Whisper Falls (24 page)

“Mark?” I called as loudly as I dared.

He emerged from the trees opposite me.

“Hey.” Pushing his bike, he met me in the center of the road.

I admired his costume. The breeches and shirt fit comfortably. “You look well in our clothes.”

He glanced down with pride. “It was a lot of trouble to put together.”

“I am glad you made the effort. We couldn't have explained you otherwise.” I gestured at his shirt, glad of the casual relationship we had. “Perhaps it would be best to wear your shirt loose, as the tradesmen do.”

“Tradesmen?” He smiled. “Why can't I be a gentleman?”

“If you wish to be a gentleman, you will need a waistcoat and jacket. No respectable man is without them.”

He frowned. “The lady at the store didn't suggest a waistcoat.”

“Perhaps she doesn't visit my century often.” I laughed with the sheer delight of being in his presence. I had gone too many days without my friend.

He removed the blue hat, stuffed it into the back of his breeches, and strapped on the cracked bowl. “I need to go.”

“Where?”

“I'm heading to your Raleigh to size things up.”

“For what purpose?”

“A job for Phoebe.”

“Today? It's the Sabbath.” What did Mark and his family do on Sundays? “The likely households will all be attending church.”

He slammed a fist against the open palm of his other hand. “I should've thought about that. Will there be anyone around to ask?”

I considered the possibilities. “The taverns will be open, and there will be servants about, tending to horses and children. They might know of families requiring more staff.”

“Cool. That's what I'll do—ask anybody who smiles at me until I find some answers. Once I have a few names, I'll return to my world and check the web to see which families are the best bets.”

My heart thumped with a fullness such as I had never known. No one had ever tried this hard to help me. “Will anyone from your world notice if you are absent?”

“It won't be long—and no, my parents won't notice. I left a note.” He looped an arm about my waist and drew me into a hug. “We'll figure this out, Susanna. I promise.”

“Thank you.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Be careful.”

He released me, and then mounted the bike, his attention focused on the road. “Where will you be this morning?”

“At the meetinghouse.”

“How long does your church service last?”

“Three hours or more.”

“That's too bad.”

“Your comment is especially apt when the speaker is Mr. Worth.” I backed away, worried about the length of my absence yet reluctant to say good-bye first.

“I'd better be going. I'll let you know something as soon as I can.” He pushed off. Within seconds, he disappeared over the hill.

I turned toward the meetinghouse, my delight fading to nerves. Why had I let Mark do this? He did not know our roads, our manners, or our speech. What if he said the wrong thing or approached the wrong person?

What if he were hurt?

I was the only person who knew he was here—the only person who could help him if things did not go well. The thought was terrifying.

Even if it had not been Sunday, I would still have spent the next three hours in prayer.

Susanna had called the ground beneath me a road. What a joke. It was more of a rough track, cleared of trees but not roots. I could just imagine how it would feel to ride in the back of a horse-drawn wagon—like being a human-sized pinball batted around inside a colossal arcade game.

Not that I was complaining. For me, this miserable excuse for a road ended up being great training. It had plenty of hills, a couple with challenging grades. Today's project would double as a decent workout. Eight miles to the part of Raleigh that existed two hundred twenty-two years ago and then eight miles back.

The scenery was amazing. Trees lined the trail, miles and miles of them, so thick it was like being under a canopy of green, surrounded by the scent of pine straw and fallen leaves. Yellow and purple wildflowers clumped in wiry patches. I was in awe.

From the woods to my right, something crackled and thudded. Three deer loped across the road, zigzagging directly into my path. It happened so fast I had no time to react. Down I went into the hard-packed earth. No natural compost to soften the blow.

A thin cloud of dust puffed around me, clogging my throat and nose. Everything ached. Full mountain bike protective gear would've been hard to explain and had seemed like an unnecessary precaution this morning, so I'd only worn the costume. I cursed the deer and my lack of padding.

A couple of branches snapped nearby. I rocketed into a sitting position, whipped off my shades, and stared into the pines on the north side of the road. Nothing moved.

Snap
.

The sound was closer this time, my signal to go. I sprang to my feet, righted the bike, leapt on, and pedaled with the speed born of a super rush of adrenaline.

Something—really, some
things
—ran in the woods, paralleling my track. It (or they) kept up with me for a few seconds and then swerved away. I didn't let up for several minutes.

As my heartbeat slowed, my thoughts electrified. The whole idea of coming here had seemed like some sort of virtual reality game—minus the virtual. The past spread around me, quiet, beautiful, but also wild. Not that I hadn't encountered wild animals in my century. I had. It just felt different here, as if modern-day animals were smarter and knew how to stay out of a human's way. The ones here might be purely aggressive.

This experience intimidated me in ways I hadn't expected. And it wasn't just the forest and the animals. How would people react to me? How would I react to them? What would they do if they figured out just how alien I was?

After a half hour or so, I climbed a low, steady incline and crested a ridge. I'd arrived at the edge of town. Braking, I slipped off my bike, arrested by my first glimpse of eighteenth century Raleigh. The capital city lay before me, a grid of dirt roads, wooden buildings, and sparse trees. At its center squatted a bald patch of land—Union Square, where the State Capitol building would show up in another fifty years. Right now, all I could see was the second story of a large-but-unfamiliar brick building, topped by a domed steeple.

My insides quaked. I'd lived in this place my entire life, yet it was as foreign to me as another planet. It was real. And it was freakish. I fought the urge to turn the bike around and race back to the world I knew.

Okay, take a breath. Refocus
.

Susanna needed me. I had a mission to complete and the clock ticked on. After securing my bike, I sucked down a swig of water, switched out helmet for hat, and pulled out a copy of an ancient map.

The Internet reported that a tavern near Union Square served as the hub of the community. I walked on the road down the ridge, warily eying the thick undergrowth on either side.

Just past the brickyards, I managed to reach an actual city street without injuring myself or encountering any poisonous snakes.

At street level, the reality of this Raleigh was disappointing. I half-expected a replica of Colonial Williamsburg. Nice wide lanes with smooth surfaces. Whitewashed fences around lawns and big houses. Rows of shops.

Wrong.

The closer I walked to the center of town, the weirder things became.

The sun-baked streets had hardened into ruts clogged with debris and horseshit. There were definite signs of a building boom, yet it was eerily silent. Partially finished structures stretched before me across the jagged skyline. Inhabited buildings were littered with wood chips and sawdust, the gaps between boards promising a cold winter. One-story houses were wedged between taverns and shops, smoke wisping from their brick chimneys.

It was like walking into a cheesy theme area at an amusement park. Historyland.

The smell of human piss permeated the air. I cupped my hand over my nose and tried not to gag. There must not be enough outhouses, because people seemed to be doing their business wherever they wanted.

Traffic thickened. Carriages rolled by, carrying women in puffy-sleeved dresses. Beside them, men in dark jackets and hats clip-clopped along on horseback.

The unfamiliar sounds made me think about my world even more. I never paid attention to construction noises or mowers. I never noticed emergency vehicles or trains. But I missed them here. It was crazy.

And even though their clothes were new to me, no one stood out. The ladies looked alike. Their dresses might be in different pale shades, but there was only one style. Fashion had changed a lot by the twenty-first century. We could get away with just about anything. Long, short, full, tight, colorful, monotone, boring, slutty. So much variety. It took this place of sameness to make me notice.

“Son, watch out,” someone yelled.

A carriage bumped straight towards me. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder and gave a rough jerk. I fell back a couple of steps. The carriage rolled by in the exact spot where I'd been standing.

“Thanks.” I turned around, heart pumping. A man scowled behind me, as wide as he was tall.

“Just watch what you're doing.” He scratched his scraggly beard. “Going to services?” He studied my outfit with a skeptical frown.

“No. Not today.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Information.”

He didn't show any surprise. “The best place would be the tavern.” He jerked a blackened thumb ahead of me. “It'll be thataway.”

“Thanks.”

Susanna had been right about the vest. All men had on one of those and a lot of the guys wore jackets, which had to be horrible in this heat.

I found the tavern and ducked in. It was dark and reeked of burned meat and stale grease. Long tables crisscrossed the dirty floors. Two men sat at the far end by a big stone fireplace, hunched over, drinking from tankards.

An older woman approached me. She wore gray from neck to ankle with a really clean apron. She had tired eyes and a nice smile. “Can I be helping you?”

“Yes.” Another moment of stupidity. I should've scripted what to say. “My…” I paused. What should I call Phoebe? A friend would be too suspicious. Not my sister, since I couldn't even describe her if they asked. Maybe cousin would be best. That was kind of vague. “My cousin Phoebe is looking for work. Have you heard about any jobs?”

“Indeed.” She shuffled to the entrance to the tavern and pointed past the meetinghouse. “I've heard the Whitakers are looking for a kitchen maid. They live a block off the square.”

“Any others?”

“New families move in daily. Many want servants.” She cocked her head and peered at me through bleary eyes. “How old is your cousin?”

I didn't know, so I'd have to make something up. We could always fix the lie later. “Fourteen.”

“Well, then, the Palmers and the Haywoods are looking for house maids.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “The Bishops seek a laundry maid. I should not consider them unless I was desperate. I have my doubts as to the kind of household they maintain.”

This was great. Three possibilities, with one more in the last-resort category. “Thanks for the information.”

“You are welcome.” She gave me a hopeful look. “Might you want a bite to eat?”

I was starving. “Not today.”

“No money?”

I shook my head.

She held up a detaining hand and disappeared into the back. A moment later she came back, a thick slice of bread in her hand. “Here you are. Perhaps I shall see you again next time you come this way.”

It was so incredibly nice of her. The bread was warm, yeasty, and coarse-grained. Mmmm. “Thanks. I'll remember.” I didn't even know whether dollars had been invented yet or how I could repay the tavernkeeper. It was a question I'd save for Susanna.

The return trip was easy and fast. As I climbed the final hill before heading for the falls, I peered at the empty lane of Worthville. Everyone was in church, weren't they? Susanna had said it would be hours.

Maybe I could take a quick look around.

I rode onto the path that led to the falls and then maneuvered into the trees to hide my bike. Keeping to the edge of the forest, I crept closer to the village.

The lane was still quiet. Through the meetinghouse windows, I could see faint movements. Church hadn't ended.

Perspiration soaked my hair and itched under my clothes. I smelled like an entire locker room, nasty and sour. I stepped into the shade under an oak just as the meetinghouse burst into noise. Benches scraped against wooden floors. Children shouted. Heavy shoes stomped and squeaked.

It was too late to escape unseen. Maybe a confident stroll would work.

A family came out—husband, wife, two kids. They wore somber clothes in brown and gray. The adults talked until they noticed me.

I nodded politely and turned to leave.

“You, sir,” the man called.

Caught. “Yes?”

“Are you lost?”

“No.”

A tall man thumped down the stairs, a short, overweight woman on his arm. Behind them trailed several kids. The husband stopped on the opposite side of the lane, clasped his hands before him, and studied me. His wife stayed behind him, peeking around his shoulder. A serious teen guy and a bold teen girl eyed me from their father's shadow.

Susanna appeared in the meetinghouse door, her arms and skirt full of little kids. She crossed to where the tall man and heavy woman waited and then followed the direction of their gazes. When she saw me, she shuddered and looked away.

I'd made a horrible mistake.