Dream Weaver
Authors: Shirley Martin
DREAM WEAVER
by
Shirley Martin
ISBN: 978-1-927111-44-4
PUBLISHED BY:
Books We Love
192
Lakeside
Greens Drive
Chestermere
,
Alberta
,
Canada
Copyright 2011 Shirley Martin
Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2011
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Prologue
Gwen Emrys maneuvered her turquoise Saturn through the heavy early morning traffic, headed for her teaching job at a local high school. She drove with her window down, grateful for the light spring breeze that bathed her face and kept her alert. Groggy after another night of troubling dreams, she pressed her hand to her aching head, trying to concentrate on her driving. She wondered why these senseless dreams plagued her sleep, night after night.
A sudden wave of dizziness rattled her. Goose bumps raced along her arms and legs. Without warning, the asphalt road disappeared, and a narrow dirt path through a dense forest replaced it.. Hemmed in on both sides by thick clusters of maples and oaks, the car hugged the road. Fighting for breath, Gwen clenched her hands on the steering wheel. Ahead of her, at the end of the path, loomed a desolate cabin.
From nowhere, fiery arrows rained down on the cabin. Flames leaped from the outside walls, soon engulfing the log house.
Gwen slammed her foot on the brake.
On the edge of her consciousness, she heard a honk, honk, honk, like a loud blaring of horns. Or geese?
She gasped.
Frantic honking jerked her back to reality.
"Hey, lady, where'd you get your license--Walmart's?" His window down, the driver shook his fist at her. "You trying to have an accident?"
Heart pounding, Gwen gazed around her.
She eased into the outside lane, then parked her car near a gas station, waiting for her frantic heartbeat to subside. Her head throbbed, one of her headaches coming on.
Every detail of her dreams returned to haunt her--a lone cabin in the woods and a young man dressed like a colonist.
Other images disturbed her sleep every night, visions of a vast fort and wounded soldiers lying across a battlefield.
She saw destruction...and death.
Chapter One
"What's the matter, Gwen? A headache?"
Gwen dropped her hand from her forehead, aware she needed to perk up before classes began. "I keep thinking about these crazy dreams I have night after night." In the teachers' lounge of the local high school, she tried to relax with a colleague, making the most of the few spare minutes before she headed for her classroom. "Do you ever have recurring dreams?"
"Sure, don't we all. So what are yours?"
Gwen shifted in her chair. "Promise you won't laugh. But I often dream about a lonely cabin in the woods. There's a man--"
"The man of your dreams!"
"Well, he's certainly in just about every one," Gwen said, smiling. "But wait 'til you hear this," she said, reaching for her purse on a nearby table. Digging through her cellphone, compact, lipstick, keys, and all her other paraphernalia, she found what she was looking for. "You know how I enjoy history--well, I teach it--so I sent away for this pamphlet of a restored village several miles east of here. The pamphlet was advertised in a magazine." She handed her the booklet across the table. "Sarah, look at the house on page two. It looks just like the one in my dreams, as crazy as that sounds. I'll tell you something--nothing's going to stop me from visiting the village this Saturday. It's all I've been able to think about. Who knows? Maybe it is the same house."
"You really think so? Well, stranger things have happened."
After Sarah glanced at the pamphlet and handed it back, Gwen returned it to her purse. "So if you don't see me next Monday," she said, "you'll know the man of my dreams swept me off my feet."
* * *
This is it. Recently arrived at the restored village, Gwen drew a deep breath, her befuddled brain confusing dreams and reality. She stared at a log cabin, one of many quaint buildings in this tourist attraction near her hometown. Was this the same cabin that had haunted her for months? Every beat of her heart, every breath, every instinct, told her so.
Gwen carried a page from another pamphlet in her pocket, one that showed a diagram of
Fort
Pitt
. Aware now that her visions lent an urgency to glean as much historical information as possible about this area, she intended to drive to the
Fort
Pitt
Museum
, a few miles to the west, after she finished here.
She saw a spreading oak tree a few yards away, and an eerie feeling overtook her. Curious despite her foreboding, she headed in that direction across the dry grass, her steps hesitant. Reaching the tree, she saw the initials CN carved into the bark. She traced the initials with her finger, and visions flooded her mind.
Her face turned hot, then cold. Tremors shook her body. She ran sweaty palms down her long rayon skirt, wondering if her mind was playing tricks.
Chills raced across her arms and legs. Wave after wave of dizziness washed over her. She slipped her bag from her shoulder and dropped it on the ground, happy to be relieved of that encumbrance.
Tingling erupted over every part of her body. Her dizziness swept over her in gigantic waves. A buzzing sounded in her ears. The ground tilted crazily. An uncontrollable force was dragging her down, down, down, and she couldn't fight it.
She sank into total darkness.
* * *
Gradually returned to consciousness, Gwen considered her dilemma...and gasped. A glance around revealed nothing but wilderness and the cabin in a clearing. Where was the village? What about her purse, with her car keys and wallet?
She gazed around, unsure what to do, where to go for help. Struggling to her feet, she brushed off her skirt, then cautiously approached the house. She peered through the open window, standing to the side so no one would see her while she visually cased the place. A girl couldn't be too careful these days.
A man sitting at a long wooden table read a book, his brow creased in concentration as he turned the pages. The very same man, only this time he was real! What was happening to her? Was she losing her mind?
She guessed he was in his late twenties but couldn't imagine where he'd come from. And why was he dressed in such an old style, with his long white shirt and dark tan pants? Like in her dreams.
By the bright sunlight through the open window, she studied the man's features. The light glinted on his dark, wavy hair, making it appear deep brown one moment, and the next, jet black. He wore his hair long, tied in back. A straight nose, high cheekbones, and a square jaw with a cleft in his chin reminded her of Sir Lawrence Olivier, an English actor she'd seen in a late-night movie on TV.
The man scraped his chair back and stood, heading for a bookcase to return the book, slipping it between several other volumes. At least six feet tall, he was well-built, his muscular thighs encased by leggings that disappeared inside calf-high leather boots. Exuding strength and energy, he reminded Gwen of a tiger. Sleek. Powerful. Sinewy. She wondered how a man who appeared so strong and well-muscled could move with such easy masculine grace.
Gathering her courage, she walked to the open front door, her sandaled feet padding along the rough wooden planks. She needed help. After knocking on the door frame, she waited.
* * *
His medical rounds completed, his fields neglected this one day, Christian sat at his table to study the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, reading an account of smallpox inoculation. He tapped his fingers on the table, his mind on his dream of inoculating the settlers against this dread disease. Just think of his own family...
He gazed off into space, his thoughts going beyond smallpox prevention. If he could be the best doctor in western
Pennsylvania
, if he could minister to all those who needed medical help, then he could put the past behind him and know he was accomplishing something worthwhile in life.
Suppressing painful memories of his family's deaths, he returned to his reading. After underlining several sentences, he closed the pamphlet and scraped his chair back to return it to his bookcase, tucking it between other medical publications.
"May I come in?"
Christian spun around. What in God's name? Who was this woman who stood at his doorstep, shifting from one foot to the other? Speechless, he stared at her. Why, just look at her gown--surely the most shocking attire he'd ever seen. Long and silky, it skimmed her ankles and clung to every curve of her body, making it obvious she wore no petticoat beneath. And her hair! Flowing, tawny tresses hung wantonly down her back, with not even a cap on her head.
What ailed the lady?
"Sir?" she murmured.
He found his voice, uttering the only question that came to mind. "Madam, are you in need of assistance?"
The young lady stepped across the threshold, hugging her arms. "I...uh, looks like I'm lost."
"Where did you come from?"
"May I come in?" she repeated. At his answering nod, she slowly approached him, a look of bewilderment on her face. “I...uh, I’ll tell you about it in a few minutes, as soon as I get my bearings." She clenched her hands at her sides, her gaze covering the common room.
Who in the world was she? A hundred questions collided in his head while he studied this extraordinary woman making her hesitant way across the floor.
He stared at her long brown hair, tresses that glowed golden by the firelight. She was pretty, aye, but where had she found such odd apparel?
