just that. I’ve got to get Abby back, if that’s possible, and I’ve got to stop her from whatever it is that she—or this thing she has become—hopes to accomplish.”
“How could you ever find her? If she has the Chronicle of Creation and your abilities to wield it, she could be anywhere.”
“I’m not sure, but, if it’s true that I sent Hannah back from the future with that book, the Chronicle of Continuity, they might hold the keys to what’s going on. Don’t you think?”
“That would seem logical.”
“Why do you think I would entitle the book the Chronicle of Continuity? Does that have any significance? Why appropriate that name, the Chronicle, when it already refers to a different object, a copper medallion?”
“Maybe you didn’t appropriate the name.”
“What do you mean?”
“The title of the book is in your handwriting, so it’s obvious that you named it. What if you also named the Chronicle of Creation? The use of the term chronicle might be some kind of marker, an indicator to draw your attention. For all we know, you might not only be the author of this book but the creator of the Chronicle of Creation as well.”
“I never saw it before the flight to San Francisco. How is that possible?”
Ping shrugged. “Maybe you created it in the future, or the past, or in another realm. Who knows?” He perked up a bit, as something occurred to him. “There’s a Chronicle of Creation associated with the element of Consciousness. And the Chronicle of Continuity, clearly associated with the element of Time.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, what can you infer and extrapolate from that information?”
“All I can extrapolate at the moment is you are obviously exhausted and talking gibberish,” Mara said.
“You are half correct. I am exhausted, but I think I’m onto something here. What if there’s a Chronicle associated with each element of reality—Consciousness, Time, Space and Consequence?”
Mara rolled her eyes. “You are making my head hurt. Can’t we just call your contractors and get the windows boarded up? I need to go home, get some sleep, wake up and have Thanksgiving dinner, and then I’ve got to fight a battle for existence against my best friend from high school.”
CHAPTER 3
Crunching across the gravel parking lot of Mount Blossoms Nursery, Liz Murray wondered what had gotten her boss all aflutter, not that it was rare for Reuben Stills to get into a tizzy over the most mundane problems. However, it was Thanksgiving morning, and Liz had expected to have the day off. Instead Reuben had summoned her to the small wooded lot south of Portland, home to the office trailer and the sizeable greenhouse that loomed behind it.
Rueben rushed up to her, breathless. “Elizabeth, thank you for coming! You are not going to believe what has happened in the greenhouse!”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Rube, I thought we agreed that I would focus on my responsibilities in the office, so, unless you have an emergency invoice that needs to go out, I’m going to return to fixing my turkey dinner. I have a houseful of relatives coming over in a few hours.” She stood half turned toward her car.
“I know. I promised I wouldn’t ask for your help in the greenhouse, but we’ve had a disaster, and I didn’t know where else to turn.” Rueben held his hands together prayerfully, almost bowing in front of her. “You are not going to believe what happened. All the poinsettias are dying! On Thanksgiving! Do you know what that will do to my business? We may both be out of a job.”
Liz sighed and waved a hand toward the gravel path that led around the trailer to the greenhouse. “I thought you said it wasn’t necessary to keep the poinsettias in the greenhouse, that they could be warehoused for a day or two until we got them to the retailers.”
“That was the original plan, but, with all the craziness going on with the shedding outbreak, I thought it would be less trouble just to put them here, instead of driving into town and getting caught in the mayhem. Besides, the greenhouse was empty, and I thought an extra day or two in a controlled environment would make them look particularly radiant.”
“And you could charge more of a premium for the shops that placed late orders.”
Stopping at the white plastic door of the greenhouse, Reuben turned the metal handle and pulled, releasing a gust of warm air. Holding open the door, he half bowed and waved for Liz to proceed.