Chapter 11

 

My surprise fueled a sudden surge of amusement. I crossed my wet sleeves in front of my waist. "Didn't know this was going to be a party."

"Neither did he." Talan pointed to Walter then addressed him, "Now do you believe me?"

I started. "What d'you mean, ‘Now do you believe me,’ you told him?"

"Yeah, after our little jaunt across the cemetery. What? I wanted to see if he thought I was crazy."

"And did he?" I was sincerely interested in the answer.

"Of course, but at least it makes this slightly easier to explain... Walter?"

But Walter was not paying attention to us, instead he was staring open-mouthed at the space in which the 1910 house used to – or rather would in the future – loom over the compound.

"1910 house?" Walter pointed.

"Hasn't been built yet," said Talan, trying his best to capture Walter's attention. "As per time travel, as per we exist pre-1910."

His reasoning fell to deaf ears. "Gone... where... what?"

"Oy, this might be harder to explain than I thought." Talan sighed as Walter shifted his gaze from the vacant house space and took a few steps toward the creek before changing his mind and falling down into the cold grass, visibly overwhelmed.

I leaned toward Talan. "So, what, he was just standing there?"

"No, I found him wandering around in the creek." He pondered then turned to our subject. "Walter, why were you in the creek?"

Walter craned his neck over his shoulder and spoke to us from his place on the ground, his voice high and trembling, but loud. "There was a trail, leading down in there." Walter pointed to the creek. "I came in this morning and that Melvin guy wanted me to put some kitchen stuff in the 1910 house." He pointed to the empty space again. "I saw your tent." His index finger indicated the spot where I had woken up. "So, I put the stuff down." A finger to the ground. "And looked into the creek." He aimed his finger to the creek, the only thing he had pointed to that was real. "And started on the trail." By this time his voice was verging on hysterical. "Then it started raining." A straight finger to the sky. "Then I couldn't find the trail." Once more he directed his pointer. "Then you yelled at me!" The angry index finger angled directly at Talan before falling to its owner's side.

I raised an eyebrow at Talan. "You yelled at him?"

"How the hell else was I supposed to get him out of the creek?"

But Walter wasn't finished. "I put the stuff down right here, but now it's gone! And so is the 1910 house! The whole thing!"

"Walter! Calm down!" Talan kneeled down at his friends' side, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Look, I told you, sometimes, around here, when it rains, we uncover this weird shelf in time. Kind of like in old castle libraries or whatever when the bookshelf turns around, then suddenly you’re in a different room. Except instead of a castle, it's the museum, and instead of a bookshelf... it's rain!"

Walter seemed to be collecting a few of his senses, though the look he shot Talan appeared to be one of great annoyance rather than relief.

I nudged Talan out of the way. "Let me." I held Walter's shoulder as I spoke, slowly, "Walter. We've just traveled back in time. I wish I could explain how or why, but I can't. The important thing is that we're together and we've always gotten back when it's happened before. The cabin has always been here, I think we keep going back to the same year. At any rate, I bet if we walk down that hill, we'll find the cabin. We'll get home, but right now, that's the best we can do."

His voice was low, but it didn't shake. "Find the cabin."

"Yes." I held my breath.

The prospect seemed to work for him, and, without a word, he rose and brushed past Talan, walking toward where the cabin usually sat. As I followed, Talan grabbed my sleeve, "What if the cabin's not there this time around?" he whispered in my ear.

"I’m sure you’ll think of something."

Talan just grunted as we tread ahead.

* * *

Relief settled in when we came to the clearing overlooking the cabin, but it was considerably less than the relief I felt when I realized that Walter was properly dressed for the 19th Century. He must have arrived at the cabin ready for action and I was impressed at how well he pulled it off. With many of the reenactors I knew, though great impressionists, I could always catch glimpses of their modern personas underneath the uniform or civilian wear. While Talan looked nervous in his alternate fittings, Walter looked just as natural as though he were standing there in his ketchup-red lace ups.

As soon as the cabin appeared in our sight, Walter asked abruptly, "What year are we in?"

I shifted nervously, knowing my answer was not a satisfying one. "I don't know, I'm thinking a year or two after 1854. But, really, we could be in any year after that."

Walter was silent and stared for a full minute at the clearing in front of us. He looked to have regained an air of normalcy in his demeanor.

The only sound was the rushing of the creek, by far more abundant and active than I had ever seen it in my years working at the museum. A small wagon and primitive, yet slightly intimidating pieces of farm equipment dotted the yard. The stick and mud chimney was issuing smoke from the tiny building's roof. Beyond, still fields awaited warmer climate for planting, and in view was a pen with a horse and the infamous mule. In the distance, low, droning mooing of cows could be made out over the noise of the flowing creek.

Frost had melted from the land and the earthy scent from the saturated, decaying leaves that plastered the ground gave a hint of spring to the air. Walter reached down and picked up a dead leaf from between his feet.

He held his find out. "Eighteen-hundreds leaf?"

Talan heaved a sigh. "Uh... Yeah, dude, eighteen-hundred’s leaf."

"Do you know what this means?" Walter, turned to us, his golden eye sparking with enthusiasm. "We need to find someone, anyone, to talk to… now!"

"Well, we kind of already have." I said meekly.

Walter let the leaf slip out of his fingers. "You – you've talked to people?"

I nodded.

Walter looked to Talan, who glared and replied, "Well, she's talked to people. They just tried to shoot me."

"They shot at you?"

Talan let out a curt sigh. "Didn't you listen to any of my story?"

But Walter's mind was already well down a path of thought as he bit his lip and his eyes narrowed. "What kind of gun was he using?"

Talan's eyes did a double take. "Your best friend almost gets shot." His eyebrows fell. "And your concern is the type of gun."

"Talan, no." Walter sighed, looked to the ground and thought for a moment before continuing. "We don't know what year we're in, or what decade for that matter. I'm just saying, there's a lot of ways we could find out, one being the make and type of gun being used out here by a civilian."

Talan paused then threw his arms forward in feigned assistance. "It was a gun!"

Walter gave him a look of surrender before turning to me. I cut down the rising frustration in my chest with the appreciation that Walter was trying to help our situation, though I knew my answer would be of no help. "I don't know, it was at night. Longer barrel, pistol. Middle to late 1800’s. I couldn't pinpoint a decade, though."

Walter's gaze didn't waver. "Most likely after 1850?"

"I think so."

"You people." Talan held up his hands, eyes wide, and took a few steps back. "Are insane!"

"Look." I stepped in between them to keep the argument from boiling over. "That doesn't matter. Like Walter says, there are lots of ways to find out when we are. We know the area… we know the local history… we have an idea about national history. Those are all good, happy points for us, but first things first." I clenched my hands together; my fingers felt like ice. "It's still really cold."

The air was not entirely as frigid as it had been the trip preceding this one. Fresh vegetation was beginning to sprout feebly on the ground and there wasn’t any ice clinging to the trees. Still, long-sleeved clothing was less than effective when soaking wet. The water plastering my hair to my head made me feel like I was wearing an icicle crown. Talan's face was red with cold, and he was shivering. Walter looked calm, but the pink on the tip of his nose and the wisps of smoke escaping his lips with each exhale gave away that he, too, was succumbing to the chill.

There was an awkward pause among the three of us then Walter said plainly, "I say we knock on the front door."

Another similar silence passed.

Walter shrugged his shoulders. "Think about it. The Merrill’s built this cabin to live in. At one point, they had four kids. Not to mention Gil and his fan club." Walter looked at us. "Perhaps someone will be home?"

Talan threw me a glance then stated, "It worked last time."

Walter gave him a look caught in between amazement and rage.

I intervened. "All right. Let's go see if anyone’s home."