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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
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