Garden of the Moon (10 page)

Sara’s own experiences had taught her that things that most people believed impossible were, indeed, very possible. After all, she talked to dead people, saw dead people. The dead occupied a parallel plain, so why not past events? So why was the notion of time travel so hard for her to accept? Deep inside, she knew why she continued to fight the probability—fear she would never be able to repeat the experience, never be held by Jonathan again and, as a result, have to suffer a disappointment so heartbreaking she would be unable to live with it.

Her heart began to pound faster. The idea throbbed through her head. Was she losing her mind? Still she continued to allow the possibility entrance into her thoughts. Could she go back to Jonathan? If what she’d surmised about how the 1805 box had ended up here in 1855 had validity, then she’d already done it once. But how?

Something must have triggered it. Frantically she looked around her.

Overwhelmed by the prospect of being with Jonathan again, she retraced mentally what she’d done the night before.

She’d come downstairs from the attic, washed, changed into her nightclothes and then sat in the chair with the diary. No, she hadn’t picked up the diary then. The mug. She’d been holding Jonathan’s shaving mug. Sara sat in the chair and grabbed the mug from the table and clutched it to her chest.

Nothing.

What happened then? The diary had fallen to the floor, and she’d picked it up and held it securely alongside the mug. Carefully, she repeated her movements exactly. The diary felt warm against her skin.

Nothing.

Then she recalled having looked at Jonathan’s portrait and him smiling at her in satisfaction. She dropped the mug and the diary to her lap and spun in the chair. She stared hard at the picture of the man who had claimed Maddy’s love. Last night, his expression had changed from the wooden one which the artist had captured in oils. Today, it remained unmoved.

Jonathan, help me. Show me how to come back to you
, she implored the painted face.

Still nothing. No dizziness; no spinning; no lightheaded weightlessness. Nothing.

Tears welled in her eyes. Setting the diary and the mug aside, she leaned forward; her chin came to rest against her upper chest. Something laying against the bodice of her dress glimmered in the sunlight.

The locket
.

Of course. She’d been holding onto the locket when the room began to spin.

Quickly, she grabbed the gold heart, closed her eyes and summoned Jonathan’s spirit. For a long time she just sat there holding onto the necklace with a death grip and…waiting…and waiting…and waiting. Finally, when nothing happened, she opened her eyes. She was still sitting in her bedroom at Harrogate.

That she’d never see Jonathan again was more than she could stand. Unreasonable despair unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her whole life overcame her. She buried her face in her hands. Heartbreaking sobs tore from her very soul and violently shook her entire body. Agonizing pain that felt as though a knife had been buried in her heart and sliced through her caused her to double up with the physical and mental anguish.

Sara had no idea how long she’d cried, all she knew was that her heart was so broken it would likely never mend again. Then a gentle hand touched her cheek.

“Sara?” Julie tried to keep the panic at finding her friend in such a desolate state from her voice and failed miserably. “What is it? Why are you crying?”

Sara didn’t answer. She continued to cry as though her heart were broken in a million pieces. Never, in all her life, had Julie heard such terrible, wrenching sorrow issuing from another human being. Whatever had caused this weeping had to be something that was tearing Sara apart because nothing consoled her.

Finally, while she waited for the sobbing to cease, Julie sat on the arm of the chair and held Sara’s head against her chest. Her friend’s agony burned through her own body. When she could stand it no longer, Julie squeezed Sara’s shoulder and said, “Sara, you’re going to make yourself ill. Please stop crying, and tell me what has happened.”

Sara raised her face. Her swollen, red eyes, drained of all emotion, reflected only an awful hopelessness. Tears glistened on her ghostly white cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to bring her weeping under control.

“I’ll never…see him…again, Julie.” Tears welled in her eyes again. Several spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “Never.”

Julie frowned. To her knowledge there was no
him
in Sara’s life. “See who? Who is it you’ll never see again?”

“Jonathan.” Sara wrung her hands.

Again Julie frowned. Then it struck her. No. She had to be wrong. Sara couldn’t possibly be talking about Jonathan Bradford. Forcing her voice to be as calm as possible, she asked, “Jonathan who, dear?”

With a new flush of tears cascading down her face, Sara pointed to the picture over the mantel.

Julie’s heart dropped. Obviously, she’d underestimated the degree of Sara obsession with her dream and her grandmother’s warnings. Frantic for a way to help her friend, Julie led Sara to the bed. Though she fought to find them, no words came to mind to ease Sara’s pain or to convince her that Jonathan was nothing more than another ghost who had sought her out, that seeing him had been nothing more than a dream and that she had to give up this…notion of seeing him again.

She eased Sara back against the pillows. “Close your eyes and take a rest. When you wake up, we’ll talk, and then things won’t look so bad.”

For the next few minutes, Julie sat beside her distraught friend, stroked her forehead, and murmured reassurances.

***

Despite Julie’s cautions and vigilance, in the following days, Sara didn’t improve. All she could think about was the dream, and how she could get back to Jonathan. It obsessed her every waking moment. She could think of nothing else. It was as if she’d lost her ability to control her thoughts and actions…as if some unseen force was driving her.

She no longer recognized the woman who looked back at her from her mirror. Dark purple circles ringed her sleepless eyes. Her lackluster hair hung limply around her face. She barely slept or ate, and her already fragile looking body became more so and her clothes hung loosely on her. She jumped at the slightest noise, and her temper seemed to be on edge all the time.

Frustrated, she spent every day and half the night going over again and again in her mind her actions of the night she was convinced she’d gone back in time. But nothing she tried produced the desired reunion with Jonathan. Then she’d collapse in a torrent of sobs until she cried herself to sleep only to awake the next day and start the ritual all over again.

When her efforts came up empty, she would spend hours just staring at Jonathan’s picture, begging him silently to come for her. But even his ghostly appearances had ceased. Since the night in the garden, Sara had not seen Jonathan.

Sara could tell from the look in Julie’s and Raina’s tight expressions that they were worried about her wellbeing, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Finding the answer had become an addiction that gnawed at her heart, her soul and her common sense with every waking moment. The only peace she found from her quandary was when she slept and even that was fitful.

Harrogate had ceased to matter and, had it not been for Julie, would have suffered from lack of supervision and attention. Thanks to Sara’s friend, the sick slaves had been tended, the fields had been plowed for planting, meals planned and served, and the house kept clean. But Sara barely noticed. Her life as she’d known it before Jonathan had almost ceased to exist.

***

Over two weeks had passed since Julie had found Sara convulsed in tears. Now, Julie lay in her bed listening to the sound of Sara’s footsteps as she paced her bedroom floor, and knew that nothing she had said to her had eased Sara’s mind. Frustration at how to save her friend swamped her, robbing her of sleep. Sara was becoming weaker every day, and if Julie didn’t find something to deter her, she had no doubts that Sara would die of a broken heart.

But how did Julie stop her and make Sara see the absurdity of what she believed to be true? If she could, Julie would conjure up a way to send Sara back to Jonathan. But to do that, she’d have to believe it was possible, and she didn’t. To her thinking, time travel was a fool’s dream. Julie truly believed that Sara could see dead people. But traveling back in time? It had to have been a figment of her imagination, a dream and nothing more, and the sooner Sara accepted that, the sooner they could get her on the road to recovery.

In the meantime, Julie had to put the dilemma out of her mind and get some sleep. Otherwise, she’d be no better off than Sara and no help to her at all. Julie rolled to her side, pulled the covers over her shoulder and closed her eyes.

A heavy
thud
came from Sara’s room.

Without hesitation, Julie shot up in her bed, threw back the bedclothes and then raced down the hall to Sara’s room. For a fraction of a second she stared at the door. Icy fear danced up and down her spine. Terrified of what lay beyond, she grabbed the knob, turned it, and then pushed the door open.

Next to the bed lay the crumpled form of Sara. Julie rushed to her side. Her motionless body and pale face reflected Julie’s worse fear. The lack of sleep and food had finally taken its toll. She leaned over her and listened for breathing. A faint wisp of air touched her cheek. Relieved, she gathered Sara’s limp body in her arms and held her.

“Raina!” Her shrill voice echoed around the room. “Raina!”

Scant moments later, Raina raced into the room, her night clothes flapping wildly around her feet, her hair in disarray, her eyes wide and her lightened complexion relaying her fear. “Yes, Miss—” When she caught sight of her mistress’ prone body, she stopped dead. “Oh, Lawd a mercy!” She began wringing her hands.

“Raina, help me get her into bed.” Julie’s fear for her friend imbued her voice with an unrecognizable tone of command. “Now, Raina!”

Roused from her state of shock, Raina hurried to Julie’s side and helped lift Sara into the bed. Once Sara was on the bed, Raina stepped back and gawked at her mistress. “Lawd, Miss Julie, is she dead?”

Julie shook her head. “No, but I’m afraid she will be if we don’t get a doctor. Send Samuel for Dr. Norris.”

Raina made no move to do as Julie asked. She just kept staring wide-eyed at Sara’s motionless body, her shaking hands pleating and unpleating the skirt of her nightgown.

“Do as I say, Raina! Now!”

The maid ran from the room holding her muslin nightgown up to her knees. Julie clasped Sara’s cold hands in hers, trying to warm them. With concentrated intensity, she watched her friend’s chest rise and fall and silently begged her to keep breathing.

Choking back tears, she fought down the clawing fear that had claimed her body. This couldn’t be happening. Why hadn’t she seen how bad it had gotten, how truly sick Sara was?

Leaning down, she whispered in Sara’s ear. “Don’t you dare die on me, Sara Wade. You hear me? You can’t die.”

Then she heard laughter, delighted laughter. But when she looked around, no one was there.

Chapter 8

Dr. Norris, a portly, older man dressed all in black and sporting a snowy beard to mid chest, entered the sitting room where Julie and Raina had been awaiting word of Sara’s condition. His expression looked grim. Julie’s heart sank.

Please let her be all right
, she prayed.

Julie stood on shaky legs and faced the doctor. “How is she?”

He set his small, black satchel on the table and shook his head. “She’s a very sick young woman. I’ve given her a dose of laudanum, and she should sleep for a good while.” Relief that her friend was at least still alive weakened Julie’s knees. She sank into the closest chair and motioned for him to take a seat. He took the offered chair, set his satchel beside his feet and looked from Raina to Julie. “When was the last time she ate?”

Julie looked to Raina. The black woman shrugged. Had it been so long that neither of them could recall? Julie knew that Sara had been picking at her food for the last week, but she had assumed she’d consumed some of it.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps, a couple of days ago. She’s been…upset and hasn’t been hungry.” Raina nodded her agreement.

For a moment, he seemed absorbed in his thoughts. Stroking his beard, he stared out the window. Finally, he looked at Julie. “I’d say she’s showing very early signs of malnutrition.” Julie gasped. He held up his hand. “No need to panic. We caught it in time. It can be reversed with sleep and food. When she wakes up, give her a light broth. No solid food for a while. For now, she’s to have just liquids: broths, tea, fruit juice. Her system has to be acclimated to accepting solid food again.” He opened his satchel and withdrew a small bottle labeled
laudanum
. “Give her a little of this in the evening and afternoon. It’ll help her get some rest. It’s been mixed with sweet cider to kill the bitterness. You should decrease the dosage each day, otherwise there’s a risk of addiction.” He stood and retrieved his satchel. “It’s going to take a few days, but she should be good as new very soon. Call me if you need me. I’ll check back with her in a couple of days.” He started to leave, and then turned back to Julie. “Any idea what brought this on?”

Taken aback by his question, Julie searched for a reasonable explanation. She couldn’t very well tell him Sara was pining away for a ghost. “I think opening the house was a bit too much for her.”

His arched eyebrow told her he had doubts that simply opening a house could cause this degree of illness, but he gave her no argument.

While Raina showed the doctor to the door, Julie tucked the medicine bottle in her pocket, and then collapsed on the settee. Relief surged through her. Sara would be all right. Slowly, her nerves unwound from the tight ball they’d formed when she’d found Sara on the bedroom floor. Just as quickly, they coiled up again.