The Bride Found

by Piper Davenport

  “How was your trip?” Sophie hugged Christine.

  “It was perfect.”

  “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Not long,” Stephen said.

  “Have you been shopping?” Christine asked.

  “Yes, but we couldn’t do anymore,” Emma said. “Too hot.”

  “Yes, it’s unbelievably warm.” Christine fluttered her fan. “Today is a real Indian summer day, isn’t it?”

  “Perfect day for Lincoln’s speech,” Sophie said.

  Jamie arrived a few minutes later and mapped out how the day would go. They sat down for lunch and waited for Clayton and Christopher to join them.

  “Were they planning on arriving today?” Sophie quipped. “I’m starving.”

  Jamie squeezed Sophie’s hand. “They’ll be here any minute, but you should eat something now. I’ll get you some bread.”

  Sophie nodded her head and Jamie went off to find her something to snack on.

  “I wish I had a camera,” Sophie whispered to Emma.

  “I have mine, and I’m going to try and use it inconspicuously. I’m hoping no one will see it and freak out.”

  “Yes, we need Hannah right now with some of her spy gadgets.”

  “So true,” Emma said a little sadly.

  “You miss her, don’t you?”

  “Yeah I do. I miss dancing with her.”

  “You should dance some more, Em. Keep yourself limber and strong.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Christopher and Clayton walked into the dining room at that moment and made their way to the table. Clayton leaned down to give Emma a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “How is everything going?”

  “Better than expected. We have scouted a little place at the cemetery that will be a perfect view. We’ll make our way over to it as soon as we’re done eating.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Jamie returned with some warm bread for Sophie. They ordered their food and ate quickly, then the group left the hotel and made their way to the cemetery.

  “I’m so excited.” Sophie grabbed Jamie’s hand.

  “This is pretty incredible.” Jamie raised her hand for a kiss.

  Clayton led them over to the spot he’d reserved for them and Emma grinned at her sister. They had a perfect view.

  “Will this work?” Clayton asked.

  “It’s better than we could have expected,” Sophie said. “Thank you.”

  Clayton kissed Emma quickly and then he and Christopher went back to work. The area was getting crowded and both Emma and Sophie were once again thankful for the prime spot Clayton had found them.

  “What happens now?” Emma whispered.

  “Edward Everett will speak first.”

  “Is he any good?”

  “Reports indicate that he’s going to speak for a long time,” Sophie whispered.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “He’s not so bad, apparently. Just long winded.” Sophie giggled.

  At two-thirty, Clayton returned. He took his place next to Emma and then finally it was three o’clock and Emma grinned as Sophie’s hero stood to speak. Emma reached over and took her hand. Tears fell slowly down Sophie’s face and Emma smiled at her again. She then looked at Clayton and he put his arm around her waist.

  She thought about this incredible life and didn’t bother to question it anymore. She had her sister back and was spending her life with the man of her dreams.

  “I’m glad I found you,” Clayton whispered.

  “Me too. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, sweet.”

  “Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

  Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

  But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate - we cannot consecrate - we cannot hallow – this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

  Copyright ©2017 Piper Davenport

  18+ for language and sexual situations…

  Hannah Nelson, a native New Zealander, has been accepted to DePaul University in Chicago. She had been living in Portland, Oregon for several years, and is relieved to be away from the questions surrounding the sudden disappearance of her close friend, Emma. While at her dance studio, housed in an historic building in downtown Chicago, she is drawn to a painting of a handsome man from 1865, and as she looks into his emerald green eyes, her world goes black.

  Christopher Butler is in Lincoln's War Cabinet and working with his close friend, Clayton Madden to keep the President safe. Upon returning from Lincoln's historic Gettysburg Address, he hears a strange noise in his barn, and enters to find a beautiful woman unconscious on the straw strewn floor. He realizes quickly she is the key to his sanity and he will never let her go.

  As Hannah navigates her new world and comes to terms with the fact she has been transported back in time, will she allow Christopher to love her?

  Will she find answers about what happened to Emma in her own circumstances, and will she find out if her presence in the past will help the state of the future?

  Chicago, Illinois

  October 2008

  HANNAH NELSON STOOD with her hands on her hips and stared at the tornado she’d created. Her best friend, Emma Wellington, had disappeared several months ago from her home in Portland, Oregon. Thousands of miles away and anxious to help, Hannah’s half of the tiny dorm room at DePaul University was covered with newspaper clippings, printouts of email blogs, and anything else that might be a clue.

  The other half of the room belonged to her roommate, Victoria Carrington. Hannah sighed as she took in Victoria’s neatly made bed, ridiculously organized desktop, and bookshelves that would make a librarian squeal in glee. Victoria even had organized bins under her bed.

  Hannah, on the other hand, avoided looking under hers, convinced she’d find half a dozen missing socks, a dust bunny with fangs, and perhaps even a leprechaun. And not the cute one from the cereal box. More than likely the one from the bad B movie. The tinkle of the phone aided her procrastination. Half frustrated, half thankful, she answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey.”

  “Hi, Mum. How are you?” Shouts sounded in the background. “Where are you?”

  “We’re at home—and good. Mitch has a few mates over, so it’s a bit loud at the moment.”

  “Ah, that’d be it.” Hannah’s mind flashed to her childhood home in Murrays Bay, New Zealand. Memories of black and white sand between her toes and the warm ocean that never seemed to end made her smile.

  “I can’t talk long. Dad and I are off to Rotorua for a week, but you can ring us on our mobiles if you need us.”

  “Ta. I’m going to have my head buried in a case study, so I’m not sure if I’ll leave my room much over the next week. I might try and drag Victoria out for some sightseeing this weekend.”

  “Good on ya. You are being carefu
l, aren’t you?”

  “Mum.” Hannah sighed. Overprotective didn’t even begin to describe her Irish mother. “I’m fine.”

  “I know I’m nagging, darling, but with the disappearances of your friends, I’m a wee bit on the concerned side.”

  “In Portland, Mum. I’m in Chicago. I highly doubt the same thing will happen. Besides, I’m surrounded by people all the time. If the same thing were going to happen here, it would have already. To someone else.” She heard her mother’s groan on the other end of the line. “Seriously. I’m fine.”

  “All right, lovey. I’ll drop the subject—for now.” Her mother’s Irish accent seemed heavier today, indicating her stress, so Hannah knew the subject wouldn’t stay dropped for long.

  “Ta.” Hannah sat at her desk and powered up her laptop.

  “I’ll give you a ring when dad and I get back.”

  “Love you, Mum.”

  “Love you too, darling. ’Bye.”

  “Kiss Dad for me.” Hanging up the phone, Hannah found a note from her roommate and read it distractedly as she waited for her email to load. She heard the scratch of a key in the lock and turned to see Victoria walk through the door. She waved Victoria’s note in the air. “I thought you were at the studio.”

  Victoria sighed. “No, the family moved their appointment. The baby was too cranky for photos.” Dumping her bag on her bed, she sat cross-legged to face Hannah. “I’ve got an hour before I need to be back there. I have that stupid paper to finish.” Her focus landed on Hannah’s evidence wall. “Any word on Emma?”

  “Nothing.” Hannah frowned at the wall and then turned back to Victoria. “It’s all so bloody frustrating.”

  Victoria smiled gently and then stood. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No, but thanks.”

  “Have you been watching the news?”

  Hannah sighed. “Are you referring to the fight for the senate in Washington?”

  Victoria nodded. “Yes. That Victor Cary fellow is nasty. He’s doing some underhanded things to help his uncle.”

  “I did read that on my news page. He’s an ugly, ugly man, too.”

  Victoria wrinkled her nose. “Ew, I know. He’s the perfect henchman.”

  Hannah shrugged. “Well, I don’t care that much about politics. They can all kill each other for all I care.”

  Victoria rifled through her bag. “Their reach is pretty long, though,” she said distractedly.

  “Good thing we’re in Chicago, then, eh?”

  Victoria smiled. “Well, I’m going to take a shower, I think, before I go to the studio.”

  “What about your paper?”

  Victoria raised an eyebrow at her.

  Hannah giggled. “Procrastinating today, eh?”

  Victoria put her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell.”

  Reading her email as Victoria gathered her clothes and made her way into the bathroom, Hannah did another search for any possible news updates on the string of disappearances in Portland. Emma wasn’t the only one who’d vanished from that house. A medical student back in 1997 was the first, followed by Emma’s remaining family. Her sister, Sophie, and brother-in-law, Jamie.

  Hannah let out a snort of derision at the lack of information. Apparently, enough time had passed that the media no longer cared. Finished with her stack of emails, including one that promised a larger penis, Hannah flopped on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Exhaustion blurred her vision, and she rubbed her gritty eyes.

  Once again subjected to a sleepless night, she took a deep breath. Ever since Emma’s disappearance, her dreams were plagued with nightmares. What confused her was the fact that the dreams weren’t specifically about Emma. Hannah searched her mind over and over trying to discern the threat, but she was at a loss and would wake with a scream most nights.

  Poor Victoria.

  Hannah knew she woke her roommate more often than not. She desperately wished she could get a handle on her nightmares, and it was those nights when she needed Em the most. The pain ripped through her like salt in an open wound.

  Frustrated and amped up, she knew she needed to blow off steam. The dance studio might be her only option, even without Emma to push her. Jumping off the bed, she looked around the room and then picked up her dance bag. She threw in a couple of practice leotards, her ballet slippers, and a change of clothes. She’d do some toe work today. She’d concentrated on lyrical over the last few months and neglected her ballet training.

  As she threw her phone and iPod in her bag, she hoped the music from her favorite band would take her mind off things. Just as she zipped her bag closed, Victoria surfaced from the bathroom. Hannah giggled and waved her hand to clear away the vapor that followed Victoria into the room. “Short shower today?”

  “What ev!” Victoria retorted. “I still have to do that paper, so lingering isn’t an option.”

  “Why did you wait so long, lovey?”

  “As daddy says, ‘If it weren't for the last minute, I’d get nothin’ done.’ ”

  Victoria, the only daughter of a wealthy Kentucky surgeon and a socialite mother, had sayings that were often as funny as Hannah’s “kiwi-isms.”

  “Love it. Well, I’m off to dance and then I have a job tonight.”

  Victoria’s eyebrows puckered. “Why do you have to do your spy thing at night?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Because it’s a cheating case and the wife’s out of town. The creep likes to frequent a particular bar, so I’m bait.”

  “You say that as though you’re going to a job interview.” Victoria crossed her arms. “This is dangerous, HoBo.”

  Victoria earned her nickname one night when Hannah found out what her middle name was. With a fancy name like Carrington, Hannah couldn’t believe Victoria’s parents had named her Victoria Jo. When a rap song came on the radio and Victoria started rapping to it, it was too much for Hannah. She dissolved into uncontrollable laughter and decided Victoria needed a rapper’s name, so “Lil’ JoBo” was born. Of course Victoria retaliated, and Hannah became “HoBo.”

  Victoria’s use of the nickname made Hannah giggle. “It’s not dangerous, JoBo. Havoc will be with me.”

  Johnny Havoc was really Johnny Smith, but when he opened his private investigation business, he thought he should have a “tough” name, so he called himself “Havoc,” and it stuck.

  Victoria snorted. “Havoc… what a stupid nickname.”

  Hannah laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

  “Sounds good.” Victoria bent her head. “Are you wearing shoes?”

  Hannah lifted a foot. “Yes, Mum, I’m wearing my shoes. Of course, my mum never cared if I wore shoes, but you Americans are so picky about that!”

  “Might I remind you that you’re an American now, or are they revoking your citizenship so soon?”

  Hannah giggled. “Funny.”

  “You can take the girl out of New Zealand, but…”

  “Oh, you’re hilarious.” Hannah smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

  Hannah walked out the door and down the dorm hallway, dragging her bag and outerwear with her. She was always reluctant to wear her heavy down jacket. Although warm and appropriate for Chicago in the winter, it stifled her. Not only did she avoid wearing shoes, she avoided wearing anything that meant it wasn’t summer anymore.

  Dragging open the door to the building, she was hit with a burst of frigid air. With an expletive that would have made her mother blush, she jumped back inside the building.

  “G’day.”

  Hannah turned to see her Australian friend Kevin walking down the hall toward her. She grinned. “Hi. Visiting Jen?”

  Tall and slender, Kevin had blond shaggy hair and light blue eyes. His accent only added to his appeal to the college girls, but much to their disappointment, he was a one-woman man.

  “Yeah.” Kevin chuckled. “Avoiding your clothing?”

  “Dag.” Hannah held her backpack out to him. “Hold th
is for a tic, would you?”

  He took the bag and Hannah pulled on her coat, the rustle of the waterproof material loud in the echoing hallway. “When’s it going to be summer again?”

  “Jen just asked the same question. Where are you off to?” Kevin handed the bag back to her and she swung it over her shoulder.

  “The studio. Do you think we can get together later to go over that case study?”

  Kevin held the door open for her, and she pulled her scarf up to her face.

  He smiled. “Yeah, no worries. Maybe around six?”

  Hannah nodded. “Ta. I’ll see you later.”

  With a wave, Kevin took off toward his dorm, and Hannah made her way to her car. The studio, located in a historic, but slightly rundown area of Chicago, was built in the early 1800s. To this day, it smelled of history and stale cigar smoke, which Hannah found oddly pleasing. Plus, she adored the architecture.

  Letting herself into the building, she was struck with an eerie feeling that made her pause. The building, usually alive with noise, was quiet. A chill raced over her. She made her way down the hall to her studio and slipped the key into the lock. An unfamiliar noise came from the stairwell and made her pause again. It sounded like gears grinding on a car. Leaning back slightly, she heard it again.

  While most people would have followed their instincts and run like hell, the forensic side of Hannah’s brain kicked into gear. Removing her keys from the studio door, she made her way down the hall, opened the stairwell door, poked her head in, and called out, “Hello? Is anyone there?” Nothing. She moved farther into the small area and the door closed behind her. And locked.

  “Dang it! Hello? Can anyone hear me?” She jiggled the doorknob and pounded on the door, but no one came to her aid. “Well, you’ve gone and done it now, Han. Bugger!”

  Going down, to the basement was entirely too creepy—even for Hannah, so she made her way up the stairs and found another door at the top. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked.

  “Thank you, God.” Moving slowly over the threshold, Hannah stared at the scene before her. Instead of the storeroom she expected, full of dusty boxes and rickety metal shelves, she found herself in a perfect replica of a Victorian parlor.