Whispers Through Time Excerpt

Elizabeth’s Cabin 
Swan Harbor 
June 20, 1828 
2:00 p.m.

While her mother was entertaining her daughter, Elizabeth Donovan stepped outside. There was a heaviness in the air, making her restless—telling her all was not as it seemed. It left her with the sense that she needed to be ready—but not for what.

She glanced over her shoulder to see her mother, Cassandra, and her daughter playing on the floor, their heads close together. It was Brianna’s first birthday, and while she would never remember who had and hadn’t been around to celebrate—Elizabeth would know.

Five days prior, when Samuel had said goodbye with a promise to be back before Brianna’s birthday—just like always—she’d blindly trusted. Yet, in the distance, the harbor was dark, and the ship still hadn’t returned.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but think there was more out there waiting for her to discover. It had been what drew her to Samuel. They both had dreams. Hers involved love and a calling she couldn’t describe. His was to find the perfect life for their family. So far, that dream had carried him away from home more than she liked.

Samuel was often gone for weeks at a time, traveling from village to village, trading goods, and eventually returning with gifts and stories. Four times a year, he and other men sailed Swan Harbor’s mysterious Spanish galleon to Boston or New York. There, they gathered supplies for the town that couldn’t be found elsewhere. It wasn’t an easy life for her and Brianna, but somehow they made it work.

However, the ship was never gone for more than five days. They’d leave early in the morning on day one, and always returned in the evening of day five. This time, though, they were late—something that could be related to the weather—yet she still worried. Especially with the heaviness resting on her shoulders.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Cassie murmured.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Feel what?”

Cassie brushed her hand down Elizabeth’s arm and stepped outside. “You feel the change in the air. Feel it’s heavy and not light. Feelings that shouldn’t plague us—especially on Litha.”

“Will the celebration continue?”

“It depends on what the town’s spirit decides,” Cassie said. “We can hope, but she guides us … not the other way around.”

Elizabeth hummed in agreement. Swan Harbor wasn’t just any town—she was so much more. People described her as a living, breathing entity with a mind of her own. She nudged, guided, and since 1692, she’d determined what and when secrets would be shared.

On Litha, her voice was the loudest.

High in the mountains, the women gathered in the mystical canyon where the town’s spirit was felt strongest. They honored the sun, fire, and gave thanks for the abundance of nature. In return, when the spirit and elements were in harmony, the wind carried the whisper of true love’s name.

“I’m being pulled toward something,” Elizabeth murmured.

“What?”

Elizabeth blew out a breath, fighting the need to say, If I knew that, I wouldn’t have said anything. However, she didn’t want to risk the look her mother gave her whenever she did so. It had her tossing out, “It feels like I need to be ready … but where would that thought have come from?”

Cassie shrugged. “Perhaps it has something to do with being ready for Samuel’s return. He always brings gifts, doesn’t he?”

“You know he does.”

“Maybe he’s bringing a gift for Brianna’s birthday.”

Elizabeth let out a little laugh. “A gift for Brianna or a new invention he’s discovered?”

“Oh dear.”

A soft cry pulled Elizabeth’s attention inside. “Do you have to leave? I should feed Brianna.”

“I have a few minutes.” Cassie replied.

“I’m glad. Your company is welcome.”

                                                                                            * * *

Portsmouth, New Hampshire 
June 20, 1828 
3:30 p.m.

Andrew Landry glanced up and, seeing the sign for the Portsmouth Livery Station, relaxed. He longed for dry clothes and a bowl of hearty stew at the tavern.

“The road bad?” Eli, one of the stable hands, asked.

“What was your first clue?” Andrew drawled, his accent lazier than any New England one.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Eli smirked. “And look at these poor girls.” He turned his attention to the horses. “They need a good rubdown, a filling meal, and a little rest.”

“Thanks, Eli. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

Before he stepped out into the rain, Andrew took off his felt hat, hit it against a fence post a few times, and crammed it back on his head. While it might have removed water weight, reality was, it brought no comfort. Just the opposite in fact, putting him in a bad mood when he walked into the office.

He strode across the floor and dropped his wet pouch on the counter. Water immediately pooled, earning him a dirty look from the man behind the desk.

“Mr. Landry,” Agent Henshaw intoned. “We’ve had this discussion before.”

Andrew nodded. “We have.”

“And?” Henshaw looked pointedly at the pouch. “What am I to do with this?”

Andrew chuckled. “You do the same thing you’d do if it were dry. Surely, you know that by now.”

Henshaw sighed. “You’re such a trial.”

“And you’re like a fussy old hen.”

With his comment, Henshaw’s lips curled, and his eyes twinkled. “You’re a dog, you know that?”

“I do.” Andrew shrugged. “But you still like me.”

“If you keep this up, I won’t much longer.” Henshaw dropped the pouch behind the counter and rubbed a cloth over the wet spot. “And what about your coat?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t tell me you’re dripping all over my floors.”

Andrew glanced down to see a puddle had already formed around his feet.

“Alright, I won’t tell you.”

Henshaw tossed another cloth at him. “Hang your coat by the door and dry the floor.”

“You’re not even going to say please?”

“Just do it,” Henshaw muttered before disappearing behind another door. When he returned, he was carrying a pile of clothing. “Here. Go change.”

Andrew sorted through the pile. They were his clothes, but how…?

“Where did you get these?”

“I stopped by…”

“Whoa there, Henshaw. I don’t know what to say.”

“It was the polite thing to do,” Henshaw murmured, almost as if he were embarrassed.

“And this old southern boy thanks you kindly,” Andrew quipped.

“You southern boys need to learn to get on with it.” Henshaw pointed to a door off to his right. “Go change. When you return, I’ll have your deliveries.”

Andrew gathered the pile and had just reached for the door handle when Henshaw called his name.

“Jonah said to stop by for stew.”

“That’s music to my ears.” Andrew hesitated. “Thank you again. You, Jonah, Eli, and everyone really have shown this Tennessee boy some fine hospitality.”

“You’d better hurry now,” Henshaw returned. “You don’t want Jonah to give your stew away, now do you?”

“He wouldn’t…”

“You never know,” Henshaw murmured.

Andrew pushed open the door to the back room and ducked inside. He’d exchange his wet clothes for dry, eat, have a drink or two, and be ready to head back out. If he were lucky, the weather would have moved on. Another trip in the pouring rain was not high on his agenda.

                                                                                 * * *

Elizabeth’s Cabin 
Swan Harbor 
June 20, 1828 
8:30 p.m.

Elizabeth’s hands shook as she tucked the soft blanket around Brianna. “Sleep my child,” she crooned. “Sleep.”

By the time she stood, Brianna had settled into slumber, and Elizabeth took another step backward. Yet something held her back, telling her not to let her daughter go. But that made no sense. Everyone knew how much she loved the little girl. Knew she would die before letting anything happen to her child.

The sick feeling inside refused to settle, but she’d been told too many times never to wake a sleeping baby, and forced herself to take that first step. She took another, and then another, returning to the front room to look outside.

In the distance, the docks were still dark, causing her worry to settle a little heavier around her shoulders. Causing that sick feeling inside to climb a little higher.

Lightning zipped across the sky, brightening the inside of her cabin. Seconds later, thunder followed, so loud the floor vibrated.

The rain hadn’t let up all day. It continued to fall steadily, streams running off the roof, making it difficult to see without light.

Short minutes later, her heart rate kicked up when a light flickered in the distance.

“Samuel?” Elizabeth rushed to the door. “Samuel?”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, it’s just me.”

Elizabeth let the breath she’d been holding out slowly, and took in her best friend’s appearance.

“Abbi? What is it?”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’m so sorry.”

“Let me get something to dry you off.” Elizabeth left Abbi standing right inside the cabin and rushed to get several towels. “Here, these should help.”

When Abbi’s dark eyes met hers, the other woman’s expression did nothing to soften her feelings—just the opposite. The weight was crushing, and every time Elizabeth dashed away her tears, more replaced them.

A flicker of light drew her attention to her candlesticks on the mantel. They’d been in her family for years, passing from one generation to the next. When there was a connection between two hearts that were separated, the flames lit, bringing them together again.

“Abbi, look,” Elizabeth whispered. “It’s Samuel. He’s in trouble. Is that what’s worrying you?”

“It is,” Abbi murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “Word has it the ship wrecked.”

Almost as if waiting for Abbi’s confirmation about trouble, the candle flame burst to life. Elizabeth’s legs gave out, and only with a little help did she land on a chair and not the floor.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie,” Abbi went on. “I’m sorry I don’t have more news.”

Elizabeth’s stomach churned. She took several deep breaths and squeezed Abbi’s hands. “Do you remember what happened in February?”

“Are you talking about the snowstorm?” Abbi asked.

“Yes, that’s when I almost lost Samuel,” Elizabeth explained. “Now, he has his medallion. Our hearts are connected. That’s why the candle is lit. I must go to him.”

“It’s not safe, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth forced a smile she didn’t quite feel. “I’m a Hathaway. That alone will keep me safe.”

“But what about Brianna?”

“I’ll go get him, then come right back.”

Abbi frowned. “How?”

“I don’t believe my heart is just connected to Samuel’s,” Elizabeth murmured. “I believe it’s also tied to my child.”

“Would you like me to stay with Bri? Or would you rather I take her to your mother?”

“I don’t want to worry her,” Elizabeth replied. “When I return, I’ll explain everything.”

Abbi’s expression was skeptical, but she remained quiet. “Go, do what you must. We’ll be right here waiting.”

Elizabeth nodded, then ran to kiss Brianna. “I’ll be home soon, little one.”

By the time she’d grabbed her cloak and picked up the candle, the knots in her stomach were so tight, it was a struggle to get a deep breath.

“Thank you, Abbi. Don’t worry about me.”

The flame sparked brighter, and as if there were invisible strings tugging her toward the mirror, she followed. She could see Samuel in the distance, his medallion glowing, calling to her.

Let the flame guide you home.

Continue the story in Whispers Through Time – available exclusively through KU