281 pages
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Prologue
Dateline: 1907 Manitou Springs, Colorado
“Papa, do something!” Nellie paced the small dining room with squalling baby Sadie at her shoulder, tears coursing her cheeks.
Tate was doing all he knew to do. His teen-age son, Jackson, was standing wide-eyed in the doorway with Tate’s medical bag in hand, but he knew there was nothing in it that could help.
Nellie had been preoccupied with a crying baby in the parlor when Tate’s son-in-law had risen from the dinner table to retrieve their apple pie dessert from the kitchen and collapsed before he reached the door. Not detecting a pulse, Tate had begun chest compressions, but after over ten minutes of cardiac stimulation, the man wasn’t coming back to them. Dear God, don’t take Nellie’s husband. Please.
Lita, on her knees beside him, put a hand to his shoulder. He paused merely a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, then began again. Nellie’s sobs pushed him on, even though in his heart, he knew this was over. Paul was gone.
“Tate,” Lita whispered, “it’s been too long.”
The catch in her voice told him she was crying too. He stopped and sat back on his heels with an anguished sigh.
Nellie stepped toward them, screaming, “No, Papa, don’t stop! You’re a doctor; you can’t… you can’t just let him die!”
Lita rose and went around the fallen man, taking the wailing baby from her distraught daughter’s arms. Nellie fell to her knees, placing her hands on her still husband’s chest, franticly trying to continue what Tate had ceased to do. “Is this right, Papa? How hard do I push?”
He gently stroked her head as he fought tears. “Nellie, Paul’s gone.”
She tossed her head defiantly, loosening several wavy strands of blond hair from her upswept hairdo. “No. We have to just keep working.”
Tate noticed that the small lightning-shaped mark below her ear had turned a bright red. He started to rise, trying to pull Nellie up with him. “No!” she protested. “We can’t give up!”
Stepping over the body, he turned Nellie away and wrapped her in his arms. “Nellie, dear, we knew this could happen. We knew that Paul’s heart wasn’t strong.” Even in this new twentieth century, medical advances could do little to repair the ravages of rheumatic fever.
Nellie’s sobs shook her petite frame. “But I thought we’d have more time than this! Oh, God, I need more time!”
Tate met Lita’s sorrowful gaze. Ever since she had come into his life, the subject of “time” had held special significance. And for the first time, he wished he could do for Nellie what Lita had done for him: go back in time and change the past. Turn sorrow into joy.
Lita had bounced little Sadie into a slightly better mood. Nellie’s grief wouldn’t be so easily assuaged.
Chapter 1
Nellie startled awake and felt acutely the night she had spent sitting in the upholstered chair by the open window. It was the early morning birdsong that had brought her out of her grim dreams. Dreams of a frantic search for Paul. Dreams that usually ended in a funeral.
The last one had been different. She had been watching the Paul that she knew as a child in school. She was a transcendent observer to his rambunctious boyhood pranks and energetic games where he always seemed to be sprinting. This dream ended with the boy in bed, a red flush to his cheeks and hushed voices whispering concern.
She’d never actually seen this, as she was only five when the love of her life had fought for his own, taken to the brink by rheumatic fever. She pondered the two types of dreams and concluded that they were basically the same. The fever at ten had led to the funeral at twenty-five.
She shivered and clutched her shawl tighter around her nightgown. Wanting to divert her mind from the dreams, she looked around the room she had grown up in. It had been months since she sold the house that she and Paul had called home—months since she had returned to live with her father and Lita as a widow, although she’d be hard pressed to say how many. The days all seemed to run together now.
She heard Sadie crying across the hall, but it was as one detached. Sadie’s bassinet no longer resided in Nellie’s room. The baby’s colicky nature had been hard to deal with before her husband’s death. After, Nellie simply couldn’t cope. Sadie looked too much like her dark-haired, dark-eyed Paul.
Tate had removed the baby to his and Lita’s room where nearly every night the child screamed as though in pain. Tate practiced the medical wisdom of the day on her, while Lita suggested remedies from her past, which were actually remedies from the future.
Lita had spent many hours telling Nellie stories of her life in that future that had occurred in the last decade of the twentieth century and the first fifteen years of the twenty-first, as well as what she knew of the happenings between now and then. It had been their family secret—this ability of Lita’s to ride the lightning—a secret that she dared tell no one. Nellie’s father had told her it was a treasure they must hold very dear. He emphasized that the one who flaunts a treasure is only inviting a thief, and he’d given her a jewel in a small polished wooden box as a reminder.
That secret had carried her through every season of her life, the mystery lighting her from within and spurring her to thoughts that were, frankly, far ahead of her time. Most thought of her as odd, and some went so far as to call her touched. Paul had called her special and wanted her to be his treasure. _He said we had a love for the ages—the kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime._
Nellie rose stiffly and wandered to her dressing table to sit once more. She turned on the Tiffany lamp in the still dark room and stared at her care worn image. Never would she estimate the age of the woman she saw there as twenty. To her weary eyes, she looked a good decade older.
Reaching for that box her father had given her so many years ago, she opened it and stared at the gem within. She lifted the red, chiseled prize out of the box and held it in the soft glow of the lamp, not feeling the magic she had felt as a child. Turning it over in her hands, she was suddenly struck with the fact that it was only made of glass. Not much of a treasure, Papa.
Setting the bauble back in the box, she thought it somehow appropriate that her “treasure” had turned out to be as fragile as her wedded bliss.
She allowed herself a daydream of her honeymoon. Lita had told her what to expect and how to guide her new husband into a night of shared pleasure. Their joining had been beyond anything she could have imagined, and that’s when Paul had noticed the birth mark that only seemed to show up with intense emotions.
Leaning toward the mirror, she looked for the faint jagged mark on the side of her neck, just below her ear. She ran her finger over the spot, recalling the day that Lita had first seen it when Nellie had been crying over a scraped knee. As Lita had run through the house calling for her father, Nellie had stood on the piano bench to look in the mirror. She had seen a bright red bolt of lightning not more than half an inch in length, and she had been instantly frightened that a storm might sweep her off to another time as Lita had experienced only a few years before.
Nellie’s mother hadn’t left her much when she deserted her to return to her own time, but she had somehow passed this on to Nellie, and for thirteen years, she had obediently stayed safely inside and away from windows whenever there was even a hint of a possible storm. She had been as frightened as Lita to be swept away from those she loved.
But now, her mind started turning on a different track. Lita had always reassured her that her mother didn’t leave on purpose, even though she had another husband she loved in a different time. Nellie had never questioned that until now. The new hole that loss hollowed out in her gave her a new perspective. Is there a way to determine the course through time? If Mama learned a way to go back to him, how could she not go? Maybe she sought out the lightning.
Pushing away from the dressing table, she walked back to the ever brightening windows. What if I could get back to Paul? Could I brave a storm to see him again?
***
Lita slipped back into bed beside Tate as the first rays of dawn eased over the horizon. Never had she been so exhausted. Whatever ailed the nearly six-month-old Sadie was about to take them all under.
Jackson had been a very happy baby, and Tate reported that while Nellie hadn’t been quite as easy, she had been nothing like their new granddaughter. The crying only stopped when the child was asleep, and that never lasted more than two hours at a time. She also spit up what seemed like most of her milk and rice cereal and sometimes refused to eat altogether.
After Nellie had lost her milk in the midst of her grief and depression, they had tried what this era offered as substitute: thinned, boiled cows’ milk with sugar added, Carnation evaporated milk, and even goats’ milk, but none seemed better than the other for their constantly wailing baby.
Lita felt sure she had some kind of digestion issue, and while Tate agreed, he didn’t really know what to do for her. He’d studied medical journals late into the night and made calls to doctors around the country and still had no solutions.
She knew that Nellie needed attention as well—the depression that had plagued her mother seemed to be settling on her in full force—but Lita simply didn’t have the time or energy to deal with them both. It took her and Tate, and sometimes Jackson, to deal with the baby.
Tate hooked an arm around her and hauled her against him. She wished she had the energy to enjoy the feel of his body spooned with hers.
***
“Nellie.” Tate rapped quietly on her bedroom door with an elbow as he held a bottle for the nursing baby in his arms. “Nellie, I need your help.”
He waited several long moments, looking down into the eyes of his granddaughter. He rapped again, louder. “Nellie,” he hissed, “I’m coming in.” After another pause, he grasped the knob with the hand under the baby’s bottom and pushed the door open, not caring if Nellie was presentable or not. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Nellie, you need to get up and take care of Sadie. I’ve been called out on an emergency, Jackson is working for Mr. Hammil at the autoshop, and Lita was up half the night with Sadie. I won’t wake her when you could just as easily take care of your child.”
Nellie looked his way, her vacant stare turning sorrowful. “Oh, Papa, I can’t.”
Pulling the bottle from the baby’s lips, he set it on the night stand and flung the covers off of her, remembering with regret, doing the same for Augusta on more than one occasion. “You can, and you will.” He tried to soften his expression as he turned Sadie to his shoulder to pat her back. “I’m not trying to be mean, Nellie. I understand better than you think, but I need you. We all need you.” He reached for her hand to pull her to sitting. “And most of all, Sadie needs you.”
Nellie swiped at her eyes, and Tate fought with guilt. It broke his heart to see his sweet girl sinking into the same melancholy that had enveloped her mother, but they were all exhausted. Nellie had to pitch in.
Slowly rising, she swept up her wrapper laying on the arm of the chair and slipped it on. She reached hesitantly for the child, but Tate shook his head. “Go take care of your morning ablutions.”
Nellie nodded, heading out of the room, and Tate swept up the bottle and sank into the chair. He’d need another cup of coffee before setting out to see about Mr. Burrel’s foot that had been stomped on by his bull. He rubbed his free hand over his weary face. Maybe two.
Nellie returned, and Tate rose, finally hearing the burp he’d been waiting for. He paused a moment, but when the child didn’t spit up, he shifted her to Nellie’s arms. “Holding her more upright while she eats, and even after, seems to improve her chances for keeping her milk down.” He moved toward the door. “Don’t disturb Lita unless you absolutely have to.” He turned back to give his daughter a pointed look. “She deserves some rest.” Nellie gave a tiny nod and sat in the chair by her bed as Tate turned to leave the room.
Heading to the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of tepid coffee and drank it down as he moved through the wash porch to the screen door on the back of the house. Setting the empty cup on the table by the door, he donned his fedora and set out, praying that Nellie was up to the task of caring for her baby.
***
Nellie stared ahead, trying not to look at her child. Her dark eyes were too much—her thick ebony hair so like her father’s, Nellie thought her heart would break to touch it.
She felt rather than saw when Sadie rejected the nipple in her mouth, and she forced herself to look at the face of her daughter. She seemed content for a minute or two, then her sweet face crumpled into sadness as she pulled her legs up and began to fuss. Nellie looked to the open door. She really didn’t want to disturb Lita’s sleep. She knew how much Lita had done for her.
She tried putting the bottle back to those pouting lips, but Sadie no longer wanted it. Rising, she turned the baby to her shoulder, patting her back as she moved swiftly out of her room and down the stairs, feeling panic rise within her. Heading down the hall and into the parlor, she slid the pocket door shut and tried to shush the now wailing little one. If only she wouldn’t cry. I could handle it if she wouldn’t cry. She began to pace the room. Papa says she didn’t get worse after Paul died. He says she always cried a lot, but that’s not true. This is worse. I know it is.
The child paused and burped, bringing up what felt like most of the bottle of milk running down her back. Nellie closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping that with the expulsion of the meal, she would feel better. Only thirty seconds passed before her hopes were dashed.
As the child began to cry again, Nellie sank to the floor weeping. “Oh, Paul, I need you!”
The parlor door slid open, and Lita appeared in her wrapper. The dark circles under her eyes told the story of too many sleepless nights.
“I don’t know what to do!” Nellie wailed nearly as loud as Sadie.
Lita bent to receive the baby, and Nellie sat wiping her eyes and blowing her nose on the handkerchief that Lita handed her. “Go change, and then we’ll give her a warm bath. Sometimes that helps.”
Nellie got up and headed for the hall when the doorbell rang. She didn’t want to be the one to answer, but she could hardly expect Lita to do it with a crying baby. Not really caring that she looked like something the cat dragged in and smelled like something the cat threw up, she pulled open the door to see Daisy Cummings, who had been a year ahead of her in school.
The expression on her face was better than a mirror. “Oh, Nellie… I…”
Nellie swept a strand of hair behind her ear and went into her practiced spiel. “My father isn’t in right now.” She gave a big sniff. “If you’re needing medical assistance of any kind, I can tell him you came by, and he will call you as soon as he can.”
The fashionably dressed Daisy held out her calling card, trying to unobtrusively look into the parlor where all the screaming was coming from. “My mother would like more of the pills Dr. Cavanaugh gave her for her heart flutters.” She brought her eyes and her wrinkled nose back to Nellie. “If you don’t mind giving him that message.”
Nellie took the card. “Certainly. Good day, Daisy.”
She started to close the door, but Daisy put out a hand. “Nellie, is your baby all right?” She reached out to touch her elbow and dropped her voice. “Are you all right?”
If Nellie thought Daisy held any real concern for her or her baby, she might have invited her in for a heart-to-heart. But she didn’t believe that. Not for a minute. Daisy was gathering information—gossip for the working girls downtown to chew on for the rest of the week. She could just hear it now. Crazy Nellie smelled like what?
Nellie couldn’t begin to muster a smile. “Sadie is a baby, Daisy. Babies cry. And I am a very tired mom. No newspaper headlines here.”
Daisy blinked her eyes wide. “I’ve never heard one that cried like that!”
The crying grew louder as Lita brought Sadie to the door. “I’ll tell Tate you called, Daisy,” she said, closing the door in her face.
Nellie knew that half a year ago, they would have laughed about Daisy’s saucer-eyed expression for days. Today, however, they merely turned and dragged themselves to the stairs.
***
Jackson left Mr. Hammil’s auto shop feeling restless. It had been months since he’d been able to spend any time with his friends, and the last thing he wanted to do was go home to Nellie’s screaming kid. He’d done his share of babysitting, and he was fed up. His feet were taking him in the direction of home, nonetheless.
“Jack!”
He looked back over his shoulder to see his good friend Pete jogging to catch up with him, his red hair set aflame by the sun heading toward the peaks. He stopped beside him, catching his breath. “Jack, where ya been? Does Hammil have you working all day and all night?”
Jackson turned and continued walking, and Pete fell into step beside him. “Nah, I’ve been busy with other things—helping my dad.”
“Really? So are you going to be a doctor mechanic or a mechanical doctor?”
“Something like that,” Jack mumbled.
“Ralph says you’ve been babysitting your sister’s brat.”
Jackson ground his teeth. “I’ve been known to help out in a pinch. Babies are hard work.”
“They’re a damned nuisance, if you ask me.”
“Well, who asked you?” Jackson shot back, not really sure why he was irritated. He’d thought the same thing nearly every day since Nellie had moved back home.
“Ah, Jack’s a baby lover. I bet you’re really working for your ma and your sister, and you’re studying to be a nursemaid.”
Jackson punched him in the arm. “I am not. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? Folks is inside your house all the time with your pa being a doctor. Word gets out.”
Jackson could feel his face heating up, but he couldn’t think of anything more to say. It was the truth—he was fast becoming a nursemaid. He knew way more about babies than he ever wanted to know.
They approached the drug store, and Pete stopped. “Let’s get a phosphate.”
Jackson knew he’d be late for supper if he did. “Nah, I gotta get home.”
Pete put his hand to the door. “I suppose you’ve got diapers to change.”
Jack was suddenly furious, but not with his sassy-mouthed friend. He was mad at his parents for forcing him to do girl stuff, he was mad at Nellie for having such a troublesome baby, and he was even mad at Paul for dying, although he knew that one was a trifle unreasonable.
Pete had already gone in, and he could see through the glass that he was joining up with a couple of his other buddies. He found himself opening the door, and the bell dinged, signaling his decision to all those gathered at the soda fountain. A cheer went up as Pete waved him over, and Jackson silenced the dissenting voice in his head as he slipped onto a stool and ordered a strawberry phosphate.
***
“I’ve called a leading specialist in gastrointestinal abnormalities to try and find a solution for whatever ails Sadie,” Tate announced over supper as he passed rolls to Nellie. It was a rarity for her to join them for a meal these days. He paused, hoping to see some spark of interest. Not seeing any, he pressed on. “I hope Dr. Englewood will review her case and return my call in the next week or two.”
“What do you think is wrong with her?” she asked flatly, setting the basket in the center of the table without taking a roll.
Tate spread his roll with butter, elated with her question. “I think it’s an esophageal sphincter issue. I suspect it’s not closing properly, letting stomach acid back into her esophagus.”
“Can anything be done for it?” she asked quietly, not meeting his gaze.
“That’s what I hope Dr. Englewood can tell me.”
The back door opened, and after a moment, Jackson appeared in the dining room.
Tate straightened and lifted his chin as his son sank into a dining room chair beside Nellie. “You’re late for supper, young man. Is Mr. Hammil working you so hard?”
Jackson helped himself to a piece of roasted chicken and a roll. “I stopped at the soda shop after I was done sweeping. Where’s Mom?”
“Your mother’s resting.” Tate tried not to be irritated at his son’s lackadaisical attitude. “Supper is served promptly at 6:00. I expect you to be here.”
A swoop of Jackson’s brown hair slipped toward his eye, and Tate made a mental note to get the boy to the barber soon.
“I haven’t seen Pete in ages, what with all the baby business. I needed a break.”
Tate had no doubt that he did, but his attitude could use some polish. He was about to rub a shine on it, when Jackson continued to spew forth thoughtless words. “So, sis, what brings you out of your room? I told mom weeks ago if she wanted you to come out, she needed to stop taking food up there.”
Nellie scowled, tossing her napkin to the table. “Did you? How understanding of you.”
Tate didn’t want her to retreat back upstairs. “Jackson, apologize. That was not… kind.”
Jackson took his time chewing and swallowing. “The reverend always says we should speak the truth. So that’s what I’m doing.”
Tate was sorely tempted to wallop some truth on his backside, but with their lack of sleep they were all short-tempered. “Speak the truth in love, Jackson. You are missing the love part.”
Tate held his gaze until the young man gave a little snort of concession. “I apologize,” he muttered.
It was a sorry excuse for an apology, but Tate was too weary to demand more. He turned back to his meal, surprised when Jackson went on. “I apologize for my ‘lack of love,’ but where is hers? She has let us deal with her squalling baby for months while she hides out in her room.”
Tate nailed him with a not-now look. “Jackson.”
“No, I’m tired of playing nursemaid. Men shouldn’t be tending babies. All my friends are laughing at me.”
Tate rose, leaning forward, his knuckles on the table. “In this house men and women are equal. Your mother would say that being a ‘nursemaid’ is not ‘gender specific.’ ”
The young man dared to defy him, crossing his arms over his chest. “But it’s her baby.”
Tate headed around the table. “I thought you were too old for the woodshed, but I guess—”
“Papa, I want you and Lita to adopt Sadie.”
Nellie’s words stopped Tate in his tracks. “Nellie, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve been through a trauma, and—”
“No, I’ve given it a lot of thought.” She pushed back from the table and rose, her chin ticking up. “I’m not a suitable mother.”
Jackson shook his head, muttering something unintelligible.
She looked down at him. “I don’t expect you to understand. I just can’t… I may be leaving soon. She’s better off with Papa and Lita.”
“Leaving?” Lita had appeared in the doorway, her long black hair in a simple braid down her back. “Where would you go?”
Nellie swallowed. “I don’t know. Somewhere with less memories. I could go back to school—get my entomology degree… or someplace completely different.”
Tate put a hand to her shoulder. “Honey, we would support you in a degree, but I don’t think you could handle the studies right now.” Nellie closed her eyes, looking as if she could come apart, and Tate wondered if he should place a call to his old friend and psychologist, Dr. Jeremiah Fischer.
“I just want to know,” Nellie began slowly without opening her eyes, “if you will always take care of Sadie if I can’t.” She blinked her eyes open, looking between him and Lita. “Please, tell me you’ll raise her as your own.”
“Oh good grief,” Jackson spouted behind them.
Tate sent him a quelling look designed to remind him of his earlier woodshed threat, and the boy clamped his mouth shut.
Lita put a hand to Nellie’s cheek. “She’s our granddaughter, Nellie. Of course we’ll take care of her.” She pulled her into a hug. “But you’re going to get better. You’ll see. This will get easier. You just need time to heal. We all do.”
The crying started upstairs, and Tate gave a sigh as he pulled both women to his chest.
What People Are Saying: “I think I enjoyed this second book in the Lightening Riders series even more than the first! Desperately seeking a cure for her sick baby in a future she has heard stories about since her childhood, Nellie springs forward from 1907 to the present. This book is a sweet romance, as well as a sci fi mystery that I couldn’t put down!”
“I loved this book! The story line was captivating and the characters felt like they could be friends. I spent the whole book trying to imagine a satisfying ending, and was very pleased when I got there!”
281 pages
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