Threaded Through Time, Book One

Threaded Through Time, Book One

Sarah Ettritch

Published by Norn Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Sarah Ettritch

All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, except for brief quotations in articles or reviews, without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, Licensing Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Threaded Through Time, Book One was edited by Marg Gilks

Cover design by Streetlight Graphics

Dedication

For all the cats who have enriched my life, especially Fluff, Mouse, Morag, Zazzie, Hickory, Lucy, Henrietta, Daisy, Dozey, Sandy, Bluebell, Tubby, Tabby, Maxwell, and Grover.

Acknowledgements

My thanks to Jennifer Brinkman (my lovely partner and wonderful beta reader) and Marg Gilks (my fabulous editor). My special thanks to the late B.G., for keeping a journal in 1911.

Chapter One

Pam muttered under her breath as she dug through her purse for her keys. The plastic bag dangling from her left hand—the hand holding her purse steady as she groped—slipped from her fingers and thudded onto the steps. Shit! She pounded on the front door. Robin! No answer. Robin! she shrieked, not caring what the neighbours thought. Damn woman probably had her headset on. Robin!

She pulled out her phone and quickly dialled their number. Come down and open the front door, she barked, then hung up.

Fifteen seconds later, the door swung open. Robin glared at her.

I couldn’t find my damn keys. Pam picked up the bag and brushed past her. We need to get the stupid doorbell fixed.

Robin shut the door and locked it. We’re in the middle of a boss fight and I’m the freaking healer, she wailed, dashing for the stairs. She was halfway up them when she stopped and turned around. Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?

A date that would have lasted all of five minutes, if she’d had the guts to walk out instead of sitting through a boring dinner with a cheapskate. He’d shattered her visions of romance soon after the server had seated them: I know you modern women like to pay your own way. I can respect that, so it’ll be separate bills. Unless you’d like to pay for me. Smarmy bastard. On her way out of the restaurant, she’d given him the finger—surreptitiously. What was it about men today? Was there a man out there who knew how to respect women and treat them well? We didn’t hit it off, so we decided to skip the movie, she said.

Oh.

I stopped in at Jake’s on the way back, picked up a couple of things. She lifted the plastic bag so Robin could read the Mathers Mystic Marketplace emblazoned on its side.

So it’s Jake’s now? Robin rolled her eyes. If it weren’t for you, he’d probably go out of business. She thumped up the stairs.

Pam went into the living room and set her purse and the bag on the arm of the sofa. Now where were those damn . . . She fished around in her suit jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around metal. With a sigh, she pulled out her keys and dropped them into her purse. Today just wasn’t her day; it felt as if the universe were conspiring against her. Jake had understood, had known exactly what she needed. Too bad he was already taken. She grabbed the bag and headed upstairs.

As Pam approached Robin’s bedroom, she could hear her pleading, I’m sorry. My roommate couldn’t find her freaking keys. You all looked fine when I left.

Pam stuck her head around the bedroom door. Sorry, she mouthed.

Robin glanced at her. Look, do you want to take a fifteen-minute break, then try again? she said into the headset’s microphone. It looks like I’m in for more roommate aggro. The responses must have been affirmative; Robin whipped off the headset and set it on her desk. Now they’re all mad at me, she muttered.

I said I was sorry. Pam walked into the bedroom. When you start playing again, do you think you can keep the shouting and swearing down? Jake recommended I meditate while holding rose quartz and tanzanite.

And let me guess . . . that’s what you just bought.

Pam nodded.

And I didn’t even have to tap into my psychic abilities, Robin said sarcastically. What else did he— her fingers formed air-quotes, —prescribe? That bag has more than crystals in it.

This is pretty cool. Pam rested the bottom of the bag on the edge of Robin’s desk and slid out the large black book it held. She offered it to Robin. What do you think?

Robin’s face screwed up as she waved her hand in front of her nose. I think the last owner smoked.

Pam sniffed the air. Incense, she stated. But never mind that. According to Jake, this book contains sacred verses that were lost to us until they were rediscovered in the nineteenth century! They bolster the body, the mind, and reveal what the universe wants from us, the reason we were given life.

Robin shook her head. You don’t really believe all that crap, do you? She set the book on her lap and gingerly lifted the front cover. Ugh! The last owner drank coffee, too.

There are a few stains—which Jake pointed out to me. But I just couldn’t pass it up. She couldn’t wait to recite the verses, either. Why not improvise? After meditating, she’d hang onto the crystals. The verses would be more illuminating if she read them while still in tune with her inner spirit. Oh, apparently one set of verses will reveal the natural form of your spirit guide.

Robin barked a laugh. I don’t know why you waste your time and money on this.

You’re one to talk, Miss Elf-Healer! Pam held two fingers against each ear and stuck her teeth out.

You look like a rabbit, Robin said, her mouth twitching. And you can take this smelly book back.

Pearls before swine! Pam snatched the book away and slid it into the bag. I want half an hour of quiet, all right? After I’ve recharged, I’ll go downstairs and watch a movie. You can make as much noise as you want then.

I’ll try to hold it down, Robin mumbled.

Why don’t you watch the movie with me? You can play with your elf buddies another time.

You know I don’t like old movies.

Well, I need one of those old movies tonight. Pam clasped her free hand to her heart. I want to watch Cary, or John, or Jimmy, or Humphrey, be swept back to the time when men were men and women were women.

Pardon me if I don’t share your enthusiasm for the old days. Robin reached for her headset. Lesbians weren’t exactly welcome back then.

I suppose that’s true. She ruffled Robin’s hair. But I wuv you, Robin. I do, she cooed.

Robin groaned and leaned away from her. Go do your meditation . . . thing, already.

Pam blew her a kiss from the doorway and chuckled to herself as she walked down the hall to her own bedroom. Robin should spend less time in her fantasy worlds and find a nice girl to settle down with. But then she’d move out, and the place wouldn’t be the same without her. Pam and Robin were more than roommates; they’d been best friends since elementary school. When Pam had inherited her mother’s creaky old house that was too large for one person, Robin had been the perfect solution. Pam had loved her for agreeing to move in, instead of being her usual pragmatic self and suggesting that Pam sell up and find somewhere else to live. Robin had taken some convincing, but she knew how precious this house was to Pam. And moving in had allowed Robin to finally pursue her dream. She’d denied herself too much for too long.

Pam dropped the bag on the bed, changed into a t-shirt and sweats, and lit a few candles to set the mood. After dimming the light, she sat cross-legged on the bed and cradled the rose quartz in her left hand and the tanzanite in her right. She closed her eyes and imagined herself walking along a beach on a warm summer morning, the sand squishing between her toes and the sun—

I said pull, not bring the whole mob down on us! Robin shouted in her bedroom.

Pam groaned. With that damn headset on, Robin couldn’t hear herself. It didn’t help that Pam’s door was open, but she hated meditating in a closed room. Air flow was important. Openness was key. Fortunately the house had two floors.

A minute later, Pam was in the exercise room on the ground floor. Okay, they’d yet to exercise in it and their treadmill was currently serving as a place to stack boxes, but whatever. She shooed Mitzy off the old chair in the corner and plopped into it, ignoring the dirty look the cat gave her.

Forget the damn meditation! Too keyed up, Pam looked down at the book in her lap, tracing the embossed gold letters of the title: MAGICAL MOON RHYMES FOR ALL TIMES. She opened the cover and flipped to the copyright page. Published in Toronto in 1882. Cripes. The book was old, yes, but more than age had yellowed its pages. Robin was right; this book had encountered a smoker, an incense burner, and someone who couldn’t hold a coffee cup steady.

She pulled the crystals from the pockets of her sweats, selected the rose quartz, and held it in her left hand. With her right, she flipped to the first rhyme and read its introduction: For those with too much time. She snorted. I wish! But she dutifully read it anyway and moved on to the next rhyme—though the first rhyme didn’t rhyme at all and, from the looks of it, neither did the second.

Pam was beginning to think that maybe the $35 she’d spent on the book hadn’t been a wise purchase after all, when she reached page 17 and read the next rhyme’s introduction: For those who were born before or after their time.

Oh my god! That’s me! She always said to Robin that she belonged to her grandparents’ generation more than her own. Pleased to finally come across a rhyme that resonated with her, Pam tightened her fingers around the rose quartz, then tutted when she noticed the coffee stain obscuring the verse’s last line. Fortunately someone had penned in the missing words.

She silently read the rhyme:

when in the wrong time

universe will not be kind

until you align

with swapping souls

What the hell did that mean? She read it again, this time aloud.

*****

1910

Margaret paced the length of her bedroom, dreading the knock at the door that could come at any minute. Why did she feel this way? Her married and engaged friends were thrilled for her, and her single friends were envious of her. Mother looked as if she were having heart palpitations every time she spoke his name. Father’s eyes shone every time the subject was raised at the dinner table. The only one who wasn’t excited was Margaret. And she should be! She was about to receive what every young lady desired: a marriage proposal, and from Jasper Bainbridge.

Oh, the hearts that had broken when he’d invited her to the annual merchants’ ball. That evening had been followed by the theatre, walks in the park, and quiet lunches in upscale cafés. When the invitation to dine with his family had arrived, she’d known it was only a matter of time. Then, one afternoon last week, she’d returned home from a carriage ride with Helena in time to see Father shaking Jasper’s hand on the doorstep.

Helena’s mouth had formed an O and she’d quickly ordered the coachman to circle the block. Congratulations, Margaret, she’d crowed, her eyes bright with excitement. I wonder what the engagement ring will look like. A diamond, surely. Lord knows he can afford it!

Margaret had hoped her answering smile didn’t look sickly. She’d sat in silence as Helena prattled on about when Jasper might propose, whether they’d marry in the chapel near the Bainbridge Estate, and who would be on the guest list. I wonder if you’ll beat me and Teddy to the altar? Helena had mused. Then she’d nudged Margaret’s arm. Aren’t you excited? You’re going to become Mrs. Jasper Bainbridge!

Yes, her fate had been sealed by a handshake. Jasper would ask her to marry him, but the question would be rhetorical. It would be scandalous to say no, and if she dared to respond that way, her parents would never speak to her again.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Jasper. She enjoyed his company, shared his views on many issues of the day, and trusted him. But she didn’t love him, and was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She’d lied her way through all the breathless conversations with her friends about the boys, and then men, they’d kissed. To hear them talk, the kiss—touch—of a man produced some kind of delirious and pleasant state that couldn’t be achieved through any other activity. Everyone always squealed in recognition as they listened to a girlfriend describe her bliss when her date had passionately kissed her good night. Margaret squealed and nodded too, but felt nothing but bewilderment. When she kissed a man, or accepted a proffered arm, she didn’t feel blissful, or dreamy, or the titillating heat in her nether regions that Susanne always experienced on evenings out with Stephen. Nor did Margaret feel repulsed. She felt nothing. Nothing at all.

When she and Jasper kissed, her lips—and the rest of her—felt dead, and when she slipped her arm through his, she felt no different than when she slipped her arm through Grandmother’s. It wasn’t him; no male evoked the blissful state her friends raved about.

But she couldn’t refuse his proposal. She was already twenty-three and didn’t want to delay marriage any longer. Jasper would be kind; he would take care of her, and perhaps allow her to study at university—after she’d provided the requisite heir to the Bainbridge fortune. She, in turn, would be a dutiful wife and take care of him. As for love . . . she had to believe it would grow between them. He was certainly more interesting than all the other men she’d dated, and they were friends. Surely that was a solid foundation for marriage?

When a footman had arrived yesterday with Jasper’s card, announcing his intent to visit and asking for confirmation that she’d be home, Margaret had known what would take place. Mother hadn’t been able to sit still all day, and as the Wiltons’ two housemaids had dusted and polished in the drawing room, they’d chattered about the upcoming proposal and the celebrations that would follow. If only Margaret could feel as excited!

She turned to the full-length mirror and displayed a broad smile. Why yes, Jasper, I would love to marry you! Her smile wilted. But what else could she do?

Margaret tensed when she heard the expected knock. Yes? she called, then raised her brows when Mother swung the door open, rather than a housemaid.

He’s here, Mother hissed. She pressed her hands together as if praying and studied Margaret. Oh, my baby. My sweet, sweet baby. In a rare display of affection, she grasped Margaret’s shoulders and pressed her cheek against hers. Go on, now. Don’t make him wait. Her eyes were moist when she stepped back.

Yes, Mother.

Margaret descended the stairs to the drawing room, her heart sinking with each step. She briefly entertained the notion that perhaps she’d misinterpreted the handshake and the footman’s visit, that everyone’s excitement was misguided. After all, Father