Whisper Falls (12 page)

“What is a greenway?”

“It's a trail that the government takes care of. No one is allowed to cut down the trees along greenways or build anything on their edges. That way, they stay perfect for walking and biking.”

“Why can you not use roads?”

He gave me a half-smile. “People can't walk on roads. It would be too dangerous. The wagons we have now are very powerful and can cause a lot of damage.”

“What about horses?”

He shook his head. “We don't ride horses much.”

I loved to hear him speak about his century. The effort he took to explain things charmed me. “How else do you use them?”

“We don't use them at all. People in the city don't keep farm animals anymore.”

“You have no animals?”

“None except a cat—although, strangely enough, at my house we have a barn.”

I wouldn't like to live in a place without farm animals. “A barn for one cat?”

“Actually, my dad stores his toys in the barn.”

A barn for the toys of a man? “I see.”

“No, you don't.”

“You are correct.” I held out the dish and smiled, happy to be here. “I brought you something.”

“What is it?”

“Berry sonker.”

He sniffed. “Did you make it?”

“I did.”

He dipped the spoon into the dish and scooped up a small bite. “Oh, man. That's amazing.” A second spoonful disappeared much more quickly than the first.

I relaxed at his reaction. “So, you like it?”

“Yeah. It tastes like my grandmother's bread pudding.” He finished his portion. “Now I feel bad that you tried harder with your treat than I did. I got your ice cream from the store.”

At a store? Mr. Foster had ready-made items to buy on occasion. Pickles. Meat pies. Candies. But nothing so fragile as ice cream. “They make it at a store?”

“They make it in Vermont.”

I knew enough geography to know the distance from Vermont. It would take weeks of travel. “The state of Vermont? Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“How can it come so far and not melt?”

“We have vehicles that can keep things frozen, even during the summer.”

My mind struggled to keep up with such ideas. “You must have many interesting inventions in your time.”

“You don't know the half of it. A lot of the things you would think of as magical, we've figured out.”

“Like what?”

“Those vehicles that keep the ice cream cold move by themselves.”

“How?”

“They burn oil, which pushes them along.”

I liked the tone of his voice—the way he spoke to me. Not as if I were stupid, but with the ease of two equals.

“What else is different?”

It was a pleasure to watch him when he concentrated. His eyes brightened. His brow scrunched. His whole face revealed his every emotion.

“There are more girls in college than guys.”

“Truly?”

“Totally true.

“How long do you go to school?”

“Probably twenty years.”

Twenty years of school. How lovely that sounded. “Can you think of other changes?”

“We've had a black president. Elected twice.”

I gasped. “A black man? For president of the United States?”

“Yeah.” He laughed at my shock. “And we have vehicles that fly through the sky.”

“Like birds?” Might he be joking?

“Huge birds. We call them airplanes.” He reached into his pocket and drew out the small piece of black slate. “We can talk into a machine and people can hear us far away.” He slipped it into my palm. “It's called a phone.”

This object was a machine? How could that be? It was smaller than a slice of bread, as light as a serving spoon, and had no handles or moving parts. This “phone” looked rather fragile and useless to me.

“How far away can you hear?”

“Thousands of miles. Maybe even on the moon. I'm not sure.”

“The moon?” I handed it back to him.

“Yeah. We've been there, too.”

I checked his expression carefully to see if he was teasing me. He appeared ready to burst into laughter at any moment. So perhaps he was. Certainly I didn't believe him, though I wouldn't admit it. Yet I loved being here with him, secluded, listening to his impossible, magical tales.

“Do you talk to your friends on your phone?”

“Not much. I mostly use my phone to play games or listen to music.”

“How do you get musicians in that small box?”

He shook his head. “You wouldn't understand.”

I jerked as if his comment was a slap. He was correct, of course. I couldn't understand his world. Couldn't even know the difference between truth and joking. But it hurt all the same. I shifted away. “Indeed.”

“Hey, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.”

I had no response.

He moved until our knees nearly touched. “Tell me what you do for fun.”

You wouldn't understand
. I swallowed the unworthy retort and pondered what else to say. There was little time for fun in my life. “I stroll in the garden.”

“Still sounds like work to me.”

“I suppose it is. But there are so many interesting things to see outside. I like to be in nature. I like to study plants. That makes the garden fun.”

“What else?”

I met his gaze. He had beautiful eyes. I couldn't remain cross while they smiled at me so warmly.

“Independence Day comes in three weeks. We take the entire day off and celebrate.”

“Doing what?”

“The highlight of the day is a village-wide dinner. After spending the afternoon feasting, we spend the evening dancing.” Anticipation rippled through me. “Of course, we hold the races in the morning before the heat makes it unbearable.”

“What kind of races?” He hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Horse races and foot races. I especially enjoy watching the gentlemen run. Do you race?”

“On my bike.” His face grew thoughtful.

“Are you good?”

“Pretty good. I have a big race coming up at the end of July.” He picked up a stray branch lying nearby and stripped the bark, one section at a time. With a sharp fling, he tossed each strip into the stream. “I have to train extra hard. Most of my competitors started biking at an early age. I didn't start until I was thirteen.”

His voice had rarely held such a tense edge when speaking with me. This topic had created a curious change in him.

“If you like biking so much, why did you wait until thirteen to compete?”

He flung another strip of bark. “I was fat.”

The years since had altered him profoundly, then, for he had a strong, lean body. “You are not fat now.”

“I had a lot of help.” His head swiveled toward me. “My aunt pushed me into trying all kinds of sports until I found something I really liked. Since my father loves mountain biking, he talked me into giving it a shot—and got me hooked. We'd go on rides together and I pedaled off the weight. Solved a bunch of my issues.”

I nodded with empathy, recognizing the hardened look of remembered suffering. “How peculiar. In my world, only the upper class can afford to be fat. It's a reason to be envied, not despised.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks to be a fat kid in my century. You're treated like total shit.”

I flinched at the harsh language but held my tongue. Here was something that had not changed across the centuries. People still found ways to keep others in their places.

The mixing of classes was what I loved about Independence Day. Villagers filled the lane, each eager to celebrate. For one day, a man's speed or a woman's baking received more praise than the size of their purse.

“Do you know what I like best about Independence Day?”

“What?”

“Country dances.” I stood. “Would you like to try?”

He stood, too. “No.”

“You don't like them?”

“No. I mean…” He shook his head. “I've never tried one. But I have tried square dancing, and I don't like it.”

“You will like country dances if I am your partner.”

“I don't think that'll make a difference.”

He had the look of a petulant boy. I gave him an amused smile. “It is understandable to fear doing poorly at new skills.”

“Excuse me? I'm not afraid.”

I patted my hand over my mouth, hiding a pretend yawn. “Merciful heavens, I am tired. I believe I shall go.”

“Wait.” He caught me by the elbow. “Maybe—”

“Please, Mark.” With a reproving look, I gently disengaged my arm from his grasp. “Do not concern yourself. I withdraw the request.”

Unbelievable. Susanna was using reverse psychology on me, and it hadn't even been invented yet.

Even worse, it was working. “Stay, Susanna. I'll do the damn dance.”

She brightened immediately. “Excellent.” She looked around our surroundings. “Where shall we try?”

The cave was too rocky and uneven. “Out here?” I took a step onto the narrow ledge at the base of the bluff.

She caught my arm, yanked me back into the shadows, and clamped a hand to my lips. “Do not speak,” she whispered, her body wedged between mine and the damp wall.

I didn't know why we were here, but I wasn't complaining. I braced my hands on either side of her head and leaned into her warmth.

A few seconds passed before I heard anything. Someone was running on the path above us. The footsteps stopped on the bluff.

Susanna was as still as a statue. The pounding of her heart was the only sign she was tense.

Boots crunched, stamped, and then took off, their thuds fading fast.

She relaxed.

I didn't move except my hands, which dropped to her upper arms to steady her. Damn, Susanna had seriously toned biceps. No wonder rock-climbing was so easy for her.

“Mark,” she said in a disapproving voice, “you may release me.”

“Sorry.” The whole
no touching
thing was a pain to remember. I backed up and watched as she stepped into the open. “How did you know someone was coming?”

“The night creatures.” She gazed down the creek. “Birds and insects may alter their tunes when a person approaches.”

I'd never noticed. “Do you know who it was?”

“My master's son, Jedidiah Pratt.”

I'd forgotten about the Pratt kids. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.” She studied the bluff as if measuring its height.

“What's he like?”

“He would be kind if he were another man's son.”

When she said stuff like that, I didn't know how to react. I wanted to be pissed on her behalf, but she didn't seem like someone who'd accept sympathy.

“What was he doing up there?”

“Jedidiah spies on me. Not well, as you can see. His father wants to ensure I do not meet young men on my walks.”

“Except you do.”

“They mustn't find that out.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled sadly. “Perhaps I should go now.”

“No, you shouldn't. You asked me to dance, and that's what we're going to do.”

“The ledge is too narrow.”

I pointed. “The path on the other side has a flat section.” “Your side?” She nibbled on a knuckle, eying the pouring water with suspicion.

“Now who's afraid?”

She sniffed primly. “Let's go, then.”

I passed through the falls first and offered a hand to help a wary Susanna to cross. While I halted on the widest part of the dirt trail, she lingered behind, half-turned toward the falls, sneaking a peek at her side.

However long it took, I could wait.

“What's that odor?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“It smells of smoldering refuse.” She rubbed her arms. “The scent clings to my skin.”

Her world smelled like compost to me. Mine smelled like garbage to her. “That's just the way it is here.”

“You have many marvels in your century, but none to sweeten the air? I shall do my best to tolerate it.” She strode forward and planted herself squarely before me. “All right. Imagine there are other couples.”

Okay, I'd agreed to do this, but I hadn't agreed to enjoy it. “I don't want to imagine that.”

“Hush. I shall not permit you to spoil my fun.” She gave me a hopeful smile. “Please, Mark. I love to dance.”

I felt like a total jerk. “Okay. I'm yours. Let's do it.”

“Thank you. Now, you stand over there.”

I backed up a few feet and crossed my arms.

“Good. We're ready.” She curtsied and remained low. “First, you must honor me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bow.”

That was stupid. “You can get up now.”

“Not until you honor me.”

I waited. So did she.

“Damn.” I bowed.

“Excellent.” She rose. “Now, take both my hands. Circle left.”

Clop, clop, clop.

“Circle right.”

Clop, clop, clop.

“You have all the delicacy of a cow. Might you try a bit harder?”

“I'll try when we get to the fun part.”

She gave the 1796 version of eye-rolling. “Clasp opposite hands. Circle for four paces. Change direction.”

We repeated the steps several times. With each circuit, she upped the speed until we were practically running.

“What do you think?” she asked when we stopped, looking happy and tired and ready for another round.

Country dances were too much effort. I liked dancing in my world better. “There isn't enough contact.”

“That isn't true. Our hands were clasped for the whole of the dance.”

“In my century, the guy and the girl touch everywhere.”