Forever in My Heart: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

  Forever In My Heart

  The Pocket Watch Chronicles

  By

  Ceci Giltenan

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Any actual locations mentioned in this book are used fictitiously.

  All rights are retained by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Copyright 2020 by Ceci Giltenan

  www.duncurra.com

  ISBN: 978-1-949407-10-5

  Produced in the USA

  Dedication

  To my daughters

  Meghan,

  I gave you the gift of life, but the gift of joy, love and compassion you bring to life has blessed me and everyone around you in more ways that you’ll ever know.

  Jennifer,

  I may not have given you the gift of life, but life gave me the gift of you—so it’s a little like winning the lottery. I hope you always know what a blessing you are to those who love you.

  “You walked into my life like you had always lived there, like my heart was a home built just for you."

  ~ A. R. Asher

  Chapter 1

  Govan, Scotland,

  December 20, 1857

  Mary Campbell huddled on the floor near the old hearth where the iron stove stood. Dear God, why had she asked? Jock was drunk. And when he was drunk, nearly anything she said might set him off. But it was payday. And if there was any chance of getting a few extra bob with which to buy something the tiniest bit special for their Christmas dinner next week, it was on payday—before he drank it all away. But payday also meant he’d had a few extra pints in the pub on the way home.

  Jock grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet and giving her a hard shake.

  “By God, woman, I work hard for my money. I’ll give ye what I see fit to give ye and not a farthing more.”

  Letting go of her shoulders, he backhanded her with such force that she lost her balance. Her head hit the wall beside the fireplace and she crumpled to the ground, dazed. Darkness pulled at her. How she’d love to just give in to it, but the voice of their four-year-old daughter penetrated the fog like a lighthouse beacon.

  “Mama?”

  Struggling to remain conscious she said, “Katie, go back to bed.”

  Her daughter’s lower lip wobbled and tears slid down her cheeks. “But, I’m scared.”

  “Get yer sniveling hide back to bed or I’ll give ye something to cry about,” Jock snarled.

  Mary struggled to her knees. “Please, sweetling, go.”

  The noise must have awakened the baby too. His wail rent the dark cottage and chilled Mary’s soul. Jock could not tolerate crying children. She needed to get between the children and her raging husband but it wasn’t possible. He’d already taken the first step toward the bedroom, his fist clenched.

  She couldn’t let him. Her hand brushed against the fire iron. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of it. It was the only weapon she had. But before she could take a single step toward him, he stopped.

  His whole bearing changed. His step slowed, his shoulders dropped and he relaxed his fist, reaching an open hand to caress Katie’s cheek. He crouched in front of her. “Don’t cry, little one.” He glanced around the cottage as if he’d never seen it before. “It’s late. Ye must have had a bad dream. Let’s see if we can calm the screeching rascal and tuck ye back into bed.”

  Mary’s own shock was mirrored on Katie’s face.

  Jock stood, took the wee lass by the hand and led her back to the bedroom.

  Mary followed, still holding the poker at her side.

  Her husband, who’d never done a single thing to help care for their children, let go of his daughter’s hand and picked up wee Robbie. Cradling the baby in his arms he gently bounced and rocked from side to side, making soft soothing sounds.

  “There, little man. Wheesht now. Ye’ve scared the wee lassie with yer caterwauling.”

  As Robbie began to calm, Jock shifted the babe into the crook of his left arm and with his right hand gently nudged Katie toward her bed.

  “Now, little miss, ‘tis a cold night. Let’s get ye tucked up nice and warm under these covers.”

  Mary stood in the doorway, mouth agape.

  Jock helped Katie under the covers, tucking them snuggly around her. “My, this is a thin blanket. I’ll see if I can find something to help keep ye warmer.”

  Those words couldn’t have just come from Jock’s mouth. How many times had Jock confidently stated that children weren’t meant to be coddled? “A little chill, a little hunger makes them strong.”

  Mary had blankets hidden in a chest under Katie’s bed. After Jock was asleep, she’d slip out of bed and cover both children with warmer blankets making certain to put the thin ones on top. Not that Jock was in the habit of ever checking on them. Still, she took the precaution anyway. If she had believed his show of concern now was genuine, she’d have gotten the blankets out. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. And she couldn’t take the risk. This was some sort of act. But to what purpose, she knew not.

  Then, to Mary’s further shock, he leaned down and gently kissed Katie’s cheek. “Good night, sugar plum.”

  Sugar plum? Not once had he called Katie anything except ‘girl’ nor had he ever given her a goodnight kiss. For that matter, he hadn’t given Mary a gentle kiss since the day they were married. Jock’s kisses were aggressive and hard.

  Mary didn’t know what to do. She just stood there, the iron still in her hand ready to protect her children at any cost.

  By the time Jock had Katie in bed, the baby had gone back to sleep. Jock gently laid Robbie in his cot, covered him well and then turned to leave the room. For a moment he appeared stunned, as if he hadn’t known she was there.

  “I uh…didn’t see ye. Why are ye holding that fire iron?”

  “Ye were…I mean, I thought ye were…”

  “Oh dear, God, yer face? He hit ye.”

  As stunned as she was, Mary couldn’t hold her tongue. “He? There’s no one else here. Ye hit me.”

  As if everything that had just happened wasn’t bizarre enough, Jock said something that she didn’t think he had ever uttered in his life.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He took a step toward her and instinctively, Mary backed away from him.

  He stopped. “Please, I swear I won’t hurt ye. Come sit near the stove and let me see what I can do for your injuries.”

  This was too much. Mary trembled and burst into tears. She could steel herself against his violence, but kindness and compassion?

  In two strides he had his arms around her. “Oh, lass, please don’t cry. It’s over. It’s all over.”

  She dropped the fire iron. His strong arms felt wonderful, just as they had when he was courting her. She wanted to sink into that embrace and believe that he could make things right. It resurrected all the hopes and dreams she’d had before they wed and which the stark reality of married life with him had soon cru
shed. Now, reminded of her loss, her heart ached again.

  “Shh…shh…shh. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.” He rubbed her back gently, continuing to whisper soothing words.

  She had to regain control. She could not give in to this. She drew in a deep breath and took a step backwards, out of his embrace.

  “A little better now?” he asked.

  She could only nod.

  “Then come sit down.”

  With a hand at the small of her back, he guided her towards the rocking chair beside the stove. Once she was settled in the chair he stepped back and shook his head a little, as if trying to clear it.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Damn. I’m plastered.”

  “Plastered?”

  “Blotto…sloshed.” Apparently realizing she was still confused, he added, “Stinking drunk.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “Well, aye, ye are. Perhaps ye should sit down.”

  “Not until I’ve seen to yer injuries. Where do ye keep yer kitchen towels?”

  The fact that he didn’t know where they were came as no surprise. He’d probably never held a kitchen towel, much less fetched one or put one away. “They’re in the top drawer of the sideboard.”

  He took one out, wet it with water from the pitcher on the washstand. “Damn, this is cold. The whole room is cold.” He reached his hand towards the stove. “It’s barely warm.”

  “I banked the fire after I cooked supper.”

  “I think that’s a bit early. It’s much too cold in here and any heat that reached the children’s room is completely gone. I’ll take care of it after I’ve seen to you.”

  “Jock, ye told me not to use too much coal.” Fearing he’d lose his temper, she rushed to apologize. “I’ve tried to do that. I use as little as possible. I get it burning in the morning to make yer breakfast, then I bank it ’til time to cook the evening meal. Then I bank it again and pray there are live coals in the morning.”

  He crouched in front of her, frowning. “Ye don’t keep it burning all day? No wonder it’s cold in here.”

  “But ye said—”

  “Never mind what I said before. Things will change now. Let me tend to ye, then we’ll talk. I’m just going to wipe the blood away.”

  With the utmost of care, he cleaned the blood from her lip and cheek. “It looks like yer lip has already stopped bleeding but yer cheek is bruising. I want ye to hold this cold cloth against it for a few minutes. The cold will ease the sting. I’ll get ye a blanket so ye don’t chill too badly.”

  What in the name of God was going on? Was he just trying to find out where she hid the extra blankets? “I’ll be fine. I’ll just fetch my cloak from the peg by the door.”

  “Nay, sit still. I’ll get it.” He retrieved it, wrapping it around her with the same care he’d shown the children.”

  Mary just stared, speechless.

  “Now, about the coal. Do we have any?”

  “Aye, of course. But ye only buy a small amount each month and tell me to make do. If we use it for heat all day, as well as cooking, we’ll need to buy more.”

  “So it’s all we can afford?”

  “Why are ye asking me this?” Did he know? Had he found out that she’d been taking in sewing piece work? Early in their marriage, when she’d realized the effect his penchant for drink had on their resources, she had casually suggested that she could supplement their income by doing some sewing for a local tailor.

  He had split her lip that night too, raging, “Over my dead body will ye do that. I won’t have the whole village of Govan believing my wife has to work because I can’t take care of my family.”

  But he couldn’t take care of his family because of the inordinate amount of his wages that he spent on drink every week. So she secretly did the sewing anyway. It was the only way she had enough money to buy food.

  Jock looked confused. “Why am I asking about the coal? Because I want ye and the children to be warm and if we can’t afford it, I’ll find a way to get it.”

  Irritated and confused, she was unable to hold her tongue. “Ye know as well as I do that today was payday. The money we have, if ye didn’t spend all of it in the pub, is in yer pocket.”

  Less than an hour ago, he’d have flown into a rage at that. But he simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the coins.

  “Three shillings and thruppence? Is that all?”

  “Ye must have bought six pints at the pub. Ye should have been paid three and nine.”

  “For a week’s work? That’s little more than a penny an hour.”

  She frowned. “Ye shouldn’t try to do sums when ye’re drunk. Ye work ten hours a day, six days a week.”

  He looked horrified. “What? That’s only three farthings an hour and I spent four hours of my wages at the pub in one night? Do I do this every night?”

  “Normally ye only drink four pints. ‘Tis only on payday ye drink more.”

  “Still, ye’re telling me I have a family freezing for lack of coal and I spend a third of my wages each week on beer?”

  “Jock, why are ye doing this to me? Why are ye acting as if ye don’t know any of this?” She burst into tears again, putting her face in her hands.

  Once again he crouched beside her. “Oh, nay, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to cause ye distress. Please.” He gently pulled her hands away from her face, holding them in his. “I can explain what’s happened. It’s going to sound a bit farfetched. But I swear to ye, it’s true and I mean ye no harm. Will ye listen to what I have to say?”

  She sniffed and captured his gaze. Something was different about him—aside from the bizarre things he was doing and saying. There was a warmth in his eyes she’d never seen before—not even when they were courting. How was that possible? If he had an explanation, she certainly wanted to hear it. “Aye, I’ll listen.”

  “Thank ye.” He stood up again, taking a chair from the table and pulling it close. “First, to be able to explain, I need to know two things. Where are we? And what is the date?”

  This was ridiculous. “Ye’re in Govan, just as ye were when ye woke this morning. And ‘tis Saturday, the twentieth of December, in the year of our Lord 1857.”

  Jock’s eyes went wide. “1857? Amazing. It worked just like Gertrude said it would. It’s good to know I’m still in Glasgow.”

  “Ye aren’t in Glasgow. I just told ye, ye’re in Govan—just down river. Ye’ve lived here yer whole life. And who’s Gertrude?”

  Almost to himself Jock said, “I’ll get to Gertrude in a minute. When I awoke this morning, I was at my home in the west end of Glasgow near Kelvingrove Park, over a hundred years in the future. And in that time, Govan is a part of Glasgow, but that doesn’t really matter. I guess the most important thing is that……well…I’m not yer husband—at least not on the inside. My soul switched places with his. God, it sounds barking mad when I say it aloud. But I swear to ye it’s the truth.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Another soul?” That was absolute lunacy. Mary glanced toward the little bedroom where the children slept. Could she get to them and escape this madman? Not in the middle of the night. She only had a little money and no place to go. She’d simply have to play along with him for now and figure out what to do when morning came. Best to let him keep talking. “I…uh…don’t understand. How could that be?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t believe it was possible myself. I had gone to the city center this morning to do some Christmas shopping and I popped into a pub for lunch. The pub was more crowded than usual and an elderly lady—she said her name was Gertrude—asked if she could share my table. We talked about Christmas and how focused it had become on buying things. I said I wondered what it would have been like in a simpler time. And she asked if I wanted to find out.”

  “And then she switched yer soul for Jock’s?”

  “Nay, she showed me this.” He pulled a gold pocket watch on a chain from his pocket.

  It had to have been worth
a fortune. “Jock, please tell me ye didn’t steal this. We’ll be in a world of trouble if ye did.”

  “I didn’t steal it. Gertrude told me if I took it home and said a special word to it before going to sleep, I’d wake up in someone else’s body.”

  He opened the watch. “See how it only has one long hand? It’s a second hand. She said everyday I’m in the past, the hand will move forward one second. To return to my own body, I have to say the special word before the hand reaches twelve again. I didn’t believe her at first, but as she talked to me, it somehow began to seem possible…and I wanted to try. I figured there’d be no harm in it. That evening, I said the word, went to sleep and immediately awoke here, in Jock’s body and his soul’s in mine.”

  “So ye want me to believe Jock’s soul is wandering around in someone’s body in the future?”

  “Nay, not really wandering around. For every day I’m here in the past, only one second passes where I came from. His soul will be in my body for less than a minute.”

  “And then ye’ll switch back?”

  He frowned. “Not exactly. According to Gertrude, yer husband was about to do something that would bring about his own death. His life was over in that instant. When I return to my body, his will die and his soul will go on.”

  “Straight to hell.” She gasped—shocked those words had passed through her lips. She clasped her hand to her mouth. “I—I—I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “I think I understand. Based on yer injuries, it seems yer husband was a violent man and showed little care or concern for his wife and children. When I entered his body, the wee lassie was in front of me, and my hand was raised. Yer husband was about to strike her. Wasn’t he?”

  Mary could only nod.

  “And when I turned around and first saw ye, ye held the fire iron in yer hand. Ye were going to hit him with it, before he could strike the bairn?”

  Was this why he was doing this? To get her to admit she had been about to hit him? Nay, if Jock had had the first inkling about what she was prepared to do, he’d have wrenched the poker from her hands and probably beaten her with it. Could what this man was saying be true? She looked into his eyes again. The warmth and compassion were still there. Almost without thinking she said, “Aye, I wouldn’t have let Jock hurt the wee ones.”