Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt

by Keeper of Key. txt (lit)

  She picked up the box of old journals and headed for the

  kitchen. “Well, Mr. Caleb Harrison, let’s see if one of these

  can tell me a little more about you.”

  She set the box on the kitchen table and stretched. Her

  back ached, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But she’d

  promised, and she would keep her word. She pressed one hand

  to the small of her back and stifled a groan.

  Why had she worked so hard for what would probably end

  up being nothing? She adjusted the cushion in the canebottomed

  chair and sat down at the kitchen table with the first

  book.

  According to Aunt Lilly, one of these old, tattered journals

  had a little of Caleb’s history in it. Of course she had no way of

  knowing if her Caleb and the man written about were one and

  the same. She still told herself that time travel was impossible,

  but as crazy as it seemed, there was a part of her that had begun

  to believe his story.

  And if his story was true, would he still interest her if she

  knew more about him? She had enough trouble keeping her

  mind off the man without reading about him, but read she must.

  Aunt Lilly would never stop pestering her until she did.

  Becci straightened the book so the light hit it and carefully

  turned each brittle page. The grandfather clock’s constant

  ticking set a slow, monotonous pace in the background. She

  didn’t see anything about Caleb in this journal, so she set it

  aside, picked up the next one, and laid the first one back in the

  box.

  This journal revealed more of the same boring monologue

  as the first. She didn’t care that rain washed out the bridge

  over the Wolf River or that a late spring freeze had destroyed

  the newly planted seedlings.

  The second book joined the first. One by one she studied

  each journal. There was nothing of importance, at least not in

  her eyes. What had she expected? Maybe a detailed description

  of the man outside, or an identifying birthmark to give her

  positive proof that Caleb Harrison was whom he claimed? Or

  maybe she’d hoped to read about the elusive gold? No, she

  knew better than that. After all, her mother and father had looked

  in every conceivable place for the fortune.

  They hadn’t had the journals, but if they couldn’t find the

  manor’s secret treasure in fifteen years what made her think

  she could locate it in less than a month? Assuming, of course,

  that it existed, which she still didn’t believe.

  She flipped open the fourth book, stretched and glanced

  down at the first page. A sense of awe consumed her. In the

  corner beside the date, Rebecca had written, “Book One, 18 5.”

  January 10, 18 5

  Eli called for Saul this afternoon. He’s been sick since

  Saul and I moved here from Boston. He’s much worse today.

  As Saul instructed, I wrote Obadiah to tell him of Eli’s

  worsening condition. I fear Eli will not be here when his son

  arrives.

  Saul and I told Eli of my condition. We’d hoped the news

  that he would become a grandfather sometime in June would

  give him new strength. It didn’t, but we saw the pleasure it

  brought to him. Eli gave Saul the gold medallion. I’ve never

  seen Eli without it. Now Saul will be the one responsible for

  this last remaining piece of Atlantis metal. Orichalc, such an

  odd metal. Golden, yet not gold. Eli explained that Obadiah

  had stolen a similar coin from another family, then he lost it

  in a game of chance. Now the one we have will be theirs as

  payment for the sins against their family. We, as his kin, have

  now inherited Obadiah’s sins. Once the rightful family reclaims

  ownership and understands the aspects of the medallion it

  will become theirs. Through Obadiah’s disgrace we have lost

  the right to be keepers. There are no single men or women left

  in our family except for Christina’s son, and unless the new

  owner marries into our family the Berclair’s have lost the

  power forever.

  As far as I know, there are no more pure Atlanteans left,

  and only a true Atlantean will be able to touch the medallion.

  We will keep it safe until the proper owner arrives, or until we

  are instructed to nullify its properties. We cannot leave such

  power in the hands of uncaring souls for it will destroy them.

  So this is where Aunt Lilly had found the proper name for

  the golden metal. Becci shut the book. She’d read enough for

  one evening, and she definitely didn’t need to read about what

  her namesake had done with the fortune she’d been forced to

  oversee.

  Besides, Rebecca’s words were written in such a fancy

  script they were difficult to decipher. Becci cupped her palm

  to the back of her neck and massaged it. Then she caught the

  braid and slid her fingers along the woven length. When she

  reached the brush-like tip, the memory of Caleb painting her

  cheek with it flashed instantly to mind. What was he doing

  right now?

  Not that she really cared. She didn’t. She just doubted he

  was from the past. After all, if he came from Rebecca’s era, he

  should be brimming with curiosity and bombarding her with

  questions. But he hadn’t asked about anything. Except when

  the lights came back on, she amended. And then he only

  questioned her on the meaning of the words “utilities and

  appliances.”

  The thought of his reaction to electricity and his stunned

  expression made her smile. He’d beamed with curiosity, but

  remained silent. She had to admit his acting abilities surpassed

  her expectations. Earlier he’d stopped in front of the paintings

  on the stairwell gallery and waved his hand at Eli, Saul and

  Obadiah’s portraits. “I know who these three are, but who are

  the rest?” he had asked. Had he really known her ancestors?

  Becci stood and stretched. Then she rolled her head in a

  slow circle trying to get relief for the nagging ache between

  her shoulder blades. With her hands on her hips, she twisted

  first to one side and then to the other. Finally, she bent forward,

  touching her toes. She slowly straightened and inhaled, drawing

  in a deep breath. She loved the smell of wood-smoke.

  Wood-smoke? She glanced toward the bay window. The

  setting sun streaked the blue-white clouds as they forged a slow

  path through the large oaks and gnarled magnolia trees that

  surrounded the small lake.

  Smoke. Fire!

  She felt a surge of hysteria. She couldn’t lose Berclair

  Manor. Not this way. If she hurried she could the contain fire

  until the fire department arrived. She grabbed the telephone

  and punched the nine, then stopped, her index finger hesitating

  over the one.

  No, she couldn’t call nine-one-one. What if it was a false

  alarm? They’d bill her for coming out, and it would cost more

  than she could afford. She would just have to check it out.

  Another puff swirled over the hill. She grabbed a bucket

  from the shed and ra
n in the direction of the swelling clouds

  and fragrant odor of wood smoke.

  When she reached the top of the hill, she came to an abrupt

  halt. Thank heavens she hadn’t called the fire department. It

  wasn’t a fire—it was Caleb. She drew in several deep, calming

  breaths then ambled down the slope.

  Everything glistened around her. Water droplets left by the

  recent storm twinkled like diamonds in the trees. Caleb sat on

  a stump, his forearms resting on his denim-clad thighs and his

  hands hanging loosely between his knees.

  He wiggled his fingers then jerked them back when the

  kitten slapped at them. He teased Pepper again and again, but

  that wasn’t what held Becci’s attention. It was the smooth

  muscles of his bare back rippling with each move that

  captivated her.

  He picked up the kitten in one hand, leaned forward and

  shifted the two long sticks, turning over the catfish that lay at

  the edge of the small campfire. The evening sun painted the

  smooth surface of the lake with red and orange, while the

  dancing flame’s softer hues flickered over Caleb’s muscled

  shoulders. The man, more real than she cared to think about,

  stared as if hypnotized into the flames and slowly caressed the

  kitten. The fire created a golden halo, making the thin layer of

  perspiration on his body shimmer and added highlights of

  masculine strength to the sculptured lines.

  The scene appeared mystical, like looking into a crystal

  ball and catching a vision of your future lover.

  Lover?

  Where had that thought come from? Certainly not from

  the scene playing before her. Caleb represented nothing

  magical, and he’d created the symbolic mist with his fire.

  Besides, he didn’t show any signs of being overly interested in

  a relationship, intimate or otherwise. He cared more about her

  cat than her.

  She couldn’t stop the smile from curling her lips. That

  wasn’t exactly true. She’d seen the desire flicker in his eyes

  each time she’d looked up and caught him staring at her.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Enough.

  “That’s against the law,” Becci proclaimed, pointing at

  the fire as she approached Caleb.

  He snapped to attention. Without answering, he set the

  kitten down, rolled to his feet, and grabbed his shirt and hat off

  the low limb of the magnolia tree where he’d hung them. He

  slapped his hat onto his head and shrugged into his shirt.

  Becci watched Pepper scamper off toward the house. When

  she faced Caleb she froze, her gaze locked on his hands as

  they inched up his shirt, sliding each button into place. She

  imagined those same callused thumbs tracing her lips, and the

  image sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” Caleb said.

  His voice pulled her attention to his face. His eyes held no

  sign of desire as he scrutinized everything about her. His lips

  curled into a crooked line—half smile, half frown.

  She’d never met anyone like Caleb Harrison. He had the

  power to make her tremble without even touching her. His

  raven-black hair curled just above his brows as if begging her

  to brush it back. His midnight-blue eyes showed a strong-willed,

  stubborn streak. Altogether he added up to a very sexy, very

  masculine, hunk-of-the-month-gorgeous guy.

  “I didn’t know they’d made laws against cooking.”

  Becci followed his motions as he pointed at the neatly

  circled stones and branches that made up his campsite. “Not

  cooking. Open fires. They’re too dangerous.” And so are you.

  “Not if you know what you’re doing,” Caleb replied as he

  rolled a stump closer to the fire.

  Oh, yes, especially if you know what you’re doing.

  After checking the log for stability, he took his hat and

  fanned it over the top to dust away the loose leaves and twigs.

  “Will you join me? It’s not much, but you’re welcome to

  share what there is.” He motioned for her to sit down.

  Becci straddled the seat Caleb had prepared and set the

  bucket on the ground next to her. He waited until she’d settled

  before he returned to his seat.

  His blue plaid shirt gaped open at the neck, revealing a

  thatch of dark hair the same shade as the long lengths that

  curled around his collar.

  “I whittled down a fallen branch and managed to spear a

  couple of catfish,” he said, tipping his head toward the long

  pointed stick leaning against the magnolia tree’s trunk. “I would

  have tried catching the fish by hand in the logs around the

  pond, but Rebecca told me it was best not to disturb the snakes.”

  Becci cringed. The thought of Caleb reaching under the

  water into one of the buried logs chilled her. “Grandma told

  me stories about men log fishing and losing a finger to a turtle

  or having to have a hand amputated for lack of medical attention

  after a snake bite. I thought the stories were tall tales woven to

  keep me from playing in the mud around the lake.”

  “The stories are probably a bit exaggerated, but basically,

  they’re true. That’s one of the reasons I chose to make the spear.”

  “You should have used one of the rod and reels in the shed,”

  Becci said. “Although, after the front that just passed through

  I doubt you would have caught anything using them. I’m

  surprised you were able to catch these.”

  “Me, too,” Caleb said reaching down to rotate one of the

  fish. “They’re ready to eat. You will join me, won’t you?”

  She started to refuse, but Caleb was already sliding the

  fish off the charred limb and onto one of the old metal plates

  that had been stored in the shed. He leaned to one side, slid the

  plate toward her and repeated the process on a second one.

  “Have you done this before? Cooked by the lake?” Becci

  asked as she reached for her portion.

  “Yes, once or twice. Rebecca would fix a basket, and we

  would take our midday meal out here. We never stayed this

  late in the day, though.” Caleb lifted his gaze to the colorful

  sunset. “By now I’d have already tucked Luke into bed and

  been on the road back to Raleigh.” He broke off a piece of the

  white meat and took a bite.

  A flash of what could only be jealousy sparked in Becci.

  She wanted to ask him more questions about her namesake.

  What kind of relationship had they had? What attracted him to

  her? How did she, Becci, compare to Rebecca? Instead, she

  followed his lead and pinched off a bite of the fish. To ask him

  such questions would be ridiculous. There was no such thing

  as time travel! Yet in her heart she knew he spoke the truth.

  Somehow, he’d slipped forward in time. For now she’d ignore

  the situation and just enjoy the food.

  The moment the morsel touched her lips she closed her

  eyes and enjoyed the rich smoked flavor. “This is absolutely

  the best fish I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Thanks to Lilly,” Caleb admitted. “I asked her i
f she had

  any spices to liven up my dinner, and she gave me this,” he

  said holding up a small seasoning bottle. “And a lemon.”

  “Well, this is fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” he said again, this time with more emphasis.

  Caleb hadn’t thought her approval would mean so much

  to him, but it did. Except for the gentle caress he’d woken up

  to after his arrival and the brief moment in the hall, she’d

  wavered between sharp-tongued and distantly polite. Now, she

  was offering kindness and conversation, and he was oddly

  hungry for both.

  “Tell me about this nursery you’re planning.” Caleb broke

  off another bite and put it in his mouth, never taking his eyes

  off her. He heard the excitement in her voice as she talked

  about the new mothers who had to work but couldn’t find

  daycare, and of how she loved children.

  “So those are the plans. Turn the downstairs into the

  nursery, with the exception of Aunt Lilly’s bedroom. When

  Aunt Lilly first came up with the plan to turn the house into a

  nursery we were going to use her room as a clinic for the

  children that might get sick during the day. But she broke her

  hip last year, and it’s too hard for her to go up and down the

  stairs.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about Miss Lilly’s injury.” Caleb looked

  at his plate, surprised to find only bones remained. “Things

  have changed so much around here. You even closed the well,

  and I haven’t made it over to the spring for water.” Caleb

  shrugged. “I’ve already drank what water Miss Lilly gave me,

  so I can’t offer you anything to wash the fish down.”

  “I didn’t close the well, the city did, and we don’t go to the

  spring for water. It’s piped to the house through the city’s water

  system. You could have gotten it from the spigot beside the

  back door.”

  “Oh. Nobody told me. How would I go about learning the

  everyday things? Are there books? I know about switches that

  make dark rooms light, and that the torch I carried around the

  house is called a flashlight, but what are a rod and reel and a

  two-wheeler? There are hundreds of other things you’ve

  mentioned that don’t make sense to me. Will you teach me

  about these things?”

  “Come off it, Caleb. Enough is enough. The thought of

  you being from the past is ridiculous, and I’m not going to