Our Time Is Now Page 3

  Pulling back the quilted coverlet, Jessica snuggled into the feather-tick mattress. For several seconds, she restlessly tossed and turned until her body finally settled into a comfortable position. She then slowly descended into the enticing realm of deep sleep.

  As her unconscious self stood on the periphery of a dream, she caught sight of a glowing light in the shrouding darkness. Intrigued, she walked toward it. No—“walk” wasn’t the right word—she floated toward the light, her body unfettered by the gravity of the waking world.

  No sooner had she passed through the luminous sphere than Jessica emerged in a wooded ravine. Standing in the middle of a path that was illuminated by dappled sunlight, she knew that she was in a place called Sweet Springs. How she knew this, she couldn’t say. The name had simply popped into her head as though it was common knowledge. Or a bit of hidden knowledge that had suddenly been revealed.

  Her attention drawn to the sound of rustling leaves, Jessica turned her head, smiling at the sight of a fawn nibbling on a bush. Startled by her approach, the animal quickly scampered through the woodland.

  Farther down the path, Jessica saw a lone woman, her long, plaid dress seemingly out of place in the midst of the forested wilderness. Because the woman seemed vaguely familiar, Jessica moved toward her, not stopping until she and the other woman collided, their bodies, their thoughts, their joys and fears melding together.

  In that instant, they became one and the same woman. A fusion of body, mind, and soul.

  Chapter 4

  Sweet Springs, Virginia

  Summer 1860

  Grabbing hold of her voluminous skirt, Miss Sarah Pemberton carefully navigated her way over the rocky terrain.

  Moments earlier, she’d glimpsed a fawn darting through the forest, the reason she’d strayed from the path. A mountain wilderness such as this was a thoroughly exotic realm to a young lady born and raised in the port city of Norfolk, Virginia. Indeed, nearly everything about this Allegheny paradise was enchantingly beautiful, putting her in mind of a Highland scene from a Sir Walter Scott novel.

  Gazing across the verdant hillock, she sighed pensively. Although she’d arrived several days ago, she’d had scant free time to explore the scenic wonders that surrounded the mountainside spa. Because of her father’s death two years ago, she’d been forced to act as a lady’s companion to her stepmother, Mrs. Etta Pemberton. Despite the fact that her father had financially provided for Sarah in his will, her stepmother obstinately refused to turn over her inheritance, claiming that her father had intended for the money to be used as a dowry.

  While Sweet Springs was, without question, the most elegant of all the Virginia spas, and even though, by all accounts, the 1860 summer season would likely be the grandest in recent memory, her stepmother had made it abundantly clear that she was there only to take the water cure. It was her stepmother’s adamant contention that a regimen of hydro-therapy, administered three times daily, would alleviate her chronic rheumatism. Soirees, dancing, and musical evenings would do nothing to aid the curative process.

  Rendered awestruck by the majesty of a centuries-old oak tree, Sarah failed to notice the pitted ground beneath her booted feet. Suddenly thrown off balance, she pitched forward, her foot ensnared in a hole. To her utter embarrassment, not only did she land in an ungainly heap of plaid poplin and starched muslin petticoats, but her straw bonnet flew off her head, landing in a blueberry bush several feet away.

  As she drew herself into a seated position, Sarah heard the pounding reverberations of an unseen horseman’s mount. Hurriedly, she tried to stand up, dismayed to discover that her right foot was thoroughly wedged in the hole, and that she was unable to pull it free.

  “Whoa!”

  She winced at hearing that deep, masculine command, mortified that a stranger might be privy to her absurd predicament.

  A few seconds later, as the horseman dismounted and approached, her breath caught in her throat. Standing before her was surely the most handsome, finely fashioned man she’d ever set eyes upon. Without question, he had a more manly bearing than her fiancé, Mr. Oren Tolliver.

  The gentleman bowed at the waist and said, “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Gideon MacAllister. And I am at your service.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. MacAllister, that your help is entirely unnecessary,” she replied, extreme embarrassment lending a churlish note to her voice.

  “I beg to differ.” As he spoke, the horseman plucked a leafy twig from her coiffure, presenting it to her as proof.

  Unable to help herself, Sarah smiled. The handsome stranger had rightly taken her to task for her peevish remark. “As you can see, my foot is stuck in this hole, and I am unable to extricate it,” she informed him, lifting her skirt a few modest inches in order to reveal the extent of her predicament.

  Immediately going down on bent knee, Gideon said, “I shall be happy to assist.”

  Without further ado, he took hold of her foot and began to gently jiggle it. Due to their close proximity, her gaze roamed to his broad shoulders, superbly outfitted in a coat of dark blue broadcloth.

  “How long do you and your stepmother intend to stay at Sweet Springs?” Gideon politely inquired.

  Taken aback by the question, her jaw slackened. “How on earth did you know that I’m here with my stepmother?”

  “I know a great deal about you, Miss Pemberton,” the rascal had the audacity to reply as he liberated her foot from the hole. “After catching sight of you at the springs, I took the liberty of making a few inquiries.”

  Sarah could feel her face pink with heated color. Never before had so a handsome man sought her favor.

  Taking hold of her hand, Gideon assisted her to her feet.

  Goodness, but he’s a tall man, she mused as they stood side by side, gauging Gideon to be nearly a foot taller than her betrothed.

  “While there’s a bit of swelling, I didn’t detect any broken bones.”

  “Your prognosis relieves me,” she said in a staid tone of voice, self-consciously aware that she lacked the vivacious charm of a belle.

  “You will do more harm than good, Miss Pemberton, if you continue to stand on that injured foot. Will you allow me to carry you to my mount?”

  Unable to meet his gaze, she breathlessly nodded.

  Swinging her into his arms, Gideon carried her to his horse, which was tethered to a low-hanging tree limb. As he lifted Sarah to the saddle, he instructed her to hook a leg around the pommel. He then retrieved her straw hat from the blueberry bush.

  “I thank you, sir.” After securing the hat on her head, Sarah straightened her shoulders, attempting to regain her ladylike composure. No small feat given the unusual circumstance in which she now found herself.

  Taking the reins in his hands, Gideon walked beside the horse as he led it along the bridle path. In the near distance, she heard the insistent hammering of a determined woodpecker, the sound mimicking the insistent pounding of her heart.

  They’d not gone far when Gideon began to softly chuckle.

  “And what, may I ask, do you find so amusing?”

  He turned his head in her direction, sunlight brightening his eyes to one of the most mesmerizing shades of blue that she’d ever seen. “I’m delighted at my good fortune. It’s not every day that a man is able to rescue a damsel in distress.”

  “So you fancy yourself a knight errant, do you?”

  “Alas, I’m only a gentleman farmer come to Sweet Springs on holiday.”

  “Allow me to rectify that.” Sarah leaned toward him. Lightly touching, first one shoulder, then the other, she said playfully, “I dub thee, Sir Gideon, Knight of the Allegheny Mountains.”

  His smile broadened. “I am honored, fair lady.”

  Flustered, Sarah redirected her attention to the red brick hotel that was just coming into view. Replete with neoclassical pediments and porticos, it caused many a traveler to approach Sweet Springs in a state of awe, mistaking the magnificent, white-columned piazza
for a far-flung, ancient temple. Unlike her stepmother, whose sole purpose in visiting the spa was to take the cures, the vast majority of guests were southern-born aristocrats who retreated to these mountains in droves to escape the debilitating heat of their native climes, as well as partake of the endless rounds of balls and social outings. With good reason, Sweet Springs had earned its reputation as the Almack’s of the Allegheny Mountains.

  “Were you aware of the fact that Thomas Jefferson designed the hotel’s main building?”

  “I am impressed, Miss Pemberton. Clearly, you are as intelligent as you are beautiful.”

  Uncertain how to respond to such warm-hearted praise, Sarah nervously fidgeted with her skirt. Educated at the Westbrook Ladies Academy, she had once hoped to enter the teaching ranks. However, having recently been apprised by her stepmother that she was to be given in marriage to a distant relative of her stepmother’s, Mr. Oren Tolliver of Wheeling, Virginia, her dreams of becoming a teacher had been thoroughly dashed.

  Not wishing to dwell on her unhappy situation, Sarah turned her gaze to the emerald green lawn that surrounded the hotel, where swarms of elegantly attired guests leisurely strolled the manicured paths.

  “Miss Pemberton, are you all right? You suddenly have about you a forlorn expression.”

  “There is no need for concern. I am quite all right.” As she spoke, Sarah furtively perused the vicinity, relieved to see neither her stepmother nor Mr. Tolliver. Earlier in the week, Mr. Tolliver had joined their party, ostensibly so that the two of them could become better acquainted before their upcoming nuptials.

  “Since I must shortly beg leave of your company, may I ask for the honor of dancing the first waltz with you at tomorrow’s ball? Assuming, of course, that your ankle has sufficiently healed.”

  Unschooled in the art of coquetry, Sarah blurted the first thing that came to mind, “Sir, I will gladly dance the first waltz with you.”

  “Truly, you’ve made me a happy man, Miss Pemberton.”

  The ardent reply caused her to heatedly blush. Perhaps a more devoted woman would have refused to dance the first waltz with a man who was not her betrothed. She, however, could not lay claim to such devotion.

  When they reached the end of the drive, a livery servant took the reins from Gideon. Hands freed, Gideon reached up and effortlessly plucked her from the saddle, cradling her close to his chest. More than a few heads turned in their direction as he proceeded to carry her up the long row of stairs that led to the hotel’s grand piazza. She noticed that a few gentlemen even went so far as to wink in approval.

  Horror struck, Sarah caught sight of her stepmother and Mr. Tolliver waiting for them at the top of the steps.

  As Gideon set her upon her feet, Sarah immediately tried to explain the reason for her odd predicament. “I was out taking the mountain air when I… I had an accident. Fortunately, Mr. MacAllister came to my rescue.”

  Etta Pemberton shot Gideon a withering glance. “Mr. MacAllister, you say? I do not recollect making this man’s acquaintance. How could you permit a stranger to take such liberties? Not to mention the fact that you have made an utter spectacle of yourself.”

  “I don’t really have… that is to say that…” Sarah’s explanation faded into silence, words escaping her.

  Stepping forward, Gideon said, “While my actions may seem somewhat inappropriate, the seriousness of your stepdaughter’s injury warranted bold action. If any blame is to be cast, it should fall upon my shoulders, and not Miss Pemberton’s.”

  “Be that as it may, Miss Pemberton’s thoughtless behavior caused us to miss our afternoon tea,” Oren scolded, openly glaring at Gideon as he spoke.

  Forcing a smile onto her lips, Sarah hastily attempted to make the proper introductions between the two men. “Mr. MacAllister, may I present Mr. Oren Tolliver.”

  While Gideon bowed respectfully, Oren did not return the courtesy, much to her chagrin.

  “I will have you know that I am Miss Pemberton’s fiancé,” Oren asserted.

  “Then you are an enviable man, indeed,” Gideon said with a wistful expression.

  Just then, a group of distinguished-looking gentlemen strolled past, including the governor of the state, all of whom greeted Gideon in passing. Although it seemed an innocuous exchange, she could see that it infuriated Oren, who did not have the benefit of so esteemed an acquaintanceship.

  Knowing that her fiancé was overly sensitive about his humble origins, Sarah attempted to smooth his ruffled feathers. “Mr. Tolliver is a newly elected member to the Virginia legislature,” she informed Gideon, trying, without much success, to infuse a note of pride into her voice.

  Gideon raised an interested brow. “These are troubling political times, to say the least. Clearly, our state’s legislature has a great task before it.”

  “And where do you stand, Mr. MacAllister, on the troubling issue of secession?”

  In the wake of Oren’s blunt query, a tense silence ensued.

  “It will cause me great pain should Virginia fall victim to the tide of extremism that is sweeping across the South,” Gideon replied after a lengthy pause, obviously taking care with his words.

  “Humph!” Oren’s lips twisted into a nasty sneer. “While that is a fine sentiment, I happen to know that you Virginia bluebloods can’t wait to march into battle so as to maintain your cherished institution. You and your kind would willingly throw the whole country into war before you let anyone take your slaves from you.”

  “Not every landowner in Virginia is a slaveholder,” Gideon said quietly. “Slavery is an institution that I find particularly repugnant. Moreover, I will not take up arms to safeguard one man’s right to own another. However, if Virginia becomes a battleground, I will fight to defend my home.”

  “You Southerners should be forewarned that God is on our side.” Oren emphasized the pronouncement by puffing out his chest like a bantam cock. “And he will smite all rebellious sinners from the face of this hallowed ground.”

  “Sir, I shall not dignify your remarks with a reply,” Gideon countered with an air of cool self-assurance. He then reached for Sarah’s hand and, bowing gallantly, he grazed his lips across her knuckles. “Until tomorrow evening, Miss Pemberton.”

  As Gideon took his leave, Oren snorted derisively and said, “The gall of the man to think that he’ll see you again. These Virginia cavaliers are as arrogant and self-serving as they come.”

  Sarah made no reply as she watched Gideon descend the long flight of steps.

  Good-bye, my handsome knight. Until we meet again.

  Chapter 5

  “You’re still here? I was sorta hoping you’d be gone by now,” Jessica muttered as she entered the library, annoyed at finding Gideon MacAllister up and about. Particularly since last night he’d taken center stage in the strangest dream she’d ever had, a full-length costume drama right out of Gone with the Wind.

  It made Jessica think that she’d spent way too much time at yesterday’s Civil War reenactment.

  As they stood across from one another, Jessica couldn’t help but notice that Gideon possessed a pair of brilliant, cerulean blue eyes. As in truly dazzling. Not to mention, he had a beautiful head of wavy, sandy-brown hair. Although there was no getting past the long, bushy beard.

  Glowering, Gideon grabbed a newspaper off of the nearby end table. “How in God’s name can you possibly explain this?” he demanded to know as he thrust the paper in her direction.

  Jessica snatched yesterday’s edition of The Greenbrier Dispatch out of his hands. “School Board Approves Auditorium Fund,” she read aloud, puzzled by his heated reaction. “I admit it’s not the catchiest of headlines, but the kids need a new basketball court.”

  Gideon jabbed his finger at the front page. “Look at the date!”

  “September 25, 2014.” Still baffled, she shrugged and said, “What’s the problem with that?”

  “The problem is that when I awoke yesterday morning, it was September the twenty-
fifth… eighteen sixty-four.”

  Oh, God. He’s a certifiable wacko.

  The instant that fearful thought crystallized in Jessica’s mind, the newspaper slipped through her fingers, falling in a heap onto the floor.

  “Have you nothing to say, madam?”

  “I, um, don’t know what to, um—” Jessica broke off in mid-stammer, unable to form a single coherent thought.

  Abruptly turning away from her, Gideon stepped over to the coffee table and retrieved a large, hardbound book. “And I would be most interested to hear what you have to say about this.” He held the volume in front of his chest, enabling Jessica to see that it was a Time-Life book on the Civil War that she’d checked out of the Lewisburg public library in order to gather background material for the reenactment.

  Jessica stared at the volume, at a loss to know how to respond. Either the guy was off his rocker or he was playing the mother of all practical jokes. Given that his revolver and scabbard were in plain sight, she sincerely hoped that it was the latter.

  As Jessica nervously peered at Gideon, she noticed that his face was flushed an unnatural color. Moreover, his breathing had become labored, and there was a feverish glimmer in his eyes.

  Suddenly struck with the uneasy realization that Gideon MacAllister might be gravely ill, she pried the Time-Life book from his hands. Then, taking Gideon by the elbow, she guided him toward an armchair. “Perhaps you should sit down and rest.”

  Wordlessly he slid into the chair, his head slumping against his chest. Despite his height and broad-shouldered mass, he didn’t appear to have the strength to shoo a fly.

  When, a few seconds later, he began to shiver, Jessica hurried over to the other side of the room and snatched a throw blanket out of a wicker trunk.

  “Is there anyone I can call for you?” she anxiously inquired as she tucked the woolen plaid around his chest and shoulders.

  The question met with an unresponsive silence.