by Beth Trissel
“Apparently, I should always carry a bag with me in the event I’m zapped back in time before I get a chance to pack.” She spoke as if this were a normal discussion.
“It looks as if a peddler upended his pack on you. And a seamstress paid a call, as well, while I slumbered.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Evie drew a breath. “Grandma G. came through a window in time, she called it a warble, and returned the same way. There,” she finished, exhaling.
He gave a low whistle. “Tarnation, woman. You are the strangest girl.”
“Yes,” she agreed without a hitch. “I’ve reached the same conclusion.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips while wonder sparked inside him. “I must admit, these strange goings on are not of your making. That carpet bag didn’t waltz in here on its own, and you couldn’t have gotten it or that mountain of stuff by yourself during the night.”
“No. I couldn’t have.” She slanted her gaze at him, challenge in her face. “Maybe you should start believing me, even if all of this is too weird for words.”
“Maybe I should.” He exhaled again, wondering how he was to accept such incomprehensible logic?
He was a rational man. Normally, and reason would be expected of them.
“What do we tell the Wengers about your newly acquired goods, or will you explain the visit from a grandmother who resides in the future?”
“No. That’s too farfetched. Although, Grandma G. told me she’s met them on several occasions.”
“Of course, she did,” he muttered, struggling to grasp the crazy reality that accompanied Evie.
She gestured for his attention. “Here’s a thought. What if we say my things were left on the porch last night and we forgot during the excitement of meeting everyone, then you slipped back downstairs and got them for me later?”
He shrugged a half-hearted affirmation of her plan. “If we’re spinning yarns, that one is as good as any. But it’s a big carpet bag for us to have hauled on horseback, seeing as Buck must have carried us both. Plus, you have more clothes than it, alone, accounts for.”
“True.” She paused for a pensive moment. “What if I had my own mount? We could say we tied the bag on behind, and a roll of my clothes.”
“Sure. Spin away, as we’re making up everything anyway, though I think you would need a trunk for your wardrobe. Where did you get this phantom horse?” He hadn’t given it to her.
“Oh, I already have one in the future. Well, Grandma G. owns several, but I ride when I like. There’s a gold Palomino mare with excellent manners named Honey Lemon and a roan gelding who clips the sky when he jumps called Fast. And a lovely pair of matched thoroughbreds that pull the carriage. Visitors go for rides and have their pictures taken, often with me. A guy comes in, I guess you’d call him a groom, who cares for the horses and drives the carriage.”
“Certainly.” Jack rubbed his clean-shaven chin while digesting this information, much of it washing over him. Visions of a fine carriage and prancing mounts danced through his head. “I’m sure your grandmother’s horses are among the best. How do you propose to fetch one back from the future?”
“I’m not sure,” she allowed.
“Even if you found a way, any animal that splendid would immediately be stolen unless we hid it well.
“That’s it.” She clapped her hands together. “We can say Honey Lemon was left in the woods with your horse and the others and was taken or wandered off…some unfortunate occurrence.”
“Highly likely, were it true.”
“It soon will be with Sheridan coming,” she reminded him.
The black warning darkened his mood. “I must ride out this morning and discover whatever I can about his movements.”
“Not without me.” She lifted her chin. “I’m coming, too.”
“Women do not ride about with rebel guerillas on the prowl. Some are up to a lot of no good, and the men will gladly take shots at me. It’s doubly dangerous for you in my company.”
Insistence lit her eyes, like twin flames. “Maybe not as much if I ride with you. Unless they shoot women?”
“Not routinely.”
“Well, then. Take me along and let’s see what we can learn of Sheridan, while I rack my brains to recall what I’ve been told. Grandma G. packed my riding habit for a reason.”
“Does she possess the sight, too?” Perhaps this inclination ran in Evie’s blood.
“I expect so. I’m not sure I have this ability in the way you think, but I feel it’s crucial I go with you.”
Plainly, Evie was determined, and had mastered being both maddening and adorable in one, probably drove her grandmother to distraction. If he did as she wished, he might get them both killed. On the other hand, she’d put any man they met, soldier, civilian, guerilla, even Sheridan himself, off his guard. And this would give Jack a chance to act or negotiate.
He loosed a weighty sigh. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Yes. One of my finer qualities. It gets worse.”
“That so?” He snorted. “I can see it now. We’re out riding when a fellow asks your maiden name. You answer, and he says, ‘McIntyre? Any relation to Lucas with the Fourteenth Virginia?’ and you say, ‘he’s my great-great grandfather.’ ”
The grin she gave Jack further charmed him. “It’s four greats back and his first name was George. He lives in Augusta County.” She tapped a finger beneath her chin. “Odd to think.”
“Indeed. Good heavens, girl, where are you from?”
“Twenty Eighteen.”
She could have knocked him over with a feather, he was so walloped by surprise. He did some quick figuring. “That’s more than one hundred and fifty years from now.”
“I know.” She seemed to have come to terms with the gulf between the dates and wasn’t flummoxed as he was. “I mentioned the years last night,” she reminded him.
What could he say? “I thought you were addlepated.”
“Not in this regard.” She gazed toward the door. “Now, where is the bathroom in this version of my house?”
“Your house?”
“Well, it will be one day if Grandma G. has her way. She’s also hardheaded, I should mention. My family is.”
“No doubt.” He shook his head, bemused, baffled, and beguiled. “There’s a chamber pot under your bed, or you may visit the privy near the garden.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s dress, with our eyes averted, of course, then you can escort me to the outhouse. I suppose it’s like camping. Not that I like camping much. I hope Grandma G. packed toilet paper.”
He arched his brows at her. “What?”
“You’ll see. I’ll look.” She set the pile of clothes aside and crawled the length of the bed in her shift and shawl. Long hair brushing the coverlet, she snagged the carpet bag, opened it, and peered inside. The light beyond the window had brightened and revealed the treasures within.
“Thank heavens.” She held up rolls of white paper. “Here it is. For use in the privy. Grandma G. packed a case of toiletries and fresh underclothes. Oh, good. She remembered the coffee.”
Instantly alert, he riveted his gaze on the bag. The heck with having Evie avert her gaze—she’d already snuck a peek at him wearing far less. He sprang to his feet, aware of her startled expression, and snatched his trousers from the back of the chair. He pulled them on over the clean drawers he’d worn overnight, tucked in his shirt, buttoned the fly, and bounded across the room and into bed beside her.
“Show me,” he invited. “I haven’t had any coffee since the last swap with Billy Yank. I swear if soldiers on either side could put their heads together, we would conclude this war in thirty minutes, after swapping to our heart’s content.”
“Probably so.” Slightly flustered, likely from his brash behavior, she lifted a red paper bag labeled Coffee. It looked as if it held a pound of the roasted beans.
A delectable whiff caught his nose, and he inhaled. “Divine.”
&nb
sp; “You’ll love the future, Jack, if I can get you there. All the coffee you could possibly want awaits you.”
“I can want a lot.” The idea of traveling to some distant realm with his dream girl was beyond him. This was real, he thought, breathing deeply.
She waved an intriguing jar. “There’s also instant coffee.”
He was in awe. “Like Christmas morn, only a heap better than the past three dismal celebrations.” He eyed the glass container, filled with dark brown grounds. At least, that’s what he assumed they were. “How do you prepare this brew?”
“Stir a spoonful into boiling water to make a cup. Drink it black or add cream and sugar. Grandma G. included small containers of both packaged individually.”
“In there? What a marvel,” he breathed out.
“I suppose so, if you’ve never seen it before. She was in a hurry so didn’t stop to find suitable wrappings to pack the stuff in. You can tell it’s not from this time period.”
Jack gave Evie a look. “You’re in the South in wartime. We don’t have much of anything no matter what you wrap it in.”
“True. I’m desperately trying to remember my history.”
He drew his brows together. “How odd to hear this day described as history, as if we are naught but dust and bones. Even if you are from another age, life is happening here right now, and it’s every bit as important to the people living it as your future world is to you.”
“I know. Sorry,” she offered, but he doubted she began to grasp what it meant to dwell in this time and place.
She continued rummaging through the carpet bag. “Granola bars!” She opened a narrow colorful box and took out a rectangular shape, about the length of her hand.
The crinkly colorful packaging was unfamiliar. “To eat?”
“Yes. And loaded with energy. We can keep going a while on one of these. I’ve seen shows about survival,” she told him. “Like plays, with moving images.”
“Whatever that is, I agree, survival is essential.”
“And this will help.” She tore at the wrapping and pulled out the contents. “Here. Take a bite.”
He’d undoubtedly tasted worse, if this bar thing turned out to be vile. No maggots crawled in it like some of the hard tack he’d had. A welcome sign.
Unsure what to expect, he bit into a crunchy confection of oats, dried fruit, nuts, and honey. “Delicious.” He refrained from devouring the entire bar and offered it to her.
She took a bite and passed it back. “Keep it, I’ll get my own. There are a dozen boxes with eight bars each.”
“Such abundance.” He bit off more of the sweet goodness, chewing in wonder. After living off the land with his hunting skills, and breakfasts of venison or squirrel supplemented by corncakes and molasses, if he were fortunate, this was bliss. “How much food do you have in there?”
The first pale rays of sunlight played over her head as she took stock. “Umm, besides the coffee and bars, there’s beef jerky, bags of nuts, pretzels, dried fruit, cookies, chocolate—”
He clasped her arm. “In truth? Chocolate is as scarce as hen’s teeth.”
“Not anymore. Grandma G. stashed a lot of dark chocolate bars in here. Rich stuff.”
This was too much for him to grasp, while Evie took everything for granted. “Unheard of bounty. Your grandmother must be an exceedingly wealthy lady.”
“No. Only comfortable,” she insisted.
The word struck a discordant note in him, her usage of it provoking. He narrowed his gaze at her. “Comfortable? How indulged are you?”
Her eyes clouded like shadows over lake water. “What do you mean?”
He waved his hand at the room as if to encompass the house. “Comfort is a roof over your head, a warm bed. Food on the table. A fire in the hearth. I go weeks, sometimes months, without all but the meanest things. What you have in that bag is more than folk in the valley can claim a fraction of.”
She considered him soberly. “I didn’t realize.”
“No. You have no notion the wealth your grandmother has, or how fortunate you are in your situation with her. Why did you forfeit such grandeur and journey to a time destined to be the worst the valley has ever endured, if what you say comes to pass?”
A mix of tenderness, wounded pride, and determination shone back at him from her glistening gaze. “There can be only one answer. For you, Jack. It’s always been you.”
Her avowal knifed through him. “Always?”
“You and I go back much farther than this. My grandmother said we lived here together before.”
He sucked in his breath. “That is the most outrageous declaration I ever heard, Evie.”
Unshed tears glinted in her eyes. “I agree, and yet, I sense the truth of it.”
Pondering her mindboggling assertion, he sat with her in silence. “I also sense this in my spirit,” he admitted more gently. “Though not in any manner except feelings.”
She entwined her fingers through his and clasped his hand. “I have no memories of us as we once were but sense a deeper connection than the one we formed so quickly last night. Jack, Grandma G. said we were the young couple who built this house when it was a log cabin.”
A torrent of thoughts and sensations swirled inside him as he tried to comprehend the dumbfounding claim. He cherished Evie’s trust and the natural way she’d taken his hand. How right she felt by his side, as if they’d always been together, and yet, parted far too soon.
This seemingly impossible connection might be a chance for them to recover what they once had, long ago. A confession hovered on his tongue, and he finally gave it voice. “What you say floods my senses, but it explains a great deal.
“Yes. It’s a lot to absorb,” she whispered.
He pressed her fingers to his lips. “To ponder you journeying here from another time, and us sharing a former life together?” He shook his head. “How can we understand this? Meanwhile, I fear you are not ready for what lies ahead in this place, dear lady.”
She winked at tears. “No. I dare say I’m not. But I will toughen up. I must.”
A vision of the war nearly at their door raised its ugly head. “That remains to be seen. I don’t want to return you to your grandmother in a wooden box, supposing I even could.”
Evie swallowed hard, the stubborn tilt still at her jaw. “I don’t want you to, either. Come what may, though, we face it together.”
He contemplated her for a long moment. “You can go with me today. Then we shall see.”
She would retreat when she realized what they were up against, he felt certain, and he would do his utmost to protect her today. Then she must remain with the Wengers while he came and went, if they agreed. What else could he do?
A smile trembled at her mouth. “Do I ride with you on Buck, or can we borrow the Wenger’s mare for me?”
He studied her skeptically. She was a lady, not an officer in the bloody cavalry. “Do you really ride well enough to head out on your own mount?”
“I have the outfit, don’t I?” she asked, in turn.
“And that proves your ability, does it? Many dandies possess the clothes. I thought you said your dress was for picture taking, not merit?”
Pure steel narrowed her eyes. “I can ride, Mr. Smarty Pants. Wait and see. I might leave you in the dust.”
He chuckled. “Very well. Let’s go straightway after breakfast. I’m not missing out on brewed coffee, and the Wengers will be thrilled to share in our wedding bounty, Mrs. Ramsey.”
She tightened her hold on his fingers. “Amen to that.”
He gazed at her, the shadow of a memory returning…of his sweet wife poised in the cabin doorway and her smiling eyes…Evie’s eyes. They must have known another time together, and another war.
Deep inside him, realization came. They hadn’t survived that conflict. Somehow, they must survive this one. He prayed God would give him a nudge regarding danger, and a lot of help.
Chapter Eight
Jack?
Evie swept from the bedroom in her forest green riding habit to find her supposed husband/fiancé waiting on the landing. He stood at the window, his back to her, gazing out at the dewy garden and fields beyond.
Warmth flushed her at the sight of his lean figure, an arm pressed against the beveled glass, his blonde hair shining in the early light. He turned at her tread and smiled.
Tingles zinged through her. How handsome he was this morning, not that he hadn’t been last night, but she knew him better now. The force of his appeal struck her afresh, and it was humbling that such a man should care for her. She’d never been very popular in school. Many kids labeled her weird, not that this was necessarily a bad thing. There was worse.
Granted, she was unusual, evident in the fact that she stood in the nineteenth century version of the house. But none of her former freakiness had prepared her for this adventure with Jack. Come what may, in this moment, she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The hum of voices reached her from the kitchen, the hub of the home. Lifting her skirts, she hurried to where he stood. The admiration in his eyes, like sunlight on deep woods’ fern, told her he approved her attire.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice hushed in near reverence. “I never saw a lady like you in these parts.”
His praise thrilled her. “Staunton probably has some.” She named the historic city in neighboring Augusta County.
“Well, yes. Probably so there,” he agreed. “Not in the middle of farmland, only a hop, skip, and a jump away from the foothills of the Alleghenies.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I know I don’t fit in well here.”
Smiling, he reached his hand to smooth a tendril of her hair, gathered in a loose waterfall cascading down her back. “You are a duchess compared to simple country folk. But we are aiming for diversion, and you are definitely that. I hope I can keep my wits about me with all of this distraction.”
A ripple of pleasure ran through her. “Grandma G.’s passion for everything Victorian has come in handy.”
His sandy brows arched. “What is Victorian?”