Читать книгу Past Destinies - Constance Ruth Clark - Страница 7

Chapter 2

1868

Planting her feet, Elizabeth braced herself against his muscular chest. His thick phallus was hard and ready, and he tossed his head as she guided him toward his goal. Her horse reared above her, and she stepped to the side so he could cover the mare standing patiently in front of him. Not all mares were as patient, but this one was well bred and seemed almost anxious for Black to perform the deed. Blowing at some hair that had fallen in her face, Elizabeth watched as her uncle held the mare’s head while the stallion drove into her with a scream of triumph.

Moments later he slumped down, resting his head next to the mare’s neck before dropping back down to all fours. Wearily he followed Elizabeth as she led Black, her breeding stallion, back to his stall and closed him inside.

“We’ll have him cover her again tomorrow,” she said, walking back into the indoor riding arena where her uncle was walking the mare in a circle before returning her to her stall. “Then we can return her to Mr. Washburn tomorrow afternoon.”

Elizabeth’s uncle nodded as he led the mare down the hall to her temporary stall. Closing her inside, he turned back to grin wryly at Elizabeth who had followed them.

“After this mare goes home, I think we should put Black to pasture for a few months,” he said.

“Truly?” she asked. “Who will you use in his stead?”

“I believe St. Peter will do very well,” he said as he walked down the barn corridor, Elizabeth falling in step beside him. “You’ve learned all I can teach about breeding, and it’s time to wait for the results of your hard work.”

“I think there is a mare close to foaling at the Washburn estate,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think I should visit and see how much longer she has?”

“You could,” her uncle said. “But it’s best not to let them know the real reason for your visit. If people knew I let you help use Black for stud services, we’d both be run out of the county!”

“I could never do that to Aunt Mabel,” she said, grinning up at him. “I’m glad you did show me. At least I have a trade of sorts if I should ever need it.”

“It’s not exactly a ladylike trade, now is it?” Uncle David asked.

He’d taught her all he knew about breeding horses and bloodlines from the moment she’d started asking questions about horse behaviors. Elizabeth had always been an accomplished rider and horsewoman, but her understanding of which mare should be bred to which stallion in the local stables was superior to his own. Of course, such education had been given reluctantly at first, as no lady, especially not a virgin, ought to know anything about how a stallion covered a mare.

Elizabeth had never been interested in being like other girls. Her aunt and uncle had raised her to know how to be a lady if the occasion should arise but allowed her spirit to shine. Not having children of their own, they had decided to give her a well-rounded education. So Aunt Mabel had taught her as much as she could about womanly arts like cooking and sewing, while Uncle David had taught her everything he knew about horses. Elizabeth would rather be working with her beloved horses than doing anything else.

“What are your plans for today?” her uncle asked as they left the stable, stepping into the early morning sun.

Pushing a stray curl out of her face, Elizabeth sighed as she waited for her uncle to close the stable door. They always did this sort of work at daybreak, so they wouldn’t be caught by surprise if company decided to drop by unexpectedly.

“I’m supposed to meet Sarah Raven and a few of the other girls at the fairgrounds later this morning.”

“Good!” her uncle said, grinning at her rolled eyes. “You should do something with girls your own age for a change.”

“I suppose,” she said grudgingly.

Truthfully, she liked spending time with Sarah. It was the other girls she wasn’t as fond of.

“Well, go and enjoy yourself,” her uncle said.

“I shall do my best.” She laughed and went into the house to get ready to meet her friends.

A few hours later Elizabeth Gates looked up from the quilt she was studying when she heard her name. She saw Sarah motioning her over to the group of simpering girls.

“We’re going to have our fortunes told! Do come,” she said. “I’m sure it will be fun!”

“I suppose I shall.”

She knew she’d have to do something sooner or later to convince her best friend that she was having a good time.

“Wonderful!”

Sarah smiled and led a reluctant Elizabeth by the hand over to the darkly-colored booth.

Elizabeth sighed audibly as she allowed herself to be tugged along. She simply was not in a festive mood. Her friend Sarah Raven had dragged her to the fairgrounds, saying she needed to socialize more, but Elizabeth didn’t agree. She would much prefer to be home, tending her garden or better yet, riding her stallion. She wasn’t interested in catching a young man’s eye, but that didn’t mean she went unnoticed by them.

Recently she’d begun receiving invitations for outings with young men. They asked if she’d go driving, or if they could walk her home from church, or come calling. She’d turned them all down without reservation, Sarah had told her all about the jealous looks she’d received from those who considered her competition, making Elizabeth laugh. As if she cared what anyone thought. Those simpering girls were welcome to all of the men, if they could figure out how to attract them.

It seemed that all her friends ever did was giggle about some stupid man. This one was so strong, and that one was so handsome. They didn’t impress Elizabeth one bit. She didn’t need a man because everything he could do, she could do just as well, if not better, thanks to her uncle’s teaching. Of course most people didn’t know that about her. For her aunt’s sake, most people considered Elizabeth a lady of the first degree. Most people were wrong.

The two girls had grown up together, and Sarah was one of the few people who knew about Elizabeth’s unladylike behavior. When they had been much younger, Elizabeth had persuaded her to try a few antics herself. Climbing into the hay mow, jumping onto the piles of newly mowed hay on the barn floor below. Discarding their skirts and abundance of petticoats in hot weather, swimming in the river in only their shifts. Lately, Sarah had been trying to get Elizabeth to act more ladylike even when they were alone, and Elizabeth resented it.

She watched as the other girls she had known since childhood entered the fortune teller’s tent one by one. Elizabeth tried not to roll her eyes when they burst out giggling about husbands and the amount of children they would someday have. Listening and smiling along with the rest, she didn’t take part in the discussions. Among the girls, Elizabeth was the only one who still outwardly professed not to care for men.

Since turning eighteen, she had begun having the strangest dreams, waking up with her bed sheets tangled around her body, her skin flushed, her breath rapid. A dark-haired man constantly invaded her dreams, but she could never see his face. Even now, thinking of the dreams, she felt her skin tingle.

Discreetly, Elizabeth began studying men, fascinated by their strong, hard bodies so unlike a woman’s. Almost a year ago she and Sarah had been out walking near the river when they had heard an unusual amount of splashing coming from that direction and had investigated.

Shocked to see the naked bodies of the field hands carousing in the water, the girls watched as the men washed after spending the hot summer day in the hayfield. Sarah and Elizabeth were captivated as one after another muscular male body frolicked in the cool river water, never suspecting they might be observed by two innocent girls.

Swearing never to reveal to a living soul what they had seen, both girls had been fascinated by the sight. Neither had ever been able to look at any of those men again without blushing. Thinking back, Elizabeth realized that it was soon after that event when her dreams had started. A scream of laughter broke through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

Sarah walked toward her with a grin, her eyes twinkling, and Elizabeth knew her face must show how much she wished she was anywhere but her current location.

“It’s your turn,” she said with a nudge. “Find out if you’re ever going to marry, and see if you can get her to say to whom. She as good as told me I would marry Billy Adams.”

Elizabeth gave her a skeptical look. “Poor Billy,” she said dryly, and Sarah laughed.

“Go on Elizabeth. I, at least, want to know what she says,” Sarah urged. “Perhaps Mr. Carver should be encouraged after all.”

“If she suggests I marry that preening rooster, I’ll know she couldn’t possibly have second sight.”

At Sarah’s urging, Elizabeth reluctantly pushed aside the curtain serving as a door to the small, dark booth and plopped down in a rickety chair. She faced a wrinkled, old lady dressed in black with a brightly-colored scarf covering her hair. As Elizabeth put her money on the table, the old gypsy captured her gaze with glittering black and oddly-familiar eyes.

“You are very unhappy, aren’t you, child?” she asked, ignoring the money.

Her voice crackled with a strange accent, sending shivers up Elizabeth’s spine. Coming into the tent had been a bad idea.

“No.” She glanced at the door.

“You’re lying!” Her harsh voice startled Elizabeth. “You don’t yet realize this.”

Thanks to her doting aunt and uncle she was happy with her life and the freedom she had. Elizabeth never wanted to marry, certain that marriage would curtail her freedom.

“Are you saying that if I marry Jonas Carver I’ll be happy?” Elizabeth knew how these fortune tellers worked and would give her an ‘out.’ The faster she could leave this tent the better.

“Bah!” the woman spat into the rug-covered floor, shocking Elizabeth. “That man is naught to you.”

Nothing about this visit was going the way she’d envisioned, and she began to wonder what was really going on.

The old woman peered deep into Elizabeth’s eyes, and Elizabeth found that somehow she couldn’t look away.

“Stay away from Mr. Carver. He will bring naught but pain,” she advised. “I speak of another. Your soul is sad and feels betrayed and alone because he has not come. Even now you seek him.” The gypsy sat back with a sigh but didn’t release Elizabeth’s gaze.

Elizabeth frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, I haven’t lost anyone, certainly not a man.” She shook her head with the beginnings of annoyance.

The wrinkled eyes sparkled with patient amusement.

“My dear child, you fail to understand. I speak of your soul mate, he whom you are intended to love and become one with in every lifetime. You are meant to find each other. It’s part of your destiny.”

The old gypsy parted her lips in a toothless grimace, but her eyes showed kindness and tenderness. It was the only reason Elizabeth didn’t immediately run away.

“You haven’t met him yet in this life,” the gypsy continued to explain gently, “and he’s past due. He’s never been this late before, he should have come by now. You know this,” she paused to tap her chest, “in here, you know.”

Elizabeth shook her head in protest once again, ready to leave, but stopped short as her hand was grabbed in a surprisingly iron-like grip. She sat where she was, looking down at her lap, her stomach churning nervously as she wondered what the old woman meant. Was she talking about the dreams? She was curious enough that she didn’t immediately demand the woman release her so she could storm out and berate Sarah for making her waste her time this way.

Glancing up she saw the fortuneteller’s eyes had closed, a look of intense concentration on her face. Elizabeth felt her own eyes slipping closed and realized abruptly she was no longer in her own body. Nor was she in the fortune teller’s small tent at the circus.

Looking around, Elizabeth saw she was in a field she didn’t recognize with people surrounding her. On closer inspection, she recognized they were all soldiers.

She saw the fortuneteller. At least she thought it must be her since she was holding her hand. This woman was much younger and beautiful, with long black hair and a bright smile.

“Look.” The fortuneteller pointed toward a group of men dressed in Union blues. “Do you see him?”

Elizabeth did. He was holding a long rifle and staring out into the field, his jaw clenched. She knew him immediately. How strange! Curiosity took hold, and thinking she might speak to him, she started forward. Feeling a tug on her arm she stopped as the fortuneteller pulled her back.

“Watch,” she directed. “We will see why he has yet to come to you.”

Elizabeth nodded, recognizing that this must be a vision or a dream, not reality. It was so strange how realistic everything was. She could even hear the birds and the sound of male voices in the breeze. He didn’t see her, so she watched him chatting with his buddies. Then she screamed and watched in horror as he and the surrounding men were blown up by cannon fire. The smell of smoke in the air made her sick. Closing her eyes she turned away, unable to observe anymore. She didn’t understand and couldn’t explain the emotional sense of loss she felt. She didn’t even know his name, so how could she feel so alone at his death?

Turning to the fortuneteller, her grief too intense to be vocalized, Elizabeth shook her head in denial. Covering her mouth as hot tears coursed down her cheeks, she bent forward, kneeling on the sun-warmed grass, nearly falling from the intensity of her emotions. She felt as if part of her soul had been ripped from her body. A gentle touch on her shoulder steadied her, and she met the sorrow-filled eyes of the young fortuneteller beside her.

“We must correct this,” she said simply. Holding out her hand, she helped Elizabeth stand. “Look.” The woman pointed in the opposite direction, and as Elizabeth did, hope sprung to life somewhere inside.

Again she saw a man she immediately recognized, but he looked different somehow. He no longer wore a soldier’s uniform. Instead of a battlefield, he was surrounded by strange furniture. Some of it blinked, and there was artificial light everywhere.

She stepped forward to get a closer look at him and noticed he looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept well recently. He looked up but obviously couldn’t see them, and she caught her breath again. There was something familiar about him, and she ached to comfort him.

In that instance she knew that the fortuneteller had been quite correct. Elizabeth was angry with him for not coming to her, and she had been waiting for him. She just hadn’t known until this moment. It went against everything she’d ever believed about not needing a man. Looking at him, she realized it wasn’t so much that she needed him, but that she could see he needed her. He looked so lost, so alone, and her heart was touched.

“When will he come to me?” she asked, not taking her eyes from him.

“It’s complicated,” the fortuneteller said with a sigh. “He is not of this time but from the future. I cannot take him away from your future self, can I?”

“Where am I in the future? Why has he not found me?” Elizabeth wanted to know that if she could not make him happy, at least her future self could.

The fortuneteller turned and pointed to another place. Elizabeth saw a garden of headstones.

“Oh my,” the fortuneteller breathed. “He can’t find you because in his time you have died.”

“What!” Elizabeth tried to look back at him, only to find he had disappeared. “Can’t you fix that?” she begged, turning back toward the fortuneteller. She had to help him. He needed her.

The woman smiled and then nodded. “Anything for you, my child, but you must make it a wish.”

“I do wish it. I wish for my soul mate to be happy.”

Without warning, Elizabeth was back in her own body, and she gasped at the strange sensation. Her hand was freed from the old fortuneteller’s iron grip, and looking up she met the same eyes in the wrinkled old face that had only moments before been young and beautiful.

“I didn’t know,” Elizabeth whispered, still slightly stunned from her experience.

“There is much you don’t know about yourself.” The wise old eyes crinkled. “I can help you child, do not doubt it. You will see him again, and I can bring him to you. All you have to do is agree to accept my help.” Her hand again captured Elizabeth’s. “Will you accept a poor old woman’s intervention in your life?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her heart racing with excitement.

“Strange things will happen during the next full moon. Look for a man who seems out of place in this world. He is your soul mate, and your heart will know this to be true. Follow your heart, and you will have what you most desire.” Squeezing Elizabeth’s hand, she closed her eyes briefly. “Go now,” she commanded. “Forget not what I have told you.”

Elizabeth nodded and fled. Outside the tent she waved away Sarah’s questions and made an excuse to hurry home. How could she explain the strange visit? It was much better to appear rude.

* * * *

Agatha shed the facade of an old gypsy woman and closed her booth as soon as Elizabeth exited. She smiled in relief that her work at the fair had paid off–she had finally found the girl she’d been searching for. Elizabeth’s soul had been crying for intervention for years, but it had been hard to pin the girl down.

Soul mates in need cried out to her, and Agatha had never been able to deny their pleas for help. Sometimes her work was easy, a simple introduction of two people meant to be together. Then there were the more challenging requests. Those were her favorites.

Her next step was to travel to the future to find the man they had seen in the vision. Without Elizabeth leading her to him, she only hoped it wouldn’t take much convincing on her part to get him to follow her back to the past.