Closer To You (Tales of the Sweet Magnolia Book 1)

by McIntyre, Amanda

  “Not at all,” Jake responded only half-listening to what the man said. He opened the cover and from nowhere a cool breeze blew gently over his face. Jake looked around to see if the door had opened. The windows also remained shut, preventing any breeze. He peered down at the pages, studying the pictures, most were buildings, events, parades taken from exotic locations all over the world.

  “See anyone you recognize yet?” Jake was asked.

  “Just pictures of towns. Did you take all of these?” He must work for the government, perhaps the army.

  “Capturing special moments is my passion, young man. It’s what I do.”

  Jake nodded as he turned the pages. “You’re very good at this passion of yours.”

  “Everyone has a passion for something, son. It just takes some folks a little longer and a little more determination to find it.”

  Jake considered how true his words were, though they didn’t apply to the likes of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt a rush of passion—having no doubt, being totally content with his place in this world.

  Lilly’s arms.

  “You just need to think of that time and grab hold of it. Don’t let anyone or anything, even your own doubts, take it away from you.”

  “I don’t know that it works the same for everyone, sir.”

  “Call me Burt.” Jake looked up to see the old man smiling at him. “She was your passion, this Lillian White, wasn’t she? Well, that and your deep desire to make a difference—help people. That can only come from a noble man, Jake, and one deserving of a little happiness.”

  Jake swallowed. He felt light-headed.

  “Go ahead, son. Look at the pictures. All these folks. The poor, the rich, men,

  and women…they all found the very heart of their deepest desires.” Burt turned the page and there, seated alone with a demure expression was Lillian.

  Jake glanced at Burt. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ah well, if we all understood everything, we’d have no problems, would we? All our struggles would be gone. Terribly boring existence, by the way. Sometimes in our quest to understand every little detail, we end up dissecting our passion until it dwindles to nothing more than a pile of wishful thinking.” Fesuvius leaned his forearms on the case and studied Jake. “The secret of happiness, Jake, is embracing your passion and believing that you deserve the joy it will bring to you.”

  “You’re saying that believing can make it so, just like that.” As poetic as this sounded, Jake was a clear-thinker, a man of reason.

  Burt chuckled. “I can prove it to you, of course, if you wish, but not without some effort on your part.”

  Jake had his doubts and they were deadly serious. Still he was curious just what the old man was talking about. “All right. Show me.”

  “You have something in your pocket from a very special person? Take it out and hold it in your hand,” Burt stated.

  “How did you know…?” Jake started. Maybe this was a parlor trick. He pulled out the paper and showed it to Burt.

  “Now look at the words and remember what they mean to you. Remember a time when you first realized the depth of something you valued more than life itself.”

  He looked at the paper and then at the old man. “Should I close my eyes?”

  Burt shrugged. “If it’s easier for you, by all means.”

  He nodded and looked again at the picture of Lil staring up at him. An unexpected sob choked his throat. What if everything she’d told him about being from the future was true? If so, why couldn’t he be with her?

  “You can.” He heard Burt’s voice getting further away. “Find her, Jake. Find the passion that freed your soul.”

  His thoughts drifted to moments spent with Lillian, the moments that made him realize that he’d found something as vital to his life as his next breath. He saw her lying on the bed, the sheets still warm from their lovemaking tangled around her, the red gem around her neck, looking regal against her pale flesh. More than anything he wished to be able to tell her how he felt. He’d do anything, travel the earth for or backward for that one chance….

  ***

  “Jake…hey, Jake.” A distant voice pulled at him, dragging him from a deep void. He hadn’t slept that soundly in more than a year.

  “I think I may have a lead on that woman you were looking for.” He frowned, the voice was not familiar.

  “Jesus man, when was the last time you slept? You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. That doesn’t make for a very good sheriff, cowboy.”

  Jake struggled to open his eyes. They felt weighted down. He tried to speak, but his mouth tasted like he’d been on a three-day walk in the dessert. The pungent smell of roasting…make that burnt, coffee caught his attention. He needed something stout right about now. “Can you get me a cup of that, Nate?” he whispered through the dryness in his throat.

  “Get your own damn coffee. I won’t touch that pot. I don’t know where it’s been, and who the hell is Nate?” the irate voice sputtered.

  Jake’s eyes suddenly popped open and the first thing he saw was a framed photo of himself in a dark blue uniform of some type. The second was an odd looking box with words printed on the glass front.

  “Shit, dude. You look like you have one mother of a hangover. You better not let the captain see you like this. Hey, take a look what I found.” He handed him a newspaper. “Check out the ad in the lower left hand corner. You think it might have anything to do with that woman you’ve been trying to find?”

  Jake read the advertisement—Found: Antique necklace in local library. Owner identification required. It gave the address. His eyes zeroed in on the contact name—Lillian White.

  “That address is one of the first libraries in Virginia City. Weird, right? That’s over at fifth and St. Charles—kind of a neighborhood district. It’s on the registry of historic places.”

  Jake’s thoughts were still muddled, but he was cognizant enough to realize that the old man had accomplished what he said he would do. “Damn, Fesuvius,” he stated quietly, realizing that what Lillian had been trying to tell him about time-travel was true.

  “Fesuvius? Is that the new pizza place in town?” The broad shouldered gent with flaming red hair peered down at him from a short wall made of material that Jake had never seen.

  He had a feeling that was going to happen a lot for a while.

  “What day is it?” he asked picking at the gray shirt with short sleeves he wore. In some kind of way, the University of Nevada was printed to the fabric.

  “Friday, man. And let me just say that if my work pans out and you find this elusive Ms. Lillian, I will require the payment of a giant steak and a cold beer as my fee, bro.”

  Bro? Jake nodded. “Sure.” If this led him to Lil, he’d find this guy the biggest steak in all the Nevada territory. “You’re sure this is correct information?” Jake attempted to stand, but the chair’s movable seat, twirled, toppling him to his knees. It threw his new friend into hysterical laughter.

  “It’s an ad, bro, but a strong lead if you ask me. Sometimes though what you’re looking for turns out to be so close you can’t see it.” He eyed Jake. “I’m thinking you don’t belong behind a wheel. So I’m going to sneak you out of here before the captain sees your sorry ass, and then I want you to call in, take some sick time, and get a little R and R.”

  “R and R?” Jake repeated, puzzled. On his feet now, he looked around and spied a worn dark leather coat hanging over the back of his chair. He slipped it over his arms and it fit perfectly, except for the fact that it hit at his hip, rather than his calves.

  “Yeah, you know, rest and relaxation. You’ve been working too many late nights, between this personal shit and that drug cartel case. You need to take a few days, catch up. We sure as hell don’t need any sloppy accidents on the squad.”

  “Squad?”

  “Jake, could you please cut the frickin’ parakeet crap? You’re giving me the creeps.”

  It w
as clear that Jake had a lot more than sleep to catch up on. He picked up the newspaper again and searched for a date. He found it in the upper right hand corner. “September 1, 2015,” he spoke aloud.

  “Yeah, pretty frickin’ amazing how time flies, eh?”

  “You’ve no idea…bro,” Jake answered drily. Literally.

  “All right, come on, then. Let’s get you over to see your Miss Marion the librarian.”

  Jake grabbed the man’s arm. “The ad said her name was Lillian White.” A stab of cold fear that he’d wound up in the wrong place assaulted him.

  “It is.” He looked at Jake with a scowl. “What? You’ve never seen The Music Man?”

  Jake shook his head.

  “We’ve got to get you out more,” his new friend remarked. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” He ushered Jake to go with him and taking a quick assessment of how to get through the maze of short walls, Jake found the right path to reach him, stepping in behind him.

  “Funny you were looking for a missing librarian.” The man spoke over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have figured that she’d be your type. Back in training you were a wild man.”

  Training? Jake was having a hard time piecing together the mechanics of how this worked. Apparently, like Lil, he woke up in his own body, but with another person’s identity already established in that time period. In retrospect, he admired her for the gracious way she’d handled the challenge. How strange it must have been. He followed the tall, red-haired man through a maze of desks, most filled with men dressed like him and a few others, including women, dressed in fancy blue shirts with gold badges pinned to their chests. “My badge.” Jake stopped suddenly and patted down his pockets.

  “Check your jacket,” the man tossed over his shoulder.

  Jake found a flat square leather pouch in his coat pocket. He flipped it open and discovered his badge inside. Though its shape had changed over time, it was still polished gold and engraved with the Nevada Sheriff. He smiled. He might be in a different era, but he’d landed in the right place.

  “You ready to roll?”

  Roll? “Uh, yeah.” He spotted some kind of new-fangled machine in the corner, but the smell was unmistakable. “Care if I grab a cup of coffee?” Jake asked.

  “It’s your stomach, but hey, knock yourself out. I’ll get the car and meet you out front.”

  “Russell,” a deep authoritative voice bellowed from behind Jake.

  Jake’s friend turned around. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to get your butt over to the Imperial and find out what that madam has found out for us.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Russell responded.

  “Sloan, you look like hell. Go home,” the Captain remarked, then spun on his heel and returned to his office, slamming the door behind him. Jake stared after him. He figured that he might actually enjoy getting to work with that guy.

  Russell rolled his eyes at Jake. “Let’s go, you heard the man.”

  Jake took a sip of the rich-smelling brew. He gasped and coughed after the first swallow. His eyes watered.

  “I did warn you. You never want to touch that stuff. No one even knows when it was made last.”

  Jake slid the cup on the counter and hurried to keep up with Russell. They walked through two sets of brass and pane glass doors and found themselves outside. Instead of a wood plank covered porch they stood on a solid platform made of smooth stone. Jake stood for a moment and took it all in. Strange looking modes of transportation, of every size, color, and description moved up and down the streets, miraculously not hitting each other. In the array of tall stone and glass buildings, he recognized only two. One of them was the St. Charles hotel. “That’s the St. Charles?” He pointed to the structure with its clapboard sides, a stark difference to the stone building next to it that rose high as a mountain peak in the sky.

  “Yeah, that used to be the old hotel. Now, it’s a museum.” He looked at Jake as he fished for something in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a set of keys, smaller, but not unlike a set they had back at the jailhouse.

  “Hop in,” Russell instructed as he disappeared inside the metal-covered

  wagon. Jake looked it over, scratched his head and was about to ask how he was supposed to get in when the door swung toward him and Russell peered up at him. “You act like you’ve never ridden in my car. Come on, I’ve got things to do.”

  Jake climbed in and with a turn of the key, it seemed the wagon lurched forward. He grabbed the handle on the door and slammed it shut, offering Russell an apologetic smile.

  Russell shook his head. “I don’t know where your little siesta took you, bro, but you sure you’re going to be okay? You’re kind of out of it.”

  Jake couldn’t have agreed more. But he was here now and there wasn’t much else he could do except adapt as best as he could. Until he knew whether this ability to go from one time to another was commonplace, he’d better try to get along and not speak about it until he saw Lil. Maybe she would be able to shed some light on all of this.

  Lil. He hoped it was her. A sobering thought occurred to him suddenly. Would she be as she was when she left the Magnolia? Would she maybe be older now? He realized that he hadn’t seen a reflection of himself yet. What did he look like? Jake patted his face, gently squeezed his nose, and checked for the tiny scar at the corner of his brow.

  “There’s a mirror there on the visor, Casanova, if you want to check out your ugly mug.” His friend, despite the rude sentiment wore a big grin.

  Jake pulled down the “visor” and finding the same face as he’d always had. That was a mild relief. His hair, still to his collar in length, was styled slightly different, but everything else was exactly the same. Damn, the truth was he looked good for having traveled one hundred thirty years into the future. Russell’s metal wagon moved swiftly over the stone road. Colored lights seemed to control the stop and go motion, lessening the chances it seemed of folks running into each other. Jake had not seen a single horse. Russell swung the wagon around a corner and came to stop.

  “We’re here, bro. Get on in there and see if this is the woman you told me you saw at that reenactment last weekend. What did you call her again?”

  “My passion?” Jake asked as he stepped from the wagon. He paused at the base of a set of steps that led to the small, but grand building at the top of the hill.

  Etched across the stone above the entryway were the words District 74, Public Library, Estb.1881.

  “Yeah, that was it. I may have to borrow that line for my date Friday night. Good luck with your woman of destiny. Let me know what happens.” Russell sped off.

  Jakes heart thudded against his ribcage as he started up the steps.

  Chapter Eleven

  Long walks, sleepless nights, and even taking up riding lessons didn’t quell the restlessness inside Lil. She’d read and re-read the book about the Sweet Magnolia, feeling an unmistakable kinship to the woman with the same name, who once was madam of the parlor house. Though many of the small mining towns remained, many were now ghost towns, tourist attractions, or simply didn’t exist—such was the case with Deadwater.

  She would stand for hours at a time, studying the intricate mosaic detail of the stained glass window at the back of the library, drawn to its dark green tangled vines and large white magnolia blossoms, the size of a man’s hand. It hung in a western window and Burt had told her that it was done on purpose to catch the best light from the setting sun. He couldn’t, however, remember how it wound up in the last aisle of the library. For months, Lil dreamt fitfully of a dark-haired man with piercing brown eyes and a smile that turned those dreams into torrid fantasies, leaving her unsatisfied and even more confused with each new day.

  She’d read, with a strange ache in her heart, the passage in the book about the

  Deadwater sheriff and his deputy who led more than one search party looking for Madam Lil when she suddenly disappeared. It was some time later, that the sheriff too, left town. Perhaps despondent
over losing Lil, or maybe he found her.

  It was all speculation from the author and those who helped her write the book.

  By the time of publication, no one had either seen or heard from the sheriff again.

  She fantasized after a time that the mysterious man she dreamed about and this Sheriff Jake Sloan, a man who clearly had serious feelings for Miss Lillian and had never given up looking for her, could be one in the same. But she’d never seen a photo of him as an adult. All that was in the book was a faded picture of him as a small boy, standing beside a gaunt, unsmiling woman. The caption read that it was not his birth mother, but the woman who raised him. The poor boy was not aware until many years later that his birth mother had been one of the soiled doves at the Sweet Magnolia. His father, a strict fire and brimstone preacher in Deadwater, had tried to use this information to thwart his son’s reputation, but it backfired, leaving the preacher without a congregation. It wasn’t until sometime later that he found redemption by partnering with Rosemond Clancy on the Tales of the Sweet Magnolia.

  Lil couldn’t explain her dreams, any more than she could explain awakening at times, to smell a musky male scent on her pillow. And she couldn’t remember how she’d come to have the golden shamrock necklace around her neck, but decided, as did Burt, that it must have been in the box when she passed out from the heat in her apartment. Her conclusions to the mysterious questions floating in her mind were enough to motivate her to put an ad in the paper and try to find the true owner of the ornate piece of jewelry. Several weeks went by and Lil’s life began to slip back into a routine. Interest in the library was given a shot in the arm by State funding and the Friends of the Library festival was just around the corner, held every year on the dedication day of the original library.

  ***

  “I’ll be waxing the front entrance if you need me, Lillian.

  Pulled from her thoughts, she glanced up from staring at the carved box containing the necklace. There’d not been a single nibble in weeks to the ad she’d placed in the local papers. Not even the flyers that the “Friends” put up around the neighborhood had helped. She met the library custodian’s brilliant blue eyes. Lately he’d taken to braiding his silvery locks, giving him the appearance of a short Willie Nelson wanna-be.