Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (2 page)

“Ouch!” Marissa swore as she stumbled over a large rock and fell. Grumbling under her breath she righted herself and brushed the thick dust from her thigh. Tucking her
blonde
hair back into its twist as best she could, she took more care walking in the dark. Her eyes
—
and ears
—
must be playing tricks on her. The swirling fog emerging from beneath the trees created a surreal aura over the landscape; an unearthly stillness descended upon th
e field and Marissa shuddered
with c
old dread as wraithlike silhouettes seemed to dance and bob, fading in and out of her
visual
field. With a fervent shake she rubbed the flat of her palms across her eyes and stared
.

I do
not
believe in ghosts, so I’m not seeing them now! But... Did the sky really seem lighter? Why did the field suddenly look… different? Had someone painted that ancient porch? Surely it had never been white before.

A powerful gust of wind sparked Marissa from her trance and she broke into a terrified run f
or the farmhouse. The stars faded
in the evening sky and it almost seemed as though the sun were rising back out of the west.
Impossible!
Ghostlike figures continued to eddy on the wind around her and another gust threatened to steal the very breath from her lungs. An intense flash of light lit the sky and the blanket of stars shattered into a thousand glittering orbs of spectral light
.

A scream built
inside
her
, but an even more horrifying sensation o
f being paralyzed swept over Marissa
, blocking it in her throat. She was unable to move, or cry, or scream. In desperation she fought to tear herself from the hellish chaos of the weird half-night, ha
lf-day she found herself in. I
ntense light flooded the world around her and the ghostly wraiths bent and twisted. The sights and sounds and smells of the night merged in a stunning collage of sensation and color. The wraithlike figures grew even more distorted, altering her perception of everything around her. The earth, the grass, even the farmhouse changed before her very eyes. Then all at once she felt solid ground
beneath
her feet, and she could move again, running toward the house… in terror.

She never saw him coming, never noticed the man who materialized like a ghost from thin air, but she certainly felt it when she plunged headlong into him. Marissa cried out in surprise as she and what felt like the solid trunk of a tree collided
.
For one long moment a
ll she saw was gray
… gray, scratchy wool.
Marissa held out her arms as a shield, but found them entwined with pair of long masculine arms. S
pinning and off balance, Marissa squeezed her eyes shut,
tensed in anticipation of the inevi
table collision with the
ground. At the last moment the man with whom she was falling shifted his weight
to cushion her fall, and they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
The two lay for a moment unmoving, stunned.

Upon opening her eyes Marissa became acutely aware of two things: One, it was light out, and two, she was lying on top of the rock hard, well-toned form of a man. Raising her head she looked frantically around, heart still hammering with the terror she’d experienced just moments before.

“Madam, your knee!” The man beneath her grunted in obvious discomfort.

“Huh?” Marissa was far too disoriented to comprehend, much less form, intelligent speech.

“Move your knee, woman!” the man said with considerable urgency.

“What? Oh!” Realizing the delicate area in which her left knee had landed Marissa hastily scrambled off of the man and sat beside him, struggling to
get
her bearings.

“Oh, God.” The man she’d plowed into rolled away from her with a grimace. “Getting run over by a stagecoach would have been le
ss painful.” With a deep breath,
and another grimace
,
he rose to a sitting position facing Marissa in the grass. He picked up his hat, brushed it off
and replaced it on his head. Then he
jumped lithely to his feet and held a hand out to assist her up.

Marissa shook her head, trying to make sense of all this.
How can it be daylight again? The last shades of dusk had fallen only moments ago on the highway.

“It’s light out,” she marveled aloud.

“Well of course it’s light out. It won’t be dark for nigh on an hour.”

Marissa, still trying to collect h
erself, took her first good look
at the man in the field with her. Her heart gav
e a sickening lurch
as he
r mouth gaped in disbelief.
In a word the gentleman’s attire appeared…
odd
. He
wore a snug
fitting
gray woolen tunic with
a high
stiff collar embroidered with decorative gold scrollwork. A rich scarlet sash encircled a trim waist and intricate gold buttons closed the front of the jacket
.

A Civil War officer?
Impossible! Unless
this is one of those
re-
enactment groups? And if that is the case, he i
s really into his character. Nobody said ‘nigh onto’ anything
anymore
.

Narrow straps atop each of his shoulders bore captain’s bars, if badges of rank were the same now as the time
he was dressed up to represent, and t
he initials “M. S.” bedecke
d the impeccable high collar.
Marissa dragged her gaze up the shape of
a man who appeared
tailored to fit the uniform and not the other
way around. N
eatly trimmed
sandy hair shown beneath his gray cap, and he possessed a
strong, clean shaven face. Under normal circumstances Marissa may have thought him handsome
—
no not handsome; this man was
beyond
handsome—b
ut when
her gaze slid up to meet
his eyes
… her breath froze… the arresting blue hue
left her
totally dumbstruck.
After several
mindless moments, reality returned and she snapped her mouth shut
, but confusion continued to swirl through her mind as she
returned
his equally puzzled gaze
. Never had she seen eyes so captivatingly blue.

*
             
*
             
*

Craig Langston studied the woman he’d collided with in a fashion as openly fascinated as she appeared to be. She was young, probably in her early twenties, very pretty,
with cornflower blonde hair streaked with silvery strands
pulled into a half-
hazard bun. Her ebony eyes contrasted viv
idly with
pale milky skin, and t
he delicate bone structure of her heart shaped face deserved more than a casual glance. This woman was undoubtedly a timelessly classic beauty. However, it wasn’t the young woman’s looks which held Craig Langston enthralled, but her attire.

She was clad in a pale blue uniform of sorts which somewhat resembled a sailor’s dungarees. The clothing was constructed of a light-weight fabric, pale blue in color, and consisted of an unrestricting short sleeved blouse tucked into similarly unrestricting
trousers
that tied off with a draw string at the waist. The blouse had a V neck which, when she leaned fo
rward as she did now
, revealed a great deal more flesh than the girl probably would have liked; she was certainly not wearing any sort of chemise or undergarments he was accustomed to. The woman’s appearance was scandalous at best, and he couldn’t help but notice how the thin fabric clung provocatively to her voluptuous curves. Tearing his eyes away from her peculiar attire he forced hi
mself to look at her face again.
She looked positively stricken. He surmised her expression was likely a result of her inappropriate state of dress and their compromising position a few moments before.

“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 s
aid 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

N
i
e
ce?

S
tunned, Marissa flicked
he
r 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 s
parkling 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 ar
ms and went out on a limb. “2012
.” Oddly terrifying as the declaration seemed she sensed Mrs. Harris already knew.

The woman nodded
in satisfac
tion. “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. G
olden 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 h
er 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 shrug
ged 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 sa
t opposite Marissa and lifted
a cup of tea. “My name is Imogene Harris, but you can call m
e 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 co
ntinued with her story. “In 1988
I came to Charlest
on 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, though 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 tr
apped 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.”