Dream Weaver (27 page)

Their money! She remembered the payment the lady from
Bedford
had given Christian for the operation, the coins kept in a wooden box on the mantle. Drawing on her last bit of strength, she dashed back inside and grabbed the blistering hot box. She cried with pain, wrapping her skirt around the box, finally reaching outside again.

 
There by the fiery cabin, where the large oak tree guarded the vegetable field and thick forest growth, she vowed she would not give in. She still had more things to save! She wobbled to her feet, aching all over. Nausea churned in her stomach. Her face turned hot, then cold. The earth tilted and the ground came up to meet her.

* * *

Enclosed in pain, Gwen lay in blackness, forcing her eyes open after several attempts. She felt the cold ground beneath her, saw the wide oak tree, its bare branches stretching above her. Everything slammed through her head--the fire, saving Christian's books--like a nightmare that has no end.

With infinite care, Christian smoothed a foul-smelling ointment from her upper arm all the way to the tips of her fingers. He wrapped gauze around her injured arm, speaking calmly as he worked. The smell of wood smoke still hung in the air, a light breeze blowing fumes their way.

"Why did you do it, darling? My books and mediciments are not worth your life. You could have died...." Christian choked, his voice trembling. "If anything had happened to you..." Sighing, he shook his head.

"Pray don't ever again risk your life for any possessions of mine. I couldn't bear to lose you," he said in his low, husky voice. "How could I live without you?" He bent low to kiss her forehead, all the while murmuring words meant to comfort.

There was so much she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat. Despite Christian's gentleness, she winced with pain.

"Sorry if I'm hurting you," he murmured as he wrapped gauze around her other arm. "Can't be helped."

"I know," Gwen whispered, tasting ashes in her mouth. Turning her head, she saw the smoky ruins of their house. Tears brimmed her eyes, and she swallowed hard.

"Darling," Christian whispered. He sat on the ground beside her, his thigh supporting her right arm. Finished winding the gauze, he cut and tied the fabric ends.

Raw pain tortured her throat. After several attempts, she opened her mouth to speak, every word an effort. "I can't understand how the fire started. I was so careful."

"Not your fault." Christian shook his head, worry lines etching his face. "Indians. More houses burnt east of
 
here... Heard about these atrocities while I visited
Fort
Pitt
this morning. Whole families killed, prisoners taken..."

 
"Oh, my God!" Gwen turned away, swallowing past the ache in her throat. Is this the beginning of the Rebellion? she agonized, thinking past her torment. She raised her hand to her cheeks and realized for the first time that Christian had put salve on her face, too. I'll probably be scarred for life, she worried, recalling a college classmate whose face had been furrowed with ugly purple burn scars. But what about the captives Christian spoke of? They might be roasted at the stake! "The burns are not as bad as they may seem," Christian said. "This salve will help them heal nicely. You should recover within a few weeks, I doubt not." He stretched out on the ground next to her and placed a light kiss on her lips. "Pray don't ever frighten me like that again. When I arrived home and found you lying on the ground..." He rested his head between her breasts, his breath warm on her chest.

"I had to save your things." Despite her agony, she lifted her bandaged hand to smooth across his hair, so happy to be alive, to have Christian with her.

He braced himself on his elbow, raising up to look at her. "'Tis easy enough to procure more medicines and buy more books, aye, and to build another house, too. 'Tis not that easy to get another wife, and I find that you please me very much," he said with another light kiss on her forehead.

Gwen tried to smile, her eyelids drooping. Images haunted her, pictures she knew would taunt her for the rest of her life--the flames licking the wood, the harsh smell of smoke, ashes flying through the air. She drifted on a tide of weariness and turned her head toward her husband, when blackness engulfed her again.

* * *

"Almost as roomy as our other house," Christian said as he set a brand new oak chair next to the table, "not that our first house was so spacious. Still, I consider us fortunate that Daniel and several of the other men were able to spare the days to help us build and at such a busy time, too."

With his foot, he shoved a couple stray books out of the way. He wiped his glistening forehead with a handkerchief, then tucked the handkerchief in his waistcoat pocket. Looking around the room, his gaze covered the hearth, the table, two chairs, and their oak bedstead in the corner.

 
"Maybe we can acquire more things a little at a time," Gwen said.

"Aye, that we can."

In the early morning light, while shadows still clung to the walls, Gwen followed Christian's gaze to his books and supplies stacked forlornly in a far corner. "You need a bookcase as much as anything." She picked up another stray book from the floor and set it with the others.

"That's the least of it, and I'll never forget how you risked your life to rescue my books and medicaments." He drew her close and kissed her tenderly on the top of her head, running his hand across the ridges of her back. "I'll say it again, my possessions are not worth your life."

She eased back to stare up at him, thinking she'd never loved him as much as she did now, fully aware she could have died in the fire, forever parted from him.

 
"But Christian, those books are priceless. William Harvey, Chippendale... I couldn't let anything happen to them."

"Easy to come by," Christian said with a careless shrug. "Daniel could procure them for me in
Philadelphia
, or mayhap Mr. Davenport could obtain the books here at the trading post."

"You're right. I didn't think...." She leaned her head against his hard chest, absorbing the heat of his skin, feeling his heartbeat close to her ear. She told herself for the hundredth time she had to remember what time she lived in now. Of course, these books weren't so valuable now. With the exception of William Harvey, they'd been written by contemporaries.

"Speaking of supplies," Christian said, stepping back, "I intend to stop by
Fort
Pitt
after I visit several patients east of here. Shall I procure anything for you?"

"Umm, let me think."

Why, sure. How about a few new dresses, not to mention panties and bras? All their clothes gone, except what they wore! Would she ever have the time to replace his waistcoat of black wool, embellished with crewel embroidery she'd labored over for hours? Darn it, she'd take the time!

 
He reached for the money box on the mantle, counting out a few coins. "I still have much of the money the lady from
Bedford
gave me," he said with his back to her, "so be sure to tell me if you need anything." He turned and gave her a wry smile. "Most of my patients pay me with produce, so we must watch our expenses."

"Can't think of anything now. May think of something later."

"Very well." Enclosing her in his arms, he gave her a long kiss. "No doubt it will be hours before I return."

After he closed the door behind him, Gwen busied herself cutting up vegetables for a stew. How she hated preparing meals from scratch. Well, she'd have to get used to it. Cook, cook, cook.

What culinary delight have you planned for the evening meal, honey?

Oh, Christian. I thought I'd be lazy and order pizza.

Great, I love pizza. Be sure to get extra pepperoni and sausage.

Yeah, right.

Some time later, a vegetable stew simmered over the fire, its heady aroma mingling with the scent of freshly-hewn wood. A breeze through the open door cooled the room and brought a little relief from the fireplace heat. Perched on a chair next to the table, Gwen sewed the last stitch of a shirt she'd made for Christian, having already cut the material while they'd lived temporarily with Rebecca and Daniel.

I'll head for the shopping mall tomorrow, she thought on a note of wry humor, considering all the things she'd love to buy jeans, T-shirts, and dresses. And how about a new pair of sandals, now that spring was in the air?

Without warning, a swell of vertigo gripped her. No, not that again! Her hands shook as she dropped the material on the table, her gaze covering every corner. There, where a blank wall should be, a woman sat at a desk, typing at a computer! Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. This couldn't be happening, not again!

Slowly opening her eyes, she dared another look. A man leaned against the desk, an impatient look on his face. Who were these people? She'd never seen them in her life. Was there an office building in the same location as this house--in the twenty-first century? What other explanation could there be?

"Almost done with the report," the woman said. "Give me a few more minutes, okay?"

Gwen jerked away, the room spinning around her. She clutched her stomach, wanting to scream, run outside, escape these visions. This can't be happening. The voices faded and died. The room returned to normal, but her head pounded as nausea roiled inside her.

She gripped the edge of the table, as if it would anchor her to the house, this settlement in the wilderness, this world that had become hers. A world she would never leave...not without Christian.

* * *

One week later, finally settled in their new home, Gwen tried to convince herself she hadn't really seen that office or those people. She chalked the experience up to the loss of their former house in the fire and the strain of moving. Sure, that's all it was.

No, she must face the facts. The future and the past were blending, a phenomenon that frightened her witless. What could she do to prevent these crazy visions? More important--what if she got sent back to her other time without Christian?

If her visions didn't stop soon, she was afraid she'd become a real loony. That was probably what Christian thought anyway, although he never indicated, by word or action, that he considered her crazy.

Awake one hot and steamy night while Christian slept beside her, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep as another problem nagged her. She wanted Christian's child badly, but until she felt certain of what time--the present or the future--she'd live in, she didn't dare become pregnant. She practiced birth control with a sponge soaked in vinegar, a method she'd read about in a twenty-first century historical novel. Too bad she couldn't get birth control pills.

* * *

On a balmy afternoon in late spring, Gwen finished sweeping and cleaning the house. That's enough for today, she thought, flipping the feather broom over to a corner. First checking the turkey roasting over the hearth, she decided she'd visit a few of the trading posts in the low town, on the outskirts of
Fort
Pitt
. After the weeks spent in their new house, she realized how many things she needed--more linen and thread, soap, and vegetables she could buy from any one of the farmers' wives.

She glanced at herself in a hand mirror Christian had bought her, noting that her scars had almost completely healed. That was one worry out of the way. She clamped a straw bonnet on her head and scooped a few shillings from the box on the mantle. Dropping the coins into her detachable pocket, she stepped outside.

At the foot of the hill, she viewed the other log houses closer to
Fort
Pitt
, ugly houses, she mused with a mental scold for her unkind thoughts. But it was true. Each house resembled the next in drab simplicity, all looking like derelict shacks, ready to cave in.

Covered with dust, she plodded along the dirt trail until she reached
Fort
Pitt
, wondering if she and Christian would ever have a nice home of their own.

The whole town was a real dump. Pretend! she told herself as she skirted a pile of animal waste. Why, just look at all the gleaming skyscrapers, the colorful tulips neatly planted outside the office buildings, the well-dressed businessmen rushing past on the sidewalk. In her own time...

More drunks and derelicts than even the previous year roamed the streets, the Indians as sad-looking as ever, their clothes ragged and dirty. Here and there redcoats strolled along; surely they must be hot as hell in their skintight woolen uniforms. She scanned their faces, looking for a familiar one, recalling all the soldiers she'd met at the Saturday night balls. One of them looked familiar, but she must be mistaken.

"Miss Emrys! Gwen!"

It couldn't be! She gave him her widest smile. "Lieutenant Shelbourne, what a surprise! I thought you'd left for
England
long ago, but it's so nice to see you again." She clutched her dress fluttering in the cool breeze, tempted to rush up to Richard, throw her arms around him and kiss him. She self-consciously adjusted the angle of her bonnet, thinking his friendly face sure did help chase her blues away.