Through Time-Whiplash (24 page)

~ Prologue ~

All that glisters is not gold

—William Shakespeare

Present day, New Jersey

RAVENA MACALLISTER LOOKED at her wristwatch. It was nearly six o’clock. It had been a hectic day. Graduation was over. She had her BA in her hand, but she had one more night at the fashion school where she had been taking additional classes as she pursued her dream of designing clothes for the fashion industry.

Todd Decker, her boyfriend of two months—a record for her, as she rarely dated, let alone ever thought of any as ‘keepers’—wasn’t expecting her. She had thought she had one last class at the Fashion Institute, but it had been cancelled.

She was going to surprise him.
Tonight was the night.

He had been trying to get her into bed. She had been resisting. Why? She couldn’t put a finger on it. Perhaps she wanted more. Her friends told her she was nuts, that she would lose him. She didn’t want to lose Todd, and she knew after two months he was getting impatient with her refusal to take it to the next level.

She liked his kisses. She was nearly sure he was the ‘special one’ she had been looking for, but she just couldn’t put a finger on her reluctance to take it to the next step. Jump into bed with him, her libido demanded.

At twenty-one she was old enough and mature enough to handle what her mother had called the
consequences of sleeping with a man who may not want you the next morning.
Would he not want her the next morning? Did it matter? It did, but why—why should it matter? She was living in an age when a woman could be intimate with a man just for pleasure … just for a night. She wanted more, that was why; something in her inner being wanted more, and she knew with a shake of her head what that something was … hidden, dormant …
secret.

A tall, beautifully framed mirror hung on the far wall of her bedroom, and she moved to stand in front of it. She blew at the wavy golden bangs that tickled her forehead. She cocked her head, gave her waist-length silky hair another brush, and twirled the shorter curls on either side of her heart-shaped face. She supposed she would do.

Ravena didn’t consider herself stupid about sex and guys. She used to laugh with her friends and say she was a slow-blossoming flower waiting for just the right amount of water and sun.

She knew the general male population considered her hot, and she had to admit she liked the way she looked in the reflection staring back at her.
Yup,
she told herself, her dress was really eye-catching. However, insecurity nibbled at her mind. What if her inexperience turned him off? What if she got clumsy taking off her clothes? What if … on and on.

She sucked in air. For Rave, this was a really big step. Guys had been coming on to her ever since she was fourteen, but no one had ever interested her before Todd.
Her
Todd (and he had encouraged her to think of him that way) was big, bold, handsome, ambitious—a keeper. She liked him so much …
but did she love him?

Her girlfriends had told her to go for it because it was time. Her best friend Meg had told her she was crazy if she didn’t
close the deal
with Todd because someone else would. Meg had laughed at her and told her she didn’t need to be ‘in love’ to have a good time.

Her mother had told her to wait until she was ready. Her father had whispered over the phone quietly that he rather thought she should wait until she was in love.
Was she ready?
Was she in love
?

She wasn’t sure, but she did think it was time to find out.

Her heart wanted to do what her dad had told her—fall in love and know it first. She sighed and wished she were with her father roaming the Highlands of Scotland like they always did every summer. She wished she could sit and talk to him; he didn’t get her all crazy like her mother always did.

Another sigh followed this thought. It was because of Todd that she had told her dad she might not be staying the entire summer with him this year. That troubled her as well. She really wanted to return to the Highlands and her father—even more than she wanted to be with Todd.
Did that mean
she didn’t love Todd?

She smoothed the low-cut black silky dress that clung to her curves.. She had designed and then made the dress herself. She knew she looked sexy as hell and that her mother would raise an eyebrow—so the trick was to get past her overprotective parent without being seen.

She made it down the stairs of their Colonial styled-home and then remembered the keys were in the kitchen. She peeked into the kitchen. Her mother wasn’t there—nor was her stepfather, who was probably tinkering around in the garage. Rave scooped up her keys from the tray on the desk near the fridge and was out the door and nearly to her pale green Saturn parked out front when she heard her mother call her name.

“Rave—honey …
wait!”
Her mother ran towards her.

Ravena couldn’t stop the impatient tone as it escaped her lips. “
Yes,
Mom.” But she loved her, so she stopped and turned, glanced archly at her, and sighed. It struck her that no one would guess the petite, green-eyed redhead staring authoritatively at her was her mother.

Rave had her father’s gold hair and his dark, multi-shaded gray eyes, and although she was not tall, she was in her stocking feet, five feet five inches and towered over her mother’s five foot one.

Her mother gave her back the challenge with a raised brow that said it all. Rave laughed and hugged her before holding her shoulders. “Don’t worry.”

“Where are you going?” She looked her over and sighed. “Wait, let me guess: to see
Todd
.”

Ravena frowned. “I know you don’t like him, but I don’t have time now to argue in his defense.”

“No, it is more than a simple matter of liking or disliking the young man. It is that I don’t think he is the
right man
for you. He is still a boy … and, Rave, that will never do for you—you need
a man
.”

“And what sort of man are we talking about?” Ravena teased.

“This is serious. You will know when you meet him, and it isn’t Todd, who is more interested in himself and
his needs
than yours.”

“You don’t really know him.”

“I do know him. I watch from the outside and know him very well.” Her mother sighed. “However, perhaps it is as my Tom says. He feels the same way as I do about Todd, but he doesn’t want to be drawn into this. He says sometimes we each have to learn from our own mistakes.”

Tom was her mother’s husband. Her parents had been divorced since she was two, having married only because her mother had found herself pregnant. Her stepfather had come into their lives when Rave was ten. He was a good guy, and she had grown to love him over the years.

Affection flooded her, and she smiled in spite of her impatience. “Tom is right, Mom. I need experiences—good and bad.” She had never called him anything but ‘Tom’ because although she did in fact love her stepfather, she felt she had only one dad.

“Look, baby, I don’t want you hurt …”

“Like you?” Rave again arched her brow.

“Don’t be annoying to win a point. You know your father didn’t hurt me. He and I were never in love … not really. And we certainly weren’t made for each other. He was who he was … and I was so different. We were friends—we still are. But I have this awful feeling that Todd
will
hurt you.”

Ravena saw the look of helplessness in her mother’s eyes and touched her cheek. “I am old enough to know what I am doing.”

“We all say that at your age … ”

Irritation swept over Ravena’s face, and she grimaced at her mother before she walked away with a wave of her hand. “Don’t wait up.” She jumped into her car and did not look back as she pulled away from the curb.

Guilt suddenly flooded through her. She shouldn’t have left her mother like that. But what could she do? She would make it up to her tomorrow. Besides, she was a college grad. She was twenty-one. She was all grown up.

Over the years Ravena had heard her mother refer to her marriage to her father, Daniel MacAllister, as a mistake, and she hated hearing that. It negated all the good.

She was so much more her father’s child than her mother’s. An odd thing to admit even to herself but so true.

For the hundredth time she thought about changing her plans once more and just heading off to Scotland for the summer—maybe making a side trip and visiting with her grandmother, her father’s Canadian Indian mother, first.

She took a long gulp of air and bolstered herself. Todd was a great guy. She was doing the right thing—
wasn’t she?
He had committed himself to her in so many ways. He talked about the future. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it—a normal future?
Did she want a future with him? Was she making the same mistake her mother had made—settling for someone who made her comfortable? Because to date, he damn well did not make her feel … passionate!
The sorry truth was that no one ever had … yet.

Well, that would change tonight—wouldn’t it? She turned the corner, pulled into the lot adjacent to Todd’s apartment house complex, and parked. Princeton was a charming university town, and students were everywhere. Two acquaintances waved to her as she got out of her car and headed for the building.

She reached his door, key in hand, and hesitated. She had never used the key before. She was here unannounced. Should she use the key?
Don’t be silly—he gave it to me to use.
She put the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped into the small, sparsely furnished living room.

She froze.

Todd and her best friend, Meg, were on the small shag rug on the living room floor, grunting and going at it with wild abandon.

Todd must have felt a draft on his bare butt, for he suddenly turned, saw her, and started scrambling to his feet. “Rave … Rave … no … this …
this is nothing
 … Rave!” he shouted as he threw his clothing on hastily.

Too late
—so few letters, such small words, such large meaning. Too late.

Ravena backed up clumsily until she hit the closed door at her back. She turned then, opened the door, and with shock and hurt flooding through her veins,
she ran.

After the love of her life is taken from her at Waterloo, Jenny is sure that joy and love are lost to her forever. But life has more in store for Jenny,

After the Storm

~ Prologue ~

Did ye not hear it? No: ’twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o’er the stony street;

On with the dance! Let Joy be unconfined,

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet—

But Hark! That heavy sound breaks in once more,

As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! Arm! It is—it is—the CANNON’s opening

Roar!

—Lord Byron, 1816,

written to mark the Duchess of Richmond’s ball on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo

THE WIND, NO longer warm from the rays of the sun, bit at her face, causing her to blink. Long, chestnut-colored hair whipped around her slender neck and her lashes. She put one ungloved, delicate hand up and brushed the thick strands away from her face as she stopped her determined steps.

Desolate eyes stared at the tall oak—
their oak
. They had carved their initials there when they had a future, when they had hope.

“Johnny,” she whispered. “Oh, my Johnny.” Finality infiltrated her tone and resignation the slope of her shoulders. Anguish tempered by time swept through her body as she dropped to her knees, heedless of the damp grass.

A year had passed—one entire year since the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, since the last time she had kissed his lips, seen his face—one year since Waterloo.

A sick sensation swept over her when she tried to recall his face, that wondrous, boyishly handsome face as he stood before her that awful night.

They went, all of them, almost merrily to Waterloo. Even then—with those dreadful drums beating throughout Brussels—even then, they looked as though they were off to a parade.

Jenny remembered the sound of those drums, calling their men to arms. The officers attending the Duchess of Richmond’s ball had left hurriedly, some actually going off to battle in their ball attire, and Johnny, her Johnny had been among them.

Exploding cannons—the sound filled the atmosphere, as the
beau monde
breathlessly awaited the outcome. So many of her friends, so many of the English gentry were there in Brussels that spring.

Napoleon had escaped, gathered his army, and begun to march. The Duke of Wellington, their hero, went off to meet him. The English believed Wellington would win the encounter with the Frenchman and were there to witness it.

No one had anticipated the amount of blood it would take to fulfill their expectation. Thus it happened on June 18, 1815, that Wellington met Boney at Waterloo, and her John was lost forever.

Mac had been there. He had lived, and while she searched for Johnny, Mac found her. Lieutenant William McMillan had taken hold of her shoulders, and when she saw his distorted features she backed up from him screaming. She wasn’t sure anymore what she had screamed.

“Jen, Johnny’s last words to me were of you. He said he loves you and that you have to move on …”

Jenny thought she could no longer cry and was surprised at the tear that made its way down her cheek. She closed her eyes. She had come to their tree to say good-bye, but could she? She didn’t feel ready. “Haunt me, Johnny, come to me as a ghost,” she hugged herself and prayed. “Stay with me forever.”

Her father and aunt had hurried her home to Devon, and even for their sakes it had been so very difficult not to fall into a decline. For weeks all she wanted to do was go to sleep and not wake up.

Her father had coaxed her outside by telling her the horses she loved needed attention. And that had worked to get her out a bit. Slowly, albeit listlessly, she began to eat, talk, walk, but she felt as though all joy in life had been snatched away.

She got to her feet and touched the tree before turning towards home. She loved the quiet solitude of her beloved Devon landscape. It was like a tonic that soothed her. Johnny had never quite been at home in the country. He was too restless.

She crossed the open field with slow, long strides and felt the overgrown grass brush against the thin material of her stockings at her ankles and calves. The day had been touched with scudding clouds, and they hovered with the tease of rain.

It was still mid-afternoon, and yet, because of the overcast sky, it appeared later. Jenny’s gaze swept upwards, and she made the decision to take the shortcut across Farmer Cubbins’ field. She reached the roadside fence, picked up her skirts, climbed nimbly up, sat on the aged wood stocks, and then pushed herself forward onto the country dirt road.

She had been so engrossed with getting her skirts past the splintered rail and her feet over the ditch that lined the road that she hadn’t noticed the rider coming around the bend.

Her sudden descent onto the road caused the horse to rear and champ at his bit. This startled Jenny, and before she knew what had happened, she had released a screech, stepped forcefully backward, and landed herself in the very ditch she had tried to avoid.