Troy laughed, rolling his eyes. “You mean like on Star Trek? A warp in the space-time continuum?”
Wanda was serious. “I mean it. How else can you explain people turning up in two hundred year old clothing who don’t have a clue where they are?”
Cam shook her head. “That isn’t possible. I mean, how can it be? Time travel is just something from the movies.”
“But what if it isn’t? What if it’s a reality, and the Faeries’ Gate is really a door to another time?”
“No,” protested Cameron. “Someone would have found it by now.”
“Not necessarily,” replied Wanda. “The Faeries’ Gate is a local legend, and I doubt if anyone outside the state of Virginia has ever even heard of it. Not only that, I am willing to bet that no one else has been keeping track of these odd appearances and disappearances. I’m thinking that nobody has put two and two together yet. Besides, no one knows exactly where it’s located, just that it’s somewhere near Fairy Stone State Park.”
Troy smiled. “Can you imagine the fortune we could make if we found it? Just think! It would be like Colonial Williamsburg, only better, because people could actually go there, and come back, and…”
“No!” exclaimed Cam, a little more sharply than she had intended. “I mean, no. You couldn’t just market it like it was a theme park.”
“Thank you, Cam,” said Wanda softly. “You are exactly right. Consider the ramifications if someone like Wayne Sinclair were to learn about this. Which, by the way, could easily happen if he were to find out you have Mollie Duncan’s journal. How far into it have you read?”
Cam shrugged. “Just up to about a year after Sarah’s disappearance. Robert MacFarlane should be turning up again any time.” A thought struck her. “Assuming there’s something to this theory of yours – and I can’t believe I am even going to say this – if we know what happened to the people who came from then to now, what about people like Kelli Jeffers or the others who disappeared from now to then?”
Wanda frowned. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I would think they would have been very frightened, just like your Sarah was, and probably would have died of exposure in the wilderness before anyone found them. Remember, this part of the country was still the frontier two hundred years ago.”
She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. Cameron, keep reading Mollie’s journal. Maybe at some point she will give details about exactly where the Faeries’ Gate is located. In the meantime, y’all guard that book carefully. Like I said, you don’t want that asshole Wayne Sinclair getting his grubby paws on it.”
Troy and Cam drove back to town in silence. It was the young deputy who spoke first.
“You don’t really believe all that stuff, do you?”
Cam stared out the window. “I can’t believe we even had that conversation. How long have you known Wanda?”
“Long enough to know she’s basically a sane person.”
Cam glared at him. “Then explain all that stuff in her notebook, Troy! She thinks people are traveling through time! I mean, she really believes it! Don’t you think that gives me just a small case of the heebie-jeebies?”
“Well, okay, sure. But maybe there really is something weird going on down at Fairy Stone.”
“No, no,” argued Cam vehemently. “Why would anyone even keep track of disappearances or appearances? It’s creepy!”
He pulled up in front of the house on Meador Street. “Wanda’s not nuts, and don’t you go crazy on me, Cam. Get some sleep. You have a few more days of Antique Week to go, and by the time that’s over with maybe you’ll be in a better frame of mind.” He smiled at her. “Go get some sleep.”
Cam had planned to stay up and read more of Mollie’s thick journal, but drifted off almost immediately. She dreamed that night of a dark-haired man, who smiled down at her from a tall-masted ship…
November 4, 1775 –
A most tragic event has taken place in Maine. A Captain Mowat of the Royal Navy has bombarded the town of Falmouth, which is now burnt to the ground. There were few casualties, but this episode shows us how little regard the Crown has for the lives and property of the people. I once suggested to Robert that perhaps he should take his ship and provide assistance to the Continental Navy, but he claims to have no tactical or military skills, and says he does well enough as a merchant captain.
November 7, 1775 –
Our Sarah may be alive! Robert has returned to us from the sea, and with his customary Tales of Great Adventure and Political Upset he also brings news of an old Shawnee he met in Richmond. Robert tells us that this old man was one of the Savages who stole my Beloved Sister, and that Sarah was last seen near a place called the Faeries’ Gate. I am quite fearful now, it sounds a most horrible place, and yet I am most overjoy’d that Sarah may be returned to us!
When I was a girl, my father used to tell us stories at night before we went to sleep. When I think of Sarah being in a place called the Faerie’s Gate, it brings to mind a tale my Da told us about the King of Faeries and a Miller’s Wife.
The Faerie King was tall and handsome, and he liked to wander the countryside to see how the mortals lived. His favorite pastime was to go and sit by the mill and watch the giant wheel spinning in the water, and so he got to know the Miller, who of course could not see him because he was the King of the Faeries, and could not be seen by mortal eyes. The miller had a beautiful young wife, and she was always happy and laughing, and her laughter was like the sound of the water spilling from the wheel down into the stream. The Faerie King would hide in the bushes and watch the miller’s wife, and listen to her beautiful laugh. The more he watched her, the more the Faerie King fell in love.
One day, when the miller’s wife was out riding, the Faerie King made himself visible, and began to talk to her. She had never seen so handsome a man before, and was flattered that such a fine gentleman as this would take the time to speak to her. They met often, and soon the young woman was head-over-heels in love with her handsome man, but of course she did not know he was a Faerie. She started to behave quite badly to her husband, the poor miller, who had no idea why his wife was acting in such a manner. Then one day, his wife ran off and left him, and the miller was so consumed by his grief that he could not work, and so the farmers could not get their corn ground.
Finally, one of the farmers, vexed at not getting his corn ground up properly, took the miller to see a wise woman. The miller begged the old woman to help him get his pretty wife back, and she told him that first she must know who the young lady had gone off with. She cast a spell, and saw that the wife had been carried off by the Faerie King. She said that he must go back to the mill and return to work, and she would give him a spell to say as he ground the corn. If done correctly, his wife would drop to the ground by his feet.
Every day the Miller tried saying the spell as he ground the corn, but nothing happened. After many weeks of this, he managed to get the spell right, and sure enough, as the wise woman had said, his wife dropped out of the air and landed at his feet. He never asked her about her time with the Faerie King, and she never spoke of it, but the wife and the miller stayed together until they died, and they were happy for all their days.
I hope my dear Sarah is happy too.
Mollie stood outside the cabin, quivering with anger and fear. She had never in her life hated anyone as much as she hated her brother-in-law right now. She could hear him fighting with Rob inside. Keeping an eye on Hamish, who was trying very hard to walk on his chubby legs without assistance, she leaned closer to the clapboard wall so she could make out the exact words.
“We willna’ be going off again on a damned wild goose chase!” shouted Ian, slamming his fist onto the plank table.
His brother glowered at him. “Ian, bloody hell, she’s your wife, man! How can ye not go after her? She could be alive, for God’s sake!”
“Aye, she could, Robbie! And d’ye think it doesna’ break my heart every time I think of her being for
ced to give herself to some savage just to stay alive?” moaned Ian. “If she were to come back, I could not touch her… not without thinking of that.”
Mollie heard something crash to the floor. She thought it might be the brown crock she kept on the mantle.
“Damn it all, Ian! How can ye say that? You wouldn’t take her back if she were to walk in that door right now?” Rob was so angry he was shaking.
Ian said with a sigh, “Robbie, would ye have wanted Meggie back after she whored herself with that wool merchant?”
That did it. Rob launched himself at his younger brother and pushed him into the wall with lightning speed.
“That’s not the same at all, you little bastard,” he hissed.
Ian looked up at him scornfully, “Oh, and why’s it not?”
Rob leaned in close to Ian. “Ian, I’d have let Meg take the whole royal army to her bed, and with my blessing, if I thought it would have kept her alive just one more day.” There were tears in his dark eyes. “I didn’t need Meg to love me. I just needed to be allowed to love her.”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the house, nearly ripping the door from its hinges as he exited. Mollie jumped out of the way. Hamish followed his uncle down the hill.
“Woppy!” the little boy called. “Woppy!”
Rob paused. Mollie could see him take a deep breath and try to compose himself. When he turned to scoop up his nephew, he was smiling, although she noticed that it did not reach his eyes.
“What will you do, Robbie?” Mollie asked softly.
Rob bounced the boy on his shoulders. “I shall have to look, you know. I canna let it go. I have to know if she lives or not. For the laddie, if not for Ian.”
She nodded. “Will ye be bringin’ her back?”
“If she chooses to come. She may not want to.”
Mollie glanced towards the cabin. No sign of Ian. “What if he willna have her?”
Rob thought for a while. “Then I’ll take her away somewhere. He can tell everyone his wife is dead. He can marry again, although why any sensible woman would want him I don’t know. I could run the blockades and take her to our uncle Andrew in Jamaica. He has a son in need of a wife.”
Mollie looked at him sadly. “Then either way, I’ve lost her.”
“Aye.”
She waited a few moments before speaking again. “Ye never knew Sarah. She married Ian on her sixteenth birthday. He loved her, but he was never strong enough. When she had wee Jamie and lost him the same day, Ian spent a week out in the barn. He never came out to help us bury the poor thing. He’d never fight for Sarah. When she was carryin’ Hamish, she started bleedin’ one day. I was sure she’d die. I told Ian to go in and hold his wife’s hand, for it might well be the last chance he’d get. Do ye know what he said to me? He asked what good it would do to hold her hand, for if she was meant to die she would do so whether he held her hand or not.”
Rob said nothing. Hamish was twirling his uncle’s hair around his fingers, and munching on the black tendrils.
“Ian’s no’ strong enough,” Mollie repeated, looking into his eyes, “but you are, I think. If ye find her, and she be alive, if Ian won’t have her, don’t bring her back here. Ye just take her and go. Ye marry her yourself. D’ye hear me, Robbie MacFarlane? Ye marry her and treat her like a wife needs to be treated!” She was in tears now, nearly hysterical, and pounding furiously on his chest.
Hamish had fallen asleep on his high perch. Rob set him down gently on the ground. “Mollie, wee Mollie,” he murmured. “I’ll take her away, but I canna marry her. I can only find her someone who will treat her well.”
She glared up at him. “An’ why not? Ye said ye’d have taken your Meg back in a moment, no matter what a whore she’d been! Why no’ my sister, too?”
Rob shook his head. “You don’t understand, Mollie. I couldn’t marry a woman I didn’t love. It might seem just a small matter now, but there would come a time when she’d hate me for it, and I’d hate myself for it as well. Maybe not right away, but some day. And once you’ve decided to hate someone, ye can’t ever be happy with them.”
He pushed her away gently. “I’ll find your Sarah. And Ian be damned. If she lives, I will bring her back here to see her son, and to you. You both deserve that much, at least.”
November 10, 1775 –
Robert will leave in the morning. I have begged him to be careful. He knows only the most vague direction of the Faeries’ Gate, and the countryside has been in turmoil lately. We have learned that Lord Dunmore has fled to a British Ship, following the demands of Mr. Patrick Henry that Dunmore pay for the Powder Supply which he stole from the Colony. Some of the Kerrs have joined the Continental Army of Virginia, and the McGregor and Murray boys as well. I fear the loss of many of the men here on the Ridge, as most families here will cheerfully take up arms against the English. They will, of course, fight to the death if need be, that is certain. It is our way. It would be most unfortunate if we were to lose Robert as well. I am not speaking to Ian at all for he vexes me. He is a Coward and a Fool. I think I shall spit in his supper.
November 13, 1775-
Hamish has been ill, and I am very afraid. I remember hearing once that a poultice of warmed onions and lard is good for congestion in the chest. Although it seems like it would smell most horrifying, it can certainly do no harm.
Also, I shall pray.
Haver Springs, VA
The Present
The rest of Antique Week passed quickly but uneventfully for Cameron Clark. She kept so busy that, although she thought about Mollie Duncan and the journal frequently, she had no time to read any further. She saw very little of Troy, who was using the week to become acquainted with some of the other residents of his new jurisdiction. By Friday afternoon, when he stopped by with sandwiches and iced tea, Cam was exhausted.
“Hey, there, lady,” grinned Troy. “Do you have time for a chicken salad sandwich?”
Cam took the plastic-wrapped plate eagerly. “You know, if it wasn’t for you, I would completely forget to eat most of the time. Thank you. Mmm. I love Alice’s bread.” She chewed contentedly, hoping she could finish her lunch before the next group of customers wandered in. Antique Week was winding down, and the crowds were thinner now, but there were still a few diehard hopefuls who came in occasionally, trying to get that end-of-the-week bargain.
Troy sat down on an old washtub. “So have you gotten any further with Mollie’s journal?”
Cam shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of potato chips. “Not really. I’m up to the fall of 1775, which is actually near the end. Up until then it’s mostly day-to-day things, like crops and illnesses and such. Hamish is running a fever, and Robert MacFarlane is getting ready to leave to go look for Sarah, but Ian doesn’t want him to bother. He doesn’t want her back if she’s been “dishonored” by the Shawnee. What a weasel.”
“Now, hang on. Don’t give the guy too much grief over it. It was a pretty common reaction back then,” pointed out Troy.
Cam wiped her hands on her jeans. “You know, I can’t stop thinking about what Wanda said the other night. Her whole theory about disappearances.”
Troy snorted in response.
“No, I mean it. I can’t get it out of my head,” she continued. “Let’s go look for it next week.”
“What? Go look for what?”
“The Faeries’ Gate! Come on, it’ll be fun. And besides, I need a break after this week,” pressed Cam.
Troy rolled his eyes. “You are ridiculous. You want to drive down to Fairy Stone and hunt for something when we have no idea where or what it is?”
“Okay, well, then think of it as a camping trip. I have a tent. Besides, you look like you could use some hiking after all those donuts you’ve been eating at Alice’s.”
“That is a stereotype,” he argued good-naturedly. “Not all cops eat donuts. I personally prefer cookies. Macadamia chocolate chip, to be specific.”
Cam glanced up as the
sleigh bells jangled. Wayne Sinclair strolled in nonchalantly. He glanced around, wiped a finger on a shelf, and examined it for dust. Cam expected he probably found quite a bit.
“Cameron. How are you?” he began, pointedly ignoring Troy.
“Great, Wayne. What can I do for you?” Cam decided she would be polite, even though the man made her thoroughly uncomfortable. It was a shame, really, she thought. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and odd eyes, one blue and one brown. If he wasn’t such a jerk, he’d actually be rather handsome.
“I’ll get right to the point. How much do you want for Mollie Duncan’s journal?”
Cam felt her mouth drop open, and closed it quickly. “Umm, who told you I have Mollie Duncan’s journal?”
Sinclair leaned forward on the counter. “I overheard Deputy Dawg here talking to Alice about it next door. You do have it, don’t you? I don’t see it in the window any more.”
He was so close Cam could smell his expensive cologne. Remembering Wanda Mabry’s warning, she murmured, “Well, I don’t exactly have it here…”
“But you can get it? I mean, it does presently belong to you,” he persisted.
Troy cleared his throat. “What do you need, Mr. Sinclair?”
Sinclair pulled away from Cam, and she noticed that his blue eye was exceptionally bright today. “I simply would like to make an offer. A journal from the Revolutionary War era would be quite valuable today. Not only in terms of cash, but of course the historical value would be immense. I am prepared to pay quite a bit for Mollie’s journals.”
“Journals?” asked Cam. “How many are there?”
“I’m not sure, you understand, but apparently she kept a diary throughout most of her life, according to her letters. I would expect a couple of dozen,” Sinclair informed her. “If anyone were to acquire them all, they would be worth a fortune.”
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