by Karen Guffey
CHAPTER FIVE
Marie woke up with a pounding heart. She wanted to go home--she had to get out to the garden right away. Jumping out of bed, she dressed as quickly as she could and ran downstairs and into the garden.
It was just past dawn and not as foggy as it had been yesterday. She made herself stop running, certain that speed had nothing to do with going 84 years backwards. She began walking in the direction from which she'd come yesterday. Or from which she thought she'd come, anyway. How would she know if she'd gotten back? Surely she'd be able to recognize her own home. But what if she got back to 1927 but not to her house? She could go up to someone's house and ask . . . what? What the year was? If they had a television?
But as the fog began to lift, she could tell that she was still in 2011. The house to her left didn't look like any house she'd ever seen before yesterday. And she was no longer in a garden--she was walking across a lawn. She wanted to keep walking, but with the fog disappearing and no garden in sight, she was afraid it was useless.
She turned around, eyes down as she headed back to Rick's house. How would she get back? Was she stuck here? Her parents must be out of their minds with fear. And Davis--he was probably tearing the city apart looking for her. Or would after he'd finished work for the day.
Now where had that uncharitable thought come from? Davis loved her. And she adored him. If she couldn't find a way back, she'd never see him again. He'd marry somebody else. And she'd . . . she'd . . .
She looked up to see if she was close to Rick's house. It wasn't the house just ahead to the right, or the one beyond that. Had she come over that hill? Surely she couldn't have come very far.
Panicking, she began to run. A woman was coming out of one house, wearing very short blue trousers, and Marie ran in the other direction. She had to find Rick's house! Being stuck in the future was bad enough, but if she couldn't find Rick again, she'd--
"Marie!"
She turned toward his voice. "Rick?"
"Where are you?"
"Here! I'm lost!" But then she saw him and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. "I couldn't get back home!"
"Shhh, shhh--it's all right." He hugged her, rocking her gently.
"How am I going to get back, Rick? Am I stuck here forever?"
"Come on--let's go have some breakfast, and we'll see what else we can think of."
She let him lead her back to his house. Sitting at the table while he made breakfast, she wiped her eyes and cheeks and nose with a paper napkin. "I'm never going to get back."
"Sure you will."
"How? I walked and walked and didn't get back. All I did was get lost--I couldn't even get back here."
"You should have woken me up so I could go with you."
"Then you'd have gone back to 1927 too. If I'd succeeded."
"I could have just followed at a distance. Just so I could hear you if you needed me." He spooned scrambled eggs onto their plates.
"It doesn't matter now, anyway." She stared at the glass of orange juice he'd set in front of her. "What am I going to do now?"
"Well . . ." He took the bacon out of the microwave, worried because she hadn't even looked up when it beeped. "I know that there are people who study this sort of thing. Scientists . . . I think they're scientists. We could get the names of some of them, you could talk to them and see--"
"No." She shook her head. "That would become a circus. And I a sideshow. Scientists didn't make this happen, so I don't have much faith in their ability to undo it. I want to keep trying this--walking in the garden in the mornings. But . . ." She glanced up at him.
He looked up when she didn't finish. "But what?"
"I-I need a place to stay until I get back."
He smiled. "I think I can stand having you around for a while."
"I don't want to be a burden . . ."
"You won't be. I think it'll be fun."
She smiled then. "Can we watch television today?"
That pleasure was only one of many that day. First she loaded the dishwasher while Rick supervised, and she poured in the soap and started the machine herself. After a shower, she had lessons on the use of the food processor, the blender, and--delight of delights--the microwave oven.
"I can make lunch now," she proclaimed happily.
"Do you like to cook?"
"Yes." But her face fell. "To be honest, I don't know how. We have a cook. But I'd like to try."
"OK. I'll supervise until we're sure you're not going to chop off your fingers or anything." He smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. "But it's such a beautiful day. Why don't we go out for lunch and then see a movie?"
"Wonderful!"
They went to a small restaurant for soup and sandwiches. "This is good," she said after swallowing a spoonful of clam chowder.
"Do you have it in 1927?"
"Yes--it's one of my favorites."
"What don't you have?"
She laughed. "Well, we don't have shoe soup, but I imagine that you don't either."
"Oh, but that's one of my favorites." His eyes twinkled. "I know. I bet you don't have all-you-can-eat buffets."
"All you can eat?"
"Yeah. You pay one price and eat anything you want from the buffet."
Her eyes were wide. "What's on it?"
"Depends. You can go to a Chinese buffet or a Mexican buffet or an American buffet. If it's American, there's usually a lot of salad items, chicken, potatoes, different kinds of meats and vegetables. Oh--and desserts. Tons of desserts--cake, pie, cookies, ice cream . . ."
"Mmm. I'm glad we're eating right now. If we weren't, I'd want to run out to one of those buffets."
"If you're around long enough, I'll take you to one." He froze, afraid his remark would make her start worrying again. But her attention was completely on her chowder. Relaxing again, he asked casually, "What do you do for fun in 1927?"
"It depends." She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "If you do what you're supposed to do, garden parties and radio and reading and long walks and gossip are the extent of it. But if you have a male cousin under your thumb, you go to speakeasies and dance and drink cocktails and meet interesting people."
"I believe you mentioned last night that you fall into the second category."
"Of course." She smiled. "Will you be my 2011 cousin?"
He laughed. "Alcohol is legal now, and women can go anywhere men go."
"Anywhere?"
"Yeah. Well, not to the men's restroom. But anywhere else."
She stirred her tea thoughtfully. "And it's accepted? In 1927, women can go to speakeasies, but not respectable women."
"We don't have speakeasies like those in the '20s, but if you want to, I'll take you dancing one night. To one of the wild places where the kids go if you like--and you'll still be considered respectable."
They spent the next hour comparing their respective decades. She told him all about her favorite stars and pictures. She'd known one of the eight contestants in the first Miss America contest in 1921, and she'd followed the Scopes trial in 1925 with shocked fascination. He told her that all 50 states--"Fifty!" she exclaimed--had Miss America representatives in a contest that was televised every year, along with a Miss Universe contest, and that evolution was taught in most schools now, alongside creation in some parts of the country. She told him that she'd always wanted to see Josephine Baker's stage show and Louis Armstrong and his trumpet, and he told her that anyone truly talented and/or popular now eventually did a television special. She told him about the excitement over the discovery of King Tut's tomb in 1922, and as she was explaining how it had inspired the Egyptian motif of her dress, she glanced around and realized how out of style she was.
"Dresses are sometimes quite short," she observed, "but not all of them. And I never would have believed that women would wear trousers in public without causing a stir!"
"You should see the bathing suits
."
"They're shorter than the dresses?"
He laughed. "`Short' isn't the word. There are no legs, no arms, sometimes no middle, and they're cut very low."
"And the men aren't-aren't . . . don’t . . . stare?" She blushed.
"Oh, we stare.” He grinned, but then his face grew sober; being able to see from her perspective made him realize that, as much as he enjoyed looking at women on the beach, the changes in modesty reflected a decay in morals that would probably make her uncomfortable. "Morals are one of the things that have changed a lot in the last 84 years. So I guess the 1920s have something on us." He swallowed the last of his tea. "Why don't we go buy you an outfit or two?"
"I can't. I didn't bring any money with me. Would it be accepted now, anyway?"
"Actually, it would probably be very valuable. You never see any money that old in circulation because coin collectors have it all. But you don't need any money. I'll buy what you need."
"No. I can't let you--"
"Come on." He stood up, taking her hand. "It'll be payment for the history lesson."
Marie exclaimed with excitement when she saw Faneuil Hall--she'd been there many times. But she didn't recognize the interior at all. It contained all kinds of shops with jewelry, candy, and a variety of other goods that she didn't have a chance to inspect because when Rick realized that there weren't any major clothing stores here, he led her back to the car, and they drove to a huge indoor shopping area he called a mall.
"Why don't we just buy you something comfortable for now?” he suggested as they went into the nearest store. “Something to wear around the house." He led her to the ladies’ section. "What size pants should we try?"
"I have no idea."
He took a pair of soft jeans and held them up. "What do you think?"
"Maybe. They look a little small."
"We'll get one of the next size too."
"May I help you?"
Both Rick and Marie turned to the salesgirl. "We'd like to see some casual shirts for her," he said.
"OK--we have some really pretty ones that just came in." She led them to a rack. "There are some more in the corner over there." She smiled at Marie. "Cute dress."
Marie glanced down at her dress before responding with a puzzled, "Thank you." She knew it definitely wasn't in fashion now.
A little while later Marie took the jeans and several blouses into the dressing room, removing her dress and putting on her favorite of the blouses, a navy blue one with red stripes. It was so soft! After admiring it in the mirror for a moment, she reached for the smaller pair of trousers. The material felt comfortable, but they were so tight! Were they supposed to be this tight?
Rick would know. She felt queer walking out in these clothes, but after having seen how women of this decade dressed, she knew she'd draw more attention in her Egyptian-motif dress than in this outfit.
"Rick," she said, drawing his attention away from the people browsing in the store, "is this what they're supposed to look like?"
His eyes grew big as he stared at her. The jeans revealed slender thighs, smoothly rounded hips, and, as she turned just a bit, a perfectly shaped little derriere. He started to reply to her question but found he had to clear his throat before he could speak. "You look great."
"Really? Are they supposed to be this tight?"
"That's-that's the style."
"And this is considered comfortable? I don't know if I can even sit down with them on!"
With regret he put his own wishes aside. "Is that the bigger pair? If not, let's get some bigger ones."
"No--these are the small ones. I'll go try the others."
They bought the bigger pair and two shirts, and Marie wore the jeans and the red and navy shirt from the store. "Thank you for the clothes, Rick," she said, smiling up at him.
"You're welcome. Do you like them?"
"Very much." She sighed. "But I suppose I shouldn't take them back with me."
"Why?"
"I could never wear the trousers." She laughed softly. "Davis would die of apoplexy if he could see me now."
"He's not the adventurer you are, I take it."
"Hardly."
Rick wanted to seize the opportunity and led her toward a frozen yogurt stand so that they could sit down and talk. "I bet you don't have frozen yogurt in 1927."
"No," she replied, intrigued. "What is it?"
"It's like ice cream but better for you. The flavors are on that board. What sounds good to you?"
She couldn't make up her mind between chocolate-covered cherry and chocolate almond, so he asked for a sample of each. When she at last chose the former, he ordered a waffle cone of it for her--inspired to have M & Ms added at the last minute--and a cone of pecan praline for himself.
"What do you think?" he asked after they'd sat down and begun eating.
"Mmm." She swallowed and licked her lips. "This is heavenly. Would you like a bite?"
"No thank you. But try some of this. See if it's as good as the chocolate."
She let him feed her a bite. "It's good," she decided, "but it can't compare with chocolate."
He smiled as she resumed eating her own yogurt with obvious pleasure. Scooping and molding his yogurt, he asked, "What do you and your . . . fiancé . . . do together?"
"Not much. We go to dinner and then dancing. Sometimes we listen to the radio, he goes to church with my family and has meals with us frequently . . ." She sighed, taking a bite of yogurt. "He works hard. We really don't spend much time together."
"Do you miss him?"
"Yes. He must be out of his mind with worry."
"Why do you love him?"
Her eyes flew to his face. "What do you mean?"
"What is it about him that made you fall in love with him?"
She stared at her spoon thoughtfully. "He's so . . . so . . . romantic. I mean . . . he looks romantic. He's tall and handsome, just like Douglas Fairbanks, and he makes me feel romantic. Especially when we dance. When he lets me choose what to do, I always choose dancing so that--" She glanced at Rick. "Well, I like it when he holds me."
"And he only holds you when you dance?" Rick stopped pretending to eat.
"Well, yes. After all, as you said, morals are higher in 1927."
"But-but . . . everybody needs to be held! That's not immoral!" He leaned toward her. "I've held you a number of times. Was that wrong?"
She dropped her gaze. "Well, no. Not proper, really, but not immoral."
He reached out to squeeze her hand. "Listen to yourself, Marie. You're describing a crush, not love. He's tall, he's handsome, he makes you feel romantic--you don't love him! He's like a movie star."
She withdrew her hand, her eyes flashing. "You don't know. He works with my father, he's already like a member of the family--"
"Let him be a brother. Romance isn't everything, Marie, and if that's all you have, it doesn't even last very long. You need to enjoy everything together, going to-to speakeasies, going for walks, playing games, or just being together while you read. You've said he doesn't spend much time with you because he works so much. That's ridiculous. If he loved you, he'd make time for you. If you were mine, I'd leave the office every evening as soon as I could. If you were mine, I would want to spend every minute of every day with you, and I'd want to hold you every chance I got. If you were mine--" He stopped, realizing how agitated he was getting and how chagrined Marie looked. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I didn't mean to get so excited. I just really care about you, and I don't want you to mistake infatuation for love and end up hurt."
They finished their yogurt in silence. Rick threw their napkins away, and they began wandering toward the mall exit. "I'm sorry, Marie," he repeated. "It's really none of my business."
She was quiet for a few moments. Glancing up at him, she asked, "Would you really spend every evening with me if-if I were . . . yours?"
He smiled. "I'd start wrapping work up at 4:30, and at 5:00 I'd be out the door. In fact, if you're still around tomorrow afternoon, I'll probably be home by 5:30."
"Why?"
"You're a lot of fun to be with."
Her smile lit her face. "Really?"
"Yeah. I've had a terrific time this weekend."
"So have I."
"And if you were mine," he continued, happy that she wasn't angry, "I would hold you every time you let me. I guess that if I lived in 1927, I might have to be subtle about it. Like . . . I might see some lint on your shirt that needed to be brushed off. Like this." He turned to face her and reached behind her to brush off the imaginary lint, his arm drawing her close.
Marie laughed. "I think there's lint a little lower on my back."
Reaching lower meant he had to draw her closer. "Hmmm--there's a piece at the top too." His free hand slid along her waist and up to her shoulder blade, the result being an embrace. "Now you're lint free."
She laughed again. "You might have lint on your back too." She put her arms around him. He smiled down into her face, which was now tantalizingly close to his. He quickly pressed his cheek to her hair, tightening his arms for just a moment before releasing her. "Come on--let's go see what else we can find."
He took her to a drugstore, handing her a 20-dollar bill and wandering off when he realized that there were some toiletries she needed but was too embarrassed to pick up while he was watching. When she was done, he took her to a jewelry store, thinking she might like that, but there was jewelry in 1927. She was much more interested in the electronic gadgets next door, and she spent ten minutes exclaiming over the effects of a blacklight. When he bought her one, her face came alive with delight. "It'll make your rug glow!"
"Just what I always wanted: fluorescent purple carpet." But he grinned as he took the bag from the cashier.
"Thank you so much, Rick," she said, beaming up at him.
"I think you're more excited about the blacklight than the clothes."
"I love the clothes--they're beautiful. But the light . . . that's like getting roses. Or diamonds!"
He laughed. "I've never met a girl so easy to please."
As they were leaving the store, Rick happened to glance down and notice Marie's shoes. They were bulky, ugly black things, and he insisted on buying her a pair of sneakers. She loved the way they felt and ran into the parking lot ahead of him, bouncing in them.
"What'll we do now?" she asked as they walked into his house.
"Take a nap. You've worn me out."
"No, no . . . I know! Show me how to use the blacklight!"
He screwed it into a lamp in the living room. When he turned it on, she clapped her hands. "It's beautiful!"
He laughed. "I'm going to go make dinner while you amuse yourself."
"Don't use the microwave without me!"
After dinner they spent the evening watching TV. For Rick, it was almost like watching TV with a child: Marie had questions about everything. It was fun to watch the wonder on her face and the avid attention she gave the programs.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to go to bed, Marie. I'm worn out, and I have to get up early tomorrow," Rick told her when the movie ended at 11:30.
"Oh." Tomorrow she had to get up early too. She had to get to the garden before the fog lifted. She'd had fun today, but she had to get home tomorrow. While she was having fun, her parents were in a panic over her. She had to get back to them.
But what if she couldn't? She hadn't been able to this morning. Swallowing, she looked up at Rick. "What will happen if I can't get back tomorrow?"
"Then you'll try again Tuesday morning." He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, Marie. You'll get back sooner or later. And until you do, I'll take care of you. I promise."
She went upstairs with him and said goodnight outside her bedroom door. But her heart began pounding with panic as she thought about the day she'd just spent in 2011. She'd worn trousers in town, and she'd embraced a man in public. And now she was spending the night alone with him in his house! Davis would have a fit if he ever found out she'd been to a speakeasy; he'd refuse to marry her if he found out what she'd done today.
But there was no way he could find out. Tomorrow she'd be back home, and he'd be ecstatic that she was all right. He'd be sorry he'd lost his temper with her and hurt her with his kiss. He'd spend more time with her. They'd . . . they'd . . . go out to lunch? Davis always had to work during his lunch hour. Go to a picture? Davis thought they were a waste of time.
Marie climbed into bed with a frown. She and Davis were going to have to have a serious discussion. She didn't intend to have a husband whom she saw only at meals and at bedtime.