A Fall in Time (Train Through Time Series Book 5)

by Bess McBride

  Matthew’s father had joined them on the back porch.

  “What is all the shouting about? Are you still looking for Sara?”

  Matthew stared into the garden without seeing it. He heard his mother speak.

  “Yes, she seems to have disappeared. She is not in her room, nor in the garden.”

  “Well, perhaps she went for a walk,” his father said sensibly, “although I would not have recommended that she do so.” He checked his pocket watch. “It is already four o’clock. It will be dark soon.”

  Matthew swung around. “That is it! She said something about a walk, and I told her that it was not safe. She would do something foolish like that. She does things like that.”

  He rushed past his parents and out the front door of the house. Craning his neck, he stared at the road leading down the hill but could not see Sara.

  He jumped down from the front steps and ran out into the drive.

  “Take the carriage, boy,” his father called out. “You cannot chase her on foot. You have no idea where she has gone!”

  Matthew scanned the road ahead and turned back with reluctance to see his parents and Mrs. Roe standing just outside the front door. His father turned and spoke to Mrs. Roe, who hurried away.

  “I’ve ordered the carriage,” his father said. “I suggest you circle each block. She may have gotten herself lost.”

  “Yes, thank you, Father. I will,” Matthew said. While his parents watched helplessly, Matthew paced the front steps, waiting for Raymond to bring the carriage around.

  He consulted his watch, but only a few moments had passed since his father stated it was four o’clock. Yet the late afternoon sky seemed to have darkened considerably over that short period of time.

  “I must find her,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  “You will, Matthew,” his mother said.

  His parents could not know that his deepest fear was that Sara had voluntarily disappeared. He could not share that fear with them. To do so would be to raise myriad questions, and perhaps even the suggestion that he simply let her go if she wished to vanish, especially if she had done so once before.

  But he could not let her go! He simply could not! He loved her. He could not lose her.

  Raymond brought the carriage around.

  “Make haste, Raymond. I will direct you,” Matthew said as he jumped up into the box beside the driver.

  “We are looking for Miss Reed, Raymond,” Matthew said hastily as they sped away from the house. “Keep a sharp eye out.”

  They trotted down the hill without sight of her, circling each block slowly, but to no avail. Matthew stopped short of calling for her, not wishing to draw attention to himself or her.

  Darkness came quickly, and when they could no longer see anything but the horses’ heads, Matthew directed Raymond to turn for home.

  He stepped down from the carriage and paused on the front steps until Raymond pulled away to return the carriage to the stable at the back of the house. Matthew turned to look down over the lights of the city and those twinkling from ships in the bay.

  Where could Sara have gone? And why? Why had she left? She had promised him she would not disappear. Yet she had. He shoved his cold hands in his coat pockets. His heart felt as cold as his hands.

  That was it then. Sara was gone. He had no hope of finding her in such a large city. None at all. Nor would searching for her be a wise thing. Sara had left the house voluntarily, and to hound her was unpardonable. He could not in all conscience do so.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sara pried one eye open then the other. A sliver of daylight filtered in through a crack in dark curtains. She tried to lift her head, but the effort seemed too much. The room spun, if it was indeed a room.

  A sharp pain from her ankle shot into her foot, and she gasped and reached for her knee, trying to pull her leg to her chest. The movement made her nauseous, and she stopped moving, closing her eyes for a moment while the dizziness passed.

  Where on earth was she? The room, though dimly lit, appeared to be a bedroom, but it wasn’t her bedroom at the Webster house. She heard the faint jingle of horse livery outside the window.

  She tried lifting her head again, but the nausea returned.

  “Hello?” she whispered. She wasn’t really sure she wanted anyone to come, but then again, she had to ask someone where she was.

  There was no answer. She scanned the room as best she could. She lay on a bed, with a light-colored quilt drawn up to her chin. The pillow beneath her head was soft, the casing a soft linen. A nightstand by the bed held a lamp, a glass of water, a small dark bottle and a spoon. She reached for the bottle but couldn’t read it in the muted light. She set it back on the nightstand.

  A wardrobe, a dressing table and several small chairs completed the room.

  “Hello?” she called out, a little more loudly this time. No answer.

  She tried pushing herself up on her elbow. She appeared to be wearing some sort of white soft cotton nightgown. Where were her clothes?

  Sara’s pulse quickened, albeit sluggishly. Where was she and who had taken her clothes?

  “Joseph Conrad,” she murmured. That was the name of the man who had picked her up from the street. She must have fainted, because that was the last memory she had.

  Another look down at her nightgown prompted her to jerk her head to the right and look over her shoulder. No! She was alone in the small bed. Thank goodness!

  Fighting the dizziness, she pushed back the covers and lowered her legs. Her right ankle pulsated with pain, and she gasped, wanting nothing more than to drop back onto the bed and faint. She had to get to the window though to find out where she was. She noted her ankle was wrapped in a bandage. The nightgown she wore, obviously made for a taller woman, swept the floor

  Sara lowered her good foot to the ground and balanced herself against the nightstand. She managed to hop over to the window by grabbing onto furniture as she moved. Dizziness almost bested her a couple of times, and she waited for it to pass.

  She threw herself onto the windowsill, and bracing herself with one hand, she pulled the curtains aside with her free hand to find herself staring through the window glass at a row of tall brick buildings. The street below bustled with wagons, carriages, streetcars and pedestrians. From the looks of things, she was still in nineteen hundred.

  She gathered she was in downtown Seattle, but for all she knew, she could have been in a different city or state. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious or why she felt so nauseous.

  Bracing herself with her stomach, she freed her hands and tried to lift the window, but it wouldn’t budge...or she didn’t know how to work it.

  She rotated on her good foot and half sat on the windowsill to survey the room. She would have to make it over to the door but feared what she might find on the other side. Was she in a hospital? An asylum? Had Joseph Conrad actually kidnapped her? Why hadn’t he taken her back to the Webster house?

  The door opened, and Sara let out a small gasp.

  A gray-haired woman peeped in and looked toward the bed. She then looked toward the window where Sara wrapped her arms defensively across her chest.

  “Good morning,” the woman said on entering. She smiled widely, and Sara relaxed. “How do you feel? You shouldn’t be on that ankle, dear. Let me help you back to bed. The doctor said you are to stay off your feet for a week.”

  The light from the window revealed a middle-aged woman with a friendly face. Blue eyes regarded her kindly. Tall and slender, she must have been the original owner of the nightgown.

  Without waiting for Sara’s response, the woman half carried Sara back to the bed and helped her into it. Sara’s ankle ached from the activity, and she fought back a grunt or two.

  “Are you in pain, dear? The doctor left some morphine for you. I don’t use the stuff myself, but the doctor said you might need it for the pain.” She picked up the bottle and spoon.

  “Morphine?” Sar
a gasped. She shook her head vehemently. “No! I can’t take morphine. Oh, no!”

  “No? Well, he gave you some last night because you were in such a state.”

  “I’m nauseous,” Sara said.

  The woman nodded.

  “Yes, it affects me that way too. That’s why I don’t take it. I’m Edna Conrad, by the way.”

  “Sara Reed,” Sara said.

  “My husband, Joseph, found you last night, but he said you fainted before you could tell him your name or where you live.”

  “I think I did,” Sara murmured. She realized for the first time that Matthew probably had no idea where she was. She had, in fact, disappeared, something she promised she wouldn’t do.

  “I need to get word to the family I’m staying with,” she said hastily. “The Websters? Do you know them?”

  “The Websters?” Mrs. Conrad shook her head. “I don’t think I do. Where do they live?”

  “On Queen Anne Hill?”

  “Oh, yes, of course, that is where Joseph said he found you. He had been visiting a business associate up there.” To Sara’s dismay, she shook her head again. “But no, I do not know anyone who lives on Queen Anne Hill.”

  “Maybe your husband does?” Sara asked.

  Mrs. Conrad shook her head. “He had to go down to Portland on business this morning and will be gone for a week. But I don’t think he knows anyone named the Websters either.”

  “They’ll worry about me,” Sara said, thinking of Matthew specifically.

  “I wish I could help you, my dear, but I don’t know how. Do you have any family we could contact?”

  Sara shook her head. The movement made her queasy again, and she eyed the bottle of morphine with horror.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You look pale, dear. I think you should have something to eat, and we can give the matter further thought when you feel better. I will have my housekeeper bring you some tea and toast.”

  Sara leaned her head back against the pillows. There was nothing she could do right now. She couldn’t pick up a cell phone, and even if she had one, there was no directory assistance to find Matthew’s cell phone...even if he had one. She didn’t know the address of the Webster house and couldn’t, at this moment, go wandering the streets of Seattle until she found it.

  “Thank you,” she sighed.

  Mrs. Conrad left the room, and Sara felt hot tears slide down her cheeks. She had broken her word to Matthew. Well, he would think she had broken her word. She hadn’t even told anyone she was going for a walk. If she had, Matthew would have at least known that she meant to return.

  A plump woman knocked on the door a short while later and maneuvered her way in the door with a silver tray.

  “Here you are, miss. Some tea and toast.” She set the tray on the bed beside Sara.

  “Thank you, Mrs....” Sara lifted an eyebrow.

  “Olson, miss. I’m the housekeeper.” White fluffy hair crowned a cheerful pink face.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Olson.” Sara looked at the tray but tried to hide her grimace at the thought of food.

  “Eat now, miss. You need your strength.” Mrs. Olson poured out a cup of tea and handed it to Sara, apparently intent on waiting to see if Sara drank it. Sara obediently took a sip. It did go down very smoothly.

  Mrs. Olson beamed and rubbed her hands on her apron.

  “Well, I’ve got to go help the cook with dinner, so I’ll leave you to eat.”

  “Dinner?” Sara squeaked. “Dinner? What time is it?”

  Mrs. Olson checked a small watch pinned to her dark-brown dress.

  “Just about three o’clock, miss.”

  Sara’s hand holding the cup shook. “Three o’clock?” she repeated in a whisper. She had been gone about twenty-four hours.

  “Yes, miss. You slept a long time—Mrs. Conrad said because of the pain medication the doctor gave you.”

  Sara nodded, fighting back another round of tears. Her throat ached from the effort. She would have given anything to just run downstairs and trot back to Queen Anne Hill, but her ankle would never have allowed her to make the trip. She supposed she could hire a carriage, but she had no money and no idea where to tell the carriage to go.

  Mrs. Olson left, and Sara set down her tea and made the painful and arduous journey back to the window to stare down at the street. What could she do? What must Matthew be thinking?

  She stood there on one foot, trying to ignore the pulsing pain in her right ankle, until Mrs. Conrad returned to the room and dragged her back to bed.

  “You have not even eaten your toast,” she chided. “Well, supper will be ready soon. Mrs. Olson will bring you a nice plate of stew.”

  “Where are my clothes?” Sara asked, not completely giving up on an idea of trying to make it back to Queen Anne Hill.

  “They are being laundered,” Mrs. Conrad said. “Joseph said he found you in the road. Your clothes were mired in dirt.”

  “How long will that take?” Sara said.

  Mrs. Conrad smiled. “It is damp today, as it often is here in Seattle. Your things will probably take a few days to dry.”

  Sara swallowed hard. No, she needed clothes before that.

  “Rest now, dear. I will send Mrs. Olson up with supper soon. I hope you have an appetite by then.”

  Sara knew she wouldn’t. The only thing that would give her an appetite was the sight of Matthew standing before her, a warm smile on his face. No, even if he was angry with her, as long as she could see him and explain what had happened. As long as she could see him.

  As promised, Mrs. Olson brought stew in a few hours. She turned on the bedside lamp and waited while Sara took a few bites, but when the housekeeper left, Sara dropped her spoon and any pretense of eating. Feeling slightly less dizzy than she had that morning, she pushed off from the bed again and hopped to the window. Night had fallen, the early darkness that came with fall, and she stared down at the street now devoid of the busy commercial wagon traffic she had seen earlier.

  Streetlamps lit the road, highlighting the occasional pedestrians who strolled by, perhaps for an after-dinner walk. The now dark and forbidding brick building directly opposite seemed to house a small restaurant on its ground floor.

  She tugged at the window again, but it wouldn’t budge. She had no idea why she needed to have the window open. The overcoats on the men and women indicated the night air was brisk. She wasn’t Rapunzel, who needed to let down her hair to be rescued from her tower. She couldn’t very well wander the streets asking if anyone knew of the Websters and where they lived on Queen Anne Hill.

  Acutely aware of the needs of nature, Sara hobbled into the connecting bathroom. She washed her face and hands, swatted at her rumpled hair, and returned to the bedroom, her only decision whether to stare out the window again or get back into bed. The persistent throbbing in her ankle told her she probably needed to elevate her foot, so she hopped back to the bed and climbed in.

  Mrs. Olson came to get her tray in a bit, and Sara closed her eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about Matthew. Had he and Emily worked out their differences? How long would he look for her? What would his parents think of her disappearance? How could she possibly return to the twenty-first century? Because if Matthew married Emily, Sara knew she didn’t want to stay.

  The following morning, Sara awakened to bright light in the room. She had forgotten to close the curtains the night before. Her ankle ached, but it no longer throbbed, at least not upon awakening. However, as soon as she lowered her feet to the floor, the pulsating pain began again.

  Her dinner tray of food was gone, and she suspected Mrs. Olson had come in and removed the tray, declining to wake her. The effects of the morphine had put her to sleep again early last night, but the accompanying dizziness and nausea were gone, at least for now.

  She crawled out of bed and cruised over to the window using the now familiar path of bracing herself on chairs and the dresser. She had no idea what time it was, but the com
mercial wagons had appeared again, and a streetcar meandered down the road. Morning rush in downtown Seattle had begun.

  Sara leaned her elbows on the sill and watched the activity. Several carriages pulled up to the building across the street and discharged well-groomed men sporting derbies and elegant overcoats. They bypassed the restaurant, which appeared closed, and used the main entrance to the building.

  Sara was on the verge of turning away and heading for the bathroom when one such carriage caught her eye. Or rather, the driver caught her eye.

  Raymond!

  Her heart bounced around in her chest, then began a loud thumping.

  Matthew descended from the carriage and paused to talk to Raymond.

  Sara yanked at the window, but it still wouldn’t open. She resorted to pounding on the window and shouting.

  “Matthew! Matthew!”

  But Matthew couldn’t hear her. He was too far away, and the noise of the street would have deafened her pounding.

  Sara didn’t wait. She hopped to the door and pulled it open. The room led into a short hallway. She worked her way down the hall, supporting herself along the wall. Coming up to a staircase, she eyed it for a split second before grabbing the rail and bouncing down the stairs.

  “I can do this! I can do this!” she muttered with every jarring step. She dragged her injured right foot and smacked the toes on occasion.

  “Ouch! Ouch!”

  Mrs. Olson appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Miss Reed, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be out of bed. Mrs. Conrad has gone shopping, but she will be back in a few hours. She would be very unhappy to see you hopping down the stairs like that.”

  “I have to run across the street,” Sara panted. “Out of my way, Mrs. Olson!”

  “Across the street?” the housekeeper cried. “In your nightgown?” She shook her head and wrung her hands. “You can’t do that, miss.”

  “Watch me, Mrs. Olson!” Sara hopped to the door and yanked it open. A small level walkway, flanked by a decorative iron rail, led to the street. She eyed the railing some feet from the door and launched herself.