"Yep, and I'm hungry.” She got to her feet, brushing dried grass from her legs and shorts. Connie looked around one last time before starting down the grade.
"Let's go put this stuff in the car and find a good place to picnic.” Brian picked up his camera bag and waited for Connie.
Making sure she hadn't left any of her charcoal sticks or trash Connie moved to Brian's side. “How about somewhere near the river? And on the way I'll tell you what happened while you were napping."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Nineteen
It was almost three when Connie and Brian stepped through the front door into the cool house. Summer wasn't far away. The temperature had climbed into the high eighties.
Someone was singing with a radio. It was coming from the end of the hall, the kitchen. Either Betty or Val was working on supper preparations.
"Think we can get a soda?” Connie looked into the dining room, it was empty and the sideboard was cleared.
"I'll go see if I can scrounge some up. You go on up.” Brian walked toward the music.
Cool air started to drift into her stuffy room when Connie turned on the air conditioner fan.
Why didn't Victoria come to her in this time? Why did she have to take all the risks?
What makes it happen? What's the conductor? Joe has his belt buckle. Could it be the journal? Connie rubbed the rough cover gently with her fingertips. No, she'd ruled that out. How could that be? She had seen strange things on the way into town, before she knew about the book, or Victoria. If she could find whatever it was that was tying her to the nineteenth century, maybe she could control the trips.
Walking to the window she watched the tourists. How happy they looked, enjoying the company of their families while they learn their history. She too dug in the past, looking for ... what?
Lifting her hand to her mouth, Connie started to bite nervously at her thumb. She stopped, and looked at the trim nail. An old habit, it had been one of the few sore spots between herself and her mother. Many times her mother had pleaded, begged and even threatened her in her efforts to stop the destruction. Not until Connie found solace in the study of history did she abandon nail biting.
She closed her eyes. The edge of the cut-away bank, her foot raised to step off into space—what if Brian hadn't been there? What kept her from staying in the past? How did she trip in the first place? It all came back to finding what the conductor was. Without it she was helpless when she tripped, unable to project herself back to the present, to break the connection. The past drew her, she wanted to go, but she wanted to know that she would come back and not be in danger. Her fingers twisted the small ring on her little finger, another nervous habit, this one new and less destructive.
There was a noise in the hall. “Connie, can you get the door, my hands are full,” Brian called softly.
Connie hurried to let him in.
* * * *
Carrying a tray containing ice filled glasses and frosty cans of soda, Brian walked quickly to the small lamp table. “I brought a cola and an orange. I didn't know what you would want."
"I'll drink the orange.” Connie poured the drink and sat on the sofa.
"Are you really all right?” Brian filled the second glass of ice with the dark liquid. He looked into her eyes. “I'm afraid for you.” No, that's not strong enough. I'm scared to death that something is going to happen and I won't be able to stop it. Frustrated by the shake of her head, Brian wanted to shout at her. I don't want to lose you. Let me take you away. But he was silent.
"I'm okay. For now anyway. We know a lot more about what's going on than we did yesterday. If we can figure out what connection I have with Victoria, maybe we can figure out what the conductor is and I will have more control over these trips."
Connie set her glass on the small table, putting a napkin under it to soak up the condensation. Crossing her arms, she walked to the window. “Going back and forth isn't too bad, just a little confusing. I'm afraid—but I'm curious, too. There's a lot of questions I want answered. The first one is, has this become my world?” She stood staring out at the window. “Will I keep bouncing back and forth in time? Will I get stuck in the past? Maybe I won't want to come back to the present? I don't know."
Brian moved to stand behind her.
She continued, “I haven't told you everything. When I look out this window I see three homes across the street, not two. I can see the pile of ashes and bricks that were left when the one on the corner was burnt down by looters during the days before the Battle of Fredericksburg. The house next door was damaged, saved only by the rains. I see the streets being overrun by soldiers, not bad men, but the enemy. When I come into this house, I can see bullet holes in the front door. Sometimes I can smell traces of animals inside the house, I don't know why. I can't ask Victoria, not yet, because whatever it was hasn't happened in her world. When it does, then I will know. I told you about the damage in the back of the house. At night when it's quiet, I sometimes wake to the voices of many men talking, sometimes laughing downstairs. I saw the red door with the black iron hinges at the Blackstone. Inside, I saw a passageway that isn't there anymore. I touched the wet ink in the church log. Brian, I have seen houses where they once stood and dirt roads where there are long established housing developments.” Connie turned to face him. “My God, I stood on a stone dock, and talked to a girl who was only seventeen when the Civil War started, and only fourteen when I was talking to her. The stench of spent gunpowder is everywhere, I hardly notice it anymore.
"I'm afraid, scared to death, but I have to know why this is happening. I have to know why Victoria isn't buried here, but Evan is, next to Annabelle Brewster. What about the thing in me that seems to reach out to Victoria? What's the connection there? I'm afraid, but the biggest fear I have is that if I don't find the answers—I don't think I can live the rest of my life like this.” Connie looked at Brian. “I know it's dangerous, and damned scary, but I have to find out why I'm pulled to the past or I'll never be able to live in the present."
"You may be right.” Brian put his hands on her shoulders. “We'll do it together. Try not to worry. We've made a pretty fair team so far, haven't we?
Brian felt her relax, just a little.
"Have I thanked you for stopping me at the cemetery yet?” Connie put her hands over his and lowered them.
"I'm glad I was there to help."
They looked into each other's eyes. For several seconds neither spoke.
Brian finally broke the silence. “I think you need a break. How about tomorrow we go the Chatham? It's across the river and was a private estate before the Civil War. With any kind of luck Victoria never went near the place and we can just be tourists."
"You're right. Chatham sounds like a good idea. I understand there's a great view of Fredericksburg from there. I need a good picture for my article."
Leading her to the sofa, Brian sat next to Connie. They sipped sodas and talked about the next day's trip, until Brian was sure that Connie's fears were at least temporarily put at bay. He drained the last few swallows in his glass and watched as Connie did the same.
"I'll take these cans downstairs. Do you want anything else? Another soda? A snack?” Brian picked up Connie's empty can and went to the hall door.
"No, I have some work to do before supper, I better get to it.” She walked with him to the door, stopping to pull the stone rubbings from her bag.
"Okay, I have to take film for developing so I'll be gone for a while. Will you be all right? I can wait and drop it off tomorrow.” Brian stood with one hand on the doorknob and the other holding the tray with the empty glasses and soda cans. More than anything he wanted Connie to ask him to wait until tomorrow. He wanted to sit with her and hold her hand, touch her face...
"I won't be going anywhere. I'll see you at supper.” Connie smiled.
Reluctantly he closed the door, silently promising to be back as soon as he could.
* * * *
; As the door closed softly, Connie could still feel Brian's presence, the comfort and security it brought. Don't be too long. Why hadn't she asked him to wait?
Impatient with her growing dependence on Brian, Connie turned to the rolls of paper. Kneeling on the floor, she smoothed them out one at a time. Soon she was lost in her work. She separated the rubbings into groups, putting the Brentwell family in one, the soldiers and Harvey in a second and the other assorted names from the era, including the Brewsters in the last.
The Brentwells were all there, father, mother, son and family, infant daughter, but no Victoria. What happened to Victoria? She must have married someone else and moved away. That would explain the missing grave. She didn't die during the war. She had gone to her father's grave.
A remembered vision of Victoria dressed as a Confederate soldier at the Blackstone Pub stilled Connie's hand. What was she doing there? No one questioned her presence or stopped her from going into the back room. Was Victoria part of the Westerlys’ clandestine activities? Perhaps she shamed her family and was disowned or worse.
"Victoria, what were you up to? It was after the war had started, but how long after? The soldiers were excited, and happy. Had they won a battle? The first Battle of Fredericksburg?"
Standing, Connie went to the wardrobe. She took the cracked leather volume from its hiding place. Would there be answers in the small book? There was only one way to find out.
Connie sat on the bed and opened the book.
15 November 1859
Did you see him? I saw you watching from the top of the hill. He is so handsome and mature. Evan is 33 and never wed. His search for a wife was put aside while he read the law. He has mutton-chops, great and bushy. He talks of growing a mustache, but thinks a beard not suitable. With or without it he is grand.
We will be married July 8. Mama and I have been preparing the dowry chest.
"Yes, I saw him.” Connie's brow furrowed as she looked down at the charcoal rubbing of Evan Brewster's tombstone, the corner of Annabelle Brewster's was visible at its edge.
Evan and Papa talk over their brandy and cigars in the parlor every Sunday afternoon. They talk of the politicians in Washington, and the price of crops, and livestock. They find little to agree on, but much to discuss. And at the end of his stay, Evan seeks me out and we walk together to his buggy.
Evan. Evan. Evan. I love the sound of his name. I love to write it. Evan, so strong and solid. I will dream of him.
20 November 1859
I wish to talk to you, Kone. Why is this happening to us? I want to know where you come from. What strange time? I feel it is so, but how can this be? I wish you were here to answer my questions. How is it you are reading my words? How is it that I believe you are reading my words?
I feel melancholy today. What shall I do? It pleases me to kiss Evan, to feel his arms around me, to have him touch my face, my neck. Is this wrong, Kone? Am I a shameless hussy?
I have talked to Mama, but she tells me only that I must please myself.
Why do I have such desires if it is wrong to enjoy them? To want more?
I would die before speaking with Papa of such things. And Pastor Brickton would condemn me to damnation for my thoughts. Annabelle is happy for me, but sad for herself, she still pines for Evan. Even though she would never say the words to me, I can see the pain in her eyes when I talk of him. You are my only confidant. Think of me.
23 January 1860
We had dinner at Judge Anderson's on Christmas Eve. A week later we attended a performance by a traveling singing troupe. Next week we will see a play, every presentation has been sold out, but Evan knows one of the actors and was able to obtain tickets and an invitation to the cast party afterward.
Yesterday, we went for a walk. It was snowing on top of the layers that already cover the roads and ground. We came upon some children sliding down a hill in a field. They were riding in a tin tub and a door taken from some shed or perhaps an outbuilding. Seeing my delight, Evan asked one of the boys if we could take a turn. We sat in the center of the door being guided by one of the older children. The rushing air tore at my bonnet and made my face flush. I screamed and laughed in turn. It was such great fun.
Connie smiled. What would her soul mate from the past think of the modern day roller coaster?
2 February 1860
The play was fine entertainment. I laughed until tears streaked my face. Evan has a good laugh, so deep and manly.
The entries through the spring listed events the couple attended together. Connie skimmed over them looking for changes in the wedding plans.
21 April 1860
Have you carnivals in your time? Games of chance, tents with the freaks of the world, fortune tellers, inspiring music, and wonderful shows of magic. Evan dared me to have my fortune read. A very old woman wearing colorful flowing robes and many strings of beads sat at a small table. I sat across from her as she looked into a glass ball and chanted while her hand circled slowly over the table. She told me of travel, a husband, and many children. I thought it a very pleasant game and turned to say as much to Evan, when she asked me a question. ‘Do you know the name Kone?’ My heart stopped. I looked at her in wonder. I shook my head for I could not speak. The game was no longer a game.
Connie reread the passage several times before continuing.
12 May 1860
Evan wants to introduce me to his friends in Washington. Lacy will go as my companion, to guard my reputation. Dinner with a senator and his wife, friends of Evan's father is planned. His name is Jefferson Davis, and he is from Mississippi and a very powerful man. While Evan takes care of some business, Lacy and I will be escorted to the shops where the fine ladies of the government purchase their dresses and bonnets. I have heard these shops that sell ready-made clothes. I will buy Mama a bonnet to wear to church.
28 May 1860
We leave tomorrow. My trunk has been packed for several days. A wagon will take us to the train. We will return in five days time.
7 June 1860
Washington is grand. We saw the great halls were the government meet. All the fine gentlemen and their ladies. The women wear dresses of the best fabric and make. Evan gave Lacy instructions to see that I purchased a new gown. I selected a royal blue, the bodice more revealing than Mama would allow. I feel a woman in it. I believe it took Evan's breath away when he saw me. He was pleased. I wore the new gown when Evan took me to see a play at the Ford Theater. Can any other city be so perfect?
23 June 1860
We have started preparing the wedding food. Elsie and Henry Brewster will come from Richmond. They will arrive on the first and stay in the home Evan has built for us, until the marriage. They will return to Richmond after the service. Mama and Lacy are preparing a party to welcome them. I will wear the royal blue dress. Papa is looking forward to seeing Mr. Brewster again, why I cannot imagine, they seemed to always argue.
Connie tried to understand. If the wedding came off as planned and Victoria left later, how could Evan remarry? Divorce was rare, but not unheard of. The reason for it had to powerful. She turned the page and read on.
2 July 1860
After the party Evan took me to the sitting room, away from the remaining guests. He kissed me tenderly; his lips set me on fire. His arms wrapped around me and drew me into his embrace. I was lost in him, my head spun. I breathed in the familiar scents. I never wanted to let him go. I could feel him quiver as he groaned into my hair. I wanted him to kiss me again. I wanted to feel the warmth of his breath in my mouth. Slowly he released me leaned down and to my disappointment, kissed my forehead. He said, ‘I must go for your good and my own.’ It is less than a week till we marry. I will count each day.
Connie marked her place and stood to stretch her legs.
In the nineteenth century, a wedding was a major social event. Food preparation alone took weeks. The bride's wedding dress had to be prepared. She usually wore a favorite gown that she might bleach white, and add lace and r
ibbon. If she didn't want the dress to be bleached she could add a white wedding hat with lace to match the dress.
"Kone, you have come.” Victoria sat in the armchair with a sewing basket on the floor and a pile of white material on her lap.
"It would seem I have.” Connie had been so deep in thought that she hadn't noticed the mist.
"I am sewing ribbon to my wedding dress.” She stood and held up the white gown, shaking out the folds. Pink and white bows trimmed the cuffs of the puffy sleeves and the low cut bodice.
"It's beautiful, Victoria, and you will be a beautiful bride.” Connie tried not to show her doubts.
"Our vows will be spoken in the parlor. Will you try to be with me on that day?"
Connie looked at the younger woman's anxious face. “You don't really know me. Why...?"
Victoria stood and put the dress on the chair before answering Connie. “This is only the fourth time I have seen you, and only the third that I have spoken to you, yet I have never felt a kinship such as ours except with my mother. I have written many letters to you in my journal. I only regret that you cannot answer them. You are a friend. A special friend and I would like to have you near on the happiest day of my life."
Connie felt tears of frustration well up. “I will try, but I have no control over when I come to you."
"But you will try. I will watch for you. We will say our wedding vows in the afternoon. Will you stand up with me?” Stopping Connie's obvious objection with a wave of her hand, Victoria finished. “Elizabeth Ann and Maxi will witness our marriage. I want you to be next to me. It will make me happy to have you close, and no one else will know."
Finding it hard to talk, Connie nodded. “I'll really try to be here,” she choked out the words. She didn't know how, but she would try.
As the mist began to thicken, Connie held up her hand. “I'm leaving, Victoria. If I miss the ceremony, please know that I wish you happiness and good fortune."
Connie swayed, reaching for support as the room spun around her. Her hand found one of the canopy columns.
Lost in the Mist Page 15
