Dream Weaver

by Shirley Martin

  "When is this place going to get paved streets?" Gwen asked with a final sneeze.

  "Paved streets?" Christian looked baffled. "Not for a long time, I shouldn't think."

  Just as she'd figured.

  "We have several trading posts here." He gestured toward the wooden huts along the Monongahela waterfront. "I doubt not it will take but a short while to see about the medicaments I ordered, but you might as well look around as long as you wish. I'll come back for you later, since I have business at the fort." He withdrew a watch from a small pouch at his waist to check the time. "That should give you ample time to make whatever purchases you need."

  "What a nice watch." She bent closer for a look, their fingers touching. She spoke quickly. "You must be proud of it."

  "My timepiece? Indeed, I am proud of it. A doctor on the staff in Philadelphia gave it to me when I completed my training there. Will one o'clock be agreeable to meet me again?"

  Without thinking, she checked her wrist, then remembered once more her watch still languished somewhere in the twenty-first century. It was a Christmas gift from her parents years ago, and she'd never see it again. "I don't have a watch," she said, swallowing hard.

  "The proprietor will know the time, I doubt not." He clicked his watch shut and tucked it back in the pouch, then ushered her toward the open door. "Shall we go in?"

  She gave the trading post a disappointing glance. "Are there any other stores besides this one?"

  "Other trading posts, as you can see," he said with an expansive gesture, "but Daniel and I always buy our supplies from this one. It has a wide variety of goods, I assure you."

  Christian was on target about one thing, Gwen mused as they entered Levy and Franks. Maybe the trading post wasn't very fancy, but it did have a variety of goods that crowded the shelves and spilled from the counters. Everything appeared quite crude, except for a few adornments such as beads that peeked out from the shelves, along with mirrors--looking glasses, she mentally corrected--and buttons, buttons, buttons, hundreds of them. It sure wasn't Saks Fifth Avenue, but it would have to do.

  Observing several bolts of cloth on the shelves, she considered that a good place to start, as Christian had suggested. Rebecca had given her a list of items to buy--needles and thread, a cake of lavender soap, tobacco for Daniel, among other things--plenty to keep her busy for a while.

  "Ah, Dr. Norgard." The proprietor greeted them from behind the counter, smiling at Gwen. "You've captured another customer for me, I see."

  Christian grinned. "You know how ladies love to shop."

  Gwen silently fumed. Male chauvinist!

  After making the introductions, Christian leaned against the counter. "About those medicaments I ordered..."

  "Indeed, sir. I have the opium, aye, and the henbane, too. Also, the other medicaments." "Very good, Mr. Davenport." Christian tapped his knuckles on the counter, his gaze covering the room. "I'll be back in an hour to collect my things, and that should give Miss Emrys ample time to select her purchases." With a brief smile in her direction, he left for the fort. "Take as long as you want, Miss Emrys," Mr. Davenport said as he hurried to help another customer, "and you may examine anything on the counters or the shelves."

  She headed for the fabrics. "Right, thanks."

  Now that's pretty material, she mused, fingering a bolt of white calico printed with tiny red rosebuds and green vines, the fabric tucked between a length of blue linen and striped muslin. She ran her hand over the smooth cloth, imagining a dress made from the fabric, with lace around the neck, if possible. Colorful glass beads sparkled from one of the shelves, and glittering brooches nestled beside them.

  She paused, her hand lingering on a pair of blue glass earrings. Christian had said he had business to tend to at the fort. Might that "business" have something to do with her? Checking up on her "spying", no doubt? She shuddered, afraid to dwell on his suspicions.

  * * *

  Surrounded by budding apple trees in the King's Garden--a grassy park north of Fort Pitt‑‑Gwen enjoyed her midday meal with Christian. A light breeze blew across the Allegheny, while sunlight played on the rippling waters of the river. In the midst of such a beautiful ambience, Gwen resolved to act pleasant and not disagree or argue with Christian. She'd benefit more if she gained his confidence. Possibly then she could convince him she really had come from the twenty-first century, that she really could see things that would happen in his future. Her future, too, come to think of it.

  Absently plucking the grass, she gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you going to the frolic at the Chamberlains?"

  After a long swallow of cider, he set the mug on the ground. "I intend to, if nothing interferes. 'Twould be nice if we could have frolics more often. They're always gay affairs."

  "Gay?"

  He tore off a piece of rye and Injun bread. "Of course. You know, music and dancing. Everyone has a good time." Biting into the bread, he looked at her as if she had a room temperature I.Q.

  "Oh. Gay. Yes, I see." She munched on a piece of cheese, keeping a close eye on him. She liked to watch his hand movements--those strong, expressive fingers--and dared to imagine those hands touching her, caressing her. Fanciful visions warmed her face, and fearing he'd sense her feelings, she returned to her meal. A few moments of silence stretched between them while Christian opened and closed his mouth, looking agitated.

  He nodded toward the fort. "You were alone for an hour. That gave you much time to look around Fort Pitt, I should think."

  She paused, a slice of oat bread halfway to her mouth. "Look around Fort Pitt? Why would I want to do that?"

  "'Tis what I should like to know, that, and your purpose in coming to this part of the province when 'tis obvious you're accustomed to a more refined way of life."

  She tapped her fingers on the ground, giving herself time to frame a plausible answer. What in the world could she ever say or do to convince him she'd really come from his future? After giving the matter careful thought, she came up with a better idea. Like all men, Christian no doubt loved to talk about himself.

  "Christian, let's forget about me for now. I'd rather hear about you. So tell me about your work as a doctor, the sort of things you do."

  Christian raised his eyebrows, as if he suspected her ploy. "Sometimes it seems as if the only time I see my neighbors is when one suffers from a physical ailment." He paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. "I can think of so many things I would like to do for the people, starting with smallpox inoculations."

  "Preventive medicine!" Christian was way ahead of his time.

  "Aye, you could call it that."

  She leaned forward, hands pressed to the ground. "Envision a world where smallpox is eliminated, where so many other diseases such as scarlet fever are a thing of the past."

  He nodded. "It could happen here in the British colonies, I suppose, but not in my lifetime. Maybe not for one-hundred years. And as for other diseases..." Christian shook his head. "Not for a long, long time, I should say."

  She grasped his warm hand but found his touch a distraction she couldn't deal with now. "It has happened...or will happen," she said, confused about the time but determined to make her point.

  "You are speaking nonsense. 'Has happened'? 'Will happen'? Which do you mean?"

  "I'm trying to explain about my time, the twenty-first century." At his incredulous expression, she went on in a rush of words. "No, let me finish. In my time we don't need to worry about the diseases that used to kill and maim so many people." Her long skirt fluttered in the breeze, and she absently tucked the hem between her ankles while she kept a sure gaze on him. "In the time I come from, diseases such as smallpox and scarlet fever will all have been conquered."

  Christian remained silent for so long, she felt sure she'd convinced him. Then: "Tell me, what else do you see in your crystal ball?"

  She gave an exasperated sigh. "I don't need a crystal ball. I know these things will happen--correction!--have happened." She paused,
collecting her thoughts. "But even after smallpox and so many other diseases are gone, new diseases appear, like the Ebola virus and AIDS."

  He set his fork down and pushed the plate aside. "Aides? I do not believe one word of what you are telling me, but only for the sake of argument, please explain."

  "A-I-D-S," she replied. "It stands for acquired immune deficiency syndrome. At present, there's no cure."

  "What is the nature of this malady?"

  She chose her words with care. "I suppose you'd call it a venereal disease, but we don't use that term anymore. We--"

  "'Tis not a fit subject for a lady," Christian said with a reproving look.

  She waved her hand airily. "Oh, everyone talks about it, or did, or will. Whatever."

  Shaking his head, Christian returned plates and utensils to the basket. "'Tis nonsense you speak of," he said, his fingers poised above a mug.

  “I'm just telling you how things are in my time, the twenty-first century." She blew out a long breath.

  "So we are back to the twenty-first century."

  "Yes! Back to the future! I don't know why you find it so hard to believe me." She would not let his teasing expression rile her. "George Washington," she stated. "Does that name ring a bell?"

  "Does it what?"

  "Does the name 'George Washington' sound familiar?"

  "Aye. He fought with Braddock back in '55 against the French and Indians, then again in '58. Everyone's heard of Washington."

  "He's our first president," Gwen declared.

  "President?" Christian spoke clearly and distinctly. "Gwen, we have no president. Our sovereign is King George III."

  She wagged her finger at him. "Well, just you wait. Washington will be our first president."

  The utensils forgotten, he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. "And how does that event come about?"

  Was he weakening? Did he believe her now? "The British colonies--all thirteen of them--will defeat England in a war and then declare their independence." She brushed the crumbs from her hands and stretched her legs out. "Good thing, too, what with the taxes England imposed on this country, taking advantage of us. 'Taxation without representation,' as the saying goes."

  "Explain yourself, madam," he said with a hard look.

  "Well, England treated this country like dirt, not giving us any say in our own affairs, taxing everything we used...stamps, tea, you name it." She nodded. "Lucky for us France came to our aid, helped us break away from England."

  He scowled. "So you consider France a friend?"

  "Sure, our first ally, with a good, capable army and navy."

  "Treason!"

  A shiver raced down her arms and legs. For this short while, she'd forgotten his suspicions of her. She opened her arms wide. "I'm only telling you things as they happened. Why shouldn't we have taken aid from France, if they were willing to help us?"

  "Just as you're willing to help France?"

  "Honestly, Christian, I assure you I'm not a spy. Just because--"

  "Just because you praise France, speak of the frogs as friends, talk about their capable army and navy. You want to see France defeat England, and you'll do anything possible to help that God-forsaken country."

  Determined not to give in to her fear, she rallied, speaking with renewed confidence. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm looking at this from the viewpoint of the twenty-first century, my time, don't forget." She leveled a gaze at him. "Which is where this discussion started." Rather than argue further, she tried a different tack. "Please try to remember that it's difficult for me to realize I'm in the year 1762. I'm speaking of events that happen in your future, and mine, too, I guess."

  "You speak nonsense."

  "I'm speaking the truth!" She drummed her fingers on the ground. "What can I say to make you believe me?"

  "Frankly, I find your story difficult to accept." He aimed another harsh look at her. "Pray don't think I shall forget this conversation."

  She tried to inject resolution in her voice, but fear still gripped her. What if he turned her over to the British? "You're a stubborn man, Dr. Norgard."

  "So they tell me." He withdrew his watch from the pouch and clicked it open. "Time to return. Only remember, I do not give up easily."

  Chapter Six

  Golden firelight cast distorted shadows on the wall and revealed the laughing faces of the dancers. Swishing the skirt of her new calico dress, Gwen thought she could easily get used to eighteenth-century dresses with their full skirts and ruffled elbow-length sleeves. A pretty lace kerchief Rebecca had lent her formed a shawl around her shoulders, secured at the bodice by a rose-colored ribbon. She knew she looked her best tonight--fetching, did they say?--soft and feminine, unlike her casual twenty-first century faded jeans and T-shirt. If this was the way these men liked to see their women, well then, too bad Christian wasn't here to see her.

  So what if Christian hadn't come to the frolic? She clapped her hands to the music of the flute and fiddle, resolved to enjoy herself even if he stayed away. Lots of other men had asked her to dance, so many she'd forgotten some of the names. As she backed away from the circle to adjust a ribbon in her hair, she saw Leah Conway in a far corner talking to Edward Horton, a man Gwen had met earlier this evening. Every so often, Leah's eyes strayed to the open doorway. Aha! She's waiting for Christian, too. Well, don't hold your breath, sweetie, 'cause he obviously isn't--

  Wow! Gwen's heart gave a little jump. Christian stepped into the room, greeting friends and neighbors, his eyes settling on Leah, darn it! A stab of disappointment twisted inside her Here she was in the same room with Christian, but he couldn't see her since so many people crowded in front of her. Now, if only he were looking at her...

  He stood as tall and handsome as ever, with his high-collared white linen shirt and black fustian leggings. Even in the dim light, Gwen saw the cleft of his chin, those dark eyes she liked to consider mysterious, his sexy eyelashes that any woman would die for. She'd die if he didn't talk to her this evening. That was the least he could do. The very least.

  A tall farmer with bear-greased hair stood next to Gwen, clapping his hands, stamping his feet to the music. Gwen had met Noah Enfield when he'd come to the house to see Daniel about business. He seemed a nice enough guy. Definitely not in the same league as Christian, but not a jerk, either.

  The farmer bent low so she could hear him above the noise. "Would you like to dance, Miss Emrys?"

  Her smile widened. "Sure!"

  He swung her into the circle while the dancers clapped their hands and sang:

  Oh, Sister Phoebe, how merry were we

  The night we sat under the juniper tree

  The juniper tree, I, oh...

  Her feet flew from the floor, her calico skirt swaying. Smugly satisfied, she caught Christian's eyes on her. Laughing, she landed on the floor again and smoothed the lace at her bodice. She could manage very well without Christian. Sure she could.

  From then on, so many men vied for her attention, she didn't have time to think of anyone or anything else. She stepped back, tapping her feet and trying to sing with the others, even though she'd never heard the words before:

  If I had as many lives

  As Solomon had wives

  I'd be as old as Adam

  So rise to your feet

  And kiss the first you meet

  Your humble servant, madam

  After a while, the music and dancing stopped for a few minutes. Men and women laughed and joked, dabbing at their perspiring foreheads. Voices reverberated from wall to wall, as if hundreds of people crowded the room, instead of thirty or so.

  About to go to the refreshment table for cider, Gwen saw Christian approach, his gaze on her. She pasted a careless smile on her face, not for the world wanting him to see how her heart fluttered and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He walked in that confident way of his, tall and straight, a look of casual assurance on his face.

  What do you know
, he stopped beside her! "Would you care for something to drink?" Oh, that sexy voice of his, with its deep, resonant intonation. His dark, bedroom eyes could tempt her any day, and she didn't dare consider where his look might lead her.

  "Gwen?"

  "Oh!" She brought her mind back to his question as she tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear and tried to keep her voice steady. "I'd love a drink." How about a pina colada?

  Christian made a small bow. "Won't take me but a few minutes." He strode over to the refreshment table, greeting other friends and neighbors along the way. If she lived to be one-hundred, she'd always remember this picture of him--his broad shoulders and slim hips, his dark hair glistening by the firelight.

  He spoke with a farmer for a few minutes, prompting her to wonder what they were talking about. Crops, no doubt. She smiled to herself. No matter what Christian discussed--the dullest subject or the most profound--she liked the sound of his voice with its deep timbre, the way he looked straight at you when he talked, as though you were the most important person in the world. She could listen to him for the rest of her life and never tire of hearing him.

  A mug in each hand, Christian made his way back, weaving his way through the crowd. He handed her the mug. "I see you're quite the belle of the ball."

  "I'm having a good time, if that's what you mean."

  "Aye. Didn't mean to sound sarcastic. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." His candid look sent a fresh rush of warmth from her head to her toes, making her wonder how she'd last for the remainder of the evening. She knew darn well if they were alone, she'd be in his arms before the night had ended--that is, if he wanted her.

  Desperately needing support, she leaned against an end table. She sipped the tart cider, one of her favorite drinks and another reminder of the life she'd left behind. "Well, you know what they say--'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die.'"