Mystic Memories

by Gillian Doyle

  Under the cloak of darkness, she rowed along the curve of the shoreline rather than taking the more direct route from the west basin, which might have aroused suspicion.

  Instead, she came around near the institute so as to appear to be someone going out to check the ship.

  Her heart raced with a rush of adrenaline during her final strokes of the oars. She grabbed the small bundle of clothes she’d tied with the belt and climbed aboard the brig.

  The smell of tarred timbers and salt air intensified her memories of Blake, bringing her closer to him. The earlier feeling of a strong connection intensified, as if he were all around her.

  She had slipped down into the mate’s cabin and started to change her clothes when her hand paused on the zipper of her jeans. A sense of dread crept up from her toes. Slowly, she reached out toward the bulkhead. Her fingertips touched the wood. She leaned forward, pressing harder.

  No! It can’t be!

  Frantic, she placed both hands on the rough panel, sliding them this way and that way, trying to find the void. Nothing happened. The wood was as solid as the floor beneath her feet.

  She spun around and headed toward the captain’s quarters, groping her way through the shadowy interior of the ship, stumbling again and again.

  Inside the large cabin, she rushed to the wall and searched for the portal from the past. But not even her sixth sense perceived that anything was there, or ever had been there.

  Unable to hold back the overwhelming sense of pain and loss, she pounded her fists against the wood panel, crying and cursing at her fate. How could she have finally found love again only to have it snatched away? She didn’t even get to say good-bye.

  “Why was I given this psychic gift to help others and not myself?” Sinking to her knees, she buried her hands in her face. “Why can’t I see him just one last time?”

  “I’m here, Cara.”

  Her head jerked up. She turned to see a man descending the steps into the captain’s quarters. Blinking back tears, her gaze traveled up the tan slacks to a white cotton Henley that set off a dark tan. His wavy black hair had a touch of silver at the temples. Deep-blue eyes gazed expectantly at her.

  In an instant, her heart knew.

  “Blake!” She vaulted to her feet and rushed into his arms. In her crazy euphoria, she kissed his lips, his chin, his nose, his eyes until he reached up and captured her face between his two hands. She stilled, staring at him in disbelief.

  His cheeks were streaked with tears as he spoke to her in a husky rasp. “God, how I’ve missed you.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue. He probed and caressed and promised more, leaving her yearning to take him into her completely.

  As he dropped his face into her neck and pulled her tight against him, she arched her body into him. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “So did I,” he murmured.

  She tried to talk despite her tears of happiness. “How did you get here?”

  Blake straightened and looked down into her eyes with a cocky smile. “I own the Mystic. Or more accurately, my corporation is the legal owner.”

  “You what?” Her jaw dropped.

  Ignoring her question, he kissed her quickly, then gently demanded, “Where have you been? I waited for you this morning on the dock. When you didn’t disembark with the rest of them, I panicked, thinking you might not have returned from the past. I nearly went after you, until I learned from the captain that you’d left the ship in the middle of the night. I called your house nearly a dozen times today. I even drove to your house early this afternoon, but you weren’t there. About an hour ago, I felt an overwhelming need to come back to the ship.”

  He kissed her again, then led her over to the berth.

  “I must have been drawn here by you. It seems that a little of your psychic abilities have rubbed off on me.” The corner of his mouth tilted up in a boyish grin.

  Though she couldn’t help but return the smile, she still eyed him with curiosity. “Were you the corporate exec who gave permission for me to work undercover as one of the crew?”

  He nodded smugly.

  “Do you mean to tell me you have been here all along?” Again, he nodded, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “If I had approached you in February and told you about our life together in 1833, I know you wouldn’t have believed me. In this day and age, you’d have thought I was a crazy man stalking you.”

  Cara remembered the reaction by Mr. Charles when she’d tried to convince him of his son’s adventures in the past with her. She knew she’d sounded like a wacko. She couldn’t blame the father for telling her to get lost.

  “You’re right.” Sitting down next to him, she touched his cheek. “I wish I could be mad at you, but I understand why you had to do it.”

  “If you had known about me before you’d traveled back in time, it might very well have changed the outcome.” She could see his point. Searching his eyes, she asked, “But what happened after you stepped through the bulkhead? Where were you? Where did you go?”

  Telling her of his own experience, he confirmed her speculation that he had wound up in Mystic back in 1979. But he was not the twelve-year-old boy who had gone on the ship’s tour. He had spent eighteen years on the sea. As a grown man of thirty, it had been impossible to go home to tell his parents that he was alive and well. So he’d left New England, fully aware of his past in the early nineteenth century and yet not quite sure about the actual reality of it.

  Haunted by those mystic memories, he had become obsessed with making his meeting with Cara come true. Unable to share his dream with anyone, he had set in motion all the right conditions for her to travel back in time, including the purchase and renovation of the brig that he’d renamed the Mystic. Had it not been this need to bring the ship to California, he might not have been led to make such high-risk investments in advanced technology, which had paid off so handsomely.

  Retelling the story to Cara, Blake admitted to a great deal of trepidation as 1997 had drawn to a close, realizing that he had worked nearly twenty years toward a series of events that might have been only a figment of his imagination. More than once he had feared he might have been delusional about the time-travel.

  “My only regret is that Andrew has been a helpless victim in all of this.”

  “Andrew will be all right,” she assured him, sharing the vision she’d seen earlier. “Aunt Gaby said it was as much Andrew’s destiny as it was yours and mine.”

  “Gabriella, huh? Is she a ghost or an angel or what?”

  “She is as real as you and me.”

  He gently guided her to her feet and brought her in front of him, positioning her between his thighs. He gazed at her with a bewildered smile. “That is no answer at all.”

  “Reality is what you believe it to be.” She unbuttoned her shirt and peeled it off, then unfastened the front of her lace bra and let it drop to the floor.

  His eyes darkened as he dipped his head to the hollow between her breasts. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Her fingers combed through the silver-streaked hair at his temples.

  “Make love to me, Blake. Share your memories with me.”

  In the solitude of the darkened cabin of the ship, he undressed her with a reverence that touched her heart and soul. With soft caresses and whispers of eternal love, he cherished her body with his own. Throughout the night, he loved her thoroughly.

  As the morning light filtered into the cabin, Cara awoke to find Blake leaning over her, watching her sleep.

  “Marry me, lauaʻe.”

  She smiled happily. “We’re already married, as I recall.”

  “Over a century ago. I want it made legal in this century, with a big celebration. Besides, every bride should be given the opportunity to walk down a church aisle wearing an exquisite gown of satin and lace.”

  “I don’t need all that, Blake.”

  “But you deserve it. We both deserve it. I wan
t to make everything special for us, including a huge wedding and a very long honeymoon.”

  “You have already made everything special for me,” she said, another tear slipping out of the corner of her eye. “But I’ll concede to a modest wedding. And a lifelong honeymoon creating all new memories.”

  “Mystic memories, my love.”

  Epilogue

  MAY 2018

  LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA

  On the first floor of Bancroft Booksellers, a growing line of people waited for an autograph by the bestselling author Hilary Tucker, a local resident of the beach city. Flanked by her publicist and agent, she signed another copy of her latest book and handed it back across the table.

  A woman in a business suit clutched the newly autographed novel to her chest, as well as dog-eared copies of four other previous titles that she’d brought with her for autographs. “I can’t wait to read it, Ms. Tucker. I wish I could have brought in all of your books to get them signed.”

  “Maybe next time,” offered Hilary, smiling up at the avid reader. “I’m glad you enjoy my writing. I hope you’ll feel the same about this one.”

  “Oh, I know I will.”

  As the woman departed, Hilary looked up at the next person in line, a well-dressed gentleman in his thirties with a deep tan and dark-blond hair. He held out a copy of her current release, Mystic Memories.

  Accepting it from him, she glanced at the book and frowned. “You must’ve accidentally picked up a damaged copy from the shelf. Let me get one in better condition—”

  “That’s my personal copy,” he informed her with only the slightest smile.

  “But it was just released today.” She glanced at her publicist, then her agent, then the store clerk standing nearby. They all shrugged as if they didn’t know how the man had obtained an early copy. “How did you get this?”

  With a noncommittal shrug, he managed a half smile. “You might say I have the tenacity of a bulldog. When I want something enough, I am a difficult one to turn down.”

  “I’m flattered you went to that much trouble for my book, Mister . . . ?” She had flipped to the title page and poised the pen, waiting to inscribe his name.

  “Charles,” answered the gentleman. “Andrew Charles.”

  “Ah—that’s what piqued your interest. You share the same name as the boy in my story. No doubt the character of Andrew reminds you of yourself at that age?” His silence prompted her to look up into blue eyes staring intently at her.

  “It is me. I came here to ask you how I might reach Cara Masters. Or Cara Edwards. I’m not quite sure which name she would be using.”

  Hilary glanced over her shoulder and past the publicist to an aisle of the romance section several feet away. Cara smiled sheepishly at her friend’s questioning gaze, then tapped her husband on the shoulder to draw his attention from a book in his hand.

  Blake followed her gaze to the man at the autograph table. “Is it him?”

  With a nod, she slipped her hand into his and walked with him toward the crowded table. The incredible revelation from Andrew had spread down the line like a gale-force wind, leaving the entire gathering of fans gaping in awe.

  As they approached, Cara could still see the young boy in those sky-blue eyes of the mature adult watching them with curiosity. For a moment, she wondered if he would recognize them out of their nineteenth-century clothing and with a few extra character lines on their faces. Blake still cut a handsome figure with his silver hair and broad shoulders. She still could feel her pulse quicken whenever he was near. He felt the same way, frequently reminding her with little tokens of his love.

  “You look wonderful, Andrew,” said Cara, her eyes misting. “All grown up and everything.”

  In those few brief seconds, he looked ten years old again, blushing and awkward with his emotions. But when she slipped her arms around him for a quick embrace, he relaxed and kissed her cheek. As she stepped out of the way, he greeted Blake with a handshake that led to a brief hug.

  “All these years,” Andrew explained in awe, “I never knew what happened to you. I thought I was the only one who came back. After a while I stopped believing that any of it had really happened.”

  Cara glanced at the bewildered Hilary. “It was a bit devious of me to suggest our story as the plot of a fictional novel but”—she turned back to Andrew—“I knew it was the only way to open a door for you to contact us.”

  “Until this week I might have left that door closed.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Blake slipped his arm around her waist. “Cara hasn’t been able to get you off her mind for quite some time. She had a gut feeling that you were headed into troubled waters.”

  “I need your help.” Visibly shaken, Andrew paused to gain his composure. After taking a deep breath, he sighed heavily. “My boy is missing.”

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  Mystic Memories had a strange and unusual beginning long before I thought of writing this story . . .

  In January 1987, I was the scout leader for a troop of third-grade girls, who participated in an overnight adventure aboard the brig Pilgrim II, a replica of the original ship that Richard Henry Dana Jr. had sailed around the Horn to California in 1834. The following morning, I recalled a vivid dream in which I had gone back in time. Nearly ten years passed before I took the thread of a dream and wove it into the story you see today.

  Another event occurred during the early stages of this book—a tall ship sailing off the coast of California lost a sailor overboard in rough seas. Despite attempts to save her, the woman vanished without a trace. Believe me, it was an odd feeling to be writing about a fictional character disappearing from a ship, only to have a similar incident happen in real life.

  Several months later, synchronicity offered another opportunity to witness a historical reenactment—a mock sea battle between four ships under full sail, including realistic cannon fire! As luck would have it, I ended up on the Hawaiian Chieftain, a small coastal vessel that could have been the model for the fictitious Mystic. To my amazement, Captain Ian McIntyre was strikingly similar to my fictional hero, Blake Masters—right down to the black hair and blue eyes!

  The Hawaiian Chieftain also had the only ship’s dog—an unflappable black Labrador with the rather common name of “Bud,” which was also the name of the most recent canine addition to our family. When I asked Captain Ian if dogs were common aboard early-nineteenth-century ships, he said the Hawaiians usually kept them for food! Having Keoni as the cook presented a perfect opportunity to bring Bud on board as a fictional character. Even though research revealed that Labradors were not officially introduced to the Americas until the middle of the century, I chose to believe that a ship’s captain might have acquired the breed during his voyages. With Bud now firmly ensconced in the story, I made an interesting discovery at the Mission San Juan Capistrano. In the soldiers’ quarters stands a full-size painting of two Spanish conquistadors of the 1700’s with a black Labrador retriever lying at their feet. Coincidence, maybe. Still, it goes to show that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

  Today, the Hawaiian Chieftain is owned and operated by Grays Harbor Historical Seaport Authority in Aberdeen, Washington. You can learn more the ship at: http://historicalseaport.org/about-us/our-vessels/hawaiian-chieftain/

  Sincerely,

  Gillian

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  GILLIAN DOYLE spent much of her childhood in the shadow of the mystical Mt. Shasta in the Southern Cascade Mountains of California. Moving to Los Angeles, she majored in Journalism and enjoyed a stint as a DJ at her college radio station before marrying her husband, Don. With her daughter and son in school, she became a motivational therapist and exercise instructor for the Richard Simmons' Anatomy Asylum. While helping others achieve their dreams, she decided to return to college to pursue her own dream of becoming a writer. A simple class assignment grew into her first novel, published two years later. Always fascin
ated with parapsychology, Gillian has been a student of metaphysics for over thirty years.

  As a member of the Author's Guild, Mystery Writers of America and Romance Writers of America, she has written historical, time-travel and contemporary romances with paranormal elements under various pseudonyms. Her current project is a nonfiction collaboration with a highly-acclaimed female private investigator who just happens to be telepathic and clairvoyant. Look for the Intuitive Investigator series beginning in Spring 2014.

  Gillian loves to hear from readers so connect with her online at:

  Website: www.GillianDoyle.com

  E-mail: Gillian@GillianDoyle.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/gilliandoyleauthor

  Twitter: @GillianDoyle

  Also by Gillian Doyle:

  THIS TIME TOGETHER (Time-travel Romantic Suspense)

  DARK COVENANT (Historical Romantic Suspense)

  THAT WILDER MAN (Contemporary Romance)

  LOSING LISA: Intuitive Investigator Series, Book 1

  with Deanne Acuña

  (True Crime/Narrative Nonfiction