Time Isn't Enough

By Kelly L Tharp

When the local landmark is bought by billionaire Jeffery Domain he has the whole town enthralled, except for Julie McKennzie. His appearance coincides with the return of her childhood nightmare of Earth's destruction and the silent green lightening only she could see? Who is Jeffery Domain and why, for God's sake, was she falling in love with him? Some love takes time, for Julie it took centuries --- and Jeffery Domain has waited long enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly L Tharp
• Release date: Feb 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466012974

Kelly L Tharp

Born and raised in Oregon, Igrew up in the college town of Corvallis. An Occupational Therapist of 36 years, my talents include collecting cats like psychotic cat, Rocky (RIP) - closet monster, Tian Tian - giant fur ball with legs, Miss Bee Bee, the bed hog- and newcomer, Andy Cat (A donation to the herd). When I am not trying desperately to learn how to write active voice, a language as foreign as Mandarin, I enjoy painting space pictures from the Hubble telescope and NASA. A trip to see the Shuttle Atlantis take off a few years back let me check off one item on my bucket lis, followed by a trip to Yellowstone ( A must see for everyone). Other interests include Chinese calligraphy, knitting, and gardening – roses especially, plus service to the community via the Lion's Club International. Every year Iturn into Mrs. Santa Claus for the annual Corvallis Downtown Christmas parade. Telling stories started at an early age with a group of pen pals taking on the persona of Star Trek characters – I was Scotty. I was prevalaged to be allow to sign the nose-cone that flew Jame Doohans ashes up to space, so a part of me got to go on with my beloved Scottsman. My stories have been published in Star Wars Fanzine's after which I startedmy own full length novels. Writing has been a challange, a dare, and "It keeps me off the streets." I feel honored that so many people have read and liked my novel, and so will keep on pounding the keys.

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Time Isn’t Enough

By K. L. Tharp

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 K.L. Tharp

Cover design by K.L. Tharp

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Time Isn’t Enough

Chapter One

Amber, I said no and I mean it, Julie McKennzie protested with as much force as she could considering she was trying to reason with her big sister, a feat she’d never been able to accomplish and come out ahead.

Julie, you know you’re the only one who can wear it. It’s only for the fashion show. Then you can go home. Amber ran around to jog backwards in front of her. I wouldn’t ask you except the show and auction are going to be at the old Fredrick’s place. The new owner is going to let the town use Oak Haven mansion for the start of the Founder’s Day celebration and they say he may even participate himself. And Julie, he’s drop dead gorgeous.

They came to the corner of Fourth and Elm. Julie grabbed her sister so she wouldn’t jog backward into the street. Traffic whizzed past faster than it should on this rural side of town, but so it was with growth, things changed. Julie disliked the changes she saw in her hometown, especially the changes she’d heard were going on out at the historic palatial estate of Benford Dubois Fredricks, the founder of the small California town of Oakhill. But there was little she could do to stop time or the cars speeding by other than hit the crosswalk switch and keep jogging in place.

"So, our mysterious gazillionare is going to graciously allow us to use his estate, huh?" Julie replied to her sister’s excitement. She ignored the comment about his looks and pulled a sweat-soaked strand of her long auburn hair out of her face. Amber glared at her.

The old mansion was a sore point because Julie had spent her childhood sneaking over the fences and exploring Oak Haven. She felt a bond with the huge early nineteen hundreds home that had sat alone and deserted for so long. Exploring the dark musty rooms should have scared anyone silly, but she’d always felt as if she belonged there and the great house knew it.

Her sister knew how hard Julie had fought as a member of the Historic Preservation Committee to save Oak Haven and how much it had hurt when they had failed to purchase the five hundred-acre estate of their departed city founder.

The committee wanted to preserve the historic mansion and turn it into a museum with parks and maybe a baseball and soccer field for the local kids. The Bureau of Land Management even started surveying for possibly damming Miller’s Creek on the north edge of the property near the closed the old gravel pit to form a three-mile lake up the canyon. But, the committee never had a chance, not against the powerful wealthy billionaire that bought the entire estate. With the property going into private hands, the Bureau of Land Management backed out on the dam since they didn’t want to deal with the costly efforts of condemnation to gain control of the land. And, they had said, any monies earmarked for the dam were gone due to the current budget crises.

Julie wondered where the illustrious Mr. Jeffery Domain got his billions, but it was anyone’s guess. The elusive owner of the Fredrick’s mansion flew into town on his fancy Lear jet barely once a month, stayed for a few days to supervise the renovations going on at Oak Haven, and then left just as suddenly. Julie was terrified to find out how much damage he had done to her beloved Oak Haven and so had refused to be on the Founder’s Day Planning Committee that met up there.

Now, Julie, Amber said while doing some stretches while they waited for the light. Mr. Domain is only doing renovations; it’s not like he’s tearing down the manor house. In fact, Samuel says he might even fix up the old observatory on top of Chaucer’s hill, and Samuel’s firm has heard talk of Mr. Domain doing something with the Miller’s creek property. Maybe he’ll go through with the dam project. Do you know what that would do for attracting tourists in the summer-time? And isn’t that what your preservation committee wanted anyway?

The white crosswalk man lit up. Julie suddenly saw the little man in the signal as Mr. Jeffery Domain walking along tossing money behind him as all the town folk ran after him like little chicks after feed. Amber grabbed Julie by the elbow and started them both across the street and down the last stretch to Amber’s house. Julie followed along glad to be on the last leg of their jog. She didn’t like hearing anything good about the infamous Mr. Domain. She much preferred to irrationally dislike the man simply because he could afford to buy what the entire town of Oakhill could not.

Well, admit it. You know it’s what everyone wanted, Amber prodded her.

I know. We’d get people coming in all the way from La Casa and Crawfordsville to enjoy our lake and it would boost Oakhill’s economy, Julie confessed as they hopped up the curb and panted their way down the last block to Amber’s.

When they arrived Amber bent over huffing as Julie groped for her car keys in her jogging shorts’ inner pocket. Finally her sister stood and looked at her with the look Julie had seen all of her life when her older sibling had made up her mind.

I expect you to be at the mansion by one o’clock. It will take both Liz and me to get you into the dress and your hair needs to be in a Gibson. Of course, the hat will cover it, but everything must be authentic for the late 1890s. The fashion show is at two thirty. You will be the last to go on.

The crème de la crème, sister, Julie chided as she found her keys. She’d lost the argument and would just have to put up with being trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey for a few hours to keep her sister happy . . . the things people do for family. You’d better have the dress insured this year. I’m not wearing a three thousand dollar antique dress that tears if you even look at it the wrong way unless it’s insured.

I had the whole collection insured last summer, Julie. Now stop worrying. The dress fits you as if it were made for you. You won’t tear anything.

Julie opened her car mumbling, Sure, as long as I don’t move, sit down, turn, or, God help me, sneeze.

She left her sister laughing on the front steps to her house and drove home. The weekend was going to be a long one because everyone took off the Friday of Founder’s Day weekend. Before she could go anywhere, Julie would have to make sure all the hospital therapy patients had received their physical therapy before the long weekend. And, she had four days until then to try and sweat off a couple extra pounds to make sure she fit in her sister’s pride and joy.

The dress was beautiful even if Julie never felt like she was. It was dated at 1895, a formal gown for spring galas made of hand-made light-blue French lace beaded with tiny glass beads, draped over Madagascar gold satin that dropped in large folds all the way to the floor. Its high neck and pearl buttons down the bodice funneled an observer’s eyes down to the waist, made tiny by the cinched bone corset. The large mutton sleeves of billowed out satin and chiffon broadened the shoulders visually to make the waist look even smaller.

Amber had acquired a parasol made from a similar-enough satin and lace that few would notice the difference. Whoever had owned the parasol must have been fascinated by time, for the long, intricately carved ivory handle had 24-carat gold inlay depictions of little watches down the sides. To top off the outfit, a wide ostrich feather hat would be pinned to a tightly twisted bun of her auburn hair. And, just to really make her miserable, Amber would have her wear the cream-colored calf-high leather-pearl-button shoes she’d found on the same trip to France when she’d purchased the parasol.

The whole ensemble was priceless and should never be taken out of its sealed, humidity-controlled storage container, as far as Julie was concerned. But her sister loved showing off her collection of vintage clothes she’d spent a lifetime amassing, and the Gibson girl, as it was fondly called, was her crowning jewel. Unfortunately, whoever the outfit had been made for was exactly Julie’s size and shape, not her sister’s. So every time Amber did a showing, she pleaded, begged and generally bullied Julie into modeling it.

***

Are we covered for any weekend evaluations? Julie asked, grabbing a bite of her salad. A week of eating nothing but salads left her with the desire for a double sized cheeseburger and extra-large fries from Poncho’s hamburger stand -- once the Founder’s Day fashion show was over. All the grease would probably make her sick, but oh she would enjoy munching down the juicy mouthwatering char broiled. . .

Julie, are you with us?

Julie looked up from where she had been staring at her fork full of green lettuce. Ah, yes . . . sorry, gang, just hallucinating that this was a Poncho burger with everything on it.

Randy Simmons, the head of the entire rehab department at St. Cristo’s hospital laughed. After starving yourself for a week to fit into this famous outfit I hear you have to wear tomorrow, I can’t blame you. He penciled in a note on his pad and added, I have Sam and Dorothy on-call for Saturday and Sunday physical therapy evaluations, if needed. How about Speech Therapy, you guys covered?

Joan Martine, head of speech therapy answered and the rehab department-head meeting finished up. Julie forced down the rest of her salad. They finished weekend coverage and reviewed the budgets for each department for the upcoming hospital board meeting in two weeks. That done, the meeting was adjourned so they could go inform their staff of the holiday weekend assignments. A few hours later Julie sat at her desk and put her papers into a neat pile, made sure the therapists had their billings in, and then signed out to head home. She would take her usual jog down old Fredrick’s road and back to ease her workday tension. The shade of the huge oak trees that lined the back-way to the mansion would make her workout cooler, for spring was in full bloom and the southern California days were heating up. Benford Fredricks had planted his estate with imported oak from Oregon and Washington in hopes to bring some respite from the blistering sun of the hot California summers for his beloved wife Nellie.

It was going to be warm over the weekend, but, she prayed, not hot. Hot weather and the Gibson Girl didn’t go together, Julie thought as she trotted onto Highway 34 for the short jog to Fredricks road. How women in the Victorian age survived without fainting every time they went outside in the summer she’d never know. Woman had come a long way since those days of having to torture themselves to look beautiful, but-- would men ever stop planting new torturous expectations on them?

It had been four years since that louse, Bill Giadanni had dumped her for the model he met at a veterinary seminar in LA. They belonged together, he had said. Julie didn’t disagree for Bill spent as much time making himself the epitome of hunky masculinity as did what’s-her-name in starving herself to fit the emaciated look of the modern ideal of a beautiful woman. It didn’t take long before Bill moved to the big city and took up residence in her top-floor apartment overlooking the LA smog. For a split second Julie wished he’d choke on the brown air of LA but regretted the thought immediately. Bill was the past, and nothing could change what had already happened. She was doing just fine without a man in her life.

She hit her stride at about mile three, neither too fast to cause her to pant and puff, but fast enough for a good cardio-workout. Fredricks road was up ahead. The tarred surface was split and pockmarked with tufts of grass. Few knew where it joined the highway anymore; there was no sign showing where to turn. Plus the drop off the highway where the old culvert had sunk would take a four-wheel drive