Jaci curled into a tight ball in the window seat, tears coursing down her cheeks as silently as the rain streaking the windowpane. She tucked the voluminous white nightgown around her feet, unable to get warm. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees in despair. What had she ever done in her life to deserve being thrown back into some forgotten piece of history?
She had run the first day until exhausted, but she found nothing — not one solitary thing — that looked even vaguely familiar. The lush foliage and tall trees didn’t belong to the super city of Dallas.
A bone chilling fear had overcome her and she had collapsed on the ground, so deep in misery that she hadn’t even reacted when a hand touched her shoulder. Somewhere in a more sane part of herself, she had realized the boy standing over her must be from the reenactment.
Or rather, from Nicholas Westbrooke’s home. She would have to get used to thinking that. When she finally realized she had no recourse but to rely on his hospitality until she figured a course of action, the boy quietly guided her back to the house since she had lost her bearings.
She remembered crying herself to sleep, surprisingly comforted by Nicholas’ gentle voice and touch. When Jaci allowed her thoughts free rein, she recalled the power of his kiss and the way she responded to the seductive aura surrounding him. In her dreams he always came to her — handsome, strong, and very masculine. Her reaction to that one kiss frightened her to death, so now she slept very little. Besides, the turmoil in her brain refused to let her body slow down enough to rest.
She didn’t have to accept her situation permanently, she reminded herself. She had accidentally fallen into this world and she could just as well find a way home. Nothing would prevent her from returning to Dallas, Mandy, and her nice, safe life. If she only knew how.
Jaci knew she wasn’t being held captive, yet a prisoner she remained, locked in a world she didn’t understand for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom. To keep from dealing with questions that had no answers, and a world gone awry, she refused to come out of her room. She wouldn’t see anyone except the maid, whose name she learned was Molly.
“What, no tea and scones?” She asked as Molly set the tray of coffee and cookies on the desk. Even though she didn’t read historical novels, Mandy did, and often carried on about the social life of the past. Once, she had even found prepackaged scone mix and brought it home to try. Didn’t everyone back in this time period eat them?
Molly laughed at her question and gave her an incredulous look. “You must be living in the wrong century, Miss.”
Jaci’s coffee cup clattered to the china saucer. A fellow time traveler; someone to help? Her heart thudded recklessly as she sought to find out. “How did you know?”
Molly’s brows came together in a frown. “T’weren’t hard, Miss. We ain’t — haven’t — drank much tea since the War for Independence, and that be almost a hundred years ago.”
The maid shrugged as though it was no big deal, but Jaci’s heart plummeted. She would drive herself crazy with questions, assumptions, and useless, wishful thinking. Angered by the feeling of naivety, she stubbornly remained silent whenever the maid brought her a food tray, and she continued to refuse to see anyone else.
For two days, no one interfered with her plan. Today proved different.
First the little girl, Amanda, tried to come in, but the last thing in the world she wanted was to talk to anyone who reminded her of her own sister.
So she had locked the door.
The next morning the tray service rattled as the maid put it down outside the door; probably hoping Jaci would eventually eat.
She refused.
“Molly has duties other than waiting on you, especially when you appear sufficiently recovered to come downstairs for your meals.” Nicholas’s voice jarred her out of her musings when he waltzed into the room as though he owned it.
Jaci groaned, forgetting he did own it. “How did you get in here? I locked the door.”
He smiled. Balancing the tray on one hand, he held up a key. “The master of his home must be master of all of it.” He placed the tray in front of her, and then moved across the room to the wardrobe. “Upon my request, Dr. Stillwell, who took care of you, sent a few of his sister’s things for you to wear. Since it appears, Miss Eastman, that you are temporarily stuck here, I have taken it upon myself to supply at least the necessities.”
She stared at him.
“Miss Eastman, do you understand?”
“What’s going to happen to me?” She asked in a whisper. “I have no clothes, no money, no way to get home.”
“Well, shall we start with breakfast? After you eat, find something to wear, then join me in the library and we will discuss your future.” He turned to her once more. “Are we agreed?”
She looked out the window to a world foreign to her in every way. She contemplated making a wisecrack, but she was in no position to argue, even when he treated her like a child.
“Agreed.” She stated without preamble, turning her attention to her breakfast tray.
* * *
Jaci found it impossible to dress herself, something she’d been doing for more than twenty years. Finally, she pulled the cord to summon Molly. As the maid fastened what seemed like a hundred buttons up the back of the high necked dress, she chatted gaily about the household staff, and how glad they all were for Jaci to be part of them.
She didn’t know where Molly got her information, but didn’t correct her. No sense borrowing trouble when she didn’t have a plan.
She slowly descended the stairs, feeling quite different than she had the night she tried to leave. Her long skirt kept tangling in her legs, and the slipper-like shoes Molly had laced around her feet were at least a size too large. Her hand ached from gripping the banister. She wondered when blue jeans had been invented and whether the nearest store might have any.
“Good morning, Miss.” A stately man bowed low as she approached the closed door. “Mister Westbrooke is expecting you.”
“You must be Selkirk.” She recalled only one male name in the list Molly had recited earlier.
“Yes, Miss Eastman, that would be me.” He neither looked at her nor smiled.
She had the feeling the man didn’t want her here to disrupt the smooth flow of his household. Well, it wasn’t like she wanted to be here, either.
Without another word, Selkirk opened the library door and ushered her inside. When the door softly clicked behind her, she felt she had been thrown to the lions.
“Please, have a seat,” Nicholas spoke as he rose, moving to assist her to a chair directly in front of his desk. His library was bright, several floor to ceiling windows filtering the light and breaking the monotony of the book lined sections. A huge, unlit fireplace took up most of one wall.
“Well, Miss Eastman, what are your qualifications?” He wasted no time; his attitude now brusque as he questioned her. He returned to his seat behind a huge desk, fingers steepled in front of a frowning mouth.
As she had eaten breakfast, Jaci had come to the conclusion that she was stuck in this place, and with this family, at least for the time being. To that end, she must rely on their good graces. At least she hadn’t bounced back into slavery days, or fallen into some sheik’s harem.
“I can cook,” she stated, wondering if recipe books had been invented yet.
He laughed, and for a moment Jaci thought the interview concluded before it even began. She breathed a sigh of relief when he explained.
“You would have to fight Delta for the privilege, and I doubt you could win. She’s been here much, much longer than you and I combined. Perhaps you could be Amanda’s governess.”
“Governess? I’m not a baby-sitter.”
“There’s much more to the task, such as teaching proper etiquette and manners.”
She shook her head, knowing she didn’t have the patience. “I’m not a teacher.”
“What, pray tell, are you then?”
She straightened her spine and proudly tilted her chin at the hauteur in his voice. “I’m a professional photographer. My pictures have been in the world’s leading magazines — Harpers, Life...” Her voice trailed off as he lifted a brow, apparently not impressed with her credentials.
The man behind the desk smiled in sympathy, shaking his head. “Perhaps it was the blow to your head; perhaps some other ailment you haven’t told us about? I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of such a thing as a female photographer.”
Her posture collapsed as she realized she had no place in this world. Nothing in her life — not her college degree or professional achievements — prepared her to live in a world over one hundred thirty-two years prior to her actual existence. She bit her lip as tears formed. Damn, she had to quit crying at every little thing. She stared out the window to keep from blinking.
“Can you read and write?”
“Of course I can!” She snapped her head around, for a moment forgetting to be contrite. This man seemed to take great delight in making her mad.
“Can you play the piano, embroider, run a household and set a menu — all those things it would be required to teach a young lady?”
“No.” This time, her answer was barely audible.
“No? What have you done with your life? How is it a woman of your years doesn’t know proper decorum for a lady?”
Jaci’s cheeks burned, but with anger rather than embarrassment. “I spent my time working and taking care of my sister. You have no call to talk to me that way.”
“Ah, a sister. And where is this sister, now, may I ask? No, don’t bother answering.” He waved aside her attempt to speak. “She is no doubt married and being a good wife, unlike you, who seem to have no direction, much less education to bare the responsibilities of a family.”
She wanted to hit him. What an overbearing, pompous ass. She stood, slapping palms down on his desk and leaning forward, almost nose to nose with him. “Listen carefully, Mister Westbrooke. My sister and I were orphaned when I was eighteen. I raised her, went to college nights, and worked during the day. I had no time for frivolous ladylike activities such as piano and dance, much less the money.”
“College? Work? And why, pray tell, aren’t you doing it now? How did you end up in my exercise yard, dressed like a stable boy?”
“Because somehow I was...I’m not supposed to be...” How could she make him understand she didn’t belong here; that she didn’t want to be here? He’d never believe her story; she didn’t believe it herself. Even when she woke each day still in the wrong century, she kept telling herself it was all a bad dream.
With a furious toss of her head, she turned toward the door. There was no use trying to explain. It would be better if she found a job in the nearest town and learned to support herself until she could locate a way back to her own time.
“Wait.” His voice softened; the harsh tones he had used earlier gone.
She turned back to find he had moved around the desk and now leaned casually against it. The sunlight glinted off dark hair that he hadn’t tied back today. It curled boyishly about his tan face, and Jaci ached in places she had suppressed years before.
Standing with his hands in his pockets and a perfect GQ smile on his face, he could make the cover of any fashion magazine. He had some indefinable mystic which would have captured the hearts of thousands of women everywhere. Her stomach tightened.
“For some unfathomable reason, Amanda’s governess has left with no notice at all. It is impossible for me to conduct my business and try to supervise an energetic five year old. For the time being, since it appears you have nowhere else to go?” The question hung in the air until she nodded in agreement. “You might as well stay here and make yourself useful as Amanda’s companion. Perhaps by the time she’s ready for the more ladylike pursuits, I’ll have found a replacement. In the meantime, you can help her with routine instruction.”
His insinuations galled her. She knew more about life than she was sure he wanted Amanda to learn, but since she was temporarily stranded, it seemed prudent to acknowledge her place and hold her tongue. She wondered spitefully what he would think if she instructed Amanda about women’s lib, space flight, and Woodstock.
She forced herself to return his smile, keeping her gaze on his face. She didn’t want to scrutinize the tight cut of his trousers or the well-defined shape of his chest beneath the coat he wore. Every time her gaze wandered over him, butterflies attacked her stomach. Anxious to get away from his piercing gaze and her startling reaction to him, she cleared her voice. “Well, if my job is to look after Amanda, I’d better get started. Where is she?” She crossed her arms against her stomach to settle the butterflies.
“I believe you’ll find her in the kitchen. She usually sneaks away there. Her ambition of late is to make cookies as wonderful as Delta’s.” Nicholas smiled as he spoke.
Her gaze again fell to his lips; lips she recalled kissing her with searing intensity. Another hot flash coursed through her. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes, well, it doesn’t hurt for a girl to know how to cook.”
“Why? While Amanda must learn what type of sauce to have served with meat or fish, she will most certainly never have to actually prepare the food herself.”
How many times would she say the wrong thing, she wondered. How could she possibly know all the differences between his century and her own?
She tried to remain vague. “There are some things, Mister Westbrooke, that all women should know.”
Miss Eastman’s green eyes sparked fire as she turned and left the library, and Nicholas congratulated himself on a job well done. It wouldn’t do to have her moping around day after day. Even though he could have easily hired a governess, and one with quality credentials, he felt she and Amanda would deal well with each other. Regardless of what he had said, he recognized in her all the qualities of a lady. His brusque manner had been to help her shake off the doldrums, not because he didn’t credit her with any wisdom. Hopefully, his instincts would prove correct.
* * *
Jaci found it a lot tougher adapting than Nicholas implied. Of course, he thought she was simply transplanted from Texas, not from another century. By careful observation as the weeks passed, she managed to learn the basics of how to address people and walk without tripping over her skirts. The real trouble came from trying to do too much. She had been raised to share responsibilities. Since her parents’ deaths, she did what needed to be done without thinking much about it. She couldn’t believe helping out would get her in trouble, but it had that very morning.
Molly came upstairs as Jaci dusted the pictures hanging in the hallway. The maid had an absolute fit, tearfully spouting nonsense that because Jaci was doing her job, she’d soon be out on the streets. Before Jaci could stop her, Molly fled down the stairs, hollering for Mrs. Jeffrey.
In less than fifteen minutes, Selkirk appeared to advise her that Mister Westbrooke would see her in the study — immediately. She swore she saw a smile on the old butler’s face for the first time since her arrival. She bet he enjoyed walking her to the proverbial gallows.
“Don’t you like your position here at Wildwood, Miss Eastman?” Westbrooke asked the minute she stepped through the doorway.
She decided if he was going to chastise her, no one else need hear. Turning, she poked Selkirk in the chest with a finger causing him to step backward and closed the door in his face, giving him a smirk as she did so.
“Yes, I do enjoy taking care of Amanda. Why do you ask?” She could hold her own with any male she knew, and long ago had decided not to take any guff, but her situation had changed rapidly. She didn’t care for Selkirk’s, or Westbrooke’s, chauvinistic attitude. At the same time, she couldn’t get herself dismissed from this house. Regardless of whether she wanted it or not, Wildwood was her anchor in a storm of uncertainty.
“If you like taking care of Amanda, why are you interfering with Molly’s position?”
“Interfering? I was helping.” She couldn’t believe she would get raked over the coals for doing more than her assigned duties.
“Miss Eastman, this household runs quite efficiently because everyone knows what they are to do, and each person performs his or her duty.” He must have read something in her expression, because his voice softened. “I realize you are new, but I can’t have Mrs. Jeffrey coming to me every few hours with a complaint. It will help me immensely if you take care of Amanda, and let the rest of the staff take care of Wildwood. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” She answered and turned to leave, knowing she had been dismissed. As impossible as it seemed, she would have to try harder not to work. For starters, she went to the kitchen for a late morning cup of coffee.
* * *
Several days later, Nicholas requested her presence on a trip into Philadelphia.
“We won’t be gone long, and I thought you might like to purchase a few things.”
She guiltily glanced down at one of the few dresses she had found in the wardrobe. She had never properly thanked Nicholas for them, and that made her feel all the more guilty. She hated depending on anyone. She had learned to take care of herself and her sister, and found it difficult to ask for anything. Now, here she was, without a job or money except for this man’s generosity.
“Thank you, but I’ll stay here.”
“Miss Eastman, it wasn’t a request.” As though he read her mind, he added, “Besides, you have wages coming that should be sufficient to purchase what you need.”
Jaci wondered if she had earned enough to buy a ticket back home.
She quickly changed to a dark brown skirt and white blouse, topping it with a snug, cropped jacket. She was brushing her hair when Amanda came bounding in.
“Can’t I go with you and Uncle Nicholas?” she asked, her words lisping together because of a slight cold. Jaci placed a hand on her forehead. Though her face was flushed, she showed no signs of becoming feverish.
“Sweetie, I don’t want you outside. Especially not since you already have a cold.”
“Please?”
Jaci hated it when they begged, for she was a soft touch. She knelt beside the little girl, still wrapped in her long flannel nightgown and furry slippers.
“If you stay here and take care of Delta and Mrs. Jeffrey, and Selkirk, I promise to bring you a treat.”
“Promise?”
Jaci kissed her cheek and rose, smoothing a hand down the long skirt. She kept telling herself she was playing dress up, as she had originally accused Amanda of doing. Otherwise, panic threatened to swallow her whole. Everything from the clothes to the tooth powder she used in the morning kept reminding her that she didn’t belong. It was the same world, if over a hundred years prior to her existence, yet it might as well be a different planet.
“Only a hundred years,” she scuffed at her logic as she descended the stairs, Amanda racing before her to extort another surprise from her uncle for having to stay home.
When the young footman opened the door, Jaci cautiously walked out into the sunshine. She held her breath in suspense, perhaps hoping she would see her familiar Dallas. Wishing apparently didn’t work, and she slowly descended the steps towards a large black carriage.
She hadn’t been outside since she arrived, except for one fruitless foray. She now turned to study the house, a gasp escaping at the magnificence of Wildwood.
The house was white; a large two-story structure with additional windows jutting out from what might be an attic or third story. Huge columns rose from ground to roof, and lined up across the front and sides. Intricate metal railings ran at the edge of the second story balconies, which appeared to parallel the porches all the way around the house.
Close cut green shrubs edged the porch, and as her gaze followed the row of bushes, she spied a gazebo off to the side, away from the main building. She slowly turned in a circle, trying to absorb the wealth and splendor she saw before her. This was no recreated facade based on some artist’s rendering. This was a real house, built with love for a family of real people, and somehow she had been plopped right into the middle of it.
A horse’s neigh caught her attention and she turned to the right of the house. A large paddock contained several beautiful horses. Two fences surrounded the area of green, an oval dirt track sandwiched between the enclosures. A racetrack, she thought, recalling Nicholas’s comments about raising racehorses.
“Are you ready, Miss Eastman?” His deep voice interrupted her thoughts and she turned a startled gaze toward him.
“You have a beautiful home, Mister Westbrooke.”
He nodded his head in thanks, before indicating the carriage with a wave of his hand. She strolled past him to the door, ready to climb aboard herself, once she figured out how to collect her long skirts and hoist herself up at the same time. Before she had the chance, he circled her waist from behind and deftly lifted her inside.
She almost stumbled trying to keep her skirts untangled and get herself seated. She had learned to walk with yards of material swaying around her ankles; stepping and sitting were other lessons entirely.
As with everything in this world, the ride in a carriage was a unique experience for Jaci. The lurch of the horses as they started threw her head back, banging it against the wall of the carriage. She felt terribly awkward, and was afraid Nicholas would renege on his choice of a companion for Amanda when he saw her clumsy movements. She needn’t have worried, because he appeared to forget he’d invited her as the miles slid by.
She sat on the seat opposite him and couldn’t see what he read. The sheets of paper were full of heavy black ink and studying them made frown lines appear on his forehead. Jaci gave a sigh and settled back to enjoy the view.
All around them, deep crimson, mustard yellow and dusty brown dotted the landscape and Jaci wished for her camera. Even though she needed no more evidence, here was yet another indication she was no longer in Dallas. There were too many hills, too many trees, and no concrete or asphalt anywhere.
“We’ll arrive in a few minutes. Is there a particular shop you frequent?” Nicholas’s voice pulled her from her wayward thoughts. He had put aside the papers and had his arms crossed on his chest, the flaps of his coat thrown back over his shoulders. The dark colors he wore only served to accent the silver in his hair, yet Jaci didn’t think he was as old as the gray made him appear.
“How old are you?” The question popped out before she could stop herself, and he looked as surprised as she felt.
“You are very outspoken, for a female. Why do you want to know?” He returned her question with one of his own.
“Because the gray in your hair contradicts the youthful lines of your face. I don’t think you’re all that old.”
“If that were a compliment, I thank you; I think.” He smiled at her and her heart squeezed. Regardless in what century this man resided, he was devastatingly handsome. “To answer your question, I am thirty years of age. I dare say the gray is due to putting up with a rapscallion brother like Cameron and his pixy daughter, Amanda.”
She had wondered about that relationship and why Amanda lived with an uncle, yet she had hesitated to ask. Now, as they pulled into the outskirts of Philadelphia, Nicholas answered her unspoken questions.
“I realize it doesn’t appear quite the thing to have a young child, especially female, living alone with a bachelor uncle. Of course, that will change once I marry, but it doesn’t explain the occurrences up to now.”
“Of course.” She didn’t know he was going to marry. She started to wonder what would become of her when he did, but soon forgot her own plight as he told the sad story of Amanda’s parents.
“My younger brother, Cameron James, married Sarah when he was only twenty-two; she only seventeen. Though both families begged them to wait, they would hear none of it for they were terribly in love.”
He sounded so cynical, she couldn’t help asking, “You don’t believe in love, Mister Westbrooke?” Of course, she didn’t, but often thought herself alone in that regard.
“Yes, Miss Eastman, I believe in love, but not the all-consuming love Sarah had for my brother. There is such a thing as loving someone too much.” He paused and turned to look out the window. she wondered if perhaps he wished for that precious commodity, even as he said he didn’t want it.
“Anyway, within a year of their marriage, Sarah gave birth to a daughter, Amanda. Though the child was born healthy, Sarah was too young, and the birth difficult. She bled to death.” He said the last with such finality, Jaci shivered, thinking how backward medicine must be in this century.
“Cameron, of course, blamed himself for Sarah’s death, and no force on earth could keep him at Wildwood, nor get him to take responsibility for a baby daughter. To allow him time to recover, I gave him control of the family shipping business. That was five years ago. He comes home, but not often. Amanda reminds him of Sarah, and it’s very hard on him.”
“But you would have only been twenty-five; too young for responsibility of that magnitude.”
“As you so eloquently told me that day in the library, sometimes there’s no time for frivolous activities. I had been managing Wildwood since I was twenty.”
Nicholas began to pull on his gloves, and she realized the story had ended. It would seem they shared a common background. She wondered about his family; what kind of parents he had that shaped his personality even now. How strange for Nicholas to allow Cameron to wander the world while he raised his brother’s daughter. As she continued to study the man across from her, she realized Amanda couldn’t have been placed in better hands.
Nicholas was confident, strong, and had a good deal of responsibility on his shoulders. It appeared he had a sincere commitment to family for he saw to Amanda’s needs and protected her, even though that responsibility should be his brother’s. In fact, he provided her the same safety. She sighed, a longing for something more surfacing unbidden to her mind.
“Are you ready, Miss Eastman, or would you rather wait out here? I’ll only be a moment at this first establishment.” When he spoke, Jaci realized the carriage had stopped, and he had already alighted. She had no desire to stay outside in a strange town with no protection. She hurriedly gathered her skirts and scooted across the seat. This time, he held out a hand and she placed hers in the warmth of his gloved one.
“We must remember to buy you some gloves,” he commented as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. He led her through a large wooden door into what appeared to be a furniture warehouse.
“Ah, Gustav, how are you?” Nicholas left her side to step forward, shaking the hand of an older, broad chested man.
“Wilkommen, Nicholas,” the man answered in a heavy accent.
Nicholas turned and pulled her forward. “Miss Eastman, I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine, Gustav Dentzel. Perhaps you know of his work?”
“The cabinet and carousel maker, of course,” she replied automatically, nodding at the introduction.
“Oh, my God, that’s it!” she shouted as the connection sank in. Both men backed up in astonishment.
She grabbed the older man’s arm and shook it. “Mister Dentzel, where are your carousels?” Her heart pounded and her palms became damp with the realization she could get back to her own time if she could find the carousel — the Dentzel carousel she had been photographing.
Nicholas, of course, didn’t understand her agitation. “Miss Eastman, please.” To his friend he added, “You’ll have to excuse her, Gustav. She’s newly arrived from the south, much excited to see the city. She tends to forget her manners.” He slanted a meaningful glance toward her, but she ignored him. She was far too excited about getting back to Dallas.
“Ja, ja.” Gustav nodded his head, apparently pleased with Jaci’s interest in his animals. He pulled her by the hand, chattering in German as he led her to a workroom behind the front of the store.
Jaci quickly glanced back to see Nicholas following, a frown on his handsome face. She would miss him, she supposed, but the thought was fleeting. She had found her way home.
Scattered around the workroom in various stages of production were a menagerie of wooden animals. She squealed with delight as Gustav pulled her through the door. She jerked her hand free and raced to the first horse. Nothing happened.
She flitted from shape to shape, touching the horses but ignoring most of the other animals. Each time she touched one, she closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping that would be the horse to transport her back to Dallas and her own life. Each time she opened her eyes, she felt as though a great hand squeezed her throat, making it difficult to breath.
Her steps faltered and she stumbled, but grabbed her long skirts and continued on. There had to be at least one horse in this room that could recreate the magic she needed. She had to find the correct one and get back where she belonged.
She had no idea the strange sight she made; nor did she care. By the time she touched each and every animal several times, tears spiked her lashes. She stood dejected in the center of the workroom, sobs silently shaking her shoulders. When Nicholas touched her arm, she turned into him, burying her face in the soft wool of his coat.
His strong arms wrapped about her, but she could find no comfort there. She knew he couldn’t comprehend her need. She felt him take a breath to ask, but she spoke first, her voice quivering.
“Don’t you see? It was because of the carousel that I came through—” She glanced at Mister Dentzel, whose avid look told her he understood more than his broken English revealed.
“Remember the day I arrived at Wildwood? I was at a carousel, taking photographs.” She knew she wasn’t making any sense, especially since Nicholas didn’t have any idea that she had come through time. “I had just touched the black—”
She turned sharply to Mister Dentzel. “Black; you have a black horse?” She swiveled around, frantically searching the horses again.
“Nein, nein.” The woodcarver scooted in front of her, waving his hands in a negative gesture. “Gustav’s horses are never black. We use only the pretty colors. Look.” He grandly swept a hand toward the horses his workmen were completing. He was right, of course. She scanned the jumpers and steppers, but none of them were black.
Nicholas took her firmly by the arm. “Thank you, Gustav. I am sorry for any inconvenience we may have caused. You will have Amanda’s chest finished by Christmas?”
“Yes, of course, Herr Westbrooke.” Gustav bowed low as Nicholas led her out of the workroom.
She turned to speak, but Nicholas squeezed her elbow in warning.
“Miss Eastman. I would suggest you leave with me quietly.” He spoke in a low voice. “Gustav is a good man, but he may be inclined to think you more than eccentric if you continue to barrage him with questions about some strange horse he does not have.”
She hung her head in defeat. Once inside the carriage, she stared out the window, seeing nothing.
“Miss Eastman?” A pause. “Jaci?”
She turned.
“You can’t return home on a wooden horse.” His tone was light, and Jaci knew he thought to tease her out of her mood.
“Why not? That’s how I got here.” It didn’t matter what she said; she didn’t care what happened.
“Who are you?” This time his voice sounded hollow and haunted. Still, she didn’t have the answer she knew he wanted.
“You can’t possibly understand. I came from another century. I don’t know why, or how, except that I’m sure the Dentzel carousel had something to do with it.”
His voice turned brusque. “I believe you hit your head harder than Dr. Stillwell claimed. I probably shouldn’t have brought you to town.”
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have the carousel horse I need.” Totally defeated, she wanted to scream her outrage. She had been positive the horse would work.
An unsettled look crossed his features. “Perhaps I should take you to the doctor again. I’m normally an easygoing person, but you’re spouting nonsense. I do not want you repeating this foolishness in front of Amanda. Do you understand?”
Jaci knew better than to argue. At present, she had no recourse but to accept his charity, and his dictates. It didn’t take a genius to realize she was better off at Wildwood than in a mental hospital, if such institutions even existed in 1874.
She nodded in acceptance.
Nicholas reached behind him to a small door that opened to where the driver sat. “Take us back to Wildwood, Stephen. Miss Eastman has taken ill.”