Sisters In Time
By Ginger Simpson

Taylor Morgan tries to focus on her surroundings through a blinding headache.  The patchwork quilt, the water basin, and the archaic room don’t strike a familiar chord.  Her mouth gapes when a handsome man waltzes into the room, calls her darling, and expresses his delight that she’s on the road to recovery.

Clearly something is amiss.

Excerpt:

Suddenly, an intense rumbling sound shook the prairie stillness. From an almost cloudless sky, thunder cast a single bolt of lightning, striking the ground with energy enough to propel dirt through the air and set fire to a small patch of grass. Immediately, calm prevailed; only a column of smoke billowing skyward remained as evidence.

Frank pondered the strange occurrence, but fueled by the need to find his wife, hurried in the direction of the fading smoke. “Mariah, Mariah, please answer me.” His boots cut a path through the heavy brush.

In the grass beyond the wagon, he spied the brim of her yellow bonnet. He rushed to her side, finding her in an oddly contorted position. Mariah’s head rested against a large rock and rivulets of red dripped onto the grass beneath her. Frank’s throat Frank’s throat constricted. “Oh my God, are you all right? Mariah, answer me, please.” His words were little more than a whisper over his choking fear.

He gently removed her head covering and inspected the crimson-stained gash on her temple. “Callie,” he yelled, “Get the tablecloth from the picnic basket. I have to stop this bleeding. Quickly, Jacob, bring me the water jug.”

Frank cleaned Mariah’s wound then wrapped a makeshift bandage around her head, but she remained unconscious. He had to make her hear him; she had to wake up. A tear trickled down his cheek and he brushed it away. His children already sobbed with fear; he had to show strength.

Frank continued to bathe his wife’s face with cool water. “Mariah, please darlin’…” He looked to the sky. “Lord this can’t be happening.”