Journeyman Read online

  He closed the door of the barn behind him, then thought better of it and opened it slightly for the dog. He walked to the house and knocked. He turned while on the porch and was reminded of the green leaves, but before he could think about it, the youngest boy, Jonathan, answered. Both Mary and Thomas stood in the entryway dressed for church. Matt knew as soon as he saw them that his clothes wouldn’t be appropriate. Mary was in a long pale dress with a bonnet and Thomas looked like one of George Washington’s colonial soldiers. All he needed was a wig and a triangle hat. Matt had to keep from laughing at his black shoes and stockings, wondering again what kind of religion required them to live such antiquated lives, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “I’m ready for church,” Matt said tentatively.

  Mary and Thomas inspected him with some scrutiny, but didn’t say anything. Grace, who had quietly walked into the room, had no problem vocalizing their opinions. “He can’t go thus!” she exclaimed. Grace too was wearing a colonial dress with white ribbons that matched those in her hair. Matt imagined her as one of the Southern belles of old.

  Mary spoke to Thomas. “Will’s clothes may fit him.” Thomas nodded and Mary motioned for Matt to follow her up the steps. At the end of a hallway with a number of bedroom doors, Mary opened the last door onto a room containing a narrow bed and a wooden wardrobe. A cloudy glass window flooded the room with light. Mary stepped to the wardrobe, opened the doors, thought for a moment, and pulled out a coarse white shirt, a blue vest, a blue jacket, and a pair of short grey pants, and laid them on the bed. She seemed deep in thought and didn’t move for a long time, then went back to the wardrobe and pulled out long socks. She reached under the bed for black shoes. They were dusty, so she found a cloth to wipe them. “These may fit,” she said. “They were always too large for Will.”

  “Who’s Will?” Matt asked.

  “My son. He lives in town.” She had a hint of pride in her voice. “Try the clothes. You’re welcome to some of the others if these aren’t appropriate.” She lingered for a moment and then left, closing the door behind her.

  Matt scrutinized the outfit. This would be something to tell his friends when he went home. He pulled the socks on, then the long woolen shorts, which went past his knees and covered up the ends of his socks. He buttoned the bottoms of the shorts so they would stay in place. He put the shirt on and tucked it in around his waist, then walked to the bed and sat down to examine the shoes. They were black with a silver buckle, like something the pilgrims wore during the first Thanksgiving. His feet slipped easily into them, and he reached down and fastened the buckle. After this came the vest, over which he buttoned the jacket. He ran his hands over the clothing to smooth it and then placed his own clothes in a bundle near his pack. He sniffed the air, noticing that he now smelled like the oiled wood from the wardrobe.

  Matt pulled his phone from his pack and looked for service, but there were still no bars. He propped it up on the wardrobe and began to shoot a video to record his latest adventure. “I don’t have phone service right now,” he said to the phone, “but as soon as I do you guys are going to die laughing. I got mixed up with some religious people. They dress in old-time clothes for church. I’ll take some pictures when I’m there.” Then he added, “And you always wonder what I do on my hiking trips.” Matt was sure he finally had something to beat his “being chased up a tree by a bear” story. He slipped the phone into the pocket of this jacket.

  As he was walking out of the room, he thought twice, went to his pack and unzipped the side pocket of his shaving kit where he kept his watch. He was surprised to see that his ring was there from his last trip home to see his father. It was a fourteen-karat-gold monstrosity with a ruby-red stone and four diamonds. He put them both on and stood there for a moment, watching them sparkle in the sun that seeped through the windows before walking downstairs to join the Taylors.

  “The clothes fit,” exclaimed Mary, proud of her selections.

  “Now you’re dressed to worship the Lord,” Thomas pronounced. He turned and led them all out the door. There was already a wagon in front of the house hooked up to two black mares. “These are two of Shadow’s offspring,” Thomas said. “We’ll show them in town after church.” Thomas lingered as he rubbed one of the horses on the neck. They were identical, muscular and beautiful, with rich red-black coats that shimmered in the morning light. The horses had perfectly proportioned white socks on all four legs that contrasted dramatically with their coats.

  Jonathan hopped into the wagon first and Matt sat next to him on the bench. Grace and Mary took seats immediately in front of them and proceeded to adjust their dresses so they didn’t pull their shoulders down as they sat. Thomas and Jeb got up into the front seat. Thomas slapped the reins and the wagon jerked forward.

  They drove about twenty minutes along a dirt road. The green leaves on the trees were now too obvious for Matt to ignore, so he spoke. “The leaves are green.”

  “We’ve had a lot of rain,” Thomas replied. “Not like last year when they were brittle from drought.”

  “I mean for this time of year,” Matt said. “They should be falling.”

  “Are they falling already in Philadelphia?” Jonathan asked.

  “Of course they are,” Matt said. The boy gave him a strange stare.

  They approached a town filled with wooden buildings. Matt could see a white church steeple. A bell rang in the distance with a regular rhythm, getting louder as they approached. From the outskirts, the town resembled one of those Wild West towns in the Midwest that they build for tourists. There was a whitewashed tower with a name that Matt couldn’t read, so he tapped Jonathan’s shoulder and pointed. “What town is this?”

  “Richmond,” Jonathan replied.

  “Like Richmond, Virginia?”

  “Yes, Richmond.”

  They pulled up to the church through the split rail fence into a clearing in the yard. Other teams of horses came in through the eastern gate of the churchyard. The wagons were various shapes and sizes, some being led by up to four animals. Thomas stopped their vehicle as they came around to the front of the church and both he and Jeb hopped out to help the women down. There was another round of dress smoothing and setting everything in place. Matt saw Jonathan step over the side of the wagon and he followed him to the ground.

  Thomas asked Jeb, “Can you handle them yourself?” Jeb nodded and jumped up onto the wagon, shook the reins, and proceeded to move it to where the others parked at the side of the church. This makeshift parking lot, relatively empty when they arrived, was rapidly filling with many types of wagons and buggies.

  Jeb finally appeared from a group of people who had gathered around the vehicles. These people all seemed to be staying with the horses. They were black and Matt immediately felt that something was odd about this. He looked around at the people entering the church. There were many types, most elaborately dressed, but they had one thing in common: all were white. He looked over at the wagons and tapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “What about those people?” He pointed. “When do they go into church?”

  “They have a separate church,” the boy replied matter-of-factly.

  “Are they a different religion?” Matt asked.

  “They’re Christian,” the boy said.

  Matt pressed. “Why don’t they go to this church?”

  The boy frowned. “Slaves are kept outside.”

  Matt knew he had misheard. “Say that again.”

  “The church people have rules,” the boy said, louder this time.

  “Did you say slaves?”

  “You can’t just let slaves enter the church!” the boy exclaimed.

  Matt looked around and it all came together for him. The green leaves, the people, wagons, buildings, even the Taylor family—all were pieces of the same puzzle.

  “Another question,” Matt said, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

  “Sure, Mr. Miller.”

  “What year is it?”
>
  “It’s seventeen hundred and sixty-two.” The boy said it in a singsong fashion, as if he had practiced it before.

  “Did you say seventeen sixty-two?”

  “Seventeen hundred and sixty-two,” the boy corrected.

  6

  Toothpaste, Part III

  “So what’s the latest?” Colonel Gabriel asked. The physicists were having their first meeting since receiving instructions from Jane Schaefer to disassemble the Chernenko-Einstein reactor.

  “We found a connection between the people and the tower,” Brian Palmer said. “The particle stream formed between the signals from their quantum phones as it made its way to the cell tower.”

  “How’d you figure this out?” Gabriel asked.

  “They went through my phone first,” Palmer replied. “It seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

  Jacob Cromwell smoothed the red hair from his face and spoke. “We believe there was another person,” he said.

  “A fourth?” exclaimed Gabriel.

  “We did a high-resolution analysis of the particle path,” Cromwell explained. “It changed slightly between here and the tower. There was another phone near Clingmans. Probably a hiker.”

  “A hiker?”

  “A missing person report was filed for someone named Matthew Miller,” Cromwell replied. “He was hiking the Appalachian Trail.”

  “Let’s focus on him for now,” Gabriel said. “How do we get him back?”

  “We’re working on that,” Cromwell replied. “We think we figured out a way to contact him.”

  “Send him a note through a wormhole?” Gabriel said.

  “Better,” Cromwell replied. “We can send him a text.”

  7

  Biding Time

  Matt’s thoughts raced. He looked around for an escape route, but he had already made the mistake of moving with the Taylors into their church box, where they were followed by what had to be the most portly family in Richmond. Unless Matt wanted to physically climb over someone, there was no way he could get out.

  He made a conscious effort to calm himself and think of a plan, but in the turmoil of his thoughts, none came. He briefly entertained the idea that he was dreaming, but too many things had happened since he woke up in the barn for him to believe he was unconscious. The people and the smells were real. He reached out to the wooden barrier in front of him to feel its heavy bulk. This was 1762! He needed to find out how he got here and how he was going to get back.

  Matt grew increasingly impatient. Grace glared at him, annoyed with his fidgeting. By the time church ended, he had been through about one hundred possible scenarios as to what to do next, and nothing was even close to sounding right. He followed the Taylors outside to the gathering in the churchyard, purposely lagging behind and hoping to make his quick escape, and then took the first opportunity to step to the side. Once he was free of the Taylors, though, he realized that there was no place to go. He’d have to ride back with them to retrieve his pack. The only plan that seemed plausible was to go to the place they found him and hope there was some clue for returning to his own time.

  Helpless until he got his pack, he resigned himself to standing there and watching people greeting one another like characters in some bizarre colonial charade. From this vantage, he saw Mary and Grace talking with other families, and Thomas across the yard with a younger man. A few well-dressed families with tall young men stopped to make conversation with the women. Each one lingered long as he greeted Grace. Matt tried to gauge her reaction as they took her hand, looking for a hint of a smile or a frown, but he saw nothing that gave her away.

  After the third man introduced himself, Grace looked up and caught Matt staring. He immediately looked away. He tried to correct this by looking at her again, but she had gone back to her greetings.

  “Fine clothes, sir,” someone said to him. “Very fine clothes.” Matt turned from Grace to look into the eyes of a man who was now standing in front of him. Thomas had been talking to the same man.

  “Uh,” Matt said. “What?”

  “If you can pry your eyes from my sister, I should like to introduce myself. I’m William Taylor.”

  “I’m Matt,” Matt stammered. “Matt Miller.” He reached out to shake William’s hand. They were about the same height and build. “William Taylor? You’re the missing son.”

  “Not quite missing,” he said. “Just away in the big city.”

  “You live in Richmond,” Matt said. It was an innocent confirmation on Matt’s part. In his time, Richmond was a big city. He had no idea what the population was in 1762.

  “Most nights,” Will answered. “My father says you’ve taken Scout’s barn.”

  “We’ve worked it out,” Matt replied.

  “Did they find you drunk under a bridge?”

  “I wasn’t drunk. I was sick.”

  Will nodded. He didn’t seem like he cared one way or another, almost like he thought it was a funny story or maybe a badge of accomplishment. “Too bad,” he replied. “A drunken scoundrel might be the perfect diversion for my family.” Matt looked at him questioningly, but Will didn’t elaborate. “So, why are you sleeping in our barn and wearing my clothes?”

  “The barn’s where I woke up, and your family didn’t think my traveling clothes were appropriate for church.” He made an effort to sound as rational and calm as possible. “I have no idea how I wound up under that bridge, but I’m not a drunkard.”

  Will grinned. “I believe you. Where are you from?”

  “Philadelphia.”

  “Ever been to Richmond?”

  “This church is the closest I’ve come,” Matt replied. “Aren’t we in Richmond now?”

  “The city proper is down the road.”

  “Do you know this Bonner Bridge where they found me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you take me there? I lost something.”

  Will nodded. “I have errands, but it’s on the way.”

  Matt glanced around, looking for the Taylors. He was worried about retrieving his pack and getting on the road before dark. “I’d like to make it back to your farm with plenty of daylight,” he said.

  “I’ll be going for supper,” Will replied.

  Matt thought about it. On one hand, he wanted to go back as quickly as possible and get his stuff, but on the other, he might not have another opportunity to look for clues. “Okay, let’s go,” Matt finally said.

  “You’ll be fine not to gaze upon my sister until supper?” Will smacked him on the shoulder and laughed.

  Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “I’ll tell Father.” Will wandered off into the crowd to find Thomas. Matt’s head was starting to hurt, so he put his fingers up to his temples and pressed, trying to massage the pain away.

  “You’ve met my brother.” Matt turned to see that Grace had stepped in behind him. She stood there, looking at him with those piercing blue eyes. “He could probably take you for a drink in town should you desire.” She was trying to be funny, but something about her smirk was infuriating.

  Matt looked back at her plainly. Who did she think she was? In as calm and even a tone as he could muster, he said, “I’m no drunkard.” Matt looked away into the crowd, anxious to be away from this woman. He had many more things to worry about now than dealing with some spoiled country princess. He stepped away from her to look for Will, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. She caught herself, dropped her hand, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed her indiscretion. Satisfied, she stepped close to Matt so she could speak in a lower voice.

  “I’m sorry.” She seemed sincere but amused. “I was wrong to judge.” The apology was forced and it reminded Matt of when he got in a fight in grade school and was asked to apologize to a boy who moments before had been intent on beating him silly.

  “I’m taking him away from you, sister!” Will said. He had walked up to them unseen. “We’re going into Richmond for the day. We’ll r
eturn this afternoon.”

  “Don’t be late. You know how Mother worries,” Grace scolded.

  “Punctual as ever, good sister!”

  Grace nodded knowingly, said goodbye to both of them, and walked away, not looking back.

  “Desired one more glance?” Will said to Matt, smiling.

  “Let’s go to Richmond,” Matt replied.

  8

  Richmond

  Will gave the slave tending to his horse and carriage a coin and pulled the carriage forward. He motioned for Matt to follow and then, reins in hand, hopped up. Eventually Matt discovered a footstep and hoisted himself onto the seat next to Will and they headed out of the courtyard.

  “Ofttimes it seems that church will go on forever,” Will said. “Richmond will be better, with all the beautiful ladies out in their finery.” He paused for a moment and then quipped, “If you can keep my sister from your thoughts.” He broke out laughing and Matt couldn’t help but smile. It was like having a fraternity brother sitting next to him.

  They didn’t ride very long before coming to a bridge. Pointing, Matt said, “Is this Bonner Bridge?”

  “Desire a nap?” Will replied.

  “Funny. Do you know exactly where they found me?”

  Will pointed. The bridge was an archway over a wide creek, built with mortared grey stones. It was surrounded by dense brush and weeds, but had a path that led down to the water. Matt jumped off the wagon and said, “I’ll be back.” He walked quickly down the path and under the bridge. When he reached the creek, he stood there looking for some clue of his arrival. He had expected the area to look charred, like a rocket had launched there, but the area didn’t seem disturbed except for some discarded fishing equipment. He kicked at a pile of rusty hooks, string, and an old cork bobber.

  Matt walked around the clearing, probing bushes and stomping on the ground, but there was no evidence of a magic portal that would take him home. “This can’t be it,” he said aloud. Then a splash of red in the bushes caught his eye. He reached down and found the red bandana that he had worn on the trail. He examined it briefly to appreciate what it represented and then stuffed it in his pocket. He looked up into the sky, shaking his head angrily. “Now what am I supposed to do?” He walked slowly back to the wagon.