I haven’t gotten much sleep this week, though not for the usual reasons. Not sure what the usual reasons are – old age? Hope not. Anyway, this week a couple of owls have stopped by my woods. I saw the dark silhouette of the first one at twilight, swooping overhead. It looked small and stout. He landed and began making fun owl noises, such stereotypical owl noises I thought maybe someone was playing a game with me, hiding in the dusky trees. I’d not heard this one before and, silly me, I went in the house and let it go on hooting without me. Checking on line, first for local owl species, making note of the small, fat ones, I came across a Cornell University site, an awesome site with maps and descriptions and recorded bird songs, screeches and other interesting noises birds make. None of the owls I listened to matched what I had heard in my tree. Darn, there aren’t that many owls! This one kept me awake as I tried to remember its almost corny hoot but couldn’t. Could I have discovered a new species! Sad, because it just looked small, fat, and black and I can’t repeat the calls it made to tell anybody!

Two nights later I lay awake listening to a different owl, one I’ve heard many times before. And it was close. This one was gracious enough to repeat its message over and over. Whowhowho who who. It would have laughed to hear my lying in bed mimicking its call to my dogs, who thought I’d lost it. I wanted to be sure to remember it so I could look it up. As I lay there listening I could hear another one answering, far off in someone else’s woods. They hooted back and forth for some time. I was pleased to confirm they were great horned owls on the Cornell site, no doubt about it. Now I can picture these impressive birds sitting in my trees, which I’m so glad I have for them to sit in. 🙂 Some people would consider them sirens of the forest, luring them into dark and evil places, but my woods are safe and protective at night, and I’m thrilled to share them with the owls.

Two nights ago the dogs and I slept with the wood stove, a black and stout and very warm thing in my living room. With predictions of 0 degrees overnight I wanted to be sure to keep it going, and it’s quite pleasant once in a while to drift off to sleep in its peachy, dancing shadows. I woke up once in the wee hours to see a familiar friend sparkling outside the window. In the freezing darkness there was Orion, my guardian of the night, as dependable as a body guard, his sword at the ready. He’s my comfort constellation, and I lay there thinking back of all the places I’ve been over the years where he’s twinkled at me on a clear, winter night.

And just so you don’t worry about me, last night I slept like a log, all the way through 😉

This first line was mine, I’d actually thought of it earlier in the day. My only thought until the timer started was that there would be reindeer:
The steps in the snow were very mysterious. The dogs wondered about them, too, sniffing from one to the next. They were deep and wide, the edges blurred. Bigger than any deer prints I’d ever seen. We’d just come across them on our usual walk and, though it was getting dark, I decided to follow them. There was certainly more than one, maybe a herd. Should I be scared? No, definitely not wolf prints, so I kept going. The dogs were hot on the trail, a hundred feet ahead of me plowing through the snow. I trudged behind and could see the straight path the mysterious critters had taken into the trees. The light was fading but I could still make out the shadows of the prints. The lights in the valley down below were coming on. I paused to enjoy the twinkling Christmas lights, one of the ranches had strung lights around their house and all their outbuildings. I love Christmas lights! Now I was having trouble keeping the trail in sight and suddenly both dogs were back with me, excited and prancing around. And then the tracks just disappeared. Gone. I searched in the settling dusk but they had vanished. How was that possible? Wait a minute….did I just hear sleigh bells???

Folks, it’s cold up here! Arctic blast is an understatement! Fortunately, it’s been calm through most of this gift from the north but one day it snowed from every direction in strong, nasty gusts – not only from the north, it also snowed from the south, from the east and west, by the front door under the roof, and at my back door and added a couple of inches to my summer table waiting out the season. The lake froze up and it snowed on that, and then it really got cold! Our high was 7 for least four days in a row, dipping to below zero all those nights. Running the dogs at the lake was a challenge, but only for me, the dogs thrive in this weather! And then the electricity went out. This I could handle. With tea and a good book I rather enjoyed it! 🙂

I’ll tell you right up front this story is about “preparing” chickens for the dinner table, and I’ve included a couple of pictures that are not too graphic 🙂

I’ve been reading chapters of my Gone Missing story to my writing group, and there was much discussion when my protagonist admitted to having no clue how to butcher a chicken.   Turns out one of the Cindys (of the six in the group there are three Cindys/Cindies?)  raises chickens.   I’ve always thought this was something I should know how to do, not sure why, goes with my pioneer spirit or something.   Turns out they butcher in the fall and I was invited to help.  Oh boy 😉  I missed the first round but they saved three chickens for me.  So it happened yesterday.   

Cindy told me to dress appropriately.  As a bonus, Cindy also has horses and we planned to go riding later, so I wore my grubbies.  Not as grubby as I should have.  I only watched the “deed,” graciously done by Cindy’s husband.  Cindy has green-checked polyester pants just for the occasion (are thrift stores great or what?) and it’s a messy affair.   They had a big bucket of scalding water ready and after a quick dunking the feathers came right off, more or less.  That was the part I helped with.   I plucked one to Cindy’s two and I was given plucking technique lessons and told family butchering stories as we focused on our birds.   Her dog, Buster, helped too, standing by and ready for the heads to fall.   Then at the big sink in the kitchen I was given rooster anatomy lessons, from the outside and working in.   Quite interesting actually, but admit I didn’t help with that part.   She expertly showed me how to cut one up for frying and made it look easy.  I’ve never been good at cutting up a whole bird and still am not, made it into a real chore and Cindy had to repeat some of her instructions more than once.   She was very patient.   And then the chickens had  to cool, so off we went riding!

Cindy and her husband have four horses and we rode the two pretty black Morgans.  One rides like a couch, she said, one like a truck, she gave me the couch 🙂  Cindy likes bareback, this Cindy needs a western saddle, but it didn’t take long to get ready.  She can ride out the back of her enviable property right into open forest with miles and miles of trails.   We made a couple of loops, seemed like loops to me anyway, including one with a view of the big lake in the purple dusk, fresh snow-capped peaks in the distance.  Lights from town sparkled in the distance as we came back into the corral.  It had been a great afternoon, one that I wish to repeat if she’ll let me!!!   Now I’m off to BBQ a fresh chicken leg/thigh I was lucky to bring home….

We never got a ride. We walked in and out of the shadows along the dusty road toward town. I kicked at drifts of larch needles in ruts and pot holes. By mid-afternoon some of the kick had gone out of my walk. Charlie’s tail no longer waved like a flag but drooped like an old rag. Shortly before seeing the first roof top I noticed the shadows had disappeared. The temperature dropped and I pulled my over-sized coat tight around me. Did I see a few flakes mixed with the occasional larch needle falling in front of me?
“We’ll have a warm place to stay tonight, Charlie. I’m sure of it. And we’ll have something hot for dinner, even you. I promise.” I had to smile and was glad Charlie was not a child who would hold me to my promises. My confidence was waning the closer I got to town. We finally passed the first of the Great Northern buildings on the outskirts of town, the round house and a work shack. Ice houses bordered the tracks on the north side, long gone in my time. I perked up a bit, from anxiety or anticipation I wasn’t sure. Finally we came to Main Street. No train was seen or heard and the streets were quiet. I knew whatever an early dinner cost I was buying it. It seemed a long time since that cold biscuit and square of cheese. Charlie ducked under the doors of the Steel Rail Café and I followed, enjoying the old-fashioned swinging doors. I quickly took a seat near the front window and guided Charlie under the table and told him to stay. He deserved this break as much as I did and I didn’t want him thrown out. A young gentleman wearing a crisp white apron came over with a menu.
“Can I bring you coffee while you decide, ma’am?” He asked.
“Bless you. I can’t think of anything I want more at the moment. Well, maybe a glass of water too, please.”
“And I’ll bring a little bowl for your friend.” He winked at me and headed toward the kitchen.
The menu would be worth studying later, for entertainment. It was printed with cute little drawings of train engines and simple sketches of mountain goats and squirrels. And the prices would make me laugh later, too, but for now I scanned them with the seriousness of the moment and breathed a sigh of relief to see that coffee was 3 cents. Oh, chicken pot pie, perfect, and only 30 cents. Things were looking up. The nice waiter was adorably discreet when he came back with a tray carrying one cup of coffee, one glass of water, and a little bowl of water that he sloshed out a bit when he handed it over. I scanned the faces of the few folks having early dinners or leaning up at the bar and no one seemed to see or care about Charlie. And no one noticed the happy slurping noises that came from under my table. I almost slurped myself I was so thirsty, and I was grateful to be sitting down with a cool glass of water. After rolling my shoulders a bit and oozing into the shape of the chair, I was finally able to relax and take a few deep breaths. The coffee tasted better than any I’d ever had. I tickled Charlie’s ears while we waited for dinner, and studied the bar and the people coming and going. Yep, like a movie. A few people nodded to me as they passed by, faint smiles. Would I fit in? I suspected my clothes were a bit outdated but if anyone noticed I didn’t see it in their faces. Too tired to change my boots before coming into town, I smoothed my skirt down to hopefully cover my feet. I was glad they couldn’t see the tied up bundle of clothes I’d laid on the chair next to me. What would they make of that? I looked like a tramp with a scruffy dog.
In the jargon of my time, the chicken pot pie was to die for. I snuck chunks of chicken under the table that were taken from my fingers by an eager little mouth. I snuck him a couple of carrot bits. I don’t care for peas so he got those too. I would have asked about dessert but it was getting late and I didn’t want to miss Roger. I paid and thanked my kind waiter friend and stepped out onto the boardwalk. Lights were coming on up and down the street. It had started to snow. There was a dim light shining in the newspaper office and one in the little apartment upstairs. What would my new roommate be like? Would we be best friends someday? I hoped she liked dogs. Crossing the road I carried my bundle of clothes like one would carry a stack of books, rather than dangling from a string like a poor hobo’s bindle. I stalled a bit by looking at hats in the millinery shop’s windows. I was going to need something warm very soon to cover my ears. Charlie followed me into the newspaper office, a little bell above the door announced my entry. It was dark but for a light coming from a room in the back where I could see a young man operating a press, the pulley whirring and all the parts moving back and forth, rhythmically producing a single piece of newsprint at a time. The man looked up and stepped into the front room.
“May I help you?” He asked.
“Yes, please. I’m looking for Mr. Dawson.” I felt a moment of panic. Maybe Roger wasn’t here. He might be out at his cabin, he could be anywhere! Before the man could answer Roger was standing in the doorway, taking off a pair of glasses. He was backlit by the warm yellow light but I could see he was smiling. Charlie ran around the front counter and jumped on Roger. Bending down to give Charlie’s head a good tussle, Roger’s eyes never left mine. I wasn’t lost in time anymore. Roger’s smile told me I was home.

We waited a long time for summer, now it has to go,
Any minute we could have that first flake of snow.
But wait – let us enjoy autumn’s warmth and glow!!!

Okay, I’m not a poet but I know beautiful colors when I see them 🙂

Ray didn’t feel very threatened by Charlie. There was a brief standoff between the two and finally Ray just walked to the back of the wagon to help unload supplies. I caught Martha smiling.
“I’ll leave right after dinner, Martha, honestly. I want you to know I’m grateful for your help. And dinner’s all ready so let’s go eat and then I’ll stay to help you unload the wagon before I go, okay?”
Earl had taken a load of wrapped parcels into the house and came back on the porch.
“Smells wonderful in there. Quite the treat to come home and find dinner waiting. I see she cleaned out the stove and brought in more wood, too.” Earl said to Martha. Then he turned to me. “Come by anytime little lady. Let’s all go eat.” Earl was a big man, maybe ten years older than Martha. He seemed patient and sweet. He had laugh lines that curled up into bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows. He had on neat canvas pants and a clean blue flannel shirt, kind of like mine, and I guessed these were his good town clothes. Earl actually gave me a little bow, and with a smile he held the door open for Martha then me. Charlie stopped in the doorway, just for a moment, making Ray wait, who followed behind with a big burlap sack over his shoulder. Earl opened the big ice box door and Ray hefted a block of ice out of the sack and slid it onto the shelf.
“Yessir, no reason the rest of the supplies can’t wait. Let’s eat!” Earl rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Martha filled a wash basin and carried it out the back door to a little table set under the eaves. All three took turns using it to wash up. I hurriedly set the table.
Dinner was a huge success, if I do say so myself.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Martha proved herself a real friend. Her generosity was a marvel because I was still a mysterious stranger to her. She offered me anything I wanted out of that trunk upstairs, things she couldn’t wear anymore. I almost cried I was so touched and grateful. So I left that sweet cabin along the railroad tracks in a long black skirt and gray pinstriped blouse with lace-up canvas oxfords that fit me fine if I kept my socks on. I had the skirt and blouse I’d worn to town, another skirt and two blouses, and a few under things that would make me laugh later. Right then I was too fragile to show emotions either way, trying hard to be stoic.
“You’re welcome to stay the night, Ms. Burke.” Earl offered once again. “You can’t walk back to town tonight. I’ll take you to town myself in the morning if you’d just think sense.” It was painful how much I wanted to accept his offer but Ray stood there with something of a smirk on his face and I had to go.
“Charlie and I are good walkers, and campers too. We’ll be fine.” I repeated my thanks and hugged Martha and Earl. I bravely headed out, my L.L. Bean boots tied together and dangling over my new bundle of clothes tied up in a heavy coat that had been Earl’s. Charlie never looked back, leading the way down the dirt path into the woods that would take us to town. I turned around to wave and Earl and Martha gave wild encouraging waves. I saw Martha jab at Ray with her elbow and he finally turned away and went back inside.
As soon as we were out of sight in the protection of the trees I sat down and changed back into my boots. Not only were they more comfortable but the little oxfords had to last for a while for my life in town until I figured out a way to buy more more. I was feeling pretty cold and miserable by the time I stopped and made a little fire. I scrunched down onto a quickly made bed of fir boughs and settled my worried head on a pillow of clothes. Charlie cuddled close under the coat I draped over both of us and we tried to sleep. I dreamed of screaming chickens and dark cellars and Roger’s smile.
We got up right at dawn. No point restoking the fire, I decided to get moving right away. It sure was cold. I put on Earl’s coat and wrapped the extra large size tight around me. To my surprise I found the pockets full – I kept pulling out interesting things that had clearly been tucked in them by Martha – couple of dainty little handkerchiefs, a small leather coin purse, and a napkin wrapped around a couple of small biscuits and a chunk of cheese. Bless her heart. There was also a sliver of soap – a hint no doubt but a kind one. Charlie and I followed the path along the tracks for a while. It warmed up and the woods smelled piney and heady. I knew the river was just through the trees to the south. Since we hadn’t seen any sign of railroad workers that might give us a ride, I decided I might as well get it over with. The river was in full sun, I figured it must be 9:00 or so, guessing eight miles maybe from the Peterson’s. There was a lovely spot with almost a beach-like opening in the reeds and dry grasses.
“Want to go swimming with mommy, Bud?” Charlie took a big drink of water. The look on his drippy face was unmistakable. Nah.
The best thing was to do it quick. I stripped down to my undies and jumped in. It was at once the most exhilarating and most excruciating pain I’d ever felt. I was breathless but, boy, did I need that bath. Drying off could have happened a little quicker but I felt great. The boots went back on and we picked up our trail to town, not so much looking back now as looking ahead.

I stoked the woodstove and got it roaring. I peeled and cut the potatoes and carrots and set them to boil on the stove and added sprinkles of this and that from little tins lined up on the back of the stove, some were marked, some weren’t, but I hoped their contents would be tasty mixed together. This was not much for dinner but I couldn’t find much else to throw in. There was a small wooden ice box but it was empty, warm and dry inside; it hadn’t seen ice in a while. Hesitant to use anything from the cellar, I decided to go exploring. After checking all the exterior walls once again, hoping for a place I might fall through, I discovered a large garden out back, nicely fenced in and bulging with end-of-the-season veggies. Overgrown zucchini and tomatoes were obvious without even opening the decorative wire gate. The meadow beyond was wide open now, and between the house and the barn, which in my time were separated by trees and more distance than one would put between themselves and the barn, was another house. This one was newer, had a clapboard exterior, though showing signs of age with peeling white paint and faded blue trim. I hesitated and decided against exploring any farther. The next person to see me dressed this way may not be as accepting as Martha.
I went through the gate into the ripe garden and nosed around. I needed to go find a basket but picked a couple of fat zucchinis to take in. I wondered if the Petersons had ever made zucchini boats. Smiling over this I was totally unprepared for the challenging voice that stopped me cold.
“Okay, you’re caught, now c’mon out of there!”
I raised my hands, a zucchini in each of them, like I had a gun pointed at me. I turned to face my accuser. “I’m just getting veggies for dinner. The Petersons should be home soon. I wanted to surprise them.”
“I think you’re stealing what you can BEFORE they get home.”
“No sir, I’ve already got the stove going and potatoes boiling. You can go check.” That’s when I noticed the chicken.
Charlie had been startled too. He was so intent on chasing a mouse through the lettuce he didn’t hear this man’s approach. Now my good guard dog did his low, cautious growling noise. I wasn’t sure if it was directed toward the man or the chicken. The man carried the limp dead thing by its feet; probably only moments ago it was catching bugs in the tall grass somewhere.
“I saw you poking around, kinda nervous like. Didn’t want to get caught, I ‘spect.”
“I was just looking around, not poking. Do you live in that house?”
“If you knew the Petersons you’d know I’m Martha’s brother living next door.”
“Well, I don’t know her well, it’s a long story. And I haven’t met her husband but she did me a big favor and I’m just trying to repay her.”
By this time Charlie was going nuts over the dead chicken and the man was clearly getting annoyed. I set the zucchinis down and shushed Charlie.
“I’m Sally. It’s nice to meet you.” I offered my hand for a friendly shake over the fence.
“I’m Ray. If you want to be helpful and make dinner, take care of this.” He thrust the dead thing into my extended hand and walked towards the house. I hoped he didn’t see how shocked I must have looked. I didn’t have a clue how to clean a dead, fully feathered chicken.
*****
The Peterson’s wagon slowly came into view, coming from the direction of town on the dirt road along the tracks. I had more time to think during their slow approach. I was sulking a little bit, trying to stay out of Ray’s way. I finally had to ask about cleaning the chicken. He’d looked at me like I was from another planet; he had no way of knowing I kinda was. When I was done plucking and cleaning Ray said, not very nicely, “Now go fry it.” Once inside I did find a nice cast iron skillet and got the chicken cut up but didn’t know what to fry it with. Ray came in to read the newspaper at the table and figured out what I was looking for. He got up disgustedly and brought down a greasy looking can from above the stove and banged it down. Yep, pure lard.
I gathered salad fixings and had everything ready now, a nice, healthy, organic dinner, all except for that lard. Ray wasn’t interested in moving so I could set the table, so I went out to the front steps to wait. Charlie stayed inside. Though still leery of the gruff man, the smells and potential handouts in the cabin outweighed the risks.
I’d done everything I could think of to ingratiate myself to these folks. I was a little ashamed of this. Under these circumstances I had no choice. I’d do something later, out of the goodness of my heart, but now I needed help. I had $1.65 in my pocket, was wearing a man’s flannel shirt and L.L. Bean boots almost a century out of time. Besides Charlie that was the extent of my possessions. Just as Earl and Martha came into shouting distance Ray came out on the porch, Charlie ventured out behind him to see what was happening.
“I wondered if you’d be back.” Martha said as Earl brought the wagon to a halt. It was hard to read her expression.
“I promised I would. I wanted to thank you for all your help and return your clothes. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”
“And I see you got your Charlie back.” Ray stepped out to help Martha down and Charlie went right over and jumped on her. Just great.
“This is her, Earl, the woman I told you about.” Martha said over her shoulder to Earl, though looking straight at me. “Still figuring what her real story might be. Sally, meet my husband, Earl. I reckon you’ll be moving on now…”
“No,” Ray cut in. “She’s gone to a lot of trouble to make dinner for y’all, split wood, cleaned the cabin. I’m guessing there’s something else she must want.”
Charlie stepped right up to Ray, looked him in the eye, and commenced growling. Inside so was I.

Smiling again, I had one arm around Roger’s waist, one hanging onto Charlie, life was good. Roger let Joe take his own path to Martha’s house, making his way through the woods on a morning nothing short of glorious. The larch needles glowed in the slanting rays of sun. Joe’s hooves crunched the fallen maple and spotted service berry leaves in a lovely fall rhythm. I was mentally working on what plausible lie I could come up with next. Martha thought I’d been separated from my father on a scouting trip, Roger thought I was on a holiday, and they were about to meet. Uh oh. Better come up with something quick, not sure I could ad lib an appropriate story that would mesh. Unfortunately, the slow-paced, early morning horseback ride with a handsome man kept distracting me from dealing with reality. The immediate reality was fine with me. This is the stuff my dreams were made of! Charlie was having a great time. He was snuggled into Roger’s lap riding on that saddle like he was born to it. We’d packed a picnic of bread and canned fish so the dream would last until after lunch anyway.

Then the reality of going back would have to take priority. I needed to be alone in the house to try to get home to my own time, so I’d have to pay attention for an opportunity. Sadly, Roger had to start asking more questions.

“How did you say you know the Petersons?”

“I only know Martha, and not very well, she was just helping me out, a friend of a friend sort of thing.” I tried not to stumble over my impromptu lie.

“And how much longer are you staying?”

“I really have to leave this afternoon. I don’t want to but I have to get back. I’d consider staying here if I had more time to consider my options.” This felt good, not a lie at all. I wished I could give Roger more details.

“Do you think you could write stories to go with your marvelous sketches? I could hire you to work at the paper. A woman reporter would be great for the paper, expand the kinds of stories we run, boost circulation! And it just so happens I have a room to rent over the newspaper office. One of the railroad bosses was transferred last month and I’ve yet to rent it out. Roger tried turning in the saddle to smile at me. “Any options I haven’t covered? I’m trying to help you out, and I would like to get to know you, Ms. Burke, but this is a business proposition that I believe would be good for both of us. What do you think?”

I was momentarily speechless. I breathed in the cool autumn air, trying to think clearly. There was no logic to this whole situation. I didn’t know if there was a right or wrong answer, any decision could only be based on a situation that wasn’t possible in the first place!

“I think I’m overwhelmed.” I finally replied. At that moment we broke out of the trees onto a path paralleling the railroad tracks. It bordered a small lake, mirror like and pristine. I caught my breath when I realized this was “my” lake, the lake I camped on when visiting the old homestead. Even in my own time this little jewel had been left almost untouched. The level was a bit higher but there was still the marsh on the south side, where I watched hopefully every camping trip for moose. And today a huge bull moose, his muzzle dripping into the tall marsh grass where he grazed, lifted his enormous head to see what creature had just stepped out of the trees. Roger brought Joe to a halt.

“Overwhelmed by this spot or by my offer?” I could tell Roger was smiling, and that he, too, was enjoying the scene before us.

“Let’s go over there.” He said. “There’s a nice flat shady spot we can stop for a few minutes and talk.” Roger nudged Joe in the direction he had pointed, there where in my time was my camping spot. I was almost in tears, I wasn’t sure the emotion was remembering all the good times spent here or realizing I was about to enjoy new good times, about to have a picnic in my regular spot but 90 plus years in the past. This is where Julie would come looking for me if I couldn’t get home. I wanted to talk her so badly, to tell her what was happening. I wanted her to tell me what to do. Assuming I even had any choices?

“I’ve been here before.” I told Roger. We were settled on a blanket just up from the water’s edge, lingering over our picnic. Charlie had played all he wanted, explored his usual places, splashed his feet in the cool water, and was now sacked out, using my ankles for a pillow. “I came here with my dad once, he liked this spot, too. He’s the one who taught me to love the woods, the quiet places away from the cities. We had some good times.”

“Where are your folks now?”

“It’s just me now, me and Charlie. It has been for a while, I’m used to it.” I gave Roger a reassuring smile, knowing the next comment, judging by the concern on his face.

The moose had wandered back into the woods. I knew it was time for us to get going too. We were quiet as we cleaned up our picnic. I wanted to think that Roger was sorry to have our visit end, too. It was only going to be fifteen minutes or so until we reached the Peterson’s. What then? My stomach was filled with a whole rabble of butterflies doing their best to make me sick. One last time I wrapped my arms around Roger. I knew I had to go home, if nothing else to wrap things up back in my time and maybe try to come back. But chances were I’d never see Roger or the Peterson’s again, so I’d just wing it when they all met and not worry about it. We stepped out of the trees along the creek, walking along the tracks until we saw the Peterson’s house. My homestead, all brand new and whole. I could hardly wait to tell Julie.

When Roger helped me down off Joe I held tight onto Charlie. We stood in awkward silence, knowing this was goodbye. I kept glancing at the cabin’s door, expecting to see Martha or her husband but no one came out.

“Looks like no one’s home. Do you think they’re out searching for you?”

“No, probably just went to town. I’m sorry you won’t get to meet them.” I lied. Half my battle was won. The other half was tearing myself away from this man, this time, and going home.

“I don’t want Charlie running off, hold on.” The front door opened right up, I put Charlie inside and told him I’d be right back.

“I’ve had a wonderful time since meeting you. Thank you for all your hospitality. And I’m sorry about your car.” I held out my hand to Roger, having no clue what the protocol was for 1919. Instead of shaking my hand he took it and gently kissed it. I almost giggled. Men didn’t do that in my time, a shame, it was very gallant! He didn’t let my hand go either.

“I can’t say when I’ve had a more enjoyable time myself, despite the car mishap. I was very happy to be of service and would be again if you’d give me a chance. ” He bowed ever so slightly and seemed reluctant to let go of my hand. He stepped close for the briefest moment and gently kissed my cheek. The butterflies were multiplying and it was suddenly very warm.

Just before Roger disappeared into the trees he turned and tipped his hat and gave me that magical smile. I was sure I’d never forget that face. I watched those trees for ten minutes after they’d swallowed him up. How could I even be sure it had all been real now?

And so, nothing to distract me from reality – it was now or never. I looked around and saw no one. I walked all around the house, and there where I had stepped just yesterday afternoon into the rubble of an old cabin there was a solid wall, fresh timber and solid chinking. There were also no iris and I smiled as I dug the little sack of bulbs out of the deep pocket of my skirt. Martha’s skirt. Time to change and get ready to go. I let myself in the front door, feeling guilty for intruding once again. Charlie danced around wondering what our next adventure was going to be. Upstairs in the little front bedroom I was sorry to change out of the pretty skirt and blouse. Off came the L.L. Bean boots so I could change back into 2013 jeans and a flannel shirt. I was near tears again.

I carefully went back to the kitchen. Still no one was around. I couldn’t help but poke around just a bit, admiring the new old stuff. There was a stack of enamelware, pretty white plates with green rims, stacked on a sideboard. There was the graniteware teapot sitting on the stove. The stove was warm and there was a roughly woven basket full of fist-sized chunks of wood ready at its feet. There were a few potatoes and carrots washed up in a basin, and Martha’s apron hung on a hook under a little wooden shelf by the front door. There was an Arcade coffee grinder hanging on the wall next to the window where one day Martha would look out and enjoy the blooming iris. I fished out the pencil she’d lent me and wrote a little thank you note right on the brown sack. No way I could thank her enough for helping me.

I opened the door to the cellar and Charlie ran right down. Movies all made it sound like speed was necessary to time travel. Should I throw myself down the stairs? Run, jump, what? I went carefully. Charlie had run down the stairs and he was still there. So were all the pretty jars and a very intact ceiling. I pounded the ceiling, each wall, jumped up and down on the floor. First it was a test, to see if one was a portal, then it became frustration. The feeling that came over me can only be described as a chill running down my spine. I sat down on the bottom step, trying to think clearly. Charlie panted at me in the dim light, wanting to know what was next. I shivered hard and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stay calm and focused. There was nothing else to do at the moment besides go upstairs and start dinner. I wasn’t going anywhere.

I had a chance to visit “my” homestead last week, the inspiration for “Gone Missing.” I had a few days off and decided I needed some time traveling relaxation. So once again, I sat in the warm sun and pondered those iris. They’re still there, under that window, covered now with debris from a dead larch but okay. Nothing has changed in that little pocket of woods keeping the secrets of those few old buildings, except for lots more trees. I couldn’t see the big field from the house anymore. I couldn’t see the river or the tracks but a train blasted by while I was there and no question how close the tracks are. Were there more trains going by when she lived there or fewer? Did she hear them go by when she was planting those iris. Did the gritty smoke float down over her garden? So much to wonder about.

My friend Phyllis gave me a rose start from the homestead property that adjoins hers. There’s nothing left of the old homestead but a couple of fruit trees and a fence line draped with these lovely yellow roses. They were probably planted there 100 years ago on the hill above town. This year my little start bloomed profusely, growing happily where I planted it so I could see it from the house for a little time traveling speculation on a daily basis. A farmer’s wife planted those roses. Did she plant them as a reward when they’d finished planting their orchard? Did she get a start as a gift from a friend? What was town like then?

While running the dogs one day, me and my friend, Suzanne, came upon several stands of yellow roses and lilacs that had spread and suckered along the edges of a broad field. The area is part of a fish and wildlife preserve now with several ponds full of ducks and cattails, but no sign of any buildings. Was it hard for the woman who planted those bushes to leave them behind one day? Did her house burn down? Does she still have family nearby? I think she’d be pleased to know her flowering shrubs are still thriving out there in the valley and visited by girls walking their dogs who admire them. And, of course, I brought a little start of each home to preserve her legacy – more for me to enjoy and speculate on going backwards into time.