Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series)

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she set to the task of getting dressed.

  Genie had pulled a trunk full of clothes out of the attic the night before, saying, “My daughter has a love for clothes that goes unmatched in any century, and I sometimes wonder how her husband affords her massive wardrobe. Carolyn was only sixteen when she married, I was against it, but,” Genie shrugged, “when in Rome..."

  Marissa smiled as she thought back on Genie’s words; apparently some things never changed, like the love some women have for clothes and shopping. Rifling through the garments she was hardly sure of what to be seeking. Genie had given her a quick instruction as to proper 1860’s dress the night before, but Marissa’s mind had whirled just trying to keep the undergarments straight.

  After a full thirty minutes of struggling with the myriad of buttons and ribbons that held things together, Marissa turned triumphantly to the full length mirror in her room—admittedly she’d cheated a little and was still wearing her own bra. The reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. It showed a demure, southern belle who must be a ghost, because it could not possibly be her. The ghost was garbed in a gown of pale coral which perfectly flattered her petite figure, fitting snuggly against her bosom and torso before flaring at the hips to give her waist a remarkably slender appearance. Almost hesitantly Marissa raised a hand to the modestly dipped neckline as though to ensure it was her in the mirror.

  A small bubble of excitement welled up and seeded itself in the back of her mind where the childhood fantasies of wearing such clothes had long ago been stored. Though the chore of getting dressed had not been much fun, the act of wearing the gown made her feel like a new person, a new person with a new life. She tidied her long hair with the brush Genie had provided the night before, wearing it down rather than try to fashion it into some sort of upsweep. The oversize alligator clip she’d worn to keep it up and out of the way yesterday would never pass muster in 1863. Quietly, she descended the wooden stairs and smiled at the sight of Genie bustling about the kitchen humming what sounded like a Beatles song.

  “Good morning, dear.” The older woman smiled warmly, motioning for her guest to come forward. If she had heard the outburst from a little while earlier she gave no indication. “You look absolutely lovely. I don’t think Carolyn wore that dress more than once before convincing her father she needed a new one.”

  Marissa smiled at her new friend. “I think I would like to meet Carolyn. Where does she live now?”

  “Oh, she’s in town. That girl was never much for farm life and she married a solicitor almost two years ago. Just after the war started. A lawyer,” Genie supplied at Marissa’s questioning glance. “When her husband joined the Confederate army I invited her to come stay with me, but she elected to stay in town, not that I’m surprised, mind you.” Genie’s cheer was positively infectious and Marissa felt herself genuinely smiling at the other woman as she heaped oatmeal and biscuits onto a plate. “It’s been lonely with my husband gone,” Genie continued. “My husband, Jim, rode with Jeb Stuart’s cavalry, but he was killed six months ago.” Her voice broke and she paused a moment before continuing. “My son, Andy, is only fourteen but he’s driving an ambulance somewhere in northern Virginia.”

  When she looked up there was no mistaking the worry and loneliness in her eyes. “I was a history major in college,” Genie went on, “so I have no illusions about this conflict and what sort of devastation it will bring to the south.”

  Marissa spoke then, moved by the other woman’s emotions. “Genie, your whole family is fighting for the Confederacy, but you already know the outcome of the war and—” Marissa stopped, groping for the right words to voice her question.

  Genie laughed, though no humor shone in her clear blue eyes. “You want to know which side I’m on?” At Marissa’s affirmative nod the other woman continued, “I stand by my husband’s memory, but truthfully I cannot put my heart into the cause. All of Charleston knows how I abhor slavery and I think most of my family and even some of my neighbors know I secretly sympathize with the Union.” Genie lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Although it isn’t so much sympathizing as having no faith in a hopeless cause. You just have to support the people you love. Because when the fighting is over the people are the only thing left, it doesn’t matter which side of the barrier they fall on because in the end there will be a lot of pieces to pick up.”

  Thoughtfully Marissa nodded and a vision of the handsome officer she had met the day before flashed before her mind’s eye. “And what about the Confederate officer who was here yesterday?” For whatever reason, she could not banish the sight of those intense cerulean eyes from her mind.

  An arch smile spread across Genie’s pretty face. “Impressed, were you? Dr. Langston. His entire family has lived in the Charleston area for years.” Her cheery demeanor returned in an instant. “I volunteer at the hospital a couple days a week and he was kind enough to come out and look at my mare that is close to foaling.”

  Her voice took on a wistful quality, “I tell you, if I were twenty years younger I would have a mind to chase after that man myself, or one of his brothers. There are four Langston boys in all, and every one of them as handsome as he is. They take after their father.” Casting a suggestive look in Marissa’s direction she changed the subject slightly. “Which reminds me—” Genie tapped a finger on the table “—we need to inquire about a job for you at the hospital. I gave it much more thought after we discussed it last night and I think it will be just the thing for you.”

  Marissa opened her mouth to protest, but Genie cut her short with a wave of the hand. “We can’t very well play off of your nursing knowledge, but we’ll tell them that you trained alongside your father who was a doctor.”

  Marissa had to smile at Genie’s enthusiasm for seemingly all aspects of life, and then decided it may not be such a bad idea to get a job. It would provide a necessary distraction while she worked toward getting home and she could at least pay Genie back for her help and kindness. Marissa had heard many a tale about the hardships that the citizens of the Confederacy had undergone and anything she could do to prevent straining Genie’s life further would be welcome. “Actually,” Marissa said throwing Genie a conspiratorial glance, “my father is a doctor, or was… or will be… Oh, I don’t know how to put it. This is all so confusing!”

  Her friend flashed an understanding and compassionate smile. “I know, Marissa, but I do promise you that it gets better.”

  Desperately trying not to succumb to tears, Marissa choked back a sob and instead said with a smile, “Okay, but how long before you stopped reaching for light switches on the wall?”

  “Oh,” Genie chortled gleefully, “Never! I still do.”

  * * *

  Marissa spent the day with Genie Harris helping her adjust to her new surroundings. Hah! As if it was possible to adjust. Marissa followed her dutifully around the farm, met Fredrick and Grace, the elderly black couple the Harris’s employed to help her with the farm a few hours each day, and made a half-hearted effort to keep up with Genie’s constant strain of chatter.

  All she could focus on was that it was hot! And dusty! And totally without modern conveniences!

  Marissa grew more frustrated by the hour, though she did find the ice house truly intriguing in that even in the intense southern heat it stayed cold. She’d never considered where the ice had come from, but Genie explained it was cut from frozen lakes in the north, insulated in sawdust or straw and transported into the south. Marissa wasn’t sure which point was more fascinating, that the ice was actually transported from the north, or that sawdust made such an adequate insulator.

  The bathhouse reminded Marissa of just how desperately she missed her shower, and bubble baths, and dear Lord—antibacterial soap.

  And the privy—nothing more need be said about the privy. It was a privy. Though in all honesty Marissa had to admit
she’d used worse facilities at her grandparents’ mountain cabin.

  It was all downright depressing.

  Antiquated items that she’d never realized existed were now necessities that positively boggled her mind and she’d finally begged Genie to limit the day’s lesson to use of the stove, kerosene lamps and water preparation for baths and laundry.

  Late in the afternoon the women passed by the chicken coop and Genie pointed through the netting. “That is Toughie,” she said. A gnarly old rooster glared at them from his confines. “He is the meanest rooster I’ve ever seen, and if he gets out you just duck and run for cover.”

  Marissa cocked a brow and glared back at the rooster who looked ready to eat them alive.

  “If we let Toughie loose he could probably stand down the entire Yankee invasion and end the war today!”

  “Well, what are you waiting for, maybe you could change history after all,” Marissa suggested wryly.

  “It is tempting isn’t it?” Genie smiled back. “But I mean it. Watch out if he ever gets loose.”

  The woods came into view, looking darker than was natural and the unease she’d experienced since being a teenager settled over Marissa. “Genie, have you heard that old story, or maybe it’s a new story now, about a murderer in the woods over there? I’ve been afraid of this house since I was a kid because of it.”

  The other woman nodded instantly. “I remember the story, but as far as I know there is no murderer in the woods and there hasn’t been before now.” Genie shrugged. “Either the story is made up or the murders haven’t happened yet. I don’t know about you, but I prefer to believe that someone made up the legend to scare the living daylights out of kids on Halloween.”

  “Okay.” Marissa nodded, grasping hold of the logic and her thoughts flew back to more pressing issues. Vaguely, she remembered hearing that life in this era was simpler. Well, whoever had said that was wrong!

  “‘Okay’” is not a term you should be using,” Genie said gently. “Try to purge it from your vocabulary because it could mark you as not being from here even more than your accent will. It’s not a common term in Charleston in this time. Remember I said I was a history major. I think the term came into being around the end of the 1830s, in Boston, where some historians believe it was short for the slang term ‘orl correct.’ But others date it a little later, in the 1840s when a man named Martin van Buren used it, calling his presidential platform ‘the O.K party’—because his nick name was Old Kinderhook, name of the place where he grew up.”

  “O—” Marissa broke off quickly. “All right, I’ll try to remember. I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a Yankee.”

  By the end of the day her mind was whirling with the effort of learning an entirely new way of life. It was rather like visiting a third world country she supposed, except that this was her country! The glamour she had perceived from watching movies about this era was definitely overrated. Everything was filthy, dusty, and hot. There was no TV to relax in front of, no showers to wash the sweat from her grimy tired body. No pint of chocolate ice cream conveniently stashed in the freezer to wallow away her sorrows.

  Desperate to escape the cruel twist of fate known as her life Marissa went to the field and spent the better part of an hour stomping angrily across the stretch of grass that had thrown her into the past. Was this destiny? Had fate played some sort of cruel joke on her? Or had she gone completely insane?

  “I wasn’t serious when I wished on that star,” she grumbled, shaking a fist toward the blue, cloudless sky. “My life wasn’t that bad.” Or maybe it was…

  Finally tiring of the endless trek across the field Marissa sighed and, taking care to cut a wide swath around the chicken coop, wearily mounted the porch steps. Perching on the wooden swing facing the field she gazed at the beautiful country around her and drew a deep cleansing breath.

  The air smelled fresh and clean, and the quiet was peaceful in a way she had never experienced. There was no noise or smell from passing cars and trucks, and the occasional horse or buggy traveling along the hard packed dirt road provided a nostalgic quality that she found oddly comforting.

  Stretching her neck she looked out over the field, catching a glimpse of the blue sky around the edge of the porch roof as she enjoyed the sheltering shade. It was incredible, almost unfathomable, but for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, she didn’t feel overwhelmed by life. Considering her world had been turned topsy-turvy a mere twenty-four hours before she could only credit the change to shock; though she did seem a bit too rational for shock, which left madness as an alternative. But be it madness or shock, she felt relaxed. And she liked it. Her job had become so stressful lately she hadn’t taken the time to look at the sky or steal even a moment for herself. Not to mention the whole ordeal with Brian. Stretching her arms out in front of her she gazed at her hands, they looked remarkably feminine with the delicate coral sleeves framing her slender wrists.

  * * *

  Craig Langston stopped dead in his tracks as he cut across Mrs. Harris’s yard. Marissa McClafferty was quite simply a vision sitting on the porch. Sunny hair cascaded down her back in waves of buttery silk and the gentle breeze brushed soft strands enticingly across her cheeks. Craig imagined how it would feel to brush those errant locks away from her smooth skin, letting his fingers linger on the creamy flesh. Her huge brown eyes were cast downward and the slightest hint of a smile curved the corners of her full, pink—kissable—lips.

  Never had he been so physically stricken by the sight of a woman, but the image of the ethereally lovely Marissa poised on the swing like a goddess in a dream pierced him to the core. Realizing his jaw had gone slack Craig snapped his mouth shut and shook his head before continuing his trek across the yard. Her eyes lifted, locking on his as he approached.

  He’d nearly reached the porch steps when she rose from the swing, a demure smile lighting her face. “Good afternoon, Dr. Langston. Are you here to see my aunt’s mare?”

  Craig was once again rendered quite speechless as he gazed into the wide ebony pools of her eyes; so dark and vast, surely if he ventured too close he would fall into them forever. “I’m--I’m sorry, what?” he stammered, unable to look away from her enchanting face.

  “The mare?” she said.

  “Oh! Yes, the mare. I have already been to see her. No change as of yet.” He cleared his throat in an attempt to grasp at a shred of composure before continuing, “Is your aunt at home, Miss McClafferty?”

  “Why yes, Dr. Langston, she just went inside for a moment. Would you like to sit and wait for her?”

  He grinned as she flashed him a coy, flirtatious smile. “Only if you will join me while I wait.”

  She lowered her lashes. “Of course I’ll wait with you.”

  As the delightful Miss McClafferty strolled slowly along the porch he enjoyed the sway of the skirt around her legs. She didn’t walk like other girls, with studiedly mincing steps, but moved with poise and something else he could not quite put his finger on. It was intriguing.

  “Dr. Langston,” she said, gracefully reseating herself, “I am terribly sorry for running into you yesterday. It was not the friendliest of greetings.” She raised her eyes to him. “I do beg your pardon.”

  He laughed, and when she joined in, the sincere quality of her laughter struck him. It was not the prim and proper tinkle of practiced amusement he was accustomed to hearing. “Well, Miss McClafferty what do you say to starting over then?” He turned to her, smiling, and cleared his throat. “I am Craig Langston, currently serving as a Captain in the Confederate Army Medical Corp.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Captain.” Her head tilted slightly as she faced him, allowing her hair to cascade over a shoulder. “I am Marissa McClafferty. I arrived yesterday from Atlanta to stay with my aunt Genie.” She beamed up at him, the gesture friendly and totally genuine.

  It was easy to smile bac
k at her, her delightful voice and crisp accent refreshing after the scores of women whose words had been deliberately sweetened for the purpose of husband catching. “You say you’re from Atlanta, but I detect a bit of a northern accent.” Instantly her face clouded, and he feared having erred. She watched him closely before answering, as though searching for malice in his inquiry.

  “I lived in Michigan as a child,” she replied after a moment. “I moved to the south when I was twelve years old.”

  “I see,” he said. “And your family? Where are they?”

  Craig watched the light drain from her captivating dark eyes, and her shoulders slumped sadly. “I’m afraid that aside from Aunt Genie I am very much alone.”

  “I’m sorry.” He spoke quietly, silently kicking himself for his lack of tact. No doubt something terrible had happened to her family and that was why she had come to live with her aunt.

  A single tear trickled down her cheek and she turned away as if to conceal the evidence of her distress. It was too late; Craig saw a teardrop splash onto her lap and his heart ached for her. The war had been cruel to so many people, it was difficult not to be consumed by bitterness. A desperate need to take Marissa’s pain away griped him, and on impulsive he slipped an arm around her slender shoulders. He knew it was not proper for a gentleman to touch a woman he wasn’t acquainted with in such a way, but a gentleman should never leave a crying woman without consolation either.

  An audible sigh gushed past her lips as she leaned into his embrace, laying her head upon his shoulder.

  An unexpected thrill of excitement surged through Craig. By damn… he hadn’t had this reaction to a woman in… well… ever.

  “Dr. Langston. You made it.” Genie’s cheerful voice shattered the tender moment.