by Deborah Heal
What Readers Are Saying about Time and Again
"A unique premise … sort of a Back to the Future meets virtual reality, with a little dash of Seventh Heaven thrown in. Abby and Merrideth are wonderfully developed characters, and I loved watching them bond over the history behind the house and its previous inhabitants."
—Tiffany A. Harkleroad, “Tiffany’s Bookshelf
Amazon Top 1000 Reviewer/Vine Voice
"What if you could have a God's-eye view of your own life, running it forward and backward in time, viewing it from different points-of-view? How might that affect your understanding of events, especially the ones that disappoint you? Abby and Meredith have that kind of view of the life of Charlotte Miles, the girl who lived in their house one hundred and fifty years before, and it leads them into new understanding of their own lives and God's not-always-comfortable way of caring for them."
—Leanne Hardy, author of Crossovers
"The characters are likable and I cared about them—those in the here and now, and those from the past. The two main characters are able to watch history unfold, literally before their own eyes with a neat modern twist, while it shapes (as history should) their own lives. It's a great book for teens and adults."
—Susan S., Amazon reviewer
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11
In Memory
To Ruth Fite, my eighth grade English teacher, whose words next to the star at the top of my story opened my eyes to the possibilities:
"Be sure to give me a copy of your first book!!"
Deborah Heal
Time and Again
Copyright 2011 by Deborah Heal. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, institutions, or locales are intended solely to give a sense of authenticity. While every effort was made to be historically accurate, it should be remembered that these references are used fictitiously.
Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, King James Version,
except for Jeremiah 29:11, which is from the NIV
Photograph: "Heal Farm House" by Robert Heal
This title is also available as a paperback. ISBN: 978-1482627213
Literature & Fiction: Religious Inspirational: Historical
Fiction: Mystery/Detective: Historical
Other books by Deborah Heal
Unclaimed Legacy (book 2)
Every Hill and Mountain (book 3)
Once Again: an inspirational novel of history, mystery, & romance
(book 1 in the Rewinding Time Series)
Table of Contents
A Note from the Author
For Further Study
About the Author
Let's Keep in Touch
Book 2 in the Series: Unclaimed Legacy
An Excerpt from Unclaimed Legacy (book 2)
Chapter 1
Abby had at first considered volunteering at St. Louis Children’s Hospital for her required Ambassador College service project so that she could “contribute to the community while also enlarging her horizons.” But her roommate, Kate, reminded her of her tendency to faint at the sight of blood. Several of her classmates chose to build homes for disadvantaged families with Habitat for Humanity. But since she had never actually used a hammer before, much less a power saw, being a “companion and tutor to an economically disadvantaged adolescent” had seemed like a much better choice. After all, it would be good practice for when she became a teacher after she graduated.
After packing up her dorm room for the summer and saying goodbye to Kate, Abby left Chicago and drove south six and a half hours, following the directions her client’s mom had given, through terrain foreign to her city-girl eyes. Just after the sign that said Brighton, Illinois—population 1,750—she turned onto Miles Station Road. It got narrower and bumpier with each mile until there were no more houses, only cornfields and the occasional tree. Then, in the last bit of daylight, she crossed the railroad tracks she had been told to watch for and pulled up to the house where she would be spending the summer.
Kate had teased her about being a “governess” and warned her to watch out for dark, brooding men skulking about. Now, getting slowly out of her little blue car, she thought maybe Kate was more right about the Jane Eyre bit than she knew.
The two-story house standing in the gloomy shade of several huge oak trees had once been white but had obviously not seen a paintbrush in about a million years. One faded blue shutter hung at a drunken angle, squeaking as it shifted in the wind. There were no shrubs to soften the foundation, just some scrubby grass struggling to survive in the shade.
Service Project, she reminded herself firmly and knocked on the door. It opened and a smiling woman with an outstretched hand said, “You must be Abby. I’m Pat. Come on in.”
She shook Pat’s hand, relieved to see her friendly and pleasantly ordinary face. She didn’t look at all like the sort of housekeepers in gothic novels.
“Hi, Abby Thomas.”
Pat held the door wide, and Abby stepped into a sparsely furnished entry hall.
“I’m sorry everything is still such a mess around here. I haven’t had much time to get moved in, much less begin fixing things up.” Her words bounced off the bare wood floors and tall ceiling.
Pat turned toward the staircase behind her and called, “Merrideth! Come on down. Abby is here.”
“I can’t wait to meet Merrideth.”
“She’ll be right down.”
But there was no answering call from upstairs— no happy cry, no sound of eager, hurrying feet. Her young charge was apparently not as anxious to meet as she was. Pat called for Merrideth again, and when there was no answer turned to Abby and said, “How was your trip?”
“It was nice. I’ve never been this far out into the country before.”
Still no Merrideth.
Pat glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll go see what’s keeping her.” She pointed to a door opening off the hall. “Just make yourself at home in the living room.”
The room where she was to attempt this was huge, or appeared so because it was nearly as empty as the hall, the only furniture a sofa and a television set. The gold floral wallpaper was faded and loose in some places. The floor was of rough wooden planks, bare of any rugs. Abby sat on the sofa for a while and then remembered she had promised to call home. She dug in her purse for her cell phone. No bars.
A whispered argument was raging upstairs. She strained to hear. It sounded as if Pat might be losing. She thought about going back to the car for her suitcases—and to try for better phone reception—but then she heard footsteps, thankfully two sets of them, coming down the stairs.
The girl came no farther than the doorway and stood there scowling at a chocolate-colored cat in her arms.
Abby approached her with caution. “Hi, Merrideth,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Abby.” She lowered it when the girl contin
ued stroking the cat.
Pat removed the blue baseball cap her daughter was wearing and smoothed away a strand of hair that covered her eyes. “Say hi to Abby, Merrideth.” The girl raised her eyes to glare at her mother and at last gave Abby a quick look and a mumbled greeting.
Merrideth had obviously not been blessed with her mother’s good looks. Her face was round and pudgy, her eyes small and squinty. It was impossible to tell their color because her greasy bangs had fallen into them again.
On the phone Pat had said that Merrideth was “plump,” and maybe could she help her with her diet? Fat was the word that came to Abby, even though she was ashamed of herself for thinking it. She had always considered herself a loving and accepting person, and she did feel pity for the sullen girl before her. But distaste was warring with compassion and about to win.
Abby reached out a hand again, this time to pet the cat. “Your cat is very pretty. What’s its name?”
“She’s not an it. She’s a she.”
Pat laughed a little and looked anxiously for Abby’s reaction to this additional bit of rudeness.
Abby stroked the cat’s head, and it began to purr politely. “What’s her name?”
“Kit Kat. It’s my favorite.”
“Your favorite cat?”
“No. My favorite food.”
“Why don’t we help you with your stuff, Abby, before it gets too dark. Merrideth, would you like to help?”
Merrideth apparently wouldn’t, because she left, still clutching Kit Kat. Pat helped Abby carry her things up the stairs and down the hall. She stopped at the last door on the left. “I figured you’d use this room for lessons.”
A state-of-the-art computer and printer sat looking out of place on a scarred old oak table. It seemed an expensive purchase for someone who qualified for her school’s tutoring program.
On the monitor, colorful images of beautiful homes scrolled by in a slide show, one the Frank Lloyd Wright home her brother had taken her to see in Chicago. The only other furniture in the room was a wheeled secretary’s chair and a couple of mismatched straight-backed chairs.
“You’re probably wondering how I can afford such an expensive computer,” Pat said with a glance.
Abby tried to think of something besides, “Yes, I was wondering if you’re ripping off Ambassador College.” She couldn’t come up with anything both polite and honest, so she mumbled, “Uh…” instead.
“It’s from Merrideth’s dad. He feels guilty about what he did—and about the fact he never visits her. It was probably bought with….Well, anyway, I didn’t buy it. Just so you know.”
“It looks like a good one.”
“He put a gazillion computer games on that thing, but she’s always playing with that house program. It doesn’t seem like something a kid would be interested in,” she said with a short laugh. “But I’m just the mom. What do I know? I just wish she’d remember to turn it off when she’s through.”
Pat went to the computer and began shutting it down. When the monitor blinked out she said, “Now, let’s get you settled in. You’re just across the hall.”
After the barrenness of the downstairs, Abby was relieved to see the bedroom had the usual complement of furniture. Pat had obviously worked hard to make it cozy. The bed was covered with a pretty comforter in shades of rose and sea foam green. And it came decorated with its own sleeping cat, this one tan and white.
“It’s a beautiful room.”
“I’m glad you like it. The bathroom is next door.”
Merrideth, her blue baseball cap back in place, appeared in the doorway, still carrying the purring Kit Kat. “There you are, Chippy!” She dropped the cat in her arms and went to scoop up the unsuspecting cat on the bed. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
Pat turned to Abby with a rueful grin. “Feel free to banish the cats from your room if you’d rather not have them underfoot.”
“That’s all right. I like cats.” She stroked Chippy’s warm golden back. “I can see why you named your other cat Kit Kat, Merrideth. But why is this one Chippy?”
“It’s short for potato chip.”
“That reminds me,” Pat said suddenly. “I need to check on dinner. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
Abby opened her suitcase and began taking clothes from it. Merrideth seemed intrigued in spite of herself, probably only sticking around out of curiosity. Personally, she was already exhausted from the effort of getting acquainted. Merrideth, making no effort at conversation, pulled a Kit Kat candy bar out of her pocket and watched her unpack.
Kate had said sarcastically that tutoring sounded like “a ton of fun,” and Abby had reminded her that service projects are not done for the fun of it. She reminded herself now.
“So how do you like your new neighborhood?”
Merrideth contemplated the Kit Kat under her left arm and the Kit Kat in her right hand. “I don’t know,” she said, putting down the feline version in favor of the candy.
“Have you met any new friends yet?”
“No.” She unwrapped the candy bar and dropped the paper onto the dresser.
“I’m sure there are other kids around.” It was such a lame thing to say that she expected Merrideth to flee in disgust.
“Yeah, but the only ones I’ve seen were wearing red baseball caps.”
“So what’s wrong with that?”
“They’re not Cubs fans. That’s what.”
“Well, even though we’re in Illinois, we’re closer to St. Louis than to Chicago. You’re in Cardinal territory now.”
“That figures. This is such a stupid place.”
When Merrideth glanced away, Abby whisked her bright red Cardinals shirt out of the suitcase and hid it in the bottom dresser drawer. Wearing it would not win her any points with Merrideth.
“Anyway, I’m getting out of this dump soon. My dad said I can come visit him this summer any time I want.”
Abby took a stack of underclothes out of the second suitcase and put them in the top drawer. “That will be nice.”
“So I wouldn’t unpack everything if I were you.”
Abby hid a smile. “I think I’ll go ahead and unpack my underwear just in case.” She laid her Bible on the nightstand.
“So, are you religious or something?”
“Something.”
Abby took her cell phone out and flipped it open. Still no bars. She’d have to e-mail her friends later.
Merrideth sneered. “My phone’s way better than that Quasar.”
“You have your own phone? I had to wait until I was eighteen.”
“Yeah,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. “My dad got me this Rhapsody II before I left Chicago. He said Rhapsody II is way better than Quasar. My dad said I can call him any time I want to.”
“You have a great computer too.”
“Of course I do. My dad bought it for me last year. Mom won’t let me use her laptop. She says it’s for her stupid business.”
“You want to go play around on the computer then?”
“No.”
Abby pulled her softball and glove out of her suitcase. “Do you want to play catch?”
“No.”
Pulling her sketchpad out, she said, “Do you like to draw?”
“No.”
“What do you want to do, Merrideth?”
“There is nothing around this stupid place, not like Chicago.”
“That’s true, there’s no place like Chicago. I love going to college there. But we’ll find neat places to go and things to do around here.” She hoped.
Abby finally got a good look at Merrideth’s eyes—which were actually a nice shade of brown—when she used them to shoot daggers at her.
“I’m eleven and a half, and I don’t need a babysitter!” She stormed out of the room.
“Well, that was a good start,” Abby muttered under her breath. It was going to be a long summer.
Delicious smells were in the air, and Abby fo
llowed her nose to the kitchen. It had to have been remodeled since the house was built back whenever, but it definitely needed a new look. The chrome-edged countertops looked like something from the 1950s, the avocado appliances were pure 1970s, and the cabinets were thick with who knew how many layers of yellowed white paint.
Pat was easing lasagna oozing with melted cheese onto three blue plates.
“That looks and smells wonderful—just like my mom’s.”
“Homemade lasagna?” Pat said with a laugh. “Right. The kind that comes fresh from the deli. Would you mind telling Merrideth dinner is ready? Maybe she’ll come if you ask her.”
Abby frowned in confusion. “Sure,” she said, wondering why anyone would have to be coaxed to come eat lasagna.
She found Merrideth in the living room watching some new reality show about supermodels. It didn’t seem like a wise choice for an impressionable pre-teen.
“Your mom said to tell you dinner is ready.”
“I’m watching TV, in case you didn’t notice,” Merrideth said without looking up.
“It’s lasagna, and it smells great,” Abby said pleasantly.
Merrideth turned at last and stared unblinking at Abby. “I’m not hungry.”
Abby shrugged. She must not like lasagna as much as her mother thought.
Pat’s embarrassment was obvious when Abby reported Merrideth’s response. “Don’t mind Merrideth. She’ll warm up to you. I’ll fix her a snack later.”
And that would explain why Merrideth wasn’t hungry for dinner. That and Kit Kat bars.
“As I said before, we moved from Chicago when Merrideth’s school was out.” Pat paused and set her glass of iced tea down. “Guess you’re wondering why we would move into this run-down old place out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Well,” Abby said, passing the salad bowl, “it does seem like a big change from the city.”
