Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (3 page)

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 Ge
nie’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 19
^th
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 medicine
s 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 cohere
nt 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.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she set to the task of getting dressed.

Genie had pulled a trunk full of clothes out of the attic the night before, saying, “My daughter has a love for clothes that goes unmatched in any century, and I sometimes wonder how her husband affords her massive wardrobe. Carolyn was only sixteen when she married, I was against it, but,” Genie shrugged, “when in Rome..."

Marissa smiled as she thought back on Genie’s words; apparently some things never changed, like the love some women have for clothes and shopping. Rifling through the garments she was hardly sure of what to be seeking. Genie had given her a quick instruction as to proper 1860’s dress the night before, but Marissa’s mind had whirled just trying to keep the undergarments straight.

After a full thirty minutes of struggling with the myriad of buttons and ribbons that held things together, Marissa turned triumphantly to the f
ull length mirror in her room—admittedly s
he’d cheated a
little a
nd was still wearing her own bra. The reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. It showed a demure, southern belle who must be a ghost, because it could not possibly be her. The ghost was garbed in a gown of pale coral which perfectly flattered her petite figure, fitting snuggly against her bosom and torso before flaring at the hips to give her waist a remarkably slender appearance. Almost hesitantly Marissa raised a hand to the modestly dipped neckline as though to ensure it
was
her in the mirror.

A small bubble of excitement welled up and seeded itself in the back of her mind where the childhood fantasies of wearing such clothes had long ago been stored. Though the chore of getting dressed had not been much fun, the act of wearing the gown made her feel like a new person,
a new person with a new life.
She tidied her long hair with the brush Genie had provided the night before, wearing it down rather than try to fashion it into some sort of upsweep. The oversize alligator clip she’d worn to keep it up and out of the way yesterday would never pass muster in 1863. Quietly, she descended the wooden stairs and smiled at the sight of Genie bustling about the kitchen humming what sounded like a
Beatles
song.

“Good morning, dear.” The older woman smiled warmly, motioning for her guest to come forward. If she had heard the outburst from a little while earlier she gave no indication. “You look absolutely lovely. I don’t think Carolyn wore that dress more than once before convincing her father she needed a new one.”

M
arissa smiled at her new friend.
“I think I would like to meet Carolyn. Where does she live now?”

“Oh, she’s in town
. That girl was never much for farm life and she married a solicitor almost two years ago. Just after the war started. A lawyer,” Genie supplied at Marissa’s questioning glance. “When her husband joined the Confederate army I invited her to come stay with me, but she elected to stay in town, not that I’m surprised, mind you.” Genie’s cheer was positively infectious and Marissa felt herself genuinely smiling at the other woman as she heaped oatmeal and biscuits onto a plate. “It’s been lonely with my husband gone,” Genie continued. “My husband, Jim, rode with Jeb Stuart’s cavalry, but
he was killed six months ago.”
Her voice broke and she paused a moment before continuing. “My son, Andy, is only fourteen but he’s driving an ambulance somewhere in northern Virginia.”