What with studying maps and—" she stopped as if she had been about to say something she would rather not be known.
It suddenly occurred to Garison to ask, "Tell me something, why are you talking to me?"
She looked unreasonably hurt by the question and he quickly added, "I mean, no one else will. How come?"
"How come they won't or how come I will?"
"Either. Be kind of nice to have an answer to something, even that."
She shrugged again and replaced a lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes. "I uh, I didn't realized at first that you were a stranger. I couldn't see your face and..." she let the sentence trail off as if unsure where to go with it.
He nodded, but after a moment said, "Just being a stranger doesn't account for the looks I've been getting. People look at me like—I don't know what. Like they're afraid of me. Do I look like an outlaw from these parts? Maybe someone who used to live here and no one wanted to see return?"
The strange note in his voice, as of anguish or despair tugged at her heart and she said, "You really don't know?"
"No, I don't."
She made herself smile what she hoped was a comforting smile and said, "To begin with, it is true that we don't get many strangers around here. Especially not one dark as night, big as a tree and—" she stopped short, biting her lip.
"And what?" he asked quickly.
With a genuine smile, she told him, "And wearing the strangest clothes I have ever seen in my life."
He looked down at his clothes for the umpteenth time and then back up at the young woman. "What's wrong with my clothes?" he asked honestly.
Laughing an infectious chuckle, she returned, "What's wrong? What's right? You have on a jacket of the oddest cut, and pants like a sailor's and, well, I have never seen shoes like that in my life."
"You've never seen tennis shoes?"
Shaking her head but still smiling, she replied, "If those are tennis shoes, then, no. I have not. They look something like mocassins, but not much."
Garison was somewhat disturbed by the fashion review, but found the young woman utterly charming. He looked her in the eye and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
"Where am I?"
She hesitated, but finally replied, "Mount Vernon."
"What state or province is that—are we in? Or, maybe I should ask what country."
"Why, Virginia, of course."
"Virginia?" he asked in awe, the name ringing in his memory from stories his mother had told him as a boy. She had been born in Virginia, before its name was changed to Kruschev. "Virginia of the British Americas?"
"No, Virginia Colony. Named for our dear departed Queen Elizabeth herself."
Garison looked around himself in confusion, then a light went off in his head. He quickly looked her in the eye and asked, "What year is it?"
She seemed a bit concerned and took a step back as she asked, "Did you hit your head, or something?" Looking at his clothes, she wondered if he had been part of a shipwreck and was still suffering the effects of a blow to the head. Or, maybe he had been thrown overboard from a prison-ship. No, she reasoned, he wouldn't have such a fine—if oddly cut—coat. Unless he had stolen it off someone. Maybe that's why he was on a prison ship. Maybe he was a thief, or a highway man.
"No." Realizing what he must sound like, he quickly amended, "At least, I'm pretty sure I didn't. If I did, the memory of it is gone. What year is it?"
"The year of our Lord, seventeen hundred and thirty-nine."
He mouthed the date in something that went beyond a state of awe. Slumping back against the wall of the building behind him, he mumbled, "I've traveled through time."
The young woman leaned a bit closer, almost against her will, and said, "Excuse me? Did you say something?"
Before he could think about how much wiser it might be to remain quiet, Garison repeated, louder, "I've traveled through time."
The girl was suddenly nervous and looking around for help, saying in a nice but patronizing voice, "Have you now?" She was
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