Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Keeper of her Love: Time Travellers, #2
    Keeper of her Love: Time Travellers, #2
    Keeper of her Love: Time Travellers, #2
    Ebook243 pages5 hours

    Keeper of her Love: Time Travellers, #2

    By Therese A Kraemer

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The second book in the series
    The last thing Foster Bryant remembers was fighting in the Civil War and discovering his fiancée had followed
    him into battle and had been abducted. He awakens to discover that has been brought to future, to a hospital
    with a gunshot wound. Erica Richard is accidentally taken back to Civil War. She’s caught in a mind-boggling
    adventure and soon discovers that she has no way of returning home.

    The story continues in sequels, Time’s Secret, Time over Time, Timeless Love and Keeper of My Heart.

    Editors Note:
    Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSpangaloo Publishing
    Release dateJul 12, 2014
    ISBN9781501400261
    Keeper of her Love: Time Travellers, #2
    Author

    Therese A Kraemer

    Because I am dyslexic, I find writing a challenge, but my love of writing has inspired me to write more than sixty children’s stories, over two hundred poems and thirty-seven Romance Novels. I have also illustrated two story books used by primary teachers and students as a part of a vocal hygiene program at University of Arizona’s Department of Speech and Hearing Sciences.My credits also include four stories published by McFadden Publishing Co. in NYC. I wrote, illustrated and published two books of poetry used as fund-raisers by the Leukemia and Multiple Sclerosis organizations. I wrote illustrated and published in one book, forty-two children’s stories.I had an exhibition at the King Center for the Performing Arts in Melbourne, Fl of my pen and ink drawings of animals. Recently, I have had three E-Book Romance Novels and a book of short stories published on the Spangaloo.Com website and another on the Smashwords.Com website. I make my home in Melbourne, Florida where I continue to write and illustrate

    Read more from Therese A Kraemer

    Related to Keeper of her Love

    Titles in the series (7)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Historical Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Last Friend on Earth

      May 4, 2023

      It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visito

      6 min read

    • Article

      Monster

      Dec 1, 2022

      Monster
      7 min read

    • Article

      Good Guysfinish Last

      Oct 6, 2020

      Good Guysfinish Last
      3 min read

    • Article

      Six Million Reasons

      Jul 9, 2021

      Six Million Reasons
      6 min read

    • Article

      In The Spotlight: Your Writing Genre - Busting

      Apr 4, 2024

      What an inventive lot the WM writers proved themselves to be with the ‘Genre-busting' submission call! The response was terrific, with a postbag full of playful, off-the wall writing that read as if its creators had a gonzo riot mashing up elements f

      5 min read

    • Article

      The King’s passion

      Aug 11, 2021

      The King’s passion
      11 min read

    • Article

      His Brilliant Career

      Mar 19, 2023

      His Brilliant Career
      9 min read

    • Article

      Pedro Almodóvar

      Jun 6, 2023

      Pedro Almodóvar
      8 min read

    • Article

      Haunted

      Sep 27, 2023

      Haunted
      6 min read

    • Article

      A Hard Man To Forget

      Jan 8, 2024

      A Hard Man To Forget
      4 min read

    • Article

      The King’s passion

      Aug 11, 2021

      The King’s passion
      11 min read

    • Article

      Living With A Painful Past

      Jun 24, 2023

      Living With A Painful Past
      8 min read

    • Article

      Love & miracles

      Aug 14, 2022

      Delia Ephron, the screen-writer, novelist and wit, was in her apartment in Greenwich Village in New York City when I phoned. She was disappointed we weren’t doing the interview via video. “That’s too bad. I look fabulous.” She is appearing, virtually

      7 min read

    • Article

      Kerre, Quite Contrary

      Jul 3, 2022

      Kerre, Quite Contrary
      7 min read

    • Article

      My modern FAIRY TALE

      Dec 3, 2020

      The distinction between good and evil in fairy stories is always very clear, and though good doesn’t always win, evil is, if not vanquished, then at least exposed for what it is. However, the fairy stories I grew up with were very different to the ‘s

      3 min read

    • Article

      Letters

      Apr 21, 2022

      CONTACT US BY POST: PO BOX 1200, WHITSTABLE CT1 9RH, OR E-MAIL SIEVEKING@FORTEANTIMES.COM PLEASE PROVIDE US WITH YOUR POSTAL ADDRESS As an FT reader and occasional correspondent of some 30 odd years, I enjoy the magazine as much as ever, but I did un

      11 min read

    • Article

      ‘Sing to It’: Featured Fiction from Amy Hempel

      Mar 25, 2019

      If she was home at night in her husband’s bed, did he care what she did with her days? The post ‘Sing to It’: Featured Fiction from Amy Hempel appeared first on The Millions.

      7 min read

    • Article

      ‘The Thing I Love’

      Nov 7, 2021

      ‘I’m one of the lucky ones, I think,” says Miriam Margolyes. Luck has, in fact, played an unexpectedly oversized role in the English actress’ life. If a recruiting officer had not taken a bribe to stop her father being draft ed in World War I – the l

      8 min read

    • Article

      Written In The STARS

      Oct 12, 2021

      Written In The STARS
      6 min read

    • Article

      The After

      Jun 10, 2023

      He is sitting opposite me, staring blankly like a dead fish. Stone eyes. Cobalt and lifeless. Pale gray skin, dripping scales. I imagine him hauled out of the water and dumped on the riverbank, gasping for breath. Just as he deserves. I only agreed t

      13 min read

    • Article

      Dampening

      May 10, 2022

      When I first met Inspector Daria Hunt, I wanted to kill her. Not there and then; I wanted to take as long as possible over it, maximizing the pain whilst leaving her with no hope of survival. Images of horrific injuries leapt into my mind, a catalog

      16 min read

    • Article

      Metta For My Abuser

      Jun 7, 2022

      Metta For My Abuser
      10 min read

    • Article

      Begin Again

      Jun 14, 2022

      My grandfather came to live with me. There was nowhere else for him to go. What had happened to all his children? Death, decay, exile—I hardly know. My own parents died of pain. But I must not be too gloomy, at the beginning, or you will leave me, an

      6 min read

    • Article

      Nugrybauti

      Apr 24, 2019

      Nugrybauti
      8 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Keeper of her Love

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Keeper of her Love - Therese A Kraemer

      Prologue

      I cannot believe Sarah’s Choice sold so well...

      Foster Bryant sat at his desk ready to write another science fiction novel; a sequel to Sarah’s Choice. He bit the pencil tasting wood and adding more teeth marks. Tapping his chin, he went over the notes Sarah and his wife gave him and his own, thinking once more how his life was so unbelievable, but oh, so true. He wrote the title, Keeper of Her Love on the first page. Underneath the title, his penname, Josh Grant and he started:

      It was 2014, and David Kish had just returned from his grandfather’s funeral, sad and lonely. He found himself sitting in his grandfather’s lumpy old chair staring at the man’s ancient watch collection. He recalled the old man telling him many times that he could play with all the others but to never touch the one in the red box. What was it about this timepiece that made it so special? he thought as he opened the red box and stared at it.

      Throwing caution to the wind, David opened the cover thinking what harm could it do now? He wound it and turned the gold hands forward; nothing. Shrugging, he turned them backwards; again nothing. Tired, he rested his head on the desk and awoke later in total darkness. Unexpectedly, the door opened and an old man armed with a riffle appeared.

      How in tarnation did y’all get into my house? Are you a spy for the Blue Belly’s?

      Huh? A spy? He was as baffled as the old man. When a younger man appeared he was ordered to search David for a weapon, but David made the mistake of reaching for the watch. He was rendered unconscious and woke up in the cellar his hands and feet bound. It took him awhile to realize that the watch had taken him back to the Civil War era. Hours later David was beaten by an officer and taken to a Confederate camp.

      Foster bit the pencil again thinking back to the day it all started for him, in his little town of Butterfield Grove, Virginia, in 1963 and started his novel.

      One

      I know this isn’t fair to my fiancée...

      But Foster had decided to go to war even though he knew that it would hurt Sarah Flynn. His conscience had been nagging at him to join the south, to fight for their cause. Although, it was hard telling his father, he knew that the worst was yet to come. And he was right.

      Sarah said that she would go with him, claiming many women followed their men and cooked and cared for them. I can be some help like I help the town doctor. I can attend to the injured. He wouldn’t hear of it and he kissed Sarah goodbye and she promised to be there when he left.

      The double-breasted, butternut grey coat issued to him fit snugly across his shoulders. Foster was also given a pair of butternut grey pants, a backpack, blanket and an Enfild557 Caliber rifle with bayonet and a cartridge box for his belt. Lastly, he placed a slouch hat onto his head. They marched for two days, each step taking them closer to the battle sounds. Explosions in the distance were beckoning them to their uncertain fate. Foster always prided himself on his bravery, but at that moment, his stomach knotted in anticipation, wondering if he could keep his promise to his loved ones. He surely hoped so.

      Men! shouted the sergeant, We’ll rest here a spell. Mumbles and sighs of relief were heard all around. A red headed, freckled face teenager sat beside him.

      You joined our group in that last town? It was a statement and a question. He nodded. The kid fondled his bayonet, looking very eager to get to the fighting, and proclaimed, Can’t wait to kill me a few of em Blue Belly’s, how about you, sir?

      Freckled face was anxious all right, too keen on the idea for Foster. I don’t enjoy killing any man; we all have the same color blood running through our veins. His words made the kid frown and shrug but he assumed it didn’t alter the boy’s thinking. The immature boy moved away giving the impression to Foster that he’d not be friends with an old man. He could’ve cared less, but he did feel bad about the adolescent’s feelings. He was sure the freckled face kid’s ideas were running along the same track of many others; awful shame.

      Foster kept to himself looking at the rising smoke in the distance. He’s been told that by tomorrow they’d be in the arms of the battle. There were arms he wanted to be in at that moment, but not the wars; it was Sarah’s embrace he wanted to cuddle with right now.

      A few days later, the freckled face kid got his wish when they were attacked.

      God, this is awful!

      Foster’s thoughts were on the fighting as he sat near a dying soldier whose arm had been blown off. Blood, dirt, and tears ran down the wounded man’s face. This was his first battle after arriving at the camp ground.

      What did you expect a stroll through the grass?

      He wiped his own face with the back of his dirty sleeve adding some more grime to his face. All around him was the stench of death and acrid, choking clouds of dust and gunpowder and sulphur. Suffocating heat from the bowels of chaotic hell, but hell could never compare with this. Between the explosions, gunfire and pitiful screams of agony, and the buzzing minnie balls, he felt as if he had definitely gone into the pits of Hades.

      He looked up in time to see a soldier in a blue uniform come charging, bayonet aimed at Sergeant Mc Hale’s back. Up until now, he’d been shooting at faceless me, but this man was no longer a stranger. He had brown eyes and red hair and he had to kill the enemy or let the Union soldier kill his sergeant. His decision was made in a spit second: he fired, hitting him in the leg. The soldier would live and he would not have nightmares, or see those brown eyes in his dreams. Sergeant Mc Hale turned to see that Foster had saved his life. He saluted him and then it went deadly quiet; so still that it made for uneasy moments but it looked as if both sides no longer advanced.

      Sergeant Mc Hale put out his hand and shook Foster’s. Thanks son, I owe you.

      He only nodded and went into the bushes to puke.

      A week passed, the unit lost many men until one day new recruits arrived. Foster shook his head sadly; again they all looked under seventeen. The next morning gunfire made everyone scramble for their lives. The fighting didn’t last long and he looked around to see if he could help his comrades and noticed a young boy looking quite dazed.

      Are you all right, son? he asked.

      The soldier looked familiar and he studied the boy more closely. He frowned, the kid reminded him of Michael Flynn, Sarah’s brother. Then his heart stopped and his legs nearly folded. Sarah?! God, no! he cried and yanked her up so swiftly, she stumbled into his arms. What the hell?! Are you insane? She had cut off her golden locks so she could pass for a boy.

      You’re going home, he insisted. I’m telling the sergeant.

      Oh, Foster please, Sarah begged him not to reveal her true identity. I can help the medic like I had helped Doc Bones in town. She pleaded until he had to agree and Sergeant Mc Hale allowed Sarah, who said her name was Sam, to stay.

      Foster didn’t sleep well that night or the next two. It wasn’t because of the uncertainly of his future; he feared for Sarah. He woke on the third morning finding his fears on her safety were warranted. When he went to see her, he was told by the medic John, that she had been abducted by a wounded fellow they thought was a spy.

      Why hadn’t a search party been formed for them?

      John shrugged. The captain felt it wasn’t necessary to look for one prisoner. He was brought in yesterday with bruised ribs and a nasty bump on his head. I let Sam examine him and left for a short time; they were both gone when I returned. They couldn’t have gotten far on foot.

      Foster charged into the sergeant’s tent. Sir, may I have a word with you!

      Sergeant Mc Hale nodded and he got right to the matter and begged the sergeant to send a patrol. Sorry, son, I know I owe you but we can’t afford to lose one man to search for a medic and a prisoner. I let Sam help John, as you had asked, but that’s all I can do for you. The prisoner was captured at General Kish’s house after he broke in, but it was never clear as to why. It was assumed he was a spy.

      Foster ran his hands though his hair feeing totally frustrated and enraged. What was he to do? There was but one answer; he had to go after her even if it meant desertion. He didn’t care. With all the commotion of dismantling tents and packing supplies, it was easy for him to bend into the thickets and slip away. Sarah and that bastard were on foot, so how far could they be? Foster wasn’t about to give up, she was out there somewhere in danger.

      And she was with a Blue Belly spy!

      It didn’t take him long to pick up the trail, thanks to his Indian friend, Redwing, who lived at the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The red-skinned boy had taught him many things, and one was how to track. The prisoner was smart but he picked up the trail and he wondered why they headed north, then doubled back and headed south. A broken twig, turned up dirt, torn material and blood on a rock spoke clearly to him. Sarah was being dragged, pushed and pulled into submission; when he gets his hands on that Blue Belly, he’d kill him!

      The provisions he took were gone and he had to eat berries, dandelions, collard, kale and turnip green he got from the land. Oh, Sarah, where are you? It was like searching for needle in a haystack, a cliché, he reprimanded himself but then some clichés were real.

      Two days later he discovered they had stayed in an abandoned, run-down barn. He roasted a potato that was left in the hay assuming they had found food in the root cellar. Empty jars also lay on the ground and as his eyes scanned the place, he found some white cloth lying in the straw. He knew Sarah had bound her breasts with such a material and he picked it up. Guilt addled his brain knowing that he should have insisted she return home and he should have ignore her pleas. He should have informed the sergeant of her true identity. All his should haves didn’t mean spit, now! Damn this war to hell if anything happened to her. And damn him for being the fool!

      Continuing his search, he discovered something written in the dirt. Home. Thank you Sarah, there’re going to Butterfield Grove. But, where? He sat to think, and then he recalled the sergeant saying the prisoner was captured at the home of a retired, General, Brad Kish. He had heard of the man and he knew where the general lived. Thank you, God.

      Now knowing his destination, Foster cut through a cotton plantation, disgusted by how the fields lay burned out so Yankees couldn’t get their hands on the cotton. It stood to reason why many Southerner’s would rather burn their own crop than let the enemies get it. Here once there stood magnificent mansions, now in need of a face lift.

      The run-down buildings in the back formerly housed saves were barren or burned and he suspected the slaves had fled when Union soldiers raided the place. A closer look told him that the Blue Belly’s had indeed been there. Broken windows, furniture tossed onto the lawn, looking as if it was stacked in a pile and set on fire leaving many pieces only scorched. He hoped that he might find some food that was left behind and searched a few cabins only to find filth and dirt. He was glad his father never owned saves, and after searching, he asked himself why he was fighting, for this?

      Foster found a half loaf of stale bread but it tasted good. As he chewed, something clicked behind his head and there was no mistaking that sound. He raised his hands. I’m not looking or trouble, he muttered hastily.

      Wot yo’ buzness heah? Soldjah? A cold barrel pressed against his neck, making a muscle in Foster’s jaw twitch. He chided himself for being careless. Like I said, I come in peace, only looking for some food. Can I lower my hands now?

      Yo’ alone?

      Yes.

      The gun was removed and a Negro came around to face Foster. He was short and frail, and hunched. His eyes were like olive pits, his nose flat and as wide as his full lips, but he possessed a look about him that warned Foster that he could protect himself.

      Yo’ lost?

      "No. I’m looking for my fiancée. She was kidnapped by a Union spy."

      Gaud a’ mighty, sorry, son, no buddy ‘ere after deem gad awful devils attacked us folks. Der’s watuh in de well. ’Elp yerself. Jars of fruit in de root cellah.

      Thank you. Why are you still here?

      The man shrugged at his question. Ain’t lahkly t’ come back. Ah figger ah gots nowhar to go. Ah wuzn’t scar’t, but Ah hid ‘til dem soljahs left. Got me my ole’ massah’s gun fum de wall afta he skidaddled.

      Foster thanked him again, filled his canteen and helped himself to delicious fruit; then left realizing he’d never asked the Negro’s name. The next day Foster found the general’s house. An elderly man answered his knock, wearing a worn out uniform and he assumed it was General Kish. He asked if he had seen a man and a woman but was told only a young man and a boy had been there, only moments ago.

      You just missed them, said General Kish. The man was the same one that broke into this house a while back. My grandson knocked him out and we tied him up and tossed him in the cellar until he was picked up. We thought he was a Blue Belly spy and he was grilled by a captain and taken prisoner. But now, he claims to be a spy for our side and gave me information to help the south. Then they seemed to have disappeared.

      Foster knew he was talking about Sarah and the prisoner who abducted her.

      Come in boy, I have important news to wire to General Lee, he was informed.

      Sarah! he called.

      I told you son, there gone

      Mind if I look? He was given permission but there was no sign of either of them. He joined the general and since, he’d already deserted maybe he could ease his conscience by offering his service and deliver the message. Can I help? he asked but his mind was still on Sarah’s whereabouts and her safety.

      Yes, you can ride my horse into town and send the wire to General Lee, telling him that Meade will order Irvin Gregg’s cavalry down the Chambersburg Pike to harry the rear elements of Lee’s army while Sedgewick’s VI Corps infantry moves down the Fairfield Road with much of the Army of the Potomac following.

      My God! This will mean when Lee arrives, he’d find himself between the river and the oncoming Army. When is this to happen? Foster probed.

      In two days, on the fifth.

      Foster saluted and wasted no more time with the general. He mounted the horse that was saddled and ready to ride. He traveled at breakneck speed to the closest telegraph office. By late that afternoon, it began to drizzle, and he was chilled to the bone, but he would not stop until he reached his destination and sent the warning message to General Lee. He felt better about himself, but wanted to return to continue his search for Sarah.

      ***

      Foster sat back and tapped his chin, still in awe that the prisoner David had taken Sarah into the future and then traveled back in time with Sarah to return two days before July 3rd, in order to stop him from delivering the fatal message.

      He continued to write about his true experiences:

      Foster was traveling the dirt road to the closest telegraph office when a wagon stopped him. It was Sarah and the spy. She jumped out of the wagon and he dismounted, running into her arms.

      Foster you mustn’t deliver that message.

      What are you saying? he demanded. And how do you know about the message? What’s going on?

      There is not much time to explain, but so much has happened. I know this might sound unbelievable but that message will alter history. My abductor is David Kish, and he is from the future? David took me into the twenty-first century, where we learned that the south had won instead of the north. They won because I miscalculated the date and David gave General Kish information that he thought had already taken place. The dates were wrong and your warning Lee will change the course of history. And the most mind boggling thing is that David and I have traveled back in time two days earlier to stop you from delivering the original message. I know how this sounds; I have a hard time believing it myself."

      Sarah begged and pleaded, she even went so far as to say that the message was a lie, but it was useless. Foster drew his gun on the stranger; he had a wire to send. Sarah grabbed his sleeve. Foster, I’m not only doing this to save your life but to save the course of the future. I know what I’m saying sounds like gibberish but the information you carry will alter the distant years.

      He shrugged her off.

      She speaks the truth, the stranger intervened.

      Dammit, you take me for a fool? You’re going to have to shoot me because I’m going to get on my horse and ride. He told Sarah to climb onto his mount and he ordered the man to drive the buggy. Reluctantly, she did and sped away. They caught up to Sarah around the bend, but she had fallen off the horse. Without thinking,

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1