Authors: Marisa Montes
A Circle of Time
Copyright © 2002 by Marisa Montes
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Montes, Marisa.
A circle of time/Marisa Montes,
p. cm.
Summary: In 1996, a fourteen-year-old girl in a coma is forced back in time by a girl who died in 1906, and who needs help in righting a series of terrible wrongs.
[1. Time travelâFiction. 2. WillâFiction. 3. Family problemsâ Fiction. 4. Spanish AmericansâFiction. 5. ComaâFiction. 6. CaliforniaâHistoryâ1850-1950âFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M76365Ci 2002
[Fic]âdc21 2001002614
ISBN
0-15-202626-6
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e
ISBN
978-0-544-00304-0
v1.1112
To my soul mate and husband,
David Plotkin:
I've known you before,
and I know we'll meet again,
in our own circle of time
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PECIAL THANKS
to my aunt, Dr. Carmin Montes Cumming, for being my Spanish-language consultant and for always encouraging me to write, and to my brother-in-law, Dr. Fred Plotkin, Board Certified in both Emergency Medicine and Preventive Medicine, for lending me his medical expertise and for making sure my medical scenarios were as realistic as possible.
Thanks also to my critique-group members, Corinne Hawkins and Debbie Novak, for their suggestions and encouragement; to my mentor Barbara A. Steiner, for being my eager audience during each partial installment of the rough draft of this novel; and especially to my editor, Karen Grove, for showing me how to add another dimension to my story.
IN THE MISTS OF TIME
by Marisa Montes
Like ghosts, true love is talked about;
but only few have little doubt
that either one on Earth exists.
So I am blessed: For in the mists
of time, I have found you.
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Mere words cannot express the joy
that even time cannot destroy:
the depth, the passion that I feel.
Yet earthly death has dared to steal
your body from my soul.
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I cannot rest; life's lost its thrill.
I need you backâI'll fight, I'll kill!
I'll battle death; I'll travel time,
for mere existence is a crime.
Dear God, please, take me, too!
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The past dissolves into the now.
I take a chance. Will fate allow
the two of us to meet again?
But oh, if soâno matter whenâ
your love, I shall extol!
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ProloguePast life and death, I shall transcend
to search for you till heaven's end:
At first, he's someone I don't knowâ
Until, within his eyes ... that glow ...
I recognizeâ
He's you!
Devil's Drop
April 18, 1996
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L
IGHTNING SLASHES THE BLACK SILK NIGHT.
R
AIN
pelts the winding mountain road. Gusts of wind slap a tiny Honda back and forth across the slippery road the way a cat teases a small rodent before devouring it.
In the middle of the road, a teenage girl in an old-fashioned calico dress watches the approaching car. She waits, sensing the movements of the woman inside the Honda.
The woman squints against the glare of the headlights shimmering on the pavement. Weak windshield wipers flop from side to side, useless against the pounding rain. She grips the steering wheel, tensing her muscles as she concentrates on the wall of water.
Approaching a sharp curve, she taps the brakes. The road is getting steeper, and she's nearing Devil's Drop. Despite the cold night, perspiration begins to form on her neck and forehead. Her hands, still glued to the steering wheel, become slippery with sweat.
As she makes the sharp V turn of Devil's Drop, the Honda skids and begins to fishtail. A bolt of lightning reveals a figure standing frozen in the road. The woman's heart smacks her rib cage. She steps on the brakes, skidding to a stop only inches from the girl, so close she can see the girl's odd eyes, pale and luminous as moons.
The girl's blond braids drip with rain. Her calico dress is plastered to her slim body. The headlights give the girl an eerie glow. She raises an arm and points toward the rocky shoulder of the road. Another flash of lightning reveals a bicycle crumpled against the dented metal barrier.
“What theâ” The woman flings herself out the door and is shoved against the car by a giant gust of wind. Icy knives of rain slash her face. When the woman regains her balance, the girl in the calico dress is gone.
The woman staggers to the metal barrier, fighting spiraling currents of wind and rain. Another bolt of lightning flashes. She sees the girl kneeling beside the twisted body of another girl midway down the ravine, on a narrow ledge.
“Oh, my god!” she cries. “Don't move! I'll get help.” The woman returns to her car and calls for an ambulance. “Highway One, Devil's Drop. One girl injured ... maybe two ... Please, hurry!”
The girl in the calico dress caresses the forehead of the still form, gently pushing aside clumps of rain-soaked hair. An ugly gash, still oozing blood, is visible at the hairline. Her face is bruised, badly scraped, and streaked with blood, dirt, and rain.
“Don't worry,” the girl whispers. “I'll take care of you ... and you'll take care of me.”
The girl begins to glow, softly at first, like the delicate light of a birthday candle, then with more intensity. She envelops the unconscious girl's body with her light, becoming one with her. Then, as though extinguished by a puff of wind, the glowing light vanishes.
The Coma
Chapter 1Like ghosts, true love is talked about;
but only few have little doubt
that either one on Earth exists.
I am blessed: For in the mists
of time, I have found you.
I'm wrapped in darkness, and a warm tingling travels through my body. I feel so light, so light, as if I'm floating. Something behind me goes
swisb-swush, swish-swusb,
and to my right, there's a faint
beep, beep, beep
...
Is someone there?
I can barely make out soft, muffled voices. I try to turn my head to see who it is, but my head won't move, and my eyes won't open.
The voices come closer.
Mom? Mommy!
I cry out.
What's happening?
Something's wrong. My lips seem glued together ... they won'tâcan't?âmove!
What is that?
I hold my breath, trying to sift out the tiniest sound. Someone is sobbing, and a voice says something that sounds like “coma.” Now the voices move farther away. I'm floating againâthis time up, up, high above a tiny room.
I can see them now. It's Mom, bent over, shoulders shaking, hands covering her eyes. A woman in a white lab coat places an arm over Mom's shoulders. They're watching a girl who's lying pale and still on a small bed.
Tubes run in and out of the girl's body and are connected to machines behind her and at her side. Bandages cover her skull, and her left arm and leg are encased in plaster. I glance quickly around the room. It's cold and barren except for the bed, a curtain hanging from a track on the ceiling, a tray table near the girl's feet, and a straight-backed chair tucked in a corner. The curtain is drawn shut and flutters in the breeze from the heater vent located beneath the window.
I look back at the pale girl in the bed below. Why is Mom staring at her like that? What is she to her? And why does she look so familiar? Her face is so scratched and bruised and swollen, but there's something familiar ... something...
Oh, my god! Oh, my god
â
Mommy! It's me! The girl on the bed
â
it's me!
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Lightning flashes. Thunder. A force I can't fight yanks me up, pulling me through the ceiling. Another flash of light, and the room and my mother vanishâ
Mo-o-ooom!
But the scream is ripped from my throat as I'm sucked through darkness down a tunnel of wind toward a bright, rosy light. Before I can struggle against the strong tug, I drift down into a sunlit meadow filled with golden California poppies.
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The air smelled of freshly moistened earth and grass. Cool raindrops dripped from the tall weeds onto her bare legs and feet and wet the hem of her dress as she walked. Despite the clear sky and bright sun, the air felt chilly, like in the early days of April when spring is still trying to convince winter that it has arrived.
Allison Blair reached up to pull her sweater around her chest, when she realized she was wearing only a thin calico dress that she didn't remember owning. It couldn't be hersâthe dress fit awkwardly across the waist and shoulders, and it was a dumpy, old-fashioned style. What was she doing wearing this thing? Where were the comfortable blue jeans and T-shirt she was wearing when she left home this morning? Come to think of it, where was she?
Allison scanned the thick row of pine trees that encircled the meadow. Directly in front of her, and where her feet seemed to be heading, sat a rough log cabin tucked under tall pines.
Somewhere behind her, a voice called, “Becky! Becky, wait up!”
Allison turned. A tall boy emerged from the pines. He ran toward her, jumping over fallen trees and branches, his curly, sun-bleached brown hair flopping up and down as he ran. He wore baggy, ragged pants, a faded plaid flannel shirt, and he, too, was barefooted.
“Becky, you're late,” he said. His gray eyes danced with mischief.
Allison backed away from the boy. “I'm notâ”
“Stop playing, Becky.” The boy gave her an impish grin. He tugged one of her braids, drawing her toward him. “Come on back before your mama sees.”
Allison lifted her hand to touch the thick, honey-blond braids that hadn't been there this morning, but the boy grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the thicket of pines. Allison was too stunned to resist. Besides, despite his shabby clothes, he had to be the cutest boy she'd ever seen.
She let the boy lead her into the pines. As they entered the thicket, a woman's shrill voice shattered the peaceful silence. “Rebecca Lee! Come on home, now. Rebecca!”
“Oh, BeckyâI told you we wouldn't have time.” The boy hung his head. Allison noticed that he didn't look as old as she'd first thought. He was so tall that she'd thought he was about sixteen or seventeen. But he didn't seem mature enough. He was probably fifteen or fourteen, like Allison.
The boy turned her toward the cabin. “You'd better git, or she'll find out about us.”
Allison didn't want to go. “But I'm notâ”
“Don't argue, Becky. Remember what happened last time?”
“Rebecca!” The woman was getting closer.
“I'd better scat, Becky.” The boy turned and ran into the woods. “Same time, same place, next weekâthis time don't be late!”
Before Allison could reply, he disappeared behind a clump of trees. She stared, wondering whether she'd imagined his playful smile, when a hand hit her shoulder and flung her around.
