A perplexed expression crossed the man’s features, then he stepped back to allow them to enter.
“Who may I tell her is calling?” he asked.
“Bradley,” he said, his heart doing a funny little flip. She must be here.
The butler closed the door behind them.
The first thing Bradley saw when he stepped inside was the grandfather clock standing in the foyer. The same exact clock that stood in that very same spot today. In the future.
“You may wait in the parlor,” the butler said, nodding toward their right, and went upstairs.
Bradley stood transfixed in front of the clock.
“Bradley?”
The rain was heavy now and thunder rumbled overhead. The house smelled… different. He found it odd that that was the only thing that seemed significantly different. That and perhaps the quietness. There was no hum of air conditioning or anything electrical. Except for the ticking of the clock, the house was quiet.
“Bradley,” Camille said, taking his hand and tugging him gently toward the room on the right.
The clock began chiming the hour and he was drawn back to stand in front of the clock. He counted eleven chimes. Eleven o’clock. The chiming still echoing in his mind along with a rumble of thunder, his attention was drawn to the top of the staircase on the landing. Lightening flashed through the window at the top of the landing. His hand slipped from hers and he moved to stand in front of the stairway.
A lovely woman in a long green dress with her hair swept to one side stood on the landing. Her skirt gathered in her hands, she appeared poised to continue down the stairs. However, when their eyes met, she froze.
Recognition dawned.
It was Erika.
He saw the moment his sister recognized him. He took a step forward, a lump in his throat.
She was here. She was actually here. Alive.
Tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t move.
“Bradley!” Erika said, lowering a foot on the stairs as she put a hand on the banister.
Thunder crashed through the house as he put a foot on the bottom step.
“Erika,” he said, his heart swelling with joy.
Then something happened.
He blinked and she was gone.
Chapter Ten
“No!” Camille gasped and rushed forward.
It had happened again. Only this time, it was much quicker.
Before, in New Orleans, he had seemed to fade.
But here, this time, he had just... vanished.
The woman at the top of the stairs, rushed down them and stood in the spot where he had been.
“No!” Erika said, echoing Camille’s denial. She looked around them frantically, turning in a circle, her skirts twirling around her.
“He was here,” she said, looking to Camille as though for confirmation.
Camille swallowed the thickness in her throat “Yes,” she said.
They’d travelled all this way to find Erika and now Bradley vanished in an instant.
“It was Bradley,” she said, pinning her gaze on Camille.
Camille nodded. “You’re his sister.”
“Yes.” Erika said. She stopped and took Camille’s arms. “My brother was here. Just a moment ago.”
Camille nodded.
“How did he get here?”
“We came by steamboat from New Orleans.”
“We. Who are you? Are you…?
“I’m Camille Lafleur,” Camille felt her chin go up a notch.
“You’re Bradley’s friend.”
Friend. The word didn’t seem to accurately describe her relationship with Bradley. Yes, they were friends, but there was more than that. He was more than that to her her. “Yes,” she said.
“You don’t seem surprised that he… vanished.”
A little surprised, but more acutely disappointed. And worried. “I’ve seen it happen before.”
“Are you from…” Erika glanced around, lowered her voice. “From now?”
Camille smiled. She suddenly understood what Erika was asking. She wanted to know if Camille had come from the future with Bradley or if he had met her here in this time. “Yes. Bradley is from the future.”
Erika laughed a watery laugh. “Yes, he’s from the future. But where did he go?”
“Back?”
“Why would he do that?” she asked, to no one in particular, twirling again, to face the grandfather clock. She studied its face as though if could offer an answer.
“He’ll return,” Camille said. If he can.
“Oh my God,” Erika said. “I never thought to see him again.” She went to sit on the bottom step of the stairs and rubbed her hands over her face. “This is so… unexpected.”
Camille went to sit next to her. “He was so excited to see you. We spent days traveling from New Orleans. He suffered from nerves about it, too.”
“Nerves. Why would he be nervous?” She asked, turning to face Camille.
“He wasn’t really sure you would be here.”
“I guess not,” she said. “It must have been hard for him.”
“It was hard for him. I think he missed you very much.”
Her words brought tears to Erika’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Camille said. “I don’t mean to make you sad. He was so very excited to see you.”
Erika wiped at her eyes. “It’s okay. I just never thought I’d see him again. Not even for an instant.”
“Oh,” Camille repeated. “Kay. I heard Bradley say that.”
Erika’s eyes widened. “It’s a common expression in… in.”
“In the future,” Camille finished for her. Then attempted a bright smile.
“I wonder,” Erika said, shaking her head. “As far as you know, he came back while in New Orleans?”
“I’m certain of that. Like I said, I was there.”
“I always thought it was this house.”
“It must be this house,” Camille said, “since he barely got inside the door.”
“Why New Orleans?” Erika asked, seemingly to herself, staring into space. “What’s there? He never liked New Orleans.”
Camille wasn’t sure what to say. Did she tell Bradley’s sister that the two of them had a… connection?
Now that the question was posed, Camille realized she had assumed she was what drew him back in time.
Erika pinned her gaze onto Camille’s. “You,” she said. “He’d drawn to you.”
Camille wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted it to be true. She wanted Bradley to be drawn to her. She wanted him to come back. To her. “I don’t know,” she murmured, tearing her gaze away.
“Erika?” A man’s voice called from the top of the stairs. Camille turned to see a tall, handsome man with dark hair standing on the landing. She watched as he came down the stairs. The girls moved their skirts aside for him to pass. He stood next to Erika, with his hand on her shoulder, smiling down at her. She tipped her chin up and smiled back at him. The love between them was evident in that one exchange.
“Charles,” she said, “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Camille Lafleur. Camille, this is my husband, Charles Becquerel.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, holding his hand out for her.
She placed her hand in his, palm down, and his breathe grazed the back of her hand. His lips didn’t touch her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said.
“Camille is a friend of my brother’s,” Erika said, “up from New Orleans.”
Something nagged at the back of Camille’s mind as she was introduced to Erika’s husband, but she too distracted to focus on it.
Charles’s expression in response to this information went rapidly from neutral, to questioning, to incredulousness. “Your brother?” he echoed.
“Yes,” Erika said, exuding a calmness that Camille was certain she couldn’t possibly feel. “We’re becoming acquainted.”
Charles studied her curiously. “Is she fro
m here?” he asked.
“Yes,” Erika said. “From New Orleans.”
“And your brother.”
“He was here,” she said, “but he had to return suddenly. Unexpectedly.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said, “I should very much like to meet your brother.”
Erika nodded, the pain crossing her features again before she took her husband’s hand in hers. “I didn’t have the opportunity to speak to him before he… left.”
“But he was here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought he lived too far away to visit,” Charles said. “This is indeed fortunate information.”
Erika took a deep breath, turning back to Camille. “It’s unexpected,” she said.
“I’m on my way to the stables,” he said. “I’ll let you two visit.”
She tilted her chin up again and he kissed her on the lips. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and Erika threaded her fingers in his dark hair, pulling him closer. Camille looked away, feeling as though she had intruded upon a private moment.
Charles left and Erika turned back to her, a satisfied smile on her face.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” Camille said.
“Don’t be silly.” Erika laughed. “I should show you to the guest room,” she said. “You must be exhausted after your long trip.” She stood up. “I’ll have a bath sent up.”
Camille almost groaned. A bath! “That would be heavenly,” she said.
“Villars will bring your trunks up. You may be here for awhile.”
Camille felt a stab shoot through her heart. She was supposed to be back in New Orleans before her father returned. She couldn’t stay here more than a week in order to do that. But she couldn’t tell Erika that now. She had to think. And rest.
Within the hour, Camille was settled into the guest room and luxuriated in a steaming bubble bath. Though she’d been offered the assistance of a servant, she had declined.
She was alone at last. Alone to rest. And to let her mind wander.
She missed Bradley already. In a way, she wished she’d been holding his hand when he disappeared. Would she have gone with him? The thought of seeing the future sent goose bumps over her skin. He’d told her very little, but he’d implied enough for her to get the impression that the future was nothing like the present.
She couldn’t even fathom what it must be like. But this house still stood. After all those years, his family’s home still stood. So, the world had not completely changed.
She washed her hair, then stayed in the bath until the water cooled. The servant had brought up her trunks as Erika had promised and she looked forward to putting on a clean gown.
She didn’t know how long she was expected to stay here. She could send her father a note. And let him know that she would be delayed.
From a trip she hadn’t told him about.
Her father would be irate. Camille would probably never be allowed to work in the tavern again. Her father would probably ban her to the plantation forever.
Or marry her off to some elderly widow.
The thought sent a stab of horror through her. She would be considered ruined after running off with a man. It didn’t matter than nothing had happened. She would have to be married quickly before the scandal took root and completely ruined her reputation.
She ducked her head under the water to rinse her hair. This was not good.
This was a disaster.
Perhaps she just needed to stay here. At least until her father’s ire lessened. He would never understand.
Camille stepped out of the bath and dried off. She chose a simple green day dress from her trunk and pulled it on over her head. She put on her stockings and shoes. She then went to the window and looked out over the empty fields. It was early spring, so the cotton planting hadn’t begun yet.
She realized she was stalling. Not knowing what to expect.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she went to the door and turned the doorknob.
The tall servant Villars was waiting on the other side. Camille jumped.
“Mistress Erika would like you to join her on the veranda,” he said, leading the way, assuming she would follow.
Camille smiled to herself at his assumption that she would follow. He was right of course.
He led her down the stairs and out back to the veranda, then left her. Erika sat next to a small table with a pitcher of water next to her. She didn’t see Camille at first. Her expression was sad. Anxious.
Camille watched her a moment, wondering what she must be thinking. Seeing her brother suddenly like this must be quite a shock. A brother she had never thought to see again.
And then to be cheated by only seeing him for a fleeting moment. It seemed cruel indeed.
When Erika sensed her standing there, she turned, her expression immediately changing to a smile, “Come,” she said. “Sit and have some fresh water with strawberries. It’s very refreshing.”
Camille went to sit in next to Erika in the offered chair. She returned Erika’s smile. She could definitely see the resemblance in their features. There was a mysteriousness about them. As though they knew things that others didn’t. And indeed they did. They knew the future.
“It’s very lovely here,” Camille said.
“It’s beautiful,” Erika said.
“You must be quite content,” Camille said, knowing she teetered on the boundary of prying. Erika, however, didn’t seem to notice or maybe she didn’t mind. Camille, after all, knew what she knew. Camille wondered how many others knew. Did Erika carry her burden alone. Or did her husband know.
“I am very content. I have a loving husband,” she said and the love she felt for Charles in return showed in her eyes as she spoke of him. “There is no where I’d rather be.”
“You had a choice then,” Camille said.
“Yes,” Erika admitted. “Eventually. Not so much at first.”
“I wonder if Bradley has a choice,” Camille wondered out loud as she watched a butterfly flitter around some pretty white flowers growing in a pot on the porch.
“I wonder, too,” Erika said, her eyes glazing with unshed tears. She took a sip of water and seemed to steady herself.
“Tell me how you came to know him.”
Camille told Erika everything. Well, almost everything. She left out the part about how much she wanted to kiss him. It didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to discuss with anyone, much less the man’s sister.
“Do you love him?” Erika asked.
Camille’s eyes widened and her thoughts froze. So much for having what she considered an appropriate conversation with Bradley’s sister.
Did she? Did she love him?
Her heart tripped when she saw him. She wanted to kiss him more than anything.
She missed him horribly.
She wanted him next to her.
She had traveled with him without even telling her family.
Did she love him?
“Yes,” she breathed.
Erika inhaled sharply. “There’s something we have to do,” she said. “We have to see Vaughn.”
Chapter Eleven
Bradley stood staring at the silently ticking grandfather clock.
At the battle scar in the form of a jagged rip between the Roman numerals six and seven across its face that happened during the Civil War.
He noticed the soft hum of cool air coming from a vent in the ceiling. And the familiar music of the Weather Channel playing softly from a television in the kitchen.
His blood ran cold and his thoughts froze.
He was home.
He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and held onto the image of his sister standing at the top of the landing. She’d called out to him. She had been real.
What cruel twist of fate had allowed him to travel all the way from New Orleans to Natchez on a steamboat in 1838, risking his very life in the process, only to be whisked away in a heartbeat back to his own time?
>
It had been real? Hadn’t it?
He ran his hands down his wool pants and studied the boots that were definitely from the past.
Camille had been standing next to him. He took comfort that she was with his sister. Erika would take care of her.
Only he hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Erika how much Camille meant to him. Would
Camille tell her?
It occurred to him that Camille didn’t know. How could she know when he hadn’t bothered to tell her?
He had to tell her. He had to get back to her. His thoughts were tangled and he couldn’t make sense of them.
He legs felt like rubber and he suddenly had no strength. He took a few steps and collapsed onto the bottom stair. Imagined Camille and Erika sitting here – talking. They wouldn’t know what had happened to him.
Or would they?
They certainly wouldn’t know why.
He didn’t know why.
His thoughts racing jumbled through his mind, he looked up and saw his grandfather standing there.
Jonathan stared at him – incredulousness on his face. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
Bradley laughed. Was it out loud? Perhaps he was a ghost. He had no energy. No strength in his legs.
“Bradley?” his grandfather whispered.
“Grandpa?” Bradley answered, hope surging through him. Perhaps he was still alive.
Then Jonathan was next to him. “What happened Bradley? Are you alright?”
Bradley gazed into his grandfather’s kind face. “I don’t know. I was there. I was right there. And then I was here.”
“How? No. Nevermind. Let’s get you cleaned up and rested. Then you can tell me everything.”
Bradley’s first instinct was to resist. He needed to get back to Camille. To Erika. But Jonathan was right. He need to clean up and rest. To sort things through. To figure out what he needed to do next.
The next day, Bradley was in his grandfather’s white Lexus sedan driving from Natchez to New Orleans. What torture was this? First he had to endure the steamboat trip. Now a trip in the car. What good was being a pilot when he had no way to fly?
He’d called the hotel and they said they had his things in the front office. There was nothing of value, really, except the money. But he hadn’t had the courage to ask about it. He knew the odds of it being there were slim. He never carried over a hundred dollars in his money clip. It could disappear too easily. He used credit cards so a stolen card could easily be cancelled and fraudulent charges reversed.
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