by Kari August
Ned held up his hand. “Don’t bother. Dickie, you should have listened to Herman. You don’t have enough to buy even a pair of underwear. I’ll have to loan you money while you’re here.”
Dickie shrugged. “I’ll work out a way to pay you back.”
“I doubt that.”
Dickie glanced around the unkempt cabin. “First thing tomorrow I’ll figure out how to get us some servants, and even lower myself by interviewing them. Obviously, that’s the lady of the manor’s job, but I’m a good judge of character—”
“Dickie! There’s not enough money to pay for maids. We’ll need to be especially careful now that there are two of us to support.”
Dickie frowned. “No servants? But . . . but I like things orderly. I always have.” Dickie cleared his throat and paused a moment before stating, “Fine. Don’t you ever reveal this to anyone, but I’ll clean the place myself, and even try my hand at cooking. If that’s not paying you back, I don’t know what is. To think the King of England comes to the twenty-first century to act as a common house servant—”
Ned rolled his eyes. “You’ll live, and I’ll try to be neater, but I’ve really never gotten the hang of cooking. That’s why all those pans are soaking in the sink. I burned almost everything the last few days.”
Dickie smirked. “I’m sure I can do better than that.”
Ned stood up. “Then why don’t I give you a pair of my shorts, a shirt, and sandals to change into, and once this alcohol wears off we’ll go to the grocery store and pick up some grub. There’s a game of football I want to watch tonight on television, and it’s always good to have something to munch on.”
Dickie smiled eagerly. “You lost me again with most of what you said, but did I hear that we’ll be watching television tonight?”
“Yeah, football.”
“What’s football?”
“A sporting event.”
“Ah, now we’re talking lances and jousting.”
“No. It’ll be easier to explain once it’s showing. But why is it you understand some things about the twenty-first century, but not others? Why is your education so patchy and incomplete?” It must be hard for Dickie to keep up this ruse . . . if that was what this was.
“You try listening to Herman for a whole hour. Besides, I was distracted.”
“By what?”
“The television that was playing in the background. I’m looking forward to watching it tonight. It really is a brilliant invention, is it not?”
“Ah, yeah. Let’s get going.”
Chapter Six
Dickie sat in the front passenger seat of Ned’s car, playing around with the windshield wipers, air conditioner, and seat-height buttons. He turned to Ned. “So driving’s as easy as turning on the car and using the steering wheel and different foot pedals.”
“In a sense, yes. It takes some practice to get it right, though.” Ned started the engine.
“What are we eating tonight?”
“Do you want to try making steaks? We can buy some frozen potato fries and just put those in the oven. It shouldn’t be too hard, and I can show you around the kitchen.”
“What’s a potato?”
Ned’s brows rose. “Oh, that’s right. It’s a New World vegetable. You wouldn’t know about that, would you? Have you heard about coffee, tobacco, or cocoa?” Ned realized this could be a tricky question.
“Can’t say that I have. Who’s cleaning up that mess in the sink when we get back?”
Ned wasn’t sure whether he was happy or not that Dickie gave the correct response, but proceeded to answer his inquiry. “All right, I’ll scrub the dishes, but let’s make a rule: Whoever does the cooking has to clean up afterward.”
Dickie shook his head. “Shouldn’t it be the opposite?”
“No. If you prove to be one of those cooks who pulls out every pot and pan just to make a plate of eggs, I don’t want to clean it up.”
“Very well. Have it your way.”
Ned pulled out onto the road and glanced at Dickie. “Was that hard for you to say?”
“What?”
“As a king, you should be used to giving orders, not taking them.”
“True enough.” Dickie paused before continuing. “But I was a king for only about two and a half years.”
Ned persisted. “But before that, weren’t you the powerful Duke of Gloucester?”
“Yes, however, I wasn’t an unreasonable tyrant, Ned. In fact, I was highly esteemed in northern England. The city of York especially loved me.” Dickie smiled pleasantly. “I don’t believe I could have been more popular.”
Ned chuckled at Dickie’s conceit, but conceded that there was some truth to the matter if he was who he said he was. He thought of another revealing question to ask. “What made you so well-liked?”
“Certainly helping make the court system fairer for the common people became part of the peasants’ loyalty toward me. But I stabilized that region. Not only was I a respected warrior, but I managed to settle long-standing disputes between several noble families.”
Geez, Dickie couldn’t have answered better if he had lived it himself. Which . . . oh, God, he could be Richard III. Ned inwardly shook his head. No, no, no, still too crazy an image. Ned continued. “You should be proud of your accomplishments.”
“Oh, I am. Quite so.” Dickie paused in thought, then burst out angrily, “Those lying Tudors, ruining my reputation, should be put on the rack, hung upside down, then righted, hung again, then drawn, quartered, and—”
Ned grimaced and quickly maneuvered into a parking space. “Grab one of the carts and I’ll show you around the grocery store.”
A half hour later, Dickie pushed the cart into the checkout lane. By the time they were down the frozen-food aisle, he had finally caught himself from gaping and gawking at all the different assortment of foods. But there had just been so much to look at. Fruits and vegetables he’d never seen before. Pretty packages and boxes in bright colors. Meats of all kinds cut into small portions. He had wanted to buy a bit of everything, but Ned had limited their selection to just a few items, reminding Dickie that they had to save money.
Ned stood next to Dickie in the checkout lane, counting his cash in his wallet. “Wait, let me grab some ice cream for dessert. I think you’ll like that. I know I do.” He trotted back down the frozen aisle, leaving Dickie alone for a minute.
He picked up a small package next to the counter and read its label: Bubble Gum. Dickie looked around quickly to see whether Ned was returning. Not yet. He quickly opened a couple wrappers and put the pieces in his mouth before Ned could stop him. He decided to add one more.
“You’ll be paying for that.”
Dickie looked over at the middle-aged clerk eyeing him firmly. She had the oddest color of reddish hair Dickie had ever seen, pulled back into a severe bun. He tried to talk around the wad in his mouth, but drooled a little, getting out the words, “I plan to.”
The clerk frowned, but continued helping the customer in front of Dickie. What was this creation? He opened and closed his mouth with exaggerated movements to try to break down the gum to swallow, but it started forming an even bigger ball in his mouth.
A young boy, about seven years in age, was standing next to his mother in the adjacent aisle. He started giggling. “You going to blow a big bubble with all that, mister?”
“Huh?” Dickie quickly wiped his chin after inadvertently drooling some more. He felt a sharp tapping on his shoulder and turned around to see Ned smirking at him.
“Here. Give me a piece so I can show you what the kid means. I’m quite good at blowing bubbles.”
Dickie handed Ned the package of gum. Ned opened a piece, then chewed with rapid jaw movements before sticking his tongue into the wad and blowing. A bubble about five inches across formed before popping.
“Incredible! Ned, do another so I can see how you did that.”
With slower motions, Ned showed Dickie. He tried to imitate the jaw move
ments, but succeeded only in shooting the wad out of his mouth and onto the counter.
The clerk narrowed her eyes before reaching for a piece of tissue and wiping the counter clean, saying nothing.
Dickie tried to make amends. “I beg your pardon. I must say, you have the most unusual color of hair. To think a lady of your advanced age can still retain her natural color and have it be so vibrant. Well, it’s nothing short of a miracle.”
She glared at Dickie and muttered, “Smart-mouth.”
Ned shook his head briefly at Dickie, as if to get him to stop talking. “Help me unload the cart. It’s almost our turn.”
A few minutes later the clerk announced, “Your total is ninety-nine dollars and fifty-three cents.”
Ned blushed. “Oops. I only brought in ninety. Let me run to the car and get my credit card. I think it’s in my briefcase.” He turned to Dickie as if he would understand. “I haven’t needed to use it since coming to Estes Park.”
Dickie smiled and shrugged pleasantly. He had no idea what Ned was talking about, but he was sure it was of no real concern. He looked over at the clerk again. She had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot impatiently.
He tried to make conversation. “Do you know how to make bubbles? I think it’s an acquired skill.”
The tall, lanky teenager in line behind Dickie snickered.
The clerk pointed at the youth. “Cody, don’t you encourage him, or I’ll tell your mother you were in here yesterday, skipping school.” Cody immediately quieted, but smiled impishly at Dickie.
Cody was the first male Dickie had seen in Estes Park with shoulder-length hair—as long as his own. He decided to be friendly. “How do you do, Cody? I’m Dickie.”
Cody scrunched up his nose and laughed before saying, “You’re a riot, mister.”
Dickie shrugged, not sure what to make of the comment. Ned returned, waving a card in his hand. “Here it is. Sorry for the delay.”
Dickie watched as Ned finished paying. On the way to the car Dickie asked, “That’s it? That little card and we can buy anything?”
“No. We can’t buy everything and anything, because eventually I have to pay for it all.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I was hoping it was another incredible invention.”
“Only for the bankers.”
Dickie arched his brows. “Can I drive back to the cabin?”
Ned shook his head. “No. You should first master the use of kitchen appliances and the vacuum cleaner before attempting that.”
“Sure, Ned.”
The next morning Dickie watched Ned yawn into his hand as he took a seat at the dining table. He proudly placed his creation in front of his cousin before returning to the kitchen for a plate of his own. “Eggs and sausage. Do you know there is a cookbook with instructions for making meals in one of your cabinets?”
“No, I didn’t realize that. Is it hard to follow?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a chance to look at it much this morning. That sausage left stains on my shirt and shorts.”
Ned got up and opened several cupboards. He handed Dickie an apron that was folded in among some dish towels. “Wear this when you cook. It will protect your clothes.”
Dickie held it up skeptically. “But it’s pink with lace around the edges.”
“It’s my grandmother’s. Besides, nobody’s going to see you in it but me.” Ned returned to the table and started eating his breakfast. “These eggs are good. How’d you know how to make them? Did you ever cook before coming here?”
Dickie placed the apron on the kitchen counter next to the stove. “Certainly not. I had servants for everything. I guess I have some natural talent. I also wanted to try some of the spices in your grandmother’s cabinet. Oh, and I added some cheese.”
Dickie brought a plate back for himself and sat down across from Ned. He scoffed, “If anybody should be wearing that girly apron I would say it’s those football players last night.”
Ned shook his head, looking confused. “What?”
“Football is not a very manly sport. They don’t even use any weapons—just throw a funny-looking ball around and tackle one another.”
“It takes talent and practice to learn how to play well. There are tactics to the game as well.”
Dickie snorted. “It’s so womanly they use pillows stuffed under shirts for protective armor.” Dickie raised his deep voice to sound feminine while fluttering an imaginary handkerchief in the air. “Ew. Ew. I’m hurt. Somebody tackled me.”
Ned bit back a smile, got up from the table, and brought his plate over to the sink. He looked out the kitchen window. “It’s fantastic outside. I think I’ll hike over to my birdwatching class instead of driving.” He turned back to Dickie. “Are you going clothes shopping this morning?”
Dickie swallowed before answering, “After I straighten up around here first. I told you I like things in order. I already made my bed upstairs; I’ll work on your bedroom next. Where is the broom to beat the rugs?”
“We use the modern invention of the vacuum cleaner to clean carpeting.”
“Oh, that’s what you were mentioning last night. Show me how to use it.”
Ned brought one down from the upstairs linen closet and briefly demonstrated. “It’s getting late if I’m going to trek to my class instead of drive.” He snapped his fingers. “Shoot. I forgot to pull some cash out for you last night from the bank machine.”
Dickie smiled. “Why don’t I use your card?”
Ned hesitated before answering. “I guess it does make sense, since you’ll need some shoes and boots also. But try to purchase things on sale.” Ned paused. “Perhaps I should just skip my classes today and go with you.”
Dickie rolled his eyes. “Nonsense, Ned. I’ll be fine. Are we going to the play tonight?”
Ned looked uncomfortable. “Uh . . . I guess so.”
“Excellent. I’ll meet you back here later today.”
Dickie cleaned the cabin rather satisfactorily, he thought, and put away the vacuum cleaner. He headed back downstairs to grab the credit card Ned had left on the dining table for him to use. He scooped it up and took a step toward the front door. He paused midstep and looked back at the table. Weren’t those Ned’s car keys? Hmmm. He’d mastered the kitchen appliances and the vacuum cleaner, just as Ned said he should first. Dickie picked up the keys. Why not?
Chapter Seven
Dickie pushed various buttons until he heard the door unlock. He sat down in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Ned had positioned the car last night so it was facing down the driveway. Brilliant. He need not back up. Dickie guessed that could be a little tricky. He placed his foot on the driving pedal and the car took off. He slammed his foot on the brake right before he would have hit a tree lining the winding drive. Beep. Beep. Beep. Now what? Dickie looked around the car to see whether something was wrong. Uh, the seat belt. Now he remembered. He fastened himself in before gingerly taking his foot off the brake. The car moved slowly downhill without Dickie putting his foot back on the driving pedal. Ah, this was more like it. He tried out the steering wheel enough that by the time he came to the road at the end of the driveway he felt comfortable that he would have no problem driving into town. He turned left onto the road, straightening out as quickly as possible with big movements of the wheel.
The only issue, Dickie quickly realized, was that the car slowed to a virtual stop after a few moments on the level road. Did he dare put his foot back on the driving pedal? A car pulled up behind him and honked. He turned around in his seat. That was an obnoxious noise. The driver raised his middle finger at him. Hmmm. Was he giving Dickie an encouraging signal with that finger or rather . . . ? Oh. To think a version of that sign had survived five hundred years. Dickie raised his middle finger back and turned around facing the road. He lightly touched the foot pedal. The car moved for a while before coming to a stop. The car honked again behind him. Dickie raised his finger without turning back around and tou
ched the pedal. With repeated starts, stops, honks, and middle fingers, Dickie made it into the town proper. He watched a car ahead of him park parallel to the road, and Dickie attempted to do the same, pulling his right front wheel slightly over the curb. There, that ought to do it. He was quite impressed with himself.
Dickie got out of the car and walked down the sidewalk until he came to the Mountain Clothing Shop. He looked at the pants and shirts displayed in the window and decided to enter. A friendly-faced young man approached him first and asked whether he could be of assistance.
Dickie smiled and pulled out of his pocket the list Ned had quickly written down for him before he had left this morning. “Yes. I’d like to purchase these items.” Dickie started reading, pausing as he tried to decipher some of the words. “A pair of jeans, hiking pants, T-shirts, shorts, long-sleeve shirts, socks, running shoes, hiking boots, a lightweight jacket, and underwear.” Dickie inwardly shook his head. What the heavens were half of these items?
“Boxers or briefs?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. . . .”
The young man frowned slightly. “We have both. Want some of both?”
Dickie shrugged. “Why not? And I see you also have hair as long as my own. I’ll take one of those things you have tying your hair back.”
After what Dickie could only describe as a confusing period of communication between the clerk and himself, the clerk grabbing the list out of his hands at one point to say, “Just let me handle this,” Dickie finally walked out of the store, wearing some of his new purchases, the rest in a large bag. He glanced at his reflection in the store window. He liked the picture of the mountain on his shirt, though he didn’t understand the inscription below it: “I climbed the Fourteener.” His jeans felt a bit confining, but the clerk had said they got softer with time. But what he really liked was the invention of hiking boots. He tipped back and forth on his toes and heels a few times. They were so comfortable and sturdy. He pulled the length of rawhide from the bag and started tying his long hair in back.
