It had seemed to be the best choice. Unfortunately, her valise had been lost when the Indians had attacked them, so she had no wedding gown and no idea where to find the husband who was supposed to be waiting for her.
The old Indian had said she would travel through time.
Life with Nathaniel had not been so very different from what she was accustomed to. But now, this house, with Jonathan, was foreign to her. Other than the house itself, nothing was familiar. And what had happened to Nathaniel and Martha? And then there was little Beau and Abigail. Vaughn had been charged with tending to them, but she didn’t even know where they were. She missed them. She missed their laughter that had filled the house. She missed Nathaniel’s booming voice as he’d picked up his son and tossed him skyward, leaving the little boy screaming in joy.
This house was silent, yet at the same time, filled with so many unknown sounds. Like a voice coming from the handle on a box.
In addition to the sounds, the house smelled different. Older. When she walked into the kitchen where Jonathan was putting in new boards, it smelled more like the house she was familiar with. Only yesterday.
It seemed like such a long time ago. But she was safe here.
Her tears stopped suddenly, and a feeling of calmness settled over her. She lifted her head. “I’m sorry,” she said as she shifted away.
“No need to apologize,” Jonathan said. “You’ve had a bad time lately.”
She nodded.
“Look at what I got you,” he said, dragging the bags from the foot of the bed.
He pulled out soft trousers like she’d seen in his bureau and tops to match. He also had gotten her socks and two dresses.
She took one of the dresses and examined it. She’d never seen stitches so tight like this. Not even the nuns could sew stitches so tightly. The yellow-patterned material was pretty, but the dress was more like a nightgown.
And it was short. He must have bought it from a seamstress who had sewn it for someone else. A child perhaps.
“Thank you,” she said.
He seemed so proud of the things he had brought her, so she didn’t have the heart to tell him it was too short for her. And he hadn’t brought a chemise or a corset.
“I’ll go downstairs and make us something to eat while you try it on,” he said.
After he had left the room and closed the door, she pulled on the soft trousers. They were stretchy around the waist. She toyed with that a bit, but couldn’t figure out how it worked. She left the shirt around her breasts because she didn’t have anything else to wear beneath the dress.
She then pulled the dress over her head and buttoned the buttons on the front. She marveled at the preciseness of the buttonholes. This was finer-made than anything she had ever owned. The dress fell to just above her knees. It wasn’t so bad with the trousers beneath it.
Straightening up, she found another bag he hadn’t shown her. It had a pair of lace-up shoes. She put them on her feet and tied them. Not custom-made, but not a bad fit.
There was package of white garments similar to the ones she’d found among his clothing. Not opening it, she added it to the stack of garments she folded and left on the bed.
After returning his jacket back where it belonged, she took a deep breath and left the room.
Be strong. God will protect you. This will be an adventure of a lifetime.
Chapter 8
Jonathan went into the kitchen and made two turkey sandwiches.
When Vaughn walked into the room, he bit his lip to keep from laughing. She wore the sweatpants under the dress, and she must have fashioned a makeshift bra because the dress was a little misshapen around her chest area.
Despite her odd manner of dress, which, he reminded himself, he had given her, she was still beautiful.
They sat at the kitchen table where he ate, and she picked at her sandwich, her eyes downcast.
“I need to finish up these boards before the weather gets any colder,” he said.
“Do you want some help?” She asked, her gaze meeting his.
“You? No. I won’t be long.”
The phone rang as he gathered up their plates to wash. As he picked up the receiver and said “hello,” Vaughn watched him closely.
“Captain Becquerel?” Jonathan’s commanding officer, Major Thomas asked.
“Yes sir.”
“We need you to be on standby.”
“Standby?” He echoed, looking at Vaughn, who watched him with an odd expression.
“Yeah. I’m just giving you a heads up that orders are in the works to send us back.”
“I see. Any idea when?”
“Looks like it’ll be right after the first of the year.”
Jonathan scrubbed his face and closed his eyes. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“Everything good?”
“Yeah. Just trying to get this house repaired.”
“Hunker down, man, there’s a winter storm coming your way.”
“Got it. See you soon.”
“Enjoy your Christmas.”
“Thank you, sir. You too.”
Jonathan put the receiver down and stared out the window. The trees rustled from the cold wind. Maybe I should get a television. . . or at least a radio.
Damn. He’d expected to have a year off, or at least six months, before going back to the Hell that was Vietnam. Apparently, things were accelerating over there, and his company was going back.
Vaughn watched him warily. “You were talking to someone,” she said.
“Yeah. My commander.”
“You’re a soldier, then?”
He nodded and gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah.” He would never go into detail about what he did over there with anyone.
“You’re leaving, then?”
“After New Year’s. So I’ll be here for Christmas.”
Chapter 9
Christmas. Vaughn was supposed to help Beau and Abigail decorate the tree today. Where were they? Every time her mind flitted near the question, she hit a wall, and her thoughts bounced around in a different direction. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what might have happened to them and how this man – Jonathan – happened to be here instead.
All her focus was on him and all the crazy things that were going on. Like him talking to his commander through the black box.
“What is that?” She asked, nodding toward the box.
“The telephone?” He asked.
She shrugged. Nodded.
“This is a telephone. You’ve never seen a telephone?”
“No,” she said.
“Seriously?”
When she didn’t answer, he continued to explain. “It’s connected by wires to allow people to talk to each other from far away.”
The nuns had told her that America was more advanced in some ways. They hadn’t prepared her such novelties as this telephone.
“How do you know who will answer?” She asked.
“Each person has their own number. He turned the telephone toward her. When I want to call someone, I dial their number and their telephone rings.”
“That must be a lot of numbers.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I have a book with everyone’s numbers in it.” He picked up a book from the counter and handed it to her.
She opened the book. It held hundreds of name and numbers. He had some written in the back.
“That’s just for people who live close by,” he said. “In Natchez. The ones I wrote down are long-distance numbers. Like Major Thomas.”
She handed the book back to him. “Everyone does this?” She asked.
“Almost everyone.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“I can’t imagine life without it,” he said.
And Vaughn couldn’t imagine life with it. To be able to talk to anyone through that black box was the strangest thing she had ever heard of.
“I need to finish up this floor,” he said, nodding toward the boards, “then
we can do something else.”
“I can help,” she said.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Do you know how to build a fire?”
“Of course,” she said. Finally. Something familiar.
“If you’ll build a fire in the fireplace while I do this, that would be helpful.”
Vaughn went into the parlor and found wood already stacked next to the fireplace, as well as kindling. She searched for the tinderbox, but couldn’t find it. She did find a box filled with short sticks.
She laid the logs in the fireplace and, taking two pieces of kindling, rubbing them together. Nothing happened. Then she took one of the little sticks and rubbed the end of it against one of the logs. And suddenly she had a flame. Mon Dieu. Surprised, she nurtured the little flame until she had a roaring fire.
She was grateful to have something to do. The nuns had instilled a strong work ethic in her. When she wasn’t studying and learning, she was doing chores. Along with her native French language, she had become fluent in English. She could also speak some Latin and Spanish and could have conversations in Italian. She was well-read and was proficient in math. She could also play the piano.
When Nathaniel and Abigail had learned of her many skills, they had asked her to be a nanny to their children with the plan that she would tutor them as they became old enough. In exchange, she would receive room and board.
What use would she be to Jonathan?
She flushed at the thought that he might need a wife. She had come to America to be a wife after all. She was to marry Mr. Henry Dickenson of Natchez.
As she got the fire going, she heard Jonathan hammering in the background. It was comforting knowing he was there. If not, she would be alone in this big house.
He said he would be leaving soon. He was leaving to fight in a war. He might never come back.
She sat back and sighed. Perhaps by then, she would find Nathaniel or Henry Dickenson. But how?
She could call them on the telephone. Jonathan had said that he could call anyone on it.
Encouraged, she went back to the kitchen and pulled the phone book off the shelf.
Jonathan had gone outside to cut another board with the loud machine. She opened the phone book and quickly discovered that the names were in alphabetical order by last name. She scrolled down until she found the name Henry Dickenson. She stared at the name.
He was here! In this phone book. If she put this number in, he would answer her. But what would she say to him.
Hello. I’m here to marry you.
She laughed out loud. It was a most insane notion.
She turned the pages and found the name Nathaniel Becquerel. She gasped. How could that be? If she called him, would he come and get her?
Hearing Jonathan come back inside, she slammed the book closed and put it back on the counter.
“Do you need something?” He asked, seeing her standing there.
“Can I have a drink of water?” She asked.
“Of course.” He pulled a glass out of the cabinet, flipped a lever, and water flowed out into the glass.
Another wonder.
He held out the glass to her, and his fingers brushed against hers. When she lifted her gaze to his, he smiled. Feeling a little wave of lightheadedness sweep over her, she smiled back.
Jonathan was a handsome man, and his eyes held an undeniable kindness to them.
Feeling guilty about looking through his phone book without permission, she took the water and went back into the parlor.
Chapter 10
Jonathan threw himself into the repairs. He had a lot to do before he had to go back to Vietnam. He didn’t want to leave the repairs half undone. And now there was the matter of Vaughn. What did one do with a girl who showed up like this?
He took a freshly cut plank and saw that Vaughn had started a fire in the fireplace. He smiled in anticipation of spending a quiet evening with her. They could sit on the couch and maybe read or play dominos.
He whistled as he went out to cut the next board.
As the sun began to set, he put up his tools and went inside. After a quick shower, he went downstairs and pulled the box of dominos from the bookshelf.
Vaughn was on the couch reading. When he walked in, she looked up and smiled. This. This, he realized was what he had been missing.
This companionship without having to take a girl out dancing and entertaining.
“Are you hungry?” He asked.
“A little. Would you like me to cook something?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
He went into the kitchen and microwaved some soup he had made a couple of days ago. He found a tray in the cabinet and, after putting two bowls of soup on it, carried it in to set on the coffee table.
“That was fast,” she said.
He grinned. “It was left-over.”
“Ah,” she said, her brow furrowed.
He brought over TV trays, and they ate in silence. “Have you ever played dominos?” He asked.
“Dominos?”
“It’s a little like cards, but played with tiles.”
“I was raised by nuns,” she said, with a chuckle.
“Oh,” he said. “Are you opposed then? To playing?”
“Not at all.”
They settled across from each other on the floor in front of the fireplace, and Jonathan explained the game. “Does that make sense?” He asked.
She grinned up at him. “I understand,” she said.
Then she proceeded to win.
“I have to stop going easy on you,” he said.
“No need to hold back,” she said.
They played another hand. This time Jonathan played his best. And again, she won.
He watched her, the fire glowing behind her. She played without hesitation. He’d been wrong about one thing. Vaughn was not simple-minded.
On the contrary, she was quite quick-witted.
When the grandfather clock chimed ten o’clock. Vaughn stood up and said, “I need to go up to chambers to rest.”
“Are you Cinderella?” He asked.
She titled her head. “Cinderella?”
“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
He knew she could find her own way to her bedroom, but he wasn’t ready to be apart from her.
He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to be apart from her.
Chapter 11
The next morning, Vaughn woke early and got dressed. She’d had lovely dreams of Jonathan. In the mystical dream world, they had been snuggling in front of the fireplace. Her mind swirled, and then he was comforting her in this very bed after their evening in front of the cozy fire.
Lured by the smell of bacon frying on the stove, Vaughn walked into the kitchen feeling oddly energetic. Wearing the little yellow dress over the long warm trousers gave her a freedom of movement that she was unaccustomed to, except, of course, while wearing her night gown.
She stood in the doorway and smiled at him when he turned to greet her.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“I hope you slept well.”
“Really well,” she said. Vaughn had been exhausted after waking up in a strange place yesterday. A house that was the same, yet different.
“Come in,” he said, “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Barefoot, she walked toward the kitchen table, but paused to look at a calendar hanging on a nail next to the door.
December. She squeezed her eyes shut. Yes, it was December. It was just much colder than it had been two days ago.
She ran a hand along the calendar, the paper shiny and slick beneath her fingers.
Her fingers stilled over the year. 1969.
She looked over at Jonathan, whistling as he used a fork to scoop bacon from a stove with a flame. She watched as he turned a knob and the flame disappeared.
She was born in 1697. This was 1714.
Perhaps this was an old cale
ndar and someone had kept it because someone had written the date in wrong. It was doubtless supposed to be 1699. She giggled out loud. Of course. That was it. The orphanage had a calendar dated 1699 that they displayed in the school room. No one saw more than one turn of the century, and many people never saw one at all. Many people lived within the confines of one century or another. The girls were taught the significance of a new century. Vaughn found it amusing that someone had flipped the numbers.
“What’s funny?” Jonathan asked as he filled her plate with bacon, egg, and toasted bread.
“Your calendar,” she said.
He glanced at the calendar. “Right,” he said. “They were giving those away at the bank. I need to get one for next year.”
She slipped onto one of the two round chairs with no backs and nodded as he placed a plate in front of her.
“1715 is supposed to be a good year,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” He asked, sitting on the other round backless chair.
She shrugged. “I’m here. In America. I’m happy to be alive.”
He looked at her with a strange expression. “God bless America,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes on her plate as she bit into a piece of the toasted bread.
He sat, watching her, as she ate, not touching his own food.
“Are you going to eat?” She asked, nodding toward his plate.
He seemed to come out of a trance and began eating. “Looks like I won’t be getting much work done today,” he said.
“Why not?” She asked, setting her plate aside.
He nodded toward the window. “It’s going to snow.”
“Snow,” she repeated. The last time she remembered snow, she had been with her parents. The memory was bittersweet because it was also the last time she had seen them.
She had been seven years old, and her parents had taken her out on a sled in the snow. It had been December, like now. She remembered the fat snowflakes and how she and her mother had giggled as they tried to catch them on their tongues.
After their sleigh ride, they had returned to their house. Her father had seen the smoke first. Just a flame shooting out of the fireplace. He’d jumped from the sled and rushed to open the door. Flames had shot out through the open door, but he went inside anyway. Her father’s sister was inside. His sister hadn’t felt well, so she’d taken a nap instead of going with them on the sleigh ride.
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