by Barbara Best
With these final thoughts and the hopes and dreams of a new tomorrow, Jane closes her eyes in quiet repose and says to the hushed world around her, “I think I may be able to sleep now.”
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Now available! The sequel to this enthralling time travel series . . .
THE LOVER’S EYE
A TIME TRAVEL SERIES, BOOK 2
At her best! Fast, clever and well informed, "The Lover's Eye" and sequel to "The Lincoln Penny" continues the riveting story, cast of characters, and sweeping scenes from the American Civil War. Book 2 in Barbara Best's time travel series takes its readers to an even greater level of entertainment in a full-length novel that will have you captivated to the very end.
Available on Amazon https://amzn.com/B01GUHMTP0
Please read on for a special preview . . .
THE LOVER’S EYE
A TIME TRAVEL SERIES, BOOK 2
Chapter 1: FLIGHT
Sophie Downing, a vivacious 28-year-old whose eyes match the soft gray print in a cute art house buttondown blouse she bought at Anthropologie, is going over everything in her head. The sudden and bizarre turn of events in their lives is almost incomprehensible. She compares it to an irreversible dominos effect. A linked sequence of circumstances triggered by one action that sets off a chain reaction. All equally upsetting and happening in a remarkably short period of time. Her mind is still whirling from it.
“Do you have them?” Sophie takes a fleeting glance at her husband Ben. “Our passports.”
“Right here, darlin’.” Benjamin Downing, who recently kissed his troubles goodbye, pats the lapel of his new cashmere-silk jacket that he bought last weekend on a shopping spree for all new clothes. Two passports are neatly tucked into the inside pocket. He yawns noisily, rests his head on plush cool leather that conforms comfortably to his body, and pushes a button. The window goes dark.
“That’s good,” Sophie nods and fights the impulse to catch Ben’s contagious yawn. She lightly pinches the stem underneath a tapered-glass bowl that contains a pricey French Viognier. Perhaps it will help settle her nerves.
“Mmm . . . this is very nice.” In her humble opinion European wines are vastly superior. Sophie swirls, dips her chin and sniffs, enjoying the sweet aroma of tropical fruit and honeysuckle and then the wet, sweet-hot sensation in her throat as it goes down. She absently runs her thumb over the pink smudge on the rim from her lip-gloss and unintentionally mimics her husband’s posture.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We would like to welcome you on board Delta flight 5681 from Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson to Amsterdam Schiphol. Our flight duration will be approximately eight hours and forty-four minutes. We are traveling at a speed of six hundred knots. Our flight this evening should be fairly smooth with scattered clouds. Currently, winds are out of the southwest at about fifteen miles per hour. Once again, we want to thank you for choosing Delta. Enjoy your flight.”
An overly helpful flight attendant offers to refill Sophie’s glass. “I’m fine,” she says gently. Light from the small screen in front of her is flashing the latest Iron Man movie. Any other flight it might have gotten her attention. She would have already scrolled through the movie selections and grabbed up the latest copy of Delta Sky Magazine for browsing.
The scabbed-over scratch and small bruise on her wrist is a constant physical reminder. Their experience at Fort Pulaski leaves a dull ache inside. Sophie tries envisioning her pain as a simple sensation. A mindset-shift her yoga instructor had her practice in meditation. But it’s not working. She just can’t seem to shake her nagging demon of a conscience. And sitting quiet with her thoughts is not helping. It’s a long trip across the Atlantic.
“Ben? Do you think he made it all right? Are you so sure she’s there?” An uncomfortable pause crackles with underlying tension. Ben hasn’t been himself since that night when he came home from work with an impossible story that turned their world upside down.
“Please, lower your voice,” Ben’s eyes dart to the seats around them. Uneasy, he clears his throat. “I thought we agreed not to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t agree to any such thing,” Sophie says crossly. Not getting a good night’s sleep tends to put her on edge, but obviously there’s way more to it than that. Ben stubbornly insists the less she knows about his business dealings the better. He won’t tell her where Bryce McKenzie went. Only that he is where he wants to be more than anything else. He has gone to find his Jane. His love.
The scheme is terribly disturbing to her. It is true Bryce was crazy obsessed with Jane Peterson’s disappearance. But if he had known he was giving up his whole life and everything and everyone in it, would he have still gone along? Bryce loved his work at the hospital and had a brilliant future in medicine. What about his family and friends? Ben is adamant Bryce would give it all up in a heartbeat. “I would,” he promised with conviction. Sophie wants to believe that, but how can either of them be so sure? It is a lot to think about.
“But Ben, are we positive . . . well . . . it ends up okay?”
“That’s for someone else to figure out. We’ve been over this already. It’s not our problem. Hey, look on the bright side. You’re happy about traveling overseas again aren’t you?”
“Well, for a while anyway.”
“Come on, Soph. I know how much you love Europe. How many people do you know get an opportunity to take a sabbatical? All expenses paid, baby! We need to count our lucky stars it worked out like it did.”
Ben’s attention shifts to the commotion up front where a mother is calming her rambunctious 4-year-old. “Kids shouldn’t be allowed to fly first class,” he grumbles and finishes up his thought. “Why not give it a rest? Seriously darlin’, it doesn’t do a bit of good to second-guess. This is now. Our new start, remember?”
Closing his eyes, Ben takes a deep peaceful breath. This is so much better than the cramped conditions in coach on their trip to Greece. A much-needed vacation he and Sophie had taken — away from Savannah and all that mess about Jane Peterson and dealing with the bereaved and distraught boyfriend Bryce. At the beginning, he and Sophie felt sorry for the guy — after all, he’d just lost his girl — but they both actually found him easy to like. And Ben had to admit Bryce made a decent buddy to hang out with for a day of fishing or to watch Georgia Bulldogs football on a Saturday afternoon.
It’s really incredible how everything worked out. Ben had no idea his wife’s involvement with a friend from work, much less their continued contact with the girl’s love interest, would play out in his favor like it did. Believe you me he is going to thoroughly enjoy this promising new shift in lifestyle. The lucky break he badly needed. It’s like winning a Powerball Lottery for Pete’s sake! Ben smiles secretly at the opulence of flying first class. Shoot, the air is even better up here.
“Excuse me,” Sophie is thinking she’ll have another one after all. Not wanting to compete with the constant drone of the jet engines, she raises her glass to the flight attendant working his way down the aisle, points and mouths a thank you.
If Ben calls her darling one more time she might have to find another seat. Sophie has always warmed to her husband’s engaging Southern way — genial, affectionate and oh, so charming — but it seems to have lost its attraction. Right at this moment hearing the syrupy endearment really gets under her skin.
Sensing Sophie’s aggravation in an intuitively marital way, Ben eyes his wife. Her one-carat diamond earring captures the bright beam of their overhead reading lamp, causing it to fire a spectrum of rainbow colors. He leans close, “They are beautiful on you.”
His breath is warm and familiar against her ear.
“Things are going to be a lot better, Soph. You’ll see. Now, come here.”
Sophie briefly touches the generous gift from her husband. She rests her arm on the console between them and tilts her head to receive his kiss.
“Better?” Ben covers Sophie’s hand with his.
“I guess. Well, maybe.” Sophie tries to return his smile, but her heart is not in it.
“He’s a pretty resourceful guy, you know. I’m sure he’ll manage just fine. Now drop it, will you? The sooner you do,” he adds a bit frostily, “the better it will be . . . for both of us.”
Sophie feels painful pressure from her wedding rings as Ben squeezes her fingers a little too hard.
“We’re moving on, Soph. This is our time.”
Chapter 2: FORT PULASKI
“Fool us once, shame on you, fool us twice, shame on me!” A clichéd expression recently used by Doctor Badami when he and his team of medical students were finally able to diagnose an elusive tumor in a young cancer patient. Coincidental words, yet Bryce thinks quite appropriate for his current predicament.
What sort of bizarre trick is this? He knew the minute the roaring began. When the blast of air lifted him off his feet and dropped him into this place. No mistake about it, Bryce McKenzie has been played the fool. Fricken had, in the worst kind of way. And by two people who he would least expect . . . Sophie and Ben Downing.
In stunned silence, Bryce runs his fingers through his hair and detects the warm sticky sensation of blood. He had taken quite a blow to the head going through the doorway.
There was no way he was going to be sucked in without a fight. Bryce had only delayed the crisis for a second or two, trying to save himself by grabbing onto anything. That anything ended up being Sophie’s shawl. The green silk one with the tiny pink rosebuds he complimented her on earlier in the evening.
She didn’t give her shawl up easily. In fact, the brief, impossible struggle seemed to kick into slow motion. The vision of Sophie’s pretty dove gray eyes, unblinking with surprise as she yanked with all her might. No sound, just her face drawn up in frenzied panic first, then fury. Her blond hair flying about her head, suspended in mid-air like an altered version of Medusa.
If it wasn’t for fear of becoming lost herself, Bryce is sure Sophie would not have let go.
Now, Sophie’s gone and he has no earthly idea what the hell just happened. Bryce inches flat along the wall, trying not to stumble or jar his poor head. He listens intently and peers cautiously out the doorway through which he traveled.
The adjoining vaulted chamber offers a diffused source of light. A pale murky haze coming from the embrasure reveals a few sparse objects that he doesn’t recognize from before. He takes another tentative step, but something primal inside checks his forward movement. Bryce freezes, puts his hand to his ear and strains to hear. There are male voices and muffled laughter. He can’t make out what they are saying, but it’s coming from somewhere beyond, somewhere along the brick walkway that frames Fort Pulaski’s parade ground. He should go for help, but some level of crude intuition gives him a strange sense of danger.
It’s dark and Bryce wonders what hour. He decides without better light it would be insane to try anything. Especially since he is unsure of his surroundings and positive things are not the same. So he quietly pushes the wooden door to, feels his way to a stack of large wooden kegs with metal bands that are cool to the touch, and slips stealthily behind them. Out of sight.
This is the best he can do for now. Propped against a cold damp wall in a confined space, his knees pulled up to his chin, Bryce tries to stay alert and fight the need to doze off. He opens and closes his hands, pulls on his earlobes, and takes several deep gulps of air.
His head is splitting. Mild shock. Dizziness. Uncontrollable shaking. Bryce mechanically winds the piece of inadequate fabric, Sophie’s shawl, around his shoulders and neck, which he knows will be totally ineffective. The wool in his jacket should be enough to keep him warm. Uh-oh . . . weakness, panting, uh . . . violently ill!
Bryce scrambles on his hands and knees along the wall for a corner to vomit. Nice going, McKenzie! Everything in him screams sleep. He should get up and walk around. Instead, he sinks deeper into his symptoms.
Think, Bryce! Find something to keep your mind busy.
With a deep breath, which causes him to stifle the need to cough, Bryce runs through a quick set of questions. Basically, the drill they use in the ER. Where are you, McKenzie? He answers in a whisper, “Fort Pulaski . . . a reenactment.” Good. What happened? “Damned if I know . . . uh . . . so . . . where do you live . . .” His voice falls off.
Bryce jerks and grabs his head. “Holy crap!” Was he out that quick? Oh man, not good. He rubs his arms vigorously and continues with forced resolve.
Let’s try again . . . where do you live? “580 East Broad Street, Apartment 26, . . . or is that 6-2, no it’s 26, in Athens. My zip code is 326 . . . no 3062 . . . no, that’s not right. Having a problem with numbers, are we?” Bryce mutters miserably.
Shifting his attention, he focuses his mind on his right brogan and reaches down to check for the key. It’s not in the most comfortable place, but at least it’s hidden. The head is slightly exposed so he shoves it even further with his thumb, grimacing with the effort. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The key is the last thing he managed before letting go. In fact, he would wager it is the cause of his ultimate end. He had a fairly good grip on Sophie and the doorframe until he saw the key and grabbed for it. It had been lost once. He wasn’t about to lose it again! He has some satisfaction knowing it’s with him.
A quick blip of memory flashes uninvited. Bryce frowns and then shrinks from the stabbing pain coming from the parietal area of his skull — about an eight and a half on a scale of one to ten.
The memory sharpens. He was talking and joking around with Sophie and Ben out on the veranda as they walked past the Colonel’s Quarters and up to the entrance of this casemate. Casemate 8. The set of rooms Bryce is sure he now occupies.
The Civil War reenactment group, to include the 48th New York Volunteer Infantry and ladies of the Northeastern Sewing Society, was resourceful and put together the evening’s entertainment. It was Bryce’s first soiree, a party that was popular during the Civil War period.
Ben helped Bryce spruce up with a better coat and white gloves suitable for the occasion. Sophie was wearing a special gown with flowers in her hair and a black velvet choker at her neck. The three decided to skip out on the festivities early. It was getting late and the excitement of retracing the steps Jane took the year before at around this same time had all three completely caught up in the moment. And he must admit, a bit jumpy too.
For Bryce, it was bittersweet. He made up his mind to do this reenacting thing as a final goodbye to his Jane. He had to let go, to have it over and done. To find closure in what has been a sudden and tragic loss and significant piece of his life.
As they stood at the entrance of Casemate 8, Sophie said she was convinced their key — the key that unexpectedly turned up, the key Bryce had been searching for all this time — had everything to do with Jane’s disappearance.
Before they entered, Ben suddenly stopped. “Listen, I’ll stay here. Someone should play lookout, right? You two go ahead and do your thing,” he grinned big and took up position as guard outside.
Sophie and Bryce entered the chamber through the wooden-framed doorway where Jane was last seen alive. The bold number eight, stenciled in white and centered on a painted gray surface above their heads, seemed to jump out in the flickering light from Ben’s lantern as Bryce passed through.
In a thin voice that lightly echoed off the historic brick walls, Sophie explained the details of her experience again to Bryce. Where she was standing the night Jane went missing. How at first she and Jane were just kidding around, and how Jane tried her key. The very key Bryce held in his hand.
Casemate 8 was very familiar to Bryce. He had made the drive out to Cockspur Island, a short distance from Savannah, Georgia, a number of times. The fort rangers knew him by name and had allowed him to look around where Jane disappeared. Then one day, out of the blue, Jane’s antique key miraculously turned up. Not long after, Sophie and Ben, who are avid reenactors, got this
hair-brained idea to recreate Sophie and Jane’s scenario that fateful night.
Nothing in the casemate was changed. The room and heavy wooden door with the large iron locking mechanism, dark in color and rusted by time, remained untouched. What followed, the final minutes with Sophie, was without a doubt the most unbelievable thing that has ever happened to him.
Suck it up McKenzie! Teeth clinched, his shoulders reflexively draw up near his ears in reaction to constant throbbing. The defense cocktail of chemicals released by his brain is officially worn off and he is beginning to feel much worse.
Bryce recognizes the familiar metallic smell that reminds him of his grandfather’s old change jar. He feels the hot sickening drip, drip, drip down the back of his stiff neck. The nausea creeps up again and he swallows down pouring saliva, breathing heavily until it passes.
To lessen his discomfort, he modifies his sitting position. With the little energy he has left Bryce is able to cross his legs in the small area where he is wedged. His intent is to tear off a strip of fabric to dress his wound, but the shawl lays motionless in his hands. Bryce leans forward, resting the top of his forehead against a rough wooden rail that supports the weight of the barrels.
A single word forms on his lips before his eyelids become too heavy and close.
“Jane.”
As the last disjointed thought spins around in his head, he finds it is no longer possible to concentrate. By sheer force of will a single conclusion is reached. Bryce must wait for morning to come. But it never does.