to this time period, but she couldn’t imagine what—the eddy in the river, the bolt of lightening, the hit on her head or being near dead from drowning. Maybe God had sent her back for some divine purpose, but no… God didn’t need her to carry out his plans. He was all-powerful and could move mountains with a sweep of his hand. Maybe this was all a dream or a coma, and she’d wake up back home in her bed. A horrible thought struck her. Was she dead? Was she in Heaven? It couldn’t be Hell because it was too beautiful.
She couldn’t breathe. Her gaze rested on the banks of the Brazos. If it was the key, she had to try, didn’t she? She tried to resist, but a compelling desire to stop overrode her sense. She nodded toward the bank. “Can we pull over for a moment?”
“Of course.” The older woman leaned forward and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Pull over, Hank. We want to get out for a minute.”
He stopped the buggy and helped Birdie down. She strode to the river’s edge and watched the water ripple by, traveling southeast towards the gulf. With each step, the corset she wore tightened, threatening to choke off air supply. She drew in deep breaths of air, as deep as she could without expanding her abdomen. The desire to go home overwhelmed her, and she bit back a cry. She had to try. She stepped out of her slippers and patted her pocket to make sure her gun was still with her. It wouldn’t do to leave a weapon like hers back in this time period.
Birdie didn’t really believe in time travel, but she wasn’t crazy, and it was impossible for anyone to pull off a stunt like rebuilding a 1890s city to be so real. Yes, movie sets could be made believable, but no way could they have a cast of characters as large as the one she’d seen today. She took a deep breath, lifted her skirts almost to her knees and started toward the water.
“Birdie! Miss Braxton! What are you doing?” Mrs. Lockhart’s voice became shriller with each word. “No!”
Footsteps pounded on the grass behind her. Birdie walked farther into the water, stepping up the pace. Just as Hank hit the water, she threw herself forward and using the breaststroke, moved into the current. She drew in a deep breath and dove under. Visibility was poor. She could only see three inches in front of her. Fish veered around her and water grass waved as she passed. Her skirt and petticoat soaked up the river and dirt and drew her slowly down. Her feet touched the bottom. Lungs bursting for air, she bent her knees and shoved upward. Her head broke water.
The current had carried her almost to the bridge and Birdie struggled against its strength to make it to the shore. Hank saw her and shouted. “There she is.” He ran along the bank to reach her, came to a screeching halt, twirled a rope over his head and tossed it toward her. She could have made it, but why bother? She grabbed hold, and he pulled her toward the shore.
Soaked, filthy, and still in 1890, she stood and tried to wring some of the water from her dress. The poor garment couldn’t take another dunking, and she didn’t have an additional nice dress. She sighed and her shoulders slumped. Did her failed attempt mean she was stuck here… forever?
Olivia Lockhart bustled over carrying the blanket, which she wrapped around Birdie’s shoulders and rubbed to soak up some of the moisture. She clucked like a mother hen. “What were you thinking, young woman? You could have drowned.”
“I had to give it a try... to go back home to my time.” She flipped hair out of her face. “Obviously it didn’t work.”
“Now, now, dear. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.” She tugged on Birdie’s arm. “Come along. We want to get home before dark.”
Bethany handed Birdie her slippers. She didn’t put them on right away. She’d wait until she dried out some. Bethany sat up front with Hank so her mother wouldn’t be squeezed so close to Birdie and get wet. They crossed the bridge, and
She couldn’t breathe. Her gaze rested on the banks of the Brazos. If it was the key, she had to try, didn’t she? She tried to resist, but a compelling desire to stop overrode her sense. She nodded toward the bank. “Can we pull over for a moment?”
“Of course.” The older woman leaned forward and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Pull over, Hank. We want to get out for a minute.”
He stopped the buggy and helped Birdie down. She strode to the river’s edge and watched the water ripple by, traveling southeast towards the gulf. With each step, the corset she wore tightened, threatening to choke off air supply. She drew in deep breaths of air, as deep as she could without expanding her abdomen. The desire to go home overwhelmed her, and she bit back a cry. She had to try. She stepped out of her slippers and patted her pocket to make sure her gun was still with her. It wouldn’t do to leave a weapon like hers back in this time period.
Birdie didn’t really believe in time travel, but she wasn’t crazy, and it was impossible for anyone to pull off a stunt like rebuilding a 1890s city to be so real. Yes, movie sets could be made believable, but no way could they have a cast of characters as large as the one she’d seen today. She took a deep breath, lifted her skirts almost to her knees and started toward the water.
“Birdie! Miss Braxton! What are you doing?” Mrs. Lockhart’s voice became shriller with each word. “No!”
Footsteps pounded on the grass behind her. Birdie walked farther into the water, stepping up the pace. Just as Hank hit the water, she threw herself forward and using the breaststroke, moved into the current. She drew in a deep breath and dove under. Visibility was poor. She could only see three inches in front of her. Fish veered around her and water grass waved as she passed. Her skirt and petticoat soaked up the river and dirt and drew her slowly down. Her feet touched the bottom. Lungs bursting for air, she bent her knees and shoved upward. Her head broke water.
The current had carried her almost to the bridge and Birdie struggled against its strength to make it to the shore. Hank saw her and shouted. “There she is.” He ran along the bank to reach her, came to a screeching halt, twirled a rope over his head and tossed it toward her. She could have made it, but why bother? She grabbed hold, and he pulled her toward the shore.
Soaked, filthy, and still in 1890, she stood and tried to wring some of the water from her dress. The poor garment couldn’t take another dunking, and she didn’t have an additional nice dress. She sighed and her shoulders slumped. Did her failed attempt mean she was stuck here… forever?
Olivia Lockhart bustled over carrying the blanket, which she wrapped around Birdie’s shoulders and rubbed to soak up some of the moisture. She clucked like a mother hen. “What were you thinking, young woman? You could have drowned.”
“I had to give it a try... to go back home to my time.” She flipped hair out of her face. “Obviously it didn’t work.”
“Now, now, dear. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.” She tugged on Birdie’s arm. “Come along. We want to get home before dark.”
Bethany handed Birdie her slippers. She didn’t put them on right away. She’d wait until she dried out some. Bethany sat up front with Hank so her mother wouldn’t be squeezed so close to Birdie and get wet. They crossed the bridge, and
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