by M. S. Parker
I stifled the sudden and completely inappropriate laughter that wanted to come out. I'd definitely touched something that didn't belong to me.
“Finish up wid dem buckets,” Dye said, breaking through my thoughts. “I gonna take dese two in wid me.”
I nodded at her and continued pumping. With a new goal in mind, I could at least feel like I hadn't given up.
The next few days went by uneventfully as I settled back into a routine. Dye and I chatted, but I didn't bring up time travel again. There was clearly no point. I was, however, still looking into other possibilities. Fortunately for me, sneaking books out of the study and to my room proved to be a simple task. The reality was, no one even noticed anything was missing. I simply left cleaning the study to the very end of the day, polished it off and then escaped before Roston Lightwood and the rest of his Loyalist friends filed in. It was easy hiding a volume or two in my dress, and none of the men gave me a second look.
They were all too busy congratulating each other on the imminent downfall of the rebel colonists.
It was exhausting. I spent days working and stealing books, hours of the night occupied with reading. Well, technically skimming. I wasn't a slow reader, but it was a lot of reading. There was very little in regards to time traveling or the mystical, but the work helped keep my mind off Gracen as well as the ever-growing frustration of not being able to find a way back home.
It didn't keep me from thinking about Gracen, wondering how he was faring with the other soldiers. I didn't know anything about how the army worked in this time, especially not the British Army. Gracen had been gone less than a week. I didn't know if he would have had time to train, if he'd be put somewhere out of the way and safe, or if he'd be sent straight to an active unit, one that would be in the very middle of the danger.
I'd tried eavesdropping, but there was very little information on Gracen. The only mention of his name was accompanied by the pride Roston felt at his son's patriotism and loyalty. I was surprised at how well I controlled myself considering the anger I felt whenever I heard Roston bragging.
This wasn't my fight. Even the war itself wasn't my fight. It'd already been won. My priority was getting home to my family...and to my fiancé, of course.
Bruce.
Groan.
I was a little embarrassed to admit that I'd hardly thought about Bruce since I'd arrived here, and I had to keep reminding myself about him even as I looked for a way home. The man I was supposed to marry occupied very little of my thoughts despite the trouble I'd gone through with my family to fight for him. It was strange that it'd taken something as drastic as this to make me reevaluate my choices.
As June drew to an end, I still hadn't made any progress, and it was wearing on my nerves. The fact that I'd also heard nothing about Gracen only made matters worse. By the time the sun set on the last night in June, I was barely holding it together. I had no idea what I was doing, was no closer to answers, and was starting to think that the smartest thing I could do would be to head west, get as far away from the coming battles as I could. I knew enough about roughing it to survive, maybe even do well, in this time.
As I plopped down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, I wondered if it was time to just accept that unless whatever had brought me here decided to send me home, I was stuck.
Either way, I couldn't stay here any longer. I needed to do something other than wait on the Lightwoods. So, when I was sure the entire household was asleep, I quickly gathered my things and shoved them into the pillowcase. It took less than a few minutes for me to change back into my uniform and head downstairs. This time, I knew I wouldn't turn back.
Gracen wasn't here to stop me.
I walked swiftly, leaving the Lightwood estate behind me. I’d give it one final try before I accepted that I was here to stay, and I knew that meant I had to go back to where it all began. As I made my way back toward Boston, I wasn't sure what to hope for. A way home, or a clear sign to stay.
Twenty-Four
I stayed close to the road, just within the tree line, yet far enough to avoid detection unless someone was looking very closely. The night was cooler than I remembered July nights to be, but that could've been because I was comparing it to Iraq – or because Boston was warmer in my time. The moon was almost full, allowing me enough light to make my way forward, which I appreciated since the territory wasn't familiar enough for me to move both quickly and stealthily. I measured my steps carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible while keeping my senses sharp for anything out of the ordinary.
I was grateful for the concentration, however. It kept me from worrying so much about Gracen. It was sad, and more than a little annoying, that my brain was more focused on where Gracen was and how he was doing than it was on getting home. I told myself it was because time travel was a bit more mind-boggling than guy problems. My subconscious was trying to deny the impossibility of what happened to me.
Yeah, and I believed that bullshit as much as I believed in the tooth fairy.
Then again, I'd never believed in time travel until I'd found myself in 1775. Maybe I'd meet Santa Claus on my little trek.
On and on I went, one foot in front of the other. Not once did I consider returning to the Lightwood estate. After all, there wasn't anything for me there. Not anymore.
I had no idea how long I’d been walking before I finally stopped to rest, slumping down next to a large tree. My legs ached, and my feet hurt. I felt like I'd been going non-stop since I'd gotten here. One thing after the other, with barely any time to even breathe.
I took the time to breathe now, but I didn't find any peace from it. After so many months in the desert, the air smelled strange to me, the almost wet scent of trees and grass, but I knew that wasn't the only reason. The lack of the signs of humanity that I'd always associated with back home weren't here. Car exhaust. Lights. Pavement. Even overseas, I'd never been completely away from any of it.
Suddenly, I realized that I was hearing something other than the usual nighttime rustlings of forest animals.
Hooves. Coming this way, and fast.
I jumped up from my resting spot and hurried a few yards deeper into the woods. There, I crouched down and waited to see if it was friend or foe. If I could even tell such a thing. Now, I registered the sounds of wheels as the carriage came around the corner, and I hoped it meant I wasn't about to see British soldiers rounding the bend. A carriage most likely meant a civilian. At least, according to the minuscule bit of knowledge I'd gleaned from movies and TV shows over the years.
I ran through my options, wondering if this might be an easier way for me to get to my destination. Maybe a safer way. I had no idea who was inside the carriage, and there was no telling whether or not they would stop, much less allow me to join them. Still, it had to be better than walking the entire distance, and I was a little wary of what might happen if I got too close to an army camp. I might know the dates and outcomes of a few battles, but I didn't know troop placements or daily strategic operations.
Before the carriage could pass me by, I decided to go with the lesser of two evils. I jumped up from my hiding place and sprinted through the trees, angling my path so that I stepped out into the moonlight with enough space to spare as it jolted to a stop.
The man sitting up top driving the horses let out a stream of curses that tempted me to flip him off. Instead, I held up both hands to show that I didn't have a weapon. I didn't want to risk trying to guess which side the owners of the carriage were on, so I went with saying nothing.
After a moment, the carriage door opened, and the pungent aroma of whiskey and cigars drifted out to welcome me. The moonlight didn't offer me a clear look at the inhabitants, but it was enough for me to get an idea of who was inside. I saw a portly man sitting opposite a beautifully dressed young woman.
“What is the meaning of this?” he bellowed, clearly pissed.
To my surprise, the young woman – maybe even young enough to be consider
ed a girl – slapped at him with her fan, frowning angrily as he turned toward her. She slapped his knee with her fan again, and I watched in amusement as the man huffed and looked away. She turned to me and smiled widely.
“Excuse my father,” the girl chirped. “He is in quite the mood today.”
“No apologies necessary,” I said back, trying to keep my voice as deep and masculine as possible.
“May I ask what a young man such as yourself is doing out here in the middle of the night?” she asked, her eyes dancing.
Right. Young man. Especially in the dark, there was no way someone would mistake me for a woman.
“I’m on my way to Boston,” I said. “I was wondering if perhaps I could trouble you for a ride if you were going that way.”
“Do you take us for fools?” the man snapped at me. “You will rob us and leave us here.”
I heard the sound of a gun clicking and turned to see the muzzle of some sort of pistol pointing at me. I was pretty sure that he'd only have one shot, and it'd take a while to reload, but I didn't want to consider what would happen if he ended up being accurate with that single shot.
“Come now, Father.” She kept her eyes on me. “He doesn’t look like a criminal.”
“They never do,” her father muttered, eyeing me scornfully. “What is your business in Boston, boy?”
“My business is my own,” I said politely. “But I would be much obliged for your assistance.”
The man's eyes narrowed. “What side do you take in these...disputes? I don't wish to make enemies–”
“Oh, Father, you see rebels and redcoats behind every rock and tree nowadays.” The young woman turned back to me and gave me an even more brilliant smile than before. “Of course, we can assist you.”
Her father glowered at me as I climbed into the carriage, but I didn't get shot or hit, so I was satisfied for the time being.
That lasted until about two minutes into our trip when it became apparent that the young woman – Elizabeth, she insisted I call her – was more interested in whether or not I was married than actually helping out a stranger. It took everything I had to maintain a smile while simultaneously keeping as much distance between us as possible...which was difficult since she kept finding excuses to shift in her seat so her dress would brush against my leg.
It was one thing to have a lesbian flirt with me and have to politely say that I wasn't interested. I had no clue how to handle the attention from someone who thought I was a man.
While the journey was short and uneventful, Elizabeth's attentions and her father's glowers kept it from being pleasant.
She chatted non-stop about parties and dresses, and how much her family’s popularity had risen despite recent events. If it had only been prattling about this and that, I could've simply smiled and nodded, feigning interest while barely paying attention. But that wasn't enough. She wanted to know about me too. Her questions never stopped coming, and I worked hard to be as vague as possible, even after I discovered that they were Loyalists. I didn't want to risk leading them back to the Lightwoods.
I had to admit, as I listened to her talk, that it was a bit surprising how few people believed these 'rebel skirmishes' would amount to anything. To Elizabeth and her father, this was all just a game that would quickly come to an end once the British really put their minds to it.
Ennis told me once that people used to say that the sun never set on the British empire because the Brits had colonized so much of the world that, at any given point in time, the sun was shining on a place that Britain claimed as its own. After listening to Roston Lightwood and his friends, and now Elizabeth and her father, I could understand how such a saying had become popular.
I wondered what they would say if I told them, come August, King George would declare the colonies in official rebellion, and things would quickly escalate from there. Probably the same thing Gracen had done, I knew. They'd think it was a dangerous opinion to have.
And then they'd probably throw me out of the carriage.
It was actually a little sad, once I allowed myself to truly think about it. Sure, there were arrogant people who treated the colonists like second-class citizens and wanted England to defeat the rebels so they could remain in power and comfort. But there were also those who deeply loved their country, who didn't want to be a part of a new one, but rather an equal member of the country they'd always thought of as home.
War was never simple, I reminded myself. Something that wouldn't be any different in my time.
I thought of the internment camps in America during World War II. The innocents who'd died in the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Germans who'd faced persecution and death even if they hadn't supported Hitler's regime. The Vietnam War and the horrors that had been committed by both sides.
Then I thought about the war I'd fought in. One that had started the moment a few hate-filled individuals had murdered thousands of Americans. Nearly nine years later, we had no end in sight, and people were questioning the wisdom and morality of what we were doing.
No, war was never simple.
Even with all of these thoughts bouncing around in my head, I kept my mouth shut about politics. I probably would've made a better impression if I'd agreed with them, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It would've felt too much like a betrayal. The best I could do was keep silent.
As soon as we passed through the siege line, I interrupted Elizabeth's description of her latest dress.
“If you'll excuse me.” I gave a polite smile to both Elizabeth and her father. “I believe I'll walk from here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you a rebel soldier, boy?”
“No,” I said as I leaned closer to the door. If he tried to stop me, I'd make a jump for it. Hopefully, they'd be too worried about the Colonial Army to try to go after me.
“Then we'll take you into the city.” Elizabeth said it like it was a done deal. “You certainly don't want to be left out here with those rebels.” She sniffed, her pretty face twisting into something unattractive.
I shook my head. “I appreciate the ride, but I'd like to stretch my legs a bit. They're stiff from sitting so long.”
I didn't add that I knew things would be fairly calm for the rest of the year. There'd be some minor skirmishes, some raids, that sort of thing, but the city would stay as it was until the new year. After that, the British would withdraw and the Americans would have the city. The major danger had passed, so I'd most likely be safe between the Colonial Army and the city limits.
Besides, this was where Gracen had found me, so even if it wasn't exactly safe, if I ever wanted to get home, this was where I had to be.
The carriage had slowed to a walk as the road began to curve. I remembered this area and knew that I had to get out now or I'd never find my way back in the dark.
“If the ungrateful bastard doesn't want to ride with us anymore, I say good riddance.”
Before I could respond, Elizabeth's father pushed open the carriage door and unceremoniously shoved me out. I heard Elizabeth give a scream of protest, but I was more concerned with curling my body so that I landed on my shoulder rather than my face.
By the time I got up, my shoulder and arm throbbing, the carriage was several yards away. At least I'd managed to hang on to my pillowcase of belongings, I thought as I stretched myself out, checking to make sure that some bruises and scrapes were all I had. The cut on my shoulder felt tender, but I didn't feel any blood, which was good. I couldn't, however, say the same for my leg. The wound there had been deeper, so it was taking longer to heal. Even in the dim light, I saw a few new dark spots on my pants, but it could bear my weight.
I sighed. I needed to find somewhere to sleep for the rest of the night. I wasn't sure of the exact spot where Gracen had found me, so I'd need to walk every inch of the area and hope that I tripped something, and it took me back to my time. If I didn't find anything by the time my food supplies ran out, I'd change into the one dress I'd brought and
go into the city to decide what to do next.
With a set plan in my mind, I looked around for the best possible place to steal a few hours of sleep. My journey, I knew, was far from over.
Twenty-Five
I woke with a start at the touch of a hand on my shoulder, and immediately kicked out, registering a cry of pain when I connected with something. Muscle memory took over even before I'd fully woken, and I twisted away from the hand, pushing myself into a crouch, hands curled into fists. My breaths came in gasps, my heart beating like a hammer in my chest as adrenaline coursed through me.
“Honor, stop!”
I froze at the familiar voice, staring as Gracen held up his hands in surrender. It took my brain a few seconds to catch up and allow my body to relax. Still, I couldn't quite believe he was here. My mind whirled at the odds, the incredible improbability of this man finding me in this same place two separate times. Fate had to be at work.
And he looked like shit. His clothes were rumpled and dirty as if he'd been sleeping in them for a while. His curls were wild, and there were even bits of leaves in his hair. His skin was pale, except for the dark circles under his eyes.
What the hell had happened to him in the week since I'd last seen him?
“Gracen?” I finally managed to say his name.
He smiled at me, but it was a weak smile and didn't quite reach his eyes. “Honor, what are you doing here?” He sounded even more tired than he looked, which was saying something.
“I could ask you the same question,” I countered, my mind still reeling. I believed I’d never see him again. “Why aren't you with your unit...I mean, your regiment?”
He looked away, a dark flush creeping up his neck. The realization hit me all at once.
He'd never joined the army. That might have been what he told his father, but he’d never actually enlisted.