Look, did I break any of your bones? she demanded.
I dont think so, he said.
So what the hell was she supposed to do now? He had to be bruised and in pain. She couldnt leave him on the snow-laden, icy road.
Mark would have told her to get in the car as quickly as possible. He might have picked the guy up, but only to drop him at the nearest police station. If hed been with her, hed never let her try to help the man. Hed be instantly convinced the guy was a serial killer.
Mark wasnt with her.
And she made her own choices. And that, to her, was important. She wasnt against accepting advice, but as far as her life went, she had to make her own choices.
So here, she had a choice.
What to do?
He didnt look like a serial killer. Then again, was there an actual look? Was there a stereotype, were they blond like Swedes, dark and romantic like Italians or Spaniards. Did they dress up in colonial costume?
Lets get out of the snow, she said. She started walking. He followed her.
You have no horses, he said.
Its a car, she said. It has an engine, a battery pistons. I dont know, Im not a mechanic, I have the oil checked and leave it with the Ford people.
The Ford people? he asked.
She gritted her teeth. Stop it! Enough. You look great. I dont own or manage any of the historical museums around here. You dont need to keep up the act.
He stopped short, looking at her with indignation again. He stood very straight, and he was handsome and imposing, like a hero out of an adventure book. My dear young woman, I assure you, I am not performing in any manner. I dont know where I am, nor do I understand this fascinating mode of transportation you refer to as a car. I His voice trailed off. He staggered forward, his knees buckling. She caught him, and he regained some of his strength, coming back to a full stand, but still leaning upon her. Im so sorry, he said.
If he was acting, his work was worthy of an Academy Award. Melody was afraid she had managed to give him a good clip to the head with the front bumper, and that he was suffering some kind of dementia because of it.
Lets get to the car, and hope that I can get us out of this snowbank. My cell phone isnt working.
Your cell phone? he said.
Oh, God! she groaned. Never mind. Let me just get you home.
She managed to get him to the car, she climbed in across the passenger seat.
He jumped as she revved the engine.
Its all right, thats the engine, she said. Please, just get in, and fasten your seat belt. Before he could ask, she added, The harness, right here. It saves lives, trust me.
He got in and, with her assistance, put on the seat belt.
She forced herself to move slowly, patiently, and she managed to back out of the snowbank. Cautiously, she began to drive on the road again.
Unbelievable! he murmured.
She shook her head. Okay, you dont know where you are. But where were you before I hit you?
He stared at her. His handsome features knit in thought, and then confusion.
New York, he told her. I was standing on the gallows, a rope around my neck.
Great! He was crazy. He was a homeless lunatic.
Either that, or hed somehow hit his head really hard when shed struck him.
She narrowed her eyes, staring very carefully at the road, wondering if she hadnt completely lost her mind. She had picked up a madman.
I dont want to know what part you were playing, she said, trying to keep her tone even. I need to know who you really are, and what you really do.
Well, in actuality, I write, he said.
Great. Very good. Who do you write for? Were you involved in a publicity stunt? she inquired. Talking to him was like pulling teeth.
A publicity stunt? he inquired, confused. He had been staring out the window, perplexed. He turned and stared at her instead, handsome features furrowed.
She shook her head. A publicity stunt. Something to draw the attention of the media. Something to get your name in the papers.
My name is in the papers, he said.
Okay. Good start. What is your name?
Jake Mallory, he said.
She shook her head. Ive never heard of you.
No? He looked resigned and a little saddened. Ive written for the Boston papers and the New York City papers.
And I read the papers. Ive never heard of you. So, what do you write?
Treasonaccording to the British. Well, actually, I havent written in quite some time. I wound up being a soldier. I went to war, but I was being hanged for treason.
What war? she asked sharply.
You should have read a few of my pieces. Some were considered brilliant. Rousing. Im not a warmonger, not at all. But the colonies couldnt be used like a Royal Exchequer forever. If were to pay taxes, then representation must be absolutely fair. I tried to explain what was happening to us, and why its so important that we part ways with Great Britain. I wrote about a central government, and about the rights of each colony. Even General George Washington read what I was writing.
Lunatic.
Okay, she said calmly. Soyou were a soldier in the Revolutionary War. Right before I found you on the road?
Right before you struck me down, he reminded her.
So that was it. In a sneaking and conniving way, he was going to bleed her for what she had done to him.
Right before I struck you down, yes. You were a soldier. In the Revolutionary War?
His eyes hadnt wavered from her face. She was making a point of keeping them on the road now, but her peripheral vision allowed her to be keenly aware of his steady assessment.
Yes. Where am I?
Gloucester, Massachusetts, she snapped. Almost at my house. But I can take a detour to the police station or the mental hospital.
Im very sorry. Truly. I didnt mean to offend you, he said.
Fine. Well start over. What were you doing in the twenty-first century? she demanded.
The twenty-first? he asked her.
She let out a long sigh. Yes, the twenty-first.
Who won? he asked.
She was startled by the sudden intensity in him; she didnt just hear it in his voice, but felt it in the constriction of his body as he leaned closer to her.
Who won? he demanded again. He was even closer. Practically breathing down her neck.
Lunatic. Serial killer. A madmanserial killer. She needed to humor him.
The United States of America. And the federal forces won the Civil War, too.
He hunched back into the passengers seat. Thank God. Civil War?
The American Civil War, or the War Between the States, or, as it was referred to in the South, the War of Northern Aggression. We are one country.
He stared out the window at the white world beyond the car. How sad, how excruciatingly sad. We won the Revolution, and fought a civil war.
He stared out the window at the white world beyond the car. How sad, how excruciatingly sad. We won the Revolution, and fought a civil war.
All war is sad.
And there is a war now? he asked sharply.
She hazarded a glance at him. The War on Terror, she said. Oh, there have been lots of wars. Before the Civil War, the War of 1812those pesky Brits again, though were just like this now. She crossed her fingers for him with her right hand, keeping the left firmly on the wheel. Spanish-American War, World War I, World War II, the Korean War, Vietnam, Desert Storm, and all kinds of actions. Actually, I dont think there has been a time when some part of the world hasnt been involved in an action of some kind.
Amazing, he said.
Right. War is amazing.
Mans inability to refrain from it is amazing, he said softly.
She couldnt hate him. Okay, so he was seriously more than just daft. There was a dignity to the tone of his voice, and a certain sincerity in too many of his words. Maybe she had hit him on the head, and he believed everything that he was saying to her.
And itsChristmastide? he asked.
Nearly. At the end of the week.
He nodded. Rose petals.
What?
He half smiled, glancing over at her. Do you believe in magic?
No.
Neither did I.
Look, I really dont know what youre talking about. But I dont want to have to take you to the police. You may be hurt. But my mom was a nurse. She retired recently but she can take a look at you. I mean, seriously, if I have injured you, Id want to pay the bills. Butwow, I dont know. You should really go to a hospital
Please, no. Im not injured.
She should dump him by the side of the road then.
It occurred to her that while Mark would order her to do that kind of thing, her brother would never consider such an action.
Where did she stand herself?
So, Im going to take you home with me. I dont know who you are, if youre crazy, or whether you sustained a blow to the head. Im going to have faith that youre not a dangerous maniac.
Im not a dangerous maniac, I swear.
God help me, Im going to believe you. But there are a couple of things youre going to have to get straight first, she said firmly.
Honestly, Im just trying to get home, he assured her.
So where is home?
Gloucester, he said.
Fine. I can just drop you off.
I have to find out where, he told her. And Im not so sure I can get there bycar.
Great. You can walk, skip or jump, once youve gotten it figured out, she said. But until then, youre a friend of mine. We met at college.
You went to college? he asked her, fascinated.
Yes, I went to college, she said flatly. So
Where?
Boston College. Thats where we met.
Boston College, he repeated.
Will you listen, please? This is important.
Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you wish.
Well make you aan English lit major. And your tremendous interest in local history and lore made you go to work for one of the tour companies. Thats why youre still dressed up à la General George.
Dressed up?
This was ridiculously difficult. You are wearing old-fashioned clothing. Its no matter, I can rummage through my brothers things, and my brother is the type who would literally give anyone the shirt off his back, so were fine on that. The traffic was horrendous, I was desperate to get headed north, so I wouldnt let you go back for your things.
He was staring straight ahead. She realized that she had come around the curve that led to her house. She was about to take the turn onto the driveway.
Jake, are you listening to me? she demanded, trying to slow the car without doing any more skidding.
My God, he breathed.
What?
The lights.
Of course, it had to be the lights.
Her mother definitely got carried away with lights. The house looked like a giant birthday cake with candles in a multitude of colors. There were reindeer on the lawnfashioned in wire and covered in lights as wellthat burned brilliantly, as well.
Even the old oaks laden in their snow blankets seemed to be glistening. Ablaze.
It was a warm house, a welcoming house. It.
Its my home, Jake said. Its my house. Where I live.
Chapter Two
Okay, that was all she needed.
The mental-man thought that her house was his.
She inhaled deeply. Okay, okay, I hit you on the head really hard. But you cant go in there telling my folks that this is your house.
He was staring at the lights. It was as if he had never seen such a vision.
Well, to be truthful, not many people had. Her folks did get carried away.
Jake.
Um, yes! Sorry.
He looked at her again. His eyes gave the impression that he was entirely sane, completely honest, and giving her his steadfast attention. She felt a little start. Something that tightened and trembled within her.
Why did he have to be a madman?
They were striking eyes. They made him something other than just a handsome man. They made him real. Deep and hazel, and seeing her, really seeing her.
Jake, whatever happened before in your fantasy world, trust me. My folks own this home. They paid off the mortgage several years ago. They worked hard, they love itand they own it.
Of course.
Youre not ready for this, she said worriedly.
He had turned to stare at all the lights again in pure wonder. How do the lights work? he marveled.
Electricity. Your buddy, Ben Franklin, laid all the foundations. Hundreds of years later, I think Thomas Edison got it all really going, and hey, now were in the age of real technologyyou cannot stare at everything like a kid in a candy store!
He looked at her. Im sorry. But its just wonderful. The colors, the brilliance! So very, very beautiful. Ben always was a genius.
Yes, of course. There have been a few improvements, she said dryly. Oh, this was going to be a disaster. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and groaned. What am I going to do?
He waited. My dear young woman, it will be all right. He smiled.
She gave him a fierce stare. Listen, we cant tell my family the truth or they will take you to the nearest hospital. Lets say we know each other for nowuntil I can figure out what to do. Soo We met at college. Youre an historian, okay? You dress up and give people tours.
All right. Tours of what? he inquired.
UmBoston. You work for Boston Tours, Incorporated. All right?
Boston Tours, Incorporated. Yes, I understand.
He still stared at her.
She shook her head. Just follow my lead. And dont gape at anything thatsthats not familiar to you in your, um, current state of mind.
He smiled, but his eyes were grave, as was his tone. You must understand. I was hanged during the Revolution.