take you to an asylum even if I wanted to.”
A bubble of laughter spilled out before she could stop it. It was her job to hospitalize people. Not to be hospitalized.
“I think you should stay here and rest. Perhaps your memory will come back posthaste. I’ll check back in on you after a bit.”
Posthaste. The only other person she’d ever heard use that word was her great-grandmother. This was a bit surreal. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to sit down a bit.
Augustus must have seen her sway because he reached out and put a hand on her elbow to steady her. She allowed him to lead her to a chair a few feet from the bed. Once she was seated, he knelt in front of her. He slid his hand from her elbow and held her hand lightly in his. “If you need anything, pull the bell cord.” He nodded toward the strip of cloth hanging next to the bed. “Villars will send for me.”
His touch was sending tingles along the nerves in her fingers. It was even more disconcerting that he wasn’t affected. She tried to picture her fiancé, but her thoughts were too jumbled.
“Of course.” Perhaps if she agreed, he would leave her and she could think again.
Instead, he tightened his grip on her fingers, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed the back of her hand. His lips lightly brushed her skin, sending even more tingles all through her. Her heart beat dangerously as she lost herself in the pools of his deep blue eyes.
He laced his fingers with hers. The thought crossed through her mind that she should pull her hand away in protest. Instead, every nerve in her body was aware of him. He smelled of the outdoors and gunpowder.
The scent of gunpowder jarred her out of her trance. She pulled her hand from his, ignoring her body’s protestations.
“I apologize, Miss Arabella.” He stood up and towered over her. “Forgive me for being so forward.”
She shook her head, no coherent words forming in her brain.
The situation had inexplicably gotten turned around. Somehow she had become the one who was out of place.
Chapter 19
Augustus bowed over Arabella’s hand and quickly left her. His footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors as he retreated to his room. Standing in the center of the room, he noticed the sunlight streaming through the window.
He pressed a hand against the side of his head. He’d been on his way to pick up a map. Though he was close enough that the air smelled like home, he was unfamiliar with this part of Mississippi.
When he’d seen Arabella standing in the window, he’d forgotten all about his errand. His men would wonder what took him so long. A good officer worked alongside his men. He was a firm believer in that.
But Arabella had proven to be a distraction that he couldn’t fight.
She was an enigma. She’d felt fragile as he’d held her in his arms – her body limp from fainting. But once awake, she’d exuded strength. Strength and resolve that he’d only seen in a few women – one of which was his mother. It wasn’t anything she said. In fact, she seemed a little addled. Instead it was in the way she held herself. A confidence.
She’d been quiet as he kissed her hand, lost in her mystical green eyes. She’d seemed unaffected by his attention. Yet as he’d held her smaller hand in his, he’d fought the urge to pull her into his arms and taste her lips.
Unfortunately, he’d spent most of his time learning the art of medicine, not the art of courtship.
Perhaps he was insane himself to even think of courting a lady as disoriented as she. 2018. Where had she come up with such a date? He wanted to know more. To understand the inner world of her mind. And unlike his normal reaction, it wasn’t just a doctor’s curiosity.
Augustus wanted to know about Arabella as a person.
He wanted to feel his lips against hers.
The map. He was here to pick up the map.
Grabbing the map from the back of his bureau, he headed back outside. As he passed Arabella’s room, he kept his eyes straight ahead.
He was here to fight a war. Not to fall in love.
Chapter 20
The moment Augustus walked out the bedroom door, Arabella sprang from the chair and dashed to pick up the photograph from the bed. She’d think about what happened with Augustus later. Right now, she had to make sense out of all these things that didn’t add up.
The uniforms and costumes. Her missing car. No cell phone service. Villars knowing her name.
The photograph.
She turned the photograph over and read the words again. There was no mistaking the names or the date.
She studied the images
on the front again. The girl holding the infant looked so much like Arabella. Maybe a few pounds heavier. Baby weight, Arabella surmised. She took the photo back to the window and looked more closely. It was a close up shot of the couple and their baby. There.
She squinted in the sunlight. The woman’s hair was highlighted halfway down. She obviously had highlights that had grown out.
Arabella huffed out a breath, lowered the photograph to her side, and pushed aside the curtains.
The back yard was crawling with soldiers. When she’d circled the house earlier, she hadn’t noticed, but here, on the second story of the house, she could see tent after tent, fires, and most of all, soldiers in ragtag uniforms.
Augustus had been well-dressed in his gray uniform. But these soldiers were in rags and some were even barefoot.
She jumped when a tree fell. Who had authorized cutting down her trees? She then saw the rows of trees stacked alongside each other. Soldiers sat with hatchets sharpening the ends.
It seemed a bit overkill for a reenactment. Someone could get hurt.
Surely, though, no one would be on the other side of this barricade.
This was one of those Civil War living history events. It had to be. She scanned the area for spectators, but perhaps it wasn’t open to visitors yet.
Jerry should have said something to her about this. She would have been fine with it, of course, but it would have been nice to have been forewarned.
She sighed. Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge. Was that what Vaughn had been trying to tell her in the letter that had been ruined? She’d only been able to catch words here and there. History. Antebellum. Family.
When in Rome…
She went back to the bed and ran her fingers along the chiffon, examining the two dresses. One was obviously for formal occasions and the other appeared to be for everyday.
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