by Beth Trissel
Hettie clasped her hands. “Return to us, if you can.”
“I will.” A sob broke into her reply.
Mrs. McIntyre gripped her granddaughter and Jack by the arm. “Farewell all. Our time here wanes.”
The exchange lasted only moments. The bewildered group stared after them as she hustled the reluctant couple back indoors. Battling for breath in the lingering smoke, they dashed up the cloudy stairs and into Evie’s room. The chamber appeared as it had in the Wengers’ care. Shouldn’t it be altered?
“Go into the closet. The warble is strongest in that spot now,” their guide directed. She turned the knob, half-pushing them through, and followed behind.
At first, Jack was only aware of Evie’s sweet warmth beside him in the darkness. The tight space was as he recalled, but the next moment, everything had changed. They stepped into a different place. The choking vapor and every vestige of the fire had gone.
Evie pulled a string dangling in the gloom and light flooded the compact room. Was it the closet she had spoken of?
Boxes made of a material resembling brown paper filled the space, leaving scant floor for them to stand, and he ducked his head.
What in the world? He slanted his still watering eyes at a statue that bore a strong resemblance to Santa Claus. Did he really see reindeer figures beside the jolly old elf?
He sniffed spiced cider. “Am I mad?”
“No. You are not losing your mind.” The matriarch took the mask from her face and set the extinguisher down. “You are home now.”
She opened the door and ushered them into Evie’s chamber. This room resembled the one he had glimpsed before, only it was fully corporeal and smokeless now. Unsure what might come or go next, he wrapped his arm around Evie. Whatever transpired, they would face it together.
She appeared as dazed as he felt. “How did you know to arrive when you did, Grandma G.?”
“Your journal entries, dear girl. The last one read, ‘They’re coming,’ and you gave the hour.”
“So I did. Not that long ago, either.”
“Actually, it was over one hundred and fifty years ago,” Mrs. McIntyre amended, to Jack’s utter disbelief.
“This is too much to take in,” Evie murmured.
He couldn’t begin to absorb it all.
She surveyed her room. “Everything is just as I left it.”
Was it? He stared around him at the finely furnished chamber and gazed out the window.
Beyond the house were blue skies and green leaves rustling in branching trees, taller than the ones he recalled. Where fire had left ruin, fields of lavender now thrived. Nearer to the house, spread a garden filled with herbs and flowers. Here and there, visitors stopped to admire a bloom.
Best of all, horses kicked up their heels in the verdant meadow. What magnificent animals, surrounded by beauty. If a trumpet had sounded, he could scarcely be more persuaded he had arrived in heaven. Surely, he must have.
His heart leapt in joy, but guilt nagged him. “This is marvelous, but should we not have remained behind and helped the family?”
The kind woman circled her arm through his and patted it. “Paul will return, and the Wenger sons will come home from the north with bags of grain and tools to help rebuild. You got the boys out of the valley, and they will be part of its salvation. You fought your war the best you knew how, Jack.”
“We lost,” he reminded her.
“Yes, and no. It ended as it must. Your life is here now.”
He turned puzzled eyes on her. “How so?”
“You died in the attic that fateful day. Only the house brought you forward when Evie went back for you.”
A chill crawled down his neck.
She let him consider this unfathomable assertion for a moment. “You cannot remain in an era you no longer occupy, dear boy, any more than a soldier felled in battle can resume the life he once knew. You will upset the time continuum.”
Whatever that was. “Why did we leave Sam behind then?”
“Unbelievable as this may be, your cousin survived. In the original version of your lives, you shielded him with your body, and the family dragged him out before he perished. But the smoke claimed you.”
Evie sucked in her breath. “Jack saved Sam? Holy cow.” She closed her arms around his chest. “How brave.”
He held her to him. “What of his fever? He was ill.”
“Hettie eventually prevailed in her cure. He will heal far faster with the medication I left him. When Evie mentioned his illness in her journal, I wasn’t certain if he might not be worse than before. You see, it is vital that he survive.”
“Why?” they chorused.
“He is Evie’s great-great-great-great grandfather. We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t lived.”
Jack sank onto the bed and gaped at the woman.
Evie lowered herself beside him. “Who did Sam marry?”
“Why Hettie, of course,” her grandmother said, as if there could be no other choice. “Jack brought them together.”
He tried to envision his reprobate cousin as Evie’s forebear, and wed to a devout Mennonite. How could this be?
Her expression mirrored his stupefaction. “I’m best friends with my ancestors? What relation does that make Jack and me?”
“Very distant cousins, so don’t worry about it. Sam and Hettie restored his family’s homeplace and lived there happily for many years. She was a marvelous influence and calmed him down.” Mrs. McIntyre tapped a finger to her creased forehead. “Bizarre to think their lives are lived, while yours have only just begun. You two have a second chance.”
“Yes.” Jack stared bemusedly at his would-be wife.
“Another thing. You remember Sundown, the young man I recently hired?” the woman continued, with a distracted nod from Evie. “Excellent worker, by the way. He is also a descendent of Sam and Hettie’s. Another distant cousin.”
Evie groaned. “You knew all this and never said?”
“I didn’t know everything,” her grandmother clarified. “After you went back, I learned more. It’s amazing, really.”
“Really,” Jack echoed hoarsely.
She grew brisk. “I realize you two are overwhelmed, and in need of a nice hot shower to wash off the smoke and grime. Evie will explain about showers, and I have some clothes for you, Jack. Then meet me in the kitchen for hot coffee, biscuits, and jam. We have much to discuss.”
Her words washed over him. “Where do I stay?”
“With Evie, of course. You are her husband.”
“But we did not wed properly.”
“You did once. We will observe another ceremony. Seems we have a wedding to plan.”
Evie clasped his hand, entwining their fingers together. “You will remain here with me, won’t you?”
“Where else would I go? You are everything.”
The matriarch nodded in satisfaction. “Good. That’s settled most agreeably. I am leaving you both the farm when I’ve gone. It was yours to begin with. You took the long way ’round, but you are finally home together.”
“Finally,” he softly repeated.
Joy stirred in his soul amid the confusion clouding his mind, like the smoke they had left behind.
Tears glistened in Evie’s eyes. “You have a lot to get used to, but I will be with you every step of the way.”
What more could he ask?
Chapter Twenty-One
One Month Later, Evie and Jack’s Wedding Reception
Savoring their magical night, Evie circled in a waltz with her handsome husband. The garden had never looked lovelier; added blooms burst from pots and wicker baskets. Color filled every nook. And Jack was splendid. Regal, even.
He was the definition of masculine appeal in a black dress-coat with a full collar, a vest of the same rich fabric, and matching doeskin pants that enhanced his tall, lean build. Black leather shoes had replaced his customary boots and he’d drawn on white gloves rather than the brown pair he used for riding.
Trim blond hair curled at his ears and the nape of his neck. He was the perfect Victorian gentleman, and wore elegance with an easy charm.
Prince Albert had nothing on Jack. If a cowboy could be a prince, he pulled off the look. No one acquainted with the rugged man of his former life would guess this was the same scout who had ridden throughout the valley, both rescuing men and fighting them, depending on the circumstances.
Only very occasionally, when annoyed, the steel that crossed Jack’s gaze reminded her of the officer they had left behind. That man still lurked inside him. He commanded respect.
Evie trusted she complemented him in a simple yet elegant ivory satin gown. The flowing dress had a lacy neckline and full skirt buoyed with layers of petticoats. Flower motifs edged her delicate lace veil, and a circlet of lavender crowned her head. The scent wafted from her and trailed on the light breeze. Roses also lent their perfume.
Tea lights floated in bowls filled with lavender tinted water. The hue washed through table cloths, flower arrangements, seat cushions, tiny mints, and punch. This home wasn’t called Lavender House for nothing.
Proud and smiling, Grandma G. resided over the evening like a queen. Pictures of the grand affair would find their way into brochures and onto the farm’s website, Evie suspected. And why not? Her grandmother had taken an enormous risk to help them escape a fiery death.
As she and Jack circled beneath strings of white lights, she pondered their miraculous wedding, and smiled at her mother and father dancing nearby. Her younger sister and two brothers, parked at the refreshment table, eyed her with affection and an expression she never thought to see, respect.
They wound past Sundown. To her surprise, his intent gaze was fixed on her. She glimpsed yearning in his eyes before he caught himself and glanced away.
She’d had no idea he felt like this. Her conscience pricked her momentarily. But he was a good-looking young man and would find someone, or they would find him, before long.
She tilted her face at Jack, trying to fathom all they had experienced together. And to think her mind-blowing adventure began because she was afraid of the closet.
Eyes awash with tenderness, he gazed at her. “Is this real?”
“Yes. The beginning of the rest of our lives. We’ll get it right this time.”
He nodded at her family. “When shall we tell them?”
They were still in ignorance regarding his true origins. Evie had accounted for his unawareness of all things modern by insisting he was passionate about the past.
She shrugged. “Later?” She’d already put it off a month. Sundown, who lived in the house, was bound to have suspicions about her two-week hiatus, plus she’d learned he belonged to a paranormal investigation society.
As it turned out, for most people, all Grandma G. had to say to explain her long absence was, ‘Evie’s met a guy. She’s head over heels.’
After that, the only question the woman had to field was when would the family get to see him? And Jack had gained instant popularity when they did, although they wondered about him. How could they not?
As thrilled and grateful as Evie was to be here with him, part of her wished she could see Mary and Paul, Sam and Hettie again. She knew he felt the same. Like the sun sinking behind the hills, imbuing the sky with rose, streaked saffron-gold, their lives were shot through with joy, mingled with bitter sweetness.
One thing that had brought them both a sense of peace was the letter she found left for her in the hiding place beneath the floorboards. Hettie had written: Two years have passed since you and Jack left us so mysteriously. Many times, we have spoken of you both with deep fondness.
It has taken much hard work, but my brothers have returned, and the barn and outbuildings are restored. You would love to see the lambs at play in the meadow. Calves are born. Polly has a new foal and the chickens enjoy their pen.
Sam and I were wed in the spring and I live in his home in Augusta County now. We are happy together. Do not fear for our family, Evie. God is good. With Love, your friend Hettie.
P.S. Jack forgot his hat.
Evie had smiled at this, but she hadn’t tried to leave a reply. Hettie’s words were penned long ago, and the ink faded. The messages only worked from the past to the present, not the reverse.
Someday, if the warble returned, and the path allowed, she and Jack might step back through time just for a moment…
Meanwhile, they danced.
Author’s Notes
My husband and I live on a farm in the Shenandoah Valley that has been in his family for five generations. We are in the area hardest hit by The Burning that took place in the fall of eighteen sixty-four when Union forces under Major General Philip Sheridan brought hard war to the residents of the valley. Mills, barns, crops, supplies, anything of possible value to the Confederate forces, were systematically torched by Union cavalry. Many homes were also burned, particularly around us. Thousands of farm animals were slaughtered in their pens or taken for the army’s use. Horses were rounded up.
The valley’s pacifist Mennonites and Brethren, most of whom were loyal to the Union, were not spared. My husband’s Mennonite ancestors were among them. The Samuel Shank family lost everything they had, except for the family Bible which they managed to save. Older family members retold this story at reunions. Many Mennonites were forced to flee the valley or face a harsh winter.
In his book, The Burning: Sheridan’s Devastation of the Shenandoah Valley, late valley historian and author John Heatwole, concludes: “The civilian population of the valley was affected to a greater extent than was the populace of any other region during the war, including those in the path of Sherman’s infamous march to the sea in Georgia.”
In addition to John Heatwole’s book, another valuable resource is Unionists and the Civil War Experience in the Shenandoah Valley, compiled by David S. Rodes and Norman R. Wenger. A lot of information is given about the Unionist Underground Railroad. Many of the places and people mentioned in these books are not only familiar, but on my doorstep.
My English Scots-Irish ancestors were also in the valley during the Civil War. They were among the first settlers of Augusta County at the southern end. They left fascinating and deeply moving accounts. Their homes remain, having escaped the worst of The Burning.
My great-great-grandfather, George W. Finley, first Lt. of company K in the Fifty-Sixth VA Regiment, was in Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg. He crossed the stone wall at the Angle beside General Armistead, whom he saw fall. After realizing the battle was over, Finley was one of the few surviving officers who surrendered the remnant of his regiment. He spent the next two years incarcerated in seven different Union prisons and is one of the “Immortal 600,” the southern officers who were placed under the walls of Ft Morris in Charleston Harbor in retaliation for the mistreatment of Union officers.
Nearly blind and near death, he was saved by a Baltimore woman who nursed him back to health, interceded with General Grant, and got him released in May eighteen sixty-five. He returned home and became a Presbyterian minister after the war. Finley promised God on Cemetery Ridge that he would serve him all his days if he survived, and he kept his vow.
A word about the author…
Married to my high school sweetheart, I live on a farm in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with my human family and furbabies. An avid gardener, my love of herbs and heirloom plants figures into my work. The rich history of Virginia, the Native Americans, and the people who journeyed here from far beyond her borders are at the heart of my inspiration. I’m especially drawn to colonial America, the drama of the American Revolution, and the Civil War. In addition to historical romance, I also write time travel, paranormal, YA fantasy romance, and nonfiction.
https://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/
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