Thank you :) I look forward to reading more of your work, as well. Robin
Novel Treatments / Untitled Historical Romance-Prologue thru Chapter 2
Prologue
August 24, 1902
Women in our family are raised to believe every fourth generation a daughter from our tree will travel back in time. We don’t understand the purpose, or why it happens. Some foolish part of our mind justifies this disappearance. Are we correcting history, fixing some tiny injustice that forms man in the future? Or, are we merely testing fate to see if it will actually happen again? We see a generation of healers, one with knowledge, and another with the gift of herbs, never in any particular order. But, always in the end, the fourth in our line leaves us, traveling to another time, meeting their destiny with knowledge the traveler before them didn’t hold.
My daughter is gone now; she is our traveler. I am left void of her presence with only the journals she has written to follow the days of her life…everyday since she left. I read her words, study her handwriting, and can even remember the day she chose to form a letter a certain way because it looked prettier than the day before. I met her husband, and later my grandchildren on paper, never in person. I was robbed of the opportunity to meet my daughter’s children by fate, or was it by my own hand?
I close my eyes and feel her nestled securely in the crook of my arms. I can still remember the way she felt, overwhelming emotion spilling from my heart, her scent, and the way her down-like hair haloed her head. Minutes pass and she’s learning to walk, with wibbly-wobbly steps and pride stamped across her tiny features. Her first steps fade into her first tooth, smile, tears, and words. I remember the eternal wait for her hair to grow, and the challenge of styling it, because surely she was the first little girl who never wanted a brush to meet those soft curls. The first day of school came too soon, when she marched off ready to learn everything they would teach her, and I cried because she was growing up.
I have read generations of diaries written by the women in my family, smiled at their successes, cried with their pain, rejoiced their solutions, oftentimes screaming the obvious answer to thin air, hoping they could hear me. These journals formed my life, created my beliefs, gave purpose to the lessons I taught my own daughter, and ultimately lead to the reason she left.
I digress.
Through time, Byington castle survived age, elements, and Mother Nature. By way of this structure, we are able to communicate with other generations, as well as facilitate new travelers. Every century adds to its unique structure, but two things remain true. In the bowels of the castle, carved in stone, lies a secret room that continues to grow with each woman of our line. It holds our mysteries, our journals, and offers the means to travel. It is our library, documenting and creating the circle of history that rips the fourth daughter from our arms. The second is the bedchamber in which they travel. It holds the bed that whisks them away to another time in our past. We don’t understand why. Perhaps my daughter will uncover the answer. Perhaps she won’t.
I often ask myself if it should be allowed to continue. Is it sheer curiosity that keeps this vicious circle alive? Or is it destiny? Maybe it was always meant to be.
I condition myself to read only small pieces of her life at a time. Today there are only pages left, and my heart bleeds with this knowledge. I said goodbye to her once, how can I do it again? I dread the final entry with every part of my soul. I feel compelled to cheat, reading the last chapter of a good book, just to see how it will end. Unlike a good fiction that concludes a story well told, this is my daughter’s life. It is true; an autobiography at its end. Will there be a happily ever after? I don’t know, but will find out sooner than I want.
I represent the knowledge of our line, and find the only words of wisdom I have to share are simple. Think. Think about the consequences of our actions. You can’t change your mind. We don’t possess the skill or means to reverse the choice.
With that said, I am going to finish the story of my daughter. I will read her last words, weep for her loss again, and pray future mothers won’t feel the agonizing loss I feel every minute of every day.
Chapter One
August, 2007
Lacey stood before the mirror, turning slowly left, then right. She admired her figure, taking particular glee in the tiny waist she was born with against the startling difference of her newly purchased bust line. Entering Victoria’s Secret and announcing to any salesperson who would listen she was there to purchase a 34-D held much more appeal than quietly whispering she’d like to see the collection of 34-A’s. Her credit card cringed with each visit to her favorite store, which had to be at least once a week now.
She picked up the straightener, running it silently over her nearly waist-long blonde hair. A girl in high school once told her it held at least five different shades, something she was particularly proud of since it came naturally. She chuckled, thinking it was the only part of her body that came unassisted. Since adulthood, each birthday marked a purchase to accentuate her appearance. Eighteen was the boob job, much to her mother’s dismay. Nineteen – the discreet tattooed eyeliner, so tastefully done nobody was aware of the enhanced effect. And on the eve of her twentieth birthday she nibbled her lip, trying to decide what new improvement she should make. Her lips were naturally plush, often more so than any plastic surgeon could copy. Her lashes were unexplainably thick, long, and dark, untrue to her natural hair color. Unfortunately, her eyebrows were too. But, nothing a good waxing couldn’t fix.
Lacey was an avid runner, giving her body a healthy tone even plastic surgery couldn’t copy. So, what next? Maybe she’d forego her annual ritual for an extended vacation; she always wanted to visit the beaches of Aruba.
The only thing she would truly change now was the color of her skin, preferring a golden tan to her “peaches and cream” complexion. It was nothing a good tanning bed couldn’t correct, but had been the only concession she made to her mother’s wishes.
Lacey finished her toilette and turned just as a tap sounded on the door. “Have you packed?” Her mom’s voice was muffled by the door, but repeated the same question she asked for the last seven mornings.
“No, I have not packed. Truly mother, haven’t the last two years proven it’s not going to happen?” She rolled her eyes, frustrated over the subject sure to start an annual argument. She perched on the bed and waited for the rest, there was always more.
“Lacey, you’ve read the books. You spent the better part of your childhood learning about your destiny. Do you think I want you leaving? But, it’s bound to happen tonight, and it’s the single thing we’ve prepared for all your life. Now humor me, pack your bags, and come spend time with your family.” She closed the door, hushing any argument Lacey could make. They’d been over this time and time again, and never with daughter on the winning side of this mother-daughter debate.
Lacey opened the closet door and grabbed the first overnight bag unfortunate enough to lie in her path. She threw it on the bed and yanked the substitute for her frustration open. Walking to her bathroom, she grabbed items willy-nilly: hairbrush, face soap, lotion, makeup, acne medication for those rarely seen spots, shampoo and conditioner, tweezers (a definite must), disposable razor. Her eyes scanned the items, mentally checking off the items she may need.
‘Ha,’ she thought, ‘I’m actually acting as if this is going to happen.’
She marched to the side table and rustled through the contents of the junk drawer. Birth control pills, the super deluxe bottle of Advil, and the ever necessary Reese’s cups were thrown into the bag, “And, she scores,” she mimicked, throwing her arms in the air as if she’d just landed the victory basket at the Nicks game.
“Oh, we can’t forget these,” she said, advancing on the colorful bottles of perfume arranged artfully on top of her chest of drawers. Poison, Channel, and Clinique bottles were wrapped and thrown in the bottom of the Fende bag.
She opened the next drawer and glanced lovingly over her bras and panties, a sure necessity in every girl’s life. Hot pink and black, aqua blue with green trim, pure white with limitless amounts of lace and trim peeked back at her. She carefully selected the favored items. Preferring nightshirts to torturous nighties, she grabbed her most worn, comfortable pajama, sporting the line, “Anything Boys can do, Girls can do Better!” She carelessly rolled it and added it to the collection.
Maybe once this proved fruitless, she’d use her bag of necessities to take the trip she’d just imagined. Liking this idea, Lacey took new interest in the job she originally found distasteful.
“Tampons!” she announced to no one in particular, and trekked back into the bathroom. As an afterthought, she collected sunscreen, chapstick, and her favorite bikini draped carelessly across the towel bar. “A definite must.”
Anything else she could purchase with Visa, girl’s best friend. After all, this trip was earned since she was humoring her mother after two failed attempts. How many years would she have to commit to this joke?
Lacey thought of the years she spent reviewing diaries of women she never knew, except through their private thoughts. In fairness, it was peculiar every fourth generation of Byington women disappeared, but hadn’t anybody ever read the newspapers? This could be explained by any crazy serial killer profiled in newspapers around the world. It was no small wonder, and surely coincidence, that a woman in their family tree disappeared regularly. ‘Maybe they were running away from their crazy mothers,’ she thought, smiling at the first sound explanation she’d come up with.
It was almost laughable reading those diaries, and seeing how the women in her past believed they were affecting history. Her great, great, great grandmother actually believed she made a difference in the civil rights movement. Ha, Lacey believed things meant to be, simply were. Centuries of women actually felt they had improved history. It was almost a cultish belief, handed down from mother to daughter through the ages.
‘Well, the buck stops here,’ Lacey thought, ‘When tonight doesn’t happen, I’m going to tell my mother I’m not buying into this hocus pocus crap anymore.’ Three years commitment was enough time to prove it was a hoax. ‘Psh, they also believed the world was flat,’ Lacey argued, outlining all the items she would use once she proved this was nothing more than a myth. ‘I’ll not arrange my life around this nonsense every year.’
Lacey collected her purse and car keys, prepared to spend the rest of her day doing something useful. ‘Maybe a movie?’ she thought, closing the bedroom door behind her.
*
Lacey’s mother mourned the moment she would wake up and find Lacey gone. She knew this was Lacey’s last night home, and was almost prepared to give in to her daughter’s wishes. But, Janet firmly believed their line had been given an honor, an ingredient necessary to correct the injustices of the world. If she didn’t allow Lacey to travel back in time to touch the lives around her, what differences could this mean to the future.
For the last week, Janet visited Lacey’s bedroom every night after she fell asleep. She took every opportunity to see Lacey one more time, memorizing her, watching over her. Lacey was asleep in the center of the huge bed, looking so small, with her precious pomeranian curled next to her. They’d slept like this for the last four years and Lacey would have it no other way, even tonight. The overstuffed suitcase sat on a chair in the corner of the bedroom, and Janet walked to it, regretting she’d not reviewed its content before now. It was too late to review her daughter’s idea of necessities. She didn’t want to wake Lacey, disturbing anything that could potentially affect tonight’s success. Instead, she placed the bag on the bed next to Zebediah.
Quietly she placed a chair next to the bed, choosing to spend these final moments close to her only daughter. When the grandfather clock chimed 11:45 p.m., she stood. She laid her hand across Lacey’s hair, smoothing the wayward strands. With a knot in her throat, she stepped soundlessly from the chair, wishing it had not been her daughter meant for this journey.
“I love you, baby,” she whispered, and leaned down to place her last kiss on Lacey’s forehead. The door shut, and Janet said a silent prayer. She hoped her spoiled daughter was prepared to survive in another time. She knew with certainty it was the last time she would see Lacey Allane Byington McLeod.
Chapter Two
Lacey woke slowly. She took inventory, a kaleidoscope of memories representing her fuzzy dreams. She vaguely remembered her mother in the bedroom, a kiss on her forehead and then spiraling through heaven only knew what. Only dreams produced the kind of roller coaster effect she experienced. Lying still, she tried to recreate the details of this surely interesting dream, when Zebediah growled, low in his throat. Seconds later, an “ohhhh” sounded next to the bed, and Lacey knew she wasn’t alone.
‘Keep your eyes closed and think,’ she immediately recounted theories of Jack the Ripper. Worst case scenario, she’d run if some lunatic thought he was making her the next disappearance in the long line of Byington’s. She opened her eyes, prepared to dart for the door, and scanned the room. Three strange females leaned over the bed, all anxiously waiting for something.
“It worked, it worked,” the youngest said, clapping her hands and jumping up and down.
“Hush Diana, you will frighten the poor child. Give her time to adjust,” another said, placing a hand on the youngster’s shoulder, a halfhearted attempt to calm her.
The oldest touched Lacey’s forehead, speaking softly and with care. “Do you feel okay?”
“Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?” Lacey demanded, feigning indignation.
The oldest looked to the others, mumbling a soft, “Oh dear,” and stepped back. “Do you know where you are?” she asked, quizzing Lacey as if she were touched in the head.
“Of course I know where I am,” she replied, waiting for an answer to her original question. “I’m in my parent’s home, in the room all Byington women sleep in the night they…” suddenly she had the answer. How daft they must think her. She laughed, sat up in the massive bed, and invited Zebediah to join in her crossed legs. “Okay, okay, I get it. Mother, you can come out now,” Lacey announced to the room. She laughed at her mother’s uncharacteristic prank. Surely, she put the strangers up to this joke. It didn’t work again, so naturally she staged the little performance to temporarily prove in the greater possibility of the gift.
She waited for Janet to jump from her hiding place and join in her laughter. Her chuckle faded, and she saw the look of dismay on each of the visitor’s faces. “Okay, this isn’t funny anymore. Mom, where are you?” She jumped from the bed, lifting the bedskirt, suspecting it would be vacant. Scanning the room for hiding places, she spotted the divider, and jumped behind it with a loud, “Ah ha!” Instead of her mother’s slight figure, a bedpan sat discreetly behind the curtain. ‘Where did that come from?’
She sat heavily on the rocking chair covered in rose colored brocade, contemplating the strangers. They were dressed unusually, wearing beautiful formfitting creations of layered silk, handcrafted lace, all in muted colors of butterscotch yellow, mint green, and deep plum. Intrigued by their dresses, she reached for the switch to cast light on their costumes, only to find it missing. Lacey pulled her hand back as if burned. She looked slowly about her, noting details, and suspicion took root, questions forming quickly in her mind.
The faded tapestries of her youth were gone, replaced with newer versions. Mirror images of the originals, today the colors were brighter, more vivid, less frayed. The television was gone, in its place a washstand, foreign to anything she had seen in a modern day bedroom. Lacey gasped, held her hand to her throat, and ran to the window. Tiptoeing, she looked at her home; only a portion of its original splendor remained.
She stood in the window several minutes, accepting. What was the proper protocol for traveling through time? Was she supposed to turn around and introduce herself to these people who surely must be prior Byington women? A thought struck her, ‘The young girl behind me could be my great, great, great, great, great…how many greats?’ A single hysterical cry slipped from her throat. ‘I can do this, I really can.’ Lacey turned to face her future. Or was it her past?
“I’m Lacey,” she said simply. She spoke slowly, enunciating her words as if she didn’t expect them to understand English.
The oldest looked relieved, and extended her hand, “I am Margaret, and this is my daughter, Amy, and my granddaughter, Sarah. I represent wisdom, Amy is our healer, and Sarah is learning the art of herbs,” she put a face to each of their talents. Lacey calculated Sarah’s daughter would be the generation for travel.
“We have been waiting for you, unsure when you may arrive, but checking each morning for quite some time.” Margaret steered Lacey toward the bed. Without waiting for an invitation, Sarah plopped on the bed, and rooted for the perfect spot. Margaret and Amy perched on either side, leaving room for Lacey to sit down.
Sarah broke the silence, pointing to Lacey’s Fende bag. “What’s in there?”
Lacey thought of everything she’d placed carelessly in the suitcase and knew it was her last connection to her time, her family, and her past. She couldn’t share everything in the bag; it would be too much at once. Thus, she mentally inventoried its content and smiled for the other women. She slid the zipper and the women gasped, leaning forward to see the miracle of a zipper. Sarah grabbed the clasp, pulling left and right, oohing and aahing over the simple invention. “Ha, if you like that, wait ‘til you taste these,” Lacey leaned inside.
She handed a Reese’s Cup to everyone, and sat back to enjoy the moment they reluctantly bit into the peanut butter delights. All groaned in unison, slowly savoring the treat from the future.
“You are a beauty,” Margaret said thoughtfully, looking Lacey over from head to toe. She took special note of Lacey’s nightshirt and asked, “Has our family become poor in the future?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Lacey chuckled. “My goodness, no. We just pick our nightclothes for comfort, rather than style.” The unconvinced looks spoke more than words. Lacey reached for her bag again, revealing bras and panties. These items would put any bordello to shame, but hinted of a richer bank account. “See?”
The older women examined the undergarments, marveling the colors and textures. From their looks, Lacey knew there would be many late nights explaining the evolution of women’s fashion.
After thoroughly examining the mystery of modern day brassieres, Margaret took charge again, “We have much to do.” She made a mental list of all the things necessary to incorporate Lacey into their daily lives. “An entire wardrobe first,” she said, glancing furtively at the bras discarded on the bed. “Amy recently suggested a wonderful excuse for your appearance. You are here for The Season, which is due to begin in three weeks time. We are attempting to find you a husband, as your poor Mama has given up on ever securing you a suitable match.” Looking Lacey up and down, she tsk, tsked, realizing this beautiful young woman’s appearance would surely becry their poorly fashioned excuse. It was simply impossible for such a beautiful woman to escape matrimony, as even a titled gentlemen would overlook any lack of dowry given her incredible looks. Fortunately, that would not be the case as the family was prepared to establish Lacey in whatever means necessary to assist their newest family member.
“First things first, though. Amy stored a few of her gowns here to adjust to your size prior to taking you to the seamstress. We can have one of the maids make quick business of it, and then spend a splendid day outfitting you as befitting your station. Strip off that rag so we can find a dress to fit.”
Lacey pulled off her nightshirt, and tossed it to the side. The two older women gasped.
“Oh, this is a thong,” Lacey laughed, realizing how different underwear would appear for this time; she glanced at the lacy contraption she would soon be forced to wear. The women continued to stare with their mouths drooping. They looked incredulous. Lacey thought the thong was pretty, even if it was a bit skimpy. Certainly it wasn’t that shocking.
“Your…your bosom,” Amy said, instantly explaining their shock. “We’ll never get my corset to fit her,” she said, grabbing her own lack of breasts.
“We’ll just have to work around them,” Margaret stated firmly. Collectively, the women shoved, and pulled, finally stepping back to review their handiwork. Lacey stood with her arms out, looking down at the only dress from the pile that could work. The problem hadn’t been her waist, which obviously was much smaller than Amy’s. The only gown that fit looked suspiciously like a…
“I wore it when I was with child,” Amy said apologetically. She stared at the ground with more interest than the carpet warranted.
‘Great, I’ve worked twenty years toward the perfect body, only to travel through time and find the only dress I can borrow would shame any Mother-to-be chain clothing store,’ Lacey mumbled, staring down at the dress she would otherwise be thrilled to own.
“Amy, have Smithers bring the carriage round, and hustle our Lacey down with as little interruption as possible. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
“Wait, what year is this?”
Amy answered hesitantly, “Why, it is 1814, Lacey. What year did you leave?”
Lacey felt lightheaded and slowly whispered, “2007.”
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JStavros reviewed Version 1 -
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msmalls reviewed Version 3 -
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Wow! What an amazing story! I was completely engaged from the start – the prologue is an absolute smash.
I found myself wondering what Lacey would be called upon to rectify in history and then my mind drifted as I thought what in the world it could be. But as I continued to read I didn’t care as much about what she and the women of her family were suppose to fix because I started to care about the characters you were introducing.
Also the jump back to 1814 is amazing on so many levels, I cannot wait to read how the shift to the cultural priorities of that time will affect and effect Lacey.
I will definitely stay tuned for more.
Blessings,
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Heavymethod reviewed Version 3 -
Read 15% of the Item
I like the idea of having a higher purpose as the reason for time travel. Excellent substance for future character and story developement. The time travel thing has been done so many times, but one of the great things about it is how it allows the writer to take the reader back and fourth through events. The limitations on story telling are now almost completely gone. I am not much for historical romance, but so far it is interesting. I will definetly keep reading.
Ploot reviewed Version 3 -
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A very well written start of a novel , promising a great adventure.The transition through time was subtle enough to make me study the story and the description.”..explaining the evolution of women’s fashion”,and getting married is just an idea of how her backward journey in time is spent,not saving lives from famous tragedies nor inventing lotto. The reason for this travel and highly planned system should not have been revealed to be unknown from the start for the story to develop later as more than to read her journals , which Lacey could read herself then knowing what happens . How does the family explain the missing Lacey?
HawkeyeMike reviewed Version 3 -
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I liked the way you put me inside the head of a woman even though I’m a guy
Its a strange experience that’s wierdly adrenalising, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, I bet many guys have read this and thought, wow, woman think cooly, but haven’t actually said it because they’re too embarassed about being called sissy’s.
Being in the mind of Lacey was almost like watching a movie, which is a good trait in a writer.
FoxyChoklatRobot reviewed Version 3 -
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Fende- Fendi , i thought she just took a generic bag, I think it’s out of charater for Lacey not to note the name brand of her bag.
The sitution was introduced very organically , I would have liked to see Amy interact more with the world around her – family friends etc. Before leaving. It’s hard to believe that she would have no remorse of leaving her loved ones and friends and everything behind without at least one moment of shock. Even if she was prepared for this her entire life. When something this life changing happened I think a even a person as self involved as Amy would really need to take the time to digest that the world she knew is gone to her forever.
As materilistic and shallow as Amy’s values are I’m pretty sure she would have more of a reaction to the new clothing and lack of convience of her new home. A girl that has a fendi bag lying on the ground of her closet is not going to take the reality of a bed pan so lightly.
I really like the readablity of the story. This would appeal to teenaged girls whom I think would have the most in common with amy. The word choice is simple and it’s a quick but fun read.
PrincesswriterC reviewed Version 3 -
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Dear Reader,
My favorite novels to read are historical and second is a good romance. You have done a magical job of introducing me to both at one time. The downside of Urbis is I can’t get all the story at once and take this home with me and snuggle in my bed to an all nighter read-a-thon.
I LOVE this story. Please keep me informed of each installment! You are skilled – talented – entertaining and one of the best story tellers I’ve been previledged to read of my favorite type of stories.
Thank you Godess of Words! :-D
Smile,
Princess
rsaioxkreual reviewed Version 3 -
Read 100%% of the Item
You’ve got everything happening too fast. You first have Lacey laughing at her mother for being an idiot with the whole ‘time travel’ thing, then have her thrown into 1814. Lacey accepts it too quickly for my tastes. Also, you need to work on how she reacts. I really don’t think that anyone who is thrown into 1814 would be handing out candy to people from that time. You have to look at this through the readers perspective- wouldn’t a normal person be freaking out, giving a much bigger temper tantrum than what your character is giving? We want to believe Lacey, but right now I just can’t believe her actions. Don’t have her accept everything that fast.
Also, when Lacey is talking to her mother you have Lacey say ‘I have not packed’. That is way to formal for her character, as well as the time. ‘I haven’t packed,” Would have worked better.
There was only one thing that I liked about what was written, and that was the part about the corset. The irony of living in the 2000’s is that women’s chest’s have either naturally grown or are now enhanced by plastic surgery.
You have stated in your author’s notes that you have re written this piece, but it still needs a lot of work. Not only are you having things go way to fast, but you are telling the reader everything. Why don’t you show us what’s going on? Use detailed descriptions to make the reader believe the situation, belive the characters and the scenery.
If you need any help, have questions or want some examples, don’t be afraid to ask.
angelique_07 reviewed Version 3 -
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What a wonderful read! Imaginative, amusing, entertaining, just fantastic. I couldn’t really find any fault with this piece, I just wanted to let you know that I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Perhaps… perhaps the only suggestion I can make is that it would be nice to see not only a change in the diologue from future to past, but a slight change in the narration as well. It’s not necessary, I just think it would be interesting. Anyway, great job! I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting it published.
~Angelique
ldeniseb reviewed Version 3 -
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Ok I’m intriqued and ready to read more. Good story plot, a little confusion at the beginning going from Mom to daughter. (Me not your writing)
So… every fourth generation a woman from this family goes back in time…. Since when? Why? Those are both pretty vague. I don’t mean give the whole story away, but maybe a hint at some of the things. They touch the lives around them and it changes things, but how.. are their own great great grandparents are they marrying into money that keeps the family wealthy… Sorry giving it all away.
Grammar is my weakness but I didn’t notice anything distracting. I did notice a couple of long sentences you may want to split. (Just to keep the flow moving better.)
One other caution don’t forget if you want believable time travel they can’t mess up the past without messing up the future?? So whatever happens has to be in the family history already? Make since?
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