Out of the Past (Heritage Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1 PG-13 All Iowa Edition) Read online

  “I love this!” I exclaimed and touched the faucet and farm sink which are modern and new but perfectly fit the large room with the flavor of the original sink circa 1880. I can already imagine how the room will look when the rest of my new cupboards, center island and appliances, including a really fancy old oven hood I’d found, are put in place. There will be plenty of room for my antique kitchen table set to sit cozily against the large windows that will provide a great view of the big old barn out back and the seemingly endless acres of pastureland beyond.

  “Mudroom,” Dave was gesturing. “Backstairs that lead up to the second floor, and last but not least, the bathroom.”

  “It’s perfect!” I squealed, entering the half bathroom which had not existed in the original house. It was designed circa 1900 with a lovely cream pedestal sink, sand-and-cream colored hexagon floor tile and wonderful old-style fixtures and cabinets. I’d had to take some liberties regarding the bathrooms; forfeiting historical accuracy for convenience because frankly, an outhouse was not on the list of things I wanted to restore, although it would have been the original arrangement for the home back in 1870. Besides, plumbing and indoor facilities upstairs had been added back in 1915, so really it wasn’t too far off the mark.

  Next we headed upstairs where most of the five bedrooms were stripped clean of all adornment, but one room did have some of the original woodwork still intact and the closet door and old metal doorknob were original to the house. I entered that room, which must have been the master bedroom—I was assuming that it was by the size, but I could only guess.

  I glanced out the front windows to see our trucks parked below. The view from this level was of empty fields stretching out to the horizon, ready to receive this year’s crops. I didn’t have any photographs of the upper rooms, just one taken from a window of the second floor and facing the barn. My grandfather Arlan had probably been the one who had taken the picture because he’d spent a lot of time here when he was young.

  I walked across the hall and through the rooms facing the backyard and barn until I found the correct angle. Yep, this had been the exact spot where he had stood when he’d snapped the shot. I could see the door of the barn and to the left of it would have been the subject of the photo: my three Wyman great-granduncles and their brother-in-law, my great-grandfather Henry Mills, with his team of draft horses coming back from a day in the fields. I had been told by older family members that Henry had helped Rose’s sons with the planting for many seasons after Grandpa Judson had passed away. This shot would have been one of those days—one hundred-plus years ago. Absolutely mind-blowing!

  Dave Cameron came up behind me and looked over my shoulder. I held the album up so that he could get a good look and he pointed to the barn door in the photograph.

  “I found some of the original paint on the back of that door. What color do you think it was?” he asked.

  “Barn red?” I guessed, glancing over my shoulder and up into his eyes.

  “Barn red,” he affirmed, nodding. “I’ve already ordered the paint. It’s being manufactured as we speak.”

  We continued our tour, and Dave pointed out where he had been working to enlarge the original bathroom by using a small portion of two of the bedrooms at the end of the hall. The new plumbing had already been run and the bare pipes were just waiting for the fixtures to arrive.

  “Everything will be delivered in just a few days,” Dave explained.

  I nodded, trying to imagine in my mind’s eye how it was all going to look. I’d opted for a more modern glass shower and separate antique claw-foot bathtub. The shower will have a Victorian feel by adding a custom subway-tile design and all of the faucets will have the flavor that I want to recreate.

  I entered the small space that will soon be a complete linen closet, turning about in it to judge the size.

  “I’ve got the shelves and door out in one of my trailers,” Dave assured me. “Are you ready to move on to the out buildings?”

  I nodded my agreement and we headed back downstairs, exiting through the mudroom and out back to take a look at the barn and other outbuildings as well as the area that had once contained a flower and vegetable garden.

  I turned to a photo of my great-grandfather Henry Mills sitting on a white-washed wooden bench in the midst of abundant flowers. Two of his daughters, my grandaunts Joanna and Lucy Mills were standing just behind him. My grandfather Arlan and his trusty dog were seated on the ground near Henry’s feet. The photo had been taken the same day as a group shot of the entire family which had included three generations of Wyman and Mills relatives, all standing out in front of the house and surrounding a tiny and frail looking Grandma Rose as she had sat in a bent-cane rocking chair in the foreground.

  ***

  As the afternoon was wearing on and the tour was coming to an end, I had to make a pit stop and christen my new bathroom facilities and then I joined Dave out front, and waited while he locked up the house.

  “You have plans for dinner tonight?” he asked casually, walking me toward my waiting vehicle, with his hands in his pockets and kicking at the loose gravel drive with the toe of his work boot. “I was going to head into Oskaloosa and get a bite to eat. You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’d like and we can talk more about our game plan. I’ll show you some of my sketches for the bathroom.” He hitched his shoulder, indicating the cylinder that he held under his right arm.

  Arriving at my truck, I paused, considering. I was staying at a small motel in Oskaloosa for the next week until the furnished house that I am renting in Fremont opens up. The previous occupants were now gone but the owner was still in the process of cleaning the carpets and upholstery for me.

  “Well sure but I want to make a stop at the cemetery first. Can we meet somewhere in Oskaloosa a little later on?”

  His mouth opened in surprise before he rearranged his features to a warm smile. “I thought that I was the only weirdo who enjoys the cemetery. I’d like to go with you, if you don’t mind.”

  I had to laugh at that. “Another weirdo here,” I admitted, raising my hand. “I always stop in when I’m in town just to say hey,” I confessed. “Why don’t you jump in and I’ll drive.”

  ***

  Cedar Township Cemetery is the resting place for three generations of my dad’s side of the family. The Mills plot is just to the left of the main gate and stretches in a long row from north to south. First is my great-great-grandfather Francis Mills, the patriarch of the Mills clan, who shares a headstone and resting place with his son Peter. Beside them are my great-grandfather Henry Mills and his wife Alice Wyman Mills and next to them are some of their eight children starting with the youngest, my grandpa Arlan and my grandma Virginia, who died long before I was born and actually; Grandpa and Grandma had moved to Des Moines in 1919, where they’d lived and died but per their final wishes had been brought back to Fremont for burial. On down the long row were some of my grandpa’s seven siblings Wyatt, Albert, Robert, Lucy, Molly and many of their children and grandchildren.

  Patriarch of the Wyman clan, my great-great-grandfather Judson and his wife Rose were buried near many of their Wyman children and grandchildren in a different section on the other side of the cemetery. In fact, nearly every single Wyman and Mills great-grand and granduncle and aunt inhabit this old cemetery, making it hallowed ground to me.

  A couple of years ago, before my historical romance novels exploded onto the scene, I’d spent months coming here on weekends and photographing the headstones of every single person buried in the cemetery for their Findagrave memorials. The family ties here are so intricate and complex that even Dave and I share several ancestors, and many mutual cousins. Using my family tree program, I’d added his line in and had discovered that my great-grandaunt Ivy Wyman McFall had married Dave’s great-granduncle Joshua McFall back in 1889. He’d died young in 1891, and Ivy had gone on to marry again. She died out in Washington State where she had relocated after husband number-two had passed on.
She is buried out there with her sister Emily’s family whose home she had shared until her death, but husband number-two, like her first husband Joshua McFall, are both buried right here in Cedar Township Cemetery.

  We pulled into the gated main entrance and parked along the line of tall imposing cedar trees that are the defining feature of the place. The canopy of mammoth wind and weather sculpted sentries that guard those at their eternal rest, are even visible from the highway as you come into town.

  Interestingly, the cemetery land had actually belonged to Dave Cameron’s ancestors at one time. The McFall family and specifically Dave’s great-great-great-grandfather Samuel McFall had deeded the grounds to the town of Fremont shortly after the first burial had occurred here back in 1843. Little two-year-old Lucinda Koontz was the first death of the new community of Fremont and her headstone is still plainly legible today.

  Samuel stipulated that no one should ever be charged for the cemetery space. If you lived in the town, you were given a plot, but no more space is available these days. The new Cedar Township Memorial Cemetery across town has been used for decades—except for my grandpa and some other original settler family members who are still allowed places beneath the tall cedars. This is the old-timers’ cemetery.

  We jumped out and started making a tour around the grounds and I let Dave show me all of his family and give me the basics of who was who and I was impressed by his amount of knowledge regarding his ancestors, but, to be honest, I know every bit as much about his family as he does. I’m a total and I mean total, genealogy geek!

  Next we strolled through my family’s plots and I showed him all of my people and we had a great time talking family history until a pesky swarm of midges and then the voracious and blood-thirsty mosquitoes came out in full force and chased us out of there; the price paid for the mild winter that we’d enjoyed.

  We went back to the house to get Dave’s truck and I followed him the twelve miles to Oskaloosa for dinner at the Oskaloosa Family Restaurant. Then after we’d had a great home-style meal including crispy fried chicken and fluffy mashed potatoes and gravy, we ordered some coffee and spread Dave’s blueprints out on the table and we got into a heavy discussion about our mutual goals for Rose’s house. I was so pleased to find out that we are totally on the same page; he understands exactly what I want to accomplish and I can tell already that we’re going to make a great renovation team.

  ***

  It wasn’t until about 9:00 p.m. that I finally bid Dave good night and while he headed back down the highway toward Fremont, I drove along ‘A’ Avenue and made my way to my home sweet home for the next week, the Budget Inn.

  I had just gotten settled into my bed when my cell phone rang and I grabbed it and looked for the name of the caller.

  “Hey, Sexy.”

  “Hey, Beautiful, how goes life in the sticks?” Derek joked.

  “Ha Ha,” I replied drolly. “Actually, it’s going great! I met with the contractor today and talked to the rental owner also and in just one week from today I’ll be officially living in the town proper of Fremont. When are you coming over?”

  “I’ll be there next Friday in time for dinner and stay for the weekend, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. Hey, I wanted to tell you that Nancy added two more cities to the book tour today, Rochester and Minneapolis. I leave on the first of May. Have you decided if you’re coming with me?”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll forgo this leg,” he said carefully. “I feel like a third wheel on those things, Torie,” he confessed.

  Derek doesn’t like the book-tour scene at all and actually I hate to admit it but it is easier without him because he is often bored and I feel like I need to entertain him and really, I don’t have the time because my publicist Nancy and I are busy every minute. She has arranged for twelve stops now and more than two weeks on the road so it is going to be a non-stop marathon.

  “That’s okay, sweetie, I understand,” I said magnanimously. “Hey, it’s a ways off yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind by then but if not, I’ll spend a few days at your place after I get back,” I offered conciliatorily.

  “That sounds like a good plan,” he agreed. “Jesus, Torie, you’ve only been out there for two days, and I’m missing you already. I wish you were in my arms right now,” he said suggestively.

  “We knew that we’d have some adjustment time with the distance,” I reminded him. “I guess I’ll have to give you plenty of attention next weekend to hold you over until I see you again, huh?”

  “Promise?” he whispered softly.

  “Promise. Well honey, I’m gonna get some sleep,” I said and couldn’t hold back a jaw cracking yawn. “I’ll see you next Friday. Do you remember the address of the rental house?”

  “Madison Street—I have it in my GPS.”

  “Okay. Love you, Der.”

  “Love you too, babe. Good night.”

  I hung up the phone and set it aside on the nightstand; grabbing up the TV remote and settling in to watch some mindless reruns, to help me drop off to sleep.

  Chapter 2

  While waiting to get into my rental house in Fremont, I had time on my hands and not much to do with it in Oskaloosa, so I decided to pay a visit to the Keo-Mah Genealogical Society. I am already a yearly member and had spent a lot of time here during those years when I was working on my memorials; gathering obituaries for my family and such. They have an amazing library of microfilmed newspapers for Oskaloosa but also the Fremont Gazette.

  Keo-Mah, which stands for Keokuk and Mahaska Counties, is situated on the main street of town and was formerly a small private residence that has been converted. It is such an unassuming building that most people go right past it the first time that they approach and usually have to take a left and go around the block to get another shot at the short and narrow drive.

  I parked in the lot back behind the building and came up the ramped walkway and into what was once a screened in sun porch. The smell of old books is the first thing that I always notice upon entering the place. I love the smell of old books. There is nothing on earth quite like it.

  An older man, whom I know quite well, was seated at the front desk with stacks of books piled high, all around him, hemming him in on three sides. His gray, wispy hair looked as though he might have been scrubbing a hand through it as he tended to do when concentrating or when agitated. His thick glasses were seated low on his nose which was causing him to lift his head to make use of his bifocals. He was deeply occupied with something on his computer screen until he heard the storm door latch behind me.

  “Welcome. What can I do…” he began pleasantly and then recognized me after a brief pause.

  “Torie?” he asked, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose with a forefinger to get a better look at me. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Where on earth have you been keeping yourself?” he asked rhetorically. “Busy signing books, I suppose,” he decided as he rose from the desk and made his way around another pile of books near his feet. He approached me with outstretched arms. “I’ll tell you what, little lady, I am just so darn proud of your accomplishments.”

  “John, thank you so much. It’s so good to see you,” I said, accepting his warm hug. “Yes I’ve been busier than I’d like to be,” I admitted. “Gosh the place hasn’t changed a bit.”

  He released me and stepped back as I pointed to the sign-in tablet, in illustration of my remark and that still lay upon the same small pedestal as it had when last I’d visited.

  I tucked my hair behind my ears as I leaned over to sign in and excitedly announced to him, “Oh hey, I think that you’ll be surprised to know that I’m a local now.”

  “No! Really? Are you living here in Oskie?”

  “Well, for this week I am. I actually bought the old Wyman family home in Fremont and it’s in the process of being renovated right now. I should be moving in, probably starting a few months from now. I’m renting a little house in Fremont unti
l my house is ready.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m sure that you have a lot of plans for the place,” he said with a wide grin.

  John was very aware of how much the previous generations of my family mean to me, in fact, I can recall fondly, he and I spending one rainy Sunday afternoon years ago, talking for hours, specifically about old homesteads that were still around. He and I had even discussed as a whimsical idea, the restoring of the Wyman house someday, years before I’d written my first book or had acquired enough money to even consider such a huge undertaking.

  “Oh yeah, you’d better believe it, it’s going to be something special,” I assured him. “I thought that I’d spend some time with you here this next week and do some more research. I’m sure that there are a lot of tidbits about my family that I have yet to find. Plus, I wanted to become a lifetime member.”

  “Woohoo! I’ll be happy to take your check,” he said with a laugh. “We’re always happy to add a lifetime member to the newsletter and a local celebrity, well…”

  “John, no—no reference to celebrity, please, I beg you. Promise me!” I cringed at the thought of being made to stand out at all. I currently have total anonymity and I am bound and determined to hold on to it. I pointed a stern index finger in his direction menacingly.

  “Okay, okay, I promise,” he said and made a gesture with a forefinger crossing his heart.

  “Oh, hey! You’ll be interested in this,” he seemed to remember all at once. “Just the other day we got in a few new reels of the Fremont Gazette. Let me see…” he said absently, starting off in the direction of the microfilm room and I followed after him, squealing with delight and clapping my hands like an excited kid on Christmas morning.

  “Oh my gosh, John. Did you happen to get any of the elusive eighteen nineties?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yes, we got one reel with part of 1896 and a few months of the missing 1904 and 1907,” he said excitedly.

  Another of my peeps, I thought to myself with affection as I watched his eyes light up with delight as he anticipated sharing it all with me, Another total genealogy geek!