Max

by Izzy James

  “Shall we go for a walk? It’s a pretty day out—”

  “I should like a ride in the contraption you rode off in yesterday.”

  “Would you?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “At this point I hardly know. Last evening I walked all over Yorktown. My conservatory was still here when I returned.”

  “Did you doubt it?”

  “I didn’t expect Miss Styles’ curse to have any effect. Now I’m still not sure what happens next.”

  “Perhaps we should focus on what we need to do to break her curse.”

  He nodded. “I confess that I have so many questions, Miss Styles and her curse have fallen by the wayside. I feel like a child at a party. So many new things to see I stay distracted.”

  “You may ask me anything.”

  He grinned at her. “We are a free nation?”

  “Yes. Not just that, we are the most powerful nation on earth.”

  “What are we called?”

  “The United States of America. There are fifty states now.”

  His eyes widened along with his smile. “What happened to England?”

  “Still there, allies, just not as powerful.”

  “The king?”

  “Queen Elizabeth the Second.”

  “Are ye married?”

  Olivia started. “No. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do to cause Miss Styles to curse you?”

  He studied his hands. “I’d rather not say.”

  “It may be a clue to your freedom.”

  “May I ask why ye limp?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “Yes.”

  “My parents and I were in a car accident. They died and my ankle was crushed. The doctors have done what they can, but I’ll likely always walk with a limp. Truth is, I’d have given both my ankles if it meant they could’ve lived.”

  His eyes softened as he took her hand in his. He didn’t say the words, but she felt them reach into her soul to form a kinship.

  “You said you wanted to go for a ride. I know just the place to take you, but first we need to find a store.”

  “I’m not so sure I should ride in one of those things.”

  “We’ll be fine.” She packed up her music. He reached her coat before she turned to retrieve it. He held it up for her. Heat raced up her neck. “Thank you.”

  “Miss Woods, may I say you look lovely today. Your tailor-made clothes suit you.”

  Once again her cheeks bloomed. “I don’t have a tailor.” She spun to face him. “Wait. What was wrong with my costume?”

  “Nothing if ye wish everyone to think ye are an ill-fed orphan.” He flashed her that little dangerous grin. “I just mean to say that ye look much better in clothes that fit you.”

  She didn’t know if she should be flattered or censored. Surely docent costumes weren’t the height of fashion, but she’d thought she’d done a pretty good job of replicating the time.

  “I hope to find a tailor in this time that does as fine a job as you look today. Although I do have one question.”

  Eyebrows up. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure ye are quite comfortable in so revealing an ensemble? I don’t believe I’ve ever known a woman to wear breeches in public.”

  Laughter bubbled to the surface. “I suppose I should be pleased you aren’t calling into question my virtue.”

  “While clothes do indicate a state of modesty, I’m not sure I ever thought they were an indicator of virtue.” The boyish grin reappeared.

  “Do you have a coat?”

  He nodded. She followed him down the hallway. The instant he stepped across the threshold his conservatory became visible. She arrived at the door as he pulled his coat and a tricorn hat from pegs on the far wall. The windows still reflected the dependencies. No one traveled the worn foot paths.

  “May I come in?”

  “Please,” he waved his arm.

  “Is this a Cristofori?”

  “No. Longman.”

  “These are the keys that disappeared that night?” She lightly touched the wooden surfaces of three missing keys.

  “Yes.”

  Olivia slipped toward the door before Max could reach it. She didn’t want to be caught in this room without him to get her out.

  4

  Max watched closely, but said nothing as she used her key fob to open the doors.

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Humans adapt. Technology has changed a lot since I was born in 1990. Even more so since my grandmother was born in 1945.”

  “I was born in 1739.”

  “It is a bit more of a jump.” Her heart warmed at the sound of his deep rumble of laughter.

  Olivia opened the passenger door for Max to demonstrate how the handle worked. He nodded his head and followed her to the driver’s door.

  “Miss Woods.” He bowed as he opened her door and waited until she’d settled behind the steering wheel.

  Max filled the passenger side and then some. She should have brought her grandmother’s SUV.

  After a lesson in seatbelts, Olivia pulled out into the street.

  “Smoother than a wagon,” was the last thing he said until they’d arrived at the mall. “What is this?”

  “It’s a collection of stores. We call it a mall.”

  “Shops?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Once she’d parked he met her at the door once more. For all her education she couldn’t understand why the gesture made her feel special and made him appear gallant.

  “We need to get you some clothes.” She stood between the door and Max.

  “Your tailor’s establishment is quite large.”

  “I don’t have a tailor. I buy clothes off the rack here.” She pointed to a large department store. “They should have something more suitable for you to wear in this time.” She closed the door.

  “You don’t approve of my clothes?” He hadn’t moved when the door closed.

  Olivia stood close enough to be in the shadow of his tricorn. Heat bloomed in her cheeks again. Oh, she could gaze at him in those duds all day and then some. “Well, you don’t look like an ill-fed orphan, but you will stand out.” She sidestepped and he winged his arm. She slowly encircled his arm with her own, hoping he didn’t feel the loud drumbeat of her heart.

  “I would have brought you something to wear myself, but I have no idea of your sizes.” He nodded.

  They entered and found themselves in the tool section.

  Max stopped and stared. She couldn’t blame him. Music played. Children laughed and called to each other and their parents. Lights glittered, beckoning them from each display. A mall store was always a hubbub. At Christmas it was zoo.

  “How do you find anything in here?”

  “If you don’t know, you ask.”

  She slid her hand from his arm to his hand. They’d never be able to walk side by side in the crush of shoppers.

  He followed her lead. Olivia didn’t miss the appreciative looks of several of the women when they caught sight of Max at her back. She stood a little taller. She nearly tripped when Max squeezed her hand.

  “Here we are.” She waved toward the men’s clothing.

  Max moved from table to rack taking it in before he turned and stepped in close. “This is a bit awkward, but how do I—”

  Awkward was just the right word. Since they’d entered the store, Olivia’s thoughts remained in the dressing room. “Once you find what you like, you can try it on over there.” She pointed to several small doors in the far wall.

  “I understand. We have back rooms for fittings too.”

  “Of course.”

  “It is decidedly awkward, but how shall I pay? My observation leads me to believe that tobacco is no longer a currency. Yet I did not see gold change hands.”

  “Oh, no. We use money
. It’s complicated. Today’s on me.” He hesitated. She placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, we can settle up later.”

  “Perhaps I should keep to my own clothes.”

  She applied a saucy grin. “Why? Surely a rich merchant such as yourself can afford to pay me back later.”

  His answered with an equally saucy grin. “It’s to be that then, is it?”

  She placed a pair of jeans in his hands.

  “These appear to be made of the same material as your own breeches.”

  She nodded. “They are. They are called jeans. Everybody wears them.”

  “All bodies?”

  “Look around.” He did. A particularly well clad couple passed by them hand in hand. A father with a crying little girl and a mother with her twin passed swiftly in the direction of the door.

  “Do not women in yer time like to look like women?”

  “Of course we do, but jeans are practical and if you dress them the right way they can be feminine.”

  He leaned in. “They are revealing.” His whisper tickled her ear as he passed by, headed for the fitting rooms.

  They checked out and made their way out of the store without further discussion. He offered his arm.

  “Where to next?”

  “I thought I would take you home so you can change.”

  “To Yorktown?”

  “Gloucester.”

  “We’ll go over that bridge.”

  “Yes.”

  “Grams, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Maxwell Ballard of Yorktown, Virginia Colony.”

  Max executed his bow.

  “Mr. Ballard, this is my grandmother Dr. Rita Woods.”

  She smiled at him from behind silver-rimmed spectacles. Like Olivia, her grandmother barely made it to his shoulder. The resemblance abruptly stopped there. Dr. Wood’s silver hair stuck out at straight angles from her head. It was artfully and evenly done, or he’d have thought she’d just risen from her bed. She wore a long indigo banyan closed with the same interesting closure he’d found on his new breeches.

  “Nice to meet you. Please come in out of that cold.”

  The hallway was narrow compared to his own house, but it was infused with light. She guided him to a parlor on the right that glowed even brighter with polished wooden floors of hickory and graced with light colored stuffed furniture.

  “Please have a seat.”

  “Actually, we stopped by so Max could change.”

  Dr. Rita looked him over a little more closely. “I like the embroidery on your waistcoat.” Max ran his hand next to the buttons. “Thank ye, Dr. Woods.”

  “London-made?”

  “Yorktown boasts a fine tailor as does Williamsburg. Brothers by the name of Sparrow.”

  Her face broke into concentric circles of a bright smile.

  “Follow me.” Olivia led him back to the hall to a smaller room. Shiny white porcelain tile gleamed on the walls. A sink and a small round seat filled with water. “I do beg ye pardon, but is that—”

  “Yes.” She glanced to a pair of clear doors. “I wouldn’t normally do this, but you are a special case.” She slid one door over the other one.

  “In here is a tub and a shower.”

  “Shower?”

  “Running water for bathing. Hot and cold running water.” There was indeed a large basin. Polished brass knobs fitted into the porcelain near the rim.

  “Would you like to try it?”

  The idea of a hot bath hit him the way the cold air had the night before. “Aye, if ye think yer grandmother would not object.”

  “Not at all, so long as I’m not in here with you.” She grinned. She looked down as if she’d just realized what she’d implied.

  “Excuse me.” Olivia retrieved a thick towel of pale blue from a closet he’d overlooked. She handed him the towel and demonstrated how to turn the water on and make it rain. Keeping her back to him she skirted out again trying to keep her tiny frame from coming in contact with his own.

  She pointed to the soap. “Just come on out when you are finished.”

  Hot water pelted his head running rivulets down his body. He’d never felt anything like it. The soap she’d given him had no discernble scent rather it smelt clean. It lathered like no soap he’d ever used. He started with his head and worked his way down. Dust and dirt and tension ran out with the streams of water passing by his feet. He didn’t know the answer to why he was here instead of at his own house in his own time, but he wasn’t going to waste the gift. After dallying until the water cooled, he turned the shower off and set about understanding his new clothes.

  Once again Olivia proved right. The jeans, as she called them, were the most comfortable breeches he’d ever donned. Not overly loose like a farmer’s garb, they moved when he moved, stretched when he bent to pull on his new boots. Who wouldn’t be comfortable dressed in them? Did she like that feeling, the fabric embracing her curves yet not restricting movement? Not that he minded seeing Olivia Woods dressed as she was. He didn’t like the idea that other men could also appreciate her slender hips and generous curves.

  His latest shipment contained a bolt of crimson silk. Now that would make a garment he’d like to see her in. The color would warm her complexion in the same way of the rose color she wore today.

  “Have you figured out yet how to release him from the curse?” Dr. Rita asked as he rounded the corner into the main parlor.

  “What makes ye so sure I wish to be released?”

  Olivia spun on her chair to look up at him. “I thought you’d like to get out of that conservatory for good.”

  “Aye.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to Olivia at the oval table facing her grandmother across several skeins of colored wool. “There’s only one problem. I’m not sure which end of time I wind up on once I am released.”

  “I assumed you’d go home.”

  “Then why send me here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Me either. And I’m not sure that I want to leave.”

  Dr. Rita pushed the yarn in front of her off to the side. She yanked the cap off a writing instrument and poised her hand over a sheet of paper. “Can you tell me the exact words of the curse?”

  “‘A curse be upon you Maxwell Ballard. You shall be alone through the ages until such time as you lose your cruelty, your arrogance. Until you learn empathy for your fellow man. I don’t care if it takes two hundred and fifty years.’”

  “And you disappeared in 1769.”

  He nodded, “on Christmas Eve.”

  Olivia placed her hand on his arm, eyes wide. “Which piano keys are missing?”

  “A, C, and E.”

  “They are integral to every key. You couldn’t play anything.”

  “Arrogance, cruelty, empathy.” Dr. Rita wrote on her paper. “What happened that night?”

  “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

  Hazel eyes magnified by her spectacles pierced him.

  He stood. Shame shrouded his heart every time he saw Adelaide as she was that night. He owed Dr. Rita no explanations.

  “Perhaps I’ll take Max out to the museum.”

  Dr. Rita placed her pen quietly down. “We can talk later.”

  5

  He was glued to the glass as they reached the pinnacle of the Coleman Bridge. One day soon he would take a walk and examine the construction. As a boy he and Sam and Jabez had paddled up and down and across the York. To see it spanned by one bridge was nothing short of magnificent.

  “There’s a lot to take in.” Olivia parked in the near empty lot. “Don’t worry about seeing it all.”

  After applying entrance stickers to their shirts Olivia led Max down the hall to the first exhibit in the Revolutionary War Museum. On the wall on the left were copies of daguerreotypes enlarged to show men and one woman who participated in the War for Independence.

  “What is this?”

  “Early photos of your contemporaries.” They stood in front of each one and r
ead their short biographies. Max came to rest in front of Jabez Jones. Fought at number ten redoubt under Alexander Hamilton.

  Voices from childhood echoed in his mind. “This way!” Moonlight glinted off the grinning Jabez’s teeth as he led them around the Widow Gibbon’s fence toward the shoreline. Max lifted his hand fingers poised, but stopped short of touching the photo. He pinched the mist clouding his vision. Olivia threaded her arm through his, hand resting gently on his forearm. He covered her hand with a small squeeze. “We grew up together.”

  With her free hand Olivia pointed her device and it clicked. There were so many things to learn here.

  “I still want one of those.”

  She smiled. “There’s time.”

  He had no idea how much time he did have, but he let it go.

  Max stopped at each exhibit and read each placard. The layout was a bit confusing. It appeared to circle around upon itself. And if that wasn’t enough the technology was bewildering. Olivia had explained that much of what he saw was due to electricity, but nothing in Franklin’s book on the subject prepared him for this. He doubted even Franklin could have seen it. The ladies of his acquaintance would call it devilry.

  “Poor selection,” he pointed to the display of the merchant store. “I carry much more than that and can order more besides.”

  After an hour Olivia sought a bench to ease her ankle. After another two hours Max was done. He sat next to her.

  “The time line is fascinating,” he swung his head around, “the rest is just fragments.”

  “So it is with histories. We see through a glass darkly.”

  “I think I shall get more from the books you brought me than I can here.”

  “For details, it’s true. But for an overall view I think it’s well done.”

  “At least I know it’s not witchery.”

  “Nope, just electricity.”

  “I am acquainted with more than one lady that would hand the curators of this establishment over to the bishop.”

  She giggled at that. A light sound that floated above the din of the museum like a butterfly hovering over bright flowers on a summer day.