Forever Ashley

by Lori Copeland

  It was a long time before Aaron finally moved from the window. She glanced at him, her behavior softening when she realized that he was truly exhausted.

  After emptying her wash pan into the slop jar, she poured fresh water into the bowl. “You may wash now.” He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his lawn shirt as he sank to the edge of the bed. It was hard as the wench’s heart, but there would be little rest tonight anyway. After pulling off his boots, he let them drop to the floor with a thud, then wearily stretched out on the bed.

  Ashley watched his actions from the corner of her eye. His lean body was stretched diagonally from corner to corner, and she had to smile. The bulky knitted socks encasing his large feet were such a contrast to the expensive silk hosiery Joel wore.

  She turned away, trying to ignore him, but she could still see his image in the looking glass. His shirt gaped open to reveal his broad, tanned chest, well muscled with a thick coating of light brown hair. He wore his hair long and tied at the nape of his neck in a fashionable queue. Sinfully long, dark lashes made crescent shadows against his lean cheeks. His mouth was finely carved, and his chin was, if possible, even more stubbornly decisive than Joel’s.

  “Where am I supposed to sleep?” She wrung out the cloth and laid it across the washbowl while her eyes surveyed the small bed. It wasn’t large enough to accommodate two.

  Aaron opened his eyes and gazed at her calmly. Was she hinting at joining him? He wasn’t that big a fool.

  “The chair appears to be available.”

  Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to sleep in a chair?”

  “I expect you to be quiet while I sleep. Where you plan to carry it out is none of my concern.”

  Ashley’s hands shot to her hips impatiently. “If you think—” she began, but Aaron interrupted.

  “Mistress Wheeler, you seem to believe that you have some say in what happens to you. Believe me, you don’t. You forfeited that right when you fell through the roof of the tavern tonight. So muzzle yourself!”

  “Muzzle myself!”

  “Muzzle yourself.”

  “I have little choice but to accept your deplorable behavior, do I?”

  “That does appear to be the situation,” he conceded. That cursed Revere! He was going to have to deal with this chit tomorrow night!

  “Very well.” She walked to the chair and seated herself, wrapping her cloak of martyrdom about her.

  “A word of warning: I will be watching you, even though my eyes are closed. Don’t attempt to escape.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The noise from the tavern below drifted up to them as silence fell over the room. Aaron forced from his mind the image of the young woman in the chair. He wasn’t going to spend what little dozing time he had thinking about the glimpse he’d had of the wench’s bare shoulders or her rounded curves. He dozed for a moment, then bolted partway up as he heard her dragging her chair to the window.

  Her eyes met his obstinately. “Oh, are you trying to sleep?”

  “What would you guess?”

  “I’d guess I’m annoying you.”

  “Then you’d guess right”

  She settled back against the hard rocker, staring out the window.

  It was pitch dark outside; only a few lanterns in windows broke the blackness. Drawing a deep breath, she reached over and cracked open the window for a breath of fresh air.

  She was so tired. If she could just snap her fingers and be back home, she would never again complain about anything or anyone.

  Resting her head against the back of the chair, she stared into the darkness. What could have happened to whisk her to this place? She remembered the thunderstorm, and rushing out to her car. Then she’d fallen. Lifting her arms, she examined her elbows. The bruises and scrapes were there.

  Then…she remembered nothing until she’d fallen through the roof of the Green Dragon Tavern onto a table.

  The whole thing was absurd! She’d read about this kind of thing happening, but always thought it was pure fantasy. Could she have fallen into a time warp of some sort? Was that possible? If she had, could she ever convince her captors that she wasn’t a spy? And supposing she was able to do that, could she then, convince Aaron to help her somehow find her way back home?

  Her gaze traveled back to the bed, and she wondered why she felt so safe with him. Though he wasn’t at all like Joel, except that they were both doctors, there was still something very…familiar about him. It was crazy. He was holding her captive, yet she felt no real sense of fear.

  Her mind refused to release the certainty that she was only dreaming. But if she was dreaming, why couldn’t she wake up? More important, would she ever wake up? The new, even more disturbing thought frightened her. Really frightened her. Maybe she’d never awaken, and maybe she’d never get back home. Oh, dear Lord. What if she was permanently caught in the eighteenth century?

  It was so frustrating! Tears stung her eyes as she balled her fists and screamed.

  Frantically scrambling to a sitting position, Aaron stared back at her, his eyes wide-eyed and glassy. “What…

  “Sorry,” she murmured, realizing that she had screamed aloud. She was going to have to act in a more rational manner, or she would never convince him to help her.

  “This wench is—” Tacking on something Ashley f3elt certain wasn’t exactly a compliment, he dropped back onto the pillow, still mumbling beneath his breath.

  Well, she supposed plotting against the British could be demanding, but he didn’t have to be so ill-mannered and testy about it.

  Leaning back in her chair, she resumed her fretting. Considering the present circumstances, she supposed, dream, time warp, or whatever, she was in danger.

  If it was indeed April of 1775, then she had better curb her tongue and smother the urge to say whatever popped into her mind. Women of the 1700s were second-class citizens as far as men were concerned, and if she hoped to survive and not be accused of being a witch or worse, she’d better think twice before blurting out her opinions.

  Her breath caught when something moved on the street, but she relaxed when she saw it was only a dog.

  The whole thing was so eerie. The Boston she’d seen today from the back of Aaron’s horse was not much different from the one she’d talked about while escorting visitors around the museum. From what she’d learned it was considered the most politically and culturally advanced city in the colonies, boasting some forty streets, nearly as many lanes, half that many alleys, and a thousand brick houses.

  A dog barked in the distance, and Ashley grinned, remembering that at one time the city of Boston had had so many dogs that a law had been passed prohibiting people from having dogs more than ten inches high. Since it had been difficult to keep pets from growing taller than that, and it had been equally difficult for people to part with dogs that had defied the law and grown larger, everyone had paid little attention to the statute.

  While she was riding with Aaron through the common that afternoon, she remembered that the public area had originally been set aside as a training field and a place to feed cattle. Recalling the Frog Pond that the Puritans had used to duck persons who’d disobeyed the Sabbath laws, she shivered. Would Aaron allow her to be subjected to such public humiliation? Did they still do such things?

  Though Aaron may have attempted to confuse her, Ashley thought she knew approximately in what part of town she was. She tried to visualize the maps she’d studied. If Boston Common was in the heart of the old city, then Beacon Hill was north of that. The Market District was near Dock Square where the famous Faneuil Hall was located. The ground floor of that old building had been a market area where Bostonians went to shop, if she remembered correctly.

  Considering that they’d been near the harbor, and then wound down into town and past the common, then back again…then the Black Goat must be in the oldest section of the town, perhaps even on the peninsula that extended into Boston Harbor, which was the innermost p
art of the bay. No wonder this place was tacky and rundown and the caliber of men was somewhat less than that of the men she’d seen at the Green Dragon.

  From out in the hallway, Ashley thought she heard a woman’s throaty laugh, and the tramp of heavy boots on the stairway. She tensed, glancing toward the bed anxiously. Should she wake the chauvinist pig and warn him?

  “Remain quiet, and you’ll be in no danger.” Aaron said in a low voice, though his eyes were still closed.

  The footsteps approached their door, then continued on. Ashley breathed a sigh of relief as they faded down the hallway.

  The woman’s breathless giggles and the man’s lewd comment made Ashley painfully aware of what kind of establishment she’d been brought to. The women downstairs were prostitutes, and the sounds of coming and going up and down the hallway were nothing more than five o’clock rush hour traffic.

  Tears stung her eyes again as she huddled in the chair. Her eyes turned resentfully toward the bed. Maybe she should try to slip out of the room, down the stairs, and make a break for freedom. How much more danger would she be in if she hid in a park, or behind a bush rather than waiting for her fate to be decided by six men who were convinced that she was either a witch, a spy, or both?

  Her eyes moved back to the door speculatively. The tavern was almost quiet now. Perhaps everyone had finally gone home. Leaning forward, she debated her next move. If she—

  “Don’t even consider it.”

  Ashley started at the sound of Aaron’s voice. How could he have read her mind! “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “You thought wrong again.”

  She dropped back against the chair in defeat.

  Well, let him think he had the upper hand. She’d eventually catch him off guard, then she would open the door, step out, and close it so silently that he’d never know she was gone until he awoke the next morning.

  Yes, that’s what she’d do.

  But where would she go? The Boston she knew didn’t exist yet. And she couldn’t bear getting on that horse again, even if she’d known how to ride it. Aaron Kenneman wasn’t the most congenial companion, but at least she was safe with him. For the moment.

  Ashley closed her eyes, resigned to suffer more discreetly. She couldn’t afford to have him leave her in this rat infested hole.

  A smile shadowed the corners of Aaron’s mouth as he heard her sigh. He’d watched her struggle with whatever was on her mind for the past hour, wondering if she would be foolish enough to try an escape. He watched the play of emotions cross her face, first anger, then wistfulness, then resigned acceptance.

  Each time she’d turned to study him, he’d sensed turmoil in her, a weighing of decisions. He had to give her credit. She was smart. She knew she was safer with him than alone, and she’d chosen to act wisely.

  Her sigh a moment ago had been one of quiet desperation, but he knew she wouldn’t attempt an escape, not tonight.

  Settling deeper against his pillow, Aaron grinned. Yes, the wench had spirit.

  An optimistic sliver of sunlight trying to force its way through the dirty windowpane awoke Ashley the next morning.

  She stirred, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the cheerful little ray. She groaned, every joint in her body stiff as she moved.

  A brisk rap sounded at the door, and Aaron was instantly on his feet.

  Ashley held her breath as he strode across the room and cracked the door open. “What is it?”

  “Aaron Kenneman?”

  Aaron viewed the elderly, stoop-shouldered man uncertainly. “Yes.”

  “Medrian said you were a doctor?” Aaron could see the man was breathing heavily, as if he’d taken the stairs faster than a man his age should. “It’s me wife…she’s sick.”

  “Where is she?”

  The little man wrung his hands. “You’ll have to come with me—she’s home.”

  Aaron reached for his boots as the man turned and fled back down the stairway. Glancing at Ashley, he grimaced. What was he supposed to do with the wench? He couldn’t leave her alone.

  Ashley eyed the bed enviously. The chair was so uncomfortable that she’d barely slept a wink all night. While Aaron was taking care of the sick woman, she’d take a little nap. She was heading toward the bed when a hand came out to stop her.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  She groaned. “Cripes! I hate this!” She had spent half her time with Joel, sitting in the car, twiddling her thumbs, while he checked on one or another of his patients at the hospital. “You go, and I’ll stay here and—” But by this time Aaron was propelling her toward the open doorway. “You’re coming with me.”

  “No! Why do I have to go? I’m not the doctor.”

  “No, you’re the prisoner,” he explained in a tone any kindergartner would recognize. “And since I am the doctor, and the doctor can’t leave you alone, I guess that means you and I are inseparable for the time being.” He smiled. “Well, ‘cripes,’ ” he mocked her, “have I made myself clear?”

  She stiffened at his condescending tone. “Perfectly.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  She jerked free of his grasp, giving him a dirty look. “At least let me comb my hair.”

  “Forget about your hair. It looks fine.”

  Just like a man. She started straightening the bodice of her gown, then began a search with her toes for her shoes. After grabbing a handful of her hair, she wound it into a knot and stuck a hairpin through it as he called for her to follow him.

  “All right, all right. I’m coming!” She hadn’t even had her first cup of coffee!

  Grabbing her purse, she followed him down the stairs, trying to keep her balance. Maybe it was the sauerkraut she’d had at lunch that had made her have this strange dream!

  “Wait! Wait a minute!” she cried as she almost lost her balance. The pin in her hair had come loose and she knew she couldn’t afford to lose it. She had a feeling there wasn’t a K-Mart within fifty miles. Hurrying to keep up, she yelled, “Slow down!”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Aaron grabbed her hand to pull her along. Ashley tried to jerk out of his hold, but he only tightened his grip and sailed her across the empty tavern more determinedly.

  “Quiet down,” he ordered.

  “You miserable…” She halted, trying to control her straggling hair. “I’ve never spent a more miserable night, with a more infuriating man in my whole life! You are a selfish, egotistical, unfeeling—”

  Ashley glanced up then to see Medrian behind the counter, grinning. It wasn’t hard to see what the innkeeper was thinking, and her cheeks reddened. Lifting her skirts higher, she raised her head proudly and marched straight past the innkeeper and out the front door. Let the fool think what he wanted. Aaron knew what she meant.

  Giving Medrian a man-to-man wink, Aaron grinned at the innkeeper.

  “Morn’, gov’nor. I trust you had a pleasurable night?”

  “Most pleasant, Medrian, thank you!”

  A young boy was holding the reins of Aaron’s horse as they came out of the tavern. Dawn streaked the sky a pastel pink, and the noise from the harbor heralded a new day. Catching sight of the doctor, the elderly man mounted his horse, motioning for Aaron to follow.

  Ashley’s stomach growled as Aaron hoisted her up on the horse. She wasn’t too crazy about having his hands on her, but since it was impossible for her to mount otherwise, she kept quiet. “Watch it—I’m sore.” She winced.

  Settling herself, she looked down at him. “I’d kill for an Egg McMuffin and a cup of hot coffee.”

  “That does sound tasty,” Aaron agreed in a tone of someone accustomed to dealing with the insane.

  After mounting behind her, he wheeled the horse, and they galloped off.

  A short time later the elderly man’s small house came into view. The whitewash on the old cottage was stained and the door sagged on its hinges. The house wasn’t exactly a picturesque setting out of a history book. Ashley saw tw
o small children crouched upon a tiny hearth feeding a small fire with sticks of kindling as she entered the front room.

  Ashley had to squint to make out the furnishings. She was blind as a bat without her contacts, and she’d taken them out the night before. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew her glasses and put them on.

  After moving toward the fire, she warmed the tips of her fingers as she looked at the furnishings in the sparse room. Other than a table and three chairs, there was only a scarred lowboy, a small cabinet that held a few dishes, and a dry sink. The curtains at the narrow windows had faded to a nondescript blue years ago. The family obviously was very poor.

  A tired-looking woman appeared from the back room, carrying a pan of water and a cloth.

  “How is Rebecca?” the old man asked anxiously.

  “She is not good,” the woman said, shaking her head.

  Aaron shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to Ashley as he followed the woman and man into the bedroom.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned for Ashley to follow.

  “No!” she mouthed silently.

  “Yes!” he mouthed back. “Now.” He looked at her glasses and frowned. The frames were most unusual.

  Ashley followed him unwillingly.

  The room was small, the darkness broken only by a small candle burning beside the bed. The woman on the bed was so pale she appeared waxen.

  Stepping back into the shadows, Ashley watched as Aaron began to examine the woman. As he worked, he spoke reassuringly, trying to calm the woman’s fears.

  Ashley had a feeling he was an excellent physician, though she knew his knowledge was pitifully limited. She thought about all the things people had learned about the science of medicine since Aaron Kenneman’s day, and she suddenly had an overwhelming urge to share with him the exciting news about polio, diphtheria, whooping cough, heart disease, cholesterol, oat bran, X rays, CAT scans, and penicillin. But she dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t believe her. Not in a million years.

  “Been painin’ most of the night, Doctor. Don’t know what it could be,” Rebecca complained. “’Fraid a pox has been sent on me.”