The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1

by Pamela DuMond

  I started shaking again. “Where am I?”

  “All will be fine.” She held the cup next to my lips. “Drink.”

  I did. Almost immediately I felt relaxed, calmer. I wondered where all those birds were going, and I remembered the beautiful, young man dressed in animal skins, with long black hair that curled around his shoulders.

  My body felt tingly, my brain a little fuzzy. I swear I saw Mama standing behind Elizabeth. She regarded me with a flash of excitement in her clear eyes. She held up something small that was overall dull, but still had a hint of a sparkle. I couldn’t make out what it was.

  But Mama was so excited and said, ”Look Madeline! It’s an important piece of our puzzle. I think I found the place where this puzzle piece fits just perfectly.” She laughed and grabbed my six-year-old hands. We giggled and twirled in circles in the center of a green, grassy field filled with wild flowers.

  Chapter 7

  When I woke, Mama was gone. I was lying on some kind of mat on a wooden floor next to a big, stone fireplace in a dark room lit only by fat, drippy candles. There were logs stacked in bundles nearby, leaning against a rough wall.

  I was covered in blankets and sweating buckets. A thick, cloth bandage covered the gash on my forehead and poked down toward my right eye.

  I blinked, wiggled my hand out from the cocoon of blankets, snagged the annoying bandage, and pushed it away so I could see more clearly—another whacked dream?

  “Abigail. You are awake.” Elizabeth, my savior, leaned over and regarded me, worried.

  Nah, this wasn’t another dream, just a continuation of my previous nightmare.

  She placed one finger firmly on my bandage. “Do not fuss with your dressing,” she said. “You have a deep cut and a hard blow to your skull. Doctor Thorpe is away, and we had to dress your wound the best we knew how.”

  “Thank you.” I could barely get the words out, as my mouth felt like I’d been chewing sand. “Could I have something to drink, please?” Maybe electrolyte water and a juice smoothie followed with a double shot of mocha espresso, as I’d love a little energy right now.

  She nodded and reached behind her. “Doctor Thorpe accompanies our brave men and the other troops, as the war has moved down the coast, as well as inland.” She bit her lip.

  Apparently my ongoing nightmare included me being injured in a war. (Note to self: turn off The History Channel an hour before going to bed.)

  “We are short-handed, but we will make do. Sit up. You are sweating out your wound, and you need to drink.”

  I nodded, propped my free hand behind me and tried to push myself to a seated position. She put her arm around my shoulders, helped lift me to sitting and put a metallic cup to my lips. I downed the cool water in seconds.

  “You must be starving.” She stuck a bowl of what looked and smelled like cheap, canned, dog food in front of me. “Eat.”

  My nose crinkled and I shook my head. “No. I can’t eat that.”

  She frowned, but placed the bowl behind her. “Very well. You will eat when you are hungry. When Tobias told us about the attack, everyone prayed for your immortal soul. But only Angeni took my hand and made me visualize you, alive, healthy and happy in this life. She told me I must go and find you.” Elizabeth poured me another cup of water.

  “Mmm.” I gulped it and emptied the cup. “More?”

  She shook her head and took the cup away. “No, everything in moderation. Now you must rest.” She pressed the bandage firmly on my head. I winced. “No fidgeting. You need to heal.”

  Healing sounded great. What sounded even better would be waking up in my bed, feeling the rumble of the L train clattering down the street outside my bedroom window and hearing my dad holler, “Rise and shine, girls!” I needed to be at home. Not wherever this dream had taken me.

  So I decided to use the trick I reserved for the times my dreams got too bizarre: I chose to wake up now. The quickest way to do this was to thank the key players in my dream to their face. I’d wish them my very best and say goodbye. Then, voilà! I’d wake up to my real nightmare, which was my actual life in Chicago.

  “Elizabeth,” I clasped this woman’s hand with my free hand, and gazed up at her.

  “Yes, Abigail.” She smiled. “I swear your hand feels cooler already. You are healing, I know it.”

  This woman was far too helpful and kind, which was not helping me get rid of her. “Thank you for rescuing me, Elizabeth. You put yourself in danger. You were brave and strong,” I said. “I can’t repay you, but I’ll always remember you.” Bit of a lie; I usually didn’t remember the people in my dreams. But it sounded more polite, which was a nice way to say goodbye to imaginary people.

  “That is a lovely sentiment. Now lay back down.” She helped lower me to the mat on the floor. I lay flat, as she tucked me in tightly with the blankets next to the warm fireplace. The gash on my forehead burned like angry wasps had stung it.

  This was the perfect time to go back to my real life. I was already sleepy. My eyelids started to close when that beautiful young man’s face popped into my brain, and startled me. He was like a puzzle piece. I wanted to know more about him. Did he fit in my life?

  No! I was having a ridiculous fantasy, and it was time for this dream to end. I bit my lip. “I have to be honest with you.”

  “Tomorrow. The medicinals in your water will help you sleep soundly,” she replied. “May your dreams be pious. I expect to see you nearly recovered by the morning.”

  Medicinals? Was she drugging me? Is that why I felt so woozy? These feelings didn’t fit a normal, dream sequence. Usually I could break out of a dream quickly. But here I felt slow—like I was trying to jog through mud. But, I had to say it.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, Abigail.”

  “Stop calling me Abigail. My name is Madeline Blackford. I’ve never met you before today, and I don’t have a clue who you are.”

  Her eyebrows pinched together. “You have been through an ordeal.” Elizabeth patted my shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Abigail,” she said and walked away.

  Chapter 8

  I woke, opened my eyes and blasts of sunshine poked through skinny clouds in blue skies overhead. Nightmare over, mission accomplished! It looked like a decent fall day in Chicago streaming through my bedroom skylight before the weather got awful. Bonus: it was the weekend.

  I’d hit a yoga class with Chaka. Maybe afterwards we’d grab Aaron and drop by some gallery openings in River North. Yummy. That’s when I heard a horse whinny, and saw a chubby guy dressed in baggy capris lead that horse past me.

  This was not good. “Help!” I said. The chubby guy didn’t even look up. The horse turned and looked me square in the eyes. I flinched, lifted my head, and realized I was being carried down a skinny, dirt path on a rickety stretcher.

  They lugged me past a line of decrepit, tiny, wooden buildings in a hick settlement worse than any Little House on the Prairie cable re-run I’d ever seen.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. “Will this flippin’ dream never end?”

  Elizabeth walked next to my stretcher, her lips pursed like she was an angry version of Mary Poppins. That is if Mary were seven months pregnant. Funny I hadn’t noticed that ’til now.

  Now, I noticed everything. Elizabeth’s hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and the top of her head was covered with one of those white, doily cloths. Her face flushed, and she peered at me, irritated. She leaned her face right next to mine—like she meant to be friendly. But instead she pinched my cheek.

  “Just because you hit your head on a stone in the middle of a vicious attack, Abigail, does not mean you can take God’s name in vain,” she said. “I am taking you to the Reverend Wilkins. He is an educated man, very sensible. Perhaps he can determine what is wrong with your memory. At least we can pray for you. Maybe then we can make everything right.”

  “Nice try, Elizabeth. But the fact that I’m still here means everything isn’t right,” I said. She frown
ed more but held her head high and kept on walking. Why was I still here? I had a hundred percent success rate of leaving bad dreams when I followed my oh-so-polite formula—until now.

  My forehead pulsed, and I rubbed it. The lumpy bandage was still stuck on it, but at least my head didn’t hurt quite as badly. Obviously, Elizabeth wasn’t going to give up and vanish, or turn into a frog like my recurring dream. The one with the airline attendant who told me my luggage weighed far too much, and I’d have to pay extra to get on the flight.

  I scoped my surroundings and eyed the guy who carried the lower part of my stretcher. He was one of the guys who rescued me, and he looked like the weak link.

  He was short, scruffy, and probably in his twenties. I wrestled the blanket half off me and sat up. The stretcher wobbled, and I struggled to brace myself while I glared at him. “You are totally kidnapping me,” I said. “Put me down. Immediately.”

  His eyes grew huge. “Yes, Miss Abigail.” He lowered his end of the stretcher toward the ground.

  Elizabeth stared daggers at him. “Daniel Winters, you swore allegiance to King Charles II, and promised my husband under oath that you would help me while he was gone fighting this war,” she said. “Do not let this stretcher rest on the ground, not even for one second, until we have reached our destination.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened and he jacked my stretcher back up into the air, which made me fall backwards. “Ow!” I exclaimed, and thought about Aaron with his flair for drama.

  It wasn’t easy, but with some effort I sat back up and pointed my index finger at Daniel like a magician, or a witch. “Daniel Winters,” I said. “I am not from your world. I have magical powers that will… strike you. Give you stink eye, or hand rot or… or… make your manhood shrivel.”

  Guess that got his attention, ’cause his forehead broke out in a sweat and he peered down at his pants.

  “Lower me to the ground now!”

  He mumbled, but lowered my stretcher. I was only a foot from the dirt ground, which probably wouldn’t be a height issue for me. I was seconds from freedom, but only if I had the nerve to break out of here.

  That’s when a guy close to my head stifled a laugh. “Be very frightened, Daniel. Because Miss Abigail who dreams of fancy, English gowns, bonnets, and meeting King Charles II some day, has suddenly become a warrior. And she threatened not only you,” he said, “but I do believe your future offspring, as well.”

  This smart mouthed commentary came from near my head and I twisted, turned and tried to see the jerk, but was trapped and stifled by all the blankets. “Don’t think for one second, dude, that you’re safe from my magic powers, either.”

  He snorted in laughter again. “Now I am as frightened of you as I am of King Philip and his warriors.”

  “Who?” I floundered but just seemed to get more tangled in the blankets. The only thing I gained from my efforts was frustration.

  “Shush, Samuel. You of all people should know better.” Elizabeth pinched Daniel’s arm. “I will not hide your poor judgment, or let you go unpunished should you choose to disobey orders, Daniel. You will be charged with disorderly conduct, your military record will be permanently scarred. And you might find yourself facing time in the stocks.”

  Daniel looked at Elizabeth wide-eyed. Then the wuss hoisted his end back up in the air, and continued carrying me wherever this journey led.

  Elizabeth marched calmly next to me, and patted her blossoming belly. I no longer liked her for rescuing me. Right now I actually disliked her. Intensely.

  “No!” I slammed my hand against the cot. “No! I told you I am not Abigail. I do not belong here. I want to go home. Now!”

  Daniel shuddered. Elizabeth didn’t flinch, let alone bat an eye. The guy above my head carrying the front handles cleared his throat.

  I looked down at the ground. Yes, the drop was higher than before, but it was still only three or four feet. If I jumped or rolled off, maybe I’d only suffer a few bruises. It wouldn’t be like dangling off a ten-story, parking garage, hovering between earth and sky. Suffering amnesia as well as anxiety.

  If I landed in one piece, nothing badly broken, I’d bolt. I’d run so far away from Elizabeth and her crew, and hopefully stumble on a safe, hiding place where they couldn’t easily find me. I’d find the right words to say that would break this nightmare, and bring me back to my life in Chicago. But then I saw something so creepy it made me second guess my plans.

  They lugged me through a part of this hellhole that was a pathetic, tiny, central park or village commons. There was a small, but sturdy, wood building. Next to it was torture devices I’d only seen in history books: stocks to publicly humiliate and punish people.

  A worried-looking, wrinkled, middle-aged guy with huge round eyes was imprisoned in one of them, seated on a bench, his hands locked into a contraption that didn’t allow him to move them. A sign crudely scrawled underneath him said, “LIAR.”

  The guy caught my eye. “I am not a liar, Miss Abigail. Do you believe me?” I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t even know who he was. So, I just nodded.

  Next to the guy in the stocks was a whipping post. Close to that was a hanging platform. No, no. Give me Taylor and her bitchy friends at Preston Academy any day, ’cause I definitely didn’t belong here. Bye-bye. It was past time that I left this bizarre place. I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, pushed myself off the cot, and landed with a thump on my butt on the ground.

  Chapter 9

  Tangled in the stupid blankets, I fumbled around for seconds, like a kid thrown into the pool who didn’t know how to swim.

  Daniel said, “I did not do that.” He whistled nervously.

  Elizabeth frowned. “Abigail, you are making a mistake.” She leaned down to grab me, or help me. I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter at this point—because I was done.

  I tore off the blankets, pushed myself to standing and ran. Where to head? I didn’t have a clue.

  I sprinted past women in long, puffy, drab skirts chatting with each other, as they held freshly killed, bloody chickens upside down, while they absent-mindedly plucked the feathers from their scrawny, still-twitching bodies.

  I dodged around defeated-looking, hunched over colonial soldiers carrying beat-up weapons and wearing dirty, ragged clothes.

  I whipped my head over my shoulder to see if I was being pursued. Dang! That simple movement shot pain up from my ribs through my neck and into the slash above my eye. Daniel careened after me like a colonial Frankenstein.

  I slammed into somebody, and caught myself on his skinny, long, black-sleeved arms.

  “Oof!” he exclaimed. His very, long face was surrounded by greasy, silver hair. He was rail-thin, freakishly tall and dressed in a black suit of sorts. He wore what looked like a permanent scowl and clutched a fat Bible.

  “Miss Abigail?” he squeaked and clutched his stomach.

  “Sorry, sir!” I pushed away from him, and kept on running. My head pulsed, I felt dizzy and out of breath. What happened to my healthy swimmer’s lungs where I could do lap after lap and just be a little winded? Before I landed in this weird dream I was completely in shape. Now I couldn’t even escape through some rural, nightmare town without being completely exhausted. (Note to self: delusion. Not real. Get a grip.)

  I spotted a rustic, tiny, thatched hut, which looked like—no—it felt like the perfect place to hide behind, and regroup. I rounded its corner, and collapsed on my knees onto the ground next to it. The shack was made of tree branches woven together. A thick layer of intertwined skinny branches and braided leaves comprised its roof.

  I hid behind the hut, clasped my hand over my mouth, and tried to cover my loud, labored breathing. I had to be quiet, or Elizabeth and her crew would catch me. I peeked out from around the hut’s edge. Daniel lumbered away in the opposite direction from my hiding spot. The tall, skinny guy shook the Bible in Elizabeth’s face, while he complained and lectured her half to death.

  To her credit
she listened and nodded. But Elizabeth was no one’s fool. She glanced around the entire time, most likely looking for me. But it seemed like I was safe for a moment tucked away behind my new refuge.

  Unlike the other drab, brown buildings in this eyesore of a village, this hut had some fading flowers and herbs planted in the ground around it. I touched the ground next to the herbs, and felt a calming sensation in my throat and chest. It made me think the person who planted them had a way not only with green, living things, but perhaps knew how to soothe anxious people as well. I relaxed, closed my eyes and imagined my dad, Sophie, and even Jane back in Chicago.

  When somebody tall and strong wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulders from behind, pulled me backward and pinned me firmly to his chest. I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth with his calloused hand and whispered into my ear, “If you shout they will find you. Despite our differences, I would never hurt you, Abigail.”

  I recognized my captor’s voice. He was the guy who carried the top end of the stretcher—the guy who laughed at me. “Let me go,” I mumbled.

  “If you yell they will find you in seconds,” he said.

  “Got it.” This guy pissed me off, but he was right.

  “Finally we agree on something. Now that is a miracle.” He released his hand from my mouth. But his strong arm still wrapped around my upper chest, and anchored me to him.

  Elizabeth excused herself from the Reverend and waddled to Daniel’s side. “You must find her,” she said. “Abigail is a danger to herself.”

  “Are you?” the guy asked me.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m in danger of my sister eating my share of Dad’s homemade, breakfast frittata if I oversleep. Then I’ll get stuck with the seaweed energy bar. Which is not only dangerous—but scary, too.”