by Jenny Lykins
ECHOES OF TOMORROW
By Jenny Massie Lykins
Previously published 1997 Jenny Lykins by Berkley/Jove
Copyright 2013 Jenny Massie Lykins Smashwords Edition
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For Richie, the real Reed
And for Donna Freeman
PROLOGUE
March 19, 1844
He'd never met her. He wasn't even sure she existed. But unless she appeared at the proverbial eleventh hour, the woman Reed Blackwell searched for would not be at this gathering.
His eyes missed nothing as his gaze scanned over the heads of the cream of New Orleans aristocracy, watching dozens of his guests dance or chat in the elegant, glittering ballroom. He suffered a now-familiar twinge of frustration.
No new faces looked back at him.
The scent of expensive perfumes swirled around him to mingle with snatches of conversations. Compliments about the "excellent host," flattering, insincere comments on someone's gown and half-hearted threats to steal away his cook gained no more than a cursory nod from him. His eyes began to glaze over. He allowed himself that luxury for a few moments.
What he wouldn't give for a stimulating conversation with a woman. An intelligent woman.
The right woman.
He had planned this ball in hopes of finding a lady who stood apart from the crowd. A woman who struck him as a true individual with a mind of her own, as interested in all of life as these women seemed in fashion. But, to his disappointment, there seemed to be a complete absence of such a being in his social circle. Oh, most probably such a woman did, indeed, exist. But as the years passed, he despaired of ever finding her.
He blinked, then tried to force himself to refocus with a somewhat interested gaze.
It was no use. He'd had enough.
Summoning up an apologetic grin, he excused himself from the many elaborately clad guests surrounding him. With a sense of disappointment that he’d long ago learned to live with, he discreetly signaled to the orchestra leader for the final waltz.
Nell watched the master of Oak Vista become more and more restless. It was only a matter of time before he called an end to yet another disappointing search.
Drastic steps would have to be taken.
The wiry old housekeeper watched the man she'd raised from an infant swallow the full contents of a glass of champagne in one gulp. That action inspired her next move. An herbal tea would be the best medium for the voodoo spell she hoped would change Reed's life.
She'd watched through alert eyes all evening while weaving her way among the pampered New Orleans planters, a silver tray of filled wine glasses balanced in her coffee-colored hands. As a servant she was all but invisible, her presence noted only when an emptied glass needed replacing. It served her purpose well by allowing her every vantage point to view her subject. The more she observed, the more convinced she was of what had to be done.
Four sets of French doors at the far end of the ballroom led to the garden. She melted into the shadows through one of them, into the dark, fragrant night, on a mission to find the ingredients she would use in her spell.
Angeline Simon's heart fluttered while Reed made his way toward her. His head rose several inches above all others in the room, and the golden streaks of sun in his chestnut hair glistened in the candlelight. Even this far away she could see the brilliant blue eyes that seemed to have the disconcerting ability to look right into a person's soul. The width of his shoulders bespoke power, but she'd seen this man hold a slave's newborn babe as if it were his heir.
He was too good to let slip through her fingers.
She knew she was a perfectly gowned, perfectly coiffed china doll of a woman. Hadn’t dozens of men just tonight declared her so? And Reed, to her delight, had claimed several dances on her dance card.
She took mental inventory as she waited. Her angelic expression was in place, with only a slightly helpless air about it. The fan of carved ivory swayed in languorous motion. She prepared to step into his arms with a practiced grace that should both impress him and make him feel protective toward her fragility.
Give a man what he wants and he'll give you everything he's got. That was Angeline's motto. And the man she wanted was Reed Blackwell. Rich, prosperous, and extremely handsome, Reed had everything a woman like Angeline, or any woman, could want.
Of course, she was willing to overlook the little eccentricities of his lifestyle. Not every woman would be willing to accept the fact that he had systematically freed all of his slaves - some nonsense about allowing them to buy their freedom. Then not one of them had left Oak Vista to stand on his own two feet. And the very thought of Reed going to his darkies, even field hands, for advice on how to better the crops and working conditions! He should be grateful for her tolerance. After all, she was the undisputed belle of New Orlean's society.
Reed swept Angeline onto the ballroom floor, but the fragile, angelic face she so expertly turned to him failed to move him. He concentrated on making polite conversation until this dance was over, until he could bid his guests farewell and climb the spiral, cantilevered staircase to his bedchamber. At least there he could sleep and hopefully lose his disappointment over the evening. If he had to wear this mask of a smile much longer he believed his face would crack.
He wore his smile longer than anticipated. When he informed Angeline that they were dancing the final dance, she threw herself into a snit and began pouting in earnest. This tactic was an age old game played by the women of his social circle, and normally he refused to cooperate. But the absolute last thing he wanted was a scene, only because it would prolong the evening. If he didn't pacify her, he knew she would cause a scene in such a way as to leave herself completely blameless.
"My dear Angeline, I shan’t be budged in my resolve to end this interminable evening, whether you intend to carry on with your sulking or not." When Angeline's sullen look turned into one of deepest hurt, Reed blew out a long, exasperated breath and continued. "But I will promise to collect you tomorrow and take you for a ride along the bluffs."
She immediately bestowed upon him a brilliant smile and reached up to peck his cheek, her golden ringlets bouncing with the movement. He'd known that offer would placate her. There seemed to be a status attached to riding along the bluffs with certain gentlemen. For reasons he could not fathom, he was one of them.
Ah, well. It would not hurt to exercise his horse tomorrow, and Angeline could be a charming companion when she wasn't manipulating people to get her way.
*******
The last carriage crunched slowly down the drive before Reed turned and entered the huge, mahogany front door. His heart took on a stab of defeat as he mounted the sweeping stairs. Thirty-six years old, and all he asked was to have a woman to love and a family to care for. Why, when every other man around seemed to accomplish that feat with no effort at all, did he find it so difficult?
Who taught these women to be so all-fired frivolous? Try as he might, he could not develop even a hint of interest in one. Was he being overly critical? Was he expecting too
much in wanting to see at least a modicum of intelligence shine through all that lace and frippery?
Not for the first time, he thought he may as well give up and accept the possibility of following in his Uncle Ian's bachelor footsteps.
Reed's shoulders slumped more with each step upward. When he rounded the top of the staircase he dragged his arms from the sleeves of his meticulously tailored coat and headed straight for his suite of rooms.
As he slid off his waistcoat and removed his cravat, a gentle tap sounded at the door. "Come in," he mumbled, then began removing the gold and pearl studs from his shirt.
Nell bustled in with a small pot of tea and placed it on the bedside table. She rounded on Reed, put both hands on his back and propelled him to it, just as she had done hundreds of times in his youth.
"I's thinkin' you be wantin' some of my special tea afore you turns in," she said. Sympathy etched even deeper lines into her weathered face when she looked at him. It galled him to think he was the subject of anyone's pity, but he knew Nell thought only of him. "It'll help my poor baby sleep better," she said quietly as she patted his shoulder. She poured him a full cup of her brew and stood back, apparently waiting for him to sip the steaming tea and share any thoughts he might have on the evening.
He chose not to burden Nell with his depressing thoughts, but grimaced at the vile smell of the tea, tossing it down in one gulp. The taste was never as bad as the smell, and he’d had to remind himself of that ever since he’d been a boy. He watched Nell move around the room, straightening his discarded jacket, opening the windows wider for a better breeze, lowering the mosquito netting. He poured a second cup and sat down on the counterpane as the tea cooled on the table. The bed felt heavenly, and he grinned at Nell.
"Your tea always does the trick, Nellie, my love," he teased. "I vow, I am ready to roll over here and sleep for a month!"
He flopped onto his side and feigned a loud snore, which only gained a snort from Nell. A quilt dropped unceremoniously atop his head - retaliation for his teasing. Just to antagonize her he stayed in that same position while she finished putting his room in order. At the muffled sound of the door opening and closing, he realized he was so tired he could barely raise his head from the pillow. After only one feeble attempt to rise, he gave up and succumbed to the weariness sweeping over him.
CHAPTER ONE
March 30, 1994
Elise Gerard's blood roared in her ears, but she concentrated on what had to be a hallucination going on in front of her.
It wasn't really a mist. She could see through it. But it became more dense, and the outline of a human shape began to form.
She’d stopped struggling with the last two buttons on the back of the antebellum gown and now she watched, wide-eyed with disbelief, at the transformation taking place on her bed.
A leather-clad calf materialized and dangled over the side of the bed. It seemed to be attached to the body-shaped mound of covers. A tanned, muscular, definitely masculine hand solidified on the pink paisley sheets and protruded from beneath the bed linens.
Elbows skyward, unable even to remove her fingers from the buttons at the back of her neck, she stood frozen. Blinking her eyes didn't clear the apparition from her vision. Neither did squinting or shaking her head.
Good grief! It looked for all the world like a man had just appeared under the covers of her unmade bed!
He heard the birds first. The chirping invaded his sleeping mind and prodded him gently awake. Then came the awareness of daylight beyond his closed eyelids and the fact that the quilt Nell had thrown over him last night still covered his head. He must have been more exhausted than he’d realized. Had he ever slept through the night without so much as rolling over?
After grabbing the quilt and pulling it away from his face, he rolled to his back and released a huge yawn. He pried his eyes open and stretched mightily.
He stopped in mid-stretch.
Frozen at the foot of his bed stood a complete and total stranger. And a very beautiful one at that. Her arms stretched over and behind her head, she appeared to be the final stages of buttoning her morning gown. The stranger stared at him with the oddest shade of green eyes he'd ever encountered.
Her eyes locked with his, eyes filled with shock and a considerable amount of terror. Several seconds elapsed while disbelief joined the terror, then the stranger made a dive for a satchel on the dresser behind her. She whirled back around, holding a small leather canister with strange keys dangling from it. She held it at arm's length, pointed in his direction.
"Move one muscle and I'll hose you down," she threatened, her strange, moss-colored eyes narrowed, her extended arm unwavering.
Up to this point Reed had not moved from sheer shock of waking to find a strange woman dressing in his bedchamber. But enough was enough, and he meant to get to the bottom of this. Beautiful or not, he refused to be ordered about. What did she think he was going to do, cower in a corner while she shook odd-looking keys in his face?
He flung the quilt aside, swung his legs over the side of the bed and prepared to escort the uninvited guest from his chambers. Before his feet hit the floor, a thin stream of liquid shot from the leather case and struck him directly in the face.
Pain such as he had never experienced in his life seared across his face. His eyes slammed shut and burned with the intensity of a flame on his flesh. He fell onto the Aubusson carpet, gasping for a breath that wouldn't come. His throat constricted, and he writhed in helpless agony. All that existed for him was the pain, the difficulty in breathing, the lack of control in his limbs.
An eternity passed, then, blessedly, an icy wet object fell across his face and hands. After several moments the smallest degree of control began to slip back into his body. With slow, jerking movements he pressed the wonderful, soothing cloth against his face. When he tried to remove the towel, the burning increased tenfold. Another towel fell onto his hands and he scrambled to grab it and scrub the fire from his skin. Somewhere in his mind a small voice told him he must look like a groveling fool, but at that moment a cold cloth seemed like the most important thing in the world.
In gradual, almost imperceptible stages, the pain began to subside, and he regained control of his breathing. He drew the last cloth from his face and looked up to see the stranger standing a safe distance away, that damnable leather case still pointed at him.
"Who the hell are you, and how did you do that?" she yelled, her arm still unwavering.
Reed could not believe his ears.
"Who am I? And what do you mean, how did I do that? You are the one who did it, Madam! Or are you saying you did not try to blind me with that...that thing in your hands?"
The stranger's look darkened. She pushed the case closer, her voice menacing. "How did you appear on my bed while I stood there and watched it happen? And don't tell me you're David Copperfield."
Leather case or no leather case, Reed shot her a look that said she was mad.
"Your bed? Madam, this is my bed, and I'm not David anyone. My name is Reed Blackwell and I own this plantation. Now suppose you tell me who you are, and why you are in my bedroom, half-clothed."
The stranger's eyebrows shot up with a ‘surely you jest’ look in her eyes.
"Look, jerk," she stated, "this is my plantation. I'm Elise Gerard and my name is on all the papers, including the deed. I own everything on Oak Vista, lock, stock and barrel."
"I said my name is Reed, not Jerk, and if this is another practical joke instituted by the McNeely brothers, then you have all carried it to a very tiresome extreme. I would be more than pleased to pay you to go away. Name your price."
The strange woman stood there, anger and indecision warring on her face, the only sound in the room the metallic ching of keys dangling in her shaking hand.
"Get up," she ordered after several seconds. "You can explain it to the police." She waved the leather case toward the bedchamber door.
Reed slowly got to his feet, deciding to play
along. Arguing might get him another dose of that liquid fire in his face. Besides, all he need do was catch her off guard and disarm her.
He glanced around the room, looking for something with which to bind her hands, if need be, when he realized with a start that some were very different. How had she changed the heavy draperies on all the windows? And the bed hangings and counterpane? Even some of the furniture had been rearranged. Where was his mother’s hope chest?
Before he could look closer at the bedroom, his eyes fell on the open door to his dressing room. He stopped dead in his tracks.
What, in the name of all that was holy, had happened? There, off in his dressing room, sat a strange, beige, porcelain-looking seat, with a rounded bottom on a pedestal. Along one wall sat a huge, oblong tub, big enough for two people to sit in, with a stopper at the bottom and gold knobs on one end. If he didn't know better he'd think it was a bathing tub, but that monstrosity could never be taken out and emptied. Indeed, the thing looked to be a permanent fixture. A shelf made of marble ran along another wall. A bowl had been formed into it with the same kind of hole in the bottom and the same gold knobs on top. Around the mirror above the shelf were small, round globes, glowing like lanterns, but no flame lit them.
As he stared, rooted to the spot, the woman made a wide berth around him, reached past the door and hit a small knob on the wall. Every one of the glowing globes went out at exactly the same time.
Reed's gaze left the now dark globes and slid to the woman. He clenched his fists while his heart banged in his chest. Little hairs at the back of his neck rose to rasp against his shirt collar. He swallowed in a vain attempt to moisten his throat.
"What has happened to my home?"
The woman stared at him, a bewildered look mingling with the wariness in her eyes. Through his baffling haze of disbelief he thought for a moment her guard had slipped, but then she spoke.
