Roots Through Time

By Jacque Leigh

Becky was living a life that she loved. She was making a decent wage and spending weekends with her fiancé, Jason. Since her father had passed, Becky had even discovered the hobby of genealogy, researching her family and their past. 
A fateful trip to Maine changed everything. 

Spring 1994, a trip to Maine leads to a genealogical discovery that altered her entire world-view. A ring endowed with the ability to transport her 150 years into the past has turned her hobby into an obsession that’s threatening to disrupt her life in the 20th century. 

The choice becomes clear: Stop her travels to the past and repair her neglected life, or retreat to 1853 for the hope and love that’s there. 

What would you do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Davenport Writes, LLC
• Release date: Jul 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536555219

Book preview

Prologue

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Gramma, what can we do?  Linda whined and plopped down in the soft overstuffed chair upholstered with large rose-colored floral-patterned material.  Outside the rain came down in torrents.  The wind blew the large drops against the windows, making a sound like snare drums.  Linda and I loved to stay at Gramma’s and usually spent the day outside helping her in the garden or just playing whatever game came to our minds.  Being trapped inside, however, was new for us.

Gramma’s house was large, but she only used the lower level most of the time.  We sat in the living room, but I could see into the next room, the dining room. In the center of that room sat a large walnut table with chairs for a dozen people.  Beyond the table, against the wall, was a matching buffet.  To the left of the buffet a crank telephone hung on the wall in easy reach.

From the kitchen came the smell of Gramma’s pot roast in the oven.

Well you could read a book or listen to the radio, Gramma said. 

I don’t have any books here, and yours are too hard for me to read, Linda replied. 

But wait, there’s more! Gramma said, You’ve never been to the attic have you?  Just the thought sent chills down my back.  I knew where the stairway to the attic was located.  In the first room to the left in the upstairs hall there was a door.  It always seemed mysterious to me.  Gramma used it for storage.  I never went into that room. 

Gramma led the way up the first set of stairs, then into the room.  Linda and I followed reluctantly.  The floor creaked when I walked across it, and I feared it wasn’t very strong.  I hesitated at the threshold of the second set of stairs and suggested that maybe we would fall through the floor. 

Oh horse feathers, said Gramma and she led us up the second set of stairs.  We tromped up the stairs single file.  The odor of stale air reached out and pulled at us.  When we reached the top of the stairs I looked around the vast area.  Scattered here and there around the space were articles obviously discarded years ago.  Explore to your heart’s content.  There’s nothing up here that will hurt you,  Gramma told us.  I’m going back down to finish supper, and I’ll have your Grampa come get you when he gets home. 

With that she headed back down the stairs.  When her footsteps faded away, I felt a premonition.  I could hear the wind and rain even louder here at the top of the house.  At least there was no thunder or lightning.  Linda had already started her search through the crates.  I turned around, checking out the cavernous space, and noticed the stale smell had been replaced with a damp, rainy odor.  The flooring was roughhewn wood that had never seen a single coat of paint or shellac.  There was a good-sized window at each end of the attic that on a sunny day would have made the area nice and bright, but on a day like today, shadows filled the corners.  Look Carol!  Linda held up an old cow bell and shook it.  At the sound I felt an odd sensation deep in my tummy.  Back in one of these dark recesses, I saw something that made me forget the feeling.  I ran over to the corner, calling to Linda.  Come help me move this.  She followed and together we tugged and pulled the large wooden barrel to the center of the attic.

We pulled off the lid, not knowing what to expect.  From the top Linda pulled out a dress of royal blue taffeta, stiff with age.  The front of the bodice had a panel of soft velvet trimmed on the sides with lace.  She said, If there’s more of this, we can play dress-up.  She dove again into the barrel.  This time she came out with a pair of shoes.  She sat down, pulled off her sneakers, and tugged on the high-button shoes.  I found a stool so I could reach into the treasure trove.  I pulled out a white cotton dress with yellow sprigs of flowers, and something fell to the floor with a thud.  I looked down to see if it was another pair of shoes.  There on the floor was a blue cloth-covered book about six by nine inches, but only about a quarter of an inch thick. 

I jumped from the stool and exclaimed, Look, Linda!  I picked it up and opened it.  From the ragged edge, I could tell the first page had been torn out.  The pages that remained were covered with writing in a childlike hand.  I started to read out loud.  Our wagon train was small.  I stopped and leafed quickly through more pages.  About halfway into the book I read, The cabin where we lived was build out of logs and had only one room.  I was thrilled to my bones.  Only recently I had read all of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s ‘Little House’ books.  Someone had a similar experience and kept a diary about it.  Linda showed no interest at all.  She just wanted to dress up in the old clothes.  I got back onto the stool.  I wanted to find the torn out page.  Maybe it would have the name of the person who kept the journal.  I reached in the barrel and with both hands started throwing out item after item.  I let out a squeal of delight when my hand touched a sheet of paper.  It was crumpled like someone intended to throw it away, and the edge was torn.  I smoothed out the page the best I could. 

Linda, now interested, asked, What does it say?  The writing on this page was faded and harder to read. 

I could just barely make it out.  I read, My name is Maggie Bonney.  I am nine years old.  This book tells the story of our family moving to Wisconsin from Maine the way I remember it. Linda and I looked at each other, puzzled.  Neither one of us had ever heard of a Maggie Bonney.  I knew it had to be a relative.  Bonney was Gramma and Grampa’s name. 

Just then there were footsteps on the stairs and Grampa’s head popped through the opening.  His bushy head of hair was just beginning to turn gray. He had a rugged face, because he spent much time in the out-of-doors painting barns for the farmers in the county.  His eyes twinkled with merriment.  He started to smile when he saw his treasured granddaughters so absorbed.  We ran to his welcoming arms in delight.  Then we both asked in unison, Who was Maggie Bonney? 

Grampa laughed, Where did you hear that name? 

I explained about the book.  He laughed again and said, That would have been my great half-aunt.  You see my grandpa brought his family west when the trains took the place of ships for traveling.  He was a ship builder.  When his wife died, he married the woman who became my grandmother.  Maggie and others were born to his first wife.  My grandmother’s name was Lizzie, and they had six more children.

Chapter 1

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That journal my mother found years ago set me to searching my roots here in Maine.  I parked my rental car in front of a small diner in Whiting, Maine and took a deep breath of the sea air through the open window.  My ancestors had inhaled this air daily before leaving for Wisconsin in the spring of 1844.

My destination, Edmunds Township, was just down the road.  Whiting was the nearest town and located just south of the township.  I had spent a few days in Machias researching the family and had come up blank.  They just didn’t leave many records, this family of mine.  So it would be useless to try any research here although there may be an old grave of a child gone too soon.  I had only come to walk where they had walked.

The waitress was a talkative woman and told me there was a quaint B&B just a few miles down the road.  The view couldn’t help but be spectacular with this road bordered on one side with a bay and the other with pine trees.  Maybe I could spend the night.  There were few businesses along this section of the highway, but after driving a half mile I saw a small antique store.  What town in America doesn’t have one of these?  ‘Why not,’ I thought, and turned into the small parking area.  I stepped into the shop and I inhaled deeply, noticing the musty smell of old items.  There are many of the same well-used items from 1700’s & 1800’s that you find in all of these establishments.  A deep lavender dress hung suspended from a hook attached beside the shelves.  It was made in the style of the mid-1800’s, and the embellishments were profuse.  Lace and ribbons abounded in black and a lighter shade of lavender.  I just had to have it.  There would be many uses for it back home at the re-enactments I help with. 

The proprietor approached with a pleasant smile on her face.  Feel free to browse and if you see something you like just jingle, an

The proprietor approached with a pleasant smile on her face.  Feel free to browse and if you see something you like just jingle, and she handed me a small brass bell.  I promptly rang it.

At the sound I felt an odd sensation deep in my stomach.  When had I felt that before?  It was like I was being drawn.

Is that gorgeous dress for sale?

Ayah everything in the store is for sale, but the dress isn’t very old, it was sewn by Betty Jacobs back in the 50’s to wear to a costume party.  The hat and shoes on the shelf right there go with it.  That particular style of dress was in fashion a couple of decades before and through the Civil War.  I think Betty was about your size.

I like it, but can I try the outfit on before I decide to buy it?

Of course you can.  She led me to a small room at the back of the shop.  It contained a small table and bench.  The handy hooks on the wall made a great place to hang the dress, then my jeans and shirt.  I brushed my hand over the lace on the dress.  It looked hand-crocheted or tatted.  The garment slipped easily over my head and drifted down.  The hem brushed the floor.  Thankfully it buttoned down the front so I could get it fastened myself. 

Both dress and shoes were a perfect fit.

I twirled and the skirts of the dress made a swishing sound. I shoved my hands into the generous pockets of the dress and my fingers of my left hand touched a velvety item.  I pulled it out and found it was a small black velvet pouch.  Inside the pouch I found a folded paper and a man’s signet ring.  The ring had a fleur-de-lis on the top and on one side a ‘B’.

I placed the ring on my index finger, which was the only one big enough.  I felt a rumble start under my feet and grow so increasingly violent that I was thrown to the floor.  I squeezed my eyes shut.  I didn’t know they had earthquakes in Maine.  The shaking stopped and when I opened my eyes, the room was changed.  Not wrecked like I thought it would be after an earthquake.  The wood on the walls was new and still had a fresh sappy smell to it.  My purse and modern clothing was nowhere to be seen.  I turned the knob on the door with caution, then pushed just a bit and peeped out.  This room too was very different.  It was just a big room with several benches arranged along the middle of the room and a caged area that to me looked like a ticket office.  No one was around.  I heard a solemn bell toll outside and hurried out of the room.  Instead of heading to the front, I turned and hoped to find a back door, all the time wondering, where am I and how did I get here?  I passed a square table in my search.  On the table lay a newspaper.  The heading read Eastport Sentinel, April 12, 1844.  It wasn’t old; it still held a printer’s ink smell.  I knew then where I was, but not how I got there.  A door was straight ahead and in haste I opened it and scurried out.  The air had the fresh smell of the pine trees that grew densely behind the station. The forest seemed to press in, the tall trees, giant monsters, their branches reaching to grip me.  When I moved to the corner, I could hear shouting and the thud of items hitting a solid object toward the front of the building.  I looked around the corner and there were about 40 men and women gathered around a wooden contraption.  In front of the apparatus stood an attractive man with his hands and head through slots in the bar across the top.  He had brown hair hanging down the sides of his face and a full beard of the same color.  I was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but he had them closed anyway.

That will teach him to watch where he takes his pleasure from now on, a tall man toward the front yelled.

Guess he should have been a little more secretive if he desired others, I heard another man say as he threw a red vegetable toward the guilty man.

There were very few females in the crowd, but standing near the door to the building next to this one, away from the rest, was a woman in a dress similar to mine only dark blue in color and not so much lace.  Two small girls clutched her skirt.  One was only a toddler the other looked to be about 5 years of age.  The woman’s head was bowed and she was dabbing at her eyes with a white hankie.  The older girl turned her head and looked straight at me.  Her eyes widened and her mouth formed into an O.  I ducked back behind the building and sat down upon a convenient stump.  In my anguish, I pulled the ring off my finger.  The familiar shaking took me back to 1994 behind the antique store.  I entered the rear door, found my purse and donned my 20th century clothing.  I was so shaken.  Mixed thoughts ran through my head.  Had I passed out and just imagined what happened? My mind had been so filled with thoughts of my ancestors in recent days.  Did I conjure up this scene?  In haste I gathered up the dress and shoes in my arms and hurried to the register near the front of the building.  I must have looked like a deranged maniac to the clerk.  When I reached my hand out toward her, I noticed it was shaking.

This ring was in a pocket of the dress.

The clerk took it from me.  She turned it around, looking it over.  At last she handed it back. 

Ayah, I think Old Lady Bonney had that ring years ago.  She was an aunt of Betty’s who must have given the garment to her after she had no more use for it.  That old lady was a weird one all right.  Quite a recluse and people said she would disappear for weeks at a time and no one knew where.  Many around here considered her a witch.  You just keep it dearie, I think it was meant to stay with the dress.

I placed it back into the velvet bag and dropped the bag into my purse.  After paying the clerk, I returned to my car and continued on down the road looking for a place to spend the night.  I’ll admit that I didn’t give the scenery along the coast of Maine the attention it deserved.  My mind was back in 1844. Had I really been there?  It made sense to me although I still had my disbelief.  How could someone just zip back 150 years?  Around the next curve I saw a sign before an imposing house.  Bay Bed and Breakfast was definitely a building that had seen at least a hundred years of history passing by.  The house, although certainly many decades old was well kept.  It was two full stories, with dormers extending from the attic.  This place would serve well for my overnight stay in Washington County, Maine.  The proprietress gave me a room at the back of the house on the second floor.  She explained that breakfast would be served from 6:00 till 9:00 and that there were sandwiches and salad on the sideboard in the dining area for an evening repast.  I took a tray, filled a plate and poured myself a generous glass of tea.  After navigating the stairway with my tray and overnight bag I found my room quite comfortable.  The windows gave me a lovely view of the bay and surrounding forest areas.  The bay looked blue, reflecting the clear skies in the evening twilight.  The tall evergreen trees formed a border reaching from the bay to the house with a lawn of deep green filling in like a carpet.  A rock path led from the house to a small boat house.  Beside the boat house a pier jutted out into the water, where a sail boat with a tall mast was standing at dock.  After eating my fill of the supper offering, I sat down and took the small velvet bag from my purse.  I pulled the folded paper out of the bag.  Written in olden script was a list.

I Patience write this warning to all who find the ring.  It is all that I have found to be true in regards to the use of the ring.

Once you place the ring on your finger, you will travel back in time exactly 150 years.  If you remove the ring, you will return 150 years later.  So if you want to remain in the past, do not remove the ring.

Only a female blood descendant of Thomas Bonney can use the ring for time travel.  And for some reason that I have not discovered, not all female descendants can travel with it.

Travel is limited to the past.  You can only go forward to your own time, no further into the future.

Your chance to return to your time is limited.  I don’t know exactly what the limit is.  I have been here for over a year and now cannot return.  So beware, don’t stay over a few months.  I have stayed six months at times and returned with no problem.  After one year you can remove the ring, because you are stuck in the past even without it. 

The only items that will travel with you are items you are wearing and things in the pockets.

Limit your trips back in time to no more than ten.  The trauma to your body gets greater with each trip and more than ten could possibly cause your death.

I had my warning.  I refolded the paper and tucked it back into the velvet bag with the ring.

Chapter 2

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Maggie opened her eyes and heard the rooster crowing at the top of his lungs.  She didn’t want to get up.  She felt even more tired than when she finally drifted off to sleep.  It was sometime after she heard the big clock in the hall chiming 12 times.  She eased out from under her warm covers into the cold room.  The twitter of birds drew her to the window where she looked out to see another gray day.  She opened the window just a crack and took a deep breath of sea air.  She loved the smell of the sea.  The sun was trying to shine, but couldn’t quite make it through the heavy clouds.  Today was her 5th birthday. She looked toward the bay where Grandpa’s shop stood with a long dock reaching out into the churning tan waters.  Their house was down the road a short way from the shop and her grandparent’s house.  The latest ship they had finished was floating at the dock.  Its high mast reached toward the sky, nearly swallowed up with the mist still hanging over the bay.  Farther out, the ocean was rolling with angry waves left over from the previous night’s storm.  She felt the house vibrating with the same angry pressure.  She had a feeling that something big was going to happen today that had nothing at all to do with her birthday.

Maggie her mother called.  Are you up?  Please wake Susie and help her dress.

She shook Susie her two year old sister to wake her.  Susie moaned and snuggled deeper into the covers saying, Don’t wana get up.

You have to, it’s morning, I can smell breakfast cooking. 

Awrite, I gets up. 

Maggie helped Susie dress in her little pinafore with blue sprigs of flowers printed all over it and a clean white apron on top.  The dress was worn around the hem and faded from the many times it had been washed.  It had been Maggie’s dress a few years back.  Her favorite, she remembered.  Susie looked like a delicate flower herself with her little turned up nose and blonde ringlets springing all around her tiny face.  Her green- blue eyes twinkled, then she smiled and danced around the room.  Me woves dis dress Maggie.

I do too, you little elf.

Maggie dressed in a garment that her Aunt Jane gave her.  It was made from a pale green material and had small white butterflies embroidered around the neck.  Then she too donned a crisp white apron to help keep the dress clean.

She took Susie by the hand and led her down the stairs.  Every other step creaked when they stepped on them even though they tried to be light on their feet.  The stairs brought them into the kitchen.  It was small with only a stove, sink, and just enough room for a small table.  The sink had a pump beside it.  Mama was happy to have this pump so she didn’t have to walk outside for water to use in the kitchen.  Not many houses had one.

Mama was in front of the stove stirring eggs in the skillet.  She looked tired, just like Maggie felt.  For the first time, Maggie noticed Mama was a bit fuller around her middle.  Her hair, in the usual braid wound around her head, was chocolate brown with little wisps across her forehead.  She was dressed in her pretty navy blue Sunday dress.  Her apron had yellow spots right above her middle.  She had splashed while stirring the eggs for their breakfast.  Her eyes, so brown they are almost black, light up when she sees her girls.

How are you this morning? 

I’m good Mama, She didn’t want to let her Mama know that she didn’t sleep well.  Mama’s eyes were red and swollen.  Her eyebrows were drawn together, making ridges up her forehead, but when she smiled at them, her face smoothed out again.

Is Papa going to church with us today? 

Yes he’s hitching the horse now.  He has already had his breakfast.  After the service we will go to your grandma and grandpa’s for a birthday dinner for you. 

Maggie and Susie helped Mama put the eggs, biscuits, and sausage on the table.  Then the three sat down and held hands while Mama said a blessing for the food and the day.

Maggie was glad Mama made scrambled eggs for breakfast on her birthday.  It was her favorite, and she spread a large glob of elderberry jam on her biscuit.  It was just so good.

With breakfast finished Maggie helped Mama clean the table and dry the dishes, while Susie went back upstairs for their dollies.  They could hold them in church, but were not allowed to play with them.  With clean-up completed, they removed their aprons.  Mama picked up her small Bible and prayer book from the parlor table on the way out.  She closed the door with a final thump and they got into the wagon that Papa had brought to the front door for them. He kept the horses at a slow pace to the church two miles away.  The family of four entered the building in heavy silence and sat midway down the aisle.  Papa sat on one side