Laura laughed quietly, then pulled away, still holding Meredith’s arms. “No one
should
ever talk that way, honey. But they do. They do.” She pulled Meredith’s left wrist close, inspecting it. Laura glanced over Meredith’s shoulder to Mr. Wan and Chen. “Mr. Wan, could you please fetch some ice?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll get ice for our little pugilist.”
He and Chen left through the kitchen’s swinging door.
Before she could censor herself, Meredith asked, “Why were you so polite? He’s a jackass.”
Laura softly giggled again. But soon enough her smile slid off. Seriousness composed her beautiful face. “Did I tell you I was born a slave, honey?”
Meredith’s heart stuttered and caved in with the knowledge. She shook her head.
“Oh, I wanted revenge and vengeance for all the things done wrong to me.” Laura glanced back down at Meredith’s swelling wrist. “I was so angry for so long. When I met Mr. Casper, I was angry. Almost too angry to see him. But what I would have missed if I had. We had our son, lovely boy he was. And I was real angry when he died. I let myself be angry for a long time after that. But then...” She glanced back up at Meredith, “I would have missed out on you, pretty miss that you are, always trying to fill my belly with your bread.”
“They’re your recipes.” Meredith smiled, although tears threatened to come.
“But you make it better than I.”
“No, I d—”
“Yes, you do. Now hush. Let me tell you, there is a time to be angry, and there is a time to let it go. There is a time to let jackasses go about their merry ways being jackasses. Please don’t tell Mr. Casper I said that.”
Meredith laughed. “Why? He’d agree.”
“Oh, I know, but he gets real excited when I use language such as that.”
Meredith chuckled even louder.
Soon enough though, Meredith couldn’t handle the camaraderie, the way both Mr. Wan and Laura doted on her. She didn’t deserve it. So she left with ice strapped on her wrist, holding her horse’s reins tightly and trying not to cry.
But she didn’t hold back when she crept into the cabin she’d woken in four months ago. She let the tears flow freely as she piled more wood in her kitchen’s stove. This little house was tiny, granted, but the open space—no distinction between kitchen, dining area, or bedroom—was invigorating. She had spun in her silly dancing circles throughout her small home without banging into any furniture, unlike her apartment in Cambridge. This place, her home now, was as sparse as a Shaker’s. And somehow, she’d come to like that. One large feather bed, one round oak table with two matching chairs, a pantry for all her baking needs, a little pump sink, and the stove she had come to love as much as if it were her Mac laptop, complete with her favorite apps. And on every side of the house were large thick greenish windows that made everything outside, even now in winter, look like Ireland in spring.
The greenish windows made things a bit cheerier, but nothing could soothe her now. Meredith had started to like the people of Plateau. Care about them. Oh, who was she kidding? She loved them. Even damned Mr. Matlock and his drunken ways.
But she was a vicious woman who shouldn’t make friends.
Besides, wouldn’t she be going back to her own time any day now?
Or was she trapped here?
Forever?
Meredith kept crying at that last thought. Not because she missed Cambridge, her job, or anything of her time. She’d burned too many bridges. In fact, after continually waking in the 1880s for more than a month, she’d been relieved.
Maybe that was why she was crying. This place made her happy.
And damn it, she shouldn’t be happy.
To help pass the time and not pace the floor madly, Meredith had started to learn how to bake. Well, first it had been how to make butter. For twelve years she’d craved butter. But being a modern woman, she’d done away with fats and carbs. The instant she arrived though, she wanted nothing but butter on warm bread. So she’d had to figure that out, and thanks to Laura she did. It had taken a lot of work, but she’d churned her own butter, then baked her own bread. After a few weeks of experimenting, the food Meredith prepared actually tasted good.
And so she’d eaten. A lot.
That was another reason why Sheriff Cameron wouldn’t think she was attractive, Meredith reminded herself as she unwound from the plaid keeping her warm, wiping the remnants of her tears from her cheeks. She had gained weight. Thank God she didn’t have her ubiquitous scales she’d had in Cambridge. Then she’d know how much weight she’d gained. And even though this was a different time where women were a little rounder than the praying mantis’s Meredith called super models, she felt...fat. And that felt horrible.
Although, this was the first time in her thirty-two years of life she had boobs. She had to admit that was nice. In her own time, she’d starved, and always thought herself concave when it came to her chest, but now she had these two lumps that kept getting in her way, even while wearing the damned corset.
Meredith huffed at her tightly bound chest, wondering yet again about Mr. Cameron...dreamy sheriff...lovely man...handsome man. Sure, he had scars on his face, but it had made him seem rugged. Wild. Sexy.
Meredith snorted again and rolled her watery eyes. Why think about a man when there was no shot in hell he’d ever think of her?
So why not eat again? Yes, that was always a good choice, even though baking and cooking were so much work. However, as the day turned into late afternoon, with the winter sun retiring early and showing shadows, she concocted a bacon, cheese, and egg quiche, fantasizing if Sheriff Cameron might like it.
She’d gotten down to her chemise, corset, and a big skirt, barefoot and all, and she’d still worked up a sweat in her hot little house with the stove baking the egg pie to a golden brown and now cooling on her table. That’s when something tumbled on her porch. Meredith jumped, holding a hand to her chest.
She laughed a little, walking over to one of the windows, thinking the noise was one of her adopted black kittens, Trick and Treat, who played in the barn. They were probably returning from a day of hunting, giving her mouse’s entrails and an ear as they liked to do.
“You spooked me, little ones,” Meredith said out loud, even though she was sure the kittens couldn’t hear her. That was another reason why Sheriff Cameron would turn tail from her, she had started to speak to herself. Even more than she ate. Yes, she was truly Mad Mere now.
Meredith placed a hand on the glass, the cool soaking into her too hot skin, and looked upon the frozen land. No snow yet, but bitterly cold. Normally, it would appear brown and stark, but through her window it was muted and looked like the promise of spring to come. One of the porch’s floorboard’s squeaked.
She turned in a flash, spying out the window behind her stove, close to where she stored the tub. A shadow passed. A large dark image.
Not at all a kitty. Not even two kitties.
Meredith’s breath quaked, and her hands again flew to her chest, as if trying to muffle the sound of her thundering heart. Then she saw him. A large man’s silhouette—a bowler-style hat with a long duster crept along the window. Then his back pressed against the glass.
She recognized her opportunity. He wasn’t watching her. She could run. The barn was on the opposite side of the man. Just run to the barn, fetch the horse, and run. Run. Run. Damn it, run!
Then she did.
A
s
Jake supped with Laura and Tom, he reflected upon the day. It had been good, which utterly surprised him. He’d met many of the miners, the foremen, the transporting wagoneers, and gotten to know how Plateau ran. Six days of the week, the miners began work at about six in the morning and finished when it got dark, which, this time of year, was earlier and earlier. It was nearly dark already and hardly five in the evening.
There hadn’t been any fighting today, which ironically enough was Boxing Day. But only Jake seemed to know the name of the day, which had nothing to do with fighting actually. Being Scottish, he guessed Boxing Day was more a British tradition than anything anyone in Plateau might follow.
Still, Jake had borne witness to a simmering resentment between the miners. The two peoples segregated themselves from each other, tension palpable from their suspicious glances.
Interestingly, most of the wagoneers were black men, who got along well with the Slavic and Finnish groups. When the blue-eyed man had first whisked Jake away to treat his smallpox in the strangest hospital Jake had ever seen, let alone been in, he’d given him a book to read about the history since the seventeenth century. He’d been fascinated with the neutrality Switzerland declared in the early nineteenth century, always wondering how a country could do such a thing—not pick a side. But while watching the wagoneers, who just wanted to do their job with as little trouble as possible, Jake understood a little better Switzerland’s stance. Besides, although he didn’t want to demean either Slavic or Finnish culture, he had no clue where the animosity came from. And wasn’t that the way most wars began—who knew why the hostility had erupted? But there it was.
His new employer, Tom, seemed like a kind man, decent. When was the last time Jake had been around truly decent folks, he wondered, as he sat with Tom and Laura for dinner?
With a pang straight through his chest, he thought of his brothers. How he missed them. Missed the constant jests, the laughing, and being close to people he knew.
It had happened so fast and in such a blur—becoming a prisoner of war, then shipped down to the Virginia colony, sold to a rich Rice King, who sent them even farther south with the intent to be worked to death, it had seemed. Jake had thought he’d worked hard as a lad, farming, but nothing compared to the twenty-hour days tending to the mosquito-infested rice fields in the sweltering heat of what was now called South Carolina. After his brother, Michael, had been whipped and nearly beaten to death for giving water to the black man next to them while they’d been sowing, Jake had had enough. Carrying Michael on his back, he and Thomas had made their escape with other slaves and servants. The Yamasee tribe, promising to protect him and his brothers, had rescued them.
Lord, he’d never been more grateful. Then shortly after, he’d contracted smallpox. He’d thought he was dying from it. Vaguely, he remembered hearing his brothers whisper about the others dying within the village. Then the healer placed him in a sweat lodge with other sufferers. His brothers had carried him out again, forcing water down his throat. The healer was there one minute, praying for a cure for him, for all the dying. And all he remembered was how thankful he was to be included. Wasn’t that odd? But that was his sentiments. He’d been so appreciative for the prayers, for the care, all the while knowing he was about to die. But he’d die in peace with his brothers close. And that was all right with him.
Then the blond man with icy blue eyes materialized. Jake never could call him Odin. That would be insane; although, the whole matter was maddening. Some people had screamed. Thomas had tried to wrestle him, especially when the blue-eyed man had picked up Jake. But the man calling himself Odin easily threw Thomas to the ground. All the while, Jake had thought the blue-eyed man was death taking him. And he’d been so tired of fighting for life, he’d submitted. But then he’d woken, tucked into a bed, a needle stuck in his arm, another into his hand, some tubes attached to the needles. And everything was so white, so bright. Fevered, he could only open his eyes for a few seconds, and the too brilliant illumination stung every time he’d flicker his lids a little. The blue-eyed man was in the room, smiling at him, telling him he’d survive. The nurses spoke a language he’d never heard before and wore gigantic crackling yellow suits over their whole bodies. The blue-eyed man explained that to treat Jake, he’d had to take him to Yugoslavia in 1972, the last known outbreak of smallpox in Europe.
When he was better, and Jake had even learned a few phrases of Yugoslavian, the blue-eyed man had returned. In another whirl of time, he was in the Arkansas territory, 1886. The blue-eyed man had given him a piece of newspaper from the future, telling him he had to wait a few months, but then to get himself to the Montana Territory by September. Hell, Jake was as weak as a hundred year-old man and could hardly support himself upright. He’d had to go to another hospital, which had accumulated in Jake becoming massively in debt within a matter of a couple weeks. Paying off that bill had taken months of time, then he’d finally gone to work for the railway, thinking it was good money. It was indecent money, that’s why it was so good. After fighting with his employers, getting himself shot in the process, the blue-eyed man appeared again to take him to yet another hospital. This one, he told Jake, was in the year 2014 in Los Angeles, California, where they were a little more used to treating gunshot wounds.
When Jake regained consciousness, hoping to God the blue-eyed man would just leave him the hell alone, there were two detectives wanting to know how he’d gotten shot. Of course, the blue-eyed man appeared, and Jake had disappeared. To be fair, the blue-eyed man had apologized for not taking him on a direct route to where he thought Jake ought to be, saying mayhap there was more to time traveling with mortals than he’d anticipated. Jake had slugged him across the jaw, which the blue-eyed man recovered from all too quickly and then laughed. Not in a patronizing way, but had laughed all the same. The bizarre time-traveling man had promised him he’d landed Jake in the right time, the right place—Montana in 1887. He just had to travel to Plateau and get himself the job as the sheriff.
Jake wondered, as he always did, just how the hell he was ever going to get back, he pondered if he ever would. Mayhap this age was meant for him, for him to do something, for him to discover...ach, who knew.
“You sure you don’t have a hollow leg?” Tom asked for the hundredth time.
The dining room had been full of men, all black-smeared miners, and two women. Now though, there were only a few men sitting in a corner table, playing cards with a small bottle of whisky between them. It surprised Jake how little alcohol the miners consumed.
Laura softly giggled while sipping her tea or coffee, Jake couldn’t quite tell what it was. She shook her head. “Leave him be. He likes to eat.”
Jake gave her a quick grin, then returned to the roasted meat and potatoes. If he weren’t such a shy man, he’d personally thank Mr. Wan for the food. Mayhap he’d have to deny himself the luxury of his sheepishness and show his gratitude for having real food in his belly. In Arkansas Jake had had to make do with beans and that was about it. He wasn’t too sure if he’d ever eat a pinto again, he was so sick of them.
“How’s Mr. Matlock?” Laura asked.
Jake had made sure to check on the drunk inmate, giving him a dish of the roasted meat, but Mr. Matlock vomited into a bucket and only required water. And a lot of it.
“Not feeling well, but tried to apologize for what he’d said.”
Laura nodded. “When he’s not in his spirits, he’s actually quite nice. Educated, I would guess. Like Meredith.”
“Meredith’s educated? Er, Miss Peabody. That is, Mrs. Peabody.” The words had shot out of Jake’s mouth too fast, and he bit his tongue, wishing he didn’t sound so damned eager for any morsel of information about the bonny elf woman. He still had yet to find out if she was married or not.
Laura kept nodding. “
Miss
Peabody. And I never met a person more knowledgeable. When she first came here, she begged for books. Had to go to Great Falls all the time to check out books. But seeing as how it’s so cold, and one never knows when a blizzard is coming, she’s stuck here. Probably going a little mad without her books.” Laura’s eyes widened. “I mean, she’s not mad. Not at all.” She shook her head a bit maniacally.
Tom coughed, pursing his lips until white lines showed around his mouth. Jake pieced together their puzzle. As much as Laura protested Meredith’s insanity, it was obvious she had doubts. As did Tom. For some reason, Jake had no doubts, though he’d spent only a few minutes with the woman.
“She’s—how to put it?—she’s not insane,” Tom said with a laugh.
“No. Heavens, no.”
Jake wondered if Laura might shake her head off, her movements turning frantic.
“She’s just...” Tom wiped his mouth with his white cloth napkin. “She...”
“Being that educated
and
being a woman,” Laura spoke quickly, “I’d bet she feels, you know, like an outsider. That’s all.”
“Like she might feel as if she were from another time,” Tom added.
Jake instantly stilled at those words, his fork full of savory meat dangling in the air.
From another time.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, was Meredith from another time? Like him?
Laura smacked her husband’s arm playfully, but Jake saw her lips pursed in a quick frown that disappeared as she spoke. “I’d bet she craves for a time when she could be around other well-learned people, women.”
“Ah, honey, you’re real knowledgeable.” Tom swung a huge arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze.
Laura brightly smiled at her husband, patting his chest a few times, but then turned toward Jake. “She knows things about the past, like the politics of the constitution and such. Fascinating. Maybe you’d like to talk to her some about that?”
Jake nodded absentmindedly.
What if Meredith was like him? A lost time traveler?
He lowered his fork, no longer hungry. His stomach was a mass of knots like fishermen’s nets tangled on the shore. He knew what that looked like. He missed the North Sea, the coast of water close to his hometown of Durness, so much his bones hurt with the thought.
However, the consideration that Meredith was like him overpowered any other sentiment. He’d been so lonely this last year. So alone. To be around another who felt similarly...it would be powerful salve, he thought.
As if his contemplations summoned her, suddenly running into the dining room of the Stop was Meredith. Only, at first Jake wondered if he imagined her dressed with—well, she wasn’t dressed. She was in her skivvies—a white shift, light blue corset, and a dark gray petticoat. Her tiny pink toes looked near frozen, and her nose had turned a bright red.
Laura shot from her chair. “Oh, Lord.”
“I—I—” Meredith stuttered.
Laura wrapped her arms around Meredith as Jake and Tom stood, not too sure what to do.
“Meredith, what are you doing without your dress on?” Laura’s tone was close to reprimanding.
The way Meredith turned to Laura with such despair, such panic, Jake wasn’t too sure if he should shove aside all social protocols and hold her in his arms. Meredith’s eyes, already so huge, were round and wide. And they were purple. A light purple he’d never seen before.
“There’s—there’s a man on my porch.”
“What’s that she said?” Tom asked, seeming to notice the men in the corner staring at Meredith.
“Go get a blanket, Tom,” Laura ordered.
Tom started to move, but stalled staring at Meredith.
“There’s a man on my porch,” Meredith repeated.
“Honey, you’re nearly frozen through. What on earth goes through your mind?”
Jake was taken aback that Laura had to ask. There was some man on Meredith’s porch. She was scared. Petrified. Obviously. That’s what had gone through her mind.
“Do you know the man?” Jake asked quietly, calmly.
Meredith shook her head, still in Laura’s arms.
“Oh, sweet woman, are you
sure
you saw what you say you saw?”
Now Jake was angry. What the hell? There was a man on Meredith’s porch who had scared the living daylights out of the woman. Were the people of Plateau that bad at addressing criminals in their town?
Well, he wasn’t.
“Where’s your home, Meredith?” He tried to temper his voice, sound as gentle as possible.
Meredith swallowed and opened her mouth.
“Now,” Laura spoke before Meredith could, “honey, you sure you saw a man? On your porch?”
Meredith nodded, slowly leveraging herself away from Laura’s arms.
“You sure?” Laura asked again, adding even more fire in Jake’s veins.
Damnation, this was a terrible way to treat the terrified woman, making her second guess herself.
Meredith finally freed herself from Laura. Her panic quickly dissolved into a frown of bone-crushing sadness. Jake couldn’t handle her lips turned down the way they were.
As fast as he could, he wrapped Meredith in his coat, holding the lapels closed over her lusciously curved body. “Meredith, where do you live? Let me catch the man on your porch.”