Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) Page 2

  “Captain Langston!” a voice called out.

  Craig startled and turned to see Mrs. Harris practically sprinting across the field toward them. A long full skirt hindered her pace and black high-heeled boots showed beneath her flying petticoats. He tugged his jacket swiftly back into place and leaned forward, grasping the peculiar young woman beneath the arm and helping her to her feet.

  “Thank you so much for stoppin’ by, sir,” Mrs. Harris drawled breathlessly. She smiled sweetly, drawing his attention away from the girl.

  “No, trouble at all, ma’am.”

  “If the mare isn’t any better by tomorrow I’ll send Fredrick out for you again,” Mrs. Harris’s said casually. She didn’t seem at all perturbed by the odd woman on her farm. “If that is all right with you of course.”

  “Perfectly, fine, Mrs. Harris.” He glanced again toward the younger woman, wondering at the bewildered expression lining her face.

  “Oh, where are my manners!” Mrs. Harris exclaimed. She reached for the girl. “Captain, I see you’ve met my niece.”

  Edge of Time 230

  Two

  Niece?

  Stunned, Marissa flicked her gaze to the lady Captain Langston had referred to as Mrs. Harris. Concern flickered briefly in the other woman’s pale eyes.

  “You must forgive my niece’s attire, sir, but she is just arrived from Atlanta and has been helping me with some handiwork around the farm. With all the men gone to fight in the war we women have had our hands full.”

  Atlanta? I’ve never seen more than the airport in Atlanta, Marissa thought but her voice froze again.

  Captain Langston nodded in immediate understanding. “Of course, Mrs. Harris. These are times when we must all do our share to help one another. As for your mare, there is no need to send Fredrick out tomorrow, I’ll make a point of stopping by in the afternoon when my shift at the hospital is through.”

  “Why thank you, Doctor,” Mrs. Harris gushed as the captain turned to Marissa and tipped his hat,

  “My apologies for the rather abrupt meeting this evening, Miss—?

  “M-McClafferty,” she stammered out, grateful she could form any coherent thoughts or speech. “Marissa McClafferty.”

  He nodded. “Good day to you, ladies.” And with that Captain Langston took his leave.

  To say Marissa was confused would have been the understatement of any century. Marissa knew she was still standing in the field outside of the old brick farmhouse, but everything was different.

  Even the air smelled differently.

  Where the highway should have been she saw a wooded area with a dirt road winding through, and a barn lay off one side of the house where none had existed seemingly moments before. The dilapidated house she’d driven past countless times appeared in excellent repair with the trim and porch neatly painted white. The yard was decorated with a tasteful collage of flowers, and freshly washed linens had been hung out to dry. The word picturesque came to mind and Marissa turned tentatively to the woman who had proclaimed her a member of the family.

  “Let’s get you into the house, child.” Mrs. Harris spoke kindly and her refined southern drawl had a soothing quality. Her pale hair with the slightest hint of gray about the ears had been pulled into a proper bun at the nape of her neck and her pretty face flushed with color. “We can’t have anyone else seein’ you dressed in such a fashion.” Mrs. Harris took Marissa by the arm and led her behind the house toward a back door. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” she whispered emphatically. “You’re not crazy, that much I can promise you.”

  “What!” Marissa spun away from the woman, dumbfounded.

  “You are not crazy.” Mrs. Harris stopped and turned to her, excitement sparkling in her blue-green eyes. “I have to ask, Marissa, what year is it where you come from?”

  Marissa’s eyes widened in alarm. “Well, I come from here,” she hedged, unsure of how to respond.

  “Yes, but what year is it?”

  Mentally she threw up her arms and went out on a limb. “2012.” Oddly terrifying as the declaration seemed she sensed Mrs. Harris already knew.

  The woman nodded in satisfaction. “Twenty years on the nose. I’ll be damned! Excuse me, I suppose a lady shouldn’t use such language.” Mrs. Harris let out a short almost hysterical laugh then shook her head as though to clear it. “It was 1992 when I found myself here and now it’s 1863.”

  Marissa’s mouth went dry. 1863. It could not be possible. Charleston, South Carolina 1863 meant… Mouth agape she could do nothing but shake her head in fervent denial. None of this could be real! “I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming.” Perhaps she’d hit her head on that rock in the field and was unconscious.

  “Come along, Marissa, I’ll explain everything inside over a nice cup of hot tea.”

  Marissa entered the house, immediately struck by its charming appearance. Golden wood floors gleamed with fresh polish and crisp white walls reflected the natural light from the windows lending the home a light, airy aura. Mrs. Harris led Marissa into the parlor, and instructed her to make herself comfortable. Marissa sighed as the other woman stepped out of the room. Wearily, she flopped into a wingback chair, trying to make some sense of recent events. Through the lacy curtains she spied the reddening of dusk in the clouds and realized that she felt strangely numb. I think I must be in shock.

  “Have you eaten, Marissa?” The kind almost motherly voice pulled her from her musings and she turned to find Mrs. Harris carrying a tray laden with a silver tea service, biscuits, preserves, and a steaming bowl of soup.

  “No, not since lunch, but that was—” She shrugged and let out a short laugh. “Well, I suppose I don’t know when that was.”

  Mrs. Harris bestowed another understanding smile upon her. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Now, you eat and I will explain to you everything I know.” She sat opposite Marissa and lifted a cup of tea. “My name is Imogene Harris, but you can call me Genie. I was born July 8, 1968 in Atlanta, Georgia, as Imogene Garret.

  “That’s my birthday,” Marissa mumbled.

  “What was that dear?”

  “July 8 is my birthday.”

  “Well, it must be fate.” Genie grinned and then continued with her story. “In 1988 I came to Charleston to attend college and in 1992, with one semester left to go I was driving along the road that will someday pass by this house and my car broke down. I waited a long time for another car to come past, but the road was almost always deserted at night and I finally decided to see if there was anyone in the farmhouse who might be able to help me. I cut across the field right out in front here.”

  Mrs. Harris gestured in the general direction of the field Marissa had also ventured through. “When I was mid-way across the whole sky lit up and—” she chewed at her bottom lip as though struggling for the right words “well, I can’t rightly describe it, but the next thing I knew everything was just... different. An elderly widow took me in. The year was 1843, and it was exactly 20 years ago today.” She leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “The way I figure it we passed through some sort of wormhole to the past or an inter-dimensional doorway of some kind. I was never much for quantum physics, but that is the only explanation I can think of.”

  Marissa’s mind reeled wildly. She had never given much thought to quantum physics or time travel either, but was it possible she’d actually traveled into the past? Had she really passed through the fabric of time to Charleston, South Carolina and the year 1863?

  Leaning forward she set her tea cup on the table. It rattled in its saucer. “The same thing happened to me,” she said. “Exactly the same thing! I stopped along the side of the road to help a couple whose car had broken down. I called them an ambulance with my cell phone, and right after the ambulance pulled away my car broke down too. When my cell phone didn’t work I tried coming to this farmhouse for help, thou
gh I’d always thought it was deserted. I saw a flicker of light through a window. Or, I thought I did. It seemed to be the only light for miles around.”

  Genie’s face scrunched into a vise of puzzled amusement. “I have to ask. What is a cell phone?”

  “Oh.” Marissa reached into her pants pocket. “I suppose cell phones didn’t exist in 1992.” She pulled the phone into view and handed it to Genie, issuing a disgusted snort at the totally blank screen. “It’s a portable phone that uses special towers to send signals.”

  “My God, it has been so long since I’ve seen any sort of contraption like this. Is it like a satellite phone the military would use?”

  “Kind of.” Marissa watched Genie turn the phone over in her hand.

  “Well, we’ll have to destroy or hide everything you have brought back with you.” Mrs. Harris rose and walked over to a large oak bookcase lining the wall. Pulling out several books from the top shelf she opened what appeared to be a secret compartment in the wall and removed a box. Carrying the box to the sofa she sank onto the seat beside Marissa, pulled a key from around her neck, and opened the box.

  Slowly Genie handed Marissa a small rectangular object. It was a South Carolina driver’s license with Genie’s younger face smiling back at her. Marissa swallowed hard. This was it, the final nail being hammered into her coffin. Everything she had witnessed and heard, no matter how impossible, was real. The year was 1863 and she was trapped in the past.

  No!

  Hot bile welled in Marissa’s throat and her entire being retched at the thought of being stuck in the past. Uncontrollable shaking took hold of her entire body as the denial gave way to shock. “What about getting back?” she whispered hoarsely.

  Genie put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I gave up hope of that a long time ago, my dear. I am inclined to believe the portal is one way.”

  A burning sensation seared Marissa’s throat. “Why?” Anger built in her voice and she spat, “How could you possibly know the door is one way?” Tears blurred her vision and she swallowed the intense urge to scream. “Didn’t you even try to get home?”

  Unruffled by the outburst, the other woman wrapped compassionate arms around Marissa as she broke into tears. “About a year after I came back to this time I saw the highway briefly but couldn’t get back through to it. I could see cars driving by, and a dog run across the field. None of them were affected so I assume the doorway wasn’t actually open. It was not long after that I realized I didn’t really want to go back, not anymore that is.”

  Genie drew back, fixing Marissa with empathetic eyes. “I was working as a school teacher, a wonderful man had asked me to marry him, and I felt that my place was here and that I could do good things for the people who needed me,” she paused, “in this time.” Her voice was quiet and soothing with a quality that reminded Marissa of being read a bedtime story. “I now believe that I was always meant to be here, and maybe you’re meant to be here too. Perhaps this is our place and time to be, to exist.”

  Marissa’s mind rebelled as she desperately sought to reject Genie’s words. Violent sobs tore from her body and Genie held her and stroked her hair, quietly murmuring words of understating until Marissa regained a small measure of control. Pulling away Marissa rubbed her tear stained face, feeling as though her eyelids were made of sand paper. Looking at her new friend she realized how lucky she was that Genie had found her as soon as she did. Straightening, Marissa squared her shoulders desperately grasping at some measure of determination. “Well, I guess it’s time to face the music.” Wiping tears from her eyes she put on her best game face, but failed miserably at a smile.

  The women talked for hours, Marissa filling Genie in on advancements in the two decades of she had missed, and Genie assuring Marissa that everything could turn out as well for her as it had for Genie. She also reinforced the history lessons Marissa had learned in school, filling in gaps with present day local knowledge.

  “You’re a registered nurse then?” Genie asked finally, gesturing to Marissa’s scrubs.

  “Yes, I work in the Emergency Room.” Marissa put a hand to her brow and shook her head. “Or worked in the Emergency Room. I don’t know if I still do or ever will again.” Her voice broke and her composure threatened to crumble again.

  “Good,” Genie said briskly, as if to forestall any further show of emotion and put a positive spin on Marissa’s presence in this time and place. “You can be of use at the hospital then.”

  “The hospital?”

  “Yes. There is a Confederate Army hospital here in Charleston, and you have more medical training than anyone claiming the title of doctor this day in age.”

  “So much for my Bachelors degree,” she said wryly. Marissa knew that in the mid 19th century two six-month semesters of medical school or an apprenticeship with an established physician were all the education required to earn a medical degree. “But I don’t know about working at the hospital. I don’t really know much about medicine in this era and I have absolutely no idea what kind of medicines are available or what treatments are used. “

  “Do you know a little somethin’ about anatomy and physiology?” Genie’s drawl was like sweet molasses over pancakes and Marissa felt overtly comforted.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Do you know some about wound care, and caring for the sick and injured?”

  “I—”

  “I know you do, because my mother was an RN and believe me, you can be of use to the sick and wounded in the hospital, and the community.” Genie’s tone left no room for argument. Marissa realized her hostess was trying to make her see she could have a purpose in this new life, but Marissa clung hard to her determination to somehow get home and made no commitment to so much as look at the army hospital.

  The women talked for another hour concocting and perfecting an identity for the niece of Mrs. Harris who had recently arrived from Atlanta. “Well,” Genie said in a chipper voice, “that is enough for now. Let’s find you some clothes and then get to bed. You’ve had quite a day and it won’t do for me to keep you up all night jawing.”

  Marissa rose wearily to follow Genie out of the parlor and up a flight of stairs. Darkness had settled over the farmhouse hours before and Marissa didn’t know whether she found the night comforting or terrifying. In its obscurity she could pretend everything around her was familiar, normal. When the world was concealed by shadows the evidence of her predicament was swallowed along with time itself. As she struggled to find something coherent to hang on to, she watched Genie expertly strike a match and light a kerosene lamp. A warm glow cast through the room. It was as though the light lent a degree of clarity to her thoughts and Marissa smiled into the comforting yellow light, allowing her to see that a home was a home and a friend was a friend regardless of the time or place.

  “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.” She nodded toward the lamp with a slight smile toying at the corners of her mouth. “I have never had the need for such a ‘contraption’.”

  Genie threw her head back with hearty laughter. “No, I suppose you haven’t! I still find it amazing how items I once considered antiques are now the latest technology—contraptions I had no idea how to use. But I learned, and so will you.”

  Marissa tilted her head thoughtfully. “Rather humbling really.” Here was the opportunity for an entirely new life she had been silently begging for just hours before. Was she ready for it?

  * * *

  Marissa woke to the soft patter of rain on the window and stretched catlike beneath her quilt. Smiling, she breathed deeply of the sweet dampness in the air. Nothing smelled better than a South Carolina rainstorm. Nothing smelled fresher than the scent of wet grass and flowers wafting through the air like a heady perfume. Eyes still closed she felt more rested than she had in months. Thank God for vacations. The last thing she remembered was—

  She sat bolt
upright in bed, her eyes darting frantically about the unfamiliar room. The gray, overcast sky cast a dingy quality to the surroundings, which only added to her instantly black mood. Flopping back onto the bed Marissa rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She screamed into the feathers as memories came crashing in on her. “This has to be a dream,” she said aloud, sitting up again.

  Viciously she pinched her arms. It hurt.

  With equal ferocity she slapped her face. Yes, that hurt too.

  As she clenched her teeth in tortured frustration, a bitter metallic taste leeched onto her tongue. Blood. Unwittingly she’d bit the inside of her cheek, and with the tang of blood so came the realization that none of this was a dream. Blood—real blood—was not something one dreamed about and Marissa had seen plenty of real blood.

  Everything was real. She was in Charleston 1863 in the midst of the Civil War’s Confederate south. Tears welled once again in her eyes and she lacked the strength to even attempt stemming the onslaught scorching her cheeks like lava. Feeling defeated, dejected, and more than a little frightened, Marissa cried in anguish for her lost life. Everything she’d worked for, had ever earned was for naught, not to mention her family.

  Would her parents and three older brothers even know she was gone? Instantly she banished the thought from her mind, No, fervently she sought to assure herself, my family cannot possible miss me because they haven’t been born yet, and neither have I for that matter.

  Oh! But, that doesn’t make any sense!

  “Nothing makes any sense,” she muttered aloud. Wiping fat salty tears from her eyes, Marissa turned and watched the rain weep down the glass window panes. Drawing herself up with what felt like Herculean effort, she squared her shoulders. I shall just have to make the best of this situation until I can get home, she resolved, and I will get home. With that thought she made a valiant attempt to put all nonproductive thoughts aside.