In the distance I heard voices, coming nearer.
The woman was strange. She was dressed like she lived in Amish country except it was different than that, too. Most Amish wore something over their heads, like a bonnet, and they didn’t spear you.
She was wild.
She was sorta beautiful, too. Her light caramel skin and her blue eyes paired with dark hair made her look so unique. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what she’d look like in normal clothes, and I couldn’t picture it. Maybe because the look suited her, despite how strange it was.
Yep, I had brain damage. I was delirious.
She finally came back with the horse and a cart, and on the back was a young boy, probably early teens, waving enigmatically at me. When I saw the horse, I knew something wasn’t right. She said transportation, and I thought car. Where were the cars? And why couldn’t she call 911? Maybe they had bad service in this part of the mountain range? I wasn’t sure. When I asked her, she only shook her head and told me to stop asking so many questions.
“Ah, you’re rightfully hurt aren’t you, sir? The name is Arthur Winthorp. Your servant, sir.” The kid bowed to me and then grabbed my arms and pulled me up onto the cart. I cried out even though I tried hard not to, as he drug my knee up and over the edge of the cart, I bit my lip. Servant my ass!
“Arthur! You must be careful with his leg,” Rose scolded. “You can’t be pulling him all willy-nilly. If you have an injured man, it’s nice and slow like.”
Since I was up on the cart it was too late. But maybe the kid would learn something today. He lifted his hat to her and apologized.
“Beg your pardon sir. I never meant no harm.”
“It’s fine,” I said, giving him a break. “It’s done now.”
Arthur adjusted the fur blanket Rose laid over me, and catching a glimpse of my underwear, he laughed.
“We’ll get you some clothes when we get back. Whatever happened to yours?”
That was a good question. I wondered for a moment, what caused me to lose my clothing.
“I have come to the conclusion that I have memory loss. So, I have no clue. I last remember being in my kitchen, but if I have travelled to Georgia, I must have forgotten something big.”
The pair looked at each other and shrugged. Rose clicked and the horses began to move. Arthur leaned over the cart and stared at her, in awe.
“So,” I said to him. “You guy’s a thing?”
“A thing?”
“You know? Dating? Going out?” Why was it so hard for these people to understand my meanings?
“Oh… you mean are we betrothed. No. I wish it were so, as I find her most suitable. But she is much older than me, by five years. And I am not set to marry for another year. By then, she will be taken, I’m sure. I believe her family is set to betroth her to a native before the Spring. But don’t tell her that I told you. I do not think she is aware.”
I bit my lip. She was going to marry someone without her consent? That was unheard of nowadays.
“How do you know this?” I asked.
He giggled. “I overheard my mother speaking of it to Helen.”
“Who is Helen?”
“Helen is Rose’s mom. She’s Cherokee. It fills her with sorrow that her daughter is so old and not married. She longs to see her start a family.”
So old? What was she, eighteen or nineteen, why on earth was it so important to her mom to get married?
“Uh, how old is she?”
“Almost twenty! If you can believe it. For such a fine woman to not have been married by now is a shame. She’s is too beautiful to be an old maid!”
Something was seriously messed up about this place. Maybe this was a cult, or one of those backcountry families. I did see a show on TV about this before. They lived like they did in the old days. Like colonists did. They basically refused to live like the rest of the world did, and only lived how their ancestors once had.
This poor girl was going to be married off to someone she wasn’t in love with at nineteen years old.
“What do you mean she’s betrothed to a native?”
Arthur gave me a puzzled look. “An Indian, a Cherokee, like her mom, but not from her tribe. Her family hails from the Paint Clan. Do you not have Indians where you’re from?”
We did upstate. I knew there were tribes in New York ages ago, but I’d never met anyone who spoke about them in such a way. Like they lived among them, or that they presided over the land. It was almost as if I was in another time.
“Uh, I’m not sure. I’ve never met a Native American before.”
Arthur laughed and picked his teeth.
“Now you have.” He pointed to Rose and I realized that he was right.
Eleven
Rose 1765
We arrived to Mrs. Winthorp’s home with the injured patient and she came running out to meet us. Ever the good hostess she was, she peered around the cart and told Arthur to help the young man to get inside, and find him some clothing.
I led the horse to stable, laughing to myself about how different I envisioned this visit with her family. I never dreamed I’d find a man standing in his underclothes in these woods.
As I put the horse in his stall, I wondered what my mother and father would think. Oh, how they’d disapprove of my actions today. Mrs. Winthorp already promised me that the situation would stay between us. Her son was quite another story indeed. Arthur tended to have a big mouth and loved to tell one’s business to everyone he could. I did not tell him anything of importance unless I wanted it spread about Raven’s Ridge.
Once inside, I found Adam in the middle of the room dressed in Arthur’s clothes, and laughed at the sight of him. His breeches were quite short and the sleeves on his shirt were tight on his arms. He looked much too large to be in Arthur’s clothing.
“Do you laugh at me?” he asked, giving me quite the pointed stare.
“Oh never, sir. I am just shocked at how tall Arthur has grown since he wore those old things,” I bemused.
“He said they were new. And yes, I know that they are small. Go ahead and laugh all you want. At least now I have clothes on and you won’t make fun of me.”
I chuckled as I said, “Oh dear sir, my making fun will not cease, surely. It’s too much fun.”
He grabbed his leg and braced it with his pants as he eased himself up. Wincing as he did so, I knew he was still in great pain.
“Does it pain you so?”
He only nodded.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked once he was up against the headboard of Mrs. Winthorp, Ruth’s bed. She had given him clean sheets and bedding to make him feel comfortable.
“Of course,” I said, as I leaned back against the wall. Farther away from him felt safe for some reason. Not because I felt he would harm me, yet I did fear him. But it wasn’t because of that. It was a reason I didn’t quite fully understand.
“Why do you talk like that?”
Cocking my head to the side, I felt stunned at his question. How did I speak? It was indeed different from the way he spoke, but all in all, everyone from our colony spoke differently. That was the beauty of emigrants. We all hailed from somewhere else. We all taught one another something from our lands. My mother, being from this land, had learned a great deal from the Scot’s who had landed here. And also from my father, whose original home was England.
“I think we all hail from different regions, sir. Which is why we all speak differently. But if my tongue bothers you so, then I shall take my leave.”
“No, please don’t go. Please stay. I… I didn’t mean to offend you. I only asked because New Yorkers are the same way, like you said. We all come from somewhere else. But when we are in the city, we are one. It’s just—and don’t be upset by this, but there is somethi
ng strange about this place. I just can’t put my finger on it. And I don’t think I belong here.”
He sounded frightened, and I could tell that he honestly believed his own words. He didn’t belong here, and that was truth. I had seen the man terrified in the woods, like he never had been near a tree before. My comfort surrounded by the Raven Ridge was almost intimidating to him, as he flinched away from me and the wild around him.
“You do not belong, that I can tell. I cannot explain it but it’s the way I see it. Maybe once you get your leg healed, we can get you on your way back to New York. We’ll get you a horse and send you on your way.”
I thought maybe I had said something awful at the way he looked at me then. My words had not meant to be hurtful, but instead hopeful.
“A horse? What good would a fucking horse do? I mean call me an Uber, or send me down the mountain to civilization. I’ll find an airport and get home. But a horse?”
Lifting my skirts, I swept them up quickly and rushed toward him. The slap came hard across my hand. It pained me to do so but such language would not be allowed in this home. Not when Ruth had been so kind to him, as had her son. Never mind me, as I had heard language used by Father when angry, but never in conversation.
He would soon learn that I did not tolerate men talking to me like that. It was one of the reasons I had wanted to run away from the townsmen. They’re treatment toward me was inexcusable and this stranger was no different it seemed.
“You forget yourself, sir. I thought you different, Adam. I thought you a gentleman. It seems I was mistaken. And to answer your question, I have no idea what an airport is. Horses are the only way to travel.”
And with that, I left him alone.
Twelve
Adam 1765
My face stung, and my jaw felt like she had snapped it. For a moment I almost forgot about my knee but that didn’t last long. When she slammed the door, everything hit me like a rushing wave. I never meant to upset her, it was an honest question, made out of anger and frustration, yes but innocent. Really, I wasn’t sure why my question was so unreasonable. Yes, she was stuck in the middle of nowhere and completely out of touch with the rest of civilization, but it shouldn’t have any effect on the fact that airplanes had to pass over this mountain range. And she must know what the people in the larger cities did for travel, right?
If I was right, and she was from an isolated society, then she must have been warned about these things. People like me perhaps. Maybe that explained the way she looked at me when she first laid eyes on me. Her fear of an outsider.
Unless, and this was crazy, she wasn’t living in an isolated mountain home and I was visiting her in another time. Yes, crazy. And I hated to admit it but it had been on my mind for a while now. I just didn’t want to believe it. But the way these people lived, so simply, so old fashioned, it begged the curiosity. There were books on the shelves but they were old, and I mean so old they’d be worth big money. Authors long gone, hundreds of years to be exact.
They had candles burning for light, fireplaces for warmth, and the furniture was all handmade. And then again, one could argue that maybe it was what I originally thought. The mountain people lived like this, but there would be more of them.
The one thing that hit me so hard, that made me think of the time, was the way they talked about Native Americans. No one respected them and feared them like it seemed Arthur did. The way he spoke about Rose being an Indian. If this were current time, we wouldn’t even talk about heritage.
Ruth Winthorp’s home was like stepping inside of a museum. I had learned about this life in middle school, probably sixth grade. Early American settlers had such an impact on my life that I had engrossed myself in that lesson plan. I even went so far as begging my parents to take me to Virginia so I could see a real colonial village. They turned me down, of course, since young boys didn’t immerse themselves that much in school, unless it was the rugby team or student council. My brothers called me a nerd for my interests at the time. I wasn’t manly enough for them apparently as they never brought me with them on any of the trips they took.
A soft knock dragged me from my memories and the door opened slightly.
“Rose, I am so sorry,” I said, as the door swung open fully and revealed a very sorrowful looking Ruth Winthorp.
“So sorry to disappoint you, young man but it is merely I. I came to check on your leg and see if your accommodations are suiting.”
Forcing a smile and dropping my eyes, I fought the urge to ask for Rose. Only to apologize to her. I wasn’t an asshole, well not completely. Knowing that I was going to be leaving, I wanted to do so on a good note. While she had been angry with me in the beginning, I realized she was scared. A young girl alone in the wild woods, living in this strange place, she had to protect herself.
“It’s fine. Thank you. You have a great place here.”
She smiled. “You’re very kind, good sir. We are pleased to have your company. But surely you wish to make your way back home.”
I nodded. “I do. Rose told me the only way to get there was by finding a horse. Is that true?”
She stoked the fire and added another piece of wood to it, making the flames grow higher.
“Sorry to say it but my husband has taken our other horse to town on official trading business. We do trade with the savages from time to time, but it’s more profitable when we trade in the town.”
The way she said savages was almost a whisper. As if she didn’t want Rose to hear how she felt about the Natives. Appalled at her racism, it once again begged the question as to where I was.
Deciding to be bold, I asked her. “Mrs. Winthorp, do you mind telling me the date?”
She smiled and cocked her head. “Oh dear, have you lost track of the days?”
I nodded, my heart pounding, dying to hear what day it was and fearing it as well.
“Well it’s November twentieth. How many days have you been lost in these mountains?”
I swallowed. It was not November in my last memory of being in New York, in fact it was January, and had just begun snowing. The winter storm had just hit us, leaving tons of snow on the ground. Now either I had been here for a year, and lost my memories, or I had gone backwards in time.
My throat was dry and my heart felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest.
“What year?”
“Oh dear, you have been gone for a time. Why it’s 1765. Are you feeling all right?” she asked concerned. “You look quite pale. I’ll get you something to put in your stomach. We’ll fix you up.” She excused herself from the room and promised to be right back.
There was no fixing me if what she said was true. I was stuck, in the past, and wasn’t sure how I had gotten here. She softly closed the door, leaving me alone. I sat up, feeling the pain in my knee scream at me.
“Think, Adam, think,” I said to myself, hitting the bed in frustration. Something sharp bit at me from under the blankets. “Shit!” My hand stung and dripped a small drop of blood onto the nice handmade sheets.
Pulling them aside, I found what had cut me. My mom’s pin hid underneath with the sharp side up. Thankful that I found it, I tucked the needled point into its slot and clutched it in my fist holding onto it for dear life.
Thirteen
Rose 1765
I wasn’t supposed to be here. Coming to this home had been my choice, yes but I should have stayed in my home, where it was warm and safe. Where Mother and Father would have wanted me to be.
I was alone though. Quite so. The walls had begun to close up on me, making me feel trapped. Having no one to talk to was making me feel as if my mind was lost out in the wild with Mother and Father. Adam had disrupted me and my plans. They were simple once but now very difficult. I wouldn’t allow a man like him to get inside my head but damn it, he had wiggled h
is way inside.
He was not from here, and not of our ways. But he was intriguing and I wanted to know more of him and where he was from.
“You like him?” Arthur asked, coming up from behind me as I looked in on the pigs. They were making their way around their pen, trapped like I was in my house. Except that I was able to leave and they would only leave when it was time to meet their fate.
“Who?”
“Do not make me say it, Rose. You give him eyes, unlike anything I’ve seen you give to me.”
I chuckled at his jealousy.
“Perhaps that is because you are young, Arthur, and you cannot get such looks from a woman.”
He grunted and retorted, “Not yet.”
“Arthur, the difference between you and I is that you are content raising pigs your whole life. Contented by these mountains and not at all curious about what else exists in life. Never wanting anything more for yourself, or any adventure.” I sighed. “Adam is a man; a rude man. But his appalling behavior didn’t quell the living thing inside of me that wants more for my life. He intrigues me.”
I left him with his pigs and went inside the house. Ruth was making something in her pot over the fire. It smelled strong and delicious, and made my stomach grumble with hunger.
“As soon as I feed the young man, then you will eat as well, young lady. You know you do look like you haven’t been feeding yourself as well as you feed your livestock.”
“I eat. When I remember to.”
Feeding the animals was important and I found that I did not have much of a hunger for food. Until I came inside this house and smelled the food that Ruth made. It was always made perfectly, like Mother’s food was. When I cooked, I usually burnt it or ruined it. I did my best but I wouldn’t make a good wife to a hungry man.
The Bibliophile (The Librarian Chronicles Book 3) Page 4
