Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1)

by Teresa Rae

  I don’t know what I expect. However, nothing happens. Nothing at all. I simply stare at the ceiling. A minute goes by and then fifteen. I continue to wait. Four hours later, I’m still lying on the bed. I laugh aloud, slightly embarrassed. I just fell for the best practical joke of all time. I will have to congratulate Gabe.

  A wide yawn escapes my mouth, and I realize how tired I am. Not even throwing away the twig, I pull a blanket over my shoulders and fall asleep.

  I have the weirdest dream. Vivid images fill my mind as I stand outside the house. Cars zoom by as I witness time rewinding. The house disappears. As time moves backward, the cars passing me get older and older until they turn into horse-drawn carts. Then the images just simply disappear. My mind is filled with blank blackness.

  I writher and thrash my arms and legs. It’s as though everything I am and everything I know is just gone, being replaced by a never-ending void. My head aches excruciatingly, like it’s going to explode. Every muscle in my body has been tensed to the point of cleaving apart. Then I hear his faraway laughter and the faint tinkling of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

  HENRY! I regain my senses.

  I have to save Colonel Blair in the year 1875! I tell myself. I have to save him in order to save Henry and Gabe and Clara!

  The void disappears, being replaced by white dots. My mind focuses, and I realize I’m looking at a sky full of stars. I breathe a deep breath of relief before whispering the words of John Henry Newman, “The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead thou me on.”

  I pass out.

  * * *

  Wednesday, March 17, 1875

  Light flickers across my eyelids, disturbing my sleep. I’m so tired that I could sleep a hundred years, so I turn over. Unfortunately, something is cutting into my ribs and I can’t turn onto my back. I reposition myself back onto my side, but the sun is getting brighter. I mentally scold myself for leaving the curtains open.

  “I didn’t leave the curtains open,” I whisper as I immediately sit up.

  I open my eyes and find the light blinding. I blink a few times and find I’m sitting in the middle of a field of sagebrush. I frantically gaze about and find myself on a familiar hill. I’m in the same place, but Marina’s house is gone.

  I look down at myself and find I am in a fancy, dark-blue travel dress including a bustle in the back and an uncomfortable corset squeezing my middle. I pull up the skirt of the dress and discover I’m also wearing fancy stockings and shoes. At my side is a nice leather bag. I unclasp the buckle and find it contains some underclothes, a small purse of money, and a ridiculous pink gown. I don’t know what exactly is going on, but I hadn’t even thought about what I would wear if I actually traveled back in time. That conjuring stuff is powerful!

  Thinking I might be hallucinating, I go to pinch myself. A sneeze behind a large rock stops me.

  “Who’s there?” I call out nervously.

  There’s a shuffling noise, but no one emerges.

  “I know someone’s there. Show yourself!” I say much braver than I feel.

  Familiar brown eyes peek above the rock, and I am relieved.

  “Henry, come out here,” I say.

  I see the top of his head shake.

  I laugh, again. “Henry, you and I are old friends. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  He refuses to budge. The Henry I know has never been afraid of me. It hits me. Maybe this isn’t the Henry I know. Maybe this is the Henry I want to save. Maybe I really have traveled back to 1875. There’s one way to find out.

  I pick a dry blade of frost-covered grass and put it between my hands. I blow softly on it and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star fills the air. Henry laughs behind the rock. I play several of his favorite songs on my piece of grass. The grass falls apart, and I’m forced to stop.

  “More,” Henry calls, still hiding behind the rock.

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” I say. “My lips are too tired to play anything else. Besides, it’s your turn to sing something for me. I know you have a lovely singing voice.”

  Hesitantly, he stands up and carefully shuffles to me. He inclines his head. “Song?” he asks politely.

  “Whatever song you want,” I say.

  In a hushed voice, he begins to sing, “We’re a tenting tonight on the old camp ground, give us a song to cheer our weary hearts, a song of home, and the friends we love so dear. We’ve been tenting tonight on the old camp ground, thinking of days gone by, of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand and the tear that said ‘good-bye!’”

  I cautiously reach up and pat his hand – his nice, warm hand. I fight back tears. Henry is alive, and I’ve been given the chance to save him. Kind, innocent Henry has a chance at peace. Mama was right – God is good.

  “You tentin’?” Henry asks, pointing at the leather bag in the grass.

  “Yes, you could say that.” I push myself to my feet, which is a task in itself considering the yards of cloth and the bustle I’m hauling around.

  He picks up my bag and gestures for me to follow him.

  “Henry, wait up!” I call, trying to catch up with him. Even with a bad leg, he walks much faster than me because my blasted skirts keep getting in the way.

  I begin singing to get him to slow down. It works. Soon Henry and I are walking up a dirt road, singing song after song. A beautiful white house comes into view, and I stop to catch my breath. The Blair Mansion is in its prime. I’m really in 1875. I have been given the opportunity to trade my life in order to save my friends.

  No matter what has happened in the past or what will happen in the future, I must be strong! I’ve got to fake it until I make it! There is no room for fear or doubt! I must leave these behind! A prayer of St. Francis’s fills my heart; Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy.

  “Are Colonel Blair and Gabe there?” I ask Henry, staring at the Blair mansion. It really is beautiful in its glory days.

  He surprises me when he shakes his head. “Massa James gone. Gabe, gone.”

  “What about…” I’m interrupted by a pack of charging dogs.

  Henry puts down my bag and claps his hands with glee as the dogs surround him, jumping up to lick his face. He barks with them and the whole group happily wrestles on the ground for several minutes. I laugh with Henry. It feels unbelievably good to see him alive and enjoying that life.

  “Go!” Henry orders after getting back to his feet. The dogs whimper miserably, but Henry doesn’t give in. They unhappily obey, running into a field to chase some birds. He picks back up my bag and heads to the Blair Mansion.

  “Henry, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea,” I object. “Samuel might be there.”

  “Massa Samuel gone,” he answers with a grateful shudder. “Old friend, come.”

  I smile, realizing I haven’t told him my name.

  “Henry, my name is Rebecca,” I explain, using my real name. It’s probably better to be Rebecca in 1875 than Becky Jo.

  “Come, Re-becca.” He beams, excitedly gesturing me forward.

  We pass the large mansion, and I stare in awe. It is a beautiful house. I can now see why Sunny has put so much work into restoring it back to its former splendor.

  We walk past the stables and to a group of cabins. Only one has smoke coming out of its chimney. Henry goes directly to this one, opening the door.

  “Henry, you was done suppose to go to da mine, two hours ago!” a woman’s voice calls out from inside the cabin. “What you doin’ here?”

  “Tentin’,” Henry says, gesturing behind him at me.

  “Uh-uh, you tell dem we have more help dan we be needin’! I done told you a hundred times, you can’t bring home every miserable soul dat passes da house. Massa James ain’t be needin’ more help here at da Mansion!”

  “Re…becca old friend…” Henry tr
ies to argue.

  “Boy, I be knowin’ you ain’t got a mean bone in you body…”

  “I’m sorry for causing a problem,” I say, stepping into the doorway. “I’m just passing through Virginia City, and Henry was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the short time I’ll be here.”

  An old, black woman jumps at the sight of me. She immediately bows her head. “I apologize, Ma’am! I ain’t done seen you!”

  “No, I’m the one who caused the…” I stop speaking when I glance around cabin. There are makeshift beds filled with sleeping children occupying every last inch of the small room. “Are you taking care of all these children, yourself?”

  She fearfully nods. “It ain’t nothing to worry youself about, Ma’am. Da children done got the chickenpox. Dey pas be in da mines, and dey mamas be doin’ laundry.”

  “It looks like you can use my help,” I say. “Henry, can I borrow some of your clothes? I can’t work in this ridiculous dress.”

  “No, Ma’am. It ain’t decent,” Rose interjects.

  I laugh. “But it’s practical. You need more than one set of hands.”

  Henry’s clothes are itchy but a lot easier to move around in, especially since I’m no longer wearing the layers of petticoats, corset, and a bustle. I drape everything over a chair and go to the first child. I put my hand on the little boy’s head.

  “He’s burning up,” I say.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Rose says from the fireplace. “Dis here a nasty bout. Da young ‘uns be burnin’ with fever.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask the little boy.

  He fearfully looks at me with glazed over eyes. He blinks but doesn’t answer.

  “He Willy,” Rose answers for him. “And he bin needin’ to relieve himself. I’m a-gonna take him.”

  “I’ll take him,” I offer, helping the little boy to his feet. I take his hand in mine and shake it. I smile warmly. “Willy, my name is Rebecca. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Can you show me to the outhouse?”

  He nods as I wrap a blanket around his shoulders. We head into the cold.

  The smell coming from the outhouse is absolutely foul. I plug my nose as Willy opens the door. I kick whiskey bottles out of the outhouse before helping Willy unbutton his trousers. He dances the entire time. Unfortunately, I’ve got him there a little too late. Urine sprays my leg before he can shoot into the pit. Willy’s eyes widen with mortification, and he begins to tremble in fright. The poor, little boy is very afraid of me.

  “Willy, I am so sorry I got you here too late,” I tell him sincerely. “And then I was slow with your button. I promise; I’ll be better help next time. It’s freezing out here. Let’s go back inside.”

  I help him button up and wrap the blanket tightly around his shoulders, trying not to contemplate that there isn’t any toilet paper in the outhouse. I don’t even want to know what the stack of advertisements and newspapers is for. I already miss my Charmin!

  When we return to the cabin, Rose’s eyes go directly to my wet leg, but I don’t say anything about the accident. I simply help Willy lay down on his mattress. I get him situated just before a baby girl in the corner begins to cry. Rose puts down the dough she is kneading.

  “I’ll get her,” I say.

  I’m pretty much useless when it comes to cooking in a fireplace, but I do know a thing or two about taking care of sick people. Rotating around the cabin, I give the sick children drinks of water, place cool cloths on their heads, change diapers, rub on calamine lotion, clip fingernails, put clean socks on their hands to keep them from scratching, and help some of the older children to the outhouse. Like Willy, some of the other children look at me with fear as I try to help them, so I softly sing as I make my rounds. Minutes seem to blend into hours as I tirelessly work.

  I soon learn the children’s names. There are three little boys: baby Solomon, four-year-old Johnny, and my Silly Willy. After a couple hours, the eight-year-old has warmed up to me and tries to make me laugh with silly faces. Two baby girls sleep side-by-side: the silent Nellie and the crying Augusta. Five sick children keep Rose and me on our toes.

  She cooks, and I help to feed the sickest. I barely get breakfast in their stomachs when it’s time to feed them lunch. Even though I’m starving, I can’t justify taking a break to eat when little babies are crying for their food. Besides, I’m only here for five days; it’s okay if I miss a few meals.

  I’m rocking the particularly fussy little Augusta when the next moment I jump, finding that I’ve fallen asleep. I wake up and find the little girl in bed, and Johnny and Willy missing. I sit up in a panic.

  “Ma’am, da older ones done go back to help dey mamas,” Rose explains.

  “But they’re still sick,” I reply.

  She shakes her head. “Dey fevers done pass. Da work be doin’ dem good and maybe keep dey minds off da scratchin’.”

  I stretch my arms over my head.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Nearly sundown, Ma’am.” She sprinkles flour on a table and rolls out dough.

  “My name is Rebecca,” I say, standing up. “What children need water?”

  “Da children can wait, Ma’am. You be needin’ dinner.” She continues rolling out the dough.

  “Rose, my mama was black.”

  For the first time, she looks up from her dough and shakes her head. She points at my blond hair. “You ain’t no mulatto.”

  “No, the people who gave me life were white, but my mama was black. My parents died when I was young, and Mama raised me. Blood can only give you so much; true family we gain by love, at least that’s what she taught me.” I smile. “The fire’s dying. I’ll go get some more wood.”

  “It a-needin’ to be chopped. I’m a-gonna get it if you be watchin’ da biscuits.” Rose unties her apron.

  I stop her. “I better go for the wood. I think I can manage to chop something apart, but I know I’d burn those biscuits.”

  The ax isn’t hard to find, but chopping the wood turns out to be a nightmare. I slip around in the frost covered weeds, nearly cutting my leg in the process. Henry’s pants are too long for me, and I roll them up to keep from tripping over them. Soon I’m covered with sweat and mud, and all I have to show for my efforts are a couple nicks on the log and some blisters on my hands. I shiver as the sun begins to go down. I have to get the wood chopped, or Rose’s cabin is going to get cold very quickly.

  I raise the ax to try another swing at the stubborn log when the handle is pulled out of my hands.

  “Ma’am, it is best if I do that before you hurt yourself.” I recognize Colonel Blair’s soft-spoken voice.

  I turn around and find him more handsome in life than he was in death, even in the dreadful state he’s in. His hair looks as though it hasn’t been washed in days, he hasn’t shaved recently, and his clothes are wrinkled and dirty. I can smell alcohol and tobacco on him and a big old case of BO.

  Without looking at me, Colonel Blair efficiently chops several logs before carrying the stack into Rose’s cabin. The old woman squeals with delight when she sees him.

  “Massa James!” She hugs him. “When done you arrive?”

  “Just after lunch,” he answers, setting the wood by the fireplace. “My rest was disturbed by a dangerous sounding ax.”

  “Ah, you done met Miss Rebecca,” Rose says. “She bin helpin’ with da children.”

  “I apologize for waking you,” I say from the doorway.

  “Oh, Miss Rebecca, you ain’t decent!” Rose gasps when she sees me, grabbing the nearest blanket to wrap my body with. “I done forgot dat you done changed into Henry’s trousers to help da children! And you done rolled da legs up!”

  “I was in a losing battle with a log,” I say, realizing a girl from 1875 would never dress like I’m dressed, but I’m not from 1875. I’ll just have to try harder to behave properly.

  “I be sorry, Massa James,” Rose apologizes for me. “Now dat da children be startin’ to feel better, I’m a
-gonna send for Ida to help Miss Rebecca!”

  “That would be best.” He nods, still avoiding looking at me.

  “Miss Rebecca, dis Colonel Blair,” Rose introduces us properly. “Massa James, dis Miss Rebecca…” She stops, never having been told the rest of my name.

  “Rebecca Josephine Harris,” I fill in, using the name on my birth certificate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve intruded on your hospitality.”

  “Not at all, I am grateful to you for assisting Rose with the children. May I inquire how long you will be in Virginia City?” His eyes are firmly on the floor.

  “I’m just passing through on my way to my sister’s. I will be leaving on the twenty-first. Can you suggest a hotel in town where I may lodge until then?”

  “As a small act of gratitude for your kindness, you are welcome to remain here as our guest for the two weeks you are in Virginia City.”

  Two weeks? What is he talking about? I wrinkle my forehead. “I’m sorry, but what is today’s date?” I ask.

  “Sunday, March seventh.”

  I clench my jaw. I’m ten days too early. How can I be ten days too early? It hits me. My efficiency has backfired! When I took the potion, I didn’t take into account that I set my clock ten minutes early, so I’ll be on time for everything. This efficiency means I will be in 1875 for two weeks instead of five days.

  Wednesday, March 17, 1875

  Sunday, March 7, 1875

  I put the beauty queen smile on my face, even though he refuses to look at me.

  “That’s very kind of you,” I say.

  “Massa James, I’m a-gonna come up to da house to cook dinner,” Rose interrupts the conversation.

  “Thank you, Rose.” He goes to the door, stopping in front of me. His eyes remain on the floor. “Ma’am, perhaps if you are finished chopping wood, you would join me and my uncle for dinner?”

  I am going to tell him that if Rose is cooking his dinner that I’ll have to stay to tend the children, but Rose answers before I can.