by Izzy James
Max
A Yorktown Christmas Time-Slip Novella
Izzy James
Copyright © 2019 by Izzy James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover By: The Killion Group thekilliongroupinc.com
Edited By: B. Bettis of The Killion Group thekilliongroupinc.com
ISBN: 978-0-9852291-7-7
Created with Vellum
For my Maggie,
I’m so proud of you, my girl!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Afterword
Also by Izzy James
1
Present Day
Ballard House
Yorktown, Virginia
Olivia Woods inserted the huge blacksmith-wrought house key and stepped into Ballard House just in time to escape flurries of large wet snowflakes emitted from large granite cloud formations. A crack of lightning followed by an explosion of thunder brought her to the eighteen-light window facing the street. Well that put the kabosh on practicing piano today. Her little car wasn’t made to toboggan and Yorktown didn’t have snow equipment. The good news? The wet snow melted as it touched the street. She couldn’t risk her ankle on a patch of ice. Another crack exploded directly overhead. She grabbed the window to steady herself. Fingertips matched to her fingertips a hand took shape on the other side of the glass.
A tingle began in her head and tendrilled through her body and extremities.
A mere shade at first, he solidified before her eyes.
A man.
She pulled her hand back to her chest and stood mesmerized. Where had he come from?
Her spirit called to heaven, Lord Jesus, protect me.
Glowing blue-green eyes pierced her. Jaw-length dark hair framed his chiseled face. He wore the voluminous white shirt of a docent.
In a flash he moved toward the door.
She ran in slow motion to reach the latch.
He stopped on the other side of the old screened door. “I have no wish to harm ye.”
She flipped the eye-hook inwardly rolling her eyes at the “safety feature”.
“Ye can see me.” An Elizabethan accent shaped the words. Wonder filled his countenance.
“Why? Are you a ghost or something?”
Eyes cast down to the slatted porch, “No one has seen me in—many years.”
“Are you or are you not a ghost?” Or worse? A mist of questions filled her mind. He couldn’t be an angel because he didn’t tower over her and inspire great fear like she’d read of Gabriel. For the same reason she didn’t think he was a demon either, but they could be charming and deceptive. No, it was the plain ole ordinary fear of strangers making her heart beat like a bass drum.
“Well, I have never died if that is yer meaning.”
Clever response, but she wasn’t fooled. Devil spirits couldn’t die. “Can you die?”
“I always thought so. Certainly my ancestors have all died, but I might be a special case.” A half smile softened his chiseled features.
Not only did he sound like Masterpiece Theatre, he looked like her dream of a tragic eighteenth century hero. Masculine. Masterful. Snow frosted his dark hair. Sleeves bloomed from a hand-embroidered waistcoat which hugged his form to black breeches buckled below the knee above white stockings. Silver buckles twinkled from his shoes. He didn’t charm her, but he did interest her.
“What makes you so special?”
“Tis a long tale meant for a roaring fire on a winter night and full tankard of ale.”
Olivia glanced beyond him to the road still only wet with snow. Shocks of pale orange lightning lit the thunderous clouds. She looked down long enough to see her wrist watch. She couldn’t decipher its face.
“Well, I’d best be going. So if you will move, please.” She waved him off to the side and stepped onto the porch.
“Will ye come back?”
“I don’t know.” Of course she would come back, the Christmas Open-Town was in three weeks and she was stationed here to demonstrate and play the antique piano.
“Before ye leave may I know the name of the lady to whom I have been speaking?”
Oh, he was charming alright, positively swoony.
“I’ll start, shall I?” He cleared his throat and took a step back. “May I introduce myself? Maxwell Ballard at your service.” He bowed and extended his hand.
She felt her mouth fall open. “Maxwell Ballard of Ballard House?”
He placed his hand on his chest. “Maxwell Ballard of Pearl Hall, Yorktown, Virginia Colony.”
It couldn’t be. Maxwell Ballard had gone missing Christmas 1769.
“You’re missing.”
The blue-green eyes lit with mischief. “I’m,” he patted his chest with both hands, “right here. And you are?”
She stuck out her hand. “Olivia Woods.”
He stepped closer to take her hand which was nearly twice the size of her own.
“Y’re freezing.” He added his other hand to encase the hand he still held. “Would ye care come inside? To warm yerself before embarking on yer journey?”
She shouldn’t. She needed to consult someone who knew about these kinds of things. Was there any such person?
If he really was Max Ballard it would solve a couple of centuries-old mystery. Not that any but real history nerds like herself would care about that. On the other hand his knowledge of colonial Yorktown would be unprecedented. He would need to be protected, she wasn’t sure exactly what from, but her sense of unease grew in a different direction.
What if he wasn’t here when she came back?
“Only if you will tell me where you’ve been.”
“I’ll do better then that. I’ll show ye.”
Her heart rolled a beat.
He released her hand and gestured toward the side of the house. She shivered with curiosity, Grams would kill her if she found out Olivia had taken such a risk, but really what choice did she have when a man appeared out of nowhere saying he was from 1769. And he did appear. Of that she was certain.
Olivia followed him keeping a firm hand on her purse and music satchel.
At the corner of the back of the house he turned, “May I?” she placed her hand into his outstretched one. Together they stepped over a threshold Olivia didn’t see until she had one foot through.
The room appended to the main house and looked much the same in architecture except it looked fresh, as though it had been recently constructed. Eighteen-light windows lined the walls. One wall hosted floor to ceiling bookcases filled with leather bound volumes. In one corner sat a small grand-piano. It reminded her of the first pianos invented by Christofori. Fifty-four ivory keys not yet yellowed by age. C, A, and E were missing as though they’d never been completed. A quill, ink pot, and paper littered its glossy mahogany surface. She resisted the urge to slide her hand over the keys and to pick up the papers covered in notes.
“What is this?”
“Surely I have no need to instruct you on the pianoforte? I have watched ye play.”
Breath caught, she cast her eyes about for anything familiar. The landscape outside the windows no longer reflected the back yard she knew. Dependencies and latticed walk paths turned the grass field she’d known into a small village. She stepped back to look at him. “I meant—where are we?”
“More like ‘when�
�.”
What had she done? She backed away from him.
Miss Olivia Wood’s eyes grew wide and her delicate skin blanched. Instant regret for his cavalier remark dampened Max’s joy of the last few moments. Not only did she see him, but he touched her. He knew he should not get his hopes up, but it was the nearest he’d ever been to gaining his freedom. He wanted to grab her hand and run. He did not care where. He placed his hands on his waistcoat.
“I apologize.” She gazed up at him and started to shake.
There was only one thing he could do; hopefully it would work.
“Come with me.” He took her by the hand. A hand that was colder than when he’d first held it. Max led her to the doorway, her uneven gait more pronounced as she stiffly followed. Once over the threshold she glanced at the grounds.
“What is going on?”
The voice she summoned to command him earlier was back. He smiled. It worked. That was something. Reluctantly he released her hand. “Perhaps we should enter the other way?”
She spun on her foot and led the charge for the front entrance. Rather than the parlor on the left, she chose the dining room on the right for their talk.
He took a seat across the polished table from Olivia his back to the windows.
She placed her parcels on a chair next to her. Color returned to her cheeks. Stormy light played across her countenance.
“Are there anymore of you here?”
“I’m not a ghost.”
“Okay.” She flattened her palms on the table in front of her. “What was that place?”
“It’s my conservatory.”
“This house doesn’t have a conservatory.”
“It used to.”
She covered her face with her hands.
“Let me start at the beginning.”
Dragging her hands down to cup her chin, she murmured, “Please.”
“As often as I’ve thought about this moment—” His thoughts swirled like the snow outside. Across from him Miss Woods clasped her hands and relaxed them by turn. If her continued rapid movements were any indicator, her patience was a thin veneer. “As near as I can reckon, it began on December the twenty-fourth in the year 1769.”
He could still see Rebecka Stiles standing erect in his conservatory; her voice rang as she reproved him. He’d smiled and sounded ominous tones on his pianoforte as righteous indignation and anger spurred her on.
“Laugh if you will—you always were an arrogant fool.” Rebecka swung toward the door then back again. The brocade of her mantua rustled about her ankles. The command of her voice charged the air. Fingers stilled, he could do nothing but watch and listen.
Her right index finger pointed at him from her curled fist. “A curse be upon you, Maxwell Ballard. You shall be alone through the ages until such time as you lose your cruelty, your arrogance. Until you learn empathy for your fellow man. I don’t care if it takes two hundred and fifty years.”
The room crackled with unspent lightning strikes.
“When she closed the door it happened.”
“What happened?” Olivia inclined over the table.
“I am not certain. The first thing I noticed was that three of my keys were missing.”
“What keys?”
“Keys from my pianoforte.”
Her eyebrows drew into a scowl. “That’s odd.”
“Then I noticed that I could not enter the house.”
“You’re in here now.”
He nodded his agreement. “I wasn’t sure what was happening. I was furious. I could not enter my house. My servants could not hear me call them.”
“What about your family?”
“They had moved away. I was supposed to join them in Princess Anne for the Christmas holiday, but I’d begged off due to storm repairs.”
“You’ve been in that room since 1769?”
“After a while I realized I could walk around the outside of the house. I could watch life unfold, but I could not participate.”
She raised her palm toward him. “Hand on the glass?” Her eyes held his for a fraction of a moment understanding in their depths.
Boots stamped and scraped at the front door.
A tall man dressed in green with a wide-brimmed hat poked his head into the dining room.
“The park’s closing.”
“Hey, Nate.” Olivia collected her bags from the chair.
“Olivia.” He glanced across from her and held out his hand. “You must be new. Nate Lewis.”
Max took it. “Max Ballard.”
Nate’s normally smooth nod caught when Max mentioned his name, but he didn’t stop. “Nice to meet you. When the park closes early, we get our stuff and secure the premises as quickly as we can. No guests?”
Olivia looked at him with wide eyes. “Nope. I got it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
Nate turned on his heel and was gone.
“Where are you going to go?”
“Back to my conservatory.”
“Will you be alright?”
He raised a finger. “One question before you leave?”
“Sure.”
“What year is it?”
She grinned. “The year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen.” Max’s eyes rounded as he accepted the pronouncement.
“Will you be back?”
“Can you leave?”
“Not sure. You couldn’t see me yesterday.”
He’d watched her. A shiver shuddered her spine.
She had so many questions, but Nate was right. She couldn’t risk the weather. Not just because of her ankle, Grams would wonder what happened to her. She couldn’t take him with her, not until she’d talked to Grams. He didn’t appear to be evil, but evil sometimes comes in pretty packages.
Slush spattered her car as Nate drove by in his SUV.
“I’ll be back.”
Olivia locked the front door with the big key. “However did you people walk around with these things?”
Max’s eyes widened. “Why would I walk around with a key to my own house?”
She hefted the thing to point at him as realization dawned. “You didn’t leave your house empty when you left.”
His eyes narrowed, drawing his heavy brows into one crooked line.
“Never mind.” She dropped the key into her purse and pulled out her car keys.
“Is that a key?”
She nodded her head in agreement. “I assume you still have a key to your house if you need it?”
“I have everything I need.”
“Okay, then.” She gingerly made her way down the painted steps holding tightly to the hand rail. She should have brought her cane, but the last thing she wanted Max Ballard to see was Olivia Woods walking with a cane. It was bad enough to walk with a permanent limp at twenty-nine years old. She raised her chin and headed toward her car over the icing brick walkway. Mortification hit when she left the icy bricks for snow-covered grass adjacent to her car. She slipped on a particularly slick patch next to her car. Olivia grabbed for purchase on the trunk lid and slammed her ankle into the back tire. She hit the ground on her thinly covered bottom. Her docent costume didn’t require a full set of petticoats and layers. Wet snow soaked through the thin cotton skirt. Max reached her before she could recover.
“Miss Woods, are you alright?” He knelt on one knee, “With your permission—”
His warm hands engulfed her injured ankle before she could protest. Gentle fingers smoothed from heel to above her ankle, moved it from left to right. It was the most intimate caress she’d ever felt. “I feel no new injury.”
Heat spread across her chest and reached her ears.
Olivia placed her hands in his and pulled against his strong arms to stand on her good ankle.
“Are you sure you do not require assistance?”
Olivia took a half-step back testing her ankle. If she balanced on her left foot she could stand. He dropped his hands. She’d best ge
t home before she couldn’t walk. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” She took a short step toward the driver’s side door. Her ankle collapsed. Max caught her elbow. “Perhaps just to the seat.”
She leaned into him. Together they managed the three steps to her door.
“Mr. Ballard? I think we’ve answered my question.”
He turned toward her question in his eyes.
“Look where you are.”
He glanced back toward the house and stilled. Hand still supporting her elbow. “Maybe you can leave?”
His face lit with a bright smile. “Shall we try?”
“I’m afraid I really can’t.”
He lowered his blue-greens to the ground. “Forgive me,” he said when he looked up, “Of course you must look after your injury.”
2
Max reached the corner of the house before Olivia, driving with her left foot, pulled out onto Nelson Street. She waited until she’d made her left on Main Street and approached the Swan Tavern before she pulled over.
“What just happened?” She ran her hands through her hair. Confusion, joy, exuberance, trepidation vied for precedence. Only her throbbing right ankle kept her from hopping out of the car and jumping up and down. “What did it mean?”
She took a deep breath and picked up her phone. It was Friday. Pizza and a movie with Grams and Garrett. Olivia ordered the pizza. Texted Garrett to pick it up. A light snow speckled her windshield. Time to go home.
Thanking God for the foresight of an extra cane in the backseat, Olivia stepped gingerly into the living room, heading for her favorite recliner. Across the room her grandmother, dressed in a long purple cardigan sweater and skinny bluejeans, didn’t take her eyes off her work on a circular knitting machine.
“Hi, honey.” A fine blue yarn ran steadily through the fingers of her left hand while her right hand cranked the machine. “I’ll be right there. I watched a video and I think I finally got it right. No dropped stitches! I just have five more rows.”
