Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel by Charlotte Banchi, Agb Photographics Page B
Authors: Charlotte Banchi, Agb Photographics
Ads: Link
annoyance out on the ice trays, banging them on the counter with such force the cubes jumped out and skittered across the floor.
“When you’re done beating my ice trays to death, come on back in here,” Rayson called.
She ground her teeth to keep from responding with a caustic remark. If Pop knew how completely frustrating and annoying she found his behavior, he’d be delighted. Some days she was convinced he only lived to aggravate his only child.
When she returned to the living room, instead of finding an impish glimmer in his eyes, she saw something else. She sat beside him and placed her hand on her father’s cheek, turning his head until she could see his face. Frightened eyes stared out of his face.
“What you’re planning on doing troubles me.” He took a shaky breath. “1963 was such a hard period here in Alabama that I fear for you.”
“Don’t be afraid for me, Pop. I know this is right. You do understand I have to go?”
“I understand, child. It’s just that lots of good folks got hurt … or worse.”
“Good folks like Lettie Ruth?”
He stared into her eyes. “You thinking she’s what this is all about?”
“Possibly. You see, she’s my only connection to 1963.” Could the static ridden voice on the phone belong to her missing aunt? Had Lettie Ruth reached across time by offering Kat a tantalizing glimpse of the past and beckoning her to step closer? Or was her aunt the voice warning her to stay away?
Go or stay? Move backward through time or forget the whole thing and go forward? This was the same as asking a child to choose between eating their dessert or vegetables. Kat’s dessert was the thrill. The adrenalin rush of having the opportunity to jump back in time. A chance to make things right so Pop wouldn’t have to suffer so much.
On the vegetable side, whatever happened to Lettie Ruth could come full circle and trap Kat as well. The warning— Don’t Cross —might be the one truth in all this.
“What should I do, Pop?”
“I don’t suppose you’ll know until you get there.”
=SIX=
At this rate , she and Mitch would be standing eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, and toe-to-toe until the sun came up. He’d arrived on her doorstep minutes after she’d returned from Demopolis and they’d been at it ever since. They’d been criss-crossing through the pros and cons of Kat taking a time journey across Park Street, until the topic resembled a well-plowed field.
Sighing dramatically, Kat broke the stand-off and moved to the sofa. She glanced over her shoulder at Mitch, still rooted to his space in the middle of the room. “You’re a hard headed Pennsylvania Yankee, James Mitchell. You can’t think past your own opinion.”
“That’s because the only other opinion is complete and unadulterated lunacy.”
“See there, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” As she spoke, a small part grudgingly admitted there might be a bit of truth in his assessment. A trip through time did sound ludicrous. What exactly did she hope to accomplish once she’d arrived in the past?
As though tuning into to her thoughts, Mitch asked, “Why do you want to go back anyway? Is there a reason you haven’t told me?”
He looked so worried Kat almost canceled the whole project johnny on the spot. But the reason she felt so compelled to return to that turbulent period was personal and beyond Mitch’s understanding. This was a rare instance where race divided the Red and Black unit.
Mitch had never experienced discrimination because of his ginger-red hair and freckles. He’d never been shopping in a department store and had every step shadowed by store security because of his color. His family, friends or neighbors weren’t beaten or shot or hung from a tree branch because they drank out of the wrong water fountain. In other words, he’d never been black.
No white male, or female for that matter, could truly grasp the significance of the civil rights movement. To
“When you’re done beating my ice trays to death, come on back in here,” Rayson called.
She ground her teeth to keep from responding with a caustic remark. If Pop knew how completely frustrating and annoying she found his behavior, he’d be delighted. Some days she was convinced he only lived to aggravate his only child.
When she returned to the living room, instead of finding an impish glimmer in his eyes, she saw something else. She sat beside him and placed her hand on her father’s cheek, turning his head until she could see his face. Frightened eyes stared out of his face.
“What you’re planning on doing troubles me.” He took a shaky breath. “1963 was such a hard period here in Alabama that I fear for you.”
“Don’t be afraid for me, Pop. I know this is right. You do understand I have to go?”
“I understand, child. It’s just that lots of good folks got hurt … or worse.”
“Good folks like Lettie Ruth?”
He stared into her eyes. “You thinking she’s what this is all about?”
“Possibly. You see, she’s my only connection to 1963.” Could the static ridden voice on the phone belong to her missing aunt? Had Lettie Ruth reached across time by offering Kat a tantalizing glimpse of the past and beckoning her to step closer? Or was her aunt the voice warning her to stay away?
Go or stay? Move backward through time or forget the whole thing and go forward? This was the same as asking a child to choose between eating their dessert or vegetables. Kat’s dessert was the thrill. The adrenalin rush of having the opportunity to jump back in time. A chance to make things right so Pop wouldn’t have to suffer so much.
On the vegetable side, whatever happened to Lettie Ruth could come full circle and trap Kat as well. The warning— Don’t Cross —might be the one truth in all this.
“What should I do, Pop?”
“I don’t suppose you’ll know until you get there.”
=SIX=
At this rate , she and Mitch would be standing eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, and toe-to-toe until the sun came up. He’d arrived on her doorstep minutes after she’d returned from Demopolis and they’d been at it ever since. They’d been criss-crossing through the pros and cons of Kat taking a time journey across Park Street, until the topic resembled a well-plowed field.
Sighing dramatically, Kat broke the stand-off and moved to the sofa. She glanced over her shoulder at Mitch, still rooted to his space in the middle of the room. “You’re a hard headed Pennsylvania Yankee, James Mitchell. You can’t think past your own opinion.”
“That’s because the only other opinion is complete and unadulterated lunacy.”
“See there, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” As she spoke, a small part grudgingly admitted there might be a bit of truth in his assessment. A trip through time did sound ludicrous. What exactly did she hope to accomplish once she’d arrived in the past?
As though tuning into to her thoughts, Mitch asked, “Why do you want to go back anyway? Is there a reason you haven’t told me?”
He looked so worried Kat almost canceled the whole project johnny on the spot. But the reason she felt so compelled to return to that turbulent period was personal and beyond Mitch’s understanding. This was a rare instance where race divided the Red and Black unit.
Mitch had never experienced discrimination because of his ginger-red hair and freckles. He’d never been shopping in a department store and had every step shadowed by store security because of his color. His family, friends or neighbors weren’t beaten or shot or hung from a tree branch because they drank out of the wrong water fountain. In other words, he’d never been black.
No white male, or female for that matter, could truly grasp the significance of the civil rights movement. To
Similar Books
