Chapter One
Charlotte came to her senses to the sound of a familiar woman’s voice coming from far away.
She quickly learned that the professor she had met earlier in the evening shook her.
The woman looked much younger. She threw a dark cloak over Charlotte’s shoulders and led her down the stairs and out the front door to a nearby carriage waiting to quickly take them to Annabelle’s red brick townhouse a few blocks away.
After they had arrived, Annabelle helped Charlotte down from the carriage.
“Let’s get you into the house, my dear.” She spoke kindly and her refined southern drawl had a soothing quality. Her pale blonde hair did not have the slightest hint of gray as it had when Charlotte had first met her.
“We were very fortunate that no one saw us leave the Marshall House with you dressed in the clothes you were wearing,” said Annabelle.
She took Charlotte by the arm and led her behind the house toward a back door.
“Don’t worry, darling,” she whispered emphatically. “You’re not crazy, that much I can promise you.”
“What?” Charlotte spun away from the woman, dumbfounded.
“You are not crazy,”
Annabelle stopped and turned to Charlotte, excitement sparkling in her kind blue eyes.
“I have to ask, my dear, what is the year where you come from?”
Charlotte’s eyes widened in alarm. “Well, I come from here,” she hedged, unsure of how to respond.
“Yes, but what year is it?”
“2024.”
Oddly terrifying as the declaration seemed, she sensed Annabelle already knew.
Annabelle nodded in satisfaction and let out a short laugh then shook her head as if to clear it.
“It is now 1864,” she informed Charlotte.
Charlotte’s mouth went dry, 1864. It could not be possible. Savannah, Georgia 1864 meant... Mouth agape she could do nothing but shake her head in fervent denial. None of this could be real!
“I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming.”
“Come along, Charlotte, I’ll explain everything inside over a nice cup of hot tea.”
Charlotte entered the house. Its charming appearance immediately struck her.
Golden wood floors gleamed with fresh polish and crisp white walls shone in the lamplight.
Annabelle led her into the parlor and instructed her to make herself comfortable.
Charlotte sighed as the other woman stepped out of the room.
Wearily she flopped onto a chair, trying to make sense of the recent events.
She realized that she felt strangely numb. I think I must be in shock.
“Have you eaten, Charlotte?” The kind, almost motherly, voice pulled her from her disturbing thoughts, and she turned to find Annabelle carrying a tray laden with a silver tea service, biscuits, strawberry preserves, and a steaming bowl of chicken soup.
“I had dinner, but that was—”
She shrugged and let out a short laugh.
“Well, I suppose I don’t know when that was.”
Annabelle bestowed another understanding smile upon her.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Now, you eat, and I will explain to you everything I know.”
She sat opposite Charlotte and lifted a cup of tea.
“As you know, my name is Annabelle Beauregarde. I am a being who exists simultaneously at different points along the space-time continuum. I know that I have met you before in 2024 in the Marshall House parlor.”
Charlotte was dumbfounded.
“The best way to explain what has happened to you is to say that you passed through an interdimensional doorway and landed here in 1864—one hundred and sixty years in the past. That is the only explanation I can offer that would make any sense to you,” Annabelle apologized.
Charlotte’s mind reeled wildly. She had never given much thought to quantum physics or time, either, but had she really traveled into the past? Had she really passed through the fabric of time to Savannah, Georgia and the year 1864?
“Well, we’ll have to destroy or hide everything you have brought back with you, especially your cell phone,” Annabelle warned her.
Charlotte swallowed hard. Everything she had witnessed and heard, no matter how impossible, had been real. She had traveled back to the year 1864, seemingly trapped in the past.
“No!”
The thought of being stuck in the past made her feel queasy and dizzy. Her whole being rebelled at being unable to return to her own time. Uncontrollable shaking took hold of her entire body as the denial gave way to shock.
“What about getting back?” Charlotte whispered hoarsely.
Annabelle put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“You should give up hope of that, my dear. The portal is one way.”
Annabelle drew back, fixing Charlotte with empathetic eyes.
“I believe that you were always meant to be here, Charlotte. Maybe this is your place and time to be, to exist.”
Charlotte’s mind protested as she desperately sought to reject Annabelle’s words.
Sobs tore from her body and Annabelle held her and stroked her hair, quietly murmuring soothing words of comfort until Charlotte regained control of herself.
Pulling away, Charlotte rubbed her tear-stained face, feeling as though her eyelids were made of sandpaper.
Looking at her friend, she realized how lucky she had been that Annabelle had found her as soon as she had. Straightening, Charlotte squared her shoulders, grasping at some measure of determination.
“Well, I guess it’s time to accept that I am really existing in the year 1864.”
Wiping tears from her eyes she tried to look as calm as she could but failed miserably at a smile.
The women talked for hours, Annabelle assuring Charlotte that everything would turn out well.
Annabelle had no need to reinforce the history lessons Charlotte had learned in school.
Luckily, the brilliant surgeon and Civil War history buff had attended quite a few reenactments with her brother Jefferson where actors recreated the battles, daily lives, and most important events that happened during the Civil War.
Having studied the contents of many pamphlets about etiquette during the Civil War, she had become very familiar with the subject.
“What profession did you have in 2024?” Annabelle asked.
“I was a surgeon at the Memorial Health University Medical Center here in Savannah.” Charlotte put a hand to her brow and shook her head.
“Or worked as a surgeon. I don’t know if I will ever be one again.”
Her voice broke and her composure threatened to crumble again.
She gathered her wits and asked Annabelle a question.
“What profession do you have?”
“I have been a teacher at the Massie Common School located on the city’s Taylor Square on East Gordon Street for twenty years. It is part of the first public school system in Savannah, Georgia.”
“Well, that sounds interesting. Do you enjoy teaching the children?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, I certainly do. I have also been thinking of a job for you. I believe you can be of use at the Union hospital at the Marshall House,” Annabelle said cheerfully.
“Do you mean the one on the fourth floor?”
“The very same. You have more medical training than anyone claiming the title of surgeon currently. I went over to the hospital yesterday to offer my time as a volunteer. I met a wonderful doctor there. His name is Major Spencer Abbott. We got along famously, and he accepted my invitation to dinner tonight. Aren’t we fortunate? ”
“Yes, I suppose we are. However, so much for medical school and my internship at the hospital,” Charlotte said wryly.
She knew that in the mid-nineteenth century two six-month semesters of medical school or an apprenticeship with an established physician were all the education required to earn a medical degree.
“But I don’t really know much about what kind of medicines are available in this time or what treatments are used!”
“Well, you do know about anatomy, physiology, wound care, and caring for the sick and injured,” Annabelle pointed out.
Charlotte realized that Annabelle’s tone left no room for argument.
“Yes, I suppose I can be of use to the sick and wounded in the hospital, and the community,” she conceded.
The women talked for another hour, concocting and perfecting an identity for Charlotte. They decided that she could assume the identity of Annabelle’s niece who had recently arrived from the devastated city of Atlanta.
“Well,” Annabelle said in a bright voice, “that is enough for now. I’ll find you some clothes and get you to bed. You’ve had quite a disturbing experience, and it won’t do to keep you up all night jawing.”
Charlotte rose wearily to follow Annabelle out of the parlor and up a flight of stairs.
****
Charlotte woke to the soft patter of rain on the window and stretched beneath her quilt. More rested than she had been in months, she smiled with her eyes still closed. Thank God for vacations at the Marshall House. The last thing she remembered was—
Memories came crashing in on her.
“This has to be a dream,” she said aloud, sitting up in bed.
But no, she realized. Everything was real. She was in Savannah 1864, in the middle of the Civil War’s Confederate south. Tears welled once again in her eyes, and she lacked the strength to get out of bed. Sobs tore from her—ones she was unable to control.
When the tears subsided, she realized that what she had wanted was a new life and now she had one!
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she set to the task of getting dressed.
Annabelle had pulled a trunk full of clothes out of the attic the night before, saying, “Pick out whatever takes your fancy, my dear. From what you’ve told me you’ll have no difficulty getting dressed.”