Echoes of Time Read online

  Table of Contents

  Other Titles by Calia Read

  Dedication

  Part I

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Part II

  Twenty

  Twenty – One

  Twenty – Two

  Twenty – Three

  Twenty – Four

  Twenty – Five

  Twenty – Six

  Twenty – Seven

  Twenty – Eight

  Twenty – Nine

  Thirty

  Part III

  Thirty – One

  Thirty – Two

  Thirty – Three

  Thirty – Four

  Thirty – Five

  Thirty – Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Echoes of Time

  Copyright © 2019 by Calia Read.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to retailer and purchase.

  Cover design by

  Formatting by Juliana Cabrera, Jersey Girl Design

  Edited by Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies

  First Edition: May 2019

  other titles by calia read

  Series

  Sloan Brothers

  Every Which Way • Breaking the Wrong • Ruin You Completely

  Fairfax

  Unravel • Unhinge

  Surviving Time

  The Surviving Trace • The Reigning and the Rule • Echoes of Time

  Standalones

  Figure Eight

  For the Surviving Time readers.

  PART I

  “Time is

  Too Slow for those who Wait,

  Too Swift for those who Fear,

  Too Long for those who Grieve,

  Too Short for those who Rejoice;

  But for those who Love,

  Time is not.”

  ― Henry van Dyke, Music and Other Poems

  Some truths refuse to lay down and die.

  They make themselves known in any way possible. However, that’s not always the general consensus. A lot of people see the truth as a wound that continually splits open with blood rising to the surface. Others believe it’s a beacon of light in a dark time.

  No matter what you believe, there’s no opposing the undeniable fact: once we accept any truth into our lives, change is imminent.

  For me, my truth is careless and downright slovenly. My truth places me between reality and dreams. At times, I believe I’m somewhat responsible for what’s happening. Fragments come to me during my dreams that, when I wake up, do not make sense. For nearly a month, I’ve dreamed of a tall, unattractive man. In his eyes, I can see he loves me, but I don’t love him. In my dream, he’s always there, lurking in the shadows and watching me. Why is that?

  Sometimes my dream transitions, and I’ll find myself at a beautiful mansion with white columns so tall they almost pierce the sky. Before I can turn in a circle and take in my surroundings, the scene shifts, and I’m on the balcony of the spacious mansion with the driveway stretching before me. From here, everything seems endless and possible. What I want, I will get.

  In my dream, I smile.

  Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and see the same ugly man as before. Only his face becomes distorted. Features change, almost as though a file of features exists in my mind, and I’m choosing specific characteristics. Eyes change from hazel, to brown, then blue, and back to hazel. His dirty blond hair becomes black, grows longer in length, and then shorter. It’s almost as though my mind cannot decide how he looks.

  I want him away from me. He’s far too close.

  “Serene,” he says in a Southern drawl, “I love you.”

  We don’t know one another. I would never place myself next to him. With fear guiding my movements, I shake my head and take another step back.

  He reaches for me. “Look out!” he yells.

  One more step and I realize my blunder. I fall, and it’s an interesting thing; my body flails and fights, but a part of me feels as though I’ve experienced this before. That terrifying knowledge clashes with the terror coursing through me.

  I’m dying, I think.

  Above me, the man continues to call my name while I furtively search for a way to save myself. This can’t be the end.

  And it isn’t.

  The ground opens. The stench of dirt surrounds me. Before the mansion disappears from my sight, and the darkness envelops me, I wake up. I always wake up.

  I prefer to take that as a positive indication, but it’s still deeply unsettling. Who is the man from the dream, and how does he know my name? Deep inside, I believe there’s a shred of truth that he knows me.

  I simply don’t know how. I don’t know the reason, but I want to know.

  I continue walking along the cobblestone pathway, my heels softly tapping to keep me company. It was highly improper to be alone so late at night, but I needed time to myself. Even when I sleep, my dreams are invaded.

  Illuminated streetlamps bathe the space beneath in a soft glow. The trees cast shadows over the ground, giving me an uneasy feeling. Soon, I will need to walk back to my aunt and uncle’s home. There’s a breeze tonight, so I’m glad I brought my green cape. I stop walking and think about what brought me to this coastal city. It wasn’t my dreams, but I believe there was a connection.

  A week ago, I was in New York visiting my cousin Ethel and her family. I cannot say she’s a dear friend. It was a visit born of familial ties and my desire to see New York. It had been quite some time since I’d experienced the impressive city, but Ethel was dull. She had no life outside of reading. No prospective love interests. To Ethel, every person she met was kind and not an object. I observed her, anticipating the moment when everything about her would slide into place, but it never happened, and I grew tired. Days into my visit, Ethel and I visited the Ladies’ Mile. There was a hat at Lord & Taylor I wanted. It was mine and no one else’s. We had the driver drop us off in front of the large cast-iron building where the sidewalk was swamped with people. Ethel took one look and hesitated. Impatiently, I looked over my shoulder at her.

  “You can wait in the car if you prefer,” I generously offered.

  Ethel shook her head. “No, I’ll go.”

  As I stepped onto the sidewalk and waited, a man eagerly called my name. “Serene!”

  I turned in time to see a man hustling toward me.

  The familiarity in which he spoke my name caused goose bumps to appear on my arms. With my eyes focused on the sidewalk, I quickened my strides, but he quickly caught up with me and curled his hand around my wrist. “Please. Wait.”

  To get his hand off me, I came to a halt and faced him. He searched my face and smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Who are y
ou?” I blurted.

  The man tilted his head to the side and arched a brow, causing a lock of dark hair to fall over his forehead. “It’s me. Nicholas.”

  Clearly, Nicholas expected me to know him, and if I did, I would smile. He’s quite handsome and someone I would want to have around. I appreciate beautiful people and items in my life and find something about them soothing.

  “From Charleston. Remember?” he tries.

  Remember? Interesting this stranger should ask. I remember nothing and everything at the same time. I’ve been living in this state of uncertainty for too long. I want my life to become whole again instead of my dreams feeding me a morsel here and there.

  I shook my head. “I need to be going. It was lovely seeing you, Nicholas.”

  I stepped away from the stranger before he could say another word. And I could tell he was about to. However, my terribly dull cousin saved me from yet another set of questions I could not answer. Soon, the throng of people swallowed him the way the ground swallowed me in my dreams.

  From Charleston. Remember?

  I shake my head and continue walking.

  Those three words led me here. A single day in this town and no truths have revealed themselves. Using my well-practiced charm, perfect smile, and coy giggle will not give me the answers I desperately desire.

  Patience has never been my strong suit. In life, I have discovered if you withstand long enough, people will cave to your demands. Right now, I demand answers. This entire situation just might be the only time I’ve ever had to exert any sort of effort.

  When I become dismayed that life isn’t adhering to my expectations, I remind myself it’s good I haven’t tried. I have the upper hand in life, so it’s only a matter of time until I find the answers I seek.

  “Serene?”

  My heart races. Is this Nicholas from New York? Did he follow me? Turning at the sound of my name, I find a man—certainly not Nicholas—staring at me from across the road. My eyes widen. A new man, a new stranger who knows my name.

  How is this happening again? I think to myself.

  From the way he holds his shoulders, this man has an aristocratic air about him. I lower the hood of my cape and step closer to the brick-paved road. Squinting, I try to get a better look at him.

  Do I know him? He appears to know me.

  The man half-saunters/stumbles in my direction, giving me the impression he’s foxed. Luckily, he’s smart enough not to cross the road and stops beneath the streetlamp. It illuminates his striking features.

  His eyes are familiar to me. My heart pounds because I’m certain if I walk across Broad Street and speak to this man, I might receive the answers I’ve been searching for.

  He’s so focused on me that he doesn’t notice the person lurking in the shadows, slowly inching their way toward him. I swallow and take a step back from the road. The figure becomes prominent and what I see is small and lithe. I’m certain it has to be a woman, but the intent is clear. She lifts her head. She doesn’t stand under the streetlamp like the man, but I see the kid gloves on her hands. Her family comes from money. The hem of her pleated skirt grazes her shoes. She steps closer to the man and into the light. I see the blue satin coat with a matching hat. It’s impossible to see her clearly.

  Protect yourself and go! my mind screams. Slowly, I begin to back away. I don’t waste any time before I turn and run. Never mind the fact my heart beats an erratic rhythm in tandem with three words, He knows you. He knows you. He knows you. He knows you …

  Yet another person to add to my list of people I don’t know. As I run down the street, I hear someone shout, “Lacroix!” The rest of the words become lost as my heels strike against the ground.

  I’m lost. I don’t know where I am, but I need to keep going. The sound of metal meeting bone interrupts my heavy breathing. My footsteps don’t falter, and I don’t turn back. Not for a second.

  I have empathy. I care. However, I value my life. I will come before anyone else, and if that man felt the same, his life wouldn’t be slipping away as I speak.

  When he said my name, was he seeking the truth, too? If I crossed the street and approached him, would I have been the woman’s next target?

  Fear trickled down my spine and made me run faster.

  There are some truths that refuse to lay down and die.

  And so do I.

  “Serene, what is going on?” my mom asks.

  Turning in Étienne’s arms, I blink my mom into focus and find her standing on the porch steps of Hambleton House. She looks back and forth between me and Étienne with a befuddled expression on her face.

  I give Étienne’s bicep a firm squeeze and look at him over my shoulder. “That’s my mom.”

  His eyes flick toward the house and sweep across the yard. He looks at the oak and pine trees, and the leaves tinged in brown and orange scattered across the grass. This Midwest landscape is a far cry from Charleston’s, and although Étienne appears stoic, he has a dazed look in his eyes. I know this is all coming at him at once.

  In the most perfect circumstances, I would have a moment alone with Étienne. I would give him a moment to breathe and speak with him before he meets my parents.

  Oh, and maybe tell him I’m pregnant?

  My heart flips in my chest at the thought. Étienne and I can never do anything by half-measures. Time plucked me out of my own life in order to meet my soul mate. We fell in love knowing everything was against us, and in the process, we created a child.

  Étienne will be happy, right? Of course, he will be. But there’s no time to linger on the subject because my mom continues to stare at us. We can’t avoid her.

  “Follow my lead, all right?” I say quietly.

  He gives me a blunt nod. Turning back toward the house, I walk up the sidewalk. I was in such a rush to meet Étienne that I forgot to put on shoes. My thin socks are no match for the cold pavement, and it sends a chill through my entire body.

  I squeeze Étienne’s hand almost in a sense of disbelief. Is this truly happening right now? I never thought it was a possibility that the roles would reverse and Étienne would be the one to time travel. Is he here because I’m pregnant? Did something occur in his time? There’s so much we need to unpack. I’m merely counting down the minutes until I can get him alone.

  As we stop on the porch landing, Mom crosses her arms and frowns, taking in Étienne’s clothing. It’s reminiscent of every time I’ve time traveled to Étienne’s era, and people stared at me as though I had three heads.

  The three of us become quiet. Gesturing toward Étienne’s hulking frame behind me, I give my mom my best smile.

  “Mom, I want you to meet Étienne Lacroix. Étienne, this is my mom, Katherine.”

  Before Étienne has an opportunity to speak, my mom says, “Are you a friend of Serene’s?”

  At that question, Étienne and I make eye contact. Awkwardly, I clear my throat and stare down at my socks before I meet my mom’s gaze. “Not exactly.” I pause. “He’s my fiancé.”

  The silence that follows my words is so tense I’d rather have the ground open and swallow me whole than endure another second of it.

  “What?” Mom says. She utters the single word calmly, but a blush travels up her neck. “I’m engaged,” I repeat patiently.

  Her eyes drift to the engagement ring on my finger. Mom doesn’t conceal the shock in her eyes as she shakes her head. I lose track of the number of times her mouth opens and closes and not a word comes out. “How long is a while?”

  With my hands open and palms facing one another, I take a step toward my mom. I know this is a lot to take in at once. “I have been for a while now. And—”

  “Serene, I need a better answer than ‘a while.’”

  I cast my eyes to my engagement ring and spin the beautiful band around my finger. “Two weeks,” I say, my voice small.

  “Two weeks?” Mom’s voice raises an octave.

  Lifting my head, I meet my mom’s gaze. “I wasn’
t keeping the information from you on purpose.” I take a step back and link my fingers through Étienne’s. “I was waiting for him to arrive.”

  My mom closes her eyes and rubs her temples as Étienne and I quietly look on. I try to take a deep breath. In the span of thirty minutes, I found out I was pregnant, Étienne time traveled to the present day, and I broke the news to my mom that I was engaged to a virtual stranger in her eyes. What could happen next? My gut clenches over the possibilities.

  I can only hope that the best thing I get from this conversation is finally telling my mom about Étienne. And the worst thing would be enduring her frustration and confusion.

  Once again, Mom’s eyes sweep over Étienne skeptically. “And where exactly did he arrive from?”

  “Charleston,” I answer.

  I know at some point Étienne’s going to have to speak, but hell hath no fury like an upset mother. Étienne is no match for Katherine Hambleton right now. Her questions will be too swift and delivered with a razor-sharp precision that’ll have even the most seasoned deceiver hesitate.

  “How long will you be visiting?” she asks him.

  I squeeze Étienne’s hand, signaling to him that I’ve got this. “He arrived today. I was supposed to pick him up from the airport but forgot because I was running errands, so he took an Uber.”

  “What’s—”

  “He took an Uber,” I say meaningfully, cutting in before Étienne can say another word. The look I give him says, “I’ll explain later.”

  He nods, and I give Mom my full attention. She takes my explanation at face value. I’m reminded how all it takes is one lie to slip from your tongue for the rest to pour out so easily.

  The front door opens, and my dad pokes his head out. His eyes swing back and forth between my mom and me before they settle on Étienne. “Kate? Is everything all right?”

  Now I’m the one to rub my temples because I know everything I just explained to my mom will have to be repeated to my dad. “Oh, God.”

  As if Mom can read my thoughts, she looks over her shoulder at my dad, and then back at me. She pats my arm. “We have a lot to discuss. But let me speak to your father.”