Hellfire and Handbaskets

By Kathryn Hills

It’s hell in the ER, but Army veteran Dr. Rick Hauser wouldn’t work anywhere else. The hardened combat medic thinks he’s seen it all. Until she storms into his life. Amelia Pennington is not just a pretty face. She’s a time-traveler. A medical student from 1895, forced to flee a madman. She’s been in trouble before, but this time everything she loves is at risk. Can a reluctant hero be the key she’s searching for? What’s left of Hauser’s heart is still on the battlefield. Last thing he needs is to get tangled up with a mystery woman. But when he finds Amelia on the streets, he ignores the warning shots firing off in his head and takes her home. In less than twenty-four hours, she’s upended his self-protected world. Even his dog, Rocky, is in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509220373

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Hauser looked up from his work station.

The blonde from the waiting room was in the ER corridor, looking crazed. Without thinking, he headed straight for her.

She rushed forward when she saw him and threw herself at his feet. Please, Doctor, help me.

Rick grabbed her under the arms and hauled her back to standing. She looped around his waist before he could stop her.

Security, someone else yelled.

An alarm code sounded.

I got this, Rick relayed. He captured her face and made her look at him. Wild blue eyes shot from side to side. Hey. Eyes on me. Only me. There ya go. His voice calmed when she complied. Tell me what’s going on.

Please, she begged in a low tone meant only for his ears. Something dreadful happened in the tunnels.

He recognized it then, the ghost of real trauma. She’d been through something bad. All right. You’re safe with me. He relaxed his hold and felt her tremble in his arms. Her head came to rest against his chest. With a ragged sigh, she nestled into him.

A shudder of unfamiliar emotion shot through him. He hadn’t held a woman in years. Heck, he hadn’t even been this close to another human unless they were injured or dying.

Tell me your name, he insisted. Still, he held her.

Hellfire and Handbaskets

by

Kathryn Hills

A Time Traveler’s Journey, Book 2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Hellfire and Handbaskets

COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Kathy Hills

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kristian Norris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2018

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2036-6

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2037-3

A Time Traveler’s Journey, Book 2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Robyn

Acknowledgments

To those I love most, my husband and daughter, for always believing and cheering me on.

To my dear friend and critique partner, Lisa Olech, for sharing her brilliance and laughter.

To Theresa and Sara Drury, for their friendship and never-ending support. You ladies are truly amazing.

And to my wonderful editor, Nicole D’Arienzo, for being the best.

Thanks also go to—

Wolf Hindrichs for sharing his personal thoughts and experiences.

Jason Nadeau and Amy Colby Benson for hours spent in coffee houses, discussing magic and medicine.

And Jay…for being my hero.

Prologue

Boston, Spring 1891

Hope dimmed as Amelia Pennington faced the horde of disapproving young ladies.

It serves you right, the group’s leader, Jenn Pratt, decreed. Dancing…and so soon after your father has gone to his heavenly reward. She lifted her nose and dismissed the others with a swish of her stark white fan.

Amelia wanted to lash out, to vehemently state Albert Pennington was not her real father. Yet she held her tongue. Mother would surely lock her away for eternity if she revealed that dark family secret. Instead, she plastered on a chastened expression for the person who took it upon herself to be the moral compass for everyone in Boston. "I merely mentioned I wished to dance. Not that I would. I’m tired of sitting in corners and wearing black. At Jenn’s stern glance, she added, Another one of my wicked ways. As our pastor’s daughter, surely you know I have many."

I know nothing of the sort. Jenn blustered, yet she looked guilty as sin. It was common knowledge Pastor Pratt shared the confidences of his congregation with his nosy wife and daughter. No doubt, they had aired much of the Pennington’s dirty laundry.

One can only dream of being as pious as you, Miss Pratt. Amelia fought to maintain a sincere expression as she delivered the bold-faced lie.

Jenn gasped but then succumbed to the compliment. She softened her stance. "Well…I suppose it is hard to watch the man you admire dancing with another. Perhaps Mr. Kingston is simply being polite. After all, the woman’s family did donate a large sum of money to your Widow and Orphan Fund. That is why we’re all here, is it not? Your family’s philanthropic efforts to help the poor?"

Amelia looked away. She wished someone would help her. Rescue her from this suffocating existence. She swallowed hard, feeling the ties of her station tightening around her throat again. As the only daughter in the powerful Pennington family, duty bound her at every turn. To her mother and siblings, her dead father, all of society—rich or poor. Everyone but herself. If she were a man, things would be different. She wouldn’t be forced to sit out life while others lived it.

And now Mother was ill.

Olivia Pennington, the ever-proper queen of Boston’s high society, had contracted consumption. Tuberculosis disease. The White Plague—due to the pallor of those afflicted. The dreaded illness affected the lungs and other organs as patients slowly withered away. Mother could linger for years, suffering until completely consumed. Unless someone discovered a cure. A determined doctor, a researcher. Me…if I can make it into medical school.

Everyone seemed to step back as Edward Kingston danced by with the lovely heiress from God only knew where. Probably someplace wonderful. Somewhere I shall never visit. Eddie smiled as he twirled the lucky girl around the ballroom in an impressive display of the waltz. Dear Lord, why does he have to be so unbearably handsome? And an accomplished dancer? Bloody hell. No man should possess good looks, intelligence, and prowess on the dance floor. It’s an affront to womankind. Even the cut of his coat is perfect.

Amelia couldn’t watch anymore.

Excusing herself from the group of wallflowers and spinsters manning the punch bowls, she went in search of her oldest brother. She found Robert, speaking with a group of gentlemen. All powerful industrialists like himself, with plans to transform Boston into a shining city of the twentieth century. A more enlightened century. She hoped. The men spoke of infrastructure and building projects, especially progress on the state-of-the-art transportation system, or subway as it was called, to run beneath the teeming city streets.

Robert cast a sympathetic glance her way when he caught her fussing with her gown’s tight sleeves. He, better than any, knew she was miserable. With a curt nod, he released her from her obligations. In grateful silence, she slipped away before anyone could see.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t care for the plight of widows and orphans. Quite the opposite. Social issues, politics, labor reform, education—she was anxious to discuss all these things, to make her own contributions to the world. Not sit in corners, serving refreshments to men who did all the important work.

As far back as Amelia could remember, she’d dreamed of becoming a doctor. Despite the horror Mother displayed at the mere mention of the idea. "Medicine is for men, not respectable women. Dear God, Amelia, have you no shame?"

What irony if she could be the one to cure her.

The grand Mahogany staircase creaked with her steps as she went, seeking solace on the second floor. She rapped lightly on the first door to the right.

Is it you? A familiar voice asked from within. Samantha Pennington—her beloved sister-in-law, affectionately known as Sam to family and close friends—smiled warmly when she entered. I figured you’d need saving. How’s the party going?

Collapsing onto the bed, Amelia unlaced her pinching shoes and yanked them off. Perfect, of course. Mother planned it all before getting sick. What good am I down there, anyway?

You’re the surrogate hostess. Your brother is counting on you.

Why me? Shouldn’t it be you? Amelia sat up and huffed. Just look at you, hiding out here in an overstuffed chair. It’s not fair. You’re excused because of an adorable child or two.

Her gaze roamed the tranquil space. Sam…nursing her second child, Lillian, in the beautiful bedroom she shared with Robert. It was Amelia’s favorite place in the house. They’d spent hours, sharing hopes and dreams for the future. And laughter, which always came easy to them. Where is it? You’re probably even immersed in some new book behind my back.

Don’t be silly. You know these two cherubs are a handful.

Amelia made a disapproving face as she picked up a thick, leather-bound diary from the nightstand. Your journals are filled with adventures whilst mine waste away. You’re the only woman I know who has traveled the world with a small child. An extended honeymoon, scouring Europe no less.

Sam grinned at her. You don’t keep journals. And the extended honeymoon was your brother’s idea. You know I don’t like ships. I would have been happy with two weeks in Niagara Falls or Manhattan. She tenderly stroked Lillian’s small, fuzzy head. Soft brown hair—the color of a newborn fawn—pressed against her breast. I was thinking we should visit the library soon. Maybe plan a trip we can all take?

The idea of an excursion dangled before Amelia like a shiny charm, and a scheme began forming in her brain. Her gaze fixed on the settee where Robert Jr. or Robbie—Sam and Robert’s firstborn child—lay sleeping. The family dog, Mr. Scruffy, curled up next to him. We should take the children to Highland House. Robbie will love the sea and all the forest creatures. A good romp in the woods and…

The idea fell dead-away at Sam’s unyielding expression.

I want to go home, Amelia groaned.

Her sister-in-law looked away. I know you miss your home. I miss it, too, but Robert decided it’s not safe for us there. He won’t risk anything happening again. Not to anyone, and I agree with him. You were young, she reasoned. You don’t remember how awful it was.

I remember being afraid. Robert had to check under my bed each night for my fear of ghosts and monsters. Yet what I remember most are the good things. Long rambles in the forest, frolicking on the beach, riding horses like a boy. Ghosts and magic rune stones? They don’t seem real anymore. Science and medicine. That’s what I consider real.

You saw with your own eyes, Sam countered in disbelief.

Amelia shrugged it off. "I know you and Robert are convinced some sort of time doorway opened up."

It did. And it nearly tore this family apart. I still feel its energy sometimes, and I think I’m going mad.

But what if all the madness is gone now? We should go back.

You promised. Samantha cut her off. You swore to me you wouldn’t speak of returning to Highland House. Your brother and I have done everything to keep you safe. Warned everyone we love to stay away, hoping to spare them what we suffered. She clutched the small stone caged in gold, which hung around her neck always. Robert wore one too, believing the powerful rune stones could keep them from becoming separated if they were ever hurled through time again. Insurance, against the unthinkable.

"Nothing has happened because we left Highland House. Sam carried her sleeping babe to the cradle. Not one strange incident. Proof enough your brother is correct. Hopefully, we are all free of the damn things. Forever."

With a weary smile, she changed the subject. Tell me about your lessons. Robert says you’re enjoying the new human anatomy books. He thinks you’ll make a fine doctor someday. I believe he’s working hard to get you into medical school.

Don’t try to distract me, I’m sulking. Besides, I don’t want to be accepted because the Pennington name is carved into some building. I want to get there on my own merits.

Amelia paced, trying to swallow a bitter pill of frustration and sadness. At least you don’t simply want to talk about handbaskets and hat feathers. That’s all Mother wishes to discuss these days. I hate that bloody basket I’m forced to deliver her correspondences in.

I know, Sam consoled. It’s hard on you, tending to your mother’s wishes. Not that I’m condoning her tactics, but I understand her mother’s mind more than I once did. She worries you’re different. In a weird way, she believes she’s helping to guide you on the path of a proper lady. I’m afraid people rarely understand trailblazers. This is a harsh world for women.

They were silent for a few moments before Amelia yielded to the inevitable. Forgive me. My childish rant is over. It’s been a taxing day. She forced a smile for her dear sister-in-law. "The anatomy books are wonderful. Quite enlightening. Her expression turned mischievous as her playful nature returned. I particularly like the chapters on male anatomy. But for heaven’s sake, how do men accomplish anything with all those bits and pieces dangling down there?"

Fits of laughter filled the room, stirring poor Robert Jr. and baby Lillian. Even Mr. Scruffy growled.

Bits and pieces? Sam snorted. "Are those medical terms, Doctor Pennington?"

Amelia struck a lofty pose. "Why…yes. I am to be the doctor in the family.

She moved to the window to gaze out at the gloomy landscape. Her glimmer of happiness vanished. Spring rains darkened everything to a lifeless gray. So different from her old life.

Her world had changed with the appearance of the rune stones. Infernal things. Their dark magic ruined everything.

Chapter 1

Boston, Halloween night, Present day

Rick’s senses were on high alert though no one would know it to look at him. His internal controls—honed as an Army medic—kicked in the second he left his apartment. It was the same every time. One foot in front of the other, fighting to ignore the sights and sounds others considered part of everyday living. Hypervigilance, a VA shrink once diagnosed.

Flashing lights and sirens made people stop and stare as they navigated the rush hour streets of Boston, but Hauser pushed on. He was more concerned with the path directly in front of him. Alley on the left. Tree and trashcan on the right. Guy reaching into his coat…

His chest constricted as he stared at the man’s hand movement. When the guy pulled a cell phone out and began talking, Rick forced himself to stand down. Not fast enough as the memory of a suicide bombing triggered in his brain. Burning flesh. Faces of the injured and dead. Soldiers. Civilians. Rubble. Screams.

And then it was gone.

With a curse, he tried to focus on the present, approaching his destination with a deeper sense of determination. This was his unit now. His latest attempt to make a difference in a messed-up world. Ambulances already lined up two deep in front of the ER entrance of Massachusetts General Hospital. Tonight’s shift was sure to be crazy. Halloween in a city filled with college kids, tourists, and rowdy locals, all celebrating the macabre holiday hard.

Rick, a female coworker at the Information Desk called out when he passed through the whooshing glass doors. Welcome to hell, handsome. She topped it off with a suggestive wink.

Merely nodding in reply, he watched the woman shove Halloween candy into her mouth before snatching up an incessantly ringing phone.

Hell? She had no idea.

Good evening, Dr. Hauser.

Hey there. Rick managed actual words for the lady pharmacist—Deirdra something—who always said hello. Quiet as a mouse, she never uttered more than a few words, yet she was pretty and pleasant. He wondered what she’d done to deserve this shift.

A quick glance at the packed waiting room told him the freak show had already begun. Zombie with a neck brace, some sort of furry thing in a wheelchair, and a bunch of dudes in togas and plastic gladiator armor, looking like they were about to puke everywhere. And those were just in the first couple of rows. Few seats remained open beyond them.

My main man, Rick heard as he attempted to slip past the Admissions Desk undetected. What do you think of my costume?

Rick cracked a wide grin for his friend, Tyrese. A guy the size of a linebacker, his costume was scrubs topped off with a pirate hat, dreads, and an eye patch.

Tyrese chuckled and waved a stuffed parrot. How’d you get stuck workin’ tonight, Doc Hauser?

"Guess I’m just that lucky." Though Rick knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. Work—even on a night like this—was the only thing keeping him relatively sane.

Like I said…identification? An insurance card? Carla, the other person working triage with Tyrese, repeated herself in Spanish.

I’m trying to explain, a polite feminine voice responded. I don’t have any such things. You see, I was forced to flee when… Well, when the man I was with… It’s very hard to explain. Perhaps if you’d let me speak with a doctor.

Carla shook her dark-haired head and pushed a clipboard at her. I can’t let you see anyone unless you answer my questions. If you won’t talk to me, fill out the paperwork. We’ll go from there.

Rick skirted the desk ready to tap his ID card when he paused. The woman asking to be seen was a knockout. Face of an angel, with long blonde curls, and expressive eyes. She met his stare. Perfect pink lips formed a silent Oh before she quickly looked away.

Rubbing his stubbly jaw, he suddenly wished he’d shaved before leaving the apartment. His dark hair was longer than usual. At least his white coat was freshly laundered. Who was he kidding? Chicks like her didn’t waste a second look at guys like him.

People are waiting, Carla urged.

I…I… the blonde in the costume stammered, putting a trembling hand to her throat. Her white glove was spattered with what he guessed was fake blood. She eased the clipboard back. If I may just speak with someone.

Unable to resist, he gave her a longer, more thorough perusal. Done up in an old-fashioned blue dress and hat, all this Little Bo Peep needed were some sheep. However, one sleeve of the dress was torn. It was then he caught sight of the head wound, a dark stain near the hairline, marring her otherwise porcelain-smooth face.

The clipboard dragged across the counter again. Bring it back when you’re finished. Then take a seat and wait like everybody else, Carla snapped.

Surprisingly, Bo Peep gave Rick a long look, her eyes shining with moisture. He nodded encouragingly. She stiffened, squared her chin, took the clipboard, and strode away. He shook his head, wondering what the hell her story was. Probably some rich college kid and a frat party gone way wrong. Hopefully, she wasn’t an assault case. That would suck.

Woo hoo, Tyrese exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. We got a knife fight comin’ in. ETA one minute. Apparently, someone brought an axe, and it’s stuck in a guy’s chest. Only on your shift, Hauser.

Roger that. Rick was on the move, disappearing into the ER without another thought to the beautiful blonde.

****

Amelia Pennington stared at the clipboard, resting in her lap. It was obvious no one would see her unless she filled out the blasted paperwork. Even the bold man—a doctor someone inferred—appeared to agree. The nerve of him, staring so brazenly, and in her time of need. He hardly looks like a doctor to me. More like a rake, pretending to be a physician.

She sniffled and focused on the words before her. Name…the date of one’s birth…SSN? What in heaven’s name is that? Primary Care Physician… If I had a bloody physician I wouldn’t be here, she grumbled. Reason for your visit… She pressed a hand to her aching head, knowing she’d been bloodied when trying to escape.

The memory of her attacker’s viciousness caused her to shudder. Professor Lyall Whitman—better known as evil incarnate—had tortured her for weeks. Snide remarks, lewd insinuations. All while assigning her the worst tasks in the department, hoping she’d drop out. It was widely known he didn’t approve of women in medical school, but Boston University was one of the best, most inclusive institutions. There were a few other women in her class, and yet he’d chosen to single her out.

Commotion drifted away as she relived the last terrifying moments with him. Whitman…chasing her into the night. Following, until he could corner her on an empty street. He’d dragged her between two buildings and shoved her head-first into a wall. His arm coiled painfully around her neck.

Come now, Miss Pennington, he snarled against her ear. Let’s be done with all this. Give me the stone. The sharp blade of a scalpel gleamed in the streetlight. His bare hand caught her scream.

Fighting with all her strength, Amelia pitched and kicked. The shawl she wore untangled and fell away. Shoving hard, she broke free and fled like a wild thing through the city streets. Which way? A sudden stabbing pain in her side made it impossible to run, yet she skirted Boston Common, praying to lose him.

The entrance to the Park Street Subway Station materialized out of the mist before her. The gaping mouth of a monster. The lair of Lucifer. Her only hope.

Ignoring the warnings and construction signs, Amelia limped past barriers and down granite steps. Dim electric lamps offered barely any light, only an eerie amber glow. The platform ended, and she scrambled to the tunnel’s earthen floor. Approaching footfall sent her deeper into the blackness. Rock and steel gave way to wood and gravel. Stale water dripped from braced walls. The air smelled of disturbed soil, making it seem as if she’d been dropped into an open grave. Likely, her own as she reached the end of the line.

A wide, rough beam hid her as she fought to still her ragged breaths. Rodents, rustling beneath her skirts sent a scream to her lips, but she stopped