Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt

by Keeper of Key. txt (lit)

  “It’s time to go to bed,” Becci said. She placed the books

  in the storage box, making sure they were in order with the

  18 5-18 6 volume on the bottom.

  She wanted to read them in order, yet the journal on Caleb

  lured her away from her plan. “The next time I read,” Becci

  vowed, “I’ll start with the journal written in 18 0.”

  She lugged the heavy box upstairs. Until she found the

  time to read them, she would keep the books close by. No one

  would get the chance to gain more information without her

  knowing.

  ***

  Caleb held his plate in both hands and tried to focus his

  attention on nature’s music. Frogs and crickets began their

  nightly chorus, extolling a lively and, usually, tranquilizing

  serenade. He’d gone to sleep to the soothing songs for years.

  Tonight the sounds only heightened the anxiety churning in his

  stomach. With an exasperated sigh, Caleb tossed his plate on

  top of Becci’s, grabbed the bucket she’d left, and made his

  way to the water’s edge.

  “Why couldn’t your namesake have been as caring and

  sensitive as you, Rebecca?” Caleb addressed his question to

  the stars. “I think I’m losing my mind, but I’ve got to talk to

  someone. Over the past year, you’ve always been there for me.”

  Could Rebecca hear him? Would he regain consciousness

  in the guest bedroom, recovering from a fall? Or wake up from

  a deep sleep in his own bed, having dreamed this nightmare?

  But what if this was real? What if he was stuck in this time?

  Caleb massaged the muscles at his neck. This must really

  be getting to him. He couldn’t be in the future. It was impossible

  to travel through time. Wasn’t it? He set the bucket beside a

  small oak tree and scooped up a handful of acorns. He had to

  think. Leaning against the tree trunk he tossed the small nuts

  into the water.

  “What am I going to do? I figured that when the right time

  comes along, I’ll walk through that doorway and be back where

  I came from. I must go back for Luke’s sake.” His promise to

  raise Luke demanded that he find the way back. If he didn’t,

  Obadiah would end up stealing everything from Luke, and the

  boy would end up as impoverished as he’d once been. Caleb

  would never be able to live with himself if that happened.

  The last acorn joined the others in the water. He dusted his

  hands and bent to pick up the bucket. Then he caught the trunk

  of one of the small oaks and leaned out over the water to fill

  the bucket. Swinging to the side, he set the bucket down,

  regained his balance and stared up at the last rays of the setting

  sun.

  Tomorrow he would get the medallion out of the dresser. It

  had to still be hidden in there. How else could he have heard

  Becci’s and then Mr. Latham’s thoughts when he touched the

  dresser at the same time they did?

  His breath caught in his throat. After a hundred and sixty

  years of being hidden, would the medallion’s powers be strong

  enough to return him to Rebecca and Luke? How could he find

  out?

  He didn’t dare enter Becci’s room without being invited. A

  gentleman didn’t do that unless the woman in question spent

  her evenings entertaining the gents of the area.

  But he knew he Becci wouldn’t invite him in, and he

  couldn’t tell her why he needed to go into her bedroom. She

  might take the medallion, and he’d never get back to Luke and

  Rebecca. He would have to figure out a way to get into her

  room without her knowing it. Surely she had a few indoor chores

  for him to do. He didn’t like sneaking about, but he didn’t

  have a choice. He’d also have to find Jacobs, but he didn’t

  figure that would be too hard. All he’d have to do is look for

  the nearest saloon.

  With renewed vigor Caleb dumped another bucket of water

  on the fire and spread the ashes. He repeated each move again

  to make sure the fire was dead. Then he returned to his place

  under the oak tree.

  Caleb stretched, then leaned against the tree trunk and

  watched the sun drop below the horizon. He’d always enjoyed

  the way the water reflected the beautiful sunsets. At least that

  much hadn’t changed.

  With a weary sigh, he pushed himself up and headed for

  the shed. If he planned on sleeping there, he had to straighten

  up some of the clutter.

  A few minutes later, he flipped the switch that flooded the

  shed with glorious light. Sleepless nights would no longer be a

  problem. He shook his head. The whole room gleamed as if

  the noonday sun shown inside.

  Caleb grabbed a scrap of canvas off the floor and scrubbed

  some of the gritty dust off the lettering on several of the boxes.

  When he was done his heart pounded against his ribs. Most of

  the boxes held books. Books were the best teachers. He would

  start with them to learn about this time.

  As he opened a box, he recalled that when he was six Sister

  Teresa told him he needed to read if he planned on leaving the

  orphanage some day. She loaned him a Bible and several other

  books. At that moment his whole life changed.

  He returned the books to the Sister the day Farmer Boyd

  took him out of the orphanage. Sister Teresa wrote in the Bible

  and gave it to him as a gift. He’d left it under the wagon seat

  when he passed through time, and he felt a sense of loss. Maybe

  he would find a Bible stored in one of the boxes. One by one

  he went through them.

  “It can’t be,” he whispered when he finally found a bible.

  He flipped the front cover open to the first page and traced the

  faded inscription. James Caleb Harrison. It was his bible.

  He stripped off his clothes, brushed the day’s grime off

  and moved the cot under the window so he could see the stars.

  He pulled a thin sheet over his naked body and stared up at the

  sky with his Bible clutched to his chest. He fought the emotions

  churning inside him. He’d managed to keep his journal with

  him as he traveled through time, and he’d found his Bible. But

  he’d lost so much.

  He’d lost Luke.

  If Rebecca had agreed to his plan, the boy would have

  been his son. Would he ever hold the boy again? He didn’t

  know, and only time would give him an answer. He closed his

  eyes, covered them with his forearm and slipped into a restless

  sleep.

  ***

  Caleb rolled off the cot instantly alert. Something had

  woken him, but what?

  A light tapping sounded, followed by Lilly’s frail voice.

  “Mr. Harrison, are you decent?”

  “No, ma’am. Give me a minute.” Caleb grabbed his trousers

  and hurriedly pulled them on, then shrugged into his shirt before

  he opened the door.

  “Good morning. I’m sorry if I woke you,” Lilly said. “I’ve

  made you some biscuits and sausage for breakfast, and I thought

  you might prefer them hot. And here’s a thermos of coffee,

  to
o.” Lilly twisted off the top on a strange looking cylinder,

  poured the coffee into a cup and handed it to him, then she

  resealed the “thermos.” Another word to remember.

  Thanks for the breakfast and the coffee, too, ma’am,” Caleb

  said. Last night he’d wondered what he would do for his next

  meal. He’d planned on catching another fish, but this was

  definitely a better breakfast.

  “Becci has to work today, but she left a list of things for

  you to do.”

  Caleb scanned the list Lilly handed him. Becci’s

  penmanship was very different from the writing of his time,

  but he was able to read it. Every job Becci wanted done was

  outside.

  He felt a wave of frustration. He’d promised to help, but

  he’d thought the jobs would be inside, and he would have a

  chance to check the dresser for the medallion. He knew it was

  there. He just wanted to verify it before he dragged Jacobs into

  the house for the trip back to their time.

  That wouldn’t happen today and probably not tomorrow,

  if this list indicated the amount of work Becci planned to pile

  on him every day.

  “Thanks for the breakfast, Miss Lilly. I think I’ll eat these

  down by the pond.” He grabbed his hat off the stack of boxes

  by the door, took the plate in one hand, the cup in the other and

  followed Lilly outside.

  “I’ll let you work at your own pace and call you to the

  house when lunch is ready,” Lilly said.

  Caleb waited until she went inside then headed back to the

  clearing where he’d taken his evening meal. He had just sat

  down when a movement on the far side of the pond caught his

  attention. He stood to get a better look. William Jacobs was

  sneaking through the bushes. Caleb moved to the top of the

  hill and watched as Jacobs staggered into the shed. At least

  now he knew where the drunk was and, if he were as drunk as

  he looked, he would sleep most of the day.

  ***

  Caleb opened the shed door and cringed. The whole room

  reeked of Jacobs, but the man was nowhere in sight. He cursed

  both the man’s disappearance and the smell.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. If he planned to sleep

  in the shed it would need airing out. He propped open the door

  and raised the window so the breeze flowed through the room.

  Then he grabbed his Bible and sat outside under the oak tree,

  using the last of the day’s light to read by.

  He hadn’t seen Becci all day. He’d returned from the other

  side of the pond to find a covered plate sitting on a rickety old

  chair that someone had placed beside the shed door. After he

  ate, he’d taken the plate back to the house, hoping to see Becci,

  but Lilly said she had already gone upstairs for the night.

  ***

  Becci woke to the sound of glass shattering. “Who’s there?”

  she yelled as she snatched her robe off the foot of her bed. She

  yanked it on and quickly tied the sash. Her heart pounded so

  hard she knew the burglar could probably hear it all the way

  downstairs.

  Aunt Lilly, please don’t interrupt who ever it is, Becci

  pleaded silently. There were no phones upstairs, no way to call

  for help. The door hinges squealed when she ventured into the

  hall. Something fell with a loud crash, followed by an explicit

  curse in a raspy, masculine voice.

  Becci pressed her back flat against the wall. She needed a

  weapon before she confronted the burglar.

  No. She wouldn’t go down. Aunt Lilly would stay out of

  harm’s way, and so would she. As she stood helplessly in the

  upstairs hallway listening to a thief pilfer through her

  belongings a floor below, her temper reached the boiling point.

  In her journal, Rebecca had written, “Trinkets missing from

  my cupboard.” Had Caleb been Raleigh’s thief back then?

  A door rattled, then the screen clapped against its frame.

  Silence.

  A moment later Aunt Lilly called to her from the foot of

  the stairs. “Becci, honey, he’s gone. Come down and help me

  assess the damage.”

  Anger rippled over Becci. What had Caleb stolen? She’d

  been understanding, had even given him a place to stay. And

  how had he repaid her?

  With thievery. Tomorrow she would order him off her

  property.

  Eight

  Becci jerked a pair of jeans from her closet, then tossed

  them on the bed with the others she’d rejected for one reason

  or another. She tapped her foot impatiently. What did it matter

  what she wore to kick Caleb off her property? It shouldn’t

  matter, but it did.

  She finally selected a dark green outfit, then tried to force

  some control to her unruly hair. She slammed the brush down

  and braced her fists on her hips. Primping? She’d lost her mind.

  With one last look in the mirror, she rolled her eyes and

  hurried downstairs. She would drink a glass of milk instead of

  her usual coffee. Maybe that would calm her nerves. Then she

  would face Caleb.

  Her aunt puttered around the kitchen, making biscuits and

  setting the table for breakfast. Becci carried her glass of milk

  to the dining room and studied the destroyed cabinet door. Glass

  crunched under her feet, and Becci’s anger rose another notch.

  Forget calming down. She was going to get rid of Caleb now.

  ***

  As he’d done the last two nights, Caleb went to sleep with

  the Bible’s weight resting on his chest. He’d rolled away from

  the light coming in the window and fought through the fog of

  his first few waking moments. He gradually opened his eyes,

  hoping to see that the last two days had been just a vivid dream,

  but he knew that this morning wouldn’t be any different than

  yesterday’s.

  The early morning sun etched bright squares on the stacks

  of boxes. Nothing had changed. He’d really walked into the

  future. At least today there wasn’t a storm brewing.

  That thought died instantly when the door bounced open

  with a loud explosion. The weather might have changed, but

  Miss Berclair sure hadn’t.

  Sunlight silhouetted her figure where she stood in the entry,

  but he didn’t have to see her face to know it was her. Becci’s

  trim, youthful body gave her away. She was younger than the

  Rebecca he knew, but just as beautiful. And Lord, he wanted

  her in his bed.

  Through half-closed eyes, Caleb watched her pivot around.

  She’d glanced at something in the far corner, but what?

  “Get out,” Becci ordered as she advanced toward him, her

  hands on her hips. “Unless you’re snake bit or dying from some

  unnamed wound that you thought alcohol would cure, I want

  you off my property. I’ll not cater to thieves. A liar is bad

  enough, but when you steal from the people trying to help you,

  you’re lower than the scum of the earth.”

  Her words slowly penetrated his sleep-fogged mind. He

  stretched his arms above his head and stifled a groan. “I take it

&nbs
p; something’s missing.” He’d been right about her eyes sparking

  when she got mad. And right now they didn’t hold just sparks,

  they were in full blaze.

  “Damn right. If you wanted our whiskey, all you had to do

  was ask. But no, you have to break into the cabinet and steal it.

  The glass alone will cost sixty dollars to replace. That’s money

  I don’t have.”

  Caleb laid his Bible on the floor and cupped his hands

  behind his head. He wouldn’t get angry at her accusation that

  he was a thief. There had to be a logical answer. He certainly

  hadn’t taken her whiskey.

  As he tried to think how to approach the matter, he swept

  his gaze over her. Today she wore long pants in a muted green

  and a matching top that brought out the color of her eyes and

  covered her torso completely. The outfit didn’t erase the memory

  of her bare legs and slender waistline. If anything, he liked the

  less revealing garments better. Her anger heightened the color

  in her cheeks, giving her a fresh, glowing look. He fought to

  keep his masculine needs under control. If only he knew if she

  were a proper lady or not. She might dress like a bordello

  woman, but after their earlier misunderstanding, he doubted

  she worked at the local brothel.

  Caleb closed his eyes and stifled another groan. Even if

  she did work at the brothel, he couldn’t touch her. She belonged

  to someone else, and he’d bet a ranch hand’s wages the man

  wasn’t a sleazy saloon type or a bastard, like Caleb.

  Besides, she’d come here in anger, and he knew her anger

  would get worse if he got up. His clothes hung on a nail beside

  the door. It would serve her right if he decided to toss aside his

  cover and traipse across the room with nothing on but what

  God brought him into the world with.

  “I didn’t take the whiskey,” he told her. “Spirits rob a man

  of his ability to think straight, and in my situation I need all my

  wits intact.”

  “If you didn’t take it, then how did that get in here?” Becci

  asked, pointing toward the far end of the room.

  Caleb rolled his head to the side and looked where she

  pointed. The sunlight flickered off something on the opposite

  side of the room. Catching the corners of the sheet securely, he

  whirled to a sitting position. An empty bottle lay in plain sight