Isabelle's Locket

By Colleen Mitchell

We all know that time travel is just not possible...don't we? Erin knows it, of course. How can she explain what happens to her when she buys an old house and finds a locket hidden in a wall? Can she prevent the tragic deaths of young lovers Isabelle and Flynn? Erin can't explain it at all. You see Isabelle and Flynn died one hundred years ago, in 1910. Is Erin being given the chance to save the young lovers, or is this a cruel twist of fate that could see her threaten the very existence of someone she loves dearly in her own time? Only one thing is certain, the more Erin tries to change the events of the past, the more she comes to see that time has its own agenda...and there appears to be no way to stop it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thistlewood Publishing
• Release date: Feb 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465868220

Colleen Mitchell

Colleen Mitchell finds it oddly satisfying to tug on readers' heartstrings, whether in her ten years writing Fanfiction or in her fantasy series, The Chronicles of Talahm. She's been writing since at least age twelve and spent a good chunk of choir class ignoring the teacher to trade stories with her best friend in the back row. Colleen holds a BS in Mechanical Engineering from Washington State University and her Professional Certified Coach certification from The Life Coach School. She hosts the podcasts This is Type 1: Real Life with Type 1 Diabetes and The Novel Writing Podcast. Colleen is the founder of Inspired Forward LLC, a coaching practice taking fiction authors from first draft to self-published without the drama of figuring it out on your own.She is the author of The Chronicles of Talahm epic fantasy novel series. Colleen lives in Missoula, Montana with her husband Tim and their cat Luna.

Book preview

PART I

Chapter 1

Foxton: July 23rd 1910

"Shh, sixteen-year-old Isabelle Luff said, laughing softly as eighteen-year-old Flynn O’Leary showered her face and neck with kisses and boldly declared his love for her. Someone will hear us!" She glanced at the bedroom door―firmly closed of course―and strained her ears for any sound of the housekeeper.

I don’t care, Flynn said, planting a line of kisses from her ear to the bridge of her pert nose and then smiling at her. We’ll be man and wife in a few hours, and it won’t matter who hears us. He ran a hand along the edge of her blonde hair, neatly bound and almost hidden under a rather fetching wide-brimmed hat and across the smooth white skin of her cheek, and smiled. If you still want me, that is.

Isabelle looked into his soft brown eyes and felt her pulse quicken. Of course, I do.

I’ll never be able to give you a grand home like this one, Flynn said, casting an eye around the spacious and tastefully decorated room in the two-year-old house that was the pride and joy of Isabelle’s father, Gabriel Luff. Are you sure you want to marry the son of a farmer?

Very sure. Isabelle kissed his deeply tanned cheek and tousled his dark, unruly hair. Very sure, indeed.

Then today’s the day, Flynn whispered. Are you ready?

Isabelle glanced at the small leather bag that held two changes of clothing and only the most essential of toiletries. As ready as I shall ever be, she whispered, glancing at the door again. But how will we get out of the house without being seen? She glanced to the open window. I cannot possibly climb out of the window like you do, not on the second storey.

Everything is arranged, Flynn said, releasing the tight hold he had on Isabelle’s waist and running his hands down her arms to clasp her hands firmly in his. Billy Ryder is going to provide a distraction to keep the cook and the housekeeper standing at the front door long enough for us to sneak out the back door. We’ll have to watch out for your friend though.

I have sent her to the town to try to locate you, just as we planned. Oh, Flynn my heart is trembling!

So is mine, Flynn said softly, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

It is.

My horse is tied up in the trees over there, Flynn gestured out of the window to a small group of trees about a hundred yards or so away. We’ll have to run like the wind though, as soon as Billy lights the fire to distract the others.

Isabelle shook her head slowly. Billy Ryder is not one to be trusted, Flynn. Surely you know that.

Don’t worry. I’ve paid him.

Isabelle glanced out of the window. What time can we expect this distraction?

Flynn glanced at the clock on the table. Any minute now.

The door opened suddenly and Gabriel Luff, Isabelle’s father, burst into the room, closely followed by constable Biggs from the Foxton police and … Isabelle blinked … Billy Ryder.

See! Billy said, waving a hand at Flynn. I told you! He held out his hand to Gabriel. You promised me ten shillings!

You shall have your money, Mr. Ryder, Gabriel said, keeping his eyes on Flynn, just as soon as I have ensured that this miscreant here rots in jail for the rest of his days.

But I haven’t done anything! Flynn said, while releasing Isabelle’s hands quickly.

Constable Biggs stepped forwards and Flynn held his hands in the air at chest height.

Have you not? Gabriel said softly. I do not recall giving you permission to enter my house, in fact I recall giving you explicit instructions to stay far away from my daughter. Yet here you are … so you are guilty of trespass, at the very least, he cocked his head, and I have cause to believe that you are also a thief.

I’m no thief!

Mr. Ryder here informs me that you are.

And you believe him? Flynn said, waving a hand in Billy’s direction. He’s a liar!

It is not Mr. Ryder who has been lying to me though, is it? Gabriel said. You and my daughter have been meeting together and doing who-knows-what for some time I have been told.

Flynn’s face coloured. We haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m no thief!

Search him, Billy said loudly, you’ll see.

Gabriel turned to constable Biggs. Search him!

Constable Biggs stepped forwards and reached into Flynn’s pocket. I suppose you mean to tell me that this is yours then? he said, pulling a pearl necklace from Flynn’s pocket and dangling it in front of his face. Well are you?

Flynn stared at the necklace. I don’t know how that came to be in my pocket, I swear I don’t.

Gabriel snatched the necklace from the constable. This belonged to my wife, he hissed to Flynn. How dare you!

I told you. I’m no thief.

Arrest him, Gabriel said, his voice was very calm. And remove him from my house at once.

No! Isabelle shrieked. No, Father! You know Flynn is no thief. You know it!

I know that my daughter has been swayed to act in a manner that no lady of her standing should countenance, Gabriel hissed, and I know that he, pointing a finger at Flynn sharply, is to blame.

But I love him! Isabelle cried loudly.

Gabriel shook his head slowly. You will be sent to St. Mary’s Convent, where you shall live for the next year.

No! Isabelle shrieked again as the constable twisted Flynn’s hands behind his back and snapped handcuffs onto Flynn’s wrists.

Flynn, who had been struggling with the constable, suddenly stopped struggling and stood very still with his eyes locked on Isabelle’s. I love you, he whispered.

Father! Isabelle shrieked as the constable pulled on Flynn’s arm and began to drag him across the room. This is wrong!

The constable paused at the door and turned to Gabriel. Don’t worry, sir, he’ll not be bothering you again. He turned to look at Flynn. Quick as a flash, Flynn brought his elbow up into the constable’s face, sending him reeling backwards into Gabriel. As the men fell to the ground Flynn ran for the door.

Oh no, you don’t! Billy stood in the doorway and flexed his not inconsiderable muscles. I haven’t been paid yet.

Flynn lowered his head and charged at Billy, but Billy brought his booted foot up quickly and kicked Flynn across the room as he raised his fists in front of his body in a classic boxer’s pose. You’re handcuffed, he said, What chance do you think you have?

Flynn glanced at Gabriel who was scrambling to his feet and then glanced to the open window that he had climbed in not half an hour ago.

Don’t move! the constable said, rising to his knees and spitting teeth from his bloodied mouth.

I love you, Isabelle, Flynn said as he launched himself through the open window and onto the roof of the veranda below. With handcuffed hands Flynn was powerless to stop his slide down the veranda roof and into the air.

Flynn! Isabelle cried from the open window as he fell from the veranda roof onto the sharp pointed spikes of the wrought iron fence that ran from the house to the stone boundary fence to divide the property into two sections.

Isabelle felt vomit rise into her mouth as blood spurted from Flynn’s chest in several places as he rocked helplessly on the spikes. She quickly turned her head away from the sight. You did this! she shrieked to her father. You killed him!

Nonsense, Gabriel said, glancing out of the window and then glancing quickly away. The lad brought this on himself.

Isabelle felt the world begin to spin. I hate you!

That is of no concern to me, Gabriel snapped. You will be taken to St. Mary’s convent forthwith, he glanced at the bag lying on Isabelle’s bed. I see you are already packed for travel, which will save us some time. He grabbed Isabelle by the arm. And there is no time like the present.

No! Isabelle tore her arm from her father’s grip and grabbed at the windowsill, staring down at Flynn. The man she vowed to love forever was still twitching on the spikes. Flynn!

She felt her father’s strong hands close on her arm once again and made up her mind.

Flynn and I will be together until death, she said, stamping her delicately booted foot onto her father’s foot with all the strength she could muster and ripping her arm free from his grip as he doubled over in pain, no matter how long that is. She launched herself through the open window and made no attempt to slow her slide down the veranda roof.

Her descent ended abruptly, and she saw blood spurt from the sharp spikes that protruded from her own stomach and chest. Strange ... it doesn’t hurt.

Raising her head as much as possible, she looked over to Flynn and reached her hand to his handcuffed hand. He opened his eyes and grasped her hand as his lips moved. I love you, he mouthed and Isabelle smiled.

Till death do us part, she said, feeling blood welling in her mouth. She kept tight hold of his hand as she felt his body tense and then relax with a loud hiss. Oh, Flynn, she said as the world drifted in and out of focus and she heard her father wail from the window two stories above. We shall never be parted now.

Chapter 2

Foxton: June 2010

"Here she is," the real estate agent, Mr. Moyes said as he turned his Toyota Prado off the street and into the driveway of what Erin could only describe as a huge but ramshackle two-storied house.

From the passenger’s seat of the Prado, twenty-eight-year-old Erin Finlay looked out at the overgrown yard and cast an eye over the house itself. Was this really all she could afford?

It’s a really good location, Mr. Moyes said, opening the door of the Prado and stepping out of the car, carefully avoiding a large muddy puddle. And the house was built of top grade timber. She’s as solid as a rock.

Mmm, Erin said, opening the passenger’s door and stepping out onto the rough, broken concrete of the driveway. Surely she could find something better than this! She cast her eye over the remains of what was probably once a lovely wrought iron fence that stretched from one side of the house to the sadly crumbling stone wall that surrounded the whole section. How long has it been since anyone lived here?

Mr. Moyes licked his lips. A long time, I’m afraid.

And do the plumbing and electrics all work okay?

Oh yes. The house was rewired about twenty years ago, and the plumbing was upgraded when the town water and sewerage were connected.

Uh-huh. Erin cast her eye to a cracked and crumbling old concrete water tank in the back yard.

The section’s huge, Mr. Moyes said, waving a hand at the overgrown jungle that was−presumably−the back yard. Nearly half an acre.

Uh-huh, Erin said, sighing lightly. How would she ever be able to keep half an acre of back lawn tidy? I’m not sure this is what I’m looking for, Mr. Moyes. The house is huge and I’d be living here alone you know. Erin felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest and swallowed heavily as the smiling face of Rowan Stevenson−the man she had hoped to marry and grow old with−sprang to her mind. She glanced down to the engagement ring on her left hand that she could still not bring herself to take off. It’s such a big house for one person.

Oh yes, Mr. Moyes said softly. I’m sorry, Erin. It was a small town and everyone knew everyone else’s business.

Erin flapped a hand at Mr. Moyes. It’s alright. She took a deep breath, remembering the night Rowan’s parents had called her a month ago and broken the news that Rowan−dear, sweet Rowan−had been killed in a car accident on the Desert Road just two weeks before their wedding date. She had yelled at them, she remembered, and told them they were lying. She had screamed down the phone to them and called them all sorts of horrible names. She swallowed again. Those dear, sweet people had just lost a son and had rung her, Rowan’s fiancée, to tell her of their mutual loss, and she had screamed at them. She shook her head slowly. Rowan’s parents had forgiven her, and they had been a wonderful support to each other at the funeral. Erin shivered, remembering that awful day. The day she had said goodbye to Rowan forever.

Would you like to see inside? Mr. Moyes’ voice interrupted her thoughts.

Erin looked at the rotting steps that led to a huge veranda and shivered again. She didn’t want to see inside. She wanted to go home, but the thought of sitting in the passenger’s seat of Mr. Moyes’ Prado all the way back to his office while he looked at her with that sympathetic look that she loathed, imagining him telling her how sorry he was for her loss, was just too much to bear right now. Alright, she said, more to give herself some breathing space than because she was interested in seeing the house. I suppose since we’ve come all the way here we may as well go inside.

Mr. Moyes turned a key in a huge lock on the solid wooden front door and pushed.

Nothing happened.

He grunted slightly and used his shoulder to bunt the door heavily, and it loosened and swung open on squeaky hinges. Erin held her breath as stale air from the inside of the house reached her. Like I said, it’s been empty for a while, Mr. Moyes said. But it’s the only house we have listed in your price range, Erin. There’s nothing else in your price range.

Erin managed what she hoped looked like a smile. After you. She gestured to the door, forcing Mr. Moyes to walk into the house first. Well, if the floor was going to give way, it might as well be him that fell through. But the floor didn’t give way; it didn’t even creak as Mr. Moyes opened the door wider and stepped inside with Erin following behind him.

The inside of the house was more dilapidated than the outside. Wallpaper hung in sheets from the walls and dangled flaccidly in mid-air, the bare wooden floorboards were chipped and gouged, and the crumbling old-fashioned linoleum in the kitchen was pitted and discoloured. The whole house smelled damp, and the high ceilings were stained a sort of mud-brown colour. Smoke, Erin guessed, glancing at the old-fashioned open fireplace. Is that even legal any more? she asked, waving a hand at the open fire.

It can’t be used, Mr. Moyes said. The chimney’s been blocked off.

Erin ran a hand over the ornately carved fireplace surround. This house would once have been proud and beautiful. She looked over to the huge bay windows that covered half of one wall. Someone had once loved this house, she was sure of it.

The bathroom was updated in the 1970’s, Mr. Moyes said as he opened a door and gestured to a hideous dark green tile-walled bathroom.

Erin walked into the bathroom and blinked at her reflection in a huge mirrored wall that was made up of a large group of small glass tiles stuck to the wall. She ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair, which she really should have tied up before coming out, but she just couldn’t be bothered today, and smoothed the skin around her light brown eyes. She ran her hand across the bridge of her nose where a light smattering of freckles were visible on her lightly tanned skin. She flicked a few stray hairs from her oversized green sweatshirt and blue jeans and turned to follow Mr. Moyes as he walked to a wide stairway.

There are four bedrooms, Mr. Moyes said, leading her up the stairs which Erin trod on carefully, mindful of the crumbling outside steps.

Erin wandered along the wide hallway and peered into each of the bedrooms. She could almost imagine this house as it had once been, knowing it had been stately and grand. She touched a door frame that was pitted and gouged in the lower three feet or so and smiled as she imagined children scurrying along the hallway on bikes or skates and banging into the door frame, leaving evidence of their play that would endure through the years.

As she walked into one of the bedrooms and peered out of the dust laden window, Mr. Moyes came to stand behind her and pointed out of the window to the dilapidated wrought iron fence visible past the veranda roof below. I suppose I should tell you the story behind this house … and that fence, he said softly. You’re bound to hear it sooner or later anyway, and disclosure, you know.

Story?

Mr. Moyes nodded slowly. The fence itself was replaced at least once that I know of. Although why anyone would want to keep it standing is beyond me.

Why? Was it hideous?

No. Quite the opposite, in fact, the fence was quite beautiful. It was hand-crafted 102 years ago by a local blacksmith and it sported− he cleared his throat, pointed escarpments that protruded above its horizontal top bar.

And there is a story about the fence?

Mr. Moyes nodded. Nothing less than a tragedy.

Really?

Oh yes. The house was built in 1908, and the fence was built soon after. The first family to live here were the Luffs.

Luff? Erin said. What a great name. It sounds like love, don’t you think? She cast an eye around the room. And I’ll bet they loved this house too.

Mr. Moyes nodded. It was the first house to be built on this street. Of course in those days Foxton was a thriving town, although much smaller than it is today. Gabriel Luff was a very prosperous merchant with two daughters, Mary and Isabelle. Sadly his wife had died when the youngest, Isabelle, was an infant, so Gabriel had lived in comfortable quarters behind his store. After Mary married and moved away, Gabriel built this house for himself and Isabelle to live in.

So Isabelle wasn’t a child?

She was fourteen when Gabriel built the house and they moved in. Mr. Moyes cleared his throat. But tragedy followed two years later when Isabelle turned sixteen and fell in love with a local farmer’s son named Flynn O’Leary.

Her father didn’t approve?

Mr. Moyes nodded. You see Gabriel Luff was a proud man, and he wanted his daughters to marry well. Mary had married the son of a wealthy flax miller, and he wanted Isabelle to find a similar beau.

Erin raised an eyebrow. Flynn wasn't good enough for Gabriel, I suppose.

Mr. Moyes nodded again. Gabriel forbade the match of course, and he kept Isabelle confined here to the house and ordered his housekeeper to keep watch over her. But, as you can imagine, young Flynn wasn’t going to give up that easily and neither was Isabelle. So they began to meet in secret, right here in this room.

Erin glanced around at the spacious and airy room. Yes, she could almost imagine two young lovers meeting here, keeping a watchful eye on the door and a sharp ear out for any creak of floorboards that might signal the approach of the housekeeper, or worse, Isabelle’s father. She looked at the solid wooden framed window−the kind that opened straight up and down−and onto the veranda roof below. Had Flynn climbed in this very window to meet with his love?

That’s very romantic, she said softly. But what was the tragedy?

Well, Gabriel obviously found out what was happening, because one day he burst into the room, accompanied by a constable. He found Flynn here with Isabelle, and ordered that Flynn be arrested and taken away to prison and Isabelle be taken to a convent.

Arrested for what? They hadn’t committed any crime had they?

No, not really. Times were different then, and a rich man like Gabriel Luff could do almost anything he wanted, including having a farmer’s son thrown in prison for the rest of his natural life.

So what happened?

Mr. Moyes nodded to the window. The window was open; and, of course, the wrought iron fence was still standing, with its spikes protruding into the air. He took a deep breath. It is said that young Flynn jumped out of the window, bounced along the roof of the veranda and landed on the spikes as he fell, and … and he was impaled right there on the fence.

That’s awful!

Mr. Moyes nodded. But that’s not the worst part, he said softly. Isabelle−distraught at seeing young Flynn lying helplessly impaled on the fence and hearing her father threaten to send her to a convent−threw herself out of the window and ended up impaled on the fence right next to Flynn. It’s said that they clasped hands as they lay there, impaled and dying, and with their last breaths they professed their love for each other.

And they died right there on the fence?

They did, and Gabriel was driven mad by the sight. They say he closed his store and spent each and every day sitting in the dark here in the house with all the curtains drawn. Then one day, several months after the tragedy, he put a pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Erin felt her stomach heave. That’s awful!

It is. And that’s one reason why the house is so cheap.

Is it haunted?

Of course not. There have been many families living here over the years, and not one report of anything like that, but people can be superstitious, you know. Some reporter got hold of the story and published an article on it about ten years ago, and no one has wanted to live here since then. The house has just stood empty all that time. The old lady that owned it died a few months ago, and her family just wanted the house sold−and fast. It’ll be a bargain for anyone who wants to put in some time to fix it up.

Erin looked around at the room she stood in. So you think they’ll drop their price?

I’m sure they will.

If I offer them $50,000 do you think they’ll take it?

Mr. Moyes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They might.

Then that’s what we’ll do, Erin said, surprising even herself. She looked around the room again, imagining the two lovers standing in this very room and declaring their love for each other.

Are you quite sure? Mr. Moyes said, raising an eyebrow.

Erin looked out of the window and cast her eye over the veranda roof to what remained of the fence below. I’m sure, she said softly. She smiled at Mr. Moyes. Somehow it just seems right. I don’t know why. But I think I’m supposed to own this house.

Er, right then, I’ll draw up the offer.

Chapter 3

Three weeks after Mr. Moyes made the purchase offer, Erin signed the final paperwork, and the house was hers. She unpacked the few scant boxes that held all her worldly possessions and looked around at the house that she would now call home. Her eyes ran over the peeling wallpaper and rotting windowsills and rested on