I insisted on walking on my own, unaided, down the two steps. The kitchen garden was in the early stages of growth and had not fruited. There were neat rows of what appeared to be cucumber and cauliflower. Their leaves gave them away. Cabbages were in tight balls with large leaves tucked away to one side. Asparagus tips protruded from mounds. The earthy smell of a compost pile brought my attention to the steaming pile off to the side. It looked as though it was ready to be turned.
Last year, I had kept a small garden where I grew tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, various herbs, and a pumpkin vine that seemed to take over the entire yard, but only produced four pumpkins. My tomatoes would grow taller than I could reach and produced more than I knew what to do with. Sometimes, I would dry them in my oven for my version of sun-dried tomatoes, or give them to neighbors, toss them in salads, or make a delicious sauce. Squash bugs continued to decimate my zucchini plants year-after-year, but I continued to grow them. I transplanted seedlings into the garden before my trip, set up the timer to water the plants, and now I was not sure if I was ever going to see my plants.
I laughed. “This was not the type of garden I had expected. It's lovely and reminds me of home, but it was definitely not what I had expected.”
He walked with his hands clasped behind his back. “Where is home?” Spencer glanced down at me.
Six-foot, I thought as I looked up to meet his glance. I was not sure how to answer. I had a husband and a daughter; they were my home no matter where in the world we had lived. With my husband dead and daughter away at college, all I had was myself and a house. I had to make it my home again, even without them. My house was near Fredericksburg, Virginia, but that was two hundred sixty-five years in the future. My house did not exist in 1754. I shouldn't exist in 1754. That was one of those times where telling the truth would be difficult, but I needed to tell him something. “I am not sure how to answer that question.”
“With the truth would be sufficient. I thought it was quite simple. If you knew where your home was, mayhap we can get you back to it.” His eyes searched my face for the truth. Or was it the lies?
“I do not believe you could get me home. My husband is dead, my daughter is away, and my house does not exist. I have nowhere to go. Even if I had a home to go to, Jumonville would ensure my capture or death.” I twisted my wedding ring around my finger. It was loose and spun easily around. I looked off into the distance, as if I could look hard enough and see my house–two hundred sixty-five years in the future. “Look, I know my circumstances are unusual. I cannot go into too many details, but I am telling the truth.” The feeling of doubt hung heavy in the air between us.
“What do you have that Jumonville finds so valuable that he cannot risk it getting into someone else's hands? The only thing we found on you that could have been of any value was your ring and the empty satchel.” Captain Spencer stopped and stared at me. Sweat began to trickle down my back. It was either from the warm sun or the level of interrogation. The way my body told me to run away from there, it was the interrogation that made me sweat. “Neither one of those items would seem to be for him to kill you over. Did you get that ring from him?”
I looked down at my wedding ring–a thin, simple gold band. Of course, he would think that I was in bed with the enemy. We had walked around the perimeter of the garden, down over to the stable. A tornado of flies swirled around a pile of horse dung. I turned to walk towards the house before they picked me up and carried me away.
“No. My late husband gave it to me. It was my wedding ring. The only thing Jumonville ever gave was orders to Bouchard to give me bruises and split lips.” I huffed through my nose. “I'm feeling tired. I really should go back to bed.” I wanted to cry but was unwilling to do it in front of Captain Spencer. What I really wanted was to go home. 1754 was turning out to be a miserable adventure.
“I know there is more that you are not telling me. You may be under my watch, and I have no intention of abusing you in the same way as Sieur de Jumonville…”
I interrupted. “He doesn’t deserve your respect. He certainly doesn’t have mine. Call him Jumonville or whatever you want. I’ll call him a narcissistic jerk.” Captain Spencer had continued to use the “Sieur”, which seemed to give Jumonville a level of respect he didn’t deserve. It irritated me to the end of the earth and back. My stomached clenched when I thought of Jumonville or Bouchard.
“Very well.” He nodded towards me. “I have no intention of abusing you like Jumonville and Bouchard, but do not confuse my kindness with weakness.” He waved his hand out in an “after you” gesture. “We will continue our conversation later, after you rested.”
We made our way back into the house in silence. I wanted to run away from there, but I hadn't the energy to walk more than a half hour on my own, let alone escape. It did not seem to matter who I was with; I was in a constant state of looking for ways to escape. I could let no one know I was from the future. I was not sure if I had already impacted the past—butterfly effect, and all that—but whatever happened, I needed to make sure that Jumonville couldn't use the information in my notebook and kill Washington. He kept the information a secret from everyone, including Bouchard. At least, Bouchard never let on that he knew anything about the notebook. He was the muscle between the two of them. Jumonville didn’t want to get his hands dirty. Bouchard was more than happy to raise his fists to me. I was unsure of Jumonville’s game plan. I knew I needed to think through the information that was in the book and what was coming next. He had to be stopped. My mission was to save George Washington.
“What happened to Private MacDonald? I haven’t seen or heard from him since I woke up.” My measured steps kept the pace slow.
“I had him meet up with the Ensign Ward and the detachment. The day I met up with you and MacDonald leaving the fort, I was to arrive and take temporary command. You will have to tell me what had happened to you and how you came to know about the impending attack.”
“We'll save that sob story for another time. For now, I just want to know where we are headed a from here?” Save Washington from your mistake at all costs.
Captain Spencer stopped in his tracks. “Are you sure you're not a spy?”
“I'm certainly not a spy.” I looked back at Captain Spencer and gave him a smile. I was not sure if he thought I was flirting, lying, telling the truth, or some version in between. Unfortunately, I needed his help to get my notebook back, so if I needed to play the flirt-game, then that is what I would have to do. Flirting was not my style, but if it was the means to my desired end, then I would have to do it. It made me feel cheap. I straightened up my back and looked ahead. I had to maintain my senses and not let down my defense. I had to stay hardened to any emotion for the couple of weeks, and as much as I tried to keep the truth from Captain Spencer, he seemed like he could be an ally. I had to figure out how to manipulate him in order to get what I needed. Get ahold of yourself, Murray.
“I hear you say that, but it seems you are holding back the truth,” he said as we approached the house. My battered and bruised body had enough excitement for the day, and it was only mid-afternoon.
The smell of food cooking filled the air as we entered the house. My stomach insisted I find my way to the kitchen. “How long will it take us to get to Wills Creek?”
“It will take a week, give, or take. Will you be able to travel for that distance?”
“If you had any idea of the distance I have traveled to be here,” I had to stop myself from saying more. I started to come to terms with the idea of traveling two hundred sixty-five years into the past, but surely no one else would be able to understand. If it had not happened to me, I would have never believed it to be possible. I had to figure out why I was sent back to 1754 and how I was going to get back to my time. But first, get the notebook out of Jumonville’s clutches.