by Bess McBride
Table of Contents
Across the Winds of Time
Copyright
Praise for Bess McBride
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.
Across the Winds of Time
by
Bess McBride
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Across the Winds of Time
COPYRIGHT © 2011 by Bess McBride
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2011
Print ISBN 1-60154-970-9
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Bess McBride
“Bess McBride’s A TRAIN THROUGH TIME takes a very modern woman and drops her smack into the tail end of the Victorian era...[A] mix of historical detail, romance, and suspense, [and] a thoroughly enjoyable experience.”
~Whitney, Fallen Angel Reviews
“Bess McBride brings the past to life in her fabulous rendition of a time travel story where love conquers all...You don’t want to miss Bess McBride’s perfectly titled, completely engaging, attention-grabbing work. She’s on a professional roll.”
~Rebecca Savage, Writers and Readers of Distinctive Fiction
“A completely engaging story...[a] sweet time travel romance filled with just enough sexual tension to make your heart skip a beat. Congrats to you, Ms. McBride! This is one I will be recommending to friends.”
~Orange Blossom, The Long and Short of It Reviews
Dedication
For Les,
who patiently wandered cemeteries with me
in search of my ancestor’s tombstones
on my genealogical odyssey through the Midwest.
For Cinnamon, Mike and Lily, as always.
And for all my relations...
Chapter One
I never believed in time travel...or in ghosts, for that matter. Until I fell in love, that is.
I first heard the voice that would haunt my dreams late in the afternoon on one of those dog days of August in the Midwest when cicadas sang and warm winds blew across the prairies.
I paused at the top of the cemetery hill with my arms outstretched, willing the wild wind to catch me and send me soaring into the air. The brisk breeze coming in off the valley below blew my hair from my face, and I reveled in the feel of it streaming behind me. Rolling fields of corn in the valley below the hill swayed gently, seemingly escaping the strong current by virtue of their seclusion amongst the small hills and knolls.
I turned my head slightly to focus on the unrelenting sound of the rustling leaves in the huge oak trees dotting the old burial grounds behind me. Warm sunshine beamed down around me, chasing away any notions of doom and gloom one might otherwise have in the old cemetery. Although I’d never been to that particular cemetery before and knew nothing of the lives of the people laid to rest on the grounds, the old burial grounds felt like a happy place—its residents well cared for and loved.
Words could not express the joy I felt in that moment, and I could not understand the bliss which literally seemed to warm my heart. There I stood in an unfamiliar cemetery on a windy hilltop in a small town in the Midwestern farming state of Iowa, far from where I’d ever lived, and yet an inexplicable “connection” to my surroundings seemed to embrace me—to welcome me, as if I’d “come home.” Yet, I’d never been to Iowa before...at least not to my knowledge. My lungs expanded as I widened my arms, and I drew in deep breaths.
With a fervent desire to share my strange sense of elation, I looked around for my sister. Where was she? I squinted and searched the length of the cemetery for the small figure in a white blouse and blue jeans, and spotted Sara on the other side of the cemetery, intently studying the rows of tombstones as she walked. She was too far away to hear my call—especially over the loud hum of the trees in the steady wind.
I cupped my hands to my mouth and tried calling her anyway.
“Sara!”
She didn’t look up.
“Yoooohooooo!!! Saaarrraaa! Come here and feel this wind! It’s great!”
The wind carried my voice away, and Sara moseyed on among the tombstones, head bent, her back to me.
I dropped my hands and shrugged. With an apologetic glance toward the nearest dearly departed residents for my inappropriate screeching in their final resting place, I turned to face the valley of crops below once again.
It was just as well. I wasn’t certain I wanted to share this experience with anyone else. How could I explain the vibrancy I felt as the wind simultaneously pushed and pulled at me, whipping around my body, encircling me in its warm embrace? How could I explain the connection I felt to this place? I wasn’t sure Sara would understand my reactions to the wind...to the cemetery. I felt suddenly...alive—an ironic sensation in the middle of a cemetery.
How long had the wind blown like this here on the hill? Days? Weeks? Centuries? I wished I knew more about geology and meteorology than I did.
And what a strange place for a cemetery! A beautiful place no doubt, but the unruly wind must certainly have forced the ladies to clutch their hats during graveside funeral services over the years. I stifled a chuckle at the image and pressed my lips together in proper reverential form.
Perhaps the town had selected this site as a cemetery because the top of the hill was least likely to sustain crops given wind and erosion? I shrugged. I had no idea. As a city girl, I knew nothing about farming except that I liked vegetables.
Guilt nudged me, albeit gently, and I sighed and glanced over my shoulder once again to survey nearby tombstones. I was supposed to be looking for the names of ancestors who might not even be buried here...as Sara was so diligently doing on my behalf. But this cemetery had been a long shot...just a small patch of ground in a small town in mid America.
I had convinced Sara to stop at this quaint little cemetery for a quick “run” through the stones in the seemingly fruitless search for the final resting place of our dearly departed great-great-grandparents. Sara and I had driven through the small town of Lilium in a roundabout fashion on our way back to Council Bluffs, Iowa from visiting our great-grandparents’ graves in Missouri Valley.
And here I stood, not even participating in the search, but merely pretending to be a bird who wanted nothing more than to soar in the exhilarating wind, while my sister dutifully trudged up and down the rows of tombstones looking for any familiar names.
“Molly, my love.”
I turned, expecting to see Sara close be
hind me. But no one was there. I could see the back of Sara’s small form still far away on the opposite side of the cemetery. At any rate, the voice had a distinctive baritone to it. Was someone else here?
A quick visual sweep of my surroundings revealed I was alone. And in a cemetery with no other living people about, alone was a good thing. I cupped my hands and tried yelling over the wind once again in Sara’s direction.
“Did you call me?”
She didn’t look up. I couldn’t face another shout. Bellowing over the sleepy stones seemed so disrespectful.
I gave myself a quick shake. Must have been my imagination. Turning back to the valley, I checked my watch, fearing it was growing late. 5 p.m.
I sighed, reluctantly accepting that Sara and I should leave soon. We had a 45-minute drive back to our hotel in Council Bluffs, and the day had been long. But I didn’t want to go. I had the oddest desire to linger at the cemetery. I supposed it was that sense of connection I still felt. For the first time on our “cemetery hopping” journey in search of ancestors, I felt a kinship to a place, though it bore no resemblance to the familiar cloudy skies and wet forests of my home in the Evergreen State of Washington.
I relaxed again and beamed as I surveyed the cemetery and listened to the rustling leaves of the trees. The unexplained peace and contentment continued to keep me company in this new bond I had formed with the Midwest—here in this cemetery, where it seemed likely no single relative of mine actually even resided for all eternity.
The wind continued to whip around me, pushing the hair from my face. There was no sense trying to drag my bangs back down over my impossibly high forehead. I’d given up the day before when I first encountered the incessant winds of the prairies bordering the Missouri River of Iowa and Nebraska.
“I have missed you so much, Molly.”
I jerked my head around again.
“Sara?”
But Sara had moved off even further, lost in her explorations. I cocked my head to the left to hear better. I could have sworn it was a man’s voice. Was it a trick of the wind? A sigh from one of the grand old oak trees protecting the cemetery from the winds?
“Is someone there?” I whispered. I truly hoped no one was. There was no answer...thankfully.
I gave myself a shake and dropped my gaze to scan the surrounding stones, one bright white stone catching my eye for an instant before I allowed my gaze to move on.
“Please come back to me, Molly.” The poignant sadness in the deep voice took my breath away. I swung around, scanning the surrounding area in a 360 degree panorama. My pulse pounded against my throat, and I raised a hand to my neck as if to soothe it.
“This is ridiculous,” I squeaked as I crushed my arms across my chest and turned to hurry toward Sara. It was definitely time to leave the cemetery if I had begun to hear things. I didn’t believe in ghosts, and I wasn’t about to start now...here in the cemetery. We were only on day three of our “ancestor hunting” trip, and we still had several more cemeteries to visit in the coming days. Hearing voices in the graveyards could certainly become an impediment to the rest of the trip. Especially if those voices seemed to know my name.
I thought I heard the elusive sound one more time as I scurried along the graveled path toward the other side of the cemetery...and the sanctuary of Sara. I quickened my step. The wind at my back helped propel me forward, and I reached my sister’s side in minimal time, albeit slightly out of breath.
“Did you find something?” Sara straightened from an examination of a tombstone and looked up at me with vivid blue eyes...so like our mother’s.
I threw an embarrassingly furtive glance over my shoulder before replying with a shake of my head. I hesitated telling Sara about hearing a voice, certain she would think my imagination was in overdrive...as usual. It would be just like me to be the only person around hearing voices. And if word got back to my parents, they would chuckle and say, “That Molly! You never know what she’s going to come up with.” They would exchange knowing looks. “Molly! Such a vivid imagination, you can’t take her too seriously.”
“No, nothing,” I replied. “I don’t see any familiar names on the tombstones. This was a long shot, but I’m glad we stopped by.” I gestured expansively, though I noticed my hands shook a bit. “What a beautiful cemetery!”
Sara rested her hands on slim blue-jeaned hips and surveyed the grounds.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it? And you thought for sure some long lost relative would be here when we drove by. I’m sorry we couldn’t find anyone.”
Now that I was within the sphere of my practical, no-nonsense sister and out of the spell of the captivating wind, I felt a sudden urge to leave as soon as possible. I linked my arm in Sara’s and pulled her toward the dark green rental car parked just inside the entrance of the cemetery as I chattered inconsequentially.
“I’d say I’m sorry I dragged us on a wild goose chase to this cemetery, except that I really like it. I don’t know why I wanted to come in here. I thought we might find some relatives buried here, that’s all. Just a weird feeling, you know? I can’t really explain it.”
And if I kept talking, I wouldn’t hear the voice again, would I?
“Well, some of the stones are so old, I can’t even read them. The lettering has worn away,” Sara said as she allowed me to pull her along without complaint.
“Yeah, I noticed that over there as well.” I nodded in the direction of the top of the hill. “The wind blows so steadily, it must have done some damage over the years. For all we know, we might have a whole family of ancestors buried here.”
“Let’s call the town clerk tomorrow and see if they have a listing of the names of people who are interred here,” Sara said with renewed enthusiasm. “If we don’t recognize any names, we’ll move on to the cemetery in Council Bluffs. At least we know our great-great-grandparents on the Hamilton side are there.”
Sara hopped in the driver’s seat while I pulled open the door on the passenger side. I didn’t hold out much hope that we’d have luck with the town clerk, and I felt a bit guilty allowing Sara to expend energy pursuing any further links to Lilium. But Sara was in her element. The practical sister...the one who made phone calls to town clerks during office hours to eliminate wasted time. I, on the other hand, was the dreamer...the impractical sister...who’d rather just stumble into a cemetery and search for ancestors by “intuition” or a “feeling.” Sara had been more than patient with my half-baked way of finding ancestors.
“Gee, Sara, I really don’t think we have anyone here,” I sighed. I was aware of an irrational desire to have a relative buried in the cemetery on the hilltop. I saw myself popping in to visit my dear ancestor on occasion, blithely ignoring the fact that I lived 2000 miles away in Seattle. But there was no way Sara could understand my whimsy...at least I didn’t think so. I turned to give Sara my best “I’m over this fad” smile. Hopefully, though, my dear relative wouldn’t decide she...or he...had to actually talk to me.
Sara eyed me quizzically for a moment and nodded before she turned the ignition key.
“Well, we’ll call anyway,” she said with a knowing smile. I hadn’t fooled her. She knew I was drawn to the cemetery. “It can’t hurt...just in case.”
Anxious to leave and yet reluctant to do so, I turned to take one last look at the top of the hill. Inexplicable longing brought a sudden, sharp ache to my chest, and I couldn’t breathe for a moment.
The late afternoon sun crowned the hill with a blaze of fiery gold. A distinctively white stone gleamed and basked under the light—maybe the same stone I had noticed earlier. I couldn’t remember if I’d looked at the marker closely to see the name. I put my hand to my chest as if to soothe the sharp pain, but the ache seemed too deeply embedded to touch. I swallowed hard, fighting against a profound and overwhelming sense of loss as we drove away.
****
That night, I tossed and turned in bed. The hotel sported large comfortable queen-size mattresses, so I
knew my restlessness wasn’t the discomfort of strange sleeping accommodations. In fact, the bed was much more comfortable than my plain no-frills mattress at home.
A man’s face drifted in and out of my dreams. I couldn’t really remember the substance of the dreams...something about the cemetery in Lilium...the wind...the bright white stone. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember how. Surprisingly, the image was in black and white. Did I always dream in black and white? I hadn’t noticed before.
He kneeled before a tombstone, his head bent as he rested one tanned sturdy hand along the top of the stone. The white stone?
“Molly,” he whispered. “Please come back to me.”
He raised his head and kissed the tips of his fingers before transferring his hand to the stone. Finally, I could see his face.
His face was long and angular with light-colored eyes under heavy, sensuous lids. His jaw line seemed to be carved out of stone, ending in a distinctively masculine chin. A full, well-groomed mustache draped over his upper lip and ran down past the corners of his mouth in an old-fashioned style. His thick hair appeared to be light brown with a soft wave that swept away from a side part and settled just over both ears with a slight lift at the ends. I could just see where it settled on the bottom edge of his stiff high-collared white shirt. Long sideburns framed his face, again in the style of another time. I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Were they blue? Green?
He turned as if he saw me and sprang to his feet. His wide smile welcomed me as he opened his arms. I melted against him and he folded me in a loving embrace.
I opened my eyes in the dark. The room was quiet. Sara wasn’t a snorer, thank goodness. A faint light from the bottom edge of the closed bathroom door kept the room from total blackness. I’d left the bathroom light on as a nightlight in a strange place to avoid stubbing my toe should I need to get up in the night.
That bittersweet moment came upon me in the semi-dark room...that moment when we realize our handsome lover existed only in a dream. I sighed in the dark.