Free Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) by Carol A. Spradling

and placed her foot on the first group of slats.  Aidan had told her that he had bought his land from the old woman.  He also said that the crone owned all of the property on the other side of the river.  Faith remained stationary and considered the information.  Before their fight, Hank had been sole owner of the property, except for the ridge. 
    Her hand tightened into a fist.  She could feel the knife handle she had used on him in her grip.  During her last encounter with Hank, she had fought for her life, stabbing the blade in his direction.  From the way it had sunk to the hilt, she had not hit bone.  Had he died from the wound?  She added this question to her list of queries, and stepped onto the bridge.  The slats bounced under her feet as she crossed to the other side of the water. 
    Faith climbed the short embankment and walked toward the tree line.  From where she walked, the gray stones of the chimney showed behind the leafy foliage.  She braced herself for the memories that would certainly come and then looked through the leaves at the stacked stones.  Slowing her steps, she stopped at the property edge. 
    She stood rooted in place.  Everything in front of her seemed familiar, yet foreign.  Where were the crops and the tobacco fields?  Nothing was the same as it had been before she left Hank. 
    Her world seemed to pull away from her and she considered turning around.  Afraid that she would be thrown back to Hank if she stepped one foot on his property, she looked down, making sure the tips of her shoes remained within the thicket.  She wiggled her toes.  The crone was the only constant in this nightmarish dream, and to reach her, she had to cross through Hank's property. 
    Faith glanced from left to right, searching for Hank.  He was nowhere to be seen.  She took a deep breath and shot up a quick prayer.  Stepping forward, an eerie qualm slipped over her.  Everything within her urged her to turn around and run back to Aidan.  What would happen if she confronted Hank?  She might not be able to survive a second murder attempt.
    Hurrying to the house, she stepped onto the porch and inched her way to the window.  Her heart raced and her palms sweat.  Before she sought out Trista, she had to know if Hank was still alive.  If he was, she would no longer have anything to fear.  She peered inside.  Nothing seemed out of place, but more importantly, there was no sign of anyone being home.
    With a quick glance toward the barn, she looked to see if she had time for a peek inside the dwelling.  Nothing stirred nearby.  Catching the cabin door handle, she pushed the entrance open, and stepped inside.  The interior of the room had not changed.  Dishes were stacked on the table, and an iron pot hanged from the hook in the fireplace. 
    Faith moved further inside the house, and made her way to the bedroom.  There was nothing distinctive about the décor.  A bed and dresser was the only furniture in the room.  The air was thick and stifling.  She waved her hand in front of her face.  The room could use a good airing.  She remained in the doorway and considered what she saw. 
    Men's clothes lay tossed over a corner chair, but there was nothing feminine in the space.  No dresses, hair brushes, or even clean linens had any place in the room.  While the clothes were visibly cut for a man, she did not recognize the garments as being anything Hank had worn.  One thing was clear; none of her things were still in the house.  Did a new owner live on the farm?  If they did, she should exit their home immediately.  There was no need to cause trouble with new neighbors.

    A gentle weight pressed down on her shoulder, preventing her from leaving the room.  Faith's breath caught in her throat, and she turned her head to see what held her in place.  Standing next to her, the gray haired woman from the ridge held a bony finger to her dull lips, cautioning Faith from speaking.

 
     
    Chapter