Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series)

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  The crack of gun fire echoed through the confines of the barn leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Somewhere outside the rooster began to crow frantically from his pen and the noise broke the trance of the moment. The shot had gone wide, embedding the bullet in the wall of the barn, and before Christenson could regain his bearings, Craig took firm hold of his right arm, twisted it, wrenched him to the ground and kneeled on his arm. “Marissa,” he gasped, holding the struggling madman beneath him. “Go get help!”

  “I won’t leave you!”

  “I can handle him.” Sweat poured from his brow and his chest heaved with the exertion of restraining the frantic man. “Don’t argue.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “I need… to know...” he punched Paul in the jaw “...to know you’re safe.” For a brief instant he looked up at her, his intense blue eyes conveying more love than words ever could. “This is not a request. Go and get help. Now!”

  Turning she fled the barn. Help? Where was she supposed to find help? And where was that damn deputy who was supposed to be watching the house? On horseback it was thirty minutes back into Charleston and a good fifteen minutes to any neighboring farms; on foot it would be at least twice that long. There was no way she could leave him for that amount of time. Craig was injured, badly, and Paul was a desperate man; if she left the action could very well doom her husband. Her eyes fell to the chicken coop. Yes!

  * * *

  An unholy shriek split the air and both men both froze for an instant.

  “What the hell?” Paul gasped as a squawking rooster streaked into the barn.

  “Toughie!” Craig exclaimed, leaping out of the way and grabbing the six-shot pistol as the gnarly rooster attacked the man on the ground. With his sharp beak and vicious spurs, the bird knocked Christenson back as he tried to rise. The merciless attack gave Craig the chance to leap onto some hay bales, aim and fire with deadly accuracy.

  “Craig!”

  He stumbled over the limp body on his way to Marissa, and nudged it to ensure that Christenson would not surprise him again. The rooster, cowed by the gunshot, cowered in a corner. Craig raised a hand to the bird in mute thanks before staggering through the barn doors and into Marissa’s reaching arms.

  They collided. “Ouuff,” he grunted as they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

  “You’re alive!” she sobbed, clinging to her husband. “I thought he shot you. I heard the gunshot and yelled your name, but you didn’t answer and—“

  “Marissa,” Craig choked trying to loosen the stranglehold she held on his neck. “I can’t breathe!”

  “Huh? Oh!” Quickly she moved her arms. “I’m sorry, Craig.”

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I have the feeling we’ve played this scene before. Marissa, move your knee!”

  * * *

  June 5, 1865

  The south had been inundated with carpetbaggers and con artists looking to capitalize on the desolation that had befallen the former Confederacy, and the people of Charleston were more than ready for a celebration. A myriad of well wishers milled through the lush gardens of the Langston plantation, murmuring in appreciation of the beautiful bride and handsome groom.

  “My father has been a widower for over twenty years.” Craig shook his head with a wry smile “I’d never thought to see him marry again.”

  Marissa grinned and leaned into his shoulder. “And it’s really good to see Genie so happy. She deserves this. And with her son Andy home, along with Carolyn’s Albert, as she said, her ‘cup runneth over.’ I’m glad we didn’t tell her about Jim.”

  Craig grinned down at his wife. “I’m just glad to see you so happy.” Quickly he leaned in to claim her soft lips in a gentle kiss. “But if you will excuse me for just a moment, my dear, I see James Rowe and I would like nothing more than to show off my son.”

  “Be my guest.” Marissa smiled, tenderly laying the sleeping blond bundle into the crook of her husband’s arm. “Christopher is getting awfully heavy and my arms could use a break.”

  Manfully, James had married Kirsten and while a more miserable union had likely never existed, he was famously enamored of his daughter who’d inherited his flaming red hair

  “Where has that man taken my new grandson off to?” Marissa turned to see Genie’s aquamarine eyes sparkling into hers.

  With a laugh Marissa tossed her head in Craig’s direction. “Showing Christopher off as usual.”

  “Papas are allowed to be a little proud, you know.”

  At that moment Ginny Long came to join them. “Now where has my little great-grandson gone?” Ginny craned her neck and shook her head with amusement when she spotted Craig holding the no longer sleeping, bright eyed Christopher over his shoulder. “Genie, congratulations on snaring the other most eligible bachelor in Charleston.”

  Genie opened her mouth to scold the other woman teasingly when a sudden rush of excitement flowed through the crowd like electric current. All eyes turned to the back of the wedding pavilion where a tall, strong young man with shaggy blond hair and piercing blue eyes had entered The Highlands Garden. The man wore the tattered remains of a gray uniform jacket over a well worn shirt and faded trousers. Though obviously bone weary, a toothy, lopsided grin split his handsome face.

  “Curtis! Curtis me lad, can it really be you?” The joyous and somewhat disbelieving voice of Robert Langston rang out in the warm afternoon air. Plunging through the crowd, the hulking man grasped his son by the shoulders and stared at him for a long moment, tears welling in his eyes. “It is you.”

  Robert crushed the young man to his chest until Curtis coughed. “Yeah, Pop I’m really glad to see you too, but I can’t breathe.”

  “I’m sorry, me boy, but I just can’t believe yer back.”

  The rest of the Langston men gathered eagerly about their brother, embracing him warmly. With a watery gaze Marissa couldn’t help but be reminded of the picture of the four brothers Craig kept in his study. The Langston family had been lucky indeed over the course of the war. Now, all four of the brothers were together again.

  “Well, if I ever saw a Hollywood moment,” Ginny Long whispered, gazing upon her grandsons as a pair of tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Marissa and Genie turned in tandem. “What did you say, Ginny?”

  The older woman turned, wide-eyed. “Nothing!” she exclaimed. “Nothing.”

  “You said something about Hollywood.” Marissa narrowed her gaze thoughtfully.

  “Hollywood, California?” Genie continued carefully, as though testing dangerous waters. “Where the movies are made?”

  Eyes widening in surprised awe, Ginny stared in profound disbelief at the younger women. “You don’t mean to tell me...” Her voice trailed off.

  “What year was it Ginny? 1972?”

  Blue eyes sparkling the older woman inclined her head with a smile. “Yes, it was. What do you say girls, any regrets?”

  Marissa and Genie turned to one another and smiled. “Not one.”

  Edge of Time 230

  Epilogue

  Anne McClafferty sat with trembling hands staring at the faded envelope in her lap. It couldn’t be possible. The postman said the letter had been at the post office with specific instructions for about one-hundred and fifty years. Was it a trick of the mind, making her believe the script was Marissa’s?

  July 15, 1865

  “Dear Mom,” the letter began.

  “I have no idea if you’ll ever get this letter, but I had to try and let you know that I am safe. Believe me, I know how impossible it sounds, but I’m living in Charleston in 1865. It was 1863 when I came here and so much has happened that I don’t know where to begin.

  “Enclosed is a picture of my family—can you believe it? Me in a dress? My husband Craig is a doctor, and I work with him as doctor of sorts myself. On my lap is Christopher, your grandson.
He takes after his father. Both of them have the most beautiful blue eyes...”

  The letter continued on for several more astounding pages and finally ended with—

  “I will try to write again.

  “Forever your loving daughter,

  “Marissa McClafferty-Langston”

  End

  Edge of Time 230

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  Cadence

  When murder suspect Cadence Jamison disguises herself as a boy and stows aboard the Heavenly Mistress Captain Curtis Langston may find his two past occasions for rescuing her more than he bargained for.

  Bitter and Cynical after service in the Confederate Army, Curtis believes himself no more deserving of another’s love than capable of returning it. Content to drift through life free of emotional and therefore romantic complications the once carefree and mischievous rogue may be forever gone. But when Cadence appears in his life Curtis finds himself smiling again, smiling and dreaming and feeling more like himself than he has in five years. Drawn with almost unnatural force to the sweet and innocent goodness Cadence offers, Curtis blunders again and again to resist the pull of what a life with her couldbe.

  Can Cadence show this wounded soul how to love again? Or is he doomed to be forever unforgiven, haunted by the ghosts of his past?

  Edge of Time 230

  Prologue

  September 20th 1867

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Blood poured in hot red rivulets from her hands onto the pale blue fabric of her gown.

  How could this have happened?

  Cadence Jamison stared with a mixture of horror and disbelief from the crimson stains on her hands to the man lying dead in the darkened alleyway.

  “Papa, no,” she whimpered as salty tears and raindrops splattered onto the motionless form. Her thick skirts billowed in the blustery wind and raindrops stung her face as small rivers of rainwater mingled with the thick, dark red blood pooling around her mud caked shoes. Sobs racked her body as she fell to her knees shaking the motionless figure of her father, willing him to rise, and for this all to have been a terrifying twist of the imagination.

  A clattering from the cobbled street adjacent to the alley alerted her to a carriage creaking and splashing ever closer. Panic welled in her breast as she stared at the condemning red stains marring her skirts and hands.

  “Richard!” a voice drifted through the storm. “Richard, look there!”

  The carriage stopped at the mouth of the alley and as the carriage door swung outward Cadence leapt to her feet. In a fleeting moment of indecision she wiped the wet tangle of curls from her eyes. A booted leg emerged from the carriage and panic boiled over as she turned to flee through the black rain slicked streets.

  “You there,” a man’s voice called. “Stop! Murderer!”

  One

  September 13th, 1867

  Charleston, SC (One week prior)

  The afternoon sun cast a pale glow through the rippling panes of glass and lent a rosy hue to the fabric being gently plied beneath expert fingers. The needle worked with expert swiftness through the exquisite muslin until at last the seamstress tied a secure knot and plucked the thread from the hem. Holding the red gown out by the shoulders Cadence narrowed pale eyes, shrewdly assessing the garment for any flaws that may have been overlooked during creation of the exquisite piece.

  “Perfect,” she murmured almost wistfully as she stood to hang the ball gown in the back of the room. “Absolutely perfect.”

  There was a time not so long ago when she’d been privileged to wear such beautiful clothing. With casual disregard she’d picked the most tasteful fabrics and worn the most fashionable styles, her every whim had become a reality. After the war her father’s business had fallen to ruin and he was now destitute. The family’s lack of funds gave Cadence a new sense of the responsibility, and she had learned to do without the expensive luxuries she’d known as a child. At the age of nineteen, she worked as a seamstress, doing much to support her family. Of late her father had become far more interested in securing funds to feed his desire for strong liquor and gambling tables than seeing to the needs of his family.

  Cadence sighed as the grandfather clock against the wall chimed the hour, six o’clock. She took a few minutes to tidy the sewing supplies and bid farewell to Mrs. Bridger before donning her coat and stepping into the October evening. The South Carolina air held a bite promising winter weather soon to come, and a multicolored array of leaves adorned the massive trees along the roadside. A gust of wind swept the street sending a montage of leaves swirling high above the streets and her spirits dared to soar with them. How nice it would be to dance upon the wind, holding out her arms she longed to be blown far, far away. Turning her face to the harbor Cadence brushed windblown curls from her face and on impulse strode toward the masts towering above the lower regions of the city. The desire to put off going home for just a while longer was overwhelming, and she’d always enjoyed the activity surrounding the ships in port.

  The air of the harbor was vibrantly alive with cargo being loaded and unloaded from the hulking wooden vessels and sailors swinging high in the rigging or scampering around the docks. The smell of the ocean was intoxicating and she delighted in the sights and sounds of the seaside port. She’d been enamored with the sea for as long as she could remember and had long craved a sailor’s adventure. Had she been born a boy she would have undoubtedly made her way as a daring sea captain. Cadence had even entertained fantasies about disguising her identity and stowing aboard a vessel so that she might see faraway, exotic lands.

  Sadly, she looked down at the sore on her finger where a wayward needle had pricked open the flesh earlier that day. She was getting too old for such romantic fantasies. As it presently stood her only hope for escaping the never ending trap of her life would be to find a husband. But she didn’t want a husband. She wanted a life of adventure and consequence. She longed to climb aboard one of the wooden vessels and to sail away without a backward glance.

  Lost in her own brooding emotions Cadence was unaware of passing time and the rapid darkening of the sky. As the purple hues of dusk seeped into the heavens, the riffraff that frequented the port came oozing from the shadows. Cadence glanced around in sudden apprehension as the harlots who worked the docks strutted up and down the harbor streets brazenly flaunting the wares of their trade. Drunken, slovenly men catcalled the women, and in innocence, Cadence shuddered in wide-eyed disbelief at the offensive displays. Quickening her pace, she took long, unladylike strides in an attempt to hasten away from the despicable scene playing out before her.

  From the corner of her eye she noted an unkempt drunkard take a long pull of ale from his tankard before tossing it aside. Inwardly she groaned; she should have known better than to stroll unaccompanied through the shipping district this time of day, and turned abruptly away from the sailor’s suggestive leer. Kicking up the pace she trotted hastily across the docks.

  “Whoa!” The cry of alarm was squelched as the drunk clasped a heavy hand over her mouth and wrapped the other securely about her upper body.

  Cadence thrashed against the man who held her trapped in an unrelenting vice.

  Fighting the panic welling in her breast she desperately tried to wrench free of the fiend, but the man easily overpowered her and tossed her into a secluded crevice upon a pile of nets and canvas. Her eyes flew in desperate search of escape, but could find none. The brute had chosen well the location for his evil, and no one would venture behind the tall crates without cause. His flat calloused palm remained heavy upon her mouth making it difficult to breathe. His large body nearly suffocated her as he fumbled over her, groping roughly at her womanly curves. Tears coursed unchecked down her face as she futilely fought the man’s unwanted attempts on he
r innocence. Hot bile welled in her throat as his nauseating hands ventured where none had ever touched.

  A small avenue of hope came as the man eased the unrelenting flat of his palm away from her mouth in his lustful quest and she clamped her teeth mercilessly into the side of his hand. Shocked, the man pulled the wounded extremity away as her bloodcurdling shriek rent the night air. In moments the brigand’s hand curved cruelly around her throat, trying to choke the very life from her. A rough hand tore the front of her plum colored gown, reaching lower to grasp the poorly concealed flesh of her breasts, but even as silent screams welled in her throat the strength to fight was sapped.

  Blackness roiled around the edges of her vision, closing slowly in as her lungs struggled to expand. Limp and utterly without the strength to fight she welcomed the blackness, thankful she would not have to be conscious, or perhaps even alive for the bitter ravishment. Just as the darkness plunged her senses into the blissful respite of obscurity, protecting her from this hell the dreamlike visage of a man came into view…

  Was this heaven?

  * * *

  Enraged, Curtis Langston stepped around the crate to see a filthy excuse for a drunkard attacking a young woman. A very pretty young woman he couldn’t help but note as he forcibly dragged the brigand from the pile of netting and threw him against the wooden planks of the dock.