Destiny for Three Page 2

Tie her down? Oh, hell no! Elise spun on Samuel. "If you think I'm going to let you people hold me prisoner here-"

  “You’s gotta calm down, Miss Lizzie, like Jemma said,” Samuel insisted as he urged her toward the house.

  She pulled her elbow from his grip. “Let me go!”

  Mr. Kingston grabbed her other arm. He wasn’t gentle. His fingers bit into her flesh. “Elizabeth. Settle down and get into the house. Let them help you.” His low voice had an ominous tone and the anger in his eyes sent a chill down her spine.

  The situation was getting out of control. Elise took a deep breath then said in a deceptively calm voice. "All right. Look, I'm not upset anymore.” She removed his hand from her arm. "I can walk by myself. Really, I'm fine." She lifted the skirt of her gown above her ankles and strode into the front hall. Her head spinning from the sudden movement, she stopped to steady herself.

  When her vision stopped reeling, she noticed the hall was as carefully restored as the outside of the house. The mahogany of the staircase and door trim gleamed with the soft glow of hand-polished wax, the walls were covered with richly patterned sage-green damask, and the furniture looked like genuine Louis XVI.

  "I'm all right," she insisted when she felt Samuel’s hands on her again. “Please, just show me to the phone.”

  "I’ll help you upstairs, Miss. You needs ta lie down."

  It was clear none of these people were going to help her. She was on her own. Her façade of calm disintegrated. "For the last time, I'm not going upstairs! If you people won't help me, I'll help myself." She pulled away from Samuel. "I'm walking to the highway to catch a ride. Don't you dare try to stop me."

  She turned and staggered toward the door, then stopped as she caught a glimpse of a woman in the tall gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite her. Petite and dark-haired, the woman stared back at Elise with wide, blue-green eyes. She wore a long skirt and fitted jacket, fawn-colored with dark green trim. Dirt and grass stains marred the outfit and the jacket was torn at one shoulder.

  Elise looked down at her own clothing. Her breath caught in her throat. Where was her wedding gown? She’d been wearing an ivory satin gown, hadn't she? In that instant she began to question her own sanity.

  Her eyes shot back to the mirror and she raised a trembling hand to the throbbing lump on her head. The woman did the same, gingerly touching the large purplish swelling that marred her porcelain complexion.

  Elise uttered a strangled cry as she stared at the stranger in the glass and realized she was the stranger. She felt her knees buckle, the parquet floor seemed to rush upward then blackness closed around her.

  ****

  Elise's eyelids flickered open. She moaned and turned her head on the soft feather pillow. Where was she? Slowly, she began to take in her surroundings. She was in a spacious bedroom furnished with lovely antique furniture and occupied a canopied four-poster bed, swathed in great volumes of white netting. It dominated the room and was surrounded by matching pieces of Queen Anne style furniture. It occurred to her that there was absolutely nothing modern in the room. No light switches--no lights at all, except for oil lamps and candles--no electrical outlets, no vents to indicate any sort of central air system...nothing. Strange. It was as if she'd awakened in another time.

  Like a swift kick to the stomach, memory of the dream came back to her. It had to have been a dream.

  Her head swimming, she forced herself out of bed and staggered to the tall mirror that hung next to the wardrobe. The image that confronted her took her breath away.

  Dear God, it was true!

  She wasn't herself anymore. This body in the mirror wasn't her own. Gone was the tall, thin figure, the shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes and somewhat square jaw line that she'd grown accustomed to seeing in a mirror. The attractive, but unexceptional body of Elise Davis was no longer hers. In its place was the delicately-boned figure of a sable-haired beauty. Though petite, this body was lushly feminine, the soft curves covered in a modest nightgown of white batiste.

  Elise pressed her fingers against the high cheekbones, the fragile, yet proud jaw line, the perfect cupid's bow of dusky pink lips. She stared, still barely able to believe what she was seeing. Wide, heavily-lashed turquoise eyes peered back in amazement. My God, this woman was beautiful. This woman...she was this woman!

  Shaking, Elise turned away from the mirror and tried to gather her thoughts. Had she died in the accident? She remembered the darkness after the crash, the feeling of weightlessness, the beckoning light.

  Slowly, half expecting the room to shimmer and dissolve around her, she went to one of the tall windows and looked out. It was clear she was inside the Greek Revival mansion she remembered being brought to after the accident. Beyond the overhanging pediment supported by tall columns was a large expanse of yard, split in two by a gravel driveway lined with cottonwood trees. In the distance, past the moss-draped trees, she could see a river, and marshy rice fields dotted with the hunched over figures of laborers. A movement in the driveway caught her eye. A horse-drawn wagon paused at one of the small outbuildings. The passengers, six men and women, dark-skinned, wearing crude, patched and dirty clothing, crawled out. With the shine of perspiration on their bodies, haggard expressions on their faces, they looked like...Good God, they looked like slaves!

  Frantically, her mind fumbled for an explanation that made sense. Maybe she was dreaming all this, while in reality she lay comatose in a hospital bed. Something inside her told her that wasn't the case. This wasn't heaven, or hell. This wasn't the figment of a damaged brain. This was real, just not the reality she'd always known.

  Elise turned back to the mirror, trembling like a leaf, trying to remember the murky events that occurred after the accident. The flickering images from her past, the gently smiling woman, the warm, soul-encompassing light... Elise had read enough about near-death experiences to know her ordeal was similar. She’d been on the brink of crossing over, then, for reasons unknown, was pulled back from the light, pulled back into her body--no, to this body.

  Elise watched the unfamiliar face in the mirror blanch. If she now inhabited the body of this woman, Elizabeth, then where was Elizabeth? Had her soul passed over? Or had they switched places somehow? At this very moment, somewhere in the future, was Elizabeth staring into a mirror trying to come to terms with her new form?

  The door opened just as Elise swayed, grabbing the bedpost for support. The woman she recognized as Jemma stepped in.

  "Lord o'mighty! What's you doin' up?" She hurried across the room and took Elise by the arm. "You get yourself back into this here bed! And don't go givin' me no lip, neither. You need your rest if that head of yours is to heal proper. I ain't aimin' to spend the rest of my days nursin' no crazy woman."

  Numb with shock, Elise let Jemma tuck her back into the big, soft bed. She leaned forward obediently as Jemma fluffed the feather pillows behind her back.

  "There. Now you just lie back and rest." Jemma's voice had lost its sharp tone. "You feel up to eatin' somethin'?"

  Jemma's mention of food made her stomach pinch with hunger. "Um, yes, thank you. That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind. I haven't had anything since yesterday."

  "Yesterday? Child, you been sleepin' for two days now. And it's already near half-way through the third." At Elise's look of alarm, Jemma patted her hand. "Now don't you worry none. Doc says you’s gonna be fine, which is more than I can say ‘bout poor Massah Edward. He’s been askin’ for you, so soon as you feel able, you needs to go be with him." The woman’s dark eyes grew shiny with tears.

  “Edward?” Oh, yeah. There was another person with her who was hurt in the accident.

  Jemma’s brow furrowed with alarm. “Yes, child. Massah Edward. Your brother.” She scrutinized the bruise on Elise's forehead. "You sure you's afeelin' better?"

  Elise nodded gingerly. "My head still aches. Do you have anything I could take for it? Maybe a Tylenol, please?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she'd b
lundered. Jemma was plainly troubled, though she tried to hide it by briskly smoothing the coverlet.

  "You poor child. Just lie still and I'll be back in no time with somethin' for the pain."

  Elise watched Jemma bustle out of the room and chided herself for being careless. If this nightmare was true, if she had indeed been transported into the past and into another body, then she had better pull herself together quickly and deal with it. That meant being more mindful of what she said.

  She had so much to find out: what year it was, exactly where she was, who she was. She would have to be very careful. The people around her would probably accept some memory loss on her part, but if she told them the truth, she might well find herself trussed up in the nearest loony-bin.

  Chapter Two

  “‘Scuse me, Mistuh Trey, Doc White." The two men looked up at Jemma, who stood in the doorway of the study."I's sorry for bustin' in on y'all, but Miss Lizzie, she's woke up."

  Trey Kingston got up from the leather wing-back, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "She's better?"

  "Seems she's feelin' better, but she don’t remember Massah Edward. And she's still talkin' nonsense. Askin' for ‘Ty-noll’ or some such thing." Jemma grew thoughtful for a moment. "And there's somethin' else, too. Maybe it aint' nothin’, but she don't act like herself, neither. Sayin' please and thank you real soft-like...it just ain't like her. Doc, you'd best get back up there and take a look at her."

  Doc White nodded. "I'll go up and check on her before I leave." After Jemma left, he scrubbed a weary hand across the back of his neck and turned to Trey. “I was hoping that when she came to, she would have recovered her faculties. Maybe the brain damage is worse than I thought.”

  “Do you think it’s permanent?”

  “I can’t say. But the longer it persists, the more likely it will be permanent.”

  Damnit. Trey pushed back the pang of emotion that swept through him. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for that woman, didn’t want to feel anything for her. “Edward’s been asking for her. It’ll upset him if she doesn’t remember. Maybe we should wait a little longer.”

  Doc White shook his head. “No, if Edward wants to see her, you best make sure he does, soon. His back is broken, and he’s already having trouble breathing. He may linger for a while longer, but he won’t recover.” He walked to the desk and picked up his bag. He reached inside and pulled out a bottle, then held it out to Trey. “I’m sorry there’s nothing more we can do for Edward, but this laudanum will keep him comfortable until the end.” Trey sank back into the chair as the doctor pulled out a pencil and scrawled on a piece of paper. “Here’s the instructions for dosing. Don’t worry about giving him too much. It doesn’t matter at this point.”

  Trey nodded woodenly as the doctor patted his shoulder then left the room.

  Jesus! Edward was dying! Trey’s throat ached with anguish for the man he’d known since they were children growing up together on neighboring plantations. Before last week, it had been four years since he’d seen Edward. Four years since he’d left Savannah and went north to New York to start fresh. Trey had been shocked when he got his first glimpse of Edward since his return, here in this very room last week. The lines that stress and worry had etched into Edward's face in the years since they'd last seen each other had aged him prematurely. He wished he could somehow transform Edward back into the cheerful, carefree youth he grew up with--wished he could turn back the clock for them both.

  Trey expelled a deep breath. There was no returning to the innocence of their youth. Their lots had been cast. They would have to live with what fate had dealt them.

  Edward had been dealt a cruel hand. Chester McBride had left his son neck-deep in debt--mostly gambling losses, the result of his passion for horse-racing combined with his woeful ignorance in the breeding of good horse flesh. For years the enormous productivity of the plantation had been enough to offset the old man's losses. The McBrides had lived a life of great elegance and luxury, until two years ago, when a great storm swept the Georgia coast, raising the waterline to nearly seven feet above the ordinary high tide, wiping out most of the rice fields in the area. Faced with mounting financial troubles and never quite able to reconcile the death of his wife, Hannah, Chester McBride had turned to drinking, which ultimately was the cause of his death. Trey had received a letter from Edward last year informing him of his father's accident. The old man had evidently fallen in a marsh and been too drunk to get up. He'd drowned in a mere six inches of water.

  Edward was left to shoulder the responsibility of the financially ailing plantation and his shrew of a sister, who continued to burn through what little savings they had left. Edward confided to Trey that when he’d questioned Elizabeth’s out of control spending on Parisian gowns and jewelry, she’d pitched such a fit, she’d nearly destroyed the parlor and it had cost him a tidy sum for repairs. Same old Elizabeth. Spoiled, willful little bitch.

  Trey had offered Edward a loan. It wouldn’t be a hardship for Trey anymore. Hell, he could afford to give Edward the money, but he knew his friend was too proud to accept charity.

  Edward had forced a smile at his offer. "I’ll think about it, Trey. Thank you.” Then his abrupt change of tone told Trey the subject was closed for now. “Why don't you come for supper Saturday evenin’. No talk about money problems or any other woes, I forbid it. Just two old friends doing some catchin’ up."

  Today was Saturday, and Trey would be staying for supper, but it would be at Edward’s bedside, keeping his friend company while he watched Edward’s life slowly slip away.

  And he would have to face her, Elizabeth Viola McBride. The conniving piece of baggage he’d put behind him years ago. He'd come to terms with what happened between them, felt nothing but indifference toward her. Until the other day after the accident, when she’d stared up at him, hurt and frightened, ranting like a crazy woman, pleading for his help. Seeing her again had been like a thunder bolt, his body reacting to her nearness as if the ugliness that had passed between them never occurred, as if he was still the besotted young fool he was all those years ago.

  But he wasn't. He knew what kind of woman she was: shallow and vindictive. Yet there was something about her that day. Something in the way she spoke, the way she looked at him, different somehow… No, damn her!

  He raked a hand through his hair and clamped on his hat. He had to get out of here for a while. Go back to Hopeton for a few hours and work on sorting through and packing up his family’s possessions before the sale was finalized. It would help him clear his head. He stood up abruptly, welcoming the pain that shot from his knee to his ankle. It was a potent reminder of the folly of his ill-fated infatuation with Elizabeth McBride and it fired his determination that it would not happen again.

  ****

  Elise awoke from her nap to the sound of someone moving about the bedroom. Groggily, she raised herself up on her elbows and saw a young black woman, sixteen or seventeen perhaps, in a shapeless dress of roughly woven fabric. She was setting a tray of dainty glass bottles on the dressing table. It took Elise a moment to remember where she was, frowning as it came back to her.

  "Oh, hello," she mumbled and rubbed at her eyes.

  The bottles clinked loudly as the girl plopped them down, then spun away from the table and backed toward the door. Her eyes were round with fright. "I-I's sorry Miz! I didn't mean to wake you! I's sorry!"

  Alarmed by the girl's reaction, Elise climbed out of bed. "It's okay, really. I apologize if I startled you." The young woman was shaking so badly that Elise reached out to her.

  The girl's screech filled the closed room as she dropped to the floor and covered her head with her arms."I's sorry, I's sorry! Please don't beat me, Miz!"

  Elise watched in horror as the poor girl dissolved into a whimpering mass at her feet. She immediately knelt down and put her arms around the girl's quaking shoulders.

  "It's all right! I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Please don't cry." The girl raised her hea
d and fastened a wary gaze upon Elise.

  "But last time I woke you, you cuffed me good and said dat next time I'd gets me a whippin'!"

  Elise was stunned. My God, what kind of bitch was Elizabeth McBride? She managed to find her voice. "If I said that, then I'm truly sorry. You have to believe me when I tell you I...well, I really wasn't myself at the time. Please, don't be afraid of me. I swear I won’t hurt you."

  Elise finally managed to get the girl onto her feet and wiped her eyes with a hanky from the night table. After much persuasion, Elise learned that her name was Lolly and she was one of the three housemaids who assisted Jemma.

  "Jemma done told me to bring up dem fancy smellin' oils and such for your bath, Miz. I'll go down and tell her dat you's up now."

  "Thank you, Lolly." Elise saw the expression of utter disbelief on Lolly's face as she left the room; she'd probably never before been thanked for anything in her life.

  Jemma came in a few minutes later with an armload of towels. “As soon as we gets you bathed, you needs to go comfort Massah Edward. He’s in a bad way, God bless his heart.”

  Elise bit her lip. How was she supposed to comfort this poor man, when she didn’t even know him? “Jemma, I-I feel just terrible that I can’t even remember my own brother. I hope I don’t upset him.”

  “I told him you was havin’ trouble rememberin’,” Jemma patted her arm, “so it won’t be a shock to him. It’ll make his heart rest easy to see that otherwise you’s doin’ fine.” She stood up and started toward the door. “I’ll go get some water heatin’ for your bath and get word sent out to Mistah Turner. He’s been worried sick and wanted to know as soon as you was up to havin’ visitors.”

  “Mr. Turner?” Elise’s interest lit, picturing the handsome man who’d found her after the accident. No, she remembered, his name wasn’t Turner, it was Kingston.

  Jemma made a tsk-tsk noise. “Child, Mistuh Turner’s your fiancé. He’s gonna be awful hurt that you don’t remember him none. I’ll make sure he knows so he won’t be too shocked, but you best be mindful ‘bout what you say when you see him. If’n you start talkin’ crazy again, he might up and call off the weddin’.” With that, the woman bustled out the door.