Snowflakes in Summer (Time Tumble Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  SNOWFLAKES IN SUMMER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  SNOWFLAKES IN SUMMER

  ELIZABETH PRESTON

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  SNOWFLAKES IN SUMMER

  Copyright©2019

  ELIZABETH PRESTON

  Cover Design by Anna Lena-Spies

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

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  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-879-1

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Chapter 1

  Caitlin

  “I’ve always wanted to be in a film. Come on, Caitlin, it’ll be fun. You’ll thank me later.”

  Those were Lily’s exact words. Fun? So far the day was the exact opposite and would I thank Lily later? Can’t see it happening. But Lily was my best friend so what she craved mattered to me. She wanted to be an extra in this wretched film and she wanted me along for the ride, too. I agreed of course. So, for today anyway, I was officially an extra or background artist as they’re called now. Background artists, that’s a fancy term that means “wallpaper” for the real stars. But, for Lily’s sake, I was prepared to stand in the same spot without moving even when the temperature dipped. When the drizzle began, I did try to duck for cover though.

  “Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?” one of the assistants yelled as I darted for the tent.

  “It’s raining,” I said, thinking that he mustn’t have noticed the shower. I certainly felt it dripping down the back of my costume.

  “Get back to your spot. It’s not raining in the film so that means it’s not raining here either.”

  I doubted they’d pay my doctor’s bill but I moved back into position and silently vowed never to do this again, even if Lily begged. There was nothing to stop her going on her own. Lily is an aspiring English and drama teacher so of course she dreamt of being on stage. Today we were working on a historical low-budget movie. The story is set in the late-medieval period. The historical side of everything interests me most. In one month’s time I begin my new teaching career. Yay, it’s been a long time coming. I’ve landed myself a job at the local high school as a history teacher. Can’t wait!

  But for now, Lily and I are here waiting in another holding pen, where they put the background artists when they’re not queueing or standing in one designated spot in the rain.

  Early on in the day, I realized that background artists don’t command much respect. We get screamed at often, for no good reason, and they like to shout contradictory orders at us, too. It’s been a long day so far and it’s not even lunch time yet. This whole queueing thing started at six-thirty this morning. Once the bus pulled up outside our local pub, Lily and I and all the other background people were herded like cattle aboard mini buses and taken on the short ride from Doral Village to Doral Castle. After three hours of waiting around in a bitterly cold room, we were allowed to queue for our costumes. Then we queued for makeup and then again for hair. When all that was done we were shuffled to a spot well out of the way, so far out of the way that we were unable to see anything happening. The waiting goes on for hours upon hours and it’s not like someone comes around offering coffee and keeping everyone informed. Nope, none of that. But I was grateful that I’d brought one of my history books with me.

  At long last we were ordered into another line to receive our instructions. Lily went into one queue and I another. I stood silently. No one was allowed to sit. Finally we were led to our exact spot. Just before one in the afternoon, a woman waved me over.

  “You’re Caitlin, right?”

  I nodded, wondering how she knew that because there were fifty other scruffy peasants standing around, looking just like me.

  “You’re being upgraded to a speaking part. You got one line, you think you can manage that?” She sounded doubtful, like extras were not smart or important enough to be able to remember a few simple words strung together.

  “I’m sure I can manage,” I said, wanting to roll my eyes but trying to be obliging and nice anyway. “I’m a qualified high school history teacher so I think I’ll cope.” I probably should have sounded elated or at least grateful, but I was seriously fed up already.

  “You want it or not?”

  I nodded, reasoning that if I said no, I might be ordered into another queue and my patience was already at its end. I studied the production assistant’s scowling face then I spoke up anyway, taking the risk despite how grumpy she looked. “I have a friend in that queue.” I pointed. “Her name is Lily Hamilton and I know she’d desperately love to say a line in your film. She’d be great at it, too. If there’s no line for her then maybe she could have my line? Lily’s a drama teacher so she’d be perfect.”

  But the scowling assistant was already shaking her head. “It doesn’t work like that. You’re the one with the long, wild hair. Follow me.”

  I followed and joined a select group of seven background artists. Of course we waited and waited and rehearsed our line of three words till I could say it awake, asleep, or even dead. At long last our moment of glory arrived. I and six other peasants yelled out, “Cut him through!” I belted the phrase out, giving it my all, venting my frustrations. Maybe Lily knew a thing or two because yelling those three little words almost made all the waiting around and queueing worthwhile.

  Job done. From where we stood, we could have crawled the short distance to the lunch tent. But no, walking anywhere was frowned upon. They insisted we wait for the golf-cart-thing to arrive and be driven the thirty seconds or so it took to get from where we were to the lunch area.

  When the sandwich hit my stomach I felt better, certainly less like argui
ng. But I still had a thumping headache, which was exactly what I deserved because I’d knocked back a full bottle of Prosecco last night. In my defense I can argue that it’s not every day someone like me gets offered a serious job, and when that happens, the occasion needs to be celebrated. A career job, the real thing, definitely something to be proud of. Wow, what a long way I’ve come.

  Just then, one of the film assistants dashed past the lunch table and, deciding to seize the moment, I grabbed his sleeve. “Excuse me. Um, I’m finished. I’m an extra and I’ve said my few words. Is it all right if I get changed back into my own clothes now? I’m cold.”

  He turned, clearly peeved. His jaw was rigid, and his forehead scrunched in annoyance. The extras are more trouble than they’re worth. “No. You need to wait. No one is going anywhere till the ride arrives.”

  “But I can see the dressing tent, it’s that close. I’m really cold. I won’t be in anyone’s way, I promise.”

  “No crossing the bridge on foot. You must wait for the bus.”

  I fought with myself, struggling to hold my temper and follow the rules. “Okay, so when’s that happening? The bus, I mean?”

  He barked back at me from over his shoulder, “Three o’clock. Wait. It’s called patience.”

  I sighed. Most of the others who’d already eaten were sitting on the grassy bank. Soon someone would come and herd us back into the drafty holding pen. Lily was over at the right side of the castle, standing in her spot, ready to do whatever it was she had to do. Even if I was able to sneak unnoticed over there, I’d never get to watch Lily do her bit because there were too many assistants hovering. Better to find a quiet spot and sit somewhere warm, somewhere quiet so that I can calm my thumping head. You never know, I might even get the chance to shut my eyes for a moment. There’s nothing like a wee nap to help a hangover.

  Trying not to be noticed, I drifted away from the crowd and headed for the bottom of the castle. I know Doral Castle well. I’d been here many times before. Last time, I discovered a quiet spot right away from the tourists, a small, almost hidden room right at the bottom of the castle. There was a bench seat in that room too, just big enough to lie down on. The tiny dark place I remember was the sort of uninviting spot tourists never went near. If I could find that room again, I’ll be able to take a short nap. Just the thought of closing my eyes quickened my steps.

  Lily was right, all the queueing and waiting around really would be worth it if my scene actually made it onto the big screen. Maybe Mum back in Australia would see the film, recognize me, and feel proud. Mum should be more impressed with my teaching degree and my even shinier new teaching job but Mum doesn’t think like that. Mum had never valued education much, no one in my family has. Never mind. I was proud of how far I’d come. Not only had I gotten away from Australia and back to my beloved Scotland but I’d slogged away at the education I needed and was now a teacher myself. Wow, still hard to believe I’d done it.

  Without too much trouble, I found the staircase I was looking for, the one that would wind all the way down to the bottom of the castle. That bench seat was somewhere down here in one of these small, dank rooms. But the space ahead was so narrow, and so confining. Could that really be it? I fought my way inside. When my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I studied the little trap door wedged into the solid floor. That tiny door must have originally led to a food storage area, like an ice cupboard perhaps. I let my fingers trail along the chubby door. Such thick stone. I doubted I had the strength to manage that weight today.

  There was another room at the end of this little one, a bigger area that might have been the original kitchen. I stepped over the doorstep and into a much bigger area. This room was even darker than the last one. It had a sturdy, cold fireplace at one end and, right beside that, a midget-sized bench seat. That could work. It was just long enough to curl up onto, and best of all, there was no one about to wake me up.

  ~ ~ ~

  In Australia, where Mum, Dad, and my younger brother, Angus, still lived, there are no castles like Doral. Australia’s Celtic history is too new. I remember when we left Scotland, way back when I was ten. The four of us set out on our grand adventure. That was what Dad called it. My father was the most excited one of all because he’d just landed a job on a huge cattle station in the Outback of Australia. It was his dream to work in the Outback. The cattle station was ridiculously big, about the size of Belgium.

  I loved the plane trip to the other side of the world and the breathy rush of excitement we were all swept up in. We were flying to a new life in a faraway, strange land. But the reality of living in remote Australia was something else. Mum hated the country, hated it straight off and never changed her mind. As each day went by, Mum withdrew further into herself, spending more time in bed than out. The days she did get up, she’d sit slumped in an old kitchen chair, fanning herself, trying to deal with the heat.

  The idea was for Angus and me to be home-schooled, and Mum to be our teacher. But Mum missed Scotland and her family in the Highlands too much. She could never quite find the energy or enthusiasm to teach either of her children anything. Instead, our lessons were shelved, put off for another time.

  Now that I am an adult, I understand. Mum suffered from a double bout of homesickness and depression. Unlike Mum, I enjoyed those early months in Australia the most. Angus and I were left to run wild, because there was no one about to supervise us. We swam in the water hole and chased snakes with our sticks. We’d get up early and then set off, stomping out of our yard in any direction that took our fancy. We went looking for trouble and took a loaded rifle with us, too. Usually we pretended to be Davy Crockett or Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter. Mother knew about the loaded rifle but said nothing except, “Look after your brother.”

  A few happy months passed, but, after a while, the niggling doubts started to creep in. Something was wrong. Mum was wrong but neither Dad nor anyone else seemed to recognize the fact, or were prepared to do anything about it. I was too young to know how to help Mum, but I could do something about Angus and my own lack of education. If the authorities discovered that both of us were not being schooled in any way, then we’d be taken from our parents. People had already begun to whisper about our wild ways. So that was when I decided to do the one thing for Mum I could do, and that was teach myself and my little brother something, anything. Rather than Mum, I would become our teacher. I knew much more than poor, neglected Angus so there were many ways I could help him. The wee lad could barely read.

  This went on for years. I forced myself to finish every last correspondence lesson, pretending that Mum was sitting right across the table keeping her sharp eye out. I taught Angus to read, how to write a short story, and some basic mathematics, too. Those early years weren’t too bad. For me they were better than the ones that followed.

  Dad loved Australia. He took a liking to the Australian farm hands too, drinking and playing cards into the wee hours. There was always a shearer or a jackaroo ready to knock a scotch back with him. The more Dad enjoyed the untamed life, the more miserable Mum became. Mum would have dragged us all back to Scotland quick-smart, if she’d been able to motivate herself and was well enough to earn money for the plane trip.

  Then, out of the blue one day, Mum announced that daytime correspondence lessons were over. I was fifteen then and Angus was ten.

  “Enough is enough,” Mum said.

  “But why? I thought I’d carry on with school to the end. And I can do university study remotely here, too.”

  “You’re already smart enough. Time you earned some money instead.”

  It took me a moment to answer. “How will I do that? I suppose I could do farm work as well as study.”

  Mum waved her hand cutting off my desperate rant. “No. I’ve already found you a day job. You know Mrs. Sedgewick in the village?”

  I did know her. She wa
s very old, or so she seemed to me at the time, and not too friendly either.

  “She’s looking for a cook and a cleaner.”

  My eyes stretched wide. How was this happening to me? “But the village is a two-hour truck ride away. That’s four hours of traveling each day.”

  “You’re to live in.”

  My face must have showed the horror I felt but Mum pressed on. “There’s no sense in coming back home each night. Anyway, Mrs. Sedgewick is looking for live-in help.”

  “But,” I said, scrambling for a way out. “What about Angus? What about his lessons?”

  Mother was gazing out of the rickety window watching Angus bathing in the old tub on our front lawn. “Not your problem.”

  So I spent my days cooking and cleaning for old Mrs. Sedgewick, and my nights trying to stay on top of my studies. I did go home on weekends, for a while anyway. But soon enough Mum had her hand out and I wasn’t about to part with my hard-earned wages, as meager as they were.

  It was a simple decision: I stopped going home. Most of the time I got on with old woman Sedgewick and I managed that by making sure I was good at whatever I tackled. I’ve learned this: if you don’t want to be picked on, you need to work really hard, like every hour in the day and make sure you end up being good at what you do. That’s the only way to get people to leave you alone.

  But, no matter how hard I worked, I still dreaded the weeks that Mrs. Sedgewick’s granddaughter, Prue, came to visit.

  “Nan,” Prue whined, “she’s the help. Why’s she in the kitchen with me?”

  Mrs. Sedgewick always called out from her chair in the lounge, “If you don’t want her in the kitchen, Prue, then you’ll need to do the dishes yourself.”