Every hour until then, p.1
Every Hour until Then, page 1
“The drama builds with each page, and I could not wait to see how it would all turn out. Fans of history, romance, or time travel will adore this book.”
Julie Klassen, bestselling author, on When the Day Comes
“Gabrielle Meyer merges epic moments in history with personal themes of romance, faith, and self-sacrifice.”
Mimi Matthews, USA Today bestselling author, on In This Moment
“A breathtaking journey through time and history! Prepare to be entranced!”
Sarah Sundin, bestselling and Christy Award–winning author, on In This Moment
“With rich historical details and a riveting conundrum, When the Day Comes had me glued to the pages, the story tugging at my heart and lingering with me long after the last page. A triumph of a story!”
Susan May Warren, USA Today bestselling author, on When the Day Comes
“A seamless blend of choices and chances celebrating the enduring spirit of a woman faced with a remarkable future, this first book in the TIMELESS series is a lovely and memorable time-crossing feat.”
Laura Frantz, Christy Award–winning author, on When the Day Comes
“A fresh and innovative twist on time travel, each book of the TIMELESS series features clever heroines, emotionally charged love stories, and unpredictable twists that will keep readers engrossed until the last page.”
Elizabeth Camden, RITA Award–winning author
“Meticulous research, intriguing characters, sweet romance, and an evocative dual-time setting make this one of my favorite reads of the year.”
Lisa T. Bergren, bestselling and award-winning author, on When the Day Comes
Every
Hour
until
Then
Books by Gabrielle Meyer
TIMELESS
When the Day Comes
In This Moment
For a Lifetime
Across the Ages
Every Hour until Then
TIMELESS • 5
Every
Hour
until
Then
GABRIELLE MEYER
5
© 2025 by Gabrielle Meyer
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Minneapolis, Minnesota
BethanyHouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2025
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Identifiers: LCCN 2024041944 | ISBN 9780764243011 (paperback) | ISBN 9780764244032 (casebound) | ISBN 9781493448128 (ebook)
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Epigraph Scripture quotation is from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Published in association with Books & Such Literary Management, www.booksand such.com.
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and postconsumer waste whenever possible.
To my younger sister, Andrea Skoglund,
the first person willing to come with me on make-believe adventures. Some of my best memories are made with you. I love you.
There is a time for everything.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 NIV
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Books by Gabrielle Meyer
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Timeless Family Tree
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Epilogue
Historical Note
Author’s Note
Discussion Questions
Read on for a sneak peek at “Through Each Tomorrow”
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
October 31, 1887
London, England
A cold wind rattled the window frame in my bedroom at 11 Wilton Crescent as the edges of a tree branch scraped across the glass. I burrowed deeper under the thick cover of my bed, unable to take my eyes off the book in my hand. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had been published last year by Robert Louis Stevenson, but it was my first time reading it, and I was both enthralled and terrified. I had to remind myself that the story was just that—a story—and there was nothing to be afraid of. There was no madman terrorizing London.
My candle flickered and then died out, leaving only the soft glow of embers in my fireplace to light the room. I’d been reading for so long, the wick had burned to the bottom and would need to be replaced.
As the wind continued to howl, I lay for a moment in the darkness, wondering if I should set the book aside and go to sleep or if I should get up and look for another candle. It was after midnight, so if I went to sleep, I would wake up in my other life in 1937, and I would have to wait for an entire day to return to 1887 to finish the story. I was working on an important exhibit at the Smithsonian Institute with personal items belonging to George Washington, but not even that fascinating project could hold my attention if I couldn’t finish Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’s story tonight.
It was the strange reality of my existence, living two lives at the same time. When I went to sleep tonight in 1887, I would wake up tomorrow in 1937. After I spent the day there, I’d go to sleep and then wake up in 1887 again, without any time passing while I was away. I had two identical bodies but one conscious mind that traveled between them. It had been this way since I was born and would continue until my twenty-fifth birthday in less than three years. On that day, May 20, 1890, I would have to choose which life I wanted to keep and which one I would forfeit forever.
But I wasn’t thinking about my choice tonight. All I could think about was how the book would end.
With a sigh, I pushed aside the covers and set my bare feet on the thick rug.
The wind suddenly calmed, and the unexpected stillness allowed another sound to capture my attention.
I moved to my door and pressed my ear against the panel, the terrifying story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde too fresh in my mind for me to find the courage to walk into the hallway without a candle.
Until I realized someone was crying.
My sister’s room was next to mine, and my parents’ rooms were on the floor below us. There should have been no noise outside my bedroom—yet I heard it again.
Slowly, I opened my door and stepped into the hallway. “Mary?” I whispered into the void. “Is that you?”
My younger sister’s bedroom door was ajar.
“Where will you go, Miss Mary?” Sarah Danbury, Mary’s lady’s maid, asked in a desperate voice. “Especially on a night such as this?”
Concerned, I walked to Mary’s room and opened the door a little further. A lone candle offered a bit of light as Mary stood near an open satchel, dressed in a dark travel suit, filling her bag with a few items of clothing. She wiped her wet cheek with her shoulder but kept packing.
Danbury stood nearby, helpless, as she wrung her hands together. When she saw me standing at the door, her young face looked relieved, if only a little.
“What are you doing?” I asked Mary.
My sister looked up quickly, clearly surprised to see me. She had just turned nineteen, but she was delicate and appeared much younger, especially when she cried. Her dark red hair, the same shade as mine, was caught back in a low chignon with tendrils falling around her pretty face. When her gaze met mine, her green eyes glistened with fear.
“What are you doing?” I asked again as I walked into the room. “Why are you packing?”
Mary glanced at her maid and nodded for her to leave.
Danbury bit her bottom lip and looked like she might try to protest, but she knew it wasn’t her place to debate with her mistress. With a slight curtsy and a pleading look in my direction, Danbury left Mary’s room, closing the door behind her.
&n
My sister wiped away her tears as she went to her bureau and pulled out several pairs of stockings before returning to her satchel to stuff them inside. “I’m sorry, Kathryn. I can’t tell you where I’m going.”
“This is absurd,” I said as I investigated the satchel to see what she was packing. “Where are you going?”
She sniffed and swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter.”
I frowned, truly perplexed. Our father was Sir Bernard Kelly, a renowned physician and respected author. Our mother was Mrs. Agatha Kelly, a leading member of Victorian society and a patron of the arts. Mary and I were rarely allowed to leave the house without a proper chaperone during the day, much less in the middle of the night, alone. It wasn’t safe, nor was it wise. And my sister had never been reckless or careless. She was a rule-follower and loved to please my parents.
I took Mary’s forearms, stopping her from packing her bag, forcing her to look at me.
Her eyes were swimming in more tears, and the anguish on her face broke my heart.
“What’s wrong, Mary?” I asked gently, trying to remain calm. “You’ve been acting strange all week.”
With a soft cry, she threw herself into my arms. “Oh, Kathryn,” she wept bitterly. “My life is over.”
My lips parted as I held her close, a new thought gripping my heart. “Are you . . . in trouble? In a family way?”
“No.” She shook her head and pulled back as she sank to her bed. “I wish it was that simple.”
I sat beside her and took her clammy hand, my worry increasing. Mary was a beautiful, accomplished, and popular young woman. Her bright and cheerful disposition banished the darkest clouds and brought comfort to those who knew her. I couldn’t think of a single person or situation that might bring her this much distress. “What in the world could be wrong?”
“I wish I could tell you, but if I did, you’d be in the same trouble, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I must leave. If I stay—” She paused and shook her head. “There is no other option.”
“I’m so confused,” I said, softly moving aside a tendril of hair that had stuck to her wet cheek, suspecting that she was only being dramatic. Surely, whatever was wrong could easily be mended. “Let’s wake Father and Mother—”
Her entire body stiffened. “I can’t waste another moment.” She rose and wiped her cheeks again, her hands trembling.
As I stared, she closed her satchel and reached for a dark shawl before opening her bedroom door and slipping into the hallway.
Alarm filled me as I realized she was being serious. I followed her and reached for her hand. “Stop this nonsense, Mary. It’s not safe out there for a single woman, especially at night.” The memory of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was still fresh in my mind, though a fictional book was nothing compared to the realities of life on the streets of London. The Wilton Crescent neighborhood was safe enough, but we weren’t far from Hyde Park, and we’d been warned since we were young not to wander there, especially toward dark.
Mary looked small and frightened yet determined as she pulled free of my hand and walked down the steps. She didn’t hesitate on the second floor near our parents’ bedroom doors, nor did she try to be quiet. I paused, hoping Father or Mother would hear and come out to stop her.
But they didn’t, and Mary was soon at the front door.
I ran down the steps. “This is madness, Mary. You must tell me what’s happening.”
She paused only long enough to give me another hug, and then she said, “Good-bye, Kathryn. Don’t forget that I love you.”
I reached for her hand again, but she pulled away, and then I watched helplessly as she walked out the front door. Alone.
My heart hammered as I tried to decide whether to follow her or go to my parents.
It didn’t take long to choose. I ran up the steps to my father’s bedroom door and pounded hard, doing something I would not have done under any other circumstance.
I entered his room unbidden.
He stood near the front window, still dressed in his evening clothes, looking down at the street.
“Father,” I said as I joined him at the window. “Mary has just—”
“She is dead to us.” He turned away from the window, his shoulders stiff with resolve. “I never want to hear her name mentioned again.”
I stepped back, as if I’d been struck. What in the world was happening? “But—”
“Never again, Kathryn,” he said in a loud voice, slicing his hand in the air with finality. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or afraid, but his face had a fierce expression. “If you don’t want to end up like her, I advise you to forget all about her. I do not want her name uttered in this house ever again.”
“Forget?” Tears stung my eyes as I reached for his arm. “How can I forget my little sister? She’s on the street, Father. You must call her back, or she could get hurt.”
He pulled his arm away from my grasp and went to his door to open it. His gaze was hard as he said, “This is my last warning, Kathryn. Do not ask any more questions.”
My legs were weak, and my stomach turned with dread as I left his room. I raced down the stairs and returned to the foyer, desperate to catch up to Mary and talk some sense into her.
But when I opened the door and stepped onto the street, I was met with nothing but darkness and the swirling mist.
Mary was already gone.
2
London, England
August 30, 1938
It felt strange to stand outside 44 Berkeley Square on that hot August day in 1938. Months of planning and correspondence and worry—at least on Mama’s part—had finally brought me to the place I loved dearest of all. And not even the threat of war could dim my excitement.
“Is it much changed from 1888, Kathryn?” Mama asked me as Papa slipped a key into the front door of our rented townhouse.
I took a deep breath, conscious of the exhaust from motorcars and the tense atmosphere that had greeted our arrival at Southampton. Hitler’s invasion of Austria earlier that year, and the knowledge of his increasing military strength, had the entire world on edge—but especially those in England who were still recovering from the Great War and depression.
“Things have changed,” I acknowledged, “but it’s not as different as you might think.”
“Are you familiar with Berkeley Square?”
“Somewhat,” I said evasively. I didn’t tell her that I’d been to tea at a home across the square just the day before in 1888. She was already nervous that I might run into someone I would know from my other path. It was one of the many promises I’d made to convince her that this trip was a good idea. I had to avoid anyone I might know from 1888—though they’d hardly believe it was me anyway.
I had inherited the time-crossing gift from my mother in 1938, Grace Voland. She had given up her life in 1692 to marry my papa, Brigadier General Lucas Voland. I loved her dearly for understanding what it felt like to be a time-crosser—yet her two paths were separated by centuries. Mine were only separated by fifty years. Perhaps the very woman I’d had tea with yesterday in 1888, Lady Woodsmith, was still living in the house across the square.
But that was precisely why I had agreed to come. For months, I had been looking for Mary in 1888 and had not succeeded in finding her. Was she still living in London in 1938? It was one of the questions that plagued me night and day, and because I had more freedom and resources to look for her here, I planned to do just that.
Papa opened the door at 44 Berkeley Square and allowed us to pass inside.
As we entered the front hall, I was duly impressed with the décor. Black and white checkered marble floors were polished to a high gleam, and a sparkling chandelier hung overhead. Down the length of the central hall was a spectacular staircase, and flanking the hall on either side were doors.
“I’m still in awe that Lady Astor offered us her home,” Mama said as she set her bag on the floor and looked up at the chandelier. “It’s so grand.”
Lord and Lady Astor were American expatriates who had acclimated to English society. Lady Astor had become the first female to sit in the House of Commons almost twenty years ago. She was a devoted fan of aviation and had befriended my parents. When the Astors heard we were coming, they had offered to rent one of their many properties to us, and both the Astors and my parents looked forward to a reunion.
