Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt

by Keeper of Key. txt (lit)

  and well. He had to believe that.

  “My name is Caleb Harrison, Miss Berclair, and I’m not

  lying about that.”

  She looked both irritated and puzzled, but all she said was,

  “Okay, Mr. Harrison, let’s just get to work and forget this

  discussion ever happened.”

  “Caleb.” He moved around her, heading for the front door.

  “Please, call me Caleb.”

  “If you and Aunt Lilly aren’t in this together, I hope you’re

  prepared to listen to her questions. Especially if you keep

  insisting that Caleb Harrison is your name. She’ll want to know

  all about how you killed Rebecca.”

  Caleb slowed. He couldn’t have heard her right. But she’d

  repeated it again. Rebecca was dead, and he’d supposedly killed

  her. Caleb faced the front door and pressed his palms flat against

  the wood. He slowly curled his hand into a fist.

  “The last time I saw Rebecca, she wore a cameo that I’d

  given her to celebrate Luke’s birth. She’s my friend—my only

  friend. I didn’t—couldn’t—kill her.”

  Becci didn’t have time for games, but for the second time

  in less than a minute she felt a surge of concern for this man.

  She came up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  He shrugged away from her touch. For a moment her hand

  hovered in the air before she dropped it back to her side, telling

  herself that the man was acting. To believe otherwise would

  mean she’d have to accept time travel, which only happened in

  movies and books. But even though her logic told her the man

  was playing a role, she couldn’t bring herself to challenge him.

  “The furniture is out back,” she said. “Of the remaining

  pieces, the only one you’ll need help with is the wardrobe.

  Why don’t we move that piece in first?”

  “We?” He swiveled to face her. His blue eyes glistened. A

  hint of moisture shimmered on his dark lashes, but no tears

  fell.

  Again telling herself he was acting, Becci motioned for

  him to follow her.

  She pivoted toward the kitchen. “The wardrobe is too heavy

  for one person, and Aunt Lilly said your friend ran off. That

  just leaves me to help. The work has to be done if I plan to

  keep this house.”

  Becci heard her father’s voice when he handed her the key

  to the front door. “No one but a relative of Saul or Obadiah

  Berclair has ever owned this place. That’s why I—we—have

  to try and save it. Besides, the secret of the coin is here

  somewhere.” Becci half whispered her father’s words.

  “Let’s get to work.” She didn’t care if the man had heard

  her or not. She didn’t care if he followed, did the work of an

  army, or pretended to be sick. The offer of funding from the

  Ascomp Company had put the spark back into her dream. Now

  she had two choices—find funding for the nursery or sell out.

  Either way finances were going to be tight for a few years to

  come. If she hoped to get the nursery started, she needed more

  money than her meager salary provided.

  “If we wait, I’m sure this Mr. Latham you’re expecting

  will gladly help me,” Caleb said as he caught up to her.

  Becci whirled around to face him and laughed sarcastically.

  “Believe me, if he’s anything like Michael Ascott, Mr. Latham

  will not help. He’ll be too afraid he’ll wrinkle his three-piece

  suit.”

  “Then I’ll do it by myself. You’re a....” He hesitated. His

  gaze drew a pointed line from the top of her head to the tips of

  her toes and back up, hesitating slightly as it reached her chest.

  She felt her body respond. Butterflies took flight in her

  stomach when he lifted his eyes to her lips. She had to fight the

  urge to moisten them.

  “You’re a lady. No matter what your profession, a job like

  this should be done by the man in the family.”

  “There is no man in the family, at least not yet. My fiancé

  isn’t the type to get his hands dirty with manual labor. That’s

  why we hired you.”

  “You’re promised?”

  It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. “Engaged,

  Mr. Harrison.”

  “Same difference. They both mean you’re spoken for.”

  Caleb didn’t know why the thought of her belonging to

  another man caused such strange feelings inside him. It couldn’t

  be because of her chosen profession. After all, he’d been

  engaged to a prostitute once. The strange feelings just didn’t

  make sense.

  Nothing did.

  This all had to be a dream, he told himself. He could look.

  He could even touch her if he wanted too. She was part of his

  dream. If he wanted to make love to her, he could. Providing

  she was willing. He wouldn’t take a woman who didn’t want

  him, not even in a dream.

  “Does your fiancé know you let men see you like this?”

  Caleb glanced toward the door while he waited for her answer.

  His heart thundered like the hoofbeats of a stampeding heard

  of wild mustangs.

  His gaze was drawn back to her as she snapped, “Mister,

  what my fiancé knows or doesn’t know is between him and

  me, and if you want to continue to work here you will keep

  your chauvinistic views to yourself.”

  Caleb nodded once and glanced back toward the door. He

  didn’t know what she meant by chauvinistic views, but he

  wasn’t about to ask her to explain. For now, he would help her

  rearrange Rebecca’s house and pray that something would wake

  him.

  He passed the woman and headed toward the back of the

  house. The woman might have Rebecca’s hair and eyes, but

  she didn’t have her other qualities. The Widow Berclair would

  never allow a man to see her in such sparse clothing.

  Caleb came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the kitchen

  and scanned all the changes. A table had replaced the potbellied

  stove, and a window bowed outward where a solid brick wall

  had once protected against the heat. On the new table, steam

  swirled over a platter of hot vegetables and a glass container

  of brown liquid that smelled like coffee.

  The woman called Lilly stood in the far corner of the room

  beside a tall, rectangular box, mostly white. A short, square

  piece sat beside it. The wood enclosures that lined the lower

  half of the wall had two deep holes centered under the window

  where he’d watched Rebecca wash plates in a large dishpan. A

  long, curved piece of shiny silver, metal protruded out over

  one of the indentations.

  None of this could be real, yet it was. Outside, the flowers

  he’d helped Rebecca trim back because the last of the blooms

  had wilted looked fresh and full of color. Further out in the

  yard several rose bushes bloomed. Last month Rebecca told

  him the spring flowers on the table were the last of the season.

  She’d been wrong. Rebecca’s gardens were in full

  bloom...again.

  “What...?” He started to ask what month it was, but a

  calenda
r hanging beside the back door gave him his answer.

  May?

  Impossible!

  Caleb traced the month displayed in two-inch letters below

  a strange picture. He tossed a quick glance back at the window

  then swiftly returned his gaze to the calendar. It locked on the

  month again.

  He’d already lived through May once this year.

  No. He corrected as he took note of the year on the calendar.

  His heart skidded to a stop and then leaped into a thundering

  gallop. Never had he dreamed this year would exist in his

  lifetime. He still wanted to believe he was dreaming, but if

  what the calendar said was true, he had traveled through time.

  And how else could he explain all the strange furniture in this

  room and the missing brick wall? Rebecca said he had a good

  imagination, but he could never dream up such strange things.

  As he tried to accept the notions running through his mind,

  he watched Becci walk over to one of the wall protrusions.

  She opened a drawer and took out another long tube. The red

  and yellow shaft made it look less dangerous than the other

  one.

  “Your flowers look nice,” he muttered, eyeing the tube

  cautiously.

  Maybe this wasn’t a new type of gun, but he would watch

  her closely while she held it.

  Her gaze slid to the window, and she sighed. “Yes, they

  are.” She tipped her head in Lilly’s direction. “Aunt Lilly works

  hard to keep them looking pretty, but it’s too much for one

  person.”

  As she spoke, she shook this new cylinder a couple of times

  then moved her thumb over a small rippled piece on the side. A

  wide, white river shot from the end.

  Caleb jerked back, but not fast enough. The streak caught

  him on the thigh then settled into a pale gold puddle on the

  floor. It moved when she moved, yet it destroyed nothing.

  He swiped his hand over the area of his thigh that had been

  nipped. No pain, and no visible damage, even though the gunlike

  object put out a flame-like glow.

  With another push of the button, the woman doused the

  beam and glanced out the window at the shed. “Darn, the shed’s

  locked. You take the light, and I’ll get the keys for the doubledoors.

  It will be easier to get everything out that way.”

  Caleb expelled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been

  holding and felt the tension drain away. She extended the tube,

  but he didn’t take it.

  “Look, if you don’t want to do the work, why don’t you

  just leave?” She shoved past him and out the door without once

  pulling out her other weapon. The silver tube still protruded

  from her front pocket, and she held the red and yellow one at

  her side in a tight-fisted, angry grip.

  “Miss Berclair?”

  “What?” she yelled as she whirled around to face him.

  Caleb stepped off the porch and held out his hand for the

  tube, realizing that she’d called it a light. It occurred to him

  that it was some type of torch. “I’m supposed to take that thing,

  and you’re supposed to get the key.”

  He arched one brow and gave Becci a smile that sent her

  heart racing.

  She caught his hand and slapped the light against his palm.

  “I don’t have time for games, Mr. Harrison.”

  “I’m not playing games, Miss Berclair. I wish I were. This

  morning when I woke up, I left Raleigh, but I never expected

  to go so far.”

  “And just how far did you travel, Mr. Harrison? All of five

  miles?”

  “And more than a hundred and sixty years,” he whispered

  to himself.

  Five

  Caleb kept his strides steady. He didn’t have to see Miss

  Berclair standing behind him to know her eyes still bore into

  him. He locked his gaze on the large oak tree in the center of

  the backyard. Was this the same tree that just last week he’d

  circled his hands around and touched his thumbs together?

  He pressed his palm to the rough bark and drew in a calming

  breath. He couldn’t even wrap his arms around the trunk now.

  Nothing remained the same—not the house nor the yard—and

  the most horrifying difference was this stranger who claimed

  to be Rebecca.

  Rebecca would never let the morning glory vines choke

  the marigolds or the rosebushes remain untrimmed. And when

  had the trees grown so large? The maples, magnolias and oaks

  towered over the house. Their limbs now swept the roof as the

  wind filtered through the branches.

  No lean-to sheltered a woodpile. In its place stood a

  gleaming, whitewashed building with glass-paned windows.

  Next to the building, where Rebecca’s wagon usually sat, was

  a large, metal contraption on strange looking wheels. The barn

  and chicken coop didn’t exist anymore, either.

  Caleb tossed his hat and the light stick to the ground. He

  couldn’t let the fear or the dull throb that beat a trail through

  his head control him. He would manage. He had to. Once he

  learned what happened, and how it happened, everything would

  return to normal.

  Maybe he’d fallen down the stairs and hit his head. He

  raked his hand over his head. Although he had a headache from

  the ordeal, he felt no bumps that would indicate a head injury.

  Of course, he wouldn’t necessarily feel the injury in a

  dream. Would he? Everything seemed so real. Even the gentle

  breeze that feathered across his cheeks and cooled his skin felt

  real. It brought the scents of the roses, the musty stench of wet

  dirt, and the freshness created by a spring rain.

  Even the water that dripped from the leaves and splashed

  into the small puddles under the tree looked real.

  Spring flowers, the fragrance of the pines, the rain—all

  had a familiar essence, yet somehow everything felt different.

  He pounded his fist against the rough tree trunk.

  “What’s happening?” he whispered frantically.

  He twisted around, leaned against the tree and slid to the

  ground. The rough bark scraped his spine.

  He heard the soft meow of a kitten and glanced toward the

  sound. He caught the small ball of fur and brought it to his

  chest before it pounced on his hat.

  The tabby struggled a moment then clawed its way to

  Caleb’s shoulder and settled into a tiny fur-ball against his neck,

  purring. He ran his hand over the cat’s vibrating body. If he

  could curl up into a small contented ball like the kitten and

  ignore everything, maybe his life would return to normal. But

  he couldn’t do that. He had responsibilities.

  Whatever was going on, he couldn’t abandon Rebecca and

  Luke. They depended on him.

  Becci massaged the tight muscles at her nape as she

  watched Caleb sit slumped against the tree. Damn it, her back

  ached, her head throbbed, and her stomach churned. She didn’t

  have time to waste seething over—or soothing—Caleb

  Harrison.

  He definitely spelled trouble. She didn’t need any more

  problems. He might l
ook vulnerable and in need of a little TLC,

  but she knew better.

  The stray kitten needed her.

  The dogs and cats that barked and meowed at her back

  door needed her. The newborn babies that would benefit from

  the nursery needed her.

  She sighed in defeat. Her instincts said Caleb needed her,

  too.

  The distant rumble of thunder seemed to argue the point,

  reminding Becci that she didn’t have time to watch this stranger

  who called himself Caleb Harrison. Every lie he spoke

  reaffirmed that he couldn’t be trusted. Nobody traveled through

  time, no matter what the journals said.

  The books also said there was enchanted gold somewhere

  in the house. All she’d found were problems and bills that

  multiplied by the hour.

  Becci jerked open the screen door, rounded the counter

  and grabbed the key off the hook above the sink.

  “Aunt Lilly, the man says his name is Caleb Harrison.”

  She watched her aunt carefully. Shock flickered across Lilly’s

  face. She obviously hadn’t expected that. Becci held the key

  out to her aunt.

  “Will you unlock the shed for him while I clear the cleaning

  supplies out of the area where the wardrobe is supposed to

  go.”

  Yeah, right. Admit it, Becci, you just need a few more

  minutes to get over the effect he’s having on you.

  Lilly plucked the key out of her hand. “Sure. I need to

  speak to him anyway,” she said as she bustled toward the door.

  “Take all the time you need, dear.”

  Becci ran up the stairs and made sure nothing would hinder

  their moving the piece into place, then hurried back down the

  stairs.

  Time was a fleeting commodity, and she’d wasted too much

  already.

  ***

  A shadowy figure edged into Caleb’s view. He wanted to

  tell the woman to leave him alone, but he’d learned a long time

  ago that rudeness only created more problems.

  He glanced up expecting to see Becci, but it was Lilly who

  stood over him.

  “Miss Lilly,” he said and tipped his head in greeting.

  “Caleb,” Lilly said. “Becci told me your name, and she

  asked me to open the shed.”

  Lilly took a step toward the whitewashed building then

  stopped. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”