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She’d tucked one end of the t-shirt into the sweatpants, giving her a shabby chic look. Her hair was freshly dried and fell loose around her shoulders and her skin was moist and slightly flushed from the shower.
“Hi,” I said, walking toward her.
“Hi,” she said, lightly biting her bottom lip in a way that I’m sure she didn’t intend to be sexy… though it was.
“You’re cooking?” she asked, looking over my shoulder.
“I thought you might be hungry,” I said, pulling out a chair for her to sit.
Wearing nothing but socks on her feet, she walked to the table and sat.
“Thanks for the clothes,” she said.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said, picking up a bottle of wine and two glasses and bringing them to the table.
I poured wine into one glass and set it in front of her, then poured one for myself and sat down next to her.
“To time,” I said, holding up my glass.
“To time,” she said, clinking her glass against mine.
She took a sip, then set the glass down on the table.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“That’s something we need to talk about.”
“Okay,” she said, searching my face with her big green eyes.
“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”
She nodded. “It’s a quandary.”
“Yes, it is,” I said with a little smile. “I’ve been thinking it through.”
“There are a lot of uncertainties.” She took another little sip of wine.
“If you’ve been missing for four years,” I said, getting up to stir the pasta sauce. “then you’re going to be essentially starting over.”
She winced.
“I was hoping I could pick back up where I left off.”
“It’s possible,” I said. “But I won’t lie to you. I think it’s going to be unlikely.”
“I know,” she said, softly. “But I’ll figure something out.”
“Yes, you will,” I said.
And I would help her. I would help her because she and I are somehow connected at the heart.
CHAPTER 37
IVY
When Andrea stepped out of the rental sedan and walked through the gate, I barely recognized her. She looked taller than she had been this morning.
Taller and maybe even leaner. Something was definitely different about her.
Her hair was longer, falling halfway around her shoulders.
If I had had any lingering doubts that four years had passed since this morning, those doubts were banished as I looked at my sister.
Her eyes were moist and her chin trembled.
She’d been crying. It was unusual for her to cry. She’d always been strong.
I stood at the top of the steps next to one of the columns as she approached.
She stopped and looked up at me.
“You look exactly the same,” she said.
“I am the same,” I said.
“No,” Andrea said. “Four years have gone by.”
“Come inside,” I said. “I didn’t want to talk about this outside where anyone could hear it.”
Andrea came up the steps and stood next to me, looking into my eyes.
“I looked for you,” she said. “but I knew you weren’t there.”
I opened the door and led her inside.
“How did you know?” I asked as we took a seat in the parlor.
“Because…” she said. After hesitating a moment, she took her phone out of her pocket.
She brought a video and held the phone in front of me.
It was me… that morning… standing outside the Becquerel Bed and Breakfast.
Lightning flashed behind the house, then she zoomed in.
In a matter of seconds, I went from being there… to not being there…
My expression, as I looked at her camera, was confused and frightened.
But I’d thought Andrea was the one who vanished. I hadn’t been afraid for myself. I’d been afraid for my sister.
“This must have been hard for you to watch,” I whispered, looking into my sister’s eyes—eyes full of pain as she looked at me.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. I had no reason not to tell Andrea everything.
“I went to 1863,” I said. And then I told her everything.
“Where is Eric now?” she asked.
“Upstairs,” I said. “to give us privacy.”
“I’d like to meet him,” she said. “and I have something to tell you, but I can tell both of you at the same time.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go get him.”
I stood up, then went with my impulse, and lean down to give her a hug.
I blinked back the tears. My sister and I were the same age now. She had aged and I hadn’t.
As I went to pull away, she put a hand on my arm.
“I thought you were dead,” she said. “I grieved for you.”
I straightened and forced myself to regain my composure. I didn’t know what to say to her. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she’d gone through.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she said, her voice strained.
My sister was different. I didn’t feel connected with her so much anymore. It was like she’d put a wall up between us. I sensed anger, even, from her.
She was angry at me for leaving her, I thought as I walked away from her, heading toward the stairs.
The grandfather clock standing in the foyer began to chime the hour.
Eric was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at me.
“My sister wants to meet you,” I said.
He nodded and took a step down.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. It reminded me of the cannon fire that had followed us here.
I looked up at Eric in alarm.
“It’s alright,” he said, sensing my fear. “it’s just a storm.”
“I know,” I said, looking over my shoulder.
A bolt of lightning flashed outside the door, followed by a crash of thunder.
The clock continued to chime.
Six.
I could taste the pasta Eric and I had eaten for dinner.
Seven.
Eric was moving down the stairs in slow motion.
Eight.
I grabbed the round banister post to steady myself as a wave of dizziness crashed over me.
Nine.
Then the clock was silent, the last remnants of its chimes hanging in the air.
The thunder crashed over the house.
The storm was sudden and intense.
“Ivy.”
I squeezed my eyes together, then opened them.
Eric stood halfway down the stairs now.
But he wasn’t wearing his blue jeans anymore.
He was wearing gray slacks and a white button-down shirt, rolled up at the sleeves.
And instead of looking to comfort me, he seemed surprised to see me.
He carried a hammer in one hand and two by four in the other.
“Ivy,” he said.
There was no more thunder and I knew. I’d gone back in time again.
And this… this was the Eric who set my heart on fire.
He’d built this house for me.
And I had come back.
CHAPTER 38
ERIC
The years had passed slowly, one blending into the next.
I could have gone back to New Orleans… to continue my family’s legacy there.
But this was where Ivy had last been.
The owner of the Tattered Cover bookstore was quite distraught by her appearance and subsequent disappearance.
He’d been reluctant to tell me about her until after I’d described her.
The man believed he’d seen a ghost. I didn’t tell him anything different. People understood ghosts. They didn’t understand time travel.
After the siege ended on July 4—just like Ivy had predicted—I stayed in Vicksburg.
I picked an open lot in Vicksburg and built myself a house—a two-story house with lots of room.
In the event that Ivy came back, I wanted plenty of room for us to live comfortably. We’d have children.
Building a new house while the rest of Vicksburg struggled brought attention to me.
Mothers attempted to introduce their daughters to me in hopes that they would catch my eye for marriage.
I made it known that I was waiting for my betrothed to return. That I was building the house for her.
But it didn’t deter their efforts.
I merely barricaded myself further from human interaction. Three times a day, dawn, noon, and evening, I walked to the café, past the bookstore, and back.
Every day my first thought was that today could be the day Ivy returned.
In my darkest moments, I acknowledged that she may never return. That it could be a one-time anomaly. But I refused to give up.
I refused to think that the girl I fell in love with would never return to me. What were the odds that the girl for me would be from another time and not be able to stay with me?
I refused to give up.
If I lived to be a hundred years old, I would never give up.
I tugged on my boots and tied the laces. Then I fastened a cape over my shoulders to ward off the evening chill.
It had been three years since I’d seen Ivy, but I carried a clear image of her in my mind. If longing was enough to will her back to me, she would be here by now.
After a flurry of activity to get the house built, I took my time on the inside.
It looked like I was going to be here for a while and the work kept my mind occupied.
Nonetheless, I tried to keep things orderly.
On my way out, I picked up a hammer and a two by four to take downstairs with me.
At the top of the stairs, I paused. The grandfather clock began to chime the hour.
I looked down toward the bottom of the stairs.
The early morning sunshine came in through the glass on either side of the front door, bathing the air in floating dust particles.
I was reminded of how the sun reflected off the Mississippi River the day I’d first seen Ivy.
I stood still. My senses on alert.
Even though every day I hoped it would be the day I saw her again, I didn’t really expect it.
I did everything I could to will her back to me, but it never worked.
Until it did.
CHAPTER 39
IVY
I ran a hand nervously along my fleece sweatpants.
My sister waited in the living room, but I didn’t hear her. I didn’t hear her and I didn’t sense that she was there.
The house was quiet—the kind of quietness that only came when the electricity was out.
That and the air felt different. More raw and moist.
That’s how I knew I was back in time. That and Eric looked different. It wasn’t just that he was dressed differently, it was something about the way he held himself.
This Eric held himself like the army officer that he was.
It would have been imperceptible to most, I was trained in human behavior. His chin was up and he held his mouth in a more confident expression.
The two men had both been standing there in the same place and time… waiting for me.
Yet they lived centuries apart.
In that moment, I had the sense that I could choose one time or the other. Now or never.
Whatever I chose now, I would live with for the rest of my life.
I already knew which one I would choose.
It was like loving an identical twin. I could see things about them that others couldn’t.
Things that made each man the individual that he was.
Eric walked down the stairs, letting the hammer and board drop to the floor when he reached the bottom.
“I knew you would come,” he said.
“You waited for me?”
“Yes.” He put his hands on my arms and drew me close.
He lowered his head and pressed his lips against mine.
Everything inside me came alive.
His kiss was everything.
His kiss was life itself.
I melted toward him and he brought me close, crushing my lips against his.
He claimed me, leaving no doubt that I belonged to him.
I had no need to fight. Fate had brought us together. It hadn’t been a straight route. I’d had to travel through more than one time period, but I was here now.
I was exactly where… and when I wanted to be.
“Will you stay?” he asked, his breath against mine.
“Yes,” I breathed.
I didn’t know how I knew that I could, but I did.
“Good,” he said, pulling me back against him.
The only sound in the house was the ticking of the grandfather clock.
The only marker than any time at all had passed.
If I could make time stand still, I would have made this moment last forever.
But I would have to content myself with loving Eric Dumon in this time.
A time when Vicksburg was climbing out of the rubble.
Now we would start our lives together.
And not even time itself would pull us apart again.
CHAPTER 1
ASHLYN
Today
Rio Vista Pass, Colorado
Rio Vista Pass was barely a dot on the map.
And rightly so. The town itself consisted of one wide street with sidewalks on either side.
Rows of white fir trees and cottonwood trees mixed with some thick oak trees separated the streets from the sidewalks. The early morning dew magnified the scent of the fir trees.
There was no traffic this morning, but cars were parked on either side of the street in unmarked parking spots.
The early morning sun was warm, but the spring wind had a cool bite to it.
A flock of sparrows fluttered from the tree limbs, circled around and landed in a tree on the opposite side of the street.
I stood on the sidewalk outside the Rio Vista Pass Inn. It was early here, but I was still on Eastern time.
It was a quaint little town.
Perfect.
The scent of coffee caught my attention and I looked to my right.
There was a restaurant named Charlie’s—no relation—and a market. Neither were open yet.
I walked along the street and discovered where the coffee scent was coming from.
The door to a little coffee shop stood open. It was no Starbuck’s but it looked inviting all the same.
It was called The Café in Time.
It looked like a little coffee bistro like back home in Boston that I used to like to go to.
There were three little round tables, each one with two chairs.
Each table was covered with a white table cloth and a little clear vase with a pink daisy.
Everything was so clean, it sparkled.
As my eyes adjusted to being inside, a pretty young girl, maybe close to my age, about thirty years old, stepped out from behind the counter and smiled.
“Good morning,” she said. She wore an old-fashioned apron and her blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail.
She wasn’t just pretty, she was perky.
I returned her smile and tried not to be annoyed. I remembered when I was the perky one.
But right now wasn’t one of those times.
“I’m Brooklyn,” she said. “What can I get you?”
There was a little chalkboard on the back wall with some handwritten names of drink I didn’t recognize and prices out to the side.
Brooklyn saw me squinting at the sign. “Don’t try to read that,” she said. “It’s all in French. I can make you anything you want.”
A bit unorthodox.
But this was a quaint little town in the west.
“Can I get a venti skinny vanilla latte?” I asked.
“Sure thing.” She went back behind the counter. “You can sit wherever you like. I’ll bring it out.”
I sat at the table nearest the door so I could watch the sunrise.
Brooklyn had my latte made in no time and walked over to hand it to me.
“A Starbuck’s girl, huh?” she asked.
“I guess you could say that.” I took the large mug and wrapped my hands around it.
“I have Starbucks roots, too.”
I thought for a minute that she was going to sit down at the table with me, but she seemed to think better of it and went back behind the counter.
Watching the sunrise, I took a sip of the coffee.
It was one of the smoothest lattes I’d ever had.
“This is really good,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s my grandmother’s French recipe.”
I looked back at the menu. “Your grandmother’s French?”
“Sure is. But you’d never know it. She’s Americanized all the way.”
“Except when it comes to coffee.”
Brooklyn laughed. “Good point. But it’s good for business.”
Of course it would be.
“Do you get a lot of tourists through here?” I gripped the mug. Hoping that she would give me a good answer. The answer I needed to here.
“Not so much. Mostly drive throughs.” Brooklyn leaned her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on her hands. “I’d bet money you’re the only tourist here this morning.”
“It’s early in the season,” I pointed out, sipping my coffee.
“Very true,” she said.
I looked down at my jeans and sweatshirt. I’d dressed to purposely not look like a tourist.
Brooklyn stood up straight. “Not to suggest that you’re a tourist. I just haven’t seen you around here.”
“I was just driving through,” I said. “but it looked like a good place to spend some time.”
