The Ghost and Miss Hallam: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series Book 1)

by Barbara Bartholomew

  She breathed a little easier. As far as she’d been told, tornado watches were all too common in Oklahoma, practically a way of life.

  Finally she went outside to learn that inside air conditioning had protected her from the fact that late in the day though it was, it was still a sizzling hundred plus day outside. With a cool front moving in from the direction of Kansas, and pure hot blasting up from Texas, the weather could very well go bang!

  Going back inside, she checked the weather from her internet connection and saw that things were already boiling up to the southwest over in the Texas panhandle, though the storms were still several counties below the one where she was currently residing.

  Often storms seemed to die out as evening approached. No doubt it would be at all clear by dark.

  It was too hot outside to take her usual walk, plus she didn’t exactly want to dare the streaks of lightning that were already visible in the distance. The thunder that had caught her attention was still far away, but she left the television on the Oklahoma City channel so she’d hear an update on any warnings and made herself an early supper of a turkey sandwich with more tomatoes, avocado and lettuce than meat, grabbed a handful of chips and poured cold tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator.

  She tried to read some more, but it seemed like the weather warning came beeping in every few minutes, so finally she gave up and picked up a magazine to leaf through its pages.

  Now storms began to pop just across the border in Texas from the county directly below and, a little uneasily, Lynne began to pay more attention. In about ten more minutes, the Oklahoma City channel switched from national programming to uninterrupted programming. So far, they reported, storms were mostly moving through open country.

  Open country, Lynne commented internally. Places where only people like me live.

  In small towns across the western half of the state, sirens were blowing to warn residents to take cover. Detailed instructions were given about taking cover in closets or inner rooms, about staying out of the way of flying glass.

  Lynne considered the little bathroom might be the safest place I the ranch house. She still didn’t want to think about the cellar outside with its possible assortment of squiggly wild life. She wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of tornados or snakes.

  One particular storm, graphically presented with its low-hanging threatening black mass by storm chasers, seemed to be headed right in her direction. It was dark night outside and the storms showed no sign of dying out.

  The meteorologist on television, much concerned that the storms seemed to be heading generally toward the population centers in the center of the state, sharpened his warnings. “These are powerful storms, showing a history of spawning category four and five tornados. These tornados can level a house. Go into your underground shelters or safe rooms.”

  When he talked about safe rooms, even Lynne knew enough to comprehend that he wasn’t talking about bathrooms or closets but especially built rooms. She didn’t have one of those and wind driven rain was already pounding at the house. She’d get soaked if she went outside.

  The satellite television picture faded away as the storm began to hit and she knew her computer service would be gone too. The last thing she’d heard, a tornado was angling right toward her, heading southeast toward Oklahoma City and its many people.

  Her fear of tornados finally triumphing over snakes and driving rain, she ran toward the door, pulling it tightly closed behind her. To her surprise car lights were shining through the rain and a man ran toward her. “Get inside,” Moss’s voice yelled at her, “bad storm coming!”

  “There’s a storm cellar out back,” Lynne yelled back.

  Taking his hand, she ran with him around the house and to the cellar that lay only a few feet back of the house. He lifted the door and shouted to her to get inside even as she looked to see through a violent flash of lighting that a dangling rope of a tornado swept toward them from the west. She needed nothing else to send her scrambling down concrete steps, calling to him to follow.

  He pulled the weighted door into place, shutting out the lightning and putting them into the total darkness of a hole underground. Outside thunder boomed and the wind howled. She heard debris striking the cellar top, but felt surprisingly secure inside its shelter.

  Moss had spent the day driving from Kansas without remembering anything new. He’d even gone to the spot on the narrow road where he’d been told he ran into a truck without results.

  Tired and discouraged, he had called to check in with Cynthia and she’d suggested he go to the ranch house for the night. Lost in a confusion of thought, it wasn’t until he was almost to the ranch that he recalled he didn’t have a key to the house. He was about to turn around and head back to the nearest town when he saw the dangled tornado headed at him and knew he had to take shelter. Being caught in his rental car would be the worst possibility. Cars didn’t stand up well at all to tornado strength winds and he didn’t relish the thought of going tumbling over and over within the vehicle.

  If necessary he would break into the house. To his surprise, the house shone with lights, only going dark with the flash of power as the tornado swept rapidly forward. He saw Lynne, her dark eyes shining with fear, in the doorway, grabbed her hand and ran with her to the storm shelter.

  And now the door was down behind them and he stood alone with her in utter darkness. He heard her give a little wordless murmur. “Why didn’t I think to bring a flashlight or a candle,” she said. “I didn’t mean to come down here. I was going to stay in the house.”

  “Better to be down here,” he told her.

  He heard a shivery sigh. “We could step on snakes at any minute,” she said and her voice came from very close.

  Instinctively he reached out to offer her comfort, pulling her into his arms. She was a small woman, but surprisingly warm and curvy in his grasp, and for a moment the sounds of the destruction outside faded and there was nothing in the world but the two of them in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  A September wedding was held in the reroofed and repaired ranch house. The snaky tornado had touched lightly enough on the house, but had flattened all the outbuildings. These would have to be rebuilt as Moss and Lynne planned to turn it into a working ranch once again.

  Lynne didn’t talk of the memories that had never come back. Moss must never feel she had been cheated because he had left her behind for a while. It was enough to know he’d fallen in love with her all over again.

  The only ones in attendance were her family and his, Betsy and Lana’s daughters striking up an immediate friendship, and a few neighbors including Wilda and her family.

  Lynne wore a simple cotton dress that had been found packed away. It had belonged to Maud’s daughter, Jeanie, who apparently had not inherited her mother’s height. They knew about the dress because Maud had described it in as one she’d made for her girl in the years before Jeanie went away to find her own career and marriage away from the ranch.

  It seemed, the journal revealed, she’d married a man named Caldecott and so had helped found the family that had led to Moss, Cynthia and Betsy. They were her descendants and the explanation was finally found as to why she’d left her legacy to Moss. Of course, Lynne knew there was more to the story, knew that in time she had actually met Moss and had undoubtedly known why the critically injured man had been drawn to the ranch and to her. At his hour of greatest need, he’d come to his ancestral home.

  Someday she would tell Moss about Maud and what she’d meant to both of them. But his memories were still too fragile, she had no wish to add to his pain.

  Not that he seemed to be feeling much pain today. He glowed with happiness, as she was sure she did herself. And he looked so handsome in the western clothes of his new life, jeans and shirt and fancy cowboy boots. His big hat hung on a hook in the entrance.

  They stood alone before the young minister from the nearby church and repeated vows that would bind
them forever, than accepted the kisses and well wishes of family members. Mom and Dad hadn’t been too happy to learn that their new son-in-law was leaving behind the career for which he’d educated himself to become a rancher, but they’d kept their peace. They had learned a little from Loy’s new husband, who was not only devoted to their daughter, but pulled in more income from his landscaping business than any of the others made in the academic world.

  They still had a somewhat awed respect for education, but having endured such poverty as children, they found it hard to resist the idea that their children had a degree of financial security.

  As far as Lynne knew, nobody had mentioned to either of them that Moss and his sister were considerably more than well off. It was nice to know that they liked the man she was marrying for himself.

  It was a lovely wedding and even lovelier when they were left alone in their new home. They went out to check on their own horses that grazed in their own pasture, took a stroll down to the pond and then came back to build the first fire of the year in the fireplace as a mid-September chill stole into the rooms.

  There was a certain newly-married tension in the air. Conscious that she was keeping secrets, yet knowing no way to explain to her new husband that he’d once haunted this house, Lynne watched as Moss went over to the bookcase to remove a faded novel from its shelf.

  “From This Land,” he read. “It’s one of Maud Bailey Sandford’s books.”

  “It’s the last one she wrote before she died,” Lynne said. “I’ve read all the rest and that one is next in line. Actually you learn more about her from reading her novels, than you do from her journals.”

  “Your mom was telling me that there is increasing national interest in her books,” he said. “She seems to have a lot to say to the current generation.”

  Truer than he could know. “Her books will never hit the New York bestseller lists,” she agreed, “but among serious readers, she’s commanding real respect.”

  He grinned and she knew he was thinking she shared some of her parents’ ivory tower bias. If a college literature professor thought a book was good, then it must be really good!

  She watched as he opened to the book’s first pages. Then she saw his face pale as he read whatever was written there. She frowned, wondering what was wrong.

  He handed her the book which was opened to the dedication page and she read. For my Grandson Moss.

  The second line only said, “Remember.”

  She watched, fearful and amazed as a series of expressions flickered across his face. Maud’s message had sent him back.

  He was remembering. What would he feel about her now? Where was this taking them?

  A long time passed and she sat quietly, allowing him to take it in.

  Finally he looked at her, seeming to really see her for the first time since he’d handed her the book.

  “One thing, my love,” he said softly. “You never told me for what crime your parents sent you here and into my path.”

  This was the last thing she’d expected. “Nothing awful,” she choked out the words. “Just a little embarrassing.”

  “And now you’re going to tell me what it was so there will be no more secrets between us.”

  She looked at him with the greatest of tenderness. He was back and whole, her Moss once more.

  She leaned forward to touch his lips with her own, drawing back only enough to whisper. “A woman needs a secret or two.”

  He pulled her into his arms and for a long while neither of them gave thought to secrets of any kind.

  The End

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