Ellora's Cavemen: Tales from the Temple IV (26 page)

Shit.

“What should I do?” Wai shouted back. “I’m not from around here. Is there a motel close by?”

The officer inclined his head as he pointed toward a road Wai could barely make out. “Head east!” the patrolman shouted. “You’ll hit a little motel on the right about five miles on down the road. It ain’t nothing fancy-schmancy, but the sheets are clean and the food is hot and good!”

At this point, that sounded like music to her ears. “Okay!” she shouted back over the noise of the downfall, “Thanks!” Offering him a quick smile, Wai squinted her eyes and wound her way as fast as she safely could up the small, country road.

The weather was unreal. Never before had she seen rain pound down so mercilessly from the sky as it did in rural Ohio. The last thing she needed was to be caught up in a flood. She’d take the officer’s advice and happily park her butt in the motel with the clean sheets and hot food.

Five miles later, she did just that. Wai breathed out a sigh of relief as she made out the words ZEISBERGER INN. The sign was old and dilapidated, the neon flashes barely working, but she managed to see it and pull into the motel’s solitary driveway regardless.

Clean sheets and hot food, she thought on a relieved breath. Bring it on.

* * * * *

162

The Beckoned

The day turned into evening, the evening into nightfall, and the rain continued. Still full from dinner, Wai fell onto the bed with a groan.

It was difficult enough to pass up gourmet cuisine, but homemade country food?

Buttered beans, freshly made bread with apple butter, creamy mashed potatoes, turkey, chicken, gravy—and, she thought on a whimper, the best slice of cherry pie a la mode she’d ever tasted. Her belly was so full she felt an inch away from popping.

Rolling onto her back with a sigh, Wai stared up at the ceiling. Her mind was blank, her ears attuned to the sound of the steadily falling rain above her. The downpour hadn’t quit altogether, but she could tell it was at least lightening up. Thank God for small miracles.

Yawning, she stretched out like a sleepy cat and closed her eyes. Surely the rain would be gone by the time she awoke. Then she could get back to the business of finding Millersburg.

* * * * *

“Jack…”

Wai jolted upright in the four-poster bed, her light brown eyes wide. Breathing heavily, her gaze darted about the small room as it took her a moment to realize she’d been dreaming.

Jack Elliot. He was back.

She had wished him away about a year ago, and away he had gone. There had been no dreams of the mythical man ever since that night she’d asked him to leave. There were times she had missed him, occasions when she’d been half-tempted to lie down and conjure him back, though she refused to admit it aloud.

Wai had wanted then just as she wanted now—to get on with her life without Jack.

To take care of herself and find happiness with a real man, not an imaginary one. Still, one whole year later, hauntingly vivid memories of her dream lover kept her from reaching that goal. The memories didn’t come often, but tended to rear their ugly head whenever Wai was sizing up a potential date.

No man could possibly compare to territorial, lusty Jack.

And that very fact was what made the newest vision so troubling now. She had worked hard to forget him—very hard. Nevertheless, he’d found his way back to her.

The dream this time wasn’t like before. Jack hadn’t been making love to her. He’d been angry with her, the emotion almost frightening in its intensity. He felt betrayed by her, as if she’d abandoned him. Jack had lost his possession and he was taking to it none too kindly.

“Stop this!” Wai chastised herself through gritted teeth. She ran two punishing hands through her long, black hair and fell back onto the bed. “Jack Elliot does not exist.

163

Jaid Black

Jack Elliot does not exist.” She closed her eyes tightly and repeated the mantra over and over again.

But he felt so real, smelled so real…

Was she losing her mind? Was this what it felt like to be schizophrenic?

“Go away,” she pleaded, her breath catching in the back of her throat. “Please, Jack…please let me go.”

164

The Beckoned

Chapter Two

Wai threw Mr. Zeisberger a sleepy smile as he chatted her up over Mrs.

Zeisberger’s breakfast. After the dream she’d had about Jack last night, sleep had been impossible. She’d been afraid to drift off into slumber again as she was really beginning to believe something in her mind had snapped and wasn’t right.

The very idea terrified her. She was definitely going to see a shrink upon her return to North Carolina.

“You signed the register last night as ‘P-u-a-w-a-i Ashley’,” the elderly man intoned. “How exactly do you say that?”

Wai grinned at Mr. Zeisberger. It was a question she was asked every time she had to show her ID somewhere. “It’s pronounced ‘Pwa-why’,” she retorted in her New Zealander accent. “It’s easier just to call me ‘Wai’ like everyone else does.”

He winked. “Gotcha. So tell me more about the Maori people.” He gulped down some buttermilk before setting his cup on the table. “Me and the missus have never even been out of Ohio before.”

“Yes we have, dear,” his wife chimed in from the kitchen. “We been to West Virginia once.”

“Oh right.” Her husband frowned. “But that don’t count because it’s next door and ain’t much different than what we got right here.”

She grinned at the older man. After Mrs. Zeisberger joined them, Wai spent the next thirty minutes indulging her hosts’ curiosity about her homeland and answering any and all questions. When the meal finished, she made to stand up.

“Thanks for the terrific breakfast and company.” Wai smiled. “I better go pack up what little I brought with me and hit the road. Oh! Can I trouble you for directions to Millersburg?”

“I’m afraid going anywhere but down the street ain’t a possibility,” the elderly gentleman answered. He nibbled on the toothpick dangling out of his mouth. “All the roads you can take to get there have done flooded.”

Her heart sank. She just wanted to get out of here. The older couple was as sweet as they could be, but Jack…

She needed to run away. In all of the years she’d dreamt of him, he’d never felt closer or more real than he had last night. The ache to leave this place was as desperate as it was tangible. Even her hosts could see it.

“If it’s money that’s troubling you, honey,” Mrs. Zeisberger said, “don’t worry yourself over it. You can stay here free of charge until the roads clear.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Wai breathed out, “but it’s not the money.”

165

Jaid Black

“Then…?”

There was no way to explain what she was going through without sounding like a lunatic. Desperate was too weak of a word to describe her current condition—she
had
to get out of here. Now. “I was just eager to start my new assignment is all,” she lied. She knotted her fingers together in her lap as she told them about the ad agency she worked for. “But I guess seeing Amish country will have to wait.”

“We’ve got a few Amish scattered around this village, too,” the old man piped up.

He scratched what was left of the white hair on his head. “Not many, mind you, but since them people all live alike and dress alike, pretty much when you seen one you seen them all.”

Wai didn’t know whether to whimper or chuckle. It sounded like she truly had her work cut out for her. She compromised on a snort before inquiring as to whether or not there was anything to do in the area she was currently in—New Philadelphia, she’d been told it was called.

“As a matter of fact,” the old man sniffed, his back straightening, “there is.” He inclined his head. “Ever heard of Schoenbrunn Village?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, but I haven’t. What is it?”

“The very first settlement in Ohio,” his wife answered for him. She patted the neat bun of white curls that sat on top of her head. “And probably one of but a handful of Revolutionary War era villages where Indians and whites lived together.”

“It was founded by my grandfather,” Mr. Zeisberger said proudly. “Well, my grandfather two hundred and some odd years removed, anyways. His name was David Zeisberger—a Moravian missionary who made it his life’s work converting Indians to his pacifist, Christian belief system.”

How very interesting. “Was the colony successful?” Wai inquired.

“Among the villagers it was.” The old man pulled at the knees of his jean overalls as he prepared to give her a little rundown on its history. “My granddad, you see, he didn’t believe in forcing the Indians into his way of thinking. When they came, it was willingly. The only rules he had were no warring, no warpaint, and no premarital sex.”

He shrugged. “Other than that, he didn’t try to impose his European beliefs on their way of life.”

Wai sensed a “but” coming on. She was correct.

“Problem being,” Mrs. Zeisberger sighed, “Grandpa refused to take sides during the Revolutionary War. He was a pacifist through and through. Practiced what he preached.”

“So both the British and the Americans suspected him of aiding the other side,”

David’s grandson interjected. “Schoenbrunn was caught between America’s Fort Pitt and Britain’s Fort Detroit. Eventually my granddad and the other colonists abandoned Schoenbrunn out of fear for their lives.”

166

The Beckoned

A certain sense of sadness sunk inside Wai’s belly for reasons she couldn’t understand. They were discussing people who had been dead for over two hundred years. “That’s terrible,” she whispered.

“Well, war always is, honey.” Mrs. Zeisberger shook her head. “Lord knows, this old woman has lived to see plenty of them. Haven’t seen a pretty one yet.”

“Yes,” Wai murmured, “I suppose not.” She was quiet for a moment and then,

“You said the village is near here?” Curiosity the likes of which she’d never before entertained swamped her senses. A knot of tension coiled in her belly. For reasons she couldn’t comprehend, she felt as though she was
supposed
to see this place. “I take it the ruins are still there? Is it within reasonable driving distance?”

“About a mile up the road.” The old man frowned thoughtfully. “I’d risk driving you myself, but I don’t think it would do too much good. Trouble being,” he explained,

“the phone lines are down so there ain’t no way for you to let me know when you’re ready to come back.”

“It’s fine,” Wai said quickly. “I can drive myself.”

His wife clucked her tongue. “That might not be a good idea. What if the only road we got that’s not already flooded takes to flooding? I doubt you’d know what to do in such a situation and—”

Wai dismissed the old woman’s fears with a jovial wave of her hand. “I’ll be fine,”

she assured them.

It didn’t matter what they said. She was going to see this Schoenbrunn no matter how bad the weather got. Something about the place beckoned to her—and she barely knew anything about it. Not to mention the fact that it was the perfect excuse to get away from Jack.

“If it starts raining again, I’ll come right back.” Wai flashed them a pearly white smile. “Promise.”

* * * * *

It wasn’t working. The closer Wai drove toward the antique log village, the harder those thoughts of Jack pounded in her brain. And now that she was here, standing inside the reception center…

She blew out a breath, her heart racing. Fear of walking through the reception center’s doors and out to the mysterious village beyond it assaulted her. What the hell was going on? Why did she feel as though Jack was somehow tied to this place? Why was she sweating, her heart pounding? This made no sense!

“I’m really losing it,” she muttered to herself.

She might need more than one shrink upon her return to North Carolina.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

167

Jaid Black

Wai’s head darted up. She’d forgotten that the historical site’s solitary worker was standing behind the counter. Shaking off the eeriness of the situation, she politely inclined her head and smiled at the teenager. “I’m surprised they have you working today.”

“We’re open every day from Memorial Day through Labor Day.” The young, pretty blonde blew a bubble and loudly popped it. “Even yesterday during the storm.”

Wai nodded. “Yes. Well…I suppose I’d like to purchase a ticket.”

“Sure. It’ll be six dollars.”

Wai handed her a wad of ones, then stuffed the rest of her cash into a pocket.

Having a rather bad tendency of losing a bill here and there, she pushed the bills in as far as the sundress’s pocket allowed.

“We don’t have guided tours or colonial reenactments except for when kids come on school trips. There aren’t any school trips scheduled today, so basically you go out that door and you’re on your own. I’m Julie, by the way. If you need anything.”

“Thank you, Julie.” Wai’s voice sounded scratchy even to her own ears, so she cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll be on my way then.”

Wai ambled toward the double doors that led to the village. She stopped mid-stride, her peripheral vision snagged by a very old portrait hanging close by. Curious, she walked over to it and read the nameplate beneath:
David Zeisberger, 1772

Her gaze flicked up. Wearing a plain white shirt beneath a severe black jacket of the time period, the gray-headed missionary would have looked overly austere was it not for the kindness in his eyes. He had the same eyes as his grandson. “So you’re Mr.

Zeisberger’s grandfather,” she murmured.

Wai ran two fingers over the brass nameplate. She all but slumped against the portrait.
Why do I feel so connected to you and to this place? This is beyond strange.

She snatched back her hand and stood ramrod straight, mentally chastising herself.

This wasn’t the time to get all weirded out. Not with Julie standing a few feet away, probably looking at her like she’d lost her mind.

“You feel okay?” the high school girl called out.