by Jenny Lykins
“I don’t know! Sometimes he goes out at night. He always comes back drunk.”
“Callen.” Ty took hold of her arms as she clutched Connor to her chest. “He’s not in the house. And we can’t save it. The fire started upstairs, and even if we had a hundred people, we couldn’t get enough water to the flames to put it out.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked upward, as if she could see beyond the rough, beamed ceiling. “It’s too far gone, sweetheart.” He rubbed her arms. “Now listen to me. Look at me.” She pulled her gaze to his. “We need to escape through the column. Now. Once the house is gone, I don’t know if we’ll be able to pass to our time.” He could already smell the acrid bite of smoke filtering into the cellar. “You can’t stay and tell Stephen goodbye. We can’t wait for him to come home. Do you understand?”
She stared at him for a moment, her free hand skimming down Connor’s little leg to cradle his turned-in foot.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Come on.” He pulled open the panel. “Take Daniel’s hand. Here, give me Connor so you have both hands free.” He transferred Connor onto his hip, holding one of Callen’s hands while Dan held the other. “Dan, you go first.”
Dan pulled open the outer panel and a gust of fresh, sweet air engulfed them. He stuck his head out, looked around, then turned back and nodded.
“Okay, go,” Ty ordered.
Dan stepped through the portal, then Callen, all of them connected in a human chain. Just as Ty started to follow, a wailing moan for help echoed from inside the house.
“Stephen!” Callen cried.
“I’ll get him,” Ty said. “Here. Take Connor.”
He handed the boy over, unsnagging his little shoe when it caught on Ty’s back pocket. “Wait for me at the car.”
He didn’t wait for her nod, but turned and raced back into the cellar and up the rough wooden steps. The cry had come from within the house, but where?
“Stephen!” he bellowed, charging from room to room. “Answer me, damn it!”
The cry came again, followed by a fit of coughing.
Upstairs!
Ty flew up the staircase, yanking his shirttail out and pulling the fabric over his face.
“Stephen!” he screamed above the roar of hungry flames. He checked Stephen’s room again, now engulfed in smoke from the spreading fire. He dropped to his knees and crawled along the floor back into the hallway.
“Stephen!”
“Help!” The weak voice exploded in a spasm of coughs. Ty swung around, his eyes watering and burning as he peered down the hall toward Callen’s room. A dark shape stirred on the floor in the doorway.
Ty coughed, then flattened himself against the floor and took a breath through the filter of his shirt. He scrambled down the hall and grabbed Stephen under his arms. The flames had claimed Callen’s bedroom, and even as he watched, the wall adjoining the room Dan had slept in collapsed.
Stephen’s gasping cough brought Ty’s mesmerized attention back to the man on the floor. If he hadn’t fallen in the doorway, and stayed below the smoke, he would be dead.
“Come on.” Ty yanked Stephen upright, but the lung-jarring coughs weakened the man so, he couldn’t stand. Ty dragged him by the arms into the hallway and to the top of the stairs. With one enormous shove, he flung Stephen to his feet, caught him and tossed him over his shoulder, then bounded down the stairs and around to the kitchen.
“Where—” Stephen choked, but Ty ignored him. He clattered down the cellar steps, then rushed to the panel and propped Stephen against the wall. Stephen sucked in the relatively clear air of the cellar, then doubled over in another bout of coughing.
“Callen? Connor?” he managed to croak between coughs.
“Safe,” Ty answered.
“Why,” – Stephen coughed again – “why did you bring me down here? We need—” another fit of coughing – “we need to get out of here.”
“And we are, but I won’t fit through the column with you over my shoulder. You have to walk.” He grabbed Stephen’s arm and pulled. Stephen stumbled, coughed, then gasped for air as Ty pushed him into the column. He kept hold of Stephen’s arm as he shoved him out the other side, then Ty burst into the cool night air behind him.
Stephen fell to the ground on all fours, coughing until he gagged as Ty bent over, sucking in gulps of air as well.
A burning piece of timber crashed to the ground at his feet.
“What—”
He spun around to the horrifying sight of the Windsor mansion’s upper floor engulfed in flames.
“No!” he screamed, his stomach turning in a sickening roll, invisible hands squeezing his throat. “No!”
He ran back into the column base, through to the cellar, then turned and retraced his steps back out again. The flames roared above him. “No!” The word ripped from his lungs.
He ran back into the base as Stephen coughed out “McCall!”
Ty yanked the panel closed behind him, flung himself into the cellar and closed that panel as well, then sent up a prayer before shoving the panel open again, stepping back into the base, and pulling the outer panel aside.
“Nooo!” he cried, staggering out of the base toward his brother-in-law. “Noooo!” He turned and stared as part of the roof collapsed in a deafening crash, sending sparks and flames shooting into the night sky. “Oh, God, noooo!”
“Mistah Tylar!” Jacob’s voice filtered through the screaming denials echoing through his mind. Strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him away as bits of fiery debris showered down around him. He stumbled away from the house, saw Magnolia helping Stephen to his feet.
“He said Callen and Connor are safe,” Ty heard Stephen say.
Dear God, no!
He shrugged off Jacob’s grip and ran back toward the column. He heard shouts and cries but he ran on. He had to get to them. He had to!
“Mistah Tylar!”
He stepped into the column, but an iron grip on the collar of his shirt yanked him backward. He spun around to shove away Jacob, and met the smoke-smeared face of Stephen.
“Let me go!”
“Are Callen and Connor safe?” Stephen yelled.
“Yes!” Ty turned back to the column, but Stephen yanked him back.
“And the boy? The boy who was with you? Is he still in there?
“No! He’s with Callen! Damn it, let me go!”
“Is anyone in there?”
“No, damn it to hell!” He yanked his arm away.
The crunch of Stephen’s knuckles against Ty’s chin slammed his teeth together a split second before the world faded to black.
*******
Callen paced outside the crumbling pillar base as the moon crawled across the night sky. Connor slept peacefully in the back seat of the car, and Daniel promised to stay with him while she walked off her anxiety.
They’d waited outside the column for Ty, silent at first and then speculating, for their own peace of mind, on what path he might have taken and where Stephen’s cries had come from. Did Ty have to return to the second floor? The downstairs had not started to burn when they’d made their way to the cellar, but the fire had been spreading at a terrifying rate.
Minutes passed, and Connor had started to fuss. He was sleepy, oblivious to the escaped danger or the disaster that could befall Ty and Stephen. Daniel had walked them to the car and unlocked it, then went back to stand sentinel next to the column while Callen cuddled Connor until he’d fallen asleep.
It had been more than an hour now. Surely Ty had found Stephen and they had made it to safety. Had the cellar been blocked by fire? Had they been forced to escape outside and wait until the fire died out? Would the portal work, as Ty had worried, if the house burned to the ground before he could reach it?
She wrung her hands, glancing at the base, praying to see Ty and Stephen step from it any moment.
She could stand it no longer. Slipping inside the chamber, she pulled the opposite panel open a few inches and peered ar
ound it.
Her heart dropped to her feet.
The stark, shadowy columns rising from the black velvet lawn met her gaze.
“Oh, Ty,” she whispered, and her voice caught on a sob. “Not again. Please. No. I can’t lose you again.”
*******
The throbbing in his face was the first thing Ty felt as he fought his way into consciousness. And the backs of his eyelids seemed to be painted orange. Another deafening crash pried open his eyes.
Flames engulfed the entire mansion now. Glass exploded from downstairs windows as the upper floor collapsed into itself.
“No,” he whispered. A gust of wind blew biting curls of smoke into his eyes and he blinked away tears.
He rubbed his jaw, then worked it back and forth, surprised that Stephen’s fist hadn’t broken the bone. He looked around him then. Someone had propped him well out of danger on a live oak’s roots, his back against the trunk, but there was no sign of Stephen, Jacob, or even Magnolia.
He pushed himself to his feet, raked a hand through his hair, then turned in a circle, looking for signs of life.
“You bastard!” Stephen appeared out of nowhere, landing another blow where he’d planted the last one, knocking Ty backward into the roots of the live oak.
“What the—”
“You said they were safe! You said they’d gotten out of the house! Well, where the hell are they? If you left them in there to die—”
Ty kicked away Stephen’s next blow and propelled himself straight toward the man’s midsection, tackling him to the ground and landing on his torso hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Stephen gurgled deep in his throat, his already abused lungs struggling to draw air back into them.
“They’re safe!” Ty croaked as Stephen’s hands shot up and tightened around Ty’s throat.
Ty broke his grip, but Stephen threw him off his chest, then flung his body at Ty. Ty rolled away but Stephen kept coming, screaming about Callen and Connor burning to death and Ty knocking Stephen out.
“What are you talking about?” Ty yelled back.
Just then Jacob and Magnolia came running. Jacob pushed the two men apart, using his body to divide them.
“Stop it! I says stop it!”
Stephen stood, panting, while Ty got to his feet and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Did you find them?” Stephen barked.
“No.” Jacob shook his head, then had to grab Stephen when he again lunged for Ty. “They maybe went for help! You think of that, son?”
Stephen glanced away, then straightened, turning his stare back to Ty.
“They didn’t go for help,” Ty said, his voice flat, “but they’re safe.”
“Why, you—” Stephen tried to shove Jacob out of the way, but the older man stood firm.
“Don’t try to lay the fire at my door, Windsor,” Ty bellowed. “I saw the lamp on the bedroom floor. What’d you do? Fall and knock yourself out when you ran from the fire? Was it a case of arson, or attempted murder?”
“I’ll kill you!” Stephen yelled. “I came up there to talk to Callen, and when I walked in the open door, you hit me over the head and I dropped the lamp!”
“How could I hit you over the head when I was asleep in the nursery? But you couldn’t know that, could you?”
“You’ve killed the only people who can prove that!”
Ty wanted to scream.
“Would I have killed my brother, too?” he shouted.
“Brother!” Stephen snorted. “And only yesterday he was your cousin!”
Ty scrubbed at his face, tasted the copper flavor of blood. The urge to smash in Stephen’s face threatened to overwhelm him at the thought of Callen, Connor, and Dan in the future and him stuck there in the past.
“You set the fire, Windsor. Your home is up in smoke and I’ll be damned if you ever lay eyes on your sister again.”
The sound of horses galloping up the drive broke the tension…for the moment.
Evan Hennessey and his cohorts thundered into view. Ty looked up at the sky, which had paled to light gray with white spikes of sunlight shooting from the horizon.
Dawn. Right on time.
This would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.
Hennessey swung his horse around in front of Ty, his gaze on the inferno, the pistol in his hand held high as another window exploded like a cannon blast.
Suddenly the dreams – no – the nightmares he’d had after leaving Callen in the past came back to him. They were clearer now, and another scene flashed across Ty’s mind, as vividly as if he were living it…
He heard the thunder of cannon fire, battle cries of men running toward the enemy, rifles exploding with Minié balls aimed at the hearts of someone’s father, brother, son.
The noise grew louder, deafening, until he saw himself on horseback, charging through the woods at Shiloh, across the Sunken Road, away from the Hornet’s Nest, and breaking through the tree line into a field littered with cannons, bodies, fallen horses. He held a sword high in his hand as the horse raced toward the W. Manse George cabin.
The cabin no longer had gaping holes between the logs, but was fully chinked with the hard, dried mud and looked very much lived in. A thin line of gray smoke curled upward from the chimney, mingling with the choking black smoke that hung in the air over the battlefield from the belching cannons.
He heard a whine, a muffled thud, then a burning, stinging fire ripped through his abdomen.
What the—
He caught a glimpse of a startled face, then he looked down to see his body clad in a gray wool uniform, a yellow fringed sash around his waist, and a dark crimson stain spreading from the hole in his jacket above the sash.
His head spun and he fought to keep his seat. Bright red blood smeared the hand he’d pressed to his wound, oozing between his fingers and dripping onto his trousers, the saddle.
The pond. He had to get to the pond. Wash the wound. Stop the bleeding.
He pulled the fine silk sash from his waist as he rode, wadded it up, then pressed it to the sodden ragged hole. The sash had been a gift from Callen, given with tears in her eyes before he’d mounted Charlie and ridden off to war.
Dear God, how he wished he’d told her of his feelings before he left. Now he might never have the chance.
Charlie picked his way over fallen bodies and through a stand of trees while bullets exploded splinters from the bark. The overwhelming stench of blood, sulfur, and fear made the experienced horse skittish as a colt. A black fog encroached on Tylar’s consciousness and he fought to keep it at bay, keep his mind clear.
A blur of blue charged toward him, then the clash of swords as another blur of gray intercepted it. Tylar focused on the face of the blond man in Confederate gray, fighting off a Yankee soldier bent on burying his sword in Tylar’s throat.
“Get to safety!” Evan Hennessey yelled above the din of artillery fire and screaming men. He slapped Charlie’s rump with the flat of his blade, then went back to fighting off the swarming blue masses from atop his own mount. Not until Tylar heard the splash of Charlie’s hooves in the water did he realize they’d reached the pond.
Tylar raised his head - he couldn’t remember letting it slump to his chest. The fire burned on in his gut, a chill permeated his body, and hot bile rose in his throat at the sight that met him.
Bodies of men and horses alike lay in the pond and on the banks. The water, dark red with blood, stained the surrounding earth. Haversacks floated in the water, swollen and gaping with soaked biscuits. Rifles lay in the mud, barrels bent, stocks shattered.
With a tug of the reins Charlie backed out of the pond, then Tylar slid from his back, falling in a boneless heap to the mud lining the water’s edge.
The pain pierced every part of his body with jarring, searing intensity. The chill in his limbs deepened to an icy cold as the fire in his stomach rose up and licked at his lungs. He dragged himself to the still water, his reflection as r
ed as the blood soaking his sash. He stared at the face, his face, splattered with blood. His blood? Someone else’s? He’d lost his hat. He was out of uniform. Couldn’t die out of uniform. Callen had made that uniform.
Callen.
The reflection stared back at him accusingly.
“I promised her,” he gasped. “I promised I’d come home safely.”
If he’d only told her he loved her. But he was an overseer’s son. She deserved better. Not him. Or the loveless marriage her father had planned.
She should have loved someone else.
“Tylar.”
Her sweet voice danced in his ears.
He tried to turn, to find her, but the face in the water held him.
“Tylar.” Strong hands pulled him away from the water, dragged him upright. He fell back, his head sinking into the soft mud. The fire ebbed from his gut and icy cold crept in to take its place. He couldn’t die. He had to get to Callen.
“Damn you, McCall!”
He forced open his eyes. Fought to focus. The blurred image standing over him sharpened.
“Stephen,” he gasped at the angry face of his brother-in-law.
And then the world went black.
“McCall!” the voice yelled again, followed by a cough.
Ty blinked, dragging his thoughts back from the battlefield. The inferno that had been Windsor lit the dawn sky. He looked around at the half dozen faces staring at him.
And then he remembered the final detail. That elusive end to his nightmare.
“You!” he said, his glare sweeping the length of the man on horseback.
All of the nagging questions, the dreams, the…connection that never felt quite right…
“You!” Ty roared.
Hennessey turned around, his face a pasty white, just as Ty catapulted into his chest, knocking him to the ground. He grabbed Hennessey’s meticulously tied cravat, yanked him up, then smashed his fist into the man’s face, bouncing his head on the ground.
“You killed me, you son of a bitch! It was you! Not a Yankee’s bullet! It was your bullet!” Ty’s fist slammed into him again when Hennessey lifted his head. “Murderer!”
“It was an accident!” Hennessey blurted before realizing he’d just confessed in front of witnesses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
