Writing Time Travels by Barbara Baldwin

 

To purchase, click here.

Once when I was teaching, we talked about traveling to the moon. My students were asked to make a list of everything they would take to survive. Many had matches on their list—to start a fire to cook, etc. But alas, matches would do you no good as there’s no oxygen on the moon to allow the fire to burn.

When writing time travels, I have to decide what can go with my traveler and what can’t. Again, once I decide that rule, I can’t change it. In some stories, anything on the person goes with them. In others, only things that were available in the time of the story will “transport”. For example, in one story, Mica quickly finds out the plastic buttons of her shirt and her pants’ zipper disappear in 1850 and she’s very happy she isn’t wearing polyester!

In HOLD ON TO THE PAST, Brianna finds herself aboard the steamboat Arabia on its last trip downriver and is amazed at what the people in the open steerage of the boat have to carry with them as they travel west to a new life. She realizes how easy her life was before she ended up back in 1856!

HOLD ON TO THE PAST – An excerpt

Chapter 1

To whoever finds this journal:

I don’t even know where to begin describing this living nightmare, and so I’ve decided to write it all down. I started out this November morning in 1988 as an intern uncovering sunken treasure from the Steamboat Arabia, and at the end of the day I am aboard the Arabia, back in the year 1856. Magic isn’t real; time travel can’t actually happen, except in the movies. I am a scientist and there must be a logical explanation. Besides, if I don’t try to explain it, I will certainly go nuts.

Fact: The Steamboat Arabia sank in 1856 and after the river channel shifted over the next one hundred thirty years, the boat has been found in a cornfield in Kansas. An excavation is underway to salvage the cargo, and as an archeology PhD candidate, I have the opportunity to work at the dig site. This whole thing must have started with the torrential downpour…

Even with thick wool socks and insulated boots, Brianna’s feet were frozen, hampering her movements as she shuffled through the muddy water. Twenty pumps hummed above them but the forty-five foot deep hole in the middle of a cornfield was close enough to the river that it continued to fill with water.

Everyday new treasures were being found. As soon as items were unearthed at the Arabia dig site they were transported to a refrigeration storage company. It was paramount that everything was frozen immediately to keep the air from deteriorating the cloth or wood. The restoration process wouldn’t even begin until all the artifacts were unearthed. The team had to be in and out of the cornfield in a matter of months and Bri considered herself extremely lucky to be part of the excavation team.

She had been working tirelessly towards the foredeck of the steamboat where they had found glassware, beads, and other house wares, buried in mud and silt. The Arabia had sunk in less than ten minutes, listing to the side with such force that many of the crates of cargo had cracked or broken. Over the years, the wood of some of the barrels had disintegrated and now each piece of glass had to be removed by hand and rewrapped, then carefully placed into a modern crate before it could be lifted out of the dig site and trucked to the warehouse.

She wiped the top of a small wooden box with her mitten. It was only as large as her hand, and she wondered about its owner and contents as she lifted the lid. She sighed. Why had she thought this item would be different? Everything they unearthed was full of silt that had sifted in over the years to surround and clump the contents together. She would have to dump everything onto one of the screens so the mud could be washed away without losing the contents.

She groaned as she stood upright, aching from the long hours of tedious, backbreaking work. She scooped the box carefully into her mittened hands. Just as she began sloshing her way toward the screening area, a sharp crack of lightning was followed by thunder close enough to shake the ground.

With no additional warning, the heavens opened, dumping a deluge of cold water over her yellow slicker. The box she held tumbled from her hands to bounce against the metal edge of the screening table. The rotted wood shattered and began to float away on a rivulet of rainwater.

“No,” Bri groaned, ripping off her mittens so she could pluck the emerging items from the mud that ran off along with the water. Rain soaked her despite her raingear as she scooped up a cold handful of mud and beads, dumping them into a plastic bucket for that purpose.

“Bri, get out!” One of the crew’s voice caught her attention over the thunder and echoing sounds of rain pelting the exposed wood and metal pipes.

“Brianna . . . now!”

This was the second rainstorm in the three weeks she had been in Kansas City working at the Arabia site. It was hard enough for the pumps to keep water at a manageable level on a sunny day. She had learned during the first rainstorm that they had no choice but to evacuate the huge, man-made hole because the water table rose frightfully fast.

Thunder crashed again, the vibrations throwing her against the table, bruising her hip. Something hard hit her shoulder and threw her off balance. She looked around for the others but couldn’t see through the rain. She knew where the ropes and ladders were. She could get out, but she’d better hurry.

She glanced at the screening table one last time, bemoaning the temporary loss of artifacts. After the storm, she would have to start over. A hint of gold caught her eye and she scooped up a tiny ring, slipping it on her pinkie. Shuffling her feet carefully so she didn’t inadvertently fall through the rotten wood, she made her way toward the ladder. The rain felt like needles against her face and her vision blurred.

A wall of water suddenly washed her feet out from under her. The rain had come so rapidly it was filling the hole and Bri fought to get back on her feet. Panic chocked her throat as she tried to call for help. Icy water swirled around her, knocking her about until she had no idea what direction she faced.

“Grab the rope!” The command came out of nowhere and Bri didn’t hesitate. She splashed around trying to feel for a rope; anything that would anchor her but she couldn’t see for the muddy water running down her face.

“To my right – your left.”

She pried her eyes open as she continued groping for a lifeline. Through the sheet of rain she could see a weak beam of light above her. Where were the huge spotlights that shone on the dig site all day and night? Where was the noise from the pumps that had been audible even over the thunder?  Had they shut everything down in the wake of the storm?

All she could hear was the roar of the water and an unfamiliar chug-chug sound. She lifted her hand to wipe the rain and mud away from her eyes and immediately sank beneath the water. She had to get rid of the boots and jacket weighting her down. She held her breath, struggling and kicking and wiggling as blackness flirted at the edge of her brain.

Oh, God, I can’t drown in a corn field in the middle of nowhere! She hadn’t lived her life yet; she hadn’t made a name for herself in the world of archeology. She hadn’t loved! She sobbed silently as swirling water sucked her under.

* * *

“Haul me up!” Jake yelled, brackish water choking him as he locked his arms around the unconscious lump of humanity. Why the hell had he jumped over the side of the paddle wheeler into dark swirling water to save anyone? He was normally a very self-serving man, looking out only for his own interests. He knew it and accepted it.

As the Captain’s men hauled on the rope tied beneath his arms, banging him and his burden against the wood sides of the boat, he tried to shut out the demons in his head. It hadn’t been a heroic effort on his part; it had been the act of a coward. He had come to the end of his endurance and thought perhaps jumping into the raging river would put an end to the misery of his own life. Instead, he was being yanked back into that existence.

With a thud, he landed on the first deck of the steamboat, gasping for breath and shivering. Someone pried his fingers apart and he realized he still clutched the unconscious body he had hauled out of the water. As soon as he rolled away, a blanket was tossed over his shoulders and he tugged it close around himself. Hell, he couldn’t do anything right.

Two years ago, his incompetence had cost him his family and when he tried to drown himself in liquor, he’d pass out before drinking enough to end his troubles. Then he had turned to gambling – hence his reason for being aboard the steamboat – but instead of losing everything he owned, he had unbelievable luck at cards. Now, instead of finishing his life, he had inadvertently saved another, and if the audience around him was any indication, they thought him a hero.

Jake managed to scoot up against the side wall of the deck next to the woman. Although she wore a rain slicker and enough clothes to hibernate in winter, he had known the victim was female the moment he had circled her slender waist. Groaning from exertion, he slowly reached forward to find a weak but steady pulse at her throat. Although his reasons for jumping overboard had been purely selfish, at least his efforts hadn’t been in vain.

The woman coughed and he weakly tried to push her onto her side so she wouldn’t choke. A man standing nearby bent to help.

“Thanks.” His voice was raspy and his throat hurt. Too much river water, he thought, wishing he had a stiff drink instead.

The woman didn’t regain consciousness and now that the excitement was over, passengers once again settled into their places on the deck. No one seemed overly curious as to whom she was, or even what was to be done with her. And no one rushed forward to claim her.

Captain Terrill approached and Jake tried to stand. He had traveled with the Captain before and wanted to give him the deference due his station.

“Don’t get up, lad.” He put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” At Jake’s nod, he pointed to the sodden bundle on the deck, asking, “What about him? Do you know him?”

“I suspect a passenger?” Jake answered, for some unknown reason refraining from identifying her gender.

The Captain bent down, hands on knees and squinted at her face. He puckered his lips and shook his head. “Nope, doesn’t look familiar.”

“Well, however sh…he came to be in the river, you’ll need a room for him to recover.”

“Don’t have one. We’re full up and bursting at the seams, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Most of the passengers aboard the Arabia were off to find better lives out west. However, the lot of them didn’t have two nickels to rub together and could barely manage the meager fare it took just for a place on the deck. Those who could afford it occupied the state rooms on the upper decks. Like him, they rarely came below for the space was crowded and the stench of human bodies too long between baths overwhelmed the senses.

Jake looked about, noticing a family of five standing close by, the family matriarch giving him an evil glare for apparently taking up her space in the shade of the deck overhang. It would seem that saving a life was all right, as long as you didn’t infringe on the already crowded deck.

“You saved him. You might as well take him with you.” The captain turned to leave.

“But…” Jake stared from the captain down to the sodden bundle and back. What the hell?

A moan interrupted his thoughts and the bundle began shaking. Damn, he didn’t want responsibility for anyone but himself and certainly not someone who needed any amount of care. He had given up that part of his life when Jennie died.

The woman rolled against his leg and her shivering transmitted to his body, dropping his own temperature. With a weary sigh, he dragged himself to his knees and started undressing her.

“Boy, come here,” he called to the older of the children, whose mother still looked like a vulture spying prey. He knew he couldn’t lift an unconscious person with heavy sodden material clinging to her, but he didn’t want to leave her belongings on the deck. They’d be gone in a heartbeat.

“You want to earn a penny?” At the boy’s quick nod, Jake handed him the slicker, then a wet woolen coat. He made sure she had another shirt beneath her soggy sweater before removing it, but decided to leave her muddy knit cap to help preserve her identity. He tried to get her boots off but the leather laces were wet and impossible to untie. The woman wore trousers, which was probably the reason the Captain had thought her a man, but the men’s pants couldn’t hide the feminine curve of her hips and long legs once he had taken off her coat. Jake was glad people thought the excitement of the rescue was over and were busy now with their own business.

He carefully lifted the unconscious woman, surprised at her lightness even with the remaining wet clothes and boots adding to her weight. His half boots, no doubt ruined beyond repair, squished as he walked along the oak boards. People shuffled out of his way. His legs shook as he climbed the stairs to the hurricane deck where the passenger cabins were located. He had to stop, half way up, leaning against the wall to steady himself. He glanced over his shoulder to see the boy a step or two behind him, struggling under the pile of wet clothes.

“This is what you get for doing a good deed,” he muttered, hefting her higher in his arms and taking another shaky step. Three more and he wearily turned down the promenade to where his cabin was located.

“Damn,” he swore when he stopped at the door. “Boy, drop that pile and dig in my pocket for a key.” He shifted the burden in his arms so the youth could access his trousers. “Uh, uh, leave my coins until after your job is complete.” He could feel the boy’s hand sifting through the change before he reluctantly came up with only the key.

He had thought the woman light, but his time in the water and the tedious stairs had drained him and she suddenly become extremely burdensome. He glanced around the small cabin, reluctant to put her on the bed, but seeing no help for it, laid her carefully on the counterpane. She moaned but did not awaken.

“Here’s your penny,” he said to the boy. “And here’s another for you to go get the steward and have him come at once.”

The boy grinned and shot out the door, only to return the next second with the wet pile of clothes.

“You oughten to leave these outside; they’ll be gone in a flash.” He dropped them and took off again.

Jake shook his head. The boy was far too young to be so aware of how the world worked. He looked at the woman lying on his bed. Even with the muddy Missouri River water streaking her face and turning her clothes a dull grey-brown, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

He reached a shaky hand out to remove her stocking cap, realizing he needed to get himself dry and warm before he could do her any good. He threw a chuck of wood in the stove and quickly stripped bare. Pouring water from the pitcher into a bowl, he washed the worst of the grime off, and then donned a pair of trousers. The effort cost him and he sat down heavily in a chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

God, he needed a drink. Summoning the remainder of his strength he reached for the bottle and poured a goodly portion into a glass. He shook so badly, he clutched the glass with both hands as he raised it to his lips. Liquid fire burned his belly as it hit, warming him from the inside out.

What the hell was he to do with her? He had foregone responsibility two years ago, leaving Boston and all his worldly possessions behind; his hopes and dreams buried in a lonely cemetery with his wife and child. Since then, he had become a wanderer, drifting wherever the river took him, at times hoping the wilderness would devour him instead of continually leaving him with this dull void.

Now, through some strange occurrence – he wouldn’t say an act of God as he no longer believed in such a divine source of grace – another individual had been thrust upon him.

Knowing there was little help for him, and none at all for her if he didn’t move, he stood, draining the last of the liquor and setting the glass on the dresser.

His hands still shook, although not as badly, as he undressed her, tossing the clothes on the floor and trying not to look as each piece slid from her body. Her hair was blonde, and although her knitted cap had kept out much of the dirt, it was still soaked. He took a towel to it, feathering it out across the pillow. As quickly as he could, he removed her undergarments, wondering at their strange design. Her skin was brown all over and she wore no corset beneath the shirt and britches, but then he knew many women of the west eschewed the dictates of eastern society. Trying to think of her clothing instead of her full breasts and narrow waist, he quickly tucked her under the covers. After all, he was a man. Her only saving grace was the fact she was unconscious.

Taking a cloth from the wash basin, he gently wiped her face, throat and across her shoulders. A bruise darkened one shoulder, and he wondered if there was an abusive husband somewhere looking for her. Perhaps he had shoved her overboard, although the Captain had indicated he didn’t recognize her as a passenger. That left the horrendous idea that she had fallen in, or been pushed, from a dock somewhere along the way. That she hadn’t immediately drowned with the weight of her clothes was a miracle.

He scoffed. He didn’t believe in miracles.

Exhausted from the events of the day, he dropped the rag back into the basin and crawled onto the bed beside her, being careful not to touch her and staying on top the counterpane. He mocked himself. He rarely had problems enticing women into his bed, but they were usually willing and conscious. He wearily closed his eyes, wanting only to rest for a few minutes without thinking about anything – not about who the mysterious woman was, or why he had been the one to rescue her. And particularly, he did not want to contemplate her almost flawless, naked presence next to him.

He dreamed, not the nightmares of his past that continually haunted him, but about the beautiful woman with blonde hair and green eyes, who expressed her gratitude at being rescued in the most elemental act in which men and women engage. He awoke minutes later to find himself curled around the woman, one arm draped over the curve of her waist.

“Simon?” Her whisper was deep and scratchy, the result of too much river water.

Jake quickly removed his arm just as she rolled over and her eyes fluttered open. Clear blue searched his face. She turned her head and he watched as her gaze slid across the room and back.

“I thought your eyes would be green,” he murmured as he scrambled from the bed and grabbed a shirt from the clothespress, tucking it into his trousers before he turned back to her.

“Where am I?”

“In my stateroom.”

“In your…who are you?” Her voice rose in volume but Jake decided it was well below panic. It wasn’t like they had actually done anything.

“Jake Worth. I dragged you out of the river. Do you remember what happened?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Well, I wasn’t in the river, that’s for sure. I was working on the Arabia—”

“Working?” He didn’t understand why the captain wouldn’t recognize a member of his own crew, but then perhaps there were too many. From her dress, this woman was not a member of the service staff, but perhaps the maintenance staff. It would seem appropriate to disguise her gender if that were the case, although he had never heard of a female boiler tender.

“Then you did fall overboard.”

“I did not fall overboard.” Indignant, she sat straight up in bed. The sheet he had tucked around her fell to her waist, exposing generous pale breasts. A gentleman would have averted his gaze. Jake was anything but. He stared. She clutched the sheet back to her bosom and shrieked, “Where are my clothes?”

“They were wet; I removed them.”

“Of course they were wet. It was pouring and the water couldn’t be pumped out of the pit fast enough. That doesn’t give you the right to remove them. I don’t even know you.”

He smiled. “I just introduced myself, so we are not complete strangers. Perhaps it wasn’t totally wrong of me.”

Her mouth gapped open and a disbelieving look crossed her face. “You’re not a member of the crew or I would have seen you before now.”

“No, but I travel the river on a regular basis, and often aboard the Arabia.”

“No, that can’t be right,” she contradicted him yet again. Even though he heard a hint of hesitation, she seemed determined not to believe anything he said.

“I want my clothes.”

A knock on the door diverted Jake’s attention. “Come in,” he called without taking his eyes off her. When the steward entered, he nodded to the sodden pile. “Take those below and get them dried out. It probably wouldn’t hurt if they were washed first.”

“Yes, Mr. Worth. Will you be joining us for supper tonight, or are you going ashore?”

Jake glanced from the steward back to the woman in his bed. He pursed his lips. “Would it be possible to have supper served here?” At the man’s nod, he added, “For two?”

“As you wish, Mr. Worth. I’ll see to it personally.” The door closed quietly behind him.

“Those were my clothes.” Her hesitation could work to his benefit he thought. Any sensible woman would run from him, but not without clothes. Although he had no deliberate designs on her, one could never tell what the night would bring.

“You won’t need them for awhile. Besides they’re unwearable in their present condition.”

He watched her survey the cabin as she spoke, her gaze pausing on each piece of furniture, her brow furrowing. “You seem well known here.”

“More often than not, money speaks well for anyone.”

Her gaze jerked back to his. “Did you pay for me?”

It took him a moment to understand her meaning and then he laughed. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to sound like a braggart, but I never have to pay for a lady’s attentions.” He turned back from pouring himself a drink just in time to duck.

The glass lamp sailed past his head to crash against the corner of the dresser. Jake looked from the shattered glass to the woman and back. The whale oil pooled onto the wood floor near his feet as he took a sip of his drink.

“You are lucky it’s still daylight and that lamp wasn’t lit.”

Her extremely inventive curse had him turning her way again.

She swung her legs over the bed, twisted the sheet around her slim body and stood up. She swayed from side to side, opened her mouth to speak, and promptly fell toward him in a dead faint.

Chapter 2

Okay, so maybe I over reacted by throwing the lamp, but I’m in a strange place and the man took my clothes. If that’s not bad enough, he says we’re on board the Arabia and I can’t come to terms with that. I’ve spent my entire life in Boston, in the midst of history, and am more than familiar with antique furniture and the accessories of the past. And the thing is, everything around me screams vintage – the clothespress instead of a closet; a porcelain bowl and pitcher in place of a bathroom sink; the glass chimney lamp I threw across the room. If what this man says and what I see are true…

Bri woke to darkness except for the weak glow of a lamp on the dresser – far across the room from where she lay. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she breathed a sigh of relief to realize she was alone. She looked toward the small rectangular window but it was dark. Cautiously, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, leery of becoming dizzy again. She looked at her bare body as the sheet slid down her curves.

Things came back to her in a rush and she jerked her head to the left, reaffirming that she was in bed by herself. The man—she couldn’t remember his name though she was sure he had told her--was nowhere in the room. His presence when she had awakened the first time had been so strong, so assured, that he overpowered her. Finding herself stripped naked and in a room with a stranger was totally out of her realm of understanding.

He had undressed her. Okay, so it had been in the interest of getting her warm, but still. A quick glance around the room assured her that her clothes hadn’t been returned. She needed to get dressed. She could think more clearly with clothes on. And she really, really did need to figure this out. Mentally assessing herself, she didn’t think she would faint again, but there was a heaviness to her body like a weight bearing her down. She couldn’t tell exactly where it originated – it was all over. Even her arm felt heavy as she lifted her hand to the knob on the clothespress.

Well, one good turn deserves another, she thought as she slowly opened the door and surveyed an impressive array of shirts and trousers. Since he had taken her clothes, whatever the reason, she would use his. His shirt was too large for her, but she turned back the cuffs. He was slim, and she had long legs, so when she pulled a pair of his trousers over her hips, they were snug but fit her just right in the length. She smiled as she buttoned them. She had taken what looked like the most expensive pair.

A vest buttoned up the front would conceal the fact she didn’t wear a bra, but his shoes were far too large so she decided to go barefoot. Padding over to the dresser, she used his hairbrush and comb to bring some semblance of order to her hair. She managed to wrap a few strands around the whole to form a pony tail at her nape. Wearing clothes too large was enough, but if her hair was flying all over, people would notice.

She only had a fuzzy recollection of the man who had brought her to this room and even less recollection as to why. He was tall, broad shouldered but slim in the hips. Dark hair had curled around his ears, but in her mind his face was indistinct. She didn’t think he had taken advantage of her, regardless of the fact she was naked and the comments he had made about not paying for a woman.

All she could remember well was that it had started raining hard at the dig site and she had tried to get to the ladder for someone to pull her up and out of the pit. Everything else seemed like a bad dream. Why Simon, or anyone from the dig site, would have taken her to a hotel instead of her apartment, she couldn’t fathom. If she had been hurt, it would have been a hospital, and this room certainly wasn’t that.

She decided not to wait around for anyone to return. Her head hurt as she dropped the comb back onto the dresser and rubbed her temples. Since she had awaken and for the entire time she was dressing, something nagged in a dark corner of her mind, demanding attention, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what. The constant chug-chug noise wasn’t helping her headache either. She certainly wouldn’t recommend this hotel to anyone, although there was an antique flair to the furnishings. She ran her hand along the beveled edge of the dresser as she wandered to the door. Reproduction, no doubt.

Opening the door with care, she peeked out to discover not a hall, but a deck. That can’t be right, she mused, warily taking a few steps beyond the door. She was in a hotel somewhere in Kansas, not on a boat. She reached the railing and grabbed hold with both hands, staring into the gloom which was dissipating as day broke. Her heart began to pound and her headache worsened.

What had that man said? Something about working on the Arabia? She suddenly didn’t think he had meant working on the excavation of the Arabia as she had. Disbelief had her knees shaking even as she leaned over the railing. Below was a wider deck, crammed full of people and cargo, cords of wood stacked as high as the railing where she stood. Gruff words floated toward her as people awakened to a new day. A bell clanged in the distance and ever so slowly, the boat began to move away from a dock.

“No. I have to get off. I don’t belong here.” She spun in a circle but sank, her knees giving way and her bottom hitting the wooden deck with a jar. Something was terribly wrong. She brought her legs up, hugging them tight and dropping her head to her knees. She closed her eyes and tried to think but there was this black hole in her memory. She gave a self-decrepitating laugh – it wasn’t her memory; her entire body had been sucked down a black hole.

“What are you doing out here?”

The agitated question brought her head up but all she saw were dark trousers. She tipped her head further back. The sides of a long coat were swept back with hands planted on hips. The fingers were long, nails clean and trimmed, and Bri got the impression this man didn’t have a manual job. By the time her gaze slid the rest of the way up his body, she found him scowling at her. The sun had risen just enough behind him that his features were in shadow, but there was an aura around him. Was he her guardian angel?

“Did you have to steal my best linen shirt and trousers?” Now frustration edged the agitation. No, he was definitely not any one’s angel.

What right did he have to be …anything? Bri thought. She was the one who didn’t have the foggiest idea of what was going on. At least he appeared to know his way around; to belong here.

She surged to her feet, swayed, then grabbed the rail with one hand to steady herself; putting the other out when he would have reached for her. With precarious balance, she turned when he opened the cabin door and carefully walked back into the small room. As soon as she felt capable, she turned on him.

“You…you…” Her brain was a mess along with the rest of her and she couldn’t think of what she wanted to tell him.

She looked down at her hands where she was absently twisting a ring on her pinkie finger. It was an artifact she salvaged that day, just as the rain came. It was rather plain in design with a small flat square in the center and some scroll work on either side. She remembered putting it on her finger to keep from losing it in the rain. Now, she jerked it off and flung it across the room.

Nothing happened. She wasn’t again standing in a downpour waiting to be hauled up and out of the pit. She didn’t return to the present. “I don’t want to be here! I’m not supposed to be here!” she shouted, dropping to her knees and sobbing. Her mind processed her fear in the only way it could. It blanked, allowing her to tip over in a faint.

* * *

Bri awoke to find herself once again in bed. She really had to quit doing that.

“You probably wouldn’t be hysterical, or keep fainting, if you ate something. Unless, of course, you are in the family way.”

She shook her head slightly, not even bothering to look in the direction of the voice. “If I was pregnant, why do you think I would have ended up in the river?”

“That is not my concern. My unease stems from the fact you keep ending up in my bed and I don’t even know your name.”

She did glance his way at the humor in his voice and found a very sexy, totally masculine smile gracing his lips. “I suppose that’s a natural occurrence for you.” She tried to give him the evil eye, but his smile just grew.

“When I wish it.” His left shoulder lifted in a shrug. It made her notice the width of his shoulders and how defined his body was in the white linen shirt. He turned and began to remove covers from several dishes on a cart.

“I appreciate what you have done for me, Mr…,” she hesitated, not remembering his name. There were so many holes in her recent memory.

“Jake. And you are?”

Who was she? Was she the same Briana she had been a day ago? A week? She certainly wasn’t about to give away too much information until she knew what was going on and where she was.

“Brianna Blake.” At her pronouncement, he nodded slightly in acknowledgement but made no response.

“Well, Miss Blake. I would suggest that if you don’t want to end up in my bed yet again, you partake in some breakfast.”

It was then the smell of coffee reached her and her stomach growled. How long had it been since she had eaten?

She slowly stood. Though a little lightheaded, she felt she wasn’t about to faint again. Her mouth watered as she sat in the chair he had pulled out by a small table. Delicious smells of bacon and ham made her nostrils flair. She began eating as soon as he set a plate before her and was nearly done before he sat with his own plate.

“Eating too much too quickly when you haven’t had substance for a prolonged period can cause stomach cramps or vomiting.” He stopped abruptly as though angry – at her or for having spoken?

She finished her eggs and carefully put her knife and fork across her plate. “Are you a doctor; a nutritionist?”

“No, of course not,” he snapped almost before she had finished speaking. An intense frown marred his handsome features.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast leisurely.” She stood, grabbing some apples out of a bowl on the table and shoving them into her pockets.

“Like I said, thank you for your help, but I need to be on my way.” She had opened the door and stepped through when she paused at his parting words.

“The hurricane deck is at least respectable, whereas the decks below are for those who cannot pay full fare. Most often they are made to feel the degradation of poverty, even if they have occupation and means. Beware of the petty officers for they have been known for brutal and disgraceful treatment.”

Bri quietly closed the door behind her. She could take care of herself, couldn’t she?

* * *

After hours of walking around the steamboat, Brianna could only conclude as true what the recesses of her mind and niggled at all day. She was indeed on the Steamboat Arabia as it plied the waters of the huge river. The Arabia was a side wheeler, which she had known, but to see the huge paddle wheel slowly revolving through the water was beyond her imagination. She knew it could travel at over five miles per hour, yet as she stood by a railing it felt as though they weren’t moving at all.

She couldn’t recall how many passengers the boat carried on this particular trip, but they were all over. The main deck held clusters of people scattered among the boxes and barrels of cargo. There were high stacks of logs the boilers and engines would use to convert river water to steam.

As she walked along the upper deck she peeked through a window to an eloquent salon. Nicely dressed women and men sat at tables or on small couches enjoying conversation. She sadly glanced down at her oversized borrowed clothes and felt totally out of place.

On the upper deck, women were in long dresses and carried parasols and the men were in what she would call formal attire, but for them it was probably just normal dress. All wore long black coats and trousers. White shirts with stiff collars were circled with some sort of black tie. So very unlike the tee shirts plastered with slogans, khaki shorts and sandals she was used to seeing. People walking along the promenade stared at her strangely. She looked down. Well, who wouldn’t? Though the vest covered her shirt and she had tucked her hair up, it was still obvious she was a woman. She had even stooped to borrowing a pair of ladies shoes set outside a door but regardless of how tight she laced them, they still made a clomping sound.

Jake had been right about the treatment of people on the lower decks. They had no shelter from the wind or sun. If they were sitting, it was on their own luggage, as there were no chairs or benches. There was the stench of unwashed bodies that even the river breeze couldn’t dissipate. More than once a gruff voice beckoned her with crude names, but she kept her eyes forward and didn’t acknowledge anyone until she moved beyond the ruffians to where there were more women. Children shifted restlessly near mothers, as there was no place to run and play. She tried to make conversation, but no one seemed inclined to talk, until she pulled out the apples.

“Would your little boy like an apple?” she asked the haggard looking woman trying to keep a hand on the boy while she held a tiny infant on her lap. Before she could decline, the boy snatched the apple from her and began eating.

“Mind your manners, Mathew,” his mother scolded.

“Thanky, ma'am.” The boy gave her a toothless grin.

“And give your sister a bite.” Another tow-headed youngster peeked from around her mother’s side. With a sigh, Mathew complied, keeping his fingers wrapped around the apple so she couldn’t get much of a taste.

Bri handed the little girl an apple of her own.

“That’s very kind of you, missy,” the woman said.

Bri shrugged. “They were in the cabin and I can’t eat them all and Jake doesn’t seem to…” She realized she was babbling.

The woman stiffened her spine. “You’re in a cabin up’bove?” She looked her up and down. “Don’t look like you belong in one of them.”

Bri flopped down cross-legged on the deck, trying to be less conspicuous. She knew she didn’t look like even the lowliest female traveler. She longed to confide in someone, but what could she say that wouldn’t make people look at her even more strangely. “Look, I don’t know for sure where I belong. It was raining, and suddenly I was in the river and—”

The woman gasped. “You’re that woman my Mathew told me about? Some man jumped in and pulled a body out, then gave Mathew a penny to follow him with the clothes up to a stateroom.” She scrunched her eyes at Bri. “Didn’t know it was a woman ‘til my boy came back. Said that man carried a body like it was light as a feather so he figured it had to be a woman.” She leaned closer. “’Sides, Mathew’s small enough he gets around this steamer like nobody notices him and he hears things.” She nodded sagely.

Bri hung her head. Is that why so many people were eyeing her strangely?

“Are you a kept woman?”

Bri was from the twentieth century but she knew what that meant. “No. I just have no place to go at the moment.”

“We’ll be reaching Gasconade before nightfall. You can get off there.”

And do what, Bri wondered? At the moment her only link to…herself, really, was the Arabia.

“I’d better go. Thank you for your time…” Again she was at a loss for names.

“Maggie Miller,” the woman said with a smile. “You know Mathew, and that’s his sister, Rebecca, and this is Sally.” She nodded to the infant. “We’re off to see their father in Omaha. He’s been gone nigh on eight months getting us a home ready.”

Bri felt sadness wash over her at the thought the Arabia would never reach Omaha. She stood, reminding herself that while she didn’t know her reasons for being here, she couldn’t tell this woman to get off and take the stage to Omaha. Not only would the woman not believe her without a reason, but Bri felt intuitively that she had better not interfere with history.

Chapter 3

I hate depending on anyone. I have been self-sufficient since my parents died. After all, the 1980’s is the age of the independent woman, but here, in this century, I have nothing. None of my studies in archeology prepared me to live in 1856, even if I have studied the culture and have a little knowledge of the artifacts of the time. That’s a hell of a lot different from actually having to use a chamber pot.

Jake Worth is another story. He’s very handsome, but he’s also the epitome of a selfish, self-centered, extremely egotistical, chauvinistic male. I don’t care if it is 1856, you would think he could have a little more consideration than to drag me across the lower deck…

“You gotta come quick, Mister.” The voice wafted through Jake’s subconscious, but the banging on his door brought him out of his dream.

He stumbled over to the door, unlocking it and looking back and forth before a tug on his trousers had him looking down. The young boy who had helped him with Brianna’s clothes bounced from foot to foot, his hands nervously wringing a cap.

“What is it, boy? I gave you a penny for your help the other day.”

“This ain’t got nothing to do with helping. Well, ‘cept you gotta help her. She’s in trouble. Don’t know the aft from the stern and she’s trying to get the steward to bring supper down to me maw on the deck. And she’s telling men they gotta give up their seats for the ladies.” He said the word like he wasn’t sure what it even meant, only that it was bad.

Jake grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and stomped into his boots. He didn’t bother to ask who the boy was talking about. Somehow he knew. Who did she think she was? She dressed inappropriately, used unlady like language, and in the extremely short time he had known her, she tempted him to strangle her. Now she was threatening a mutiny among men on the Arabia who were as rough and tumble as they came. He tucked his pistol into a pocket as a precaution.

He found her on the main deck, holding a wailing baby of all things and in the other hand she held a basket heaped with food. The obvious mother of a brood of children was trying to corral the youngsters. Jake narrowed his eyes as Brianna caught his gaze. He knew the basket of food wasn’t the kind the woman would have brought on board, so that only left one place to get it. Even as he absently wondered how large a bill he would have with the steamer’s dining establishment, Brianna cooed to the baby, who miraculously quieted.

“You’re an angel, Miss Brianna,” the mother said as her children finally sat around her and she handed each a chunk of bread. “I wasn’t able to get off at the last stop for fresh food.” She gave a helpless look at her brood.

Brianna continued to bounce the baby. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Miller. Just send Mathew up to the cabin if you need anything.”

Jake harrumphed loudly. “Excuse me?”

Brianna gave him a disbelieving look. “Well, you can’t have these children going hungry, now can you?” Her voice clearly held a challenge.

He answered in kind. “Then perhaps, Miss Brianna, you should look for employment hence with.” It was not his duty to provide sustenance to anyone but himself. He had long ago given up responsibility for others. Couldn’t she understand that?

“Come with me.” He waited, hands on hips, until she started toward him. “For the love of God, not with the child.” His patience, little that he possessed, ran out. As soon as she handed over the baby, he grabbed her arm to propel her toward the stairs. Male cheers wafted behind them.

“Let me go.” She wiggled and pulled, but he refused to release her until they were inside the cabin and the door was locked behind them.

“What is it you do not understand? You can’t go around feeding strangers or telling men to move from their seats.”

“Why not? The women traveling to meet their husbands have no one to look after them. At the moment they’re homeless, so I was just—”

“Homeless? What kind of word is that?”

Brianna’s eyes widened and she looked everywhere but at him. He had forced himself into a solitary existence when Jenny and their baby died, wanting nothing to do with civilization. But he didn’t think he had been so isolated that he couldn’t understand simple English. Yet this woman said things he didn’t comprehend, and did things no woman of the nineteenth century would do.

“Stay in this cabin. Do not venture forth to feed the multitudes. A woman traveling alone invites trouble.” He adjusted his tie and coat, determined to get away. She opened her mouth to speak, most probably to refute his orders. He held up a hand.

“As long as you reside in this cabin, you are…to listen to me.” He refrained from saying my responsibility. “If you would prefer to sit on a crate and have men ogle you below stairs, be my guest. But don’t expect me to have the steward bring you supper.”

He slammed out the door, but turned and, sliding his key in the lock, made sure she would stay put. Storming down the promenade, he went to the salon where there was male companionship. He understood their language, their behavior, and understood the game of poker. That was all he needed. As he dug in his pockets for his money, he revised that thought to include needing additional funds to pay off the debts that woman was accumulating. The woman for which he wanted no responsibility.

* * *

Jake stayed out until dawn, cleaning out the pockets of numerous affluent men who stayed on the hurricane deck. He seldom gambled on the State room deck. Although those passengers could afford a room, it was beyond their means to offer him much of a challenge in a poker game. And regardless of what he thought about the way he lived his life, he did find the game of poker somewhat challenging.

He tiredly rubbed his eyes as he made his way to his room, ever vigilant of those around him who might want to relieve him of his funds. He longed for a bath and his bed, but the minute he opened the door, he found the copper tub occupied.

She shrieked. He grimaced, then shook his head and shrugged.

“This is my cabin, and regardless of your discomfort, I have nowhere else to go at the moment and thought to rest.” He proceeded to recline in the only available armchair, which sat dangerously close to the copper tub in which the lady tried to hide her nakedness.

“Of all the arrogant…” She scoured him with a look, which he ignored. What was it about her that made his heart beat faster and his insides ache? It threw him off balance, something he hated above all else. Nothing had done that to him in two years, and it took all his control to act as though her nakedness didn’t bother him.

He stretched his long legs towards her bath, trying to get comfortable in the chair. The soapy bathwater couldn’t wash away the memory of her long legs as he had examined her that first day.

That was purely to ascertain her injuries, he reminded himself, but he wasn’t a doctor anymore.

She gave a sigh and tried to inconspicuously wash. He closed his eyes and tried to appear he was napping. She tipped her head back to wet her hair.

Jake sucked in a silent breath as Brianna ducked her head beneath the water, which thrust her breasts up into the cooler air of the cabin, making her nipples pucker. If she knew he was spying on her, she would unleash that caustic tongue and flay him to pieces. But in his role as gambler, he had gotten quite adapt at concealing his emotions and his face never gave anything away. So he sat, still as a church mouse with his eyes mere slits, and observed her in her bath.

She really was exquisite. Her mane of blonde hair hung down around her shoulders, which were creamy and smooth. She lifted one long leg to wash, then the other. He watched the lithe movement of her arms, which were muscular yet feminine. She shot a quick glance his way before sitting up straighter to wash her breasts, which were full and heavy, more than a handful. This time he groaned out loud and the next instant a wet rag smacked him in the chest, the water instantly soaking his shirt front. He peeled it off with thumb and forefinger, dropping it back into the tub where she sat, knees tucked against her chest, trying to hide her charms. He leaned close and her eyes widened.

“You have exactly ten minutes to get out of that tub and get some clothes on.” His body ached and he knew he had to get out of the cabin. “Or else.”

He turned to leave, thankful that she hadn’t asked, “Or else what?”

****

To read this time travel in its entirety, visit https://books2read.com/Hold-on-to-the-Past to purchase your copy today.

Best to you,

Barbara Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin