Page 23 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

He was a fan of fantasy films and shows. He had thought about the idea of time travel, but it had always been a science--fiction thing. He wasn’t truly considering it now as part of reality. He couldn’t be; it was too ridiculous.

Having finished his morning of home repairs, he changed into his gentleman-about-the-house clothes, which were shockingly similar to his man-fixing-the-broken-banister clothes.

Then he went back to the book room. He’d not really taken a good look around when he’d first visited it.

He had been somewhat overwhelmed at the time, having only just been plunged into the icy ocean.

The degree of overkill at Guilford was still baffling.

He walked along the bookshelf, eyeing the spines.

But most of them didn’t have titles printed on them the way modern books did.

He pulled a few out and flipped them open.

The titles were the old-fashioned kind, long and complicated.

The authors were people he’d never heard of, and the publication dates were all in Roman numerals.

His fourth-grade teacher would be appalled if she knew how hard he was having to think to remember how to decipher the numbers. But he figured it out.

Every book he looked at was published in the 1790s or earlier.

But they weren’t actually antique books.

He finally came across some that looked as old as they should have been if they had actually been from the late eighteenth century.

These, the Roman numerals declared, had come from the 1600s, in which case, they should have been far more worn and delicate than they were. All reproductions?

No, that couldn’t be right. It was a type of detail that didn’t make any sense. He didn’t imagine the visitors to this site were invited to simply sit in the book room for days at a time and read through the collection of antique recreations.

He found a book entitled A History of Guilford Village and the Surrounding Environs.

That actually seemed useful. And though it insisted it had been printed in the late 1780s, there was every chance that it was actually brand-new and was there to help the people who worked on this site know what it was they were presenting.

Naturally, it was hidden somewhere unlikely to be found.

So much about this place didn’t make any sense.

Except Amelia. She felt real and peaceful and genuine in a way nothing else did here, in a way no one in his life but Malcolm and Jen had in years.

How did he square that with her always being in character?

Kip skimmed through the book. Neolithic settlements of the area .

.. Losses in the Battle of Hastings ..

. He needed to find the bit about 1803, apparently, since that was when he was meant to be.

But before he got to that portion, his eyes caught a heading halfway down a page, nearly a third of the way into the book.

“Odd Arrivals by Sea.”

Kip’s arrival by sea had been very odd.

Since before we’ve had a written record, the inhabitants of this area have spoken of the oddities of the sea.

“Time behaves strangely on these waters.”

Amelia had said that was what the local villagers insisted.

People pulled from the water speak of strange things and strange happenings.

Many claim to have arrived not from distant places but from distant times.

This local legend has been used to explain the oddities of a great many people, and it is assumed, this is a case of a search for proof creating the proof itself.

Still, the legend holds fast. When a person is found to be lacking in judgment or mental acumen, it is not uncommon for the local population to question whether or not this person is one of the legendary odd arrivals.

Was this what Kip was encountering? Because he had had the misfortune of being swept into and then plucked from the water, they were going to resurrect this ancient legend as a way of adding authenticity to the experience for visitors?

Thus far, no one had even brought up the possibility of his being from a different time or had demanded to know why he was confused or unaware of things.

The closest they’d come to that was Jane’s and Amelia’s odd reactions to his tattoo.

If they were women from 1803, he supposed they would have found it shocking.

Kip continued flipping through the pages of the book and came across another section that stopped him.

Sudden Storms That Grow

It has been posited that there is no area of the southern coast more prone to dangerous and violent storms than that stretching from the coast beyond Guilford to the far side of Loftstone Island.

Those of a scientific bent have hypothesized that it is the shape of the bay and the placement of its islands that traps storms, much the way the narrow neck between Guilford Island and the shore traps sea surges.

This, they believe, causes the storms to sit and brew and grow in strength.

Though the phenomenon of green lightning striking the water has not been explained, it is considered, by many locals, to be part of the odd phenomenon of the visitors over the water.

On neighboring Loftstone Island, these are called the Tides of Time, storms that bring people from other times into the one in which they are found.

Guilford Village and its residents do not have a name for this occurrence.

Nonetheless, it, too, boasts its own legends of strange travelers and green lightning, tales that are woven into the echoes of the sea.

Green lightning. Kip had seen green lightning when he’d been in the water.

That could not have been planted or faked.

There was no way the people running this place could have predicted it would happen and set this storyline in action.

Unless they kept all these things around and had this backup plan on the off chance that someone arrived in just the right way.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Summerfield.”

Kip turned to look at Marsh, standing in the doorway of the book room.

“Thank you,” Marsh said, “for repairing Mick’s toy. I know Miss has given you a great deal of work to do. Us is appreciative that you took time to help he in that way.”

“I’m glad I could do it and that I had the tools I needed.”

Marsh dipped his head.

“How long have you lived here?” Kip asked. “Not necessarily on Guilford Island but in this general vicinity.”

“All my life. I grew up farther inland than Guilford Village.”

More inland might not help, but Kip hoped it was near enough. “This book”—he held it up—“talks of a lot of legends in the area. I’m wondering how many are widely known and widely believed.”

Mr. Marsh’s expression was solemn. “Like most places, us has plenty of legends.”

“What about the one Loftstone Island calls the Tides of Time?”

Mr. Marsh grew stiffer, which was an accomplishment. He had the starchy butler role down to a science. “Time behaves strangely on these waters.”

“Miss Archibald said she has been told that as well,” Kip said, “but she has not been offered an explanation as to what that means.”

Still looking uncomfortable but pressing forward, the butler said, “It is believed that when the green lightning hits the water, it opens a door.”

“A door?”

Marsh nodded. “A door between places in time that aren’t meant to be connected. People, legend says, are pushed through it against their will.”

The legend, then, was about time travel, exactly the sort of odd phenomenon Kip was beginning to consider in some small way.

“Do you believe the legend?” Kip asked.

“Most everywho here about does.” The man turned and left.

Time travel. Either that was Kip’s storyline being revealed to him in an unnecessarily complicated way, or they were trying to make him think it was true.

From the drawing room below, he heard the sounds of Amelia playing a tune. She had to be in on this conspiracy, whatever it was exactly. Until he sorted that out, he needed to approach everyone here with caution.