Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

Next morning, I groan and cover my head while Henry miserably belts out Dixie. I don’t know how much more of this I will be able to endure. It is excruciating to know how unhappy my friends are and not be able to do anything for them. I wearily open my eyes and sit up.

I kick my feet out of the bed and stretch.  I glance around at the broken glass on the floor. My forehead wrinkles as I catch sight of a small bottle filled with a green liquid on the bedside table. I pick it up.

Underneath the bottle is a yellowed piece of paper which, in scribbled handwriting, reads:

I will not be able to come to you for at least a week Do all you can to prepare until then. The potion is simple to administer.  Drink it five minutes to midnight, and you should arrive in 1875 five days before James is murdered. Save him, you save all four of us. You have one week.

*     *     *

I scurry into my room and lock the door behind me. I gently place a moist towel on the desk. Kicking off my shoes, I look at the clock. It is a few minutes to midnight. I don’t know why, but ever since I found Gabe’s potion, I can’t shake the feeling that I can’t wait the week for him. I feel I must go today.

It has been a long day. During my walk with Clara, I wanted to tell her about my decision to try to save her, Gabe, and Henry, but I didn’t because I feared she would try to stop me if she knew. Furthermore, I have wanted to speak with Gabe the entire day, but it seems Colonel Blair still has both Gabe and Henry on serious lockdown. I haven’t even been able to talk to Sunny because she’s at some witch’s apprentice retreat.  I’m about to do something completely crazy and have no one to talk to about it.

Since I haven’t been able to talk to Gabe, I’ve taken matters into my own hands. Gabe’s potion should take me to the past, but I can’t leave any room for error. I open the moist towel, carefully removing a small fir twig. Spring is still absent and I don’t know how to tell if a tree is alive, so I located an old fir tree in Sunny’s yard. Making a wish may be just thing the thing I need to help me to accomplish the immense task I have ahead.

Satisfied with the twig, I make a last-minute inspection of my room, mentally checking off everything.
Dressed in comfortable, time-traveling sweats? Check.  Talisman? Check. Twig?
I carefully lift it, making sure it remains completely intact before rewrapping it with the towel. Check, I think before moving on. Proof of success? I look at the copies of newspaper stories about Colonel Blair’s death next to the twig. The moment I return, I want to be able to verify that my mission has been successful. Check.

I look at the clock. Time has snuck up on me. There are only ten minutes until midnight. Looking over Colonel Blair’s obituary, I take several deep breaths.
I am Becky Jo Douglass. I can do this. I am the sister of Marina Douglas and daughter of Alice Douglass. If anyone can convince the irritating Colonel Blair that Samuel’s dangerous, it’s me.

Checking the clock, I remove the twig from the moist towel. I square my shoulders and carefully carry it across the room to my bed. Counting down the seconds, I put it underneath my bed at exactly five minutes to midnight and put Gabe’s potion to my lips. I gag down the disgusting concoction. I swallow every last drop, wishing I had something to wash away the bad taste.

Speaking aloud, I half wish, half plead, “Let me go back to 1875 to save Colonel Blair…” I pause slightly, trying to express what is in my heart and mind. I know saving his life isn’t enough. Most importantly, I need to save his two best friends and Clara. I add, “…so he will obtain eternal happiness, and so my friends will have long lives.”

I close my eyes for a silent prayer. My mind repeats the words of Charles de Foucauld;
My Father, I abandon myself into your hands. Do with me as you will. Whatever you may do with me, I thank you. I am prepared for anything, I accept everything, provided your will is fulfilled in me and in all creatures. I ask for nothing more, my God. I place my soul in your hands.

I don’t know what I expect. However, nothing happens. Nothing at all. I simply stare at the ceiling. A minute goes by and then fifteen. I continue to wait. Four hours later, I’m still lying on the bed. I laugh aloud, slightly embarrassed. I just fell for the best practical joke of all time. I will have to congratulate Gabe.

A wide yawn escapes my mouth, and I realize how tired I am. Not even throwing away the twig, I pull a blanket over my shoulders and fall asleep.

I have the weirdest dream. Vivid images fill my mind as I stand outside the house. Cars zoom by as I witness time rewinding. The house disappears. As time moves backward, the cars passing me get older and older until they turn into horse-drawn carts. Then the images just simply disappear. My mind is filled with blank blackness.

I writher and thrash my arms and legs. It’s as though everything I am and everything I know is just gone, being replaced by a never-ending void. My head aches excruciatingly, like it’s going to explode. Every muscle in my body has been tensed to the point of cleaving apart. Then I hear his faraway laughter and the faint tinkling of
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
.

HENRY! I regain my senses.

I have to save Colonel Blair in the year 1875! I tell myself. I have to save him in order to save Henry and Gabe and Clara!

The void disappears, being replaced by white dots. My mind focuses, and I realize I’m looking at a sky full of stars. I breathe a deep breath of relief before whispering the words of John Henry Newman, “The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead thou me on.”

I pass out.

*     *     *

Wednesday, March 17, 1875

Light flickers across my eyelids, disturbing my sleep. I’m so tired that I could sleep a hundred years, so I turn over. Unfortunately, something is cutting into my ribs and I can’t turn onto my back. I reposition myself back onto my side, but the sun is getting brighter. I mentally scold myself for leaving the curtains open.

“I didn’t leave the curtains open,” I whisper as I immediately sit up.

I open my eyes and find the light blinding. I blink a few times and find I’m sitting in the middle of a field of sagebrush. I frantically gaze about and find myself on a familiar hill. I’m in the same place, but Marina’s house is gone.

I look down at myself and find I am in a fancy, dark-blue travel dress including a bustle in the back and an uncomfortable corset squeezing my middle. I pull up the skirt of the dress and discover I’m also wearing fancy stockings and shoes. At my side is a nice leather bag. I unclasp the buckle and find it contains some underclothes, a small purse of money, and a ridiculous pink gown. I don’t know what exactly is going on, but I hadn’t even thought about what I would wear if I actually traveled back in time. That conjuring stuff is powerful!

Thinking I might be hallucinating, I go to pinch myself.  A sneeze behind a large rock stops me.

“Who’s there?” I call out nervously.

There’s a shuffling noise, but no one emerges.

“I know someone’s there.  Show yourself!” I say much braver than I feel.

Familiar brown eyes peek above the rock, and I am relieved.

“Henry, come out here,” I say.

I see the top of his head shake.

I laugh, again. “Henry, you and I are old friends. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

He refuses to budge. The Henry I know has never been afraid of me. It hits me. Maybe this isn’t the Henry I know. Maybe this is the Henry I want to save. Maybe I really have traveled back to 1875. There’s one way to find out.

I pick a dry blade of frost-covered grass and put it between my hands. I blow softly on it and
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
fills the air. Henry laughs behind the rock. I play several of his favorite songs on my piece of grass. The grass falls apart, and I’m forced to stop.

“More,” Henry calls, still hiding behind the rock.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” I say. “My lips are too tired to play anything else. Besides, it’s your turn to sing something for me. I know you have a lovely singing voice.”

Hesitantly, he stands up and carefully shuffles to me. He inclines his head. “Song?” he asks politely.

“Whatever song you want,” I say.

In a hushed voice, he begins to sing,
“We’re a tenting tonight on the old camp ground, give us a song to cheer our weary hearts, a song of home, and the friends we love so dear.  We’ve been tenting tonight on the old camp ground, thinking of days gone by, of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand and the tear that said ‘good-bye!’”

I cautiously reach up and pat his hand – his nice, warm hand. I fight back tears.  Henry is alive, and I’ve been given the chance to save him. Kind, innocent Henry has a chance at peace. Mama was right – God is good.

“You tentin’?” Henry asks, pointing at the leather bag in the grass.

“Yes, you could say that.” I push myself to my feet, which is a task in itself considering the yards of cloth and the bustle I’m hauling around.

He picks up my bag and gestures for me to follow him.

“Henry, wait up!” I call, trying to catch up with him. Even with a bad leg, he walks much faster than me because my blasted skirts keep getting in the way.

I begin singing to get him to slow down. It works. Soon Henry and I are walking up a dirt road, singing song after song.  A beautiful white house comes into view, and I stop to catch my breath. The Blair Mansion is in its prime. I’m really in 1875. I have been given the opportunity to trade my life in order to save my friends.

No matter what has happened in the past or what will happen in the future, I must be strong! I’ve got to fake it until I make it! There is no room for fear or doubt! I must leave these behind! A prayer of St. Francis’s fills my heart;
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy.

“Are Colonel Blair and Gabe there?” I ask Henry, staring at the Blair mansion. It really is beautiful in its glory days.

He surprises me when he shakes his head. “Massa James gone. Gabe, gone.”

“What about…” I’m interrupted by a pack of charging dogs.

Henry puts down my bag and claps his hands with glee as the dogs surround him, jumping up to lick his face. He barks with them and the whole group happily wrestles on the ground for several minutes. I laugh with Henry. It feels unbelievably good to see him alive and enjoying that life.

“Go!” Henry orders after getting back to his feet. The dogs whimper miserably, but Henry doesn’t give in.  They unhappily obey, running into a field to chase some birds. He picks back up my bag and heads to the Blair Mansion.

“Henry, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea,” I object. “Samuel might be there.”

“Massa Samuel gone,” he answers with a grateful shudder. “Old friend, come.”

I smile, realizing I haven’t told him my name.

“Henry, my name is Rebecca,” I explain, using my real name. It’s probably better to be Rebecca in 1875 than Becky Jo.

“Come, Re-becca.”  He beams, excitedly gesturing me forward.

We pass the large mansion, and I stare in awe. It is a beautiful house. I can now see why Sunny has put so much work into restoring it back to its former splendor.

We walk past the stables and to a group of cabins. Only one has smoke coming out of its chimney. Henry goes directly to this one, opening the door.

“Henry, you was done suppose to go to da mine, two hours ago!” a woman’s voice calls out from inside the cabin. “What you doin’ here?”

“Tentin’,” Henry says, gesturing behind him at me.

“Uh-uh, you tell dem we have more help dan we be needin’! I done told you a hundred times, you can’t bring home every miserable soul dat passes da house. Massa James ain’t be needin’ more help here at da Mansion!”

“Re…becca old friend…” Henry tries to argue.

“Boy, I be knowin’ you ain’t got a mean bone in you body…”

“I’m sorry for causing a problem,” I say, stepping into the doorway. “I’m just passing through Virginia City, and Henry was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the short time I’ll be here.”

An old, black woman jumps at the sight of me. She immediately bows her head. “I apologize, Ma’am! I ain’t done seen you!”

“No, I’m the one who caused the…” I stop speaking when I glance around cabin. There are makeshift beds filled with sleeping children occupying every last inch of the small room. “Are you taking care of all these children, yourself?”

She fearfully nods. “It ain’t nothing to worry youself about, Ma’am. Da children done got the chickenpox.  Dey pas be in da mines, and dey mamas be doin’ laundry.”

“It looks like you can use my help,” I say. “Henry, can I borrow some of your clothes? I can’t work in this ridiculous dress.”

“No, Ma’am. It ain’t decent,” Rose interjects.

I laugh.  “But it’s practical. You need more than one set of hands.”

Henry’s clothes are itchy but a lot easier to move around in, especially since I’m no longer wearing the layers of petticoats, corset, and a bustle. I drape everything over a chair and go to the first child. I put my hand on the little boy’s head.