his hat and settled it back on his head, ordering, “Let’s get this
in place.”
They each caught a side of the dresser. Lightning flashed,
sending glittering beams through the room. A sharp crack
followed. Caleb adjusted his saddlebags and slipped his hand
along the dresser’s side to protect the wood.
Where’d ya put that damn gold neckpiece? Jacobs’s words
filtered through his mind just as tiny points exploded through
his arm. Caleb immediately jerked his arm away from the
dresser and flexed his hand. The prickling started at his fingers
and danced upward to his shoulder.
The tingle reminded him of the strange sensations he’d
felt when he’d held the gold-colored medallion, only stronger.
Ignoring the flicker of pain and Jacobs’s curses, he slipped
his arm back in place and forced the dresser into the room.
Caleb braced his weight against the slick wood. An intense
burning ignited the nerves in his arms, legs and chest, finally
centering in his head.
“Push the thing through the door,” Rebecca’s soft voice
called from inside the room, yet it seemed far away.
No, it couldn’t be Rebecca. She waited in the parlor with
Luke.
“Rebecca, honey, don’t harass the workers,” a stranger’s
voice called. Distant, yet so close Caleb would swear it came
from someone standing at the foot of the stairs.
Where is it? Jacobs’s demanding thoughts clamored with
the other voices.
Caleb rested his head against the dresser and relaxed a
moment. Thunder shook the walls. Jacobs was right. He would
never make it back to town before the storm hit. The only thing
Rebecca and he could do was let the man stay in the barn until
the weather cleared.
***
Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh area
Present Day
“I don’t want to sell,” Becci Berclair muttered. She
stretched across the bed to straighten the spread. She liked her
aunt’s idea of a nursery for newborns. The area definitely needed
one. Besides, it would solve all their problems—financial and
otherwise—if they managed to get it opened.
She knew Michael wanted her to sell the old place. He’d
told her often enough that it was nothing more than a money
guzzler. Still, he had gone out of his way to help her and Aunt
Lilly find a way to save Berclair Manor. When she asked him
why, he’d said he loved her and if she truly wanted the place
he would do everything he could to help her save it. Then he
managed to have her request added to the list of names vying
for the Ascomp grant.
When, shortly after inheriting the place, she’d been
approached by a real estate agent wanting her to list the
property, her first thought was, Sell her home? Absolutely not.
She’d thought herself lucky when she inherited the family
homestead, but she hadn’t known about the outstanding debts.
Now she knew that even if she sold she wouldn’t clear enough
money to live a month much less a year. And that’s what she
needed—enough money to get her through one year of living
expenses so she could finish her schooling. Of course, Michael
had said that after they’d married he’d help out on the expenses,
but knowing he really didn’t feel she should keep the house,
she couldn’t ask him to do that.
Lightning flashed through the room, interrupting her
thoughts, and a sudden downpour dotted the floor with plump
rain circles. Becci skirted the bed and put her strength into
shutting the window. It wouldn’t budge. With luck, she might
get it down before the whole room flooded.
A man’s curse sliced through the room. Startled, Becci
whirled around and saw two men and the dresser through the
doorway. When had the workers come? It really didn’t matter
as long as they had the furniture in place before Mr. Latham
arrived.
They were sure taking their time with the dresser, though.
Becci braced her hands on her hips. “Just push the dresser
through the door.”
“Rebecca, if that’s the workers, don’t you dare harass
them,” Aunt Lilly called from the foot of the stairs.
Becci drew in several deep breaths. It didn’t help. Her
temper still threatened to erupt. Her aunt meant well but—
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and turned back to
the window. Let the workers go at their own pace. What did
she care if it took them half a day to move the dresser into the
bedroom.
Caleb brushed his hand over the side of the dresser. Just as
lightning flashed again, it vibrated and jolted over the threshold
with such force that both he and Jacobs tumbled into the room
after it.
A searing pain as keen as a flint-sharpened knife cut through
Caleb. His legs trembled and threatened to give way. He clung
to the side of the dresser and glanced at Jacobs.
The drunk held the dresser in a white-knuckled grip, his
arms stiff and his jaw clenched. Did Jacobs feel the pain too?
Caleb tried to call to Rebecca, but the words were a silent
beckoning.
Rebecca, help me.
Caleb, take Luke with you. You promised.
Rebecca!
It’s too late.
Caleb heard the anguish in Rebecca’s voice. Her next words
were calmer, but he still heard her pain.
Go where the spirit leads you. Be safe, Caleb Harrison.
Rebecca’s words vibrated through Caleb. Haunting. Pain
riddled. Luke’s cry tore at his heart.
Oh, Luke. I love you as if you were my own.
He suddenly knew he was losing the boy—would never
again hold him in his arms again. Never have him snuggle
against his chest or call him papa. Never see him grow to be a
man.
“No.” The word tore from Caleb. He didn’t want to lose
the child. Didn’t want to live without the innocent love Luke
showered on him. At that moment, he acknowledged that he
loved the boy as if he were his own.
Caleb slumped to the floor as a glaring white light filled
the room. Searing heat flamed in him. He tried to shield his
head with his arms as he cried out for Luke and Rebecca. He
heard Rebecca scream in pain, heard Luke’s wail, then total
silence.
Caleb heard an agonized groan and recognized it as his
own. Slowly the pain eased, and he opened his eyes. The room
swirled—tilting, shaking and spinning in all directions.
The vibrating dresser changed with each passing second.
Staring at its beautiful, glistening wood, Caleb watched its
appearance alter before his eyes. A deep, fresh, scratch ripped
the side, swirling angrily down the whole length of board.
“No,” he whispered, raising his hand to the scarred
indention only to have the marred line darken as if colored by
time. A corner cracked away. He reached up to snatch the chip,
only to have it slip through his fingers and vanish before it hit
the floor. The mirror rattled in i
ts frame, then cracked.
A menacing quiet settled about the room, charging the air
with tension. Caleb glanced to where William Jacobs crouched
behind the dresser. The drunk’s terrified look told Caleb that
whatever was happening they were in this together. Jacobs
jumped to his feet and ran for the stairs. He suspected the man
was going to look for a bottle. He knew that Rebecca kept a
bottle of whiskey for medicinal purposes, and he was sure that
Jacobs would find it. That meant he wouldn’t do anything but
drink the rest of the day.
Caleb turned his gaze back to the dresser. His whole body
trembled. His heart raced dangerously. He clutched his
saddlebags to his chest with one hand and traced the dresser’s
dented planes with the other. What had happened to cause all
this damage? Had lightning somehow struck it?
As he asked himself the questions, the pounding of his
heart began to ease, and the room slowed its swirling march.
Lightning flashed.
Caleb rolled his head against the floor and peered around
the dresser. Regret tore through him as he stared at the long
break in the looking glass. Rebecca hadn’t even seen the beveled
mirror. He’d hoped to surprise her with it.
What had happened to destroy it? Confusion and anger
battled with his common sense. Although the dresser looked
similar, this couldn’t be the piece he’d just moved in here. Yet
in his heart he knew that although it no longer resembled the
beautiful piece Rebecca would have loved, it was definitely
the one he’d just shoved into the room.
The silver-backed looking glass, once giving a perfectly
clear image, now reflected a marred surface with discolored
circles. The two sides gave a distorted, jagged, swirling
reflection of the gradually slowing room.
Wind roared through the open window, whipping the soft
white curtains and popping the material with such force that it
threatened to rip them off the frame. A tree limb scraped the
glass and rain pelted the floor, leaving small mounds of water
in little pools.
Caleb drew in a shaky breath and rolled his shoulders. No
broken bones. And no pain except for his head, and that would
pass. Right now, he needed to close the window before the
water damaged the floor.
He listened for Luke’s cry. Nothing. Had Rebecca finally
quieted him? Were they still downstairs waiting for him? They
had to be. Rebecca wouldn’t take Luke out in a storm.
Caleb sat up and caught the edge of the dresser to pull
himself upright. Before he could stand, motion in the mirror
caught his eye. Bare legs—feminine, perfectly shaped, bare
legs—moved into view in the cracked looking glass. Caleb
sucked in a sharp breath. In all his thirty years he’d seen such
a sight only once and then quite by accident.
Whoever the woman was, she rose up on her toes and
pressed on the top of the window. He couldn’t pull his gaze
from her mirrored image.
Where had this woman come from? Why had Rebecca let
someone of such obviously immoral demeanor enter her house?
Was this another of Rebecca’s sisters? A black sheep, perhaps?
He’d met Rebecca’s twin, Catherine, and this definitely wasn’t
Catherine who carried too much weight to have legs that slender.
Well, he would have a word with Rebecca. If she expected him
to marry her and raise Luke, this woman would have to leave.
He wouldn’t have Luke living in a home that the townspeople
would gossip about. He knew firsthand how such slander could
unfairly destroy a boy’s reputation for life.
Caleb released his hold on the dresser and brushed his damp
palms against his trouser legs. Still kneeling, he twisted around,
telling himself he had to be imagining the apparition. Rebecca
was a good woman and would never let a loose woman into
her home, even if she were a relative.
At the sight that met his eyes, his heart picked up its pace.
The reflection hadn’t lied. A real woman stood by the window,
and he focused his gaze on her bare feet. Inch by inch he
followed the gentle curves upward. Instead of frills and
petticoats, she was dressed in clothes he’d never seen before
and showed more flesh than a proper woman should. A lot
more flesh. She wore something resembling men’s pants, but
they stopped just below where her legs joined her hips.
Caleb swallowed around the lump in his throat. Not only
were the men’s pants cut short, they started a good four inches
below where her top ended. He’d never seen so much woman.
Not even at the bordello he’d visited every Friday night before
he moved to Raleigh.
His head might be swirling, and his vision slightly blurred,
but he could tell that regardless of her attire—or lack of it—
her beauty rivaled any he’d ever seen.
But beautiful or not, he had to get her out of Rebecca’s
house before her reputation was ruined. If that happened, even
marriage to him might not stop Obadiah from stealing Luke’s
heritage from him.
He tightened his grip on the edge of the dresser and tried
to stand again. Pain, sharp and intense, tore through his head,
and the room suddenly faded into darkness.
Three
Becci just about had the window down when another curse
rent the air. She again whirled around to tell them not to use
such language in her house, but the sight of colorful lights
encircling two men who’d just stepped over the doorway
stopped her.
One of the men turned and stumbled from the room. As his
footfalls faded, the other man glanced at her before his iceblue
eyes rolled back. His body twitched for a moment, and
then he sank into a motionless heap.
“Aunt Lilly, I need help up here!” Becci yelled as she
hurried across the room and scooted the dresser out of the way
as best she could. Fear knotted inside her. Her hands were
shaking.
“Calm down and check his pulse,” she whispered, mentally
going over the procedures Aunt Lilly had taught her. She pressed
her fingers to his wrist. “Slightly elevated, but steady.”
“Respiration.” Becci frowned at the strange saddlebags
he held, then shoved them aside and rested her hand on his
chest.
“Come on, make those breaths deeper, mister,” she ordered.
He seemed to obey, and Becci breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s it. Keep it up. Help is coming. Aunt Lilly’s a retired
nurse. She’ll know what to do.” What was keeping her aunt?
Becci flipped her braid over her shoulder. “What next?”
She went through the list of emergency procedures again.
“Skin tone,” she muttered as she cupped her hand to his
cheek. She brushed her knuckles over his chiseled features, as
she stared down at his rough, yet ruggedly handsome, face.
He looks really good..
Becci let her hand glide down his neck to his shoulder and
on to his upper
arm. Trim, yet muscular. A real working-guy
physique like the type used in the television commercials that
had women hanging out the windows for a peek.
Lord, even unconscious the man sent a tingle of attraction
to the pit of her stomach. His raven-black hair curled over the
collar of his flannel shirt and accentuated his sun-drenched
skin.
“Aunt Lilly!”
“I’m coming, dear. The other man collapsed at the foot of
the stairs,” Lilly said as she entered the room. She drew in
several deep breaths before she dropped to the floor beside the
other worker and held a glass out toward Becci. “Take the
glass, honey. I’m too shaky to hold it and pour the whiskey at
the same time.”
“Whiskey?” Becci gasped in disbelief. What had gotten
into her aunt? After the way alcohol had destroyed Becci’s
father, Lilly despised the use of liquor for any reason. “What
are you doing with whiskey?”
Aunt Lilly winced as she answered. “I bought a couple
bottles after I read the journal last week. I was putting it in the
cabinet when I heard the commotion. The other man snatched
the one bottle I had when he came around. He drained half the
whiskey in one long swig.”
Her aunt paused and drew in a deep breath. Becci drew in
one with her, too stunned by her aunt’s behavior to comment.
“Before I could explain that he needed to rest a moment,”
her aunt continued, “he ran out the door, bottle in hand, so I
had to get this one. That’s why it took me so long to get up
here.”
Becci rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. She knew what
her aunt’s next words would be. Sure enough, Lilly didn’t
disappoint her.
“They have to be from the past. The book says...”
“Don’t start. There is no way these men came from the
past. You hired them. Didn’t you?”
“Me?”
Becci arched her brows and looked at her aunt askance.
They both knew she’d hired them. She opened her mouth to
state as much, but closed it without uttering a word. What was
the use? Her protest wouldn’t be heeded. If her aunt chose to
use a remedy she found in one of the old tattered journals they’d
found, she would. And no amount of prodding would change
her mind.
Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt Page 3