Out of Time: A Time Portal Romance

Forest near Salem village, Province of Massachusetts Bay, Spring 1692

SITTING ALONE BENEATH HER SPECIAL oak tree, Chastity Winslow dragged the charcoal nugget across the rough paper and drew the strange building she’d seen in her vision.

It was white and tall, with large double doors in the center and a massive clock high above. But the most outstanding features were the three black spires that jutted into the sky like giant spear points. One of them perched atop the center of the structure, while the other two, slightly smaller, each crowned a tower-like projection flanking it.

Five minutes later, she laid the paper down and stared at it. It looked like a church, although she’d never seen one that looked like that in the books Reverend Oglethorpe showed her. It had a sort of foreign look to it, not that she’d ever traveled beyond the confines of the village, much as she would like to. Life in Salem village was safe and predicable, for which she should be grateful, but it was also highly judgmental and suffocating in its limitations.

She picked up the drawing and crawled around the old oak, which was not a single tree, but three separate trunks joined at the base. Directly below a large burl, she shoved aside the dead leaf litter and plunged her fingers into the soft loam, quickly finding the tin box.

She pulled it free and opened it, revealing a cache of more than a dozen similar charcoal drawings. She spread them on the ground, placed her latest drawing among them, and stared with complete incomprehension.

What were these things she’d seen in her daydreams? They seemed from another world: two-story buildings with balconies like fine lacework, small metal boxes on wheels that glided over smoothly paved streets, soaring towers with walls of glass, and a swamp with huge trees that grew straight up out of the water. And the people she’d drawn were dressed in the oddest attire; the women especially so with their bare arms and legs scandalously exposed.

And now she’d drawn this odd, church-like building in such detail, it was as if she’d seen it with her own eyes. All her visions, or ‘daydreams’ as she preferred to call them, were like that - so rich in color and detail, it was like gazing through a window into another reality.

She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the earthy aroma of the new season. Spring was just beginning to shake off the chill of a particularly harsh, lingering winter, and despite the ever-present threat of a late snowfall, a few brave birds had returned to begin again the laborious process of birthing a new generation.

A few yards away, two fat squirrels chased each other up, down, and around a tree, while a third sat on a sturdy limb, twitching its tail and watching them. The frisky squirrels also felt the irresistible pull of instinct and would soon produce their own little ones.

Normally, their antics would make her laugh, but today she felt sad and uneasy. Her daydreams, which had started two years earlier, were occurring more frequently, which worried her greatly. Looking up at the bright blue sky through the oak’s branches, still laden with dried leaves, she prayed, Please God, have mercy and don’t let me be like my mother.

As always when she thought of her dead mother, her mind filled with the image of a screaming woman confined to a chair and restrained by leather straps. She’d never known her mother, but that’s how she pictured her. Reverend Oglethorpe said that Anne Winslow had been completely mad. It was God’s blessing that she died in childbirth, he often told her.

God’s blessing, indeed! Was it His will that Chastity be alone and unloved in the world? What sins had she committed to merit such punishment? And what about her visions, her daydreams? Were they God’s curse upon her and a manifestation of the same madness that had plagued her mother?

Sighing heavily, she returned the drawings to the box, putting the most recent on top, then closed the lid and reburied it, being careful to cover the disturbed dirt with dried leaves. Her drawings, like her daydreams were her business alone. In truth, she’d be in deep trouble if they were ever discovered.

Rising, she brushed off her grey apron and started for home. It was time to help with the evening meal. Prudence would be unhappy if she was more than a few minutes late, and the Reverend would admonish her and instruct her to read the Bible until bedtime.

She bowed her head in shame. She should want to read the Bible, shouldn’t she? And she should be content to sit on the hard bench in the family pew for three hours each Sunday morning while the Reverend preached his interminable sermons about salvation, righteous living, and the evils that lurked around every corner. Instead, she sometimes fell asleep or fidgeted so much, she’d earn a poke from Constable Brown’s long stick.

The truth was, she’d much rather wander alone through the forest or sit beside a babbling brook or...do just about anything other than listen to the Reverend’s fire-and-brimstone rhetoric. She had enough of that at home. In addition to lecturing the family and reading Scripture every day, he took pains to remind her of her sinful beginnings as the illegitimate daughter of a mentally unbalanced woman who had provoked her uncle into raping her.

Anne Winslow did not behave like a proper, well-brought-up young woman, he would say. Knowing her mind was not strong, she should have acted in a much more circumspect manner. Instead, she was overly friendly, especially with men. Her uncle Josephus took advantage of that openness and look what happened.

Chastity never understood why everyone blamed her mother for getting with child. Clearly, Uncle Josephus was to blame. He abused her trust, not because she was too nice, but because he knew he could threaten her to keep silent. The rest of her mother’s family was equally reprehensible.

As soon as Anne’s belly began to show, and the villagers’ tongues began to wag, her parents, brothers, and Uncle Josephus packed up and slunk away under cover of darkness, leaving poor Anne to the mercy of the villagers. Like a pack of dogs with their tails between their legs, the Reverend was fond of saying.

So, for nearly twenty years, Chastity, the unwanted product of incest and mental illness, had borne the curse of her ignominious beginnings. The villagers were generally indifferent to her in public, but she knew what they thought. How many times had she heard them say how kind it was of Reverend Oglethorpe to take her in? Or wonder out loud how soon her mother’s mental sickness would manifest in her? She’d seen them look at her with pity, but rather than show her compassion and understanding, they treated her more like a stray dog. Was it any wonder she preferred to flee into the woods or take refuge in her daydreams?

Twenty minutes later, Chastity walked through the back door and was pleasantly assaulted by the aroma of roast pork. One-half of a butchered pig, an English Large White, had been given to the Reverend as part of his yearly salary. Between their own large garden and donations of meat from the parishioners, the family ate well.

Prudence was peeling vegetables. Stooped over her task, she looked tired, and the fine lines etched on her thin face made her appear ten years older than her thirty-six years.

It’s about time you came home, she said, her eyes narrowing. What you do in the woods half the day, I can’t guess.

I’m sorry, mistress, Chastity answered. I lose track of time when I’m out there.

Though Prudence had raised her from infancy, Chastity was required to call her ‘mistress.’ By design, this distinction distanced her from the family and reinforced her lowly status in the Oglethorpe household. They had been kind to her, but sometimes she felt so alone in the world, she wished she’d never been born.

You had best be careful out there, Prudence cautioned. The savages could reappear, and we cannot become complacent.

Yes, mistress.

Here. Prudence handed her the paring knife. Finish these turnips while I tend to the roast.

As Chastity went to work on the small pile of round purplish roots, Reverend Oglethorpe entered the kitchen and sat at the table. Tall and thin as a sapling, his expression was grim.

Prudence studied him. What is it, Joshua? You look distressed.

He gazed at her with dull brown eyes. I’ve been trying to write down some thoughts for this Sunday’s sermon, but I am plagued by a rumor I heard today.

Rumor? Surely you don’t put stock in rumors? his wife asked.

Not as a rule, but this one troubles me, and as the spiritual shepherd of this village, it is within my purview to ascertain whether or not it is true. He ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair. You, the boys, and Chastity must remain vigilant, for I fear Evil has come to our small corner of the world.

Prudence’s eyes widened. Evil? What do you mean?

I heard today that Goodwife Bradley told Caleb Worthington’s wife that old Goody Leacock was seen at the edge of the woods speaking to...well, no one, apparently.

She was talking to herself? Prudence asked.

Not exactly. She seemed to be carrying on a rather animated conversation with someone - someone invisible.

I talk to myself all the time, Chastity offered. Not where anyone can see me, of course.

Both Oglethorpe’s stared at her. I would keep that to yourself, the Reverend warned.

Chastity nodded and returned to the turnips, puzzled by the Reverend’s news. An elderly widow with little means of support, poor Goody Leacock was forced to depend on the good graces of her neighbors.

Why would anyone start rumors about her?

***

The next afternoon, as Chastity swept the kitchen, and the two boys, Truth and Resolve, were studying the Bible in the parlor, Prudence came back from a visit with Rebecca Plimpton, their immediate neighbor to the west. She seemed flustered and paler than usual.

What is it, mistress? Chastity ventured, leaning on her broom.

"Rebecca Plimpton just told me the strangest thing. She said that she saw Goody Leacock and Goodwife Alderson speaking to a black cat that appeared out of thin air."

That’s ridiculous. Cats don’t materialize out of nothing.

Prudence nodded uncertainly. No, they don’t, but I trust Rebecca’s word, and she swore that it’s true.

Well, you know how cats are. It probably leapt down from the eave, and Rebecca just thought it popped out of the air.

Perhaps. Prudence went to the window. But I fear Joshua is right. Something evil is afoot in the village. I can feel it. She turned toward Chastity. Don’t you?

Not really. All her life, Chastity had felt the implicit ill will of her fellow villagers. Nothing seemed changed to her.

Prudence smiled tightly. Poor Chastity. Salem village has never forgiven you for the circumstances of your birth. No wonder you don’t sense a change in the air.

Warm with repressed anger, Chastity replied with her well-worn response. You and Reverend Oglethorpe have been so kind to me. I shudder to think what might have become of me had you not taken me in.

Prudence failed to perceive the irony of her reply. Joshua felt it was his duty to make certain you received a proper Christian education and become a useful and respected member of our community.

Chastity had heard it all many times before. Yes, it was very noble of him, she recited with a mental curl of her lip.

I objected at first because the Devil clearly had a hand in what happened to your mother, but Joshua brought me around to his way of thinking. And I must say, he seems to have made some progress with you. You’re diligent, circumspect, and unobtrusive, admirable qualities in a young woman. She paused. Although with your background, I doubt you’ll ever find a husband.

Sighing and meaning it, Chastity leaned her broom against the wall and sat at the table. I fear you’re right. No one wants a girl like me. Last summer, when Robert Tolliver began to flirt with me, I had hopes something might come of it, but his father and mother put a stop to it immediately.

Their interference, and their son’s lack of courage, had been a disappointment. She rather liked Robert Tolliver, despite his plain face and thin, gangly appearance, and decided he might make a tolerable husband. Of course, she didn’t love him and doubted she ever could, but if she wanted her own household and some small measure of freedom, she’d have to marry someone, and he seemed the only likely candidate.

Prudence took a seat across the table and leaned forward. I know you are of marriageable age, and you’re a very pretty girl, Chastity, but you must be careful of your reputation. Don’t appear too eager.

Yes, mistress. Chastity smiled inside. No one had ever told her she was pretty.

On the contrary, she’d always considered herself mousy and unremarkable, if only because men tended to ignore her or treat her like she had the plague. Also contributing to that low self-assessment was the absence of mirrors in the Oglethorpe household. She had longed for one, but the Reverend had put his foot down and flatly refused on the grounds that mirrors encouraged vanity.

Prudence reached for Chastity’s hand. Be assured, you will always have a home here with us. And when we’re gone, one of the boys will take you into his household and care for you.

Like a pet cat. Yes, mistress. Thank you.

Her stomach sank. To be without a husband and family, and to rely solely on the kindness of others, would further ostracize her from village life. She’d be even more of an outcast - another Goody Leacock.

Just then, the front door opened, and a moment later, the Reverend entered the kitchen, looking pale and fearful. His eyes were wild, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his upper lip.

Prudence jumped to her feet. My goodness, Joshua, what has happened?

Where are the boys? he asked in a gravelly voice.

Prudence called out, Truth? Resolve? Come into the kitchen, now.

Chastity heard the scrape of chairs on the wood floor as the two sons left their Bible study. Truth, tall and spindly like his father, was nearly a man at eighteen, while Resolve, still childish at twelve, was short and pudgy.

The boys treated Chastity well enough, but they were remote and cold like their father and unwilling to spend much time with her. Lately, however, she’d caught Truth staring at her with interest, but she didn’t make anything of it.

When she was small, and just learning about things like husbands and wives, she briefly entertained the notion of marrying him, but that idea quickly faded as she was made to understand her scandalous origins and the attendant stigma. Besides, Truth didn’t hold much appeal as a potential husband.

Everyone sit down, the Reverend said, a deep frown creasing his brow. Prudence, Chastity, boys, we are about to enter a dark time for our community and our family.

You’re frightening us, Joshua, Prudence whispered.

We should be frightened, he went on, staring into each person’s eyes, for Satan walks among us.

A collective gasp of horror reverberated off the kitchen walls, and all eyes were riveted on Reverend Oglethorpe.

Goody Leacock and three others have been arrested for consorting with the Devil and for placing spells on some of the villagers. He paused to let his words sink in. They will be examined, of course, but if the evidence is compelling, they’ll be tried as witches and sentenced to death.

Dear God! Who are the others? Prudence asked.

Goodwife Alderson, Goodwife Freeman, and her daughter, Millicent.

But Millicent is only thirteen years old, Chastity blurted.

Truth sat up straight and glared at her, looking even more like his father. That doesn’t matter to the Devil. He seduces sinners of all ages to do his bidding. You, of all people, should know that.

Chastity stabbed him with her eyes. Yes, so I have been taught.

What proof do they have? Prudence asked.

All have been seen speaking to an invisible being and carrying on conversations with their familiars, black cats that appear out of the air. Goodwife Alderson has been accused of bewitching her neighbors, and in the case of Goody Leacock, the three daughters of Goodman Copley accuse her of cursing them with fits and boils.

Resolve squirmed. Fits and boils, Father?

The Reverend nodded gravely. Yes, I saw them myself. The girls told their father that Goody Leacock’s spirit appears to them regularly and demands they sign a pact with the Devil. When they refuse, she torments them. They also say she flies through the night on a pole, sometimes in the company of the other three accused.

No one breathed as they waited for the next terrifying revelation.

Simon Copley asked to stop round this afternoon. When I arrived, the girls were lying on the parlor floor, writhing like snakes and unable to hear or speak. But then, as I began to examine them more closely, they started to cry and yelp like injured puppies.

The Reverend shook his head.

And their limbs and faces were covered with boils and red welts, as if they’d been beaten. I’ve never seen the like, and I hope to never see such horror again.

Prudence slapped her hands together in prayer. Heavenly Father, protect this home from Satan and keep our souls safe from harm. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Amen, echoed the Reverend. The four women have been placed in the gaol under the supervision of Constable Brown. He told me I could see them before the examinations begin tomorrow, but... He paused as a shadow crossed his face. I have to admit I’m concerned about being alone in such close quarters with four daughters of Satan.

Joshua, you of all people shouldn’t be afraid. God will protect you.

As the conversation continued, growing ever more animated, Chastity retreated into herself. She began to feel light-headed, and her skin began to crawl. Recognizing the signs of an impending daydream, she mentally traveled to the peaceful, dark place in her brain where reality faded and vivid possibility sprang into being.

She steeled herself, knowing instinctively that the vision had something to do with the Reverend’s awful news.

With terrifying clarity, the daydream erupted:

Chastity is sitting beneath her beloved oak tree when she hears a loud bang. Looking for the source of the noise, she seems a man appear out of thin air about forty or fifty feet away. He is like no man she has ever seen. Incredibly tall and dark, with long, unkempt hair, he asks for her help and starts toward her, but she runs away, for the apparition is none other than the Devil. He pursues her through the forest, but she’s quicker and reaches the safety of her home before the vision ends.

Stunned, she tried in vain to banish the startling images from her mind. Over and over, she watched in horror as the Devil held out his hand to her, ready to enslave her to his will.

Her heart pounded. Dear God, keep me safe!

An icy shiver slithered down her spine. Is that what happened to my mother? Is that why she went insane?

CHAPTER TWO

Beauville, Pointe-Coupee Parish, Louisiana, Present Day

LUC FORTIER’S GRANDMOTHER HAD GROWN quiet as soon as they’d entered St. Michael’s to light a candle and say a prayer for his mother, like they did every year. Now, as they left the sanctuary and entered the churchyard cemetery, tears crawled down her weathered cheeks and mingled with the cold spring rain that had unexpectedly begun while they were inside.

Luc hated it when Mama Tess cried. He felt completely helpless and would do anything to take away her pain.

As they stood hunched over the flat, plain gravestone at their feet, he shuddered against the rain and the brisk wind that swept down from the north in great bursts, shaking the tree limbs and swirling last year’s oak leaves into mini-whirlwinds.

He wanted to say something to make her feel better, but he was totally clueless. His own grief, more a reaction to his grandmother’s distress than genuinely personal, tightened his throat, and all he could do was gently squeeze her hand.

Your mama was the sweetest, most beautiful girl in Beauville, she said, wiping the rain and tears from her eyes. She was a good girl, too, until... Her voice trailed off into a stifled sob. She was my only child, Luc. The only child of my body.

I know, Mama. I know.

He was ashamed to admit that memories of his mother were few and far between and mostly centered on her leaving him. It had been a sunny, sweltering day in mid-July, and he was about to turn seven years old. She wore a smile as she said goodbye and promised to return for him once she’d made some money in New Orleans.

Luc, honey, she’d cooed. I’ll come back for you just as soon as I get a steady job, okay? She folded him into her arms. Until then, you’ll be fine here with Mama Tess.

Standing on the front porch of his grandmother’s modest home, he’d watched his mother with dry, unbelieving eyes as she walked down Beauregard Street, carrying an old battered suitcase she’d found at the Goodwill in Baton Rouge.

She was headed to the bus stop at Prejean’s Drug Store, intent on following her dreams and creating a new, if uncertain, life for herself and her child. When she turned around for one last wave, he waved back, but a quiet voice in his head whispered that he’d never see her again.

I never should have let her go, Mama Tess murmured. But she was strong-willed, just like her father, God rest his soul.

Luc had never known his grandfather, Luc-Henri Fortier, for whom he was named. The old man died long before he was born, but he’d listened to Mama Tess’s stories about him ever since he could remember. Sometimes when she’d be cross with him, she’d invoke her long-dead husband’s name and tell him he was just as stubborn and contrary as his grandfather. And other times, when he’d done something foolish, like taking Jim Martin’s Harley for a joy ride when he was a teenager, she’d compare him to his mother instead.

Martine just couldn’t say no when she should have, Mama Tess went on. That girl had a wild streak, all right, and look where it got her.

Yeah, a cold, wet grave at St. Michael’s, he thought bitterly.

The rain started to intensify, and Luc put his arm over his grandmother’s shoulder. Let’s go home, Mama.

She offered up a sad smile. Yes, we’ll catch our death if we stay out here much longer. I can’t believe I didn’t bring an umbrella.

Luc nodded, zipping up his hoodie. Weather Channel said it was supposed to be sunny and breezy. Shows you how much they know.

As they walked toward the iron gate that separated the churchyard from the street, he took his grandmother’s elbow to steady her. Though she wasn’t really old, in her early sixties, she’d been overweight for years, and her knees and feet ached constantly from the ‘rheumatiz,’ as she called it.

Mama Tess cast one last glance at her daughter’s grave and sighed. You’re all I’ve got, Luc. She stopped and looked at him intently. I don’t want what happened to your mama to happen to you.

It won’t, Mama, he said. Although he was no fortune teller, he did know one thing for certain: he’d not die of a heroin overdose the way his mother had. I’ve promised that I won’t do hard drugs, and I mean it.

She slanted him a glance. "No hard drugs, but you still smoke pot, don’t you?"

He nodded sheepishly and placed his hand on the back of her old wool coat. Yeah, sometimes. Now, let’s go home.

I don’t like it, Luc. You know that.

I know, Mama. He pressed his palm gently into the small of her back. Come on, now.

They moved slowly through the gate and started walking down Jackson Street toward home. Though the brief downburst had ended, the rain hadn’t given up altogether, making their six-block walk extremely uncomfortable, especially at their snail-like pace. Luc wished he had a car, but that luxury would have to wait a bit longer. His car fund was small, and it was hard to save much from his two minimum wage jobs.

He and Mama Tess needed every penny they earned just to keep afloat. He didn’t have many expenses other than his smart phone and the beer and pot he purchased weekly, and Mama earned a decent wage as a cook, but her physical ailments meant she had to see a healthcare provider regularly, and she had no insurance. Even though she visited the free clinic-on-wheels that came to Beauville once a month, there were still prescriptions to pay for, and since the clinic set up across town at the Westside Mall, she had to pay for a cab to get there.

A car horn startled them as they were about to cross the street, and Mama clutched her heart like she was having an attack. Mother of God! she cried as Luc grabbed her to keep her from toppling over.

He whipped his head around to glare at the offending vehicle and was relieved to see it was the bright blue Toyota Rav4 belonging to Talley Sue Williams, the twenty-year old daughter of their employer - a spoiled brat with a wild streak all her own.

She lowered the passenger side window and leaned across the front seat. Hey, y’all want a lift?

Mam Tess smiled. Oh, Talley Sue, that would be wonderful.

Yeah, thanks, Luc added. He guided his grandmother off the curb, opened the front passenger door for her, and helped her into the front seat. After fastening her seat belt, he climbed into the back. Thanks a lot for the ride. We’re soaked.

Talley Sue twisted around to look at him. What in heaven’s name are y’all doin’ walking around in this rain without an umbrella?

It’s April 12th, Mama Tess said in a tired voice. We were visiting Martine’s grave.

Is this the day she died? Talley Sue asked gently.

Yes, Luc answered without elaboration.

She must have sensed their mood, because she didn’t say anything after that, which was unusual for her. Without asking, she drove to their house on South Beauregard Street and pulled up to the curb.

Well, here you go, she said cheerfully, giving Mama a friendly squeeze on the arm. Turning to Luc, she stared at him intently. You working at the house tomorrow?

Yeah, at 2:30. Luc exited the car and helped his grandmother out of her seat. Thanks for the ride.

Yes, thank you, honey, Mama said,