by Jenny Lykins
"We're going downstairs, and we'll talk it over while we wait for the police. If you try anything I'll give you another face full of tear gas."
Was her threat tinged with confusion?
Reed fought jolts of alarm at all the changes as he and the woman walked the corridors of the home they both claimed. Most of his furniture remained there, but in different places. New paintings hung on the walls, and every now and then he passed an unidentifiable contraption.
The first was a small white panel on a wall with colored blinking lights and numbered buttons. The woman stopped and punched a few of the buttons. Reed only had time to make out one of the words on the panel: Alarm. She motioned for him to move on ahead of her and he walked past more of those glowing globes and buttons on the walls.
He almost caressed the familiar staircase with relief until his eyes fell on yet another contraption sitting on a small table at the bottom of the stairs. This one was a small, black box with red, glowing numbers on the front that read 9:15. As he watched, the numbers changed to 9:16. While he wondered at the workings of this amazing clock, his gaze drifted across the table and he again stopped dead in his tracks. For the first time in his life, his head spun and the room swirled around him.
There on the table next to the box sat an open appointment book. At the very top in bold, black letters was printed: March 19, 1994.
The woman, unprepared for his sudden stop, collided into him. She immediately jumped back up two steps and aimed the canister at Reed's face. Her posture relaxed when he failed to move.
"Why does this book say March 19, 1994?" he asked in a barely audible voice.
Only a heartbeat of silence elapsed before she answered.
"Because, Mr. Copperfield, I haven't had a chance this morning to change the page to the twentieth."
Reed turned his head toward her but his gaze remained on the calendar. In a shaky voice, he asked, "Can you prove that it is 1994?"
For some reason, a gut feeling maybe, Elise believed this man truly needed proof. She was reasonably sure she wasn't dreaming all of this, but she had no other explanation for this morning's strange occurrences.
She couldn't deny what shed seen. This man, this gorgeous man with the double-take face, had materialized on her bed like an eerie vapor while she'd struggled to button this ridiculous dress. At first she’d thought it was a trick of the morning light. The lumpy quilt that covered him looked like part of her unmade bed. But the translucent vapor solidified, and the lump rolled over and stretched. No, there had to be a logical explanation. She'd seen too many magic shows not to know the most astounding illusion was a fairly simple trick. But when he'd questioned the date, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her mind snapped back to the present situation.
"Proof? Proof. Yeah, sure. Proof. Let's see..." Elise's mind scanned possibilities. How much more proof do you need than a calender? She snapped her fingers when an idea popped into her head. She darted the few feet to the front door, keeping the tear gas on him at all times, and scooped up a huge, rolled newspaper from the porch. With a triumphant smile she flicked the paper open. There, in bold print above the headlines detailing the latest presidential problems, was printed: Sunday, March 20, 1994.
While Reed absorbed this piece of evidence, Elise yanked out the drawer in the table beside them. She rummaged through it for a second, then fished out several coins.
"Let's see, 1965, ‘81, ‘77," she read aloud as she scanned the spare change she always threw in the drawer. "Wait. Wait. Here's a penny minted in 1993. Is that good enough? You know we're barely three months into `94, and this money's been here a while. If you need more proof I can get my billfold and see if I have..."
Her last word trailed off, and she snapped her mouth shut. This was insane. It was bad enough trying to prove what year it was. What was she doing, offering to get her billfold for a total stranger? One who’d dropped into her home uninvited and unexplained.
Reed just stared at her while long, silent seconds ticked by. His eyes never left hers when he reached into a pocket of his slacks and pulled something out of it.
He offered his hand to Elise, and when she opened her palm he laid the object in it. His fingers were icy against her skin, but the warmth of his body lingered on the metal in her hand.
She tore her eyes from his. A twenty dollar gold piece shone up at her from the center of her palm.
Elise's father had been an amateur coin collector. Without having to examine the coin much closer, she knew it had to have been minted in the late 1830's.
When she looked into Reed's face, her confusion and fear were mirrored in his eyes. But when she allowed a certain degree of skepticism to taint her features, his sky blue eyes took on a sort of helpless look. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper.
She hesitated before taking the folded scrap of paper and opening it. When she read the words her skin crawled and chill bumps formed on her arms. The tear gas canister fell unheeded to clatter on the table.
In her hand she held a clipping from a financial page of an old New Orleans newspaper, dated March 18, 1844. The problem was, the paper didn't look old; no yellowing or dry, cracked edges. It looked as if it had been freshly printed. But Elise knew by instinct that this wasn't one of those novelty papers that can be printed at the mall for five dollars.
"That was given to me last night," Reed stated quietly, "by a friend who wanted to interest me in investing in one of the companies in that article." He pointed to one that gave details of several "up and coming businesses."
She continued to stare at the paper. She walked blindly into the parlor and dropped like a rock into the nearest chair.
The ridiculous gown she'd been struggling to get into earlier immediately flew up and whacked her in the face. She knocked the stupid hoop skirt back down and rearranged her position to accommodate the skirt.
Thank God, she’d slipped on a pair of jogging shorts under her skirts. Embarrassed at her clumsiness, she shrugged and tried to act nonchalant.
"This is Azalea Festival time, and since my home is on the tour, the Chamber suggested we wear period costumes. I'm not used to wearing a bird cage."
Reed took a breath to reply when a loud knock jarred the front door.
"Damn." Elise catapulted out of the chair and rushed to the door.
At least fifteen people of all ages and sizes filtered into the foyer. Most of them came in gawking at the staircase and furniture.
"Hey, he really looks authentic." A rotund woman in shorts batted her eyes at Reed. "This is the first house we've come to that has a man dressed in costume. All he needs is a silver mint julep cup in his hand."
Elise chanced a glance at Reed. He stood there, looking thunderstruck, then turned on his heel and strode into the drawing room and out of sight.
Dear heavens, the woman was right. He looked as if he'd just stepped out of the nineteenth century.
"Excuse me, everyone. Excuse me," Elise shouted. "I'm sorry, but this house will have to be taken off the tour for today. We have a problem, you see. A, uh...an illness that needs to be quarantined. The measles. And I'm sure none of you want to be exposed. I assure you your money for the tour of this home will be refunded. Just see your tour guide. Thank you." Elise herded everyone out the door and apologized again as they left. She stuck her head out for a few words with the tour guide, then shut and locked the door.
When she turned to dash back to Reed in the drawing room she was brought up short. The day was getting worse by the minute.
At the foot of the staircase, leaning against the polished banister, stood someone she had hoped she'd never see again. He must have come in with the tourists.
Her first instinct was to kill him.
"Jeffrey, get out." Her calm voice belied what she really felt inside.
The trim, blond, unwanted visitor stared at her with cocky gray eyes while he made himself more comfortable against the newel post.
"I sa
id get out."
"Now Elise, you don't really mean that. I think you and I should talk. I've always said we could work things out." Jeffrey pushed himself away from the banister and took a step toward her.
Rage and hate swelled inside her chest. She watched the tall, arrogant man swagger in her direction. She knew if he came any closer to her she would claw the carefully groomed stubble from his cheeks.
"We have nothing to talk about. There is nothing to work out. You make me sick, and if you don't get the hell out of here I'm calling the police."
When Elise picked up the phone on the entry table Jeffrey grabbed it out of her hand.
"You're not calling anyone, and I'm not going anywhere until we've had a chance to talk. Besides," he said, obviously thinking he was witty, "I paid good money to get in here." He waved a pink pilgrimage ticket in her face.
Just as Elise swung her arm away and broke Jeffrey's hold, there was a tap on his shoulder from behind. When he whirled around at this unexpected intrusion he was faced with a glaring Reed towering several inches over him.
"I believe the lady has sufficiently expressed her displeasure at your presence." Reed maintained an air of civility while managing to be threatening at the same time.
"Who the hell are you?" Jeffrey shouted, looking around, as if expecting people to jump from behind the furniture.
"I am your escort to the front door," Reed said with a deceptive smile. He grabbed Jeff's shirt collar and propelled him to the door. Unlocking it and swinging it wide, he sent Jeff shooting onto the veranda to stumble down several steps. Without waiting to make sure he would leave, Reed turned and shut the door.
"I hope I did the correct thing in showing your friend out," he said with a quirked eyebrow.
Elise forced her insides to calm and took several deep breaths.
"Yes. Yes, and thank you. He's not a friend, but I can't seem to make him understand that. He shows up in my life every now and then, but this is the first time he's ever come back here to my home."
She couldn’t believe her sense of gratitude to this man. He had stepped in and handled Jeff for her, which was definitely not what she'd expected. Actually, she’d come to never expect chivalry from any man.
Elise could see through the window that Jeffrey had gotten into his cherry red Corvette, the latest toy in a long string of them, and was tearing down the avenue of oaks. She tried to push his intrusion from her mind. She had more important things to think about right now.
She turned a curious eye to Reed.
"Why did you storm out of here when the tourists arrived? You looked ready to swallow your tongue."
To her relief, Reed seemed to dismiss the incident with Jeffrey.
"What kind of a place is this 1994? Do people make a habit of visiting in a state of undress?"
Elise started to ask him who he'd seen undressed, when realization struck her. All of the men in that group had been wearing shorts and sleeveless or short-sleeved shirts. Most of the women had on similar attire. She recalled one woman in particular who had been wearing a cropped top that exposed her torso, and shorts so tight she nearly exposed her derriere - a very flabby torso and derriere.
She couldn't explain why, but her belief in his story just bumped up a notch. She didn't even question her reaction.
"I'm sorry, Mr... Blackwell, is it? Not everyone dresses like those people, but most of us do here in the South during the summer. You have to admit, their attire has to be a lot more comfortable than this ridiculous get-up I'm wearing. Geez, no wonder women fainted right and left back then. And I’m not even wearing a corset." Elise shook the folds of her dress to illustrate the yards of heat-creating fabric.
"But you are not dressed in such a fashion," Reed pointed out to her, his look a mixture of outrage and bewilderment.
"Of course. That’s what I was telling you when they knocked. The Chamber of Commerce asked us to dress as they did in the 1800's. You know, antebellum, pre-Civil War. It makes for a lot more atmosphere."
"Pre-Civil War? What Civil War?"
Suddenly Elise remembered the date of the newspaper clipping. 1844. Lord, he had no idea what his country was going to go through. More men would die in that war than all the other wars the U.S. fought combined. This was a can of worms she didn't want to open right now.
Am I crazy? she wondered. I'm already assuming this man is from the past. She really did have to get a grip. Cutting him off before he could ask more questions, she jumped up and headed for the kitchen.
"We have a lot to talk about, and we both have a lot of questions. Why don't we go sit down and I'll fix us a drink."
"You’ve decided not to send for the constable?"
Elise realized she felt no threat from this man. Strange, but she wasn't afraid of having him here in her home with no one else around to protect her. Under normal circumstances she would be extremely cautious, a woman alone, knowing the threats and dangers that face women every day in the nineties. But against all training, all common sense, and all logic, she let her guard down around this stranger.
CHAPTER TWO
Reed tried desperately to collect his thoughts and calm his emotions as he watched the clumsy woman bang her way around a very strange room she called the kitchen. Not like any kitchen he had ever seen, it was filled with objects whose function he couldn't begin to guess. A clear pitcher sitting on a pedestal with buttons, a silver box with two slots on top, a large metal box with a door on the front and several buttons beside the door. The people of the future must have a fetish for buttons.
Elise shocked him again with her language when she let out another "Damn!" She had turned and gotten her hoop skirt tangled between a chair and the cabinet.
Doing a little side-step to catch her balance, she grabbed a handful of fabric and yanked the dress free. The hoop skirt clanged back and forth against her legs like a giant bell. Reed stifled a chuckle. She looked like a complete idiot, and a graceless one at that.
She started to giggle, and as she caught Reed's look of amused disbelief, she giggled harder. When he muffled a snicker with his fist, she exploded in laughter, doubling over and laughing until she had to wipe her eyes. Reed finally gave over to impulse and joined in, their mingled laughter resounding through the kitchen. She seemed to be making a valiant effort to bring herself under control, and after a thorough wiping of eyes, she managed to present a straight face.
"Oh! Oh my!" she breathed between giggles. "I've got to get out of this thing before I destroy something. I'll be right back."
She grabbed the skirt, scrunched it into her body and made a dash out the door toward the stairway. He stared at her retreating figure and caught a healthy glimpse of bare calf, but he hardly noticed. On her feet were the ugliest shoes he'd ever seen. Huge, white leather things with bright pink strings and the word REEBOK printed on the side.
*******
Once upstairs, Elise took the time to try and make sense of the morning's events. She would have liked to believe this was all a very strange dream, but she knew there wouldn't be any waking up from this one.
There seemed to be no rational explanation and no arguing with the only irrational explanation she had. She'd stood at the foot of her bed and watched the man who now sat downstairs in her kitchen materialize on her bed. He had handed her an old, gold coin, and he'd shown her a fresh newspaper clipping from one hundred and fifty years ago. Neither of those, of course, proved anything, but she kept remembering his reactions to everything that was modern; her bathroom, the telephone, the calendar's date, the way the tourists were dressed, and his awe and confusion as he looked around the kitchen. These were all either totally genuine, or this guy deserved an Academy Award.
His clothes were also convincing. They were the real thing unless he had access to a great costume department. His trousers were skin tight, with no zipper, but with a buckle at the back of his waistband. His shirt was a starched, snowy linen with a winged collar. There were no pockets on the shirt, and it was de
finitely not the fitted look all the Yuppies went for. His boots came to the knee and were made of fine,soft leather, polished to a high sheen.
Even his speech patterns were convincing. His accent was as thick as New Orleans air in July, and she couldn't remember even one of her college professors speaking so formally.
She took advantage of the moments she had alone. She rushed over to the bed and threw back the covers, searched the sheets, climbed onto the mattress and felt along the canopy and hangings, looking for...what? She didn't know. She just knew she needed to look for something that could explain her seeing a man appear in her bed.
As she'd suspected, she found nothing. But her security alarm had been on. How could he have gotten in without setting it off? She kept the alarm on at all times. The only reason she'd turned it off this morning after he appeared was because she thought the police would be coming.
Knowing she had no real proof that this man was from the past, she found herself unable to accept any other explanation for his presence. Besides, several times in her career as a pilot she had seen unexplainable "things" sharing the sky with her. She knew there were things constantly happening out there beyond man's comprehension. Time travel or UFO's - which was more unbelievable?
*******
While Elise changed her clothing, Reed tried to make sense of what was happening to him. The last sane thing he remembered was going to his room, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep, then Nell bringing him a cup of her herbal tea.
He couldn't logically believe that he had just fallen asleep to wake in the year 1994, but he also knew he was wide awake now, and this was definitely not the day after his ball.
With all the evidence around him, he knew he was in the future, but why and how he got there was something his mind couldn't begin to explain. Could Elise, or someone else in the future, have brought him here? And if they did, could they send him back? The first pangs of panic started to rise in him and he forced himself to remain calm. Panic would serve no purpose.
