Storm of time, p.1
Storm of Time, page 1
STORM OF TIME
THE BECQUERELS
KATHRYN KALEIGH
To learn more about Kathryn Kaleigh, visit
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www.kathrynkaleigh.com
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CHAPTER 1
1810
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Madeline Becquerel stood on the banks of the Mississippi River.
The river in front of her, the house—Becquerel Plantation—behind her.
The heat of the morning sun reflected off the opaque water, lapping gently against the bank, hinting of another brutally hot day.
A heron swooped low and landed at the edge of the water, finding something just beneath the surface to dive for.
A minute later, the bird flew off, its wide wings gracefully gliding on the wind, an unfortunate fish flopping in its beak.
The rancid scent of the indigo plants blended with the muddy scent of the river, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Madeline was what people called an unquiet child.
She’d grown up here on this river. In the house behind her.
Her parents and brother were content.
Madeline, at age eighteen, didn’t have a content bone in her body.
She lived with what could be described as a constant sense of unrest.
In moments of frustration, Mother accused her of being like her father. Madeline didn’t see it. Father seemed quite satisfied to live here along this river, in this house.
Mother and Father would live out their lives here. Growing and harvesting crops. Preparing meals. Hosting a party every couple of years.
Mon Dieu.
Sometimes Madeline thought she might burst out of her skin if she had to stay here for another minute.
Unfortunately, she’d yet to see any other options.
A keelboat floated down the middle of the river. They were too far away for her to see anyone, but the passengers were traveling somewhere.
Somewhere not here.
Madeline sighed.
Life was literally passing her by while she stood here chained to this farm.
CHAPTER 2
Wyatt Guillory turned the steering wheel of his BMW sedan and started down the lane leading to Becquerel Plantation.
He turned down his radio and saw that he had cell phone service again. The area coming in south of here was a dead zone.
Big oak trees canopied the dirt road, draped with silver Spanish moss swaying in the wind.
Wyatt wasn’t from here. He’d grown up in Houston.
But his father had married a woman from here. Wyatt had just been starting college then, so he only visited a few times during the time his father lived up here.
The woman had a daughter—Hannah Sinclair, a couple of years younger than Wyatt.
Wyatt had met her a few times and found her to be a pleasant girl.
But they’d never spent much time together and certainly hadn’t grown up together.
As he pulled up to the front porch of the house—mansion really—he saw a woman standing on the front porch.
She was a middle-aged woman wearing a dark gray business suit. She waved and smiled as she came down the front steps, then quickly switched to a concerned expression.
It was almost like she couldn’t decide whether to be friendly or alarmed, then went with concerned.
A good choice, considering the situation.
She waited while Wyatt turned off the motor and stepped out of the car.
“Wyatt?” she said, coming up and holding out a hand.
He nodded and shook her thin hand.
“Martha Black?” Wyatt asked, already knowing who she was.
“Of course,” she said. “Thank you so much for driving up here. How was your drive?” Her voice dripped with southern honey.
“Actually,” he said, fighting the urge to stretch his back. “It was a long drive. It’s been a long time since I did it.”
Martha smiled again. “I can only imagine,” she said. “Come on inside.”
Wyatt followed her up the stairs and through the front door into the parlor.
He was struck by how quiet it was inside the house.
There was a grandfather clock next to the stairs, but it stood silent.
“We can sit down in the parlor and talk,” she said.
Wyatt refrained from telling her that sitting was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
What he wanted to do was to get this over with so he could check into his hotel room in Natchez and sleep the rest of the day.
“Can I get you some tea or coffee?” Martha asked.
And he was reminded that this was the rural south. Things moved at a much slower pace than they did in Houston.
“Whichever you have,” he said.
“Make yourself at home,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Wyatt blew out a breath and stretched his back.
He’d never been inside the old house, but it lived up to its elegant reputation.
He sat on a sofa that had seen better days and Martha returned with two glasses and pitcher of iced tea.
Wyatt had been expecting hot tea, but again… the south.
He’d never been a fan of cold tea.
Nonetheless, he thanked Martha and managed not to make a face when he tasted it.
“You said you had an urgent matter to discuss,” he said, holding the glass in his lap with both hands. “about Hannah.”
“Yes,” she said, the concerned expression was back. “She’s missing.”
“What do you mean?”
Martha set her glass on the coffee table and leaned forward.
“Her car is out back and her things are upstairs.” She paused, giving him time to absorb her words. “But I haven’t talked to her in two weeks.”
“Two weeks.” Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “That’s a long time.”
Martha squared her shoulders. “I was trying to give her space.”
“I understand, but…”
Wyatt sipped some of the tea. It actually wasn’t all that bad.
“Why did you call me?” he asked.
“You’re listed as her next of kin.”
CHAPTER 3
The sun was just barely up and already, the heat was stifling.
Madeline turned reluctantly away from the river and walked along the narrow path toward the house.
A water moccasin slithered slowly across the trail in front of her. Stopping, she leaned on the walking stick she carried, but she was prepared to defend herself from the snake.
Her brother would have been running away, squealing like a girl at the sight of the deadly snake. Though she didn’t care for snakes, Madeline wasn’t afraid of them either.
She waited, watching with more curiosity than anything else, until the snake had passed, before continuing down the path.
An unusual sound overhead caught her attention and she looked up. A long white cloud slashed across the bright blue sky.
It was the only cloud in the sky.
But… the cloud was… moving. It looked like someone was slowly drawing a streak of white paint across the sky.
She squinted and studied the cloud.
There was a bird flying high in front of it. she watched until it disappeared on the horizon, the white cloud slowly dissipating.
And then the cloud was gone, leaving no sign of either it or the bird.
She shook her head and started walking again. Perhaps it had been a trick of the blinding sunlight.
Today was laundry day, she remembered as she saw her cousin, Martinique walking outside with a basket of dirty clothes. His wife, Hannah, followed closely behind, carrying the washboard.
Martinique doted on Hannah, not allowing her to carry anything heavier than a leather book. She was surprised he was letting her carry the washboard. Of course, it barely weighed more than a couple of books.
Hannah had already had two babies.
From what Madeline could glean, if a woman could give birth and carry around a child or two, she could more than handle a basket of clothes.
But it wasn’t her business.
Though she had learned one thing.
She was never having children.
Madeline looked back at the sky.
Mon Dieu.
She really needed to get out of here before she became daft like Uncle Nathaniel.
CHAPTER 4
Wyatt had dragged his suitcase upstairs as well as his computer bag.
The guest room was much more elegant than any hotel room. The four-poster bed had gauzy white netting draped over the top railings.
The comforter and drapes were in a lovely deep green velvet. Unlike the furnishings downstairs, the guest room had been recently updated.
He hadn’t planned on staying at the Becquerel house, but Martha convinced him that not only was there no need for him take a hotel room, but it would be better if he stayed here while they figured out what to do about Hannah.
He hadn’t expected Hannah to list him as next of kin. If he’d given it any thought at all, he would have expected her to list her mother or other relative.
Now that their parents were divorced, was he still her stepbrother? Ex-stepbrother? He didn’t even know. He’d only talked with her a handful of times and certainly not about anything so serious as him being her next of kin.
Despite him being her designated next of kin, he was the last one Martha had called.
Hannah’s mother, apparently, had only talked to her daughter once in last several years. That didn’t surprise Wyatt.
The police had put out a notice, but there was nothing they could do other than what they had already done. They’d searched the house and grounds and checked her phone as much as they could.
Martha wanted Wyatt here to help.
Wyatt didn’t know what he could do, but since Hannah had listed him as her person, he owed it to her to at least be here.
In the meantime, he had to cover his patients for the rest of the week.
He set up his computer on the little desk and after a futile search for Wi-Fi, tethered his phone internet to his computer.
An hour later, using the power of messaging, he had his intern caught up on everything he needed to do for the week. And was assured that the hospital could function without him for few days.
He stood up, went to the window, and stretched.
After the long drive from Houston to Natchez, he needed to stretch his muscles.
His room overlooked the backyard.
Someone had landscaped a lovely garden among the oak trees.
There were pink roses and white daisies with a little walkway and a couple of wrought-iron benches.
He never expected anything like this out here at the old house.
Martha had led him to believe that it was all but deserted.
Wyatt was a city boy, but even a city boy knew that a garden like this required a gardener or at minimum, someone to keep it up.
There were dark clouds coming in over the tops of the trees. There was going to be a storm.
A movement below caught his attention. There was a girl walking toward him.
It could be Hannah.
He hadn’t seen Hannah in a number of years, but she would still be young.
The girl was wearing a long dark blue dress and her hair was tied at the back of her neck. A few tendrils of hair had escaped and fluttered around her face.
She looked… old-fashioned.
No make-up.
Yet… she was beautiful.
He blinked as a bolt of lightning flashed behind her.
Then she was gone.
CHAPTER 5
Madeline gathered up her skirts and dashed toward the veranda.
The storm had come up more suddenly than she’d expected.
It had been a long day of doing laundry and now all the clean clothes were going to get soaked. Of course, with this summer heat, they’d dry in no time, probably even by morning.
She went inside and ducked into the library for a few minutes of rest before supper.
She curled up on the settee to watch the rain.
A thunderstorm was the best. Her favorite kind of weather.
She hated the heat. Cold weather was nice, but it was rare here in the south.
But she was drawn to the storms.
She pulled a quilt around her and watched the lightning flash and the thunder crash.
She must have fallen asleep.
It was quiet in the house and unbelievably cool. Like a winter day. Yet the storm had passed and the sun was shining brightly.
It should have been hot.
Not one to question a rare reprieve, she snuggled beneath the blanket and closed her eyes again.
“Madeline?” Reginald said, coming to stand in front of her. “What are you doing?”
Madeline sat up and rubbed her eyes. She scowled at her brother.
“Sleeping,” she said. Couldn’t he see that?
“Where have you been?”
Madeline sat up.
“Are you daft?” she asked. “I’ve been right here.”
Reginald looked at her a moment as though she’d grown two heads.
“We’ve been looking for you for hours.” He ran a hand through his hair as he always did when something had him upset.
Reginald, unlike Madeline, had inherited the happiness of the family. She tried not to hate him for it.
“I’ve been right here,” she said. Reginald so rarely was out of sorts that she felt a trickle of worry. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ve looked for you in this room a dozen times,” he said. “There are trees down between here and Uncle Nathaniel’s and we were worried out of our minds.”
“I’ve been right here. I just dozed off for a few minutes.” Standing up, she folded the quilt and tossed it onto the back of the settee.
“Do you know what time it is?” he asked.
“It’s…” she looked out the window at the darkness. “Is it still storming?”
“The storm passed three hours ago. We’ve been out of our minds with worry.”
“Three hours?” she scowled at her brother. “You jest.”
“I don’t jest,” he said. “I have to go tell everyone I’ve found you. We’d all but given up.”
“Mon Dieu,” she muttered to herself. “Can’t a girl even take a nap around here?”
She went to the window and looked outside.
The garden was lit by a full moon.
“See,” Reginald said. “she’s right here.
Madeline turned as everyone crowded into the library with Reginald.
Her mother and father.
Her cousin Martinique and his wife Hannah.
Even Uncle Nathaniel and his wife Vaughn.
All staring at her as though she was a ghost.
CHAPTER 6
Wyatt dashed down the stairs toward the back door.
Hannah must have hit her head and become disoriented.
“What is it?” Martha asked, coming out of the kitchen.
“I saw her,” Wyatt said.
“Hanna?” she asked, following him out the back door. “Where?”
Wyatt pointed over toward the…
Toward the…
Large oaks and pines and… brambles.
“Where’s the garden?” he asked, walking toward the trees.
The sky was clear and the sun beat down on his head.
Where was the storm?
“What’s going on?” Martha took a few steps toward him.
He turned, running his hands through his hair.
Wyatt took a deep breath.
There was a logical explanation.
And he was well trained in staying calm in the face of panic.
He worked in the locked ward of a psychiatric hospital, after all.
“Tell me what you saw.” Martha said.
Wyatt turned around.
And here he was acting like this. Like he needed to be reassured.
He walked back toward Martha, trying to ignore his rapid heart rate.
Standing in front of her, he put his hands on his waist.
“There was a storm.”
Martha looked over his head.
He knew that look.
He’d given that look.
It said you’re insane, but I’m going to act like you’re not so I don’t upset you.
But he couldn’t stop.
“I saw a girl coming out of a garden.”
He glanced over his shoulder and clamped his mouth shut.
Martha did what any sane person would do. She just waited patiently.
Wyatt shook his head.
“It was a trick of the light,” he said.
He walked past Martha and went back inside to the kitchen.
It took him half a minute to find a bottle of water.
He drank it down in the other half of that minute.
“Have a seat,” Martha said, pulling out a chair.
Wyatt dropped into the chair, then looked into Martha’s eyes.
She was wearing her concerned expression.
“Do you have a picture of Hannah?” he asked.
“I’ve been asked that enough times,” she said, clicking open her phone. “They sent this from the DMV.”
He peered at the photo on her phone.
Driver’s license pictures weren’t known for being any good.
“Was that who you saw?” she asked.
Was it?
The girl in this picture was a little older. Not much, but…
“I can’t really say,” he said. “she was too far away.”
“It’s alright,” Martha said, going to the refrigerator and bringing Wyatt another bottle of water.
“It’s a stressful situation.”
