Echoes of Tomorrow

by Jenny Lykins

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The wailing shriek that rent the night air sounded like that of a wounded animal. Elise dropped to her knees, screaming Reed's name into her hands, rocking back and forth, denying what had just happened.

  Suddenly her head jerked up and she scrambled on her hands and knees, weeping, to the place where Reed had disappeared. She hoped with all her heart to be caught up in the same force that had taken him. But all she felt was a void spreading through her body, permeating her every cell. The pain was almost too intense to bear.

  With a gentle caress she smoothed the grass around her, still bent from the weight of Reed's body. Wracked with sobs so violent they hurt her ribs, she inched her face to the grass and laid her cheek on the spot where Reed's head had lain.

  After what seemed like hours her crying subsided and a numbness set in. She lay there, her body covering the last place Reed had touched. She never wanted to leave.

  *******

  The inky blackness of the heavens gave way to an opalescent pink dawn. Elise's unblinking eyes continued to stare blindly, but her mind at last began to function.

  A cold, fat raindrop on her cheek caused a slight stir within her numbness. When a steady stream began to beat down on her, she forced herself to rise to her knees and crawl to where she had dropped her dress with such tantalizing joy only hours before.

  With immense effort, she stood and slipped the dress over her rain-drenched teddy. She lacked the will to bother zipping it up.

  Pushing her dripping hair from her eyes, she staggered to the Jag. Her eyes closed in dismay and a sob tore at her raw throat when she saw the car. The driver's door stood wide open and not even a glimmer of an interior light shone. She knew without checking that the headlights and radio had not been turned off either.

  Sighing in tortured resignation, tears she thought had dried up hours ago burned the backs of her eyelids. The pouring rain washed away any that may have spilled over onto her cheeks. She dragged her purse from the floor of the Jag and turned in a lifeless walk toward her home.

  It was no more than a quarter of a mile, but it may as well have been a marathon. The effort she spent to put one foot in front of the next drained her of what little reserve of energy she had. She wished she'd just die.

  Why did he leave me? Our love should have been strong enough to keep him here. If that damned car would start I could drive it over the levy and into the river, then this pain would be gone. That's stupid. What would that solve? This numbness must be what a wife feels when she loses her husband. He's dead now. Even if he went back to his own time, he'd be dead now. Oh, God. I can't think this way.

  Her disjointed thoughts continued until she let herself in the back door of the home they'd shared. She’d just begun to gather a modicum of control when her gaze fell on a pair of men's Reeboks by the door. Tears welled up and hovered on her lower lashes, and her chin quivered in suppressed pain. Her insides began to crumple again. She slammed the door with a ferocious kick. Biting the inside of her jaw and staring at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay, Elise shoved her wet, matted hair out of her eyes and ran up the stairs.

  Her room felt cold and empty now, even though she'd never shared it with Reed. Their one afternoon as a married couple had been spent in his room. She looked around, expecting to see something changed or missing to account for the emptiness. Everything was exactly as she'd left it the night before.

  A mounting rage welled up inside her chest. The unfairness nearly overwhelmed her. In one swift move, she yanked the heavy beaded dress up and over her head. She tried to rip it down the middle. When the wet fabric refused to give, she wadded the dress up and hurled it against the wall. It hit with a sharp clack before thudding to the polished wood floor. A wet stain darkened the ivory moiré wall and a puddle formed on the floor around the sodden dress.

  "Damn you! Damn you, damn you, damn you!"

  Elise dropped to the chaise and dragged her fingers through tangled hair, then pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She wasn't sure who she was damning - herself for falling in love, or Reed for leaving her. She thought she might be sick.

  Pulling herself to her feet, she walked the few steps to her bed, dragged back the covers, and fell limply onto the sheets. She curled into the fetal position, yanked the quilt up to her chin and remained motionless until a deep, dreamless sleep overtook her.

  *******

  Elise fought to pry her swollen, puffy lids open to mere slits. Without moving her head, she searched for the red beacon of her digital clock. Ten twenty-seven p.m.

  "Ohhhhhh." Pain throbbed against her temples like a sledge hammer on bass drums. She reached a shaky hand into the darkness and turned on a bedside lamp, then rolled off the bed and stood. The only lucid thought in her mind was to make it into the bathroom and down a bottle of aspirin. As she passed by the vanity mirror on her way to the medicine cabinet, she almost didn't recognize herself. Stringy, matted hair clung to her head, the swollen skin around her eyes was so red she looked like an accident victim.

  She watched her eyes glisten with tears as the memories flooded her mind. A hairbrush lay on the counter, and she felt her fingers wrap around the smooth wooden handle just before she flung it into the reflection of her face.

  As she watched her image distort into five jagged sections she gave a feeble nod of satisfaction and wearily moved on.

  "Now...I look like I feel."

  *******

  The following morning Elise sat at her kitchen table, a pitiful, solitary figure. The silence of the room was worse than a tomb. There was no companionable clink of silver against china, no scooting chair drawing nearer, no teasing witticisms tossed in her direction. Only silence.

  Even the smells were different. The very air seemed to be heavy with the absence of shaving cream and soap.

  Two empty cups sat at her elbow. In a ridiculous attempt to outfox fate, she had decided to set the table for Reed. He would have to come downstairs then, to eat the breakfast she would prepare, wouldn't he? Common sense took over before she had gotten far with her plan, and she sank to the chair in misery. She had no desire for coffee or breakfast. She wondered with distraction if she would ever want to eat again.

  Her head slowly lowered to the table until she felt the coolness of the wood on her forehead. Fresh tears clung to her lashes before dropping, creating tiny puddles so close to her face they were just shiny blurs.

  She had tried to keep her mind blank, and had managed for the most part. But now images raced across her mind's eye; split seconds of time being revisited, until she found herself watching Reed smiling at her while she spoke to him in the guest bedroom.

  "Do you know what I think? I think we were meant to be together. I feel like you held the missing piece to the puzzle of my life...We will be together, darlin'."

  Her own words whirled through her brain, sweeping out the self-pity, inspiring her to get off her butt and do something. Anything.

  Elise jumped from her chair, knocking it backward into a cabinet. Why had she wasted so much time? Grieving would get her nowhere.

  "I told you we were meant to be together, darlin'," she said aloud. "All I have to do is find a way."

  First things first. Her mind flew across the possibilities. She knew it was useless to look for official records. They'd found that out when they'd attempted to track Reed's life immediately after he'd arrived.

  Unofficial records, then. I'll tear this place inside out until I find something.

  Elise stampeded up the stairs and pulled on the first clothes she could find - purple sweat pants and a blue tee shirt. She grabbed a rubber band and gathered the mass of golden brown curls into a haphazard ponytail. She ignored the disastrous condition of her room and left it at a run, hitting the stairs to the third floor two at a time.

  Breathing hard with excitement and exertion, she finished the third flight of stairs and found herself in the middle of the sweltering, humid a
ttic. She had explored the area when she moved into the house, and later when some furniture had been stored. She'd thought everything had been thoroughly investigated, but now she realized numerous possibilities had been overlooked.

  The original family had left quite a few boxes and trunks. Elise had assumed they weren't worth taking. Now she intended to go through every inch of the attic, trunks and all.

  The first box was filled with school books and papers from the 1950's. Another box held stacks of magazines from the ‘70's and ‘80's. She gave up on boxes for the moment and tried a trunk.

  Picking out the oldest looking one she could find, she held her breath and lifted the lid.

  Empty.

  So was the next one.

  Minutes turned into hours as Elise ripped into boxes and broke clasps on trunks, only to find caches of canceled checks, love letters from lonely soldiers, old clothes and myriad other useless items.

  The sun sat low in the sky when she rose stiffly to her feet to break for dinner. A dusty, dying ray of light pierced the dimness through a small western window, illuminating a darkened alcove she'd forgotten about. There in the dim light stood a battered, water-stained steamer trunk.

  Elise's heart jumped to her throat as she shoved boxes and furniture out of the way to clear a path. She could feel her pulse racing. Her hands left moist fingerprints on the latch as she opened the lock.

  The lid fell back with a thud, causing swirls of dust to rise like miniature explosions. The dust had settled and Elise had sneezed several times before she dragged her sleeve across her eyes and approached the container again.

  Dismay tainted her hope when her eyes fell upon the contents. The interior was filled with what appeared to be ledgers or logs of some sort. They were, indeed, very old, but the water stains on the exterior had done their damage inside as well.

  The first book she picked up fell to pieces when she tried to open it. In fact, all the books lining the top layer fell apart. The second layer was in much the same condition, but the third layer proved to have two books that stayed in one piece. Unfortunately, the black ink was so blurred with water stains it had turned a very pale brown. Unreadable.

  Elise dug to the very bottom and pulled three books out of the center that seemed to be in better shape than the rest.

  Nervous fingers brushed across the covers, wiping off years of mildew. She said a little prayer that one of these would hold an answer.

  The binding on the first book crackled as the stiffness of the cover gave under her insistent fingers. Pages stuck together, but with gentle patience she soon separated them.

  Elise's breath caught when the flyleaf fell open to her. She felt dizzy for a moment and had to force herself to quiet her hammering heart.

  Journal of J. Reed Blackwell was inscribed in elaborate script across the top of the flyleaf.

  She released an involuntary sob and had to still her fingers to keep from ripping the pages. With deliberate slowness she eased the page over and looked heavenward before looking back to the book.

  Accounts Paid - Oak Vista Plantation - 1840

  "Damn!"

  Heedless of possible damage now, she rifled through the pages, looking for a new account year.

  That book was soon discarded in favor of the next. This one held the accounts for 1842.

  "Come on, come on, come one," she pleaded as she picked up the final book and opened it without hesitation. It was a book of poems, and she wondered what it was doing in with the household ledgers.

  Her breathing stopped completely, her heartbeat a loud roar in her ears. She couldn't believe her eyes.

  "He's not coming back," she whispered to herself. Disbelief muddled her thoughts and she looked again at the writing.

  Tears flooded her eyes and fell to her cheeks. Her voice was husky with emotion when she spoke.

  "I'm going to him!"

  Joyous wonder lit her face as she watched a fat tear fall upon the inscription written by her own hand:

  To the most wonderful man in the world.

  I love you, darlin.' All my love, Elise.

  Suddenly the world seemed brighter, her heart grew lighter as she hugged the book to her breast. Surely she could float above the earth if she tried right now.

  The nightmare was over, almost before it had begun. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would go to Reed. Now her job was to find the portal to his world and enter it. This would not be an easy task - she didn't have the first clue as to where to look or what to look for. But she would continue to search until she found the means to get back to the one man in all of time that was perfect for her.

  *******

  The nightmare was not over. For two weeks Elise combed the house and grounds for any viable explanation to Reed's jumping back and forth in time. She went to the library and spent hours upon hours researching even the tiniest article on time travel, so she'd have at least a hint as to what to look for in her search of the grounds. There were as many theories on the subject as there were authors of the articles. She came to the conclusion that if she could fly faster than the speed of light, she could get back there on her own. If. If, if, IF!

  Elise could find nothing whatsoever that indicated special powers or a potential to move someone through time. She was painfully aware that the most mundane item or action, one that she might already have dismissed, could be the key to her transportation to Reed.

  She had reached a point where the more she searched, the more distraught she became. Hopelessness threatened to engulf her. She had to keep reminding herself that she would go back in time. The inscription in the book proved that to her. But she also realized the note could have been written the day she got back there or years later. Was she doomed to search for years before finding the answer?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The jangling ring of the telephone jerked her from her depressing reverie. She gently laid aside the book of poems she'd been reassuring herself with and stretched across the length of the couch to snare the phone with thumb and forefinger. She had to clear her throat twice before she could speak.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello, babe. Did you get my messages?"

  Elise restored the receiver to its cradle in a manner she hoped would do damage to Jeffrey's eardrum.

  "That sonofabitch."

  He'd been harassing her by phone all week. Somehow he must have gotten wind that Reed was gone. After the first couple of calls, she'd begun to screen them with her answering machine. If only she hadn't been caught off guard with her musings and made the mistake of picking this one up.

  It rang again. After the third ring the machine got it.

  "Elise, I know you're there. I also know you've taken a leave of absence from your job. What's the problem, Elise? I told you Romeo would split. You know we can work this out if you'd stop being so damn stubborn. Just pick up the phone, baby......Pick up the damn phone, Elise! You're going to..."

  The long beep of the machine disconnected the increasingly irate voice on the other end. Elise felt the hot flush of anger and fear on her skin. Jeffrey was becoming more insistent in his pursuit of her, and the quicksilver change of his temper brought back feelings she preferred to stay buried. She was going to have to check with an attorney to see what it would take to keep him away from her.

  Her anger at Jeffrey started the adrenaline pumping. She jumped up and began pacing, trying to clear her mind of the phone call and focus on the problem at hand.

  For the thousandth time she went over her last day with Reed, dissecting every movement and analyzing it.

  Her mind scanned back to the couple of hours before the party.

  The pair had finally come up for air and decided they were starved. Elise searched the cabinets for a snack while Reed toyed with the crocks from the basement and reminisced. She thought back to their conversation and watched it run like a movie in her mind.

  "No one knew why my father had the closet built in there, but Nell used it to dry some of
her herbs and store a lot of her remedies she kept mixed up. Oh, look." Reed popped a wax top off of the small crock. "It looks like..." he took a sniff, "it is! It's Nell's herbal tea! She use to brew this for me all the time as a child to help me sleep."

  An idea lit up his eyes. "I wonder if it would taste the same."

  Elise screwed up her face with a dubious look but Reed was already at the sink, running some water.

  "C'mon. Let's try it."

  The dull thunk of the doorknocker sounded before she could answer.

  "Hold on, that's probably the paper boy."

  Reed was mumbling to himself when she re-entered the kitchen after paying the neighbor kid.

  "How does one go about brewing tea? ELISE!" he bellowed, then grinned and shrugged when he discovered her behind him.

  "Well, darlin', I don't know how Nell did it, but being the modern woman that I am, the only way I know how to brew tea is in my Mr. Coffee."

  She stuffed a filter into the coffee holder, then gingerly shook some of the questionable tea into it.

  Looks like mulch, she thought as she tried to guess the correct amount to use. Smells like it, too.

  Reed paced in front of the coffeemaker like a little boy in front of an oven full of cookies. It struck Elise, like a blow to the center of her chest, how homesick he must feel to be this anxious to taste tea that was a century and a half old. Their tour had dredged up memories that, in his mind, were only six weeks old; not all that long by today's standards, but for a nineteenth century man catapulted into an alien time, it must seem like an eternity.

  The last drop hadn't fallen into the pot before Reed scooped it up and poured a cup. He offered it to Elise, but she shook her head, and with a wrinkled nose handed it back to him.

  "I think I'll pass this time, darlin'. You enjoy, while I make us a snack."