Chapter Three

L ibby pulled herself out of the fog twisting and swirling through her brain. She rubbed the bump on her throbbing forehead and flinched. Afraid to open her eyes to the pain, she called to Charlie. She let out a breath when he wiggled in her arms. For a reason she couldn't fathom, they were lying on the floor of the car, which seemed to be swaying and bumping. It reminded her of riding the train from Milwaukee to Chicago, without the noise or smell.

As she lay still, hoping to ease the agony in her head, the patter of rain hitting the roof of the car sounded more like rain hitting their tent when they went camping. She was getting wet from an open window. In the distance, as if coming through a tunnel, a man's voice called out. "C'mon, Captain, only a little way, now."

None of this made any sense. The last thing Libby remembered before falling asleep was telling Ben to put on his seatbelt, a snowstorm, and their car...

"Oh, my God." She pressed shaking fingers to her lips. The snowstorm, Ben trying to control the car, the car spinning, and Ben yelling he loved her. Then fade to black. Libby cuddled Charlie closer. The rolling of the baby made her less scared, but she needed to know where Ben was. She eased her eyes open.

Rain dripped from her eyelashes onto her cheeks. For the life of her she couldn't figure out where she was. It certainly wasn't their car. The interior of the vehicle was entirely black. On one side a piece of fabric flapped in and out, letting in the rain. What Libby assumed was a door with a fancy, scroll-worked black handle was on the opposite side. A large piece of canvas ran across the front of the vehicle. A worn, padded seat ran beneath the canvas.

Libby slid Charlie from her arms and carefully laid him on the floor. Trying to ignore the throbbing in her head, she pushed herself up and leaned against the seat. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Bile rose to her throat. She swallowed the extra saliva pooling in her mouth. The last thing she needed was to throw up. She closed her eyes and rested against the seat. I won't throw up. I won't throw up. I'd better not throw up.

While waiting for her head and stomach to settle down, Libby tried to get her bearings. It reminded her of the time she and Ben had ridden in a carriage at one of the reenactments they'd participated in. But why in heaven's name would she be in a carriage?

Maybe Ben was playing a practical joke on her and had hired a carriage to take them the rest of the way home. Ben was always teasing her about the books she read, and how she romanticized the past. Libby like to pretend she was living in the 1800's. But then she'd remind him of his Civil War reenactments, pretending to be a Union officer and he'd shut up.

Wherever they went, they visited historical sites and she visualized herself in long, full dresses, living in a mansion in the south with servants to help her with the house. Ben reminded her the historical romance novels didn't show the bad things about the past. Once he had told her if they were living in the 1800's she would probably die from childbirth or Charlie from scarlet fever. He was right, but it didn't stop her from escaping back a hundred and fifty years or so. It wasn't any different from what he did. Was it?

A roll of thunder echoed across the sky bringing Libby back to her present situation. Her mind raced trying to find an answer to where she was. The voice telling this Captain person to keep going didn't sound like Ben, but they were definitely in a carriage. It smelled like canvas, or leather, or a wet dog. She wasn't sure which. Maybe all of them. She would love to reach over and pull back the canvas in the front of the carriage to see what was happening, but strength eluded her.

Could she get herself up on the seat behind her? It would certainly be more comfortable than bouncing on the floor. She looked down at her bulging stomach. There was no way she would be able to get up in the small confines of the buggy. A familiar pressure in her pelvis and an aching in her lower back worried her. She hoped they were heading in the direction of a hospital.

Libby snapped her fingers. Maybe this was an Amish buggy. Had an Amish person come across them and taken them to the nearest town? The Amish in Wisconsin were always willing to help people in trouble. But where was Ben? Libby giggled in relief. He probably stayed with the car to make sure nothing was ripped off by some unscrupulous person. He'd wait for the police and tow truck, then meet them at the hospital.

As Libby let out a sigh of relief at having figured out their strange situation, a foggy vision passed through her mind. A man leaned toward her. He wore a mask of some kind; his blue eyes peered through slits, setting her protective genes into overdrive. She'd held Charlie against her and shrunk back into the corner of the buggy.

In a deep, soothing voice, he'd asked her if they were all right. In a slight accent she couldn't place, he'd told her not to be afraid; he wasn't going to hurt them. Then he left. Rubbing her bulging stomach, she frowned. The man had come back and told her something about Ben and a horse. Did he say it was their horse?

With a blinding light Libby recalled what the man had said. Her memory might be playing tricks on her, but what the man had said was very clear. She leaned forward and grabbed her stomach. "Oh, God, no! It can't be true!" Sobs reached up from the pit of her soul, her eyes welled with tears. Rocking back and forth Libby realized it was true. Ben was dead. She tried to keep from wailing. Besides Charlie, Ben was the only one who really loved her. Even if he teased her at times, there was no denying he truly loved her.

Libby put her fist to her mouth and bit on her fingers to keep from screaming and waking Charlie. He would never understand. Charlie had adored Ben. They were buddies. Charlie followed Ben around to the point where he would get irritated with his son. What on God's green Earth was she going to do? She was going to be a single mother with two young children. Lord only knew she wouldn't get help from her parents.

"Stop it!" This has to be a bad dream. A nightmare she'd soon wake from. She was always having terrifying dreams where Ben would desert her; telling her he had never loved her after all and walking off with a gorgeous blonde with an hour-glass figure. Her family would be standing in the background, pointing their fingers at her, laughing, reminding her how no one could ever love her. Libby pinched herself on the arm. "Please, let this be a dream. C'mon, Libby, wake up!" The pinch hurt. This was real. Ben was truly dead.

But where was he? Did the Amish leave him in the car? Was the man calling out to Captain an Amish man? Was he the one wearing the hood? Think. Think . Was there only one person? He hadn't been wearing a hat, which would have told her if he was Amish. But it could have blown off in the storm. The man had also worn a cape or cloak of some kind. She had never seen the Amish wear them. Neither did his voice have the slight German accent of the Amish.

But, if he wasn't Amish, who was he? Libby's head pounded with greater intensity. She would have to pray her rescuer was honest and would get them to a hospital soon. It could be possible Ben wasn't dead after all. If they could get an ambulance back to him fast enough, maybe they could save him. Libby wanted to lean forward and yell to the driver to go faster, but a pain gripped her stomach when the buggy hit a hole in the road. As she was flung to her side next to Charlie, she hit her head on the floor. Darkness descended once more.