Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1) (16 page)

He shakes his head. “Do you really think I could do that? Just let you die right in front of me when I could do something to prevent it? Come on, Gabby.”

“Why does Nicholas allow stuff like that to happen? Why does he even put us into situations where we could die or lose people we love?”

He sends the rock sailing toward the Mississippi. It lands with a giant
thunk
. “Because he never promised us a painless existence. Nothing like that. Only that he will be watching out for us during those times.”

“But—”

He drops down again. “Let’s just change the subject.”

Water laps against the shoreline and raucous laughter from a passing boat drifts up the bank. I wish all the noise would stop. That I was alone—unable to hurt the people I care about.

Why did I ruin another one of Michael’s missions? As if botching the first one wasn’t enough. Now here I am, adding more stress. Putting him in further danger because he thinks he has to watch out for me above everything. I have no doubt he’d throw his body between me and a speeding train. Foolishly sacrificing his life, even if mine couldn’t be saved. Has anyone ever cared enough about me to consider doing something like that? But here’s Michael, he’s known me such a short amount of time and is ready.

Warmth spears my chest. I rub my palm back and forth over the pain. The weight of what I’ve done to him rocks through me. I’m so selfish.

He’s been watching me for the last few minutes. “Is Eugene’s time traveling getting to you too? It feels like insane heartburn, right?” He pounds his fist against his chest three times.

I bite my bottom lip. Nod my head.

He unzips his bag, digs through the contents and fishes out a sleeve of crackers. “I didn’t bring much food. Not enough for two….” He shrugs. “No knowing how long we’ll be here, so we’ll have to ration what I have.” He offers me a couple crackers.

I try to push them away. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Eat them. It might take the feeling away.”

I break each cracker in two and jam them into my mouth. They suck the moisture out of my cheeks. I lick around my teeth, trying to find all the crumbs. He’s wrong about the food helping. The ache inside still throbs.

Michael hands over a water bottle. After a few sips, I give it back to him and he takes a long swig. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. “If we’re going to make it to town while there are still rooms available, we better get a move on it.”

“Memphis is huge though, isn’t it? How will we ever find Pinkerton?”

“Last time we were here, he mentioned something about Hunt House.” He slips the bag over his shoulders and offers me his hand.

“Wow. Good memory.”

“Comes with practice.”

By the time we turn onto a street labeled Beale, my feet are sore and blistering. But the outline of houses up the bend breathes hope into my steps.

Michael keeps his voice low. “Hunt House gets fought over in the war. It has to belong to the Confederates right now if Pinkerton steered them there. I saw blueprints for it once. There’s an escape tunnel that might come in handy. At least, if they haven’t sealed it off. When we go inside, whatever you do, don’t talk. During this time period guys spoke for women. Just go with it for me.”

“Don’t we need to ditch your backpack somewhere?”

“They see what they want. Remember?”

What I assume is Hunt House comes into view. Four white pillars gleam in the moonlight. They support a two story, brick mansion. The grounds might have once been beautiful, but it’s all a bunch of mud ruts now. Too many soldiers and horses have trod here. Michael goes up to the door, and walks right in.

I grab his hand, silently asking him what he’s doing.

“Relax,” he whispers. “It’s a hotel for Confederate sympathizers right now.”

As we enter, the rich smells of cherry wood and tobacco greet us. Oriental rugs cover polished wooden floors. Ornate vases and sculptures decorate some shelves that line the walls.

A man with an impressive, curling mustache hurries over to us. “Might I help you two?”

Michael extends his hand. “I believe so. On this fine evening, my sister and I happen to find ourselves in search of lodging. We’ve had the pleasure of listening to such wonderful reports about your establishment. Might you have two rooms?”

My mouth drops open before I can stop it. How does Michael do that? Start speaking just like they do?

The hotel clerk pulls on the bottom of his vest. If he was a rat, he’d preen himself right now. “You’re in luck. I happen to have two rooms situated beside each other available to let. I assume you want to be next door to your sister?” The man looks me up and down. What does he see? A girl in a giant hoop dress—they wear those now, right? Scarlett O’Hara type of stuff?

Before I can glance around further, Michael snags my arm and leads me up the stairs. “It’s late. So there’s no use for us to do anything but sleep right now. Try and get in as much as you can.” He tugs a key from his pocket and opens the first door we come to. “Go on, you take this one.”

Upon entering, I see it’s like a bedroom from a period film. A high canopied bed and dark wood furniture. It even has a porcelain pitcher on the side table. When I turn back to the door, Michael’s still there.

I work my bottom lip between my teeth. “How did you pay for this?”

He leans against the doorframe. “I knew what time I was going to. I brought some money. Although, had I known…”

“That I was coming, you could have brought more?”

 A sad smile plays over his face. “Good night, Gabby. I’m next door if you need me.” He grabs the handle and shuts the door.

I dip my hands into the pitcher of water and splash some onto my face. At the bedside I remove my shoes and massage my feet. I can’t stop thinking of Michael and how angry he is. I should try to sleep, like he told me. Instead I find myself stepping out into the hallway, knocking on his door.

It opens a heartbeat later. Michael’s shoulders sag. The front of his shirt is wet. His brows scrunch. “Is something wrong?”

I knit my fingers together. Stare down at my bare feet. “I made a mess of things. I’m sorry.”

He braces his hand on the door jam. “I know you are.”

Our eyes meet. “I should have listened to you. I know it’s asking a lot, but can you forgive me?”

“I forgive you.”

“Just like that?”

“Look, I’m still angry with you, but I’ll get over it. What’s done is done. You’re forgiven.”

“I promise I’ll talk to you next time. I’ll never keep something from you again.”

“Never is a hard promise to keep.” He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Hey, wait a second.” He leaves me in the hallway and rummages through his backpack. Pulling out a t-shirt, he crosses back and hands it to me. “Take it. Looks like yours got dirty when we landed.”

I look down at the front of my shirt. It’s streaked with caked-on mud. Lovely.  

He taps his chin. “It’ll be way too big on you, but….” He shrugs.

“Is this your only extra?” I try to hand it back to him, but he won’t take it.

“I’ll live. I might smell, but I’ll live.” He closes my hands around the shirt. “Do me one favor.”

“Anything.”

“Lock your door. I don’t like the way the clerk eyed you.”

Back in my room, I turn both bolts on my door. Making my way around the room, I blow out all the candles. Too tired to even take off my dirty shirt, I crawl under the blankets. Michael’s shirt is still clutched in my hands. Closing my eyes, I press the fabric to my nose, willing it to smell like him.

No matter what happens on the mission, I must make him trust me again.

Pink hues pool in my bedroom, the blush from the first kiss of the morning sun. Situations always look different in the light of a new day. This goes double if your bedroom lacks twenty-first-century blinds.

With a groan, I yank the down pillow over my head. I have every intention of staying right here. Pretending Michael’s not mad at me, and that I don’t have to rescue some short, bearded man today. That is until I remember that people back in the day had bad hygiene and carried bedbugs. There isn’t some sort of hotel inspection board that sets rules for cleanliness. I bolt out of the bed, and dance around the room, shaking my arms, hopefully flinging away any plague I might have picked up.

The water in the basin is now frigid. I splash my face with a yelp. My shirt’s still dirty, completely crusted over now that the mud is dry. Why didn’t I at least soak it in water last night? I could have gotten the worst of the mess off. Sure, it wouldn’t have been dry by morning, but maybe I could have given Michael his shirt tomorrow. Instead, he’ll have to go without the spare. But who knows, maybe we’ll be back in Keleusma laughing tonight.

A girl can dream.

His shirt swims on me, but there’s not much I can do about that. Grouping the extra fabric on the bottom, I tie a knot. I look every bit like an Eighties hair band groupie. Oh well. I yank the binding out of my braid and comb my fingers through my hair. Would it kill the people in this time to have mirrors in their rooms? Only Michael will be able to see what I really look like. Maybe he packed a brush in his backpack of wonders.

Doubtful. Michael’s more of the focus-on-necessities type of guy. Besides, he rattled off most of the contents yesterday. Water bottle, iodine, crackers, beef jerky, a knife, and a wool blanket. Nothing that screams makeover.

There’s a soft knock on my door. It’s Michael. Complete with bags under his eyes and impressive bedhead.

He rests his hand on the hallway wall, leaning into, but not entering my room. “Ready?”

I want to tell him no. Offer him a chance to play hooky for once in his life. But he was so upset with me last night. That thought melts the words on my tongue. I need to be here for him in this mission. Not get in the way. More than that, I need to become an essential part. Prove to him that my being here isn’t a mistake. Dare I hope he’ll think we make a good team?

So instead of what I want, I say, “yup.” Not my most eloquent moment, but it’s early. I join him in the hall and we head downstairs.

The clerk from last night is in the lobby straightening a stack of papers. He beams when he spots us. “Breakfast is on the veranda this morning.” Following us outside, he points in the direction of a metal table and chairs. A group of men mill around on the barren front yard, and one of them spits a long stream of tobacco.

Michael pulls out a chair for me. The clerk sets two full plates on the table along with cups of steaming tea. When he leaves, I poke the food with my fork.

Under the table, Michael’s knees knock into mine. “It’s just sausage and apples.”

“Doesn’t really sound like the best combination.” I take a bite anyway. Not bad. Actually, it’s five times tastier than the frozen sausages that I usually nuke in the microwave. The tea’s good too. Blackberry.

“See.” Michael drops a napkin into his lap. “It’s passable. Just be happy it’s not sheep’s head stew or hardtack.”

I gag on the chunk of apple in my mouth. “Sheep’s head? Are you kidding me?”

A grim headshake, with something on his lips that looks like it wants to be a smile when it grows up. “The stew’s not that bad. But the hardtack.” He pretends to throw up. “I once lived on the stuff for a month. Hoping to never do that again.”

Lowering my voice, I incline my head closer to him. “What’s the plan for today? I was thinking we should just grab Pinkerton and get out of here.”

He shakes his head. “Believe me, that man doesn’t need our help. Well, at least not like that. I think it’s more important to figure out what these soldiers are up to and pass that information on to Pinkerton. I’m going to focus on scoping out the Confederates he was with the other night.”

I set down my silverware. “Where does that leave me?”

“I need you to stay under the radar. Be around, but not in the way.”

I cross my legs, my arms, and lean back in the chair. “In the way?”

Michael rakes his hand through his hair. “Not like that. Listen, there are two ways those soldiers can view you. One, as either not capable because you’re a woman. Or two—as a potential spy. Let’s hope they see you as the first.”

My eyebrow arches. “A spy? I like the sound of that.”

He sets down his tea. Hard. “This isn’t a game, Gabby. You get that, right? War isn’t something to joke about. If those men think you’re a spy it could turn bad for us really quickly.”

 My eyes dart to the Confederates on the front lawn. “If they figure us out … what will happen?”

“Unless Nicholas chooses to shift us,” he works his jaw back and forth, “they’ll probably kill us.”

I continue watching the soldiers. Would they harm me—a woman? I’m certain they’d hurt Michael if they got their hands on him. More than hurt him. Above all, I can’t let that happen. “So they’re all evil? I’m glad the North wins if the Confederates are that heartless.”

Michael shakes his head. “The Confederates aren’t all bad, just like the Union isn’t all good. There’s no such thing as a right side in war. They’re just people, and they’re hurting. All of them are sick of fighting and want to be done.”