Across the Winds of Time

by Bess McBride

  “See you later,” I mumbled toward his retreating back. To my embarrassment, a tear of anxiety and exhaustion slid down my face. I was hoping Mrs. White would miss it.

  She didn’t.

  “There, there, Miss Sara. Come sit down, and I’ll pour some of Mr. Ferguson’s hot chocolate for you. He says you like it. I know your sister did.”

  Mrs. White led me to a well-polished round oak table nestled where my glass kitchen table sat. Five high-backed oak chairs were pushed up to the table, and Mrs. White pulled one back. She went to pour a cup of the chocolate, and I wondered how long Darius would be gone.

  “Will you have some pancakes, dear?”

  I nodded with enthusiasm. Mrs. White brought a lovely white and blue porcelain plate over to the table with several pancakes stacked in the middle. She poured a glass of obviously freshly squeezed orange juice and set it on the table along with silverware and a white linen napkin.

  I stared at the food with admiration. The woman really could cook, I thought. I’d never imagined Darius as a porcelain plate kind of guy, which only served to remind me that there was a great deal I didn’t know about him yet.

  “And here is some lovely syrup direct from the New England states. It’s wonderful.” She set down a small glass pitcher no bigger than a creamer.

  “Won’t you sit and have some breakfast, Mrs. White?”

  I probably sounded as pathetic as I felt, because I saw her hesitate.

  “Well, Miss Sara, I’ve already eaten, but certainly I will sit with you.”

  She poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat down on the other side of the table. I gave her a small smile of gratitude and poured syrup on the pancakes.

  “I understand your husband and children work here as well?” I prompted as an opening. I was sure she had questions for me, and I wasn’t sure I could come up with any credible answers, so I went on the offensive...so to speak.

  She beamed. “Yes, they do. My daughter does some cleaning and laundry. And my husband and son take care of the yard, the farm and the animals. They’ve all done their chores and gone home for the day.” She looked out of the window. “Mr. Ferguson works with them during planting and harvesting season, but in between times, he works around the house.”

  I scooped my first forkful of pancakes into my mouth and stilled for a moment as I savored their delicious light texture.

  “Mrs. White! These are delicious. So light and fluffy.”

  “Thank you, dear,” she beamed. “It’s an old family recipe. Mr. Ferguson loves them, so I made them special for him today.” Her face sobered and she shook her head. “He’s not been himself this last year. It was such a pleasure to see him smiling this morning and preparing his special hot chocolate.” She smiled at me brightly.

  I supposed I should ask.

  “You know that a man named James was here yesterday.”

  She bit her lip and looked down at her lap.

  “Yes, I know. The whole town knows by now. He’s told them that you are Molly, that she didn’t die after all, and that his brother was wrongly hanged down in Council Bluffs for her murder.”

  I stopped eating. Chills ran down my arms.

  “Mr. Ferguson has gone to talk to the sheriff again, hoping to pass the word along that the woman James saw yesterday was you, Molly’s sister.” She looked at me with a kindly expression, but I thought I saw a note of skepticism in her eyes.

  “We look almost exactly alike,” I murmured as I stuffed some pancake in my mouth.

  “Yes, the resemblance is remarkable.”

  “People used to mistake us for twins,” I added.

  “I certainly would think so,” she agreed.

  “How are your parents, Miss Sara? We haven’t heard from them since they left after the funeral.”

  “Ahh...well, I believe my parents have traveled west,” I murmured. Shouldn’t I know that? “At least, they wrote to me and told me that’s where they wanted to go.”

  “I wished they had left earlier and taken Miss Molly with them.” Her face almost seemed to crumple, and I could see that she was very attached to Molly.

  “Things were very difficult for her around here, Miss Sara, with that Jack threatening her and Darius.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I heard that even your father decided Jack would be a dreadful husband for her, and he told James’s father that any plans they had in the past were over.”

  “Really?” I mumbled, trying to tread lightly in case I made a mistake. “I’m pleased to hear my father came to his senses finally.” I took a final bite of pancake and gave up. My heart ached for Darius and for poor Molly.

  I rose from my chair, and Mrs. White stood.

  “Thank you so much for breakfast, Mrs. White. I think I’ll take a walk now.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. I’m glad you liked the pancakes.” She picked up the plate and glasses and shooed me away when I tried to help. “Take your walk now. You look so pale. The sun will do you good.”

  I nodded and turned toward the kitchen door.

  “Miss Sara.”

  I turned back to Mrs. White, whose cheeks took on a rosy hue.

  “I think perhaps the clothing in the South is a bit more...brief...than we are used to here in the north.” Her gaze flickered to my shorts. “I think it might be best if you didn’t try to go into town or anything until Mr. Ferguson finds your luggage. He said it was lost on the journey here?” she said with a lift of her eyebrows.

  “Yes, that’s right, Mrs. White. I lost it.” How true those words were in modern day vernacular. I nodded with an effort at a grin. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

  “I won’t see you when you get back, Miss Sara...not until tomorrow. Mr. Ferguson said he won’t need me any more today, so I’m just going to tidy up the kitchen dishes and go home,” Mrs. White said.

  I had my hand on the door when she spoke, and I turned to look at her. Little did Mrs. White know, but I would never see her again. Never. I bit my lip at the thought that someone would live and die in the time it took me to travel back to the twenty-first century.

  I moved to where she stood by the sink and gave her an impulsive hug. I could feel her body stiffen for a moment before she wrapped her arms around me and patted my back soothingly.

  “There, there, now, dear. What’s this all about?” Mrs. White murmured. “You’re upset about your sister, I know.” She made consoling clucking noises as she returned my embrace.

  I pulled away from her and dipped my head in some embarrassment at the unwarranted display of warmth for a virtual stranger. Although she would never know I was saying goodbye for a lifetime, I knew it was the last time I would see her. I wasn’t quite sure whether Mrs. White would stay and take care of the house for Darius’s brother, but I was sorry she could not return with us.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. White.” I blushed. “I think I am a little bit...distraught. Thank you for letting me hang on you.” I managed a slight grin.

  “Oh, pooh! ‘Hang on me’ indeed. What an expression!” She chuckled. “There’s no reason why we can’t offer each other a little comfort in our times of need.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Now, go for your walk. It will do you a world of good.”

  I smiled once again and went out the door with a backward glance over my shoulder to see that she was washing dishes. I stood on the porch for a moment, wondering what to do. I supposed I could walk up to the cemetery. I crossed the lawn and started up the path. The climb didn’t take long, and I came through the trees and emerged into the meadow on top of the hill.

  Even though I had seen it only a few hours before, albeit at dusk, the unfettered expanse of the field with only a few tombstones caught me by surprise. Long feathery grass drifted lazily in the wind while the small oak saplings rustled with just a promise of the majestic shade trees they would become.

  I strolled along to my favorite spot on the far edge of the meadow, giving Molly’s stone a pat and a good morning, as I passed. I faced the w
ind coming off the valley and raised my arms—as I had done only days before—truly wishing I could fly away.

  The wind—blowing as strongly as it did in the twenty-first century—buffeted me, and I braced myself against it. My hair flew behind me, and I smiled, letting the stiff breeze carry my worries away.

  “Molly.”

  I heard a voice behind me, and I swung around, thinking it was Darius.

  And I saw her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She came forward with her hands outstretched.

  “Molly... You are here.”

  I stared at her aghast. This was definitely a ghost. I was certain of it. My shoulder burned, and I clutched at it.

  She had the same hair as I, though hers was caught up in a bun at the back of her head. Tendrils escaped at the back of her neck and blew in the wind, as did the folds of her dark gray skirt. A white shirtwaist blouse with a high-necked lace collar set off her lovely pink cheeks. She smiled with full, generous lips. Dark eyes sparkled as they regarded me.

  “I don’t understand,” I murmured. I dropped my hand and allowed her to take both of mine in hers.

  “I know you are confused and frightened, Molly,” she murmured. “I wish I could understand what is happening as well.” She shook her head. “But I do not. I only know that as I lay dying, I seemed”—she paused and scrunched her face as if searching for the right word—”unable to go beyond the light. As if I could not leave. I saw images—Darius...and you. Though you looked different, I knew you and I were the same. If I did not believe it was impossible, I would say that Darius willed me—and you—not to die.” She grinned. I recognized the grin as my own.

  I loved looking at her. She was just so beautiful—much more attractive than I. I was certain I didn’t have that sparkle in my eyes—or if I did, it had been some time since I’d seen it.

  As if she read my thoughts, she tilted her head and smiled.

  “You look just like me, Molly. We are the same person...but centuries apart. He loves you...us. I am not the other woman. I am you.”

  She ran her gaze down my legs—as did everyone in the nineteenth century, it seemed.

  “And you are not bound by the demure, voluminous skirts as I was in my time!” Her eyes sparkled with delight.

  I matched her chuckle. We sounded like an echo as we giggled.

  She sobered up and cocked her head for a moment, as if listening to something I could not hear.

  “I must go, Molly. Darius returns to the house. He is looking for you.”

  My face fell, and she seemed to read my mind again.

  “Molly, he loves both of us. I am you in the nineteenth century, and you are me in the twenty-first century. We do not exist separately.”

  “I don’t understand,” I mumbled as I shook my head.

  “I am afraid I do not understand either, my other self. But it is true. I have been waiting for you.” She looked around and raised a graceful hand. “I cannot leave this place, it seems.”

  “It does. How did you die, Molly? Exactly.”

  “I think you have probably heard much of it. Jack shot me...in the shoulder. He could not understand that I did not wish to marry him, and he came to my home one day. No one could have predicted that he would go to such great lengths to keep Darius and I apart.”

  I clutched my shoulder again, the ache springing up once more.

  Molly looked at me and put her hand on my shoulder as Darius had done. The pain eased immediately.

  “I am so sorry it still hurts. Perhaps when all is resolved, the pain will disappear. You should not carry this burden for me.” She frowned and looked over my shoulder into some distant place. “I knew how volatile Jack could be. Darius wanted to take me away, but I would not leave my parents. And I waited too long.”

  My throat ached from holding back tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Molly. I’m so sorry that you were not able to live out your life. Darius misses you so much.”

  She returned her gaze to me.

  “There is no one to miss, Molly. I have never gone away. I am reborn in you.”

  I shook my head without understanding.

  Her eyes sparkled again, and she grinned as she grabbed my hand.

  “Come! Let us fly. I used to do this often, and I know I still do it through you. I have seen you.”

  She whisked me away to the edge of the hill.

  “Together!” she called to me as the wind almost drowned out her voice. I watched her raise her arms, and—like my dream—she held them aloft as the wind grabbed at her hair and gray skirt. I grinned and raised my arms as well. The wind felt wonderful, invigorating, soothing, and I relished the companionship of my other self.

  We let our fingertips touch as the wind blew around us and through us.

  Molly dropped her hand with regret.

  “You must go. Darius is at the house. He is searching for you.” She took my hands in hers and whispered in my ear. “Take care of him for me...for us. I will not send you empty handed.” She laid her warm cheek against mine...and myriad pictures flashed through my mind. Scenes of Molly and Darius laughing together, walking hand in hand, the picnic they had in this meadow, their first kiss—which was exactly like our first kiss, or what I thought had been our first kiss.

  Molly had given me the gift of her memories with Darius.

  She released my hands and straightened, seeming to move away although I didn’t actually see her take a step backward. She grinned, and—in an unexpected gesture—blew me a kiss. Something I myself might have done.

  “Goodbye, Molly.”

  “Wait!” I shrieked as I realized that her image was disappearing. “Wait! Don’t go. Darius will want to see you.”

  And she was gone. I couldn’t see her any longer.

  “He has you now, Molly—and you are me.” I heard her voice on the wind. And then she was gone.

  I scanned the cemetery for her, but couldn’t see her anywhere. With a sigh, I turned to face the valley once more. I raised my arms, wishing I could take flight for a little while as I recaptured the memories she had shared with me.

  With a sigh, I turned to walk back across the cemetery—uncertain if I would tell Darius about meeting Molly. It seemed so far fetched. Would he believe me?

  I’d been staring at the ground as I walked, and I looked up. Dark smoke billowed up over the tree line ahead of me, and I smelled burning wood. Something was on fire, and it came from the direction of the house. I broke into a run and flew into the trees, slipping and falling as I scrambled down the slope. I felt the heat before I came out of the trees, and when I emerged onto the lawn of the house, I recoiled for an instant from the onslaught of the scorching blaze. The house was on fire. Flames billowed out of the kitchen window, and I screamed as I rushed forward.

  “Mrs. White! Mrs. White!”

  I couldn’t get very close to the house because the flames shot out of every window and enveloped the porch.

  “Miss Sara! Miss Sara! Over here.”

  Over the roar of the fire, I thought I heard her voice across the lawn. She stood at the end of the driveway near the road. I ran across the lawn, giving the house a wide berth because of the flying embers and falling debris. The heat was intense.

  “Oh, Miss Sara! There you are!” Mrs. White grabbed me in an embrace, and I hugged her back with relief.

  “Look what that James has done,” she cried. “I was half a mile down the road when I saw him galloping away from the house and dark smoke behind him. I screamed at him, but he didn’t pay any attention, and I ran back to the house.” She sobbed as she struggled to stay upright. I kept an arm around her while I turned to watch the wonderful house burn. There were no sirens. No fire trucks would come rushing to put this fire out.

  “I’m so glad to see you safe,” I gasped. “I thought you were in the house.”

  She turned to me with a wild-eyed stare.

  “Mr. Ferguson ran into the house. He rode in on his horse as soon as I arr
ived. He was looking for you. He asked where you were, and I didn’t know if you had returned from your walk.”

  I barely heard her last words before I wrenched myself out of her arms and ran for the house. She grabbed me by my arm and pulled me back.

  “Let me go,” I screamed. “Let me go. I have to find him. I’m not in the house,” I screamed even louder, hoping Darius would be able to hear me above the thunder of crashing debris.

  “Sam, George, thank goodness you’ve come,” Mrs. White kept a vice grip on my arm while I fought her. I barely noticed an older gray-haired man and a younger twenty-something man who’d arrived, panting and out of breath. “Help me with her. She’s trying to get into the house. Mr. Ferguson went into the house to look for her.”

  “Darius! Darius!” I screamed over and over, almost completely immobilized as the two men took over holding me by every means possible including by my shoulders, my waist, and my arms. I couldn’t breathe. Desperation robbed me of oxygen as did the smoke from the fire.

  “He hasn’t come out yet, George. I’m afraid...” Mrs. White didn’t finish. And I kept screaming, and choking and gasping.

  “Take her away, George. She can’t breathe from the smoke. Take her out onto the road. There is nothing we can do. The house is gone, and I don’t see Mr. Ferguson anywhere.” Mrs. White started sobbing herself.

  George and Sam pulled me backward, trying the best they could not to hurt me, but I fought against them with every ounce of my being to try to get back to the house. Darius could not be dead. He just couldn’t be dead!

  They pulled me off the driveway and out into the road. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw more people running toward the house, just before the kaleidoscope began.

  “Don’t,” I tried to scream. “I’m going to disappear. Don’t take me out to the road,” I shouted, though my voice sounded far away, even to me. “Take me back. Darius!”

  I felt myself slipping out of George and Sam’s hands. Their faces took on similar horrified expressions. The last thing I saw was Mrs. White’s shocked face silhouetted against the backdrop of the burning house.