If I Fall
Authors: Kelseyleigh Reber
| If I Fall |
| Circle and Cross Trilogy [1] |
| Kelseyleigh Reber |
| CreateSpace (2011) |
History never changes. It repeats. It errs. It lies. After all, it lied about us. My name is Elvira Hamilton and I have a secret . . . I'm not like you.
In 1901, there was a war. My people were special and yours were jealous. So jealous, you tried to kill us. All of us. One night, the war reached my village. Those who despised us had come, at last. Radicals we called them. My sister and I escaped, but my mother and father were not so lucky.
With the war raging in England, we only had one choice left. Escape the war and flee to America with the other refugees. The only problem was, we were not refugees and we were not supposed to leave.
Full of action, suspense, magic, and love, If I Fall is a story about a girl with a Mark everyone fears, though as far as she knows, she has no powers. As a stowaway on the RMS Celtic, a series of encounters with a Mr. Laurence has her in a bind. Should she tell him the truth and risk being handed over to the Radicals or should she continue to lie, risking the loss of his trust and friendship along with everything else?
Kelseyleigh Reber is the author of If I Fall, the first in the Circle & Cross Trilogy. She lives in Pennsylvania with her family where her favorite room remains her bedroom turned library. Having loved reading and creating the written word since she was a small child, Kelseyleigh is a self-professed bibliophile with a passion for both the fantastical and historical.
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 Kelseyleigh Reber
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1466461713
ISBN-13: 978-1466461710
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62345-285-8
DEDICATION
To my cover artist, biggest fan, and best friend:
Saba
CONTENTS
I would like to thank the following people, without whom, If I Fall would not have been a possibility. First, to my loving mother and father, who taught me to always reach for the stars. Thank you Mom for your tremendous support and for putting up with the constant printing of my hundred-plus page rough drafts. And a great big thank you to my dad for believing in me when I wrote a story on pink construction paper in second grade and for believing in me now. To Saba, for sitting with me for hours over caramel frappes, asking the hard questions and forcing me to form answers; and for being editor-extraordinaire through draft after draft. Next, to Whisper and Taylor, for finding the things that somehow escaped me even after five hundred reads, and to all of those from Inkpop who believed in If I Fall from the beginning. To Nathan, Michele, and all of my friends and family who helped me become the person I am today. To chocolate, for keeping me sane. And finally, to all of those authors who made me cry, smile, and laugh with their words, and who made me want to do the same.
Frothy waves claw at the shore, reaching for the unattainable, reaching for me. The murky blue mixes with a mysterious sea green in an endless mesh of wave on wave. The moon, a luminous white disk, glistens. Beckoning me forward, the man in the moon calls to me. Ferocious wind and powerless sand do a waltz around my ankles, stinging my legs. Squinting through the hazy night, I watch as jagged rocks slice through the water.
Sea salt rests on the tip of my tongue, bitter and briny. I lick my chapped lips, but the taste remains. Silence echoes all around me. The waves crash closer and closer, the icy water seeping into the sand under my feet and caressing my toes. It wraps a cool hand around my ankle, pulling me closer. The frigid sea runs through my veins like arctic slush as I succumb to the power of Poseidon.
I am aware of all of this and yet, I feel nothing.
Mindlessly, I wade into the water. The waves push me back. I move closer—two steps forward, one step back—until the waves lap at my waist. My dress floats on top of the water, bubbling out around me. The corset’s tight ties deprive me of air, but hard as I try, I cannot free myself of its clutches. Whoever invented the corset would one day hear my wrath, but not today. I am too exhausted, numbed by the night’s events.
Hollow screams carry across the water, making my skin crawl. Glancing behind me, I see my sister sitting on the beach, her back turned to me as she gazes into the distance. Her light blonde hair cascades down her back and around her shoulders. She does not look at me, unable to tear her eyes away from the entrancing and terrifying view.
The sky is on fire; hot reds and oranges burn on the horizon. Smoke envelops the stars in a blanket of fog, shielding them from the horrors below. A high-pitched scream sounds in the night. Another follows it, and I tense. Could that be my mother’s cry? My father’s? I watch as our village burns and the wails of those I knew mix with another explosion.
My sister looks back at me, her tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the moonlight. I try to muster up a smile, but can only manage a weak grimace. Slowly, I walk back to the beach. The waves egg me on, pushing at my back. I stumble onto the sand, a wave knocking me off balance, and sit beside my sister.
Grains of sand adhere to my slick skin, but I don’t bother trying to wipe them off. I gaze down at her, so young and confused. Her glassy blue eyes peer up at me and she sniffles.
“I’m afraid,” she whispers.
“Me too, Dela,” I whisper back. “Me too.”
She scoots closer, nuzzling her head into my shoulder. “Do you think Mother and Father will be all right?”
“Yes. They will find us in America just as they promised, you’ll see,” I lie.
Her nose runs and she wipes it on her sleeve. I begin to chide her, but think better of it. Besides, what does it really matter anymore?
“And you believe we will make it to America?”
“We shall make it. On my life, I promise you, we shall make it if it kills me.”
Dela winces, pulling away. “Don’t say such things. It is not so funny anymore.”
She is right. Death is too set in reality to be humorous nowadays, especially with our parents still caught in the village. My heart aches with grief as I watch the only home I have ever known burn in the distance.
“I do not want to go to America. Dianne said the people there are awfully rude,” Dela says.
“We don’t have a choice. America is where they are sending the refugees—”
“Yes, but not our people,” she argues. “There are no ships to take us.”
“We will find a way. We have no other choice. Liverpool is no longer safe, not for us.”
“I still do not wish to leave,” she grumbles.
I grab her hands and make her look me in the eyes. “If you wish to live, Dela, then you will leave with me. We can never come back, not while the war is going on.”
She nods, returning her gaze to the fiery skies. “Not ever,” she whispers. “Our home has been destroyed.”
With that said, Dela leans closer and we both look to the glowing sky, knowing that just below lies a ruined village. I cradle her in my arms as we listen to the waves crash behind us and the cries of our beloved rising towards the heavens like burning embers caught on the wind.
Two Hours Earlier…
“Elvira! Wake up!” My mother’s urgent whispers wake me with a start. Groggy and half asleep, I get out of bed. Too fast. My head whirls and my sight goes fuzzy. I put a hand to my forehead until it clears. The hardwood floors are cold against my bare feet and a breeze passes through my thin nightdress. A sharp bang echoes from outside as a cloud of dust coughs up through the open window. Panicked, I reel on my mother.
“What is it? What is happening?” I ask.
She does not answer. “Get dressed, darling. Quickly.”
I stare at the woman who brought me into this world. I stare at her and cannot help but remember the last time I saw her cry. I stare at her and realize that the last time I saw her cry was … never. My mother does not cry. Ever. And yet the tear that rolls down her cheek says otherwise.
“Dela. Dela, sweetheart, wake up,” Mother says. My sister stirs, groaning, before rolling to the other side and letting her eyes flutter shut. “Dela, you must get out of bed!” Pulling at her arms, Mother finally gets Dela to her feet. Our bedroom’s blue shadows cast over my sister’s face; her net of golden hair failing to suppress the darkness. She rubs at her eyes, thoroughly annoyed.
“It’s the middle of the night,” she whines.
Mother ignores her complaining, moving towards our dresser. Hurriedly, she picks out a dress for Dela and helps her put it on. Frightened by the look on my mother’s face, I do as she says and get dressed. A loud boom makes the house shudder and my fear grows. My hands fumble at my back.
“Blasted corset!” I yell, tempted to just forget it, but knowing it is not an option. Even if all of Hell broke loose, my mother would not allow me to leave this house without a corset.
It simply isn’t proper!
she would say; there was no point in arguing.
Mother leaves Dela to do the dress’s buttons herself and with shaking hands ties the corset tight around my waist, making sure breathing is not an option. I feel her fingers scrabble along my back, their icy tips sending electric currents thrumming beneath my skin.