A Kiss out of Time

By Catherine Greenfeder

Seventeen year-old Georgina Claythorne's ability to talk to ghosts leads her to discover one haunting the portrait of Eric Toomey, a young Civil War soldier, at her grandmother's antique shop in Ocean Grove, New Jersey. The portrait, part of an heirloom collection is one of several items from which Georgina "picks up paranormal activity". Georgina becomes caught up in the mystery of Eric's former life, her unnatural attraction to the ghost, and her changing relationship with long-time friend and fellow ghost hunter, Jake Hanlon. All this complicates what was supposed to be a boring summer. Can Georgina help Eric's spirit or will doing so put those she cares for in danger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Greenfeder
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201437909

Catherine Greenfeder

I am a retired language arts teacher and have written and published five books including two young adult and three romance novels. Angels Among Us is my first published romance novel and is set in New Jersey.I am a member of the Write Group, Liberty State Fiction Writers, and Romance Writers of America.Currently I am writing a young adult and a historical woman's fiction novel.

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Dedication

Dedicated to my students in Cranford, New Jersey and to critique partners: Lisa Verge Higgins, Miriam Allenson, and Nancy Herkness. Thanks for your wonderful support.

Special thanks to Dani Lee Sepe

Prologue

June 30th, 1864

Hanover, Pennsylvania

Come on, Mary, it’s hot.

Hold still, Eric, or it’ll get hotter. She held the paintbrush in her hand, studying the patina of colors. Gray for the uniform, black for his hair, and tawny for the glow of his skin, and then glanced at her beloved friend.

Friend. Had it been so long ago since the soldier boy who’d run off from his troop wandered onto her family’s farm? Since she ministered to his wounds and come under his spell.

Standing before her now, his musket in one hand, the other tucked into the jacket of his uniform, he struck an imposing figure against the backdrop of rolling farmland, its green hillside dotted by red barns and pastoral fences.

Your daddy oughta be here by now. I’ll catch holy hell for standing here, especially in this uniform. You know that’s asking for trouble.

Aw, but it’s worth it. Someday this portrait will hang in a gallery.

He put down his musket and headed her way. Yes, I reckon you’d have your own gallery in the museum of art—paintings by Mary Claythorne.

Wait, you’re stepping out of it. Stepping out of what?

The portrait... go back. She pushed him away as he advanced in for a kiss and ended up kissing her hand instead. And I will be a famous artist one day.

Lordy, Mary, it’s hot here, and when I’m with you, he whispered, I feel hotter still.

This time he pulled her in and held her in a steam-filled embrace.

The ground felt weak beneath her feet as she composed herself and gathered her resolve to finish the portrait; it had taken weeks to work on. He’d be off soon and she needed this to keep her company until his return. Tears fell unannounced, and she brushed them away with the back of her free hand while the other steadied the canvas.

Whoa, what’s wrong, girl?

I’m frightened ’tis all. Poppa told me I spend too much time with you.

He held her again, moved a stray lock of her red hair off her forehead and caressed the side of her face beneath her straw bonnet. Your poppa won’t have no say about us once we’re wed.

Married?

Reckon I got to do things proper. You’re a Yankee lady after all.

She guffawed at that but was thrilled as he held her hands and his blue eyes shone bright with the love in his heart. On one knee he proposed. Mary, will you marry me?

Her mind recalled her earlier conversation with her father on the subject of Eric Toomey. I’d a sooner see that rebel in the ground. You’d do better, girl, with the son of Henry Greene. At least his family ain’t responsible for your brother Will’s death in Gettysburg.

I won’t marry the minister’s son, she’d argued. Even if his father’s the county magistrate and got more money than us.

Girl, you’ll do as you’re told, her father had shouted back and slapped her across the face, then locked her in a room. Only she’d had a secret key and means of escape.

Mary, what’s wrong? Eric’s voice broke her thoughts. You haven’t backed down cause of your Pa?

No, of course not. She pulled him toward her. I don’t give a damn what Poppa says or thinks. This is my life, not his. Anyway, he’ll come round after we’re wed.

That’s the spirit, Mary, Eric said and kissed her lips until she pulled away.

Do you feel raindrops? There’s a horrific storm brewing, and I’ve got to get this painting inside. If only we’d more time.

They rushed to the open barn. With her easel and paints Mary reached the barn first, bubbling with laughter as the rain soaked through her white cotton dress. Eric followed, empty musket in hand, and a grin broad enough to brighten even the grayest summer day. He put the musket and his cap by Mary’s painting, and held her, whispering of eternal love.

Chapter One

June 30th, 2013

Ocean Grove, New Jersey

Georgina began her work in the middle of her grandmother’s antique shop by dusting off shelves. Salt and pepper shakers in the shape of the maid on the package of the Aunt Jemima Pancake box, cranberry glass tumblers, silver trays, ornate porcelain candy dishes, and fine chinaware. None of it mattered to seventeen-year-old Georgina, sent by her father for the duration of her summer break to help Grandma Bess as she recuperated from a nasty fall off the porch of her cottage in Ocean Grove. None of the myriad of displays of ornaments from bygone eras, none of the estate jewelry pieces left on consignment by anxious relatives of the deceased, and none of the outdated electronics held any interest to her.

Careful with the glassware, dear, her grandmother called out as she straightened up from her morning ritual, a light workout with yoga to some kind of New Age music on a CD player.

Bess Claythorne rose up from her yoga mat having done a forward bend stretch, eased into warrior pose, and then sighed. I’ve got new merchandise in the back, Georgina. Kate Reynolds dropped off a group of portraits and a few antique pieces, part of an heirloom. I’m to sell it on consignment.

And why should I care? Georgina shrugged in response. I should have worked at the mall. At least I could shop on my lunch break or hang out with my friends in Willowbrook!

Her grandmother, who proved more flexible at seventy-six than any of Georgina’s teenage friends, stooped low into the downward-facing dog pose. Her lean, well-toned body proved its strength, flexibility, and outright defiance against the ravages of age.

Georgina closed in, ready to rush to aid the older woman should she collapse on the floor. Dad said you fell two weeks ago over the curb in the parking lot. You could have broken a hip or worse, but even a sprained ankle isn’t something to fool around with.

Nonsense, child, Hank worries too much. He needs to focus on his business and not worry about me. I’m doing fine, and I do appreciate your coming here to help this summer at Treasure Trove.

As her grandmother stretched into the mountain pose and leaned in for warrior pose, Georgina bit on a hangnail, a nasty habit she’d had since her parents’ divorce eight years ago. Please, be careful.

When her grandmother tottered a bit, Georgina lunged to the rescue, stumbled over Calico, the gray tabby, and bumped her elbow and leg on a walnut coffee table. Georgina let out a series of expletives before plopping down on the tufted cushion of a chair and rubbing her sore elbow and shin.

Grandma Bess came to Georgina’s rescue with an ice pack she’d retrieved from the store’s mini fridge. I’ll tell you how I do it at my advanced stage, Georgina. Yoga and none of the fast food you kids love. Also, my hours of gardening and housework keep me in top form. I don’t let the grass grow beneath my feet. Live while you can; that’s my motto.

Georgina petted the back of her grandmother’s cat as he meowed and rubbed against her. I guess, Grandma, getting old is not for sissies.

They both chuckled at that.

Georgina rose then and went to the front of the shop. Mail is in. She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. From that perspective she viewed the adjacent buildings of Main Street. American flags flapped from under awnings of the Victorian cottages. Patriotism and pride shouted in the colorful décor, the trim lawns, the petite gardens with their assorted perennials, roses, and wooden welcome signs.

She came back with the mail, mostly bills and circulars, and handed them to her grandmother. A realtor’s business card had been tucked in with the rest along with an interesting ad for a fortune teller whose business existed in two locations in nearby Asbury Park.

Hmm... Madame Alexandra, the famed fortune teller to the stars, Georgina announced.

Pure nonsense, her grandmother said. I’d never waste time and money on those charlatans. They take advantage of honest people.

Georgina recalled how Antonio had taken her to an astrologer on her last day in Sorrento last summer. Antonio had translated the Italian. "Your heart will be broken more than once before you find true love." Antonio had cursed the man out and refused to pay, but Georgina slipped him a few Euros. She’d taken a life studies course, where she’d met Antonio, a young male model at the academy. His strong physique, dark complexion, and angular features attracted her as did his attention to her. She’d never had anyone show so much interest in her as Antonio did, and she’d rewarded him with treats to the English movies and the opera.

Before she left Italy last summer, Georgina vowed not to be fooled again by the charms of a hot guy. An astrologer didn’t have to tell her Antonio had been a fraud. On her return to New Jersey, having heard of the breakup, her father celebrated with her at his favorite restaurant, American Bistro in Nutley. The atmosphere had reminded her too much of Antonio. She’d drowned her sorrow in the heavy pasta and two desserts.

Georgina, are you okay?

Georgina stretched in a yawn and watched as her grandmother stood on tiptoes to water a hanging basket of ferns suspended in a corner nook.

Yes, yes, I am. I guess the card reminded me of someone.

Oh? Care to share?

She shook her head. She’d rather be here than in Italy, but what did this shore town community offer a seventeen-year-old during a summer stay? She peered down the block toward the beach area.