Through Each Tomorrow, page 1
Half Title Page
Through
Each
Tomorrow
Books by Gabrielle Meyer
Timeless
When the Day Comes
In This Moment
For a Lifetime
Across the Ages
Every Hour until Then
Through Each Tomorrow
Title Page
TIMELESS • 6
Through
Each
Tomorrow
GABRIELLE MEYER
5
Copyright Page
© 2025 by Gabrielle Meyer
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Minneapolis, Minnesota
BethanyHouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Ebook edition created 2025
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Identifiers: ISBN 9780764243028 paperback | ISBN 9780764245688 casebound | ISBN 9781493451296 ebook
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Published in association with Books & Such Literary Management, www.booksand such.com.
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and postconsumer waste whenever possible.
Dedication
To my first critique group and lifelong friends, Lindsay Harrel, Alena Auguste, and Melissa Tagg. Thank you for your unwavering support, your priceless wisdom, and your loyal friendship. I’m so happy that God called us on our writing journeys at the same time.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Gabrielle Meyer
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Timeless Family Tree
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Epilogue
Historical Note
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next book in the Timeless series
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Timeless Family Tree
1
CHARLES
JUNE 1, 1883
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA
Hardship seemed my constant companion. The only difference was that in 1563, I had money and a title to overcome the difficulties life threw at me. But here in 1883, nothing had been easy since the war. Something needed to change soon, because I was running out of time.
The last rays of sunshine spiked through the bank of low-lying clouds, painting the sky with vibrant colors. As I leaned against the open barn door, admiring God’s creativity, I had to force myself to lower my gaze on the failing horse farm I’d inherited from my father.
“Don’t let Mama see your glum face.” My sister, Ada, stepped out of the gray weathered farmhouse and walked toward me, one hand on her low back, the other holding an envelope.
I smiled as I pushed away from the barn, not wanting to pile more worry onto her weary shoulders. Widowed less than six months after she married her childhood sweetheart, she’d come back to the farm pregnant and destitute. The baby wasn’t due for another two months, but she was exhausted.
“I don’t mean to look glum.” I pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Sometimes I get lost in my own thoughts.” I studied her as she pulled back. “How is Mama today?”
Ada let out a sigh. “I had hoped the baby would give her something to look forward to.” She put her hand on her rounded belly, sadness in her blue eyes. “She hasn’t eaten in three days, Charles. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
This bout of melancholy was the deepest we had ever seen. Mama had suffered on and off since Papa’s death, but it had never put her in bed before. The weight of her unhappiness had fallen on us ever since we were children, and though I tried to tell myself it wasn’t my fault, I always wondered if things would have been different had I been able to make something of the farm.
I had one more long-shot idea, but it would be a miracle if it worked.
“I’ll check in on her before supper and see if I can get her to join us,” I promised.
There was curiosity in her face as she handed me the missive. “I almost forgot. This arrived for you when you were in the field. I wouldn’t have bothered you about it since I know the mares are due back any minute, but it’s from New York City.” She frowned. “Why would someone from Whitney Shipping in New York City send you a letter? Is it another bill?”
My pulse pounded as I took the envelope, knowing exactly what it might contain.
The miracle.
I couldn’t share it with Ada. Not yet. “I told you not to worry about the bills.” I tried to chide her, distracting her from the letter. “We’ll get by.”
She put her hand on the back of my head where my time-crossing mark sat just above my hairline. Her face was serious. “You don’t have much time left, and Cecily needs you more than we do.”
“You both need me.” I moved away from her touch, not wanting to worry about Cecily today. I had enough troubles to contend with. The letter in my hand could be the answer to the most pressing problem, but it would involve the most risk.
With another sigh, Ada glanced at the road, where a horse-drawn trailer was about to turn into our drive. “It looks like the girls are back.”
My attention was torn from the important letter, though I wanted to read Drew’s response immediately. I’d asked him for two favors, one that might have ramifications in 1563 and the other that could change the course of our lives in 1883. Yet, I’d been waiting for months for my two broodmares to return after using every bit of savings to send them to a stud farm. Stella and Faye were the only two thoroughbreds I had left from Father’s prize-winning stock, and the fate of our farm rested on their ability to breed. It would be months before I knew if we had succeeded, and many more months until the foals were born and ready to sell. For now, we were living on the butter and egg money Ada earned and the goodwill of the bank.
I hesitated only a moment before handing the letter back to Ada. “Take it to my office. I’ll see about it later.”
Her pretty eyes had been full of life at one time, but now they were dull and disillusioned. She was only twenty-six, but she looked much older from her grief. “I’ll keep supper warm for you.”
“Thanks.” I wanted to read Drew’s letter more than anything, but the mares would need to be tended to, and there was no one else to do it.
I waited for the driver to pull up to the yard, trying not to feel embarrassed by the state of the farm. Vibrant before the War Between the States, our property was now a shadow of its former glory. Papa had been a prosperous horse breeder before the war broke out, but he’d died in the conflict, and then the farm had become a field hospital for Union soldiers during the last Battle of Fredericksburg. The only things that had survived were the house and barn. I’d been trying to rebuild the farm since I was old enough to hold a hammer, but without money, I had worked in vain, eking out only enough to get by.
It took some time to unload the mares and get them into the barn. After the driver left, I set about grooming them, speaking in low tones, checking on their health.
As I lifted Stella’s hind leg to pick her hoof, I immediately noticed a foul odor and discovered that her hoof was infected with thrush. After checking her other hooves and those of Faye, it was obvious they hadn’t been cared for properly at the stud farm. Faye’s hoof was so infected, she whinnied in pain when I tried to clean it.
I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my anger as I calculated how much it would cost to have the farrier visit the farm. It was an expense I hadn’t anticipated, and with no ability to borrow more from the bank, I wasn’t sure how we’d afford it.
Still, it wasn’t the farrier bill or the other debt we owed that pressed against my thoughts.
An hour later, I left the barn and washed my hands at the pump before heading into the house. The letter from New York was all I could think about as I stepped into my office and found it sitting on top of my desk.
Without hesitating, I opened the seal and took it out of the envelope, dropping into the chair to read it.
Whitney Shipping
New York, New York
I’m going to start my letter by saying that both of your requests would involve great risks, and I’m not sure I want to take them. Though I would be honored to serve our queen, if anyone discovered the truth, both of us would face the Tower—or worse. And what if I accidentally change history? I might forfeit my path in 1563 before I’m ready. I was prepared to say no. However, something came up, and I realized that perhaps we could help each other.
You need a physician that the queen can trust in 1563, and I am suddenly in need of an English aristocrat in 1883. I know that sounds strange. Let me explain. Mother has been in a terrible rivalry with my aunt for years, perhaps you’ve read about it in the papers. It’s become a legendary fight, each one trying to prove that she is the Mrs. Whitney, the queen of the nouveau riche. They’ve both built enormous cottages in Newport and ridiculous mansions in New York City. They’ve thrown elaborate parties, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, and purchased the most outlandish things to try to outdo one another. Their chief aim is to be included in Mrs. Astor’s 400, a list of the most important people in American society—according to Mrs. Astor. Because the Whitney money is new, Mrs. Astor has snubbed them for years, but it hasn’t deterred them. Whichever one gets the first invitation will be the winner, and my mother wants it more than anything.
The biggest issue, and the only one that really concerns me, is that both women draw from the same financial source: Whitney Shipping. Frankly, their lavish feud is starting to threaten our company’s stability. One of them needs to win soon, or I fear they will do irreparable damage.
When my aunt informed the New York World that she was on her way back from Paris with Vicomte Deville, and that she would be entertaining him in Newport for the summer, my mother insisted that I find an aristocrat with higher standing so she could outdo my aunt. Mother believes that if she can bring an earl or a duke to Newport, Mrs. Astor won’t be able to ignore her any longer.
It goes without saying that Whitney Shipping needs this rivalry to end.
I know you’re not an earl in 1883, but you are one in 1563, and you have all the knowledge and mannerisms of an earl to pull it off for a few weeks. You can even tell Mother your real name from 1563, Charles Pembrooke, the Earl of Norfolk, so you won’t mess anything up.
I just need you to show up at a few parties and impress a few of her friends, hoping to draw Mrs. Astor’s attention.
Charles, if you are willing to come to Newport, I will agree to see the queen. And, regarding your other request, I will see what I can do. I think I can convince my father to invest in your horse farm, given the right angle. He’s always been an avid horseman, but his shipping business has kept him too busy to pursue his passion. He’s in Europe and won’t return to New York until September. He has no plans to go to Newport, since he and Mother are not speaking.
I propose that you come to Newport for July and August as Lord Norfolk, and then we will go to New York when Father returns in September and you can meet him as Charles Hollingsworth, the owner of the Hollingsworth Horse Farm.
Mother and Father’s social and business lives do not intersect, so neither one will be the wiser. If all goes as planned, your horse farm could be financially stable by the beginning of next year—before your twenty-fifth birthday when you need to make your final decision. If you choose to stay in 1563, you can have someone in place to keep up the farm so your mother and sister have an income. And, if you choose to stay in 1883, you’ll have all the financial backing you’ll need.
If you’re willing to come, I will wire you enough money to get to New York, and enough to take care of your mother and sister until your return at the end of the summer. I will meet you in New York to outfit you as the Earl of Norfolk before we head to Newport.
I await your reply,
Drew
I folded the letter and ran my hand over the stubble of a beard I hadn’t shaved that morning. In 1563, I was the Earl of Norfolk, an esteemed and respected member of Queen Elizabeth’s privy council, and the heir of Arundel Castle. It was there that I met Andrew Bromley, the carpenter’s son. I had recognized the time-crossing mark on the back of his head, and we’d learned that we occupied the same two paths—only, he was the son and heir of a massive shipping fortune in 1883, and I was the destitute son of a widowed mother. Our lives were complete opposites, but because of our time-crossing marks, we had been lifelong friends, though I’d never met him in person in 1883.
“You must eat, Mama.” Ada’s voice filtered into my office from our mother’s bedroom across the hall. “You haven’t touched anything in days.”
I set the letter on the desk and left my office, Drew’s request sitting heavy on my heart. Could I pretend to be the earl in this path? It would mean leaving my sister and mother for a few months, but with Drew’s financial help, I could hire a farmhand while I was away.
“Mama,” I said as I entered her room and found Ada sitting on the bed next to her, holding a bowl of steaming soup. “Ada is right. You must eat something.”
Mama turned her gaunt face toward me, desperation in her eyes. “Charles. Did the horses come home? How are they?”
I sat on the other side of her bed and took her free hand in mine, trying to sound positive as I smiled at her. “They’re back and looking fine.”
A spark of hope warmed her blue eyes. “Do you think there will be foals? You know it was your father’s greatest hope that this farm would succeed and prosper. If he knew—” She stopped, her lips trembling. “He’d be so disappointed in me for letting things get this bad. I never wanted to fail him or his memory.”
“There will be foals, Mama.” I tried to reassure her, knowing full well that the failure of the farm was my fault alone. One disaster after another had befallen us. As soon as we thought we were ahead, another calamity would strike. “The driver brought a letter from the studmaster, and he is confident that the mares are in foal. Stella and Faye are young and healthy and should do just fine. Things will look up, Mama. God will provide for us as He always has.” Though I wasn’t sure I believed it, the promise seemed to strengthen Mama.
She studied me, the lines around her eyes deep and troubled. “Do you promise, Charles? Because things have looked up before.”
Drew’s request echoed in my mind as I thought about the ramifications. This wasn’t the best time to leave the farm, but it couldn’t be helped. And if it meant that I could meet his father and possibly get financial backing to expand our farm, it would be the best possible outcome. I could pretend to be an earl for a couple of months.
In turn, Drew would meet with the queen. If all went as planned, he could diagnose what was ailing her and help her recover. I could then give my attention to my younger stepsister in 1563, Cecily. Mama and Ada weren’t my only responsibilities. Cecily was also on my mind. I needed to make sure she was taken care of if I left her.
As part of my time-crossing gift, I had to choose which life I wanted to keep on my twenty-fifth birthday next March and which one I would forfeit. If I could find a husband for Cecily before then, I would stay with Mama and Ada. If the farm was financially secure, I would stay with Cecily.
Either way, I had a lot of work ahead of me and not enough time.
With a smile, I squeezed Mama’s hand. “I promise I will do everything I can to ensure that the farm succeeds. You have my word.” Perhaps this was God’s answer to my many prayers.
Hope sparked in her gaze as she squeezed my hand back and then took the bowl of soup from Ada.
I wasn’t sure how I would keep my word, but I could not fail.
2
CHARLES
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
JUNE 27, 1883
Midcliff was a Tudor-style mansion sitting proud on Ochre Point in the most fashionable neighborhood in Newport. A misting rain made it appear ethereal as it overlooked the white-capped waves of the Atlantic Ocean. A storm had followed us all the way from New York City and didn’t appear to be clearing any time soon. Dark gray clouds hung low overhead, and a cool wind rocked the ornate carriage Mrs. Whitney had sent for our arrival.
I took a deep breath, hoping and praying I would not regret coming to Newport.
