"Where am I?"
"In hospital, Miss," the nurse replied. "You fell into the bay. Don't you remember?"
"What city?"
"San Diego, of course." Her mother shot an embarrassed look toward the nurse.
Morgan rubbed her forehead. "I've never heard of Queen Arabella Hospital."
"Nonsense. It's the largest hospital in town." Her mother gave a nervous chuckle. "She's disoriented is all."
"Nearly drowning will do that." The nurse smiled and checked Morgan's pulse, then shoved a thermometer in her mouth while she squeezed her arm with one of those blood pressure machines. When she finished, she turned to leave, announcing the doctor would be there soon to release her.
Morgan tried to gather her thoughts yet again, but they spun out of control. "Mom ... something incredible happened." Should she tell her? Would she even believe her?
"Now, don't you worry about your father," her mother replied as if Morgan hadn't said anything. "He called and sends his love. He'll drop by our flat tomorrow. You know how busy he is." She gazed out the window as sorrow darkened her face.
Flat? "Mom, I'm cured of cancer. God healed me."
Her mother's plucked eyebrows collided. She opened her mouth to say something when Tiffany bounded into the room. At least Morgan thought it was Tiffany. Bright purple hair, cut in a spiky bob, replaced her normal platinum blond. Gobs of sparkling--and way too bright--makeup was plastered over her face, and her low cut blouse and short skirt were even too risqué for her.
"What are you doing here?" Morgan's mother snipped.
"She's my friend, Mom."
Ignoring Morgan's mother, Tiffany leaned on the edge of the bed. "What the hell happened, girl? When I left you on that bench to go get a drink, I didn't expect you to jump in the bay!"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Last thing I remember was you and Brad on the replica ship, the Reckoning." Just saying the name drove a nail through Morgan's heart.
"The Reckoning? I don't remember a ship called that. And who is Brad?"
Morgan stared at her friend, more confused than ever. Either Morgan was dreaming or she'd gone completely crazy. Maybe that's why she was here in the hospital, and no one was telling her this was the mental ward.
"Never mind. What's with the accent? And this ..." Morgan fingered Tiffany's hair. "When did you dye your hair?"
"It's been this color for months now, silly." Tiffany chomped on her gum.
Morgan scanned her friend's attire. "Going out clubbing so early in the day?"
Tiffany cast a glance toward Morgan's mother, who had turned to stare out the window again, then leaned toward Morgan and whispered. "I have a date."
Her mother snorted. "Is that what you call it?"
Morgan knew that tone--that self-righteous judgmental tone of her mother's that made everyone around her feel like dirt. Morgan would have none of it. "Tiffany's not a prostitute, Mom. She's my friend and my roommate."
Frowning, Tiffany looked away, but Morgan's squeeze on her hand brought her gaze back.
"You've always been a good friend, Morgan. I wish we were flatmates, but you live with your mum."
What in the heck was going on? Morgan's heart ran a marathon in her chest. She rubbed her eyes. "Maybe I just need rest."
Tiffany kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I best go before your mum has a heart attack. I'll phone you later."
Morgan nodded and struggled to sit. "Where are my clothes?" The sooner she got out of here, the sooner she could discover what had happened. And more importantly how she could get back to Rowan. The thought brought renewed tears to her eyes, but she batted them away.
"I brought some from home." Her mother handed her a paper bagged stuffed with a pair of jeans, panties and bra, a shirt, and sandals.
"Thanks, Mom"
"But really, dear. You still haven't told me why you were in the bay. And in that silly old dress?"
"I don't know. I guess I just fell in." No sense in telling the woman what Morgan was having a hard time believing herself.
"Of all the ...." Her mother's thin lips twisted in that familiar castigating frown. "First you stop going to church with me. Then you make friends with that"--she glanced out the door where Tiffany had just left as if the devil himself had paid them a visit--"person. And now you embarrass me to death by these silly antics."
Morgan sighed. Well, at least some things hadn't changed.
She slipped behind the curtain to dress. How weird it felt to have jeans on again ... almost uncomfortable. How many days had she longed for her jeans on board Rowan's ship, despising the constraining and cumbersome clothing she'd been forced to wear? Only somewhere along the way, she'd gotten used to it, had actually enjoyed the way it made her feel pretty and feminine. She nearly laughed at the thought, but then started to cry again. Why is this happening, Lord? I want to go back to Rowan. Dear God, I want to go back. She nearly crumpled to the floor when she heard the doctor enter.
Quickly drying her eyes, she went out to meet him, but he was already talking with her mother.
"She doesn't have cancer, Mrs. Shaw. At least none we can find with our preliminary blood tests."
Her mother blinked and glanced at Morgan, who only smiled in return.
"That's impossible. She was diagnosed with Stage 3 just a few weeks ago."
"We'll take another blood sample before she leaves, and if we see anything, I'll schedule an MRI, but it looks like she's cancer free."
Just when things couldn't get any weirder, the ride home blew Morgan's mind. Were there such things as parallel universes? If so--and she'd believe anything was possible after what she'd been through--God must have sent her back to the wrong one. For one thing, the steering wheel in her mother's car had moved to the passenger side. Morgan had slipped behind it, ready for the drive home, only to have her mother exclaim, "I never let you drive my car, dear!" before ushering her to the driver's side. As if that wasn't strange enough, her mother proceeded to drive on the left side of the road. Morgan nearly wrestled the steering wheel out of her hands before she noticed everyone was driving on that side.
However, all that was forgotten when Morgan glanced out the windows. She barely recognized the city of her birth. Shopping centers, restaurants and high-rise buildings she'd known all her life had been replaced by strange, almost European-style architecture--offices, pubs, tea houses, taverns, restaurants boasting the "Best fish and chips in the Kingdom", department stores and supermarkets with names she'd never heard of. A coffee shop called Costa had replaced the Starbucks near her house. Even the billboards were different. One pictured a king and queen waving in front of a palace. Another boasted of the city's cricket team, ironically named the Pirates.
By the time they reached the apartment she supposedly shared with her mother, a massive knot had formed in Morgan's chest. What had happened to America? Why was everything suddenly so British?
A million questions screamed in her mind as her mother ushered her inside the sparsely decorated living room--or lounge as she called it. But Morgan could voice none of them. All she could think about was Rowan. Where was he? What had happened to him after she'd disappeared?
She sank onto a stained couch and tried to steady her breathing. Maybe she was having a nightmare. A very horrible nightmare.
Her mother's worried face blasted into her vision. "I'm going to put on a pot of tea, dear, and bring you some biscuits. You'll feel better in no time." She patted Morgan on the back and sped off to the kitchen.
Tea? When had her mother ever drank tea? It was always coffee. Starbucks was her home away from home. Morgan dropped her head in her hands and gripped her hair. Think. Think. Think. What was happening? She'd obviously come back to the present. But not the present she knew.
She jumped to her feet. "Where's my iPad? Which one is my room?"
Her mother rushed from the kitchen, dish towel in her hand. "What's an iPad?"
Only then did Morgan see the boxy TV set
in the middle of the living room, not the digital HD flat screen her mother owned that took up half a wall. Dazed, Morgan headed down the hall, peeking in doors to find her bedroom, feeling as though she moved through a dream. There, the room with everything perfectly in place and her paintings covering the walls. Flinging open her closet doors, she rifled through her clothes, then pulled out her dresser drawers and rummaged through her neatly stacked underthings and t-shirts.
"What are you looking for?" Her mother entered behind her.
"A tablet, mother. An electronic table. And have you seen my iPhone?"
"I don't know what you are talking about, dear. Please sit down, you're worrying me."
No iPad presented itself, no iPhone, no laptop, just some weird round gizmo with a curved screen and a tiny movable ball at the bottom.
"What is this?" Morgan turned it over, looking for an on-switch.
"It's your Electronic Slip. You know that, Morgan." Snagging it, her mother pressed a button on the side and handed it back to Morgan. "You must have hit your head when you fell in the bay. Oh my, I knew they shouldn't have released you from the hospital so soon."
The round screen lit up with the name EdinCorp scrawled in white letters on a blue background. Morgan tapped it. Nothing happened. No icons appeared. "How does this work?" She sank onto the bed, pressing her fingers all over screen.
Easing beside her, her mother laid the pad aside and took Morgan's hands. "Never mind that. You need your rest now."
"Where am I? What has happened to me?" Tears filled Morgan's eyes.
"Don't go barmy on me, dear. I couldn't take it." Plucking a bottle of pills from a pocket in her apron, her mother slammed two to the back of her throat.
Morgan gathered herself. She had to be strong. She always had to be the strong one. "Just answer me one question, Mom. And don't freak."
Too late. Her mother's expression twisted in apprehension.
"What country is this?"
Terror streaked across her mother's glassy eyes. "Why do you ask such a thing? Are you trying to give me a nervous breakdown?"
"Just please answer me."
"The UBE, of course."
"United ...." Morgan started.
"British Empire," her mother finished and laid the back of her hand on Morgan's forehead.
Morgan's stomach tangled in a knot, forcing bile into her throat. She had changed history. She'd done something that had stopped the United States from being born. The implication struck her like a tornado, nearly knocking her from the bed. Leaping to her feet, she pressed a hand over her thrashing heart. "What have I done? What have I done?"
Her mother merely stared at her. "Morgan, please calm down. Remember your health." She handed Morgan her bottle of pills. "Here, take some of these."
"I don't want your pills, and I don't have cancer."
"Sweetheart, I don't want to frighten you, but that was only one test. They could have been wrong."
Grabbing the weird pad, Morgan tapped the screen again. Nothing. Finally, she tried spinning the round ball at the bottom. The name EdinCorp instantly faded, replaced by a long menu of items listed in an outline. "How do I get to the Internet? I need to look something up."
"The what? You're not making any sense, Morgan. Please."
Of course. An American invented the Internet. And without Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, there was no Microsoft and Apple. Even if they were alive, there may have been no opportunity to create their technology. "What do you use this pad ... I mean slip for?"
"Writing, keeping track of things, lists to remember, calculator, games, things like that. I don't really use mine."
"Can I look up information, like in a library?"
"You mean the EELib?"
Morgan nodded, though she had no idea what that was.
"We can't afford the subscription, Morgan. You know that." Her mother swallowed nervously and stared at the bottle of pills in her hand.
Morgan gripped her wrist before she managed to open it and take more. "You don't need those. I'm okay. Really." Tossing the slip to the bed, she moved to her window and looked out on a world she no longer knew. "Oh, Mom, you wouldn't believe what happened to me if I told you. I hardly believe it myself. But one thing I've learned, God is in control. He loves us and we don't have to fear anymore. We don't have to worry all the time. He does answer prayer and He will never leave us." She faced her mother, but the poor woman's lip quivered.
"I know that dear. Of course I know that."
But did she really?
Replacing her pills in her pocket, her mother sniffed and drew out a handkerchief. "There's a computer at the library."
Without the Internet it wouldn't do Morgan any good. But a library might. "Where's the closest one?"
"You know, the San Diego Park Library."
Morgan knelt before her. "It's going to be all right, Mom. With God's help I'm going to fix things."
Yet even as she said it, even as she borrowed some weird British money with the image of a queen on it for a bus, and headed out the door ... even as she walked through the ornate wooden doors of the library, she wondered if God could change history. Of course He could. He could do anything, right? He'd transported her through time, and He could do it again.
Even though she'd lost the amulet.
But would He send her back? Would He want her to fix things? And if so, why had He brought her back here in the first place? Her mind cycloned with too many thoughts, too many questions, too many unknowns.
God, I know I was a control freak before, but taking all control away? Really?
And how am I supposed to live without Rowan?
That last thought drained her remaining strength, and she grabbed onto the edge of table to keep from falling. She must keep the tears from falling too, or they'd kick her out for making a spectacle of herself. Brits were notoriously stodgy that way. Or so she'd heard.
She made her way to the history section, desperate to discover why the American British colonies had failed in their revolution. It only took three good reference books and one hour to find out that the British army and navy had quickly squashed the "impertinent rebellion of colonial savages" as one book had put it. "A disorderly, uneducated breed of farmers and tradesmen who knew no more about military discipline and strategy than a brothel full of trollops."
Still, Morgan could not find the exact reason they were defeated. Especially when real history proved that these uneducated savages had outwitted and outmaneuvered the most powerful army on earth at the time.
Leaning back in her chair, she blew out a sigh and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she would never know. That upset her the most. Especially when she continued to read and discovered that, without the United States' help in World War II, the Nazis had overrun Europe and were now in a war with a Muslim Caliphate over land in the Middle East.
The room began to spin and she laid her head on the table. The world was in chaos. And all because of her. What could she have done to change things so drastically? She'd only been in 1694 twenty-one days, had only spoken to a handful of people.
Father, please help me.
The word "Rowan" whispered in her ear. A palatable pain severed her heart. What are You trying to tell me? The old Morgan would have assumed God was torturing her for some sin. The new Morgan knew better. Rising, she perused the volumes of history books lining the shelves. But there was no book about Rowan Dutton, the great pirate, and no mention of him in the larger volumes listing famous pirates.
Finally, in the index of one of the older books, she spotted his name, Dutton, Rowan, pirate. Her lungs turned to stone. Did she really want to know? She carried the volume back to the table and sat, caressing the worn cover for several minutes as she attempted to stop her heart from bursting through her chest. What if he'd died a horrible death? What if she'd had no effect on his life at all? What if he married a beautiful princess and had forgotten all about her?
She chided herself for the last selfish thought. Of cours
e she'd want him to be happy.
Either way, was there anything she could do to change a history that had already happened?
But she had to know. There had to be a reason God had sent her back in time. She flipped to the page and ran a finger down the script.
Rowan Dutton (1671-1694)
Her breath fled her.
Captain Rowan Dutton had an unremarkable and short career as a pirate on the Caribbean from 1692-1694 and was finally killed by William Bloodmoon in a fight over treasure on Little St. James Island. He is buried there to this day.
Chapter 30
Morgan dreamed of cannon fire, glittering turquoise seas, and tall sails flapping in the wind. Rowan's handsome face appeared before her. Those stark blue eyes of his looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. He smiled and reached for her, beckoning her to come ... to come back to him.
Rowan ... Rowan ...
A tear spilled from her eye, jarring her from her sleep. A stack of books blurred in her vision as she listened for familiar sounds--wood creaking and rushing water and shouts from above, longing to hear that singular voice of the man she loved.
Oh, God, please let this have been a nightmare! Please!
But all that met her ears was the sound of traffic outside the window.
She tried to lift her head, but her face appeared to be stuck to something. Placing her hands on the desk, she carefully pried it from--ah, yes, she looked down--from the atlas she'd been studying. A map of the Caribbean. The map showing the location of Little St. James Island. The same island where Brasiliano had buried his treasure.
The same island where Rowan had proposed to her.
She rubbed her eyes before the tears came. She'd spent way too much time crying last night, crying and praying, then pleading with God and crying some more.
The whistle of a tea kettle rang down the hall. Morgan looked at her clock. 6:30 a.m. When had her mother ever been up this early? She must really be worried about Morgan. Which is why Morgan had purposely checked out the books she needed and came home early last night.
The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates) Page 31