A Knight in Central Park

by Theresa Ragan

  The woman was a slob.

  Hours later, Joe sat at the built-in desk in the kitchen, skimming his notes. Straightening, he tried to get the kinks out of his neck. Alexandra and Shelly returned a while ago and were now busily packing Alexandra’s things.

  He took his reading glasses off and rubbed his eyes, thinking of the day when he would be accepted in the Academy. What would his father say to him after all these years? His father, a renowned archeologist, rarely visited the States to see his only son, but by the end of the month his father would undoubtedly show up for the acceptance of the Academy’s newest member.

  Joe pulled the chain from around his neck, touched the gold medallion with the pad of his thumb. Years ago, long before his mother passed away, his father had found the medallion near The Pennine Chain, the backbone of England. His father had spent most of his life trying to prove the medallion belonged to the Black Knight, one of the last knights of the Middle Ages. But his father’s theories were always proven erroneous.

  Joe had just turned thirteen when his mother died. His father returned long enough to attend her funeral and give his only son his cherished medallion. Joe knew the ornament meant a lot to his father, but that didn’t lessen the pain when his father left him for good, leaving Joe to be raised by an endless string of friends, who, if truth be told, had no idea of what to do with him.

  Every few years Joe received a letter from his father. The hard-to-read scribblings told of his whereabouts and generally ended with a message saying he would visit...but also with details of how he was oh-so-close to unearthing the identity of the Black Knight and thus couldn’t break away just yet.

  The Black Knight. How does one go about uncloaking an illusion?

  Joe pulled the chain back around his neck, tucking the medallion safely inside his shirt. A round of muttering in the other room caught his attention. He went to the living room where Shelly was packing shoes, clothes she’d collected, and magazines in a duffle bag. She crossed the room, fiddled around in her purse, then returned with a BB gun and pepper spray, which she placed in his open briefcase.

  “What are those for?” he asked.

  “Alexandra insisted.”

  After a short pause, Shelly said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I’ve been meaning to apologize for being so frank with you.”

  “No harm done.”

  “Although I’m definitely not in love with you, Professor,” she teased, “I do care for you, which is why I’m starting to have second thoughts about you going to the park tonight.”

  “Alexandra is perfectly harmless, remember?”

  “I agree, especially after spending the last three days with her. Her views on life and family are healthy ones.”

  He cocked his head. “Then what’s the problem?”

  Shelly placed a few more items in his briefcase. “I think Alexandra is telling the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything.”

  Joe frowned. “You can’t be serious.”

  Shelly wrung her hands together. “Can you believe this?” She waved her arms in the air. “I’m majoring in Psychology and all I can come up with is that Alexandra Dunn is telling the truth about traveling through time.”

  A sharp laugh escaped him. “Don’t go there, Shelly. You’re the best assistant I’ve had in years. I don’t need you to go traipsing off the deep end. Not now.”

  “You should’ve seen her face when we walked through the mall the other day. She was speechless.”

  He’d seen the look. Saw it every time Alexandra turned on the faucet or opened the refrigerator. Twice he’d caught her turning on every lamp in the house. “’Tis amazing,” she’d say when he asked her what she was doing. Nothing though, fascinated her more than the television set. She’d stayed up every night watching late night movies.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Shelly went on, “but I don’t think you should go to the park tonight, especially to meet some guy who only comes out when the moon is full.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said with a smile. “The Renaissance Fair begins tonight. The park will be filled with college students.”

  Shelly smiled half-heartedly.

  “There’s a package on the kitchen table that I need dropped off at Professor Whitaker’s office tomorrow afternoon. Would you mind?”

  “Done,” she said before adding, “Did Alexandra tell you about our visit to the museum?”

  He shook his head.

  “It was amazing to listen to her. She knows more than most curators about medieval art and history...things a regular person off the street wouldn’t be familiar with.”

  “I know.” Joe went to the window and peered out into the night. The moon had never looked so full and round, and eerily bright.

  Who was Alexandra Dunn?

  It was dark by the time Alexandra thanked Shelly for the clothes and gifts and all else she’d done for her since she arrived. Alexandra wore a comfortable off-white sweater and stone-washed jeans beneath a beige faux-fur jacket. Wearing breaches had taken some getting used to, but they were quite comfortable. She gave Shelly a hug, then headed for the dimly lit street, leaving Shelly and Sir Joe alone to say goodbye.

  Alexandra watched the carriages they referred to as cars. As they sped past, the headlights resembled shooting stars, one after another. Horns sounded in the distance. A breeze touched her face, leaving a string of shivers in its place.

  Although she would miss some of the wonderful conveniences of this time, especially the people boxes they called television, she was eager to return home and rid her family of Sir Richard, once and for all.

  She glanced back at Sir Joe. Hard lines, a firm chin, and a strong profile made it hard to look away. With each passing moment it was getting easier to imagine him aglitter in polished armor; holding a sword, the hilt inlaid with precious stones. Tingles crawled up her arms at the idea of Sir Joe gazing at her in the same way the man on the television had looked at his lady...with a fiery, intense passion. But the odds were surely against that ever happening, for Shelly had told her everything she knew about Sir Joe: His inability to love fully, his inflexible nature, his fear of marriage, children, and commitment. Shelly would have laughed had Alexandra told her Sir Joe was her destiny...the man she was to marry.

  Regardless of his many shortcomings, Sir Joe had some desirable qualities, too. He always smelled nice, like fresh air after a good long rain. And he had been fairly helpful upon occasion when it came to showing her how to clean or how to use one of his many modern contraptions. And he was kindhearted, going to all the bother of capturing a small eight-legged creature and setting it free, instead of squishing it beneath the heel of his boot.

  Alexandra pushed flyaway strands of hair from her face. Continuing her perusal of Sir Joe, she found herself questioning whether he looked more scholarly than knightly. He definitely possessed a warrior’s physique and a noble face: chiseled cheekbones, firm lips. She did not want to think about those lips. She had yet to passionately kiss a man, but the yearning to kiss Sir Joe had struck her at the oddest times. For instance when she had left a muddied trail across the wood floor. His face had lit up with a fiery intensity. Not in anger, but in utter frustration. He had looked childish, rambling on about trudging mud into the house, until she could think of nothing but the idea of silencing him with a kiss. Again the desire to kiss him had struck her when her mouth had been filled with toothpaste and he had insisted on instructing her on the art of cleaning teeth. With his body pressed hard against her and his intentions clearly noble, he had been difficult to resist. But the moment she most wanted to kiss him was when he’d read to her after breaking their fast. Together they had shared opinions and ideas between sips of steaming tea. And after a moment’s pause, he had read to her from the morning paper, one story after another. She had hung on every word, each building upon the other, adding to the story and bringing them closer in the process.

  And when she had stopp
ed him to question him on a word’s meaning, he had simply explained and then continued on. Aye, that was the moment she had envisioned him holding her tight and kissing the very breath from her.

  Sir Joe came toward her now, breaking her from her thoughts. “Time to go,” he said. “The moon isn’t going to get any fuller.”

  “Come be thee blithe and merry at the Faire,” a young woman dressed in medieval costume called out, gesturing for Alexandra and Joe to come forth.

  A large portion of Central Park had been transformed into a maze of crowded artisan stalls. Hundreds of costumed players entertained visitors who browsed the make-believe village for unique handmade goods and one-of-a-kind treasures.

  “Eat, drink, and be merry, for food purveyors are on hand within these gates,” a young man added. “Hello, Professor McFarland,” he called out. “Louise! Get the professor something appropriate to wear. ’Twould seem he forgot his costume.”

  The young man was Tom Hicks, one of Joe’s students from last semester. Joe told them not to bother, but Louise was back before he could decline, fitting him with a black cloak and a small hat trimmed with an ostrich plume.

  Next, Tom pinned a soft-hooded cap with a mid-length veil to Alexandra’s head. “Wonderful,” Alexandra said excitedly.

  Joe smiled at her enthusiasm, lifting the crook of his arm for her to take hold of.

  Within the gates the role-playing adventure was in full force. Men were dressed in cotton hose with pleated coats of wool and embroidered doublets. Many women wore conical headdresses with long lacey veils and elaborate dresses worn mostly by the wealthier classes in the late fifteenth century.

  Alexandra laughed when one of the town criers grabbed her hand and fell on bended knee, begging for her hand in marriage. Joe abruptly stole her hand back, informing the young man that she was already accounted for before dragging her off.

  “If I had to guess,” she teased, “I would say you were jealous.”

  Joe noticed an intense interest in her eyes and quickly dropped her hand.

  “’Tis something I said?”

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea...about me, about us.”

  Her snort caught him off guard. “You have naught to worry about, Sir Joe, for you hold no appeal for me. You have the manners of a-of an eel,” she finished bluntly.

  He smiled.

  “’Twas not a compliment.”

  “No, I didn’t think it was. I’ve been called a lot of things in my lifetime, but never once have I been compared to an eel. You have certainly put me in my place.”

  She looked annoyed. Joe had to fight the urge to lean down and kiss her, but only to prove he’d caught her in another lie since her obvious awareness of him was plain to see. But then again, kissing her would only lead her on.

  Glancing at his watch, he decided to get back to the matter at hand. “How long do you think it’ll take Richard to find us?”

  She started off again, saying over her shoulder, “Verily he and his men are at the farm at this moment, bent on destruction and mayhem, just as they were the day I left.”

  He had to hand it to her. Not once had she wavered when it came to her story of being from another time. “So, what do you suggest we do?”

  “We find a quiet place,” she said matter-of-factly. “And then we wait.”

  Joe’s plans entailed waiting no more than an hour or two, but it was clear Alexandra had pinned her every hope on this one meeting.

  It wasn’t long before they exited the fairgrounds and found a quiet spot within the park. Every few minutes, Alexandra would look about. Then she would glance up at the moon and begin twiddling her thumbs again. Clearly, she believed Richard would make an appearance.

  Two hours turned to three, and three hours became four.

  Most of the booths had been packed away and the crowds had thinned until there were only a few stragglers left wandering the park. Joe tried to untie the cape from around his neck, but the thick cloth was knotted tight.

  They stood together beneath one of the many trees in Central Park, not too far from the safety of the fairgrounds. The moon was full and bright and the chill of the wintry night numbed his fingers and toes. While Alexandra shuffled through her bag of goods for the hundredth time, Joe questioned his sanity. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll. His eyelids felt seriously heavy.

  Somebody’s dog had been barking for fifteen minutes straight, maybe longer. His temples throbbed, and he knew he couldn’t take much more of this tortuous waiting.

  A cold wind whipped at Alexandra’s hair. Tree branches flailed wildly about like too many arms on a dancing puppet.

  Joe picked up his briefcase, then glanced at his watch. “We’ve been out here for some time now. I don’t think Richard is coming.”

  Alexandra had taken the veiled hat off long ago. Standing before him with her hair flying about, she looked small and helpless. The sadness in her eyes pulled at something deep inside of him. He reached out his free arm. Without further coaxing, she stepped close within the warmth he offered and pressed her head against his chest. He wrapped his arm about her and rubbed the cold from her back. “Everything will work out. I promise. We’ll find you a place to stay.”

  She tilted her head upward. Her forehead brushed against his chin. “Please. We shan’t give up yet.” She retrieved the stones from her pocket and gazed at them, willing them to do her bidding. Joe put his hand over hers, surprised by the warmth he found there.

  He felt her shiver.

  Her eyes widened with excitement. “’Tis happening!”

  He glanced about the park. He was suddenly alert, prepared for the worst, ready for anything.

  Anything but this...

  The dog stopped barking. No sirens or rustling of tree branches sounded, just an eerie, stifling silence. He blinked, tried to regain focus.

  The myriad trees scattered about the park appeared suddenly as vague outlines. Alexandra’s face became obscured and indistinct.

  Joe’s chest tightened. The hollow feeling inside of him deviated from anything he’d experienced before.

  “Stay close,” she said. “And whatever you do, do not let go of my hand.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lord, what fools these mortals be.

  —Shakespeare

  Joe hung from the thickest branch of a tree like a broken kite, tangled and helpless. His legs swayed from the awkwardness of his landing. Grunting, he straddled the branch, grabbed a higher limb and pulled himself to an upright position.

  As he took in his surroundings, his breath caught in his throat.

  It was the lighter part of twilight. Moonlight reflected off a small manor, sitting amidst fields of wheat. A neglected barn with a thatched roof stood off to the side. A couple of cows grazed in the distance. He’d lived in the city for most of his life. Not once had he seen a cow grazing in Central park.

  Where the hell was he?

  Leaves crunched below, prompting Joe to look downward. Alexandra emerged from the dense thicket of brush, pulling twigs and leaves from her hair.

  “There you are,” he called out. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  “Sir Joe!” she said when she finally spotted him through the tangle of branches. “What are you doing up there?”

  He slapped at a mosquito. “Enjoying the scenery, what does it look like?”

  “’Tis not the time for such things. Get down from there!”

  “Easy for you to say.” He looked about, tried to find an easy way down, or any way down for that matter.

  “Two more stones are missing,” she said. She uncurled her fingers, revealing one stone. “’Twould seem each time I travel through time a stone disappears. Two people this time...two stones.”

  “There’s no way those rocks brought us through time.”

  “Mayhap you can explain why you are stuck in a tree. And where do you suppose all of your students disappeared to?”

  A horse neighed.


  Joe jerked about. Between the old barn and the manor was a large horse, saddled and ready to go. Firewood and an old cart leaned against the side of the barn. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

  “Hurry down,” Alexandra called in a panicked whisper. “’Tis Richard’s man, Harig, who rides that beast. My grandfather could very well still be inside.”

  Before Joe could reply, the door to the manor flew open, nearly falling from its hinges. The man he assumed to be Harig stepped outside. What Harig lost in height he made up in width, his shoulders as wide as a small building. Harig held high a well-lit torch, illuminating the plates of armor covering his chest.

  Joe gawked in disbelief.

  Harig’s booted feet shook the weathered planks of the porch, armor clanking with each step he took. The giant paused to peer into the darkness, sniffing the air as if he could smell their presence.

  Joe waited for him to say “fee fi fo fum”, but an eerie silence surrounded him instead. This was insane!

  “Do something!” Alexandra cried low under her breath.

  “What do you want me to do?” Joe asked in a panicked whisper. “Poke him in the eyes? Stab him with my nail clippers?” Joe eyed his briefcase, watching it wobble precariously on a weak, out-of-reach limb.

  “What is your plan?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” he said, reaching for the briefcase, trying desperately not to lose his balance. He leaned forward. The limb sagged. He stretched another half inch, his fingers almost touching the case.

  The metal man peered across the fifty or so feet of gravely dirt that separated them, the gleam of his eyes a hazy yellow like some sort of wild animal. Suddenly a teenage boy, blindfolded and tied, hobbled out of the house.

  The limb holding the briefcase snapped.

  Joe lunged for it, grasping onto the handle of his briefcase before it crashed to the ground, his heart racing. He held the leather case tight to his chest.