by Karen White
“You are not from around here, are you?” He averted his eyes, then looked at my face.
I paused at the formality of his speech, so unlike what I usually heard at school where I taught or on television. “I live in Roswell. My car isn’t far from here. I’m sure I could drive home if you could help me find my purse. It has my car keys and my phone in it.” I brushed the dead grass off of my pants and shirt and then noticed he hadn’t moved or spoken.
“There are no railroad cars around here, ma’am.” He looked at me as if I were speaking in a foreign language. “But it would be my pleasure to escort you back to Roswell. We are heading that way, as well.”
Confused, I opened my mouth to reply when I noticed his peculiar costume. He wore a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, a pullover variety with three wooden buttons at the neck. His pants were light brown, almost yellow, and held up with suspenders. A wide-brimmed hat, darkened around the brim with sweat, sat on his head and hid his hair, but his eyebrows were almost black. And then I noticed his rifle. It was huge—almost five feet long—and looked exactly like an antique Civil War Enfield rifle that my history-buff father had hanging in his study.
“Is there a battle reenactment going on?” I asked, hoping that his explanation would soothe the growing worries I felt tickling the back of my brain.
“No, ma’am. Only battles going on ’round here are the real thing.” He looked closely at me with a furrowed brow. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
I had begun to wonder the same thing and reached up with both hands to feel for bumps on my skull. No such luck.
“No. I don’t think so. But I heard a child’s voice. I . . . I thought it might be my daughter.”
“Your daughter?” He searched the immediate area with his eyes, a look of growing concern on his face. “Willie and I have not seen anybody at all since we left the house this morning.” He took a step closer. “Will you be all right if I leave you here with Willie while I go look for your little girl?”
I shook my head. “No. That won’t be necessary. Annie—my daughter—she’s . . . she’s been gone for five years now. I guess it was only wishful thinking when I heard that voice. It was probably Willie’s.” I looked away from his intense gaze, feeling once again the crushing weight of sorrow and afraid I might end up crying in front of a perfect stranger.
“My condolences. I am very sorry for your loss.”
I looked at him and knew that he was.
“Please just get me back to Roswell. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded slowly, then turned his attention toward Willie. The boy stood as still as a tree trunk and looked as if he wanted to blend into the scenery. The tall, lean man limped as he walked, his pants leg sporting several patches.
“Willie, you are in for the biggest whipping of your life. You could have been killed.” The man limped over to the fallen animal and nudged it with the butt of his rifle.
“This here cat would have had you for supper if I had not been here in time. Sort of what your mother would do to me if I let anything happen to you.”
“You are not my pa. I do not have to do anything you say.” Despite his defiant words, the boy’s lower lip trembled. He stuck his chin out and added, “Anyway, my pa says you are a traitor and should be in prison. I am not listening to no traitor.”
The man paled. He knelt in front of Willie, keeping his left leg straight out to the side. He grasped the boy by the shoulders and said, “Did he really say that?”
Willie stood still, examining his feet, but I could see his jaw trembling. “Yes, sir. And he said that I needed to protect my ma from any secesh claptrap you might be scooping out.” The boy’s voice was barely audible, and a tear hit the toe of his shoe.
Despite his reaction to the boy’s words, the man gathered the child in his arms and hugged him. “No matter what is between your pa and me, it is not going to change the fact that you are my nephew and I love you as if you were my own son.” He stood and added, “And that means that it is my duty to protect you as a father would, in your own father’s absence. I am sorry, Willie, but I am going to have to give you the switch when we get home.”
The boy stood there meekly, with a few stifled sobs racking his small body. My heart went out to him. I went over and put my arm around his bony shoulders.
The man looked at me with dark blue eyes. “My apologies, ma’am, for involving you in our little family disputes. Please allow me to introduce myself.” He hastily pulled his hat from his head, confirming that his hair matched his dark eyebrows. “I am Mr. Stuart Elliott of Phoenix Hall, Roswell, and this is my nephew, William Elliott Junior.”
I smiled at his gallant bow and introduced myself, mimicking his formal tone. “I’m Mrs. Laura Truitt. I live on Mimosa Boulevard in Roswell.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “Where is Mimosa Boulevard? I have lived in Roswell all my life and I have never heard of it.”
My confusion, the heat, and buzzing flies made me snap. “Well, that makes us even, I guess. I’ve lived in Roswell for seven years and I’ve never heard of Phoenix Hall.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I think you have had a bit of a shock.” He gave a shrill whistle and the ugly mutt came bounding out from behind a tree. “Charlie, get Endy.”
I watched in amazement as the dog ran into the thicket and then emerged with the reins of a horse in his mouth and the horse itself bringing up the rear. It was a huge animal with big eyes and a slobbery mouth. The thing sneezed as it approached, spraying us all with God knows what and showing me a mouth full of teeth. Two rabbits hung by their feet on a length of twine stretched across the back of the beast. I had apparently interrupted a hunting expedition.
Stuart grabbed hold of the reins and firmly patted the jet-black flank of the horse. “Mrs. Truitt, would you mind sharing Endy with Willie?”
I looked the man straight in his eyes to make sure he was speaking to me. I had to look up several inches, as he was a good deal taller than my own five feet seven. “There is no way I’m getting on that horse. Besides, you’re limping. You ride that thing—I’ll walk.” I took a few steps backward to put as much distance between myself and Endy as I could and fell over a fallen branch, landing soundly on my backside.
Stuart stifled a laugh, but Willie had no such compunction and laughed outright.
“That’s the last time I save you from a vicious animal attack,” I snapped at Willie.
That sobered him up sufficiently. Stuart reached down to me, for the second time that day, and hoisted me up. “You sure are a stubborn woman. But I am not going to ride a horse while a lady walks. Would not do for my reputation as a gentleman at all.”
Instead of releasing me, he put one arm under my legs and picked me up like a baby. His touch seemed somehow familiar, and I studied his face intently, aware of his own close scrutiny. Neither one of us said anything as he swung me up onto the horse’s back. Too petrified to move, I clung to the saddle. He reached behind the saddle and pulled out a long gray uniform coat with black collar facings and handed it up to me.
“You might also want to wear this, so as not to shock the gentle citizens of Roswell.”
I stared at the coat as if it were a snake he had asked me to wrap around my neck. I longed for the rain jacket I had inadvertently left behind.
“It is at least ninety degrees out here, and if you think I’m going to wear a wool jacket, much less release my grip on this saddle to put it on, you’ve got another thought coming.” Sweat saturated my cotton blouse, making it cling tightly to my chest. His eyes widened as they rested on my shirt a little too long, and I hunched forward, having contracted a sudden case of modesty.
“Mrs. Truitt, I really must insist. I do not want to be grist for the Roswell rumor mill and I am sure neither do you. It just would not look right for me to bring you into town wearing, well . . .” He looked me up and down as
if trying to decide what to call my outfit. “Well, whatever it is that you are wearing.”
Still feeling a bit dazed and confused, and not in the mood to argue, I took the coat and threw it over my shoulders. He lifted Willie up on the saddle behind me, shouldered his rifle, and began to pull the reins and lead the way.
The terrain seemed vaguely familiar but we never came near enough to a main highway for me to get my bearings. I assumed we were sticking to horse trails. After about an hour, we approached a large wooden gate. A hint of recognition pressed on my memory as we passed through the gate onto a long dirt drive. I knew what I would see before I saw the house looming up in the distance. A buzzing sound ran through my head as we approached, and the front door swung open. A petite but very pregnant woman wearing a long, full dress waddled down the steps toward us. From her fingertips, a squeaking mouse dangled by its tail.
“Stuart! Is everything all right?”
I had come home. The one thing I was sure of was that this was my house. I didn’t know who these people were or why they were in my house, but I had my suspicions. The thought of it all made me very light-headed. I looked at the little creature, suspended by its tail, and suddenly I felt that time had me suspended, too, helpless in a world I knew and didn’t know. Feeling my head swim, my eyes transfixed on the swinging rodent, I promptly slid off the horse in a dead faint.
CHAPTER FOUR
For time is the longest distance between two places.
—TENNESSEE WILLIAMS
I opened my eyes and found myself staring at close range at a rough cotton shirt. I moved my head and realized I was being carried up the stairs. Stuart stumbled, and my arms shot around his neck. I remembered his limp and attempted to get down.
“You shouldn’t be carrying me—I can walk. Please put me down.”
Ignoring my request, he crossed the upstairs hallway, entered one of the bedrooms, and laid me gently on a small spindle bed. My hands remained locked behind his neck as my head reached the pillow, and our gazes met. I had definitely seen those eyes before, but the wisp of memory floated beyond my grasp.
His breath felt warm on my cheek, and I blushed realizing I was still holding on to him and keeping his face close to mine. Slowly, I let my arms fall to my sides.
“I did not figure a woman who could face a catamount without a scream would faint at the sight of a mouse.” A wry grin touched his face but I could see relief there, too.
“I didn’t faint.” I ignored his raised eyebrow. “I’ve never fainted in my whole life and I have no intention of starting now.”
I looked around me to get my bearings. I recognized Annie’s room but a small bed and stark white walls now replaced the crib and pale pink wallpaper. I sat up with a start as I suddenly remembered where I was. I scurried out of the bed, ran past Stuart and out of the room to the balcony. The sight that greeted me confirmed my suspicions. Not an electrical pole in sight, nor any of the familiar streets and buildings that had surrounded my house. The urban blight of strip malls creeping their way up Highway 9 had been replaced by a red-clay road shaded by trees. But there was no doubt in my mind that this was my house.
The sound of children’s laughter and a dog barking brought my attention to the backyard, where a little girl wearing high-topped black boots chased a boy I recognized as Willie. Stuart approached to stand beside me.
“If you will excuse me, ma’am, my sister-in-law will be up in a moment.”
With a brief nod, he headed down the stairs, not completely hiding a grimace of pain as he bent his leg to descend the steps.
I looked back at Willie and the little girl. It was obvious he had forgotten all about the promise of a whipping from his uncle.
Heavy footsteps climbed the wood stairs and I turned to see the pregnant woman who had been holding the mouse. She carried a small box and a stack of clean linens. The memory of me fainting at our first meeting made my face flush, but her gentle smile quickly put me at ease.
“I am Julia Elliott, Willie’s mother. Thank you so much for what you did today.” She smiled, hiding some of the exhaustion on her face. “I brought some of my herbs to make you feel better, but I can see you do not need them.” She stopped at the top of the steps, breathing deeply. “I am sorry to have startled you with that little creature. It is only that I had just caught him when I heard Stuart ride up.” Her voice was soft and fell easily on my ears as I recognized the gentle inflections of a true Southern accent. It reminded me of my mother’s voice, and a twinge of nostalgia made me suddenly wish for her.
Her brows furrowed as she took in my outfit. Taking my arm, she gently guided me back to my room.
“I’m not afraid of a mouse. I’ve just had a heck of a day and I think I finally succumbed to the exhaustion.” I allowed myself to be led and sat back down on the bed.
She bent her head closer to study the sleeve of my blouse. “I have never seen such a weave—it is truly amazing. Where did you find such a thing?”
I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I stood mutely staring at her.
Changing the subject, she asked, “Stuart said he found you on Moon Mountain. Do you live around there?”
My mind seemed to be working at half speed, the seeming reality of my situation butting heads with the impossibility of it. I wanted to believe that I was dreaming, but my sore shoulder and the scent of herbs from the woman’s basket told me that this was all too real. The house and the surrounding fields, these people and their odd costumes all pointed in one direction: all pointed to the fact that I had somehow accomplished the impossible. I had traveled through time.
I forced myself to answer. “No, I live in Roswell. At least, I think I do.”
Her delicate brows knitted together as she studied me before speaking again. “Why don’t you rest some and then we will talk.” I decided the woman was probably in her mid-twenties, although her manner made her seem much older. Her light brown hair was pulled off her face into a bun, which couldn’t quite conceal the curls that popped out around her forehead.
“Yes. I’d like that, if you don’t mind.” I wasn’t tired but I needed some time to devise a plan. I couldn’t tell these people that I had come from another century. I would wind up in an asylum for sure. I wasn’t completely convinced that I didn’t belong in one.
“I will send Sukie up in a little while with a tray and some things for you to wear.” She studied my face closely. “You look pale but you do not seem to have a fever,” she said, placing the back of her hand to my forehead. “You are exhausted. Rest will be just the thing you need.”
She glided out of the room and shut the door softly behind her.
I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. A breeze blew inside the tall windows, stirring the white lace curtains and moving the hot air around the small room. I needed to use the bathroom and was halfway to the door before I remembered that the hall bath had not been installed until 1921. I went back to the bed and looked under it. I reached to pull out the chamber pot and then decided it could wait. I was in no hurry to discover the inconveniences of the nineteenth century.
The faint ticking of a clock in the hallway lulled me into a doze. I dreamed of Annie—not as an infant but as the young girl of seven she would now be. She was talking to me but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She handed me a flower, and I bent to smell it and realized that it was a gardenia. I awoke suddenly with the potent aroma still in my nostrils. I got out of the bed and followed the scent to the window. Leaning out slightly, I discovered an entire row of gardenias growing below, their pristine petals luminescent in the late-afternoon sun.
A soft rapping on the door preceded a middle-aged black woman entering while balancing a tray piled with food.
“Good evening, ma’am. Miz Julia figured you might be starving by now.”
She set the tray on a small table and turned to stare at me as I
walked toward it.
Her voice was thickly accented, her English embellished with unfamiliar phrasing and emphases. It was pleasing to the ear but hard to understand at first. “What kind of clothes is that? I never seen a lady wear such a thing. Now I see why Miz Julia wants some new clothes brought up to you. I be right back.”
The rich fragrance of the food reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Despite the turmoil going on in my head regarding my apparent trip through time, my appetite, absent since Annie’s disappearance, came back with a vengeance. I smiled to myself at the thought of Scarlett O’Hara’s Mammy admonishing her to eat like a bird because gentlemen didn’t like ladies with big appetites. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about squeezing into a corset.
I was just polishing off the last slice of ham when Sukie returned. Her arms were overloaded with flounces and fabrics and what appeared to be enough clothes to dress me for a month. She dumped the whole pile on the bed.
She stared at the empty plates. “My, you sure was hungry.”
I guiltily laid aside my knife and fork. “It was delicious. Thank you for bringing it.”
“Miz Julia asked me to help you get dressed. This here should fit you.” She pointed to the pile on the bed, and I stared at it for a long moment. If I put it on, I’d be agreeing to continue with this charade, that I’d convinced myself this was all real. But maybe this was my reality for now. Because it certainly didn’t appear that I had any other options.
I began to disrobe while Sukie sorted through the clothing and laid it out in an orderly fashion.
First came the chemise and calf-length cotton drawers. I was a little disconcerted to find that the drawers were split in the middle from the front to the back and only attached at the waistband. After viewing the piles of clothing that would go on top, I quickly figured out that the split drawers would show their usefulness when it came to utilizing the chamber pot.
The chemise and drawers were very comfortable and I would have been fine wearing just these all day, but I knew there was more to come. A pair of white cotton knee-length stockings with ribbon garters followed. When Sukie next held up what I recognized to be a corset, I adamantly refused.
