by Bess McBride
Edward studied her empty seat for a moment and suddenly he stiffened.
Ellie! Good gravy! That was his grandmother’s first name! How had he not remembered that? The name was not that common. He’d always just thought of her as “Grandma.” He shook his head with a bemused smile. What a coincidence.
He turned to the window and watched the first rays of dawn streaking through the tall pine trees of his home state. Memories flooded in as he recalled his youth, playing at his grandparents’ house on the hill...the house he still owned. He smiled as he remembered his grandmother’s odd mode of dress for gardening—an old skirt she fondly referred to as her “jeans skirt” and the open-backed shoes she’d called “clogs,” as if she were some Dutch woman. How odd that both styles had recently come back into fashion. The cyclical nature of fashion!
He and his older sister had adored spending time with their eccentric grandmother and doting grandfather. No one else had grandparents quite like them, but all their playmates envied them the big house with nooks and crannies suitable for playing hide-and-seek and a sloping lawn that turned into a wonderful sled hill on rare snow days. Grandma Ellie had always been the first to acquire any new gadgets on the market—the first car, the first radio, the newest kitchen appliances. She and Grandpa had taken them on their first train trip to Glacier National Park, where she’d shown them mountain goats and old historical trains like the one where she had met Grandpa.
Great Aunt Constance had often said that he looked just like a younger version of his grandfather. Uncle Malcolm agreed. He always agreed when Aunt Constance spoke. She and Great Aunt Melinda often speculated whether he would grow to be as tall as the handsome silver-haired man he’d worshiped. And he had. Edward stretched out his legs.
Grandma Ellie used to make him blush whenever she bent down and peered into his eyes. He was never quite sure what she was looking for, but she always smiled, kissed his forehead and told him he was the “spitting image of Grandpa and would some day grow to become a handsome old gentleman.”
Edward smiled at the memories. Grandma Ellie had always been ahead of her time, full of new ideas, controversial thoughts and strange colloquialisms...for the time. He remembered whispers from other parents behind covered hands, but his grandparents shook their heads and kept laughing.
He looked at his watch again. 6:00 a.m. The snack bar was open, and still the young woman had not returned. Neither did he see any of her possessions. He stood and scanned the boarding passes above the seats. Only his pass remained. She said she was going to Seattle. Where had she gone? Had she ever even been on the train?
He shook his head and smiled. He moved down the car toward the snack bar. Maybe she had just been a dream.
Together Forever Across Time
Bess McBride
Dedication
For my family, as always.
For my writing friends who encourage me daily.
And for all the readers who enjoyed A Train Through Time, the story continues.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing Together Forever Across Time. Together Forever Across Time is Book Two in The Train Through Time series. A Train Through Time was originally written as a stand-alone book, but folks have suggested I develop a series which has worked out quite nicely. It just so happened that I had a leftover sort of lovelorn but very handsome character at the end of A Train Through Time called Stephen Sadler. Stephen deserved to have a love of his own, and this is his story. If Ellie hadn’t been so in love with Robert in A Train Through Time, she definitely would have fallen for Stephen.
I’m one of those writers who let the story happen. I know there will be time travel and romance. I usually know who the time traveler will be, and I know that my lovers will end up together because I believe in happily ever after. I don’t always know what century the travelers will end up living in, nor do I have the faintest idea how they get to happily ever after, but they always manage to find together forever. Your guess is as good as mine where the story will go! I just follow the characters. Theoretically, it’s my subconscious dictating their journey but why spoil the mystery with practicalities. Many authors truly do believe their characters take on a life of their own and that the writer can only follow and document the story as it unfolds.
Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way! Look for Book Three of The Train Through Time series in the summer of 2013.
You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at [email protected], through my web site at www.BessMcBride.com, or my blog Will Travel for Romance.
Thanks for reading!
Bess
Prologue
“A beautiful wedding,” Stephen said as he bent over the bride’s hand and kissed it. “Please accept my felicitations, Ellie. Robert.” He executed a small bow in front of the beaming couple—Ellie, vivacious, petite and chestnut-haired; and Robert, graver and much taller with well-groomed dark hair.
“Thank you, Stephen!” Ellie Standish Chamberlain said as she held onto her husband’s arm. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” Robert said. He took Stephen’s proffered hand with a broad smile. Stephen noted Robert had finally dropped his belligerent attitude toward him. After all, Ellie was his bride now, not Stephen’s. This moment had not come as a surprise to Stephen. He had seen the way Ellie and Robert looked at each other during their unusual courtship, even when they appeared to be at odds with each other. Ellie—unconventional and different from any woman he had ever known, and Robert more like himself, conservative and a traditionalist of the old school. Although lately, Robert had changed due clearly to Ellie’s influence. He seemed...happy.
Ellie and Robert turned to receive their next guests, and Stephen moved through the line, nodding to acquaintances as he made his way through the crowded reception hall in search of something strong to drink. With a last regretful look over his shoulder toward the beautiful and happy bride, he squared his shoulders, picked up a glass of champagne and surveyed the room.
Filled to capacity with gaily-dressed people, he recognized many faces of his acquaintance. Not unusual as he and Robert Chamberlain traveled in the same social circles.
“Mr. Sadler!” A matron in a dark blue silk gown with a young blonde woman in tow swished to a stop in front of him. “How nice to see you here. The wedding was simply lovely, was it not?”
“Mrs. Cornish, Miss Cornish,” Stephen bowed. “It was indeed. Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain make a fine couple. I wish them a happy marriage.”
“As do we, Mr. Sadler,” Mrs. Cornish said. “Hannah was just saying how much she admired Mrs. Chamberlain’s dress.”
Stephen nodded in the blushing girl’s direction. He knew what Mrs. Cornish was about, and he had hoped to avoid her machinations. Miss Hannah Cornish was a fine young woman, a very pretty girl, but Stephen did not see in her the spark that he had once seen in Ellie—in fact, still saw in Ellie although she now belonged to another.
He had no need to turn and follow their eyes toward Ellie. He knew how beautiful she looked on her wedding day.
“Yes, it is indeed a beautiful dress.” Stephen bowed again and prepared to make his excuses in an attempt to preempt what he knew would soon come, but he was too late.
“Mr. Sadler, I wondered if you might like to stop by for tea this week,” Mrs. Cornish said. “Hannah has a history book that she particularly hopes to have you examine and perhaps explain a few passages to her.”
Stephen pitied poor Hannah. Whether the young woman liked him or not, he might never know. Her cheeks flamed at her mother’s blatant attempts at matchmaking, but she said nothing, keeping her eyes downcast on her clasped hands. Although he taught an occasional history course at the university, he hardly thought young Hannah interested in his opinion on a history book.
Stephen sear
ched for an excuse and was saved by the timely arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Stidwell.
“Stephen,” Constance murmured. She held out her hand, and Stephen bowed over it.
“Well, what do you think, Sadler?” Malcolm Stidwell said. “More festivities! What a year this has been. First, our marriage,” he nodded toward his wife, “and then Ellie and Robert.” He paused to bow to Mrs. Cornish and Miss Cornish. “Who is next?” he said in a jovial tone.
All eyes turned on Stephen, most particularly those of Mrs. Cornish, and he coughed and gulped his champagne.
“Malcolm!” his wife remonstrated. “You are embarrassing Mr. Sadler.” She gave her husband an affectionate smile. “Forgive us, Mr. Sadler. My husband only teases.” Her eyes darted to the continually blushing Miss Hannah Cornish and her mother, and she favored Stephen with a sympathetic smile.
Her sympathy galvanized Stephen, and he thought it high time he moved on before the entire group had him married off.
“If you will excuse me, Mrs. Cornish, Miss Cornish. I must take my leave. Thank you for your invitation, but I am away from town for the next week. Perhaps when I return.” He bowed toward the group in general. “Constance, Malcolm, a pleasure,” he said. He set his glass on the serving table and made his way out of the reception hall. There was really no reason to remain. He felt particularly unsociable that day, due in large part to the sight of Ellie married. Resigned, he was. Happy, he would never be.
Chapter One
“Wenatchee! Fifteen minutes,” the train conductor announced over the loudspeaker.
Dani slipped out of her clogs and pulled her feet up under her as she gazed out the large windows of the observation car, her crochet needle and afghan square resting in her lap. The golden light of dawn highlighted the last of the prairies as the train worked its way toward the snow-capped Cascade Mountains of Central Washington. The clock on the wall said 5:20 a.m. She hadn’t been able to sleep and had settled into the relatively empty observation car to stretch her legs and watch the sun come up.
“No matter how many times I take this trip, I never tire of seeing the plains,” she said to the elderly man sitting in the next seat. “I love evergreens, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes you really can’t see the forest for the trees.” She smiled.
“I know what you mean,” he said. “It’s like being in a tunnel, isn’t it, when the trees are so close, you can’t see anything.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Dani said. She offered him her hand.
“My name is Dani Douglas.”
“Edward Richardson,” he took her proffered hand in a gentle shake. “Where are you traveling to?” She blinked under the unexpected emerald light in his green eyes. Bright for an older man, she thought. Silver hair framed a handsome face.
“It’s nice to meet you, Edward. I’m heading back home to Seattle. I’ve just been visiting my mother in Whitefish, Montana. How about you?”
“I live in Seattle, too. I just spent a week in Washington, D.C. with my grandkids.”
“Oh, how nice!” Dani said. “Where do you live in Seattle?”
“Queen Anne Hill, in an old house that belonged to my grandparents.”
“Ohhhh! Queen Anne Hill.” Dani wagged her eyebrows. “Well, that must be a very nice ‘old house’ I’m thinking.” She gave him a knowing grin.
Edward smiled. “It is. My family took good care of it. And whereabouts do you live in Seattle?”
“Oh, nothing so glamorous. I live in a condo in the University District.” She propped her chin on her fist and turned toward him, crocheting forgotten on her lap. “So, tell me about your house. When was it built? How large is it?”
Edward laughed. “Ah! I take it you like the old Queen Anne architecture.”
Dani nodded. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live in one of the turn-of-the-century houses.” She shook her head. “Then again, I don’t know. I love looking at them, but I’m a pretty modern gal. I like my new stuff.”
“Perhaps you will come visit one day,” Edward said.
“Oh, shoot, Edward! I wasn’t angling for an invitation to your house!” Dani’s cheeks heated. “It’s not safe to invite strangers to your home.”
“Oh, I think you look pretty safe, my dear.”
“Well, maybe I’ll take you up on that sometime.” Of course, Dani had no intention of intruding on the man’s home. “Though I’m not sure what your wife will say.” She grinned and nodded toward the silver wedding ring on his left hand, the one he toyed with occasionally.
“I am a widower,” Edward said. “My wife passed away some years ago.”
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Edward, I really am.” Dani bit her lip. “Yes, of course, I’d love to come see your house. I’d be honored.”
“Good,” Edward said. He pulled out a small memo pad and tore out a piece of paper. “This is the address, and my phone number. I don’t have one of those modern cellular phones, but I have an answering machine!”
“Thank you, Edward! I’ll call.” Dani, tucking the slip of paper into her purse, sensed the conversation was ending, and she was right.
Edward, a tall man, raised himself gingerly from his seat. “I think I’d better return to my seat for a short nap before breakfast.”
Dani rose as if to help him but he waved her off kindly.
“Thank you. Maybe I’ll see you later,” Edward said. “Perhaps at breakfast?”
“That sounds great!” Dani said. “It’s a date. Eight o’clock?”
He nodded and walked slowly toward the next car.
Dani watched his tentative steps and speculated he was in his late eighties. But he still had his faculties about him. And those eyes...
She stifled a yawn and picked up her crocheting once again, wondering if she wasn’t going to need a short nap herself as soon as the train left Wenatchee.
****
After stretching his legs, Stephen climbed aboard the train and entered the observation carriage. Their stop at Wenatchee had been of short duration, for which he was grateful. The journey from Chicago seemed particularly long this time, though he could not say why. He seated himself in a sturdy wicker chair at the desk in the library of the carriage and opened a newspaper.
“Ouch!”
Stephen startled at the sound. He had thought himself the only passenger in the carriage. The dark green velvet curtains had been drawn against the night, and the globes of the electric lights shone softly.
“What the heck?” The voice was unmistakably female.
Stephen rose from his seat and peered around the curtained panel into the observation carriage beyond.
A young woman held onto the back of a seat bench, her lower limbs braced wide as if she were a sailor on a ship. Those limbs, Stephen noted with widened eyes, were encased in trousers—extremely snug-fitting trousers. Her feet were encased in colorful socks, but she wore no shoes. Her hair—a lively shade of red—hung about her shoulders unbound in a wild untamed fashion, much like that of a young girl.
“Madam, may I be of assistance?” he said.
She stiffened and attempted to straighten, but another lurch of the train threw her off balance, and she toppled over onto the floor.
Stephen ran forward to grasp her hands, cold and clammy as they were.
“Here, please allow me to assist you.” He pulled her up and settled her onto the bench. Such a tiny thing, the top of her head came only to his shoulder.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Stephen Sadler, at your service, Madam.” He gave her a small bow, trying without much success to avert his gaze from the sight of her limbs. “And may I ask your name?”
“Dani,” she said with a frown on her pale brow. She seemed quite preoccupied with searching the carriage as if she had never seen it before.
“Miss or Mrs. Dani...?”
She returned her attention to him. Eyes the color of light green crystal regarded him, surveying the length
of his body. She narrowed her gaze as if she found him peculiar.
Stephen stiffened, and clasped his hands behind his back. He had certainly never been assessed by a lady before in such a bold fashion. It was not he who was peculiar.
“Douglas. Dani Douglas,” she said. “Where am I?”
“May I sit, Miss Douglas?” Stephen asked, indicating the bench beside her.
She nodded and lowered her eyes to stare at the bench as he sat. He watched her run her hands along the red velvet of the seat as if she explored the material.
Grateful to be out of her critical purview of his person, he set his newspaper down beside him and clasped his hands in his lap.
“We have just left Wenatchee, Miss Douglas. Is it Miss?”
“Wenatchee...” she murmured in a bemused tone. He waited, but she said no more.
“Yes, Wenatchee. Were you sleeping during the stop? Please forgive me, Miss Douglas. I thought I was alone in the carriage. I was reading the newspaper over there.” He nodded his head in the direction of the library portion of the carriage separated only by a half screen above the desks. “I would not have entered the carriage had I known you were resting in here.”
“I was in the observation car.” She continued to appear bemused, and he wondered at her origins.
“Yes, you are in the observation carriage.” He waited.
“No, not this car,” she said. “I wonder if I’m hallucinating.”
“I cannot say, Miss Douglas,” Stephen said. “What is it you think you are seeing that is not there?”
“This car. The velvet bench. The wood paneling. The globed lights. The carpet.” She nodded toward the red floral carpet. “You.” She regarded him with a furrowed brow.
