by D. L. Koontz
Davis’s eyebrows arched in two perfect, black apostrophes. “So...so there could be dozens?” His question smacked of defeat, not curiosity.
Ista gestured to a bench. “Sit down, Mr. Whitaker. If someone in time wants to harm the country, there is nothing you can do about it. Besides, they cannot hurt it more than what your politicians have done already.”
Davis uttered a heartfelt groan and lowered his hand. A man defeated by overwhelming odds. He passed the pistol in slow delivery to Brogan, and sank onto a bench. “Forgive me,” he said, defeat and remorse lacing his voice. “I just want to do what’s right...”
Brogan parked the pistol in his holster. Davis looked contrite, resigned, so Brogan knelt beside the old woman, but kept Davis in his peripheral vision. “Ista, I have missed you. You must forgive me.” He swallowed hard. “I thought Morning Meadow was dead. That I’d never see her again. I didn’t understand when you said to wait for her...”
Ista touched his cheek. “I know, yen’a.” My son.
“All that time I lived with you, I never remembered it was you who saved her when Andreii shot her. In the wilderness, I had only ever heard you speak Mohawk...but that day when you took her body, you spoke to me in English. It didn’t become clear to me until—”
“I know,” Ista said. “It does not matter.”
Brogan studied her lined face, the stories of hundreds of worrisome moments written there. “It matters to me. You bandaged me which kept me alive until other people got there. Years later when Andreii shot me again, you found me and pulled me from the water into 1917. Gave me a new home.”
Libby looked from one to the other. “It was Ista that nursed you?”
Ista’s eyes moistened. “I did my best to travel between you two. Tried to watch over you both until you could be together again.”
Libby gasped. “You took me to 2003! I remember now...living with you outside the Indian village until Nathan arrived. I thought I remembered traveling with an Aunt Isabel in third-world countries, but it was with you in the wilderness. Somehow, I created a false history, changing the natives and the crudeness of the wilderness to be the natives in Africa and the Australian Outback. The people I imagined attacking me were Indians attacking my family. And my scar...it was from Andreii’s bullet, not a harrowing moment in Africa.”
Ista nodded.
Brogan wanted to reach for Libby. Hold her. But, now wasn’t the time. He focused again on Ista. “Andreii said he was in this decade once before. That’s why you left in 1921, isn’t it?”
Ista frowned. “I couldn’t let him see you. This is when you belong. I stole into his room. Added something to his drink. To make him ill enough to take the water again. Then, I had to follow him to make sure my girl was okay.”
Libby let her breath out in a ragged exhale. “In the future, I often felt like I was being followed. That was you, visiting, watching over me, wasn’t it?”
Ista smiled.
“I never knew.” Libby’s words came out scratchy, but clear. “All this time lost.”
Ista shook her head. “Not lost. Sometimes God takes people from us. If He gives them back again, then they’re even more precious than before.” She looked from Libby to Brogan. “Did you read Romans?”
Embarrassed, Brogan uttered a sound and looked down before meeting her gaze again. “Not until this afternoon.”
Startled, Libby said, “Ista, I remember you mentioning Romans, when you put me in the water. What does it say?”
Brogan ran a hand over his head, embarrassed. “That hope is everything, and waiting does not diminish us. The longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more pleasurable our expectancy.”
Ista placed a hand on each of their cheeks and grinned, that grin that always made her look as though she knew something others didn’t. “The best things take time.”
“But why here? The 1920s, I mean?” Libby asked. “Why guide us to this timeframe?”
Ista shrugged. “The water did it. Not me. Maybe because what happened here tonight...” Her gaze shot to Andrew’s body and back. “...that kind of justice could not have been done in the future. Too much forensics and technology.”
From outside the cabin Rose’s voice sounded, carried on the still, night air. “But N.C., I know we didn’t leave anything behind. Everyone knows if you start to go somewhere and come back for something you will have bad luck.”
Brogan stood quickly, crossed to the door, and pushed it shut. “N.C. knows nothing about time-travel, but he believed the story that Andrew was involved in Gretchen’s death. He won’t be too surprised to see his body.”
Ista stood. “I will go now. No point in trying to explain me, too. I will be gone a while. Watch the water for me. Help others. They bring their problems with them. They need your help.”
Libby scurried to her feet. “No, don’t go! I just got you back.”
Ista kissed her cheek. “Time has changed both your lives. Now let it make you a new and better life, my children.”
Libby clung to her arm. “Ista, please.”
“If I stay,” Ista said, “I will be a crutch. But, I will return.” She smiled sheepishly. “Save the crumbs for Colette. I need no trail. I will find you.”
Davis stood and stepped closer to Ista. “I’ve heard enough to know you are an amazing woman, ma’am. God speed.”
Ista nodded at Davis, kissed Brogan’s check and walked out the back door.
“Sheriff?” N.C. called, the volume of his voice suggesting they had arrived.
“We’re fine,” Brogan yelled, “but I’ll need your help.” He turned to Davis. “We stick with our plan?”
Davis inhaled deeply. “That Andrew killed Gretchen? Yes. Let’s put this to rest. I need to get back to Pittsburgh. To work, and to have a long talk with Darcie. If the future does come looking for us as Colette suggested, we better all be in sync.”
Dawn was breaking by the time N.C. and Roscoe transferred Andrew’s body to town for burial. When N.C. had gone back to Bedford to retrieve a wagon, he dropped Rose at the hotel. Upon return, he informed them that Rose was anxious to see for herself that Libby was well.
“She’s mighty upset Gretchen was murdered by a man you used to know,” N.C. said to Libby. “She’ll be glad to see you in person.”
“I’ll check on her,” Libby assured him.
“I appreciate that, ma’am.” He blushed. “I’m kinda sweet on that girl.”
After watching them drive off, Davis shook hands with Brogan and kissed Libby on the cheek. “Again, I’m sorry about what happened here tonight. I panicked.”
“It’s forgotten,” Libby said.
Davis nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned to go. “Oh,” he swirled back to them. “Remember, if the future, or the pale guy, or whoever comes knocking, we can always take the water again. But, telephone lines being as public as they are, we’ll need a code word in case you see any concerning activity. Think about it. We’ll talk soon.” He headed down the trail.
Brogan watched him go for a moment, then looked back at the cabin. They had cleaned the blood splatter with cloths and water N.C. brought from town. The log dwelling looked peaceful again.
He turned to Libby and gently touched her cheek. “Those eyes! How I’ve missed them. Green with blue.”
“Together.” She smiled and kissed him.
When they pulled apart, he said, “My motorcar is parked over the ridge. At the Crystal Spring. Why don’t we hike over there?”
She bit her lip as though pondering a deep thought. “Alright, but I’m not letting you anywhere near the water.” She pursed her lips into a lopsided grin, her eyes sparkling.
Brogan reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Why would I want to do that when my future is standing before my eyes? I meant it when I said everything I want is right here.” He hitched his breath, almost afraid to ask. “What about you?”
She pulled his hand to her lips, repeating his gesture. “Where you go, I
go. When you go, I go.”
They extinguished the lanterns and set out, walking side by side despite the trail being narrow. After a few steps, he reached out for her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. His chest tightened. It felt right to walk freely with her. To love her. To look forward to a future. Finally. He sighed, feeling peace and contentment pour through him for the first time in a long time. Glancing toward the sky, he spotted the distant moon. He could swear it smiled before tucking away for the day.
“So,” he said, “I guess I better learn more about this women’s movement, eh?”
“Definitely,” Libby said, her voice firm. Then, she donned a mischievous smile. “But first, tell me more about courting.”
The End
A Word from the Author
I grew up in Bedford County, Pennsylvania. Our family farm was tucked into the rolling foothills of the Appalachian Mountains about 15 miles from the Bedford Springs Hotel (now, the Omni Bedford Springs Resort).
On each shopping trip I took with my mother to Bedford, I would beg her to drive by the hotel. Occasionally, she indulged my request, and the quick drive-by would always set my mind to wondering. That joy and the scintillating notion of “if this place could talk” stayed in the recesses of my mind for decades. Further, the Bedford area is rife with rich history, and filled with stories of rugged, intrepid men and women who settled the frontier in the push to move west. Sadly, history books don’t give the area much attention.
As I grew, I turned into an ardent lover of history. As such, my novels tend to blend historical intrigue and modern-day suspense, with romance, and a touch of supernatural.
In What the Moon Saw, I changed a few aspects of the Bedford Springs: there was no manager named Jarvis, porter named Oliver Kenton, nor maid named Rose Morgan. Further, I tweaked the hotel’s décor, and altered its access to telephones, electricity and heating, for the sake of the story. I also took liberties in describing the location of the Crystal Spring in relation to the hotel.
However, the history of “taking the water” in Bedford for medicinal purposes for centuries is actual, as is the list of presidents and dignitaries that frequented the hotel. Presidents Thomas Jefferson, James Polk, Zachary Taylor, Thaddeus Stevens, and several others stayed there. President James Buchanan made the Bedford Springs his summer White House. While he was there, the first trans-Atlantic cable message was sent to his room from Queen Victoria in 1858. The hotel also housed the only Supreme Court hearing, in 1855, ever to be held outside of the capital.
With one exception, none of my characters were real people; the lone exception being James Smith (James “Black Boy Jimmy” Smith). He was a frontiersman, farmer and soldier. Through the 1760s, Smith coordinated an unofficial band called the “Black Boys” (so called because they blackened their faces while engaged in their activities) to protect settlers in western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio from Native American (“Indian”) attacks. The settlers wanted to live in peace with the natives, but the British were intent on allowing tradesmen to sell arms and ammunitions to the Indians and inciting them to kill. The settlers considered it licensed murder.
On March 6, 1765, the Black Boys stopped a pack train and burned illegal goods, including rum and gunpowder, that British official George Croghan sought to trade to Native Americans. British authorities supported Croghan’s illegal trading, and this led to the Black Boys Rebellion in armed resistance to British rule in North America. In 1769, Smith and the Black Boys did surprise Fort Bedford, the first fort taken from the British by the colonials, freeing prisoners being held there.
Earlier in his life, in 1755, Smith helped work on a road built west from Alexandria, Virginia in support of General Edward Braddock’s ill-fated expedition against the French. Smith was captured by Delaware Indians and brought to Fort Duquesne at the Forks of the Ohio River, where he was forced to run a gauntlet before being given to the French. He was adopted by a Mohawk family, ritually cleansed, and made to practice tribal ways. Eventually, he escaped near Montreal and returned to the Bedford area. You will find parts of his experience in the character Nathan McKenzie.
Also based on an actual event was the description of Indian uprisings in 1764 when four Lenape Indian warriors entered a settlers’ log schoolhouse in Greencastle. Enoch Brown, the schoolmaster, pleaded with the warriors to spare the children. Nonetheless, he was scalped and killed. The warriors tomahawked, scalped and killed nine of the children, and took four others as prisoners. As described herein, two other scalped children miraculously survived to describe what transpired. The slayings of Susan King Cunningham and her unborn child by warriors are part of recorded history, too.
Finally, the discussion in What the Moon Saw is true about the English, French, Spanish, Dutch and Swedes competing for a foothold on this continent in the 1400s, 1500s, and 1600s. And, it’s true that Empress Elizabeth of Russia did dispatch representatives to come to the New World in the mid-1700s to promote trade, build relationships, and generally give Russia a presence. From this historical tidbit came my character Andreii Grebenshchikov.
As for the time-travel aspects in the story...well, that’s the touch of supernatural I mentioned. The beauty of the supernatural is that you can choose to believe as much as you wish.
Thanks for reading.
If you enjoyed What the Moon Saw, you’ll love these next stories from Tule Publishing...
The Farrier’s Daughter by Leigh Ann Edwards
Book 1 in the Irish Witch series
Blood Bound by Traci Douglass
Book 1 in the Blood Ravager’s series
Animal Instincts by Patricia Rosemoor
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About the Author
An award-winning author and former journalist, D. L. Koontz writes about what she knows: muddled lives, nail-biting unknowns and eternal hope.
Growing up, she learned the power of stories and intrigue from saged storytellers on the front porch of her Appalachian farmhouse. Despite being waylaid for years by academia, journalism, and corporate endeavors, her roots proved that becoming a writer of suspense was only a matter of time. She has been published in seven languages.
D.L. (aka Debra Roberson) is a mom, step-mom, rancher’s wife, animal lover, and busy bee trying to write intriguing suspense novels one extraordinary day at a time.
She loves history and research, so her novels blend historical intrigue and modern-day suspense with romance, and a touch of the mysterious. D.L. is passionate about words, photography, health, yoga/exercise, her porches, and barn preservation.
Visit D.L. on her website at DLKoontz.com