§ § § -- July 12, 1979
Through that bridge, Roarke had said, and you'll find your fantasy. So far all the Knights could see was green, rolling countryside. Corina was enjoying the leisurely walk in the balmy summer air; but once the children had gotten over the idea of time-traveling through a bridge filled with fog, they'd grown rapidly bored and begun complaining about everything they could think of. Corina deliberately tuned them out and continued following a faint trail through the grass, per Roarke's instructions.
"Maybe this is Ireland," she mused aloud after a while. "Or somewhere in the Black Forest in Bavaria. Although since we don't speak any German…"
"I don't care where this is," Brian snapped. "I'm sick of walking, and I have a feeling Mr. Roarke threw us into the middle of nowhere. It's not like we're traipsing along a nice little neighborhood in McMinnville."
"Are we ever gonna get there?" Tara whined. "My feet hurt."
At this point they topped a hill and found themselves staring down into a cozy little valley. They could see a small ranch house nestled into a clump of trees at one end, with a barn standing in the open some distance away. No other buildings were in sight.
"Bavaria, huh?" Brian muttered.
"The hills aren't exactly alive with the sound of music," Jenny contributed sourly.
"That was Austria, you dope, not Bavaria," David told her.
"Maybe that's our farm," Tara burst out, suddenly excited. "I see horses. Gosh, Mr. Roarke must've known I always wanted a pony." Before anyone could stop her, she tore off down the hillside, and her mother and siblings were forced to match her breakneck pace in an attempt to keep her in sight.
They caught up with her a few yards short of the door to the farmhouse, which they could now see was in need of some mostly cosmetic repairs, and managed to stop her from running through the none-too-steady-looking door. "Just a minute, young lady," Corina said sternly. "Mr. Roarke never said a word about us living on a farm. For all we know, this place belongs to other people."
"Well, if it does, where're we supposed to go?" Brian wanted to know.
Before anyone could answer that question, there came a voice from somewhere within the house. "Ian, where are ye?" it yelled in a very feminine, very Scottish brogue. "Seems we ha' visitors!"
"Guess that answers that question," Brian muttered.
The door popped open and a lanky boy peered out at them. "Welcome to the MacCrenna homestead," he said, sounding a little cautious. "Be ye lost?"
David, Jenny and Brian looked at each other, and Tara tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Mommy, he has a funny accent," she stage-whispered. Corina sighed and turned red.
"Hush," she said, more harshly than she had intended. To the boy in the doorway, she said, "We're the Knights. These are my children, Brian, David, Tara and Jenny."
"Ah. I'm Ian MacCrenna, and I live here wi' me da, sister an' cousin. So, as I said afore, be ye lost? Ye ha nae even any horses." Ian MacCrenna peered over their shoulders as he spoke and refocused on them in astonishment.
"Tell me about it," Jenny complained. "You'd think Mr. Roarke could've given us a car or maybe even bikes, but we had to walk all the way here."
"A…car? A bike? An' who's Mr. Roarke?" Ian rolled the R in Roarke and Tara giggled.
"Oh, nothing," Corina spoke quickly, improvising. "We've come quite a long way looking for, uh, our relatives who we were told live in this valley, but I guess we did get lost. I thought maybe you might know where to find them."
"To me knowledge there be no family named Knight for miles around," Ian said apologetically. "O'course, we're a bit isolated here…"
"Ian MacCrenna, a poor host ye are," scolded a female voice. That was when a girl with straight dark-blonde hair came into view behind him, and she smiled at them all. "Welcome," she said, "me name is Susanna MacCrenna, an' I'm Ian's cousin."
David peered at Susanna with sudden interest and stuck out his hand. "Hi, Susanna. I'm David Knight." He waited while she stared blankly at his outstretched hand, then went reddish and let it fall. Susanna looked up at him and smiled tentatively.
"Good to meet ye. How came ye here to these parts?" Susanna asked curiously.
"They're searchin' for relations, cousin," Ian told her. "Mayhap ye know of folks named Knight hereabouts."
Susanna shook her head. "Nay, I regret I don't. Ye appear to ha come a great distance. Come in and we'll share what we ha wi' ye. 'Tis nae much, but Kirsty is a wonderful cook. Uncle, we ha' visitors," she called towards the interior.
"Aye, lass," came the reply, and both Ian and Susanna returned their attention to their guests. David was still staring at Susanna, and Ian's features got a strange look to them as this registered on him. Susanna took note and rolled her eyes.
"Get on wi' ye," she said impatiently and vanished inside. Ian gave David a warning look that the other boy missed, but ushered them all inside. Corina urged her children ahead, well aware that David was interested in Susanna and noticing now that Jenny's eyes lingered on Ian on the way in. She stifled a smile; this could make things quite interesting.
They met Patrick MacCrenna, a man as lanky as his son and as light blond as his daughter Kirsty, who stood at the stove tending to a pot of something and peeking into the oven now and then. Kirsty's pale hair was short and close-cut: "Keeps it out o' the pots," she said laconically. The MacCrennas urged the Knights to sit around their table, and within ten minutes everyone had been served bowls of oatmeal accompanied by piping-hot biscuits fresh from the oven.
"Don't you have any Froot Loops?" Tara asked, regarding her oatmeal with distaste.
The MacCrennas stared at her, and her older siblings glanced at each other. Corina turned red again. "Tara, it's very rude to ask questions like that," she warned.
"Well, I don't like oatmeal, Mommy," Tara protested.
"Ye'll like Kirsty's, lass," Patrick MacCrenna assured her. "She adds cinnamon to it, and milk fresh from the cow too. Go on now, take a wee taste."
Tara stared doubtfully into her bowl, but her mother and the others tried it and found it very good. "Delicious," Corina said. "It can't be just cinnamon and milk, though."
Kirsty smiled. "Ah, I've a secret ingredient," she said with a wink at Tara, who stared wide-eyed at her. "Ye'll never ha a chance o' guessin' what it could be if ye don't try it, wee lass. Y'see, the others like it."
Tara finally took a very small bite, eyes squeezed shut, and processed what she tasted. Within a second her eyes popped open and she grinned. "It's really yummy!" she exclaimed. "I hope we can have this at home, Mommy, so find out the secret ingredient quick."
The Knights made a few guesses, but Kirsty simply shook her head at them all and laughed. "Mayhap I'll tell ye one day," she said. "For now 'tis time to wash the dishes. I wish ye luck in finding yer relations."
"I too, Mistress Knight," Susanna said and smiled. She glanced at Ian and her uncle Patrick. "So ha we found anyone to handle the horses yet, uncle?"
"Nay, niece, it seems all those who need employment ha it already," Patrick said with a sigh. "Too many jobs and nae enough folk to take them all."
"We could do it," Brian said, then looked stunned at his own words.
"Aye?" Patrick studied him. "Ha ye experience wi' horses, lad?"
"Been around them for years," Brian told him. "We had show horses before my parents got divorced. Jenny rode in shows for ages, and David and I know how to care for horses." He stopped. "Is something wrong?"
"Divorce?…" Patrick gave his head a quick shake. "I beg pardon, that's nae me concern. An' I know nae what ye'd be wantin' wi' show horses, whatever those be, in these parts. These are workin' horses, lad. But suppose ye an' yer brother come to the barn wi' me an' we'll see what ye're made o'."
"Can I come too?" Tara squealed. "I always wanted my own pony. Daddy said he's getting me one for my birthday, but I don't want to wait till we get back home again."
Patrick told her she could go, and they departed, leaving Corina and Jenny with the two girls and Ian. Susanna and Kirsty were clearing the table and doing dishes; now they turned and peered at Corina. "If 'tis nae pryin', mistress, where be ye from?" Kirsty asked.
"McMinnville, Oregon," Corina said. Jenny seemed absorbed in watching Ian, who for some reason was intently studying his sister and cousin.
"Never heard o' it," Kirsty said blankly, her long muslin dress swirling around her as she turned back to the dishes. Corina blinked and took a good look around her for the first time. The place looked like something out of the Little House on the Prairie books, she realized. The stove at which Kirsty had been cooking and baking looked unimaginably old-fashioned, and the wooden sink had no faucet; an old oaken bucket full of water stood nearby. Nearly everything was crafted from rough-hewn wood. The MacCrennas' clothing was old-fashioned as well, with the girls wearing long dresses and Ian and his father clad in worn shirts and pants with suspenders. Corina began to feel very out-of-place.
Trying to sound nonchalant, she asked, "What's the latest news you've heard? I guess you don't get much, being all the way out here, but I'm sure you hear things occasionally."
Ian chuckled, causing Jenny to sit at attention. "Not quite so far as ye might be believin', mistress. We did get into town for the centennial celebration last week."
"What centennial?" Jenny asked, clearly trying to clue Ian in on her interest in him.
Ian turned to her and stared. "How long ha ye been travelin', Miss Knight? Ye didn't stop somewhere to join in the hundredth anniversary o' the United States o' America?"
Corina cleared her throat. So we're in the year 1876! she thought. "As a matter of fact, we were on…the trail when the big day happened. We were quite a long way from civilization."
"Aye, I imagine ye would be at that," Ian murmured, appraising both her and Jenny with new intensity. "Ye woudn't be travelin' actors, now, would ye?"
"Why would you say that?" Jenny asked blankly.
"Those…costumes." Now it was Kirsty who spoke; Corina could see that both she and Susanna had forgotten their chore and were openly staring at them. "Seems to me ye might belong to an acting company somewhere. Might ye be tellin' me what that would be like? It seems a fascinatin' life."
"Mind yer manners, sister," Ian warned dauntingly.
"Oh, let her be, cousin," Susanna suggested. "It's not every day that we entertain folk, and I'm thinkin' this would be the first time our guests were actors."
"We thought you were actors," Jenny blurted without thinking. "This could be a set on 'Little House on the Prairie', couldn't it, Mom?"
"A wee house this may be," Ian said tartly, "but even ye can see this is no prairie."
Jenny blushed vividly. "I mean…it reminds me of a house…that we saw on the prairie."
Nice save, Corina thought and grinned to herself. "As a matter of fact, we're not actors; these are the latest fashions back east. Sorry to disappoint you, Kirsty. Look, why don't we help you with the dishes? Jenny, I think you have some elbow grease to spare." She gave her daughter a pointed look, and Jenny stared back at her with a me, wash dishes? look. Corina nodded firmly; Jenny sighed in a very put-upon manner and reluctantly rose to join Kirsty and Susanna at the wooden sink.
"We're nearly done anyway," Susanna said, "but we can use some help in the garden. Wi' three o' us weedin', it should take nae time a-tall."
Jenny's expression grew even more horrified, but Corina gave her another glare, and the girl shuffled out the back behind Kirsty and Susanna. Corina smiled apologetically at Ian and wondered if he was aware as she of the fact that Jenny would probably have far preferred to sit and stare at him than yank weeds out of a nineteenth-century garden.
"What can I do to help?" she asked Ian.
He smiled. "There's mendin' to be done," he admitted, "although I'd nae put a guest to work. That's Susanna's job at any rate."
"As a matter of fact," Corina said delicately, "I was going to ask if you could use some hired help, at least for a couple of days. We were looking for temporary jobs so that we could earn a few dollars to keep traveling and find our relatives."
Ian considered this. "Well, I'll ask me da. Mayhap there are some things ye could do, though we haven't much cash to spare. Make yourself comfortable, mistress. I'll return in nae time." He pushed himself out of the chair, using the table as leverage, and made his way to the back door with a noticeable limp. Corina wondered what had happened.
An hour later, the Knight family had been hired on: Brian and David caring for the horses; Corina and Jenny as household help; and Tara to feed the chickens, a job at which she protested because she wanted to be around the horses. Corina scolded her firmly, but saw the MacCrennas' eyes on her and wondered if they thought she wasn't much of a mother. For the first time she began to doubt two days would cure any of their spoiled-rich-child tendencies. Jenny kept eyeing Ian, and David's gaze kept straying to Susanna like iron to a magnet, which for some reason drew constant glowers from Ian. Was this fantasy going to be worth it?
‡ ‡ ‡
After supper the Knight family disappeared to the barn, where they were to sleep in the hayloft, as there was no room in the house. Silence fell till they were gone; then Rodney and Joanna Stone, their father Jonathan, and Leslie Hamilton looked at one another with some doubt. "Spoiled rich kids," Rodney said.
Joanna grinned slyly at him. "Don't be so quick to write 'em off, big brother," she advised him. "Jenny Knight has the hots for you."
"No more than David Knight has them for Leslie," Rodney shot back with a scowl. "I'd like to tell him where to get off."
"I'm not sure that would be a very good idea, son," his father said, half grinning. "Just because you and David are eyeing the same girl, there's no reason to start a brawl."
Poor Leslie was blushing so hard she was sure her head was going to explode at any moment. "Do we really have to talk about this?" she mumbled, head hanging.
"Of course not," Joanna said immediately. "Hey, believe me, Leslie, I wish I had that much male attention sometimes. David and his brother are both kinda cute, but Brian's way older than I am." She grinned. "This is turning out to be fun after all. It was fun pretending we had no idea what Jenny and David were talking about when they mentioned stuff from our real life. Guess we had 'em fooled."
"Indeed," Roarke's voice remarked from out of the blue, "you are all doing an excellent job." They all looked around and blinked at sight of him standing near the front door; only Leslie managed to hide her surprise.
"Well, we'd never have pulled it off if it weren't for those little chocolates we ate that gave us the Scottish accents," Leslie told him.
"I wish I could take some of those home with me," Joanna said, "and that way I'd get a part in the school musical next year. I heard it's going to be 'Brigadoon'."
They all laughed, and Roarke came farther into the room and took a seat near Leslie. "Do the Knights seem to be settling in all right?"
"Mainly," Jonathan Stone said, "except for quite a few accidental references to current culture. That poor woman's really got her hands full with four spoiled kids. The boys can take care of horses all right, but they're used to show horses and have no clue about the gear for working horses. The girl keeps staring at Rodney, one of the boys keeps staring at Leslie, and the little girl still has the idea that she's getting a pony." Once more they laughed; then he grew serious and leaned forward in his chair. "Mr. Roarke, if I might ask…is my wife getting what she wants?"
Roarke sobered. "I spoke with her just before coming here to check up on you. She doesn't appear to have changed her single-mindedness about her goal, I am afraid—and that is unfortunate in the extreme, since it is my understanding that Angela Gorman is severely depressed and a suicide risk. It stems from guilt over the accident and the way she initially reacted to it."
"So what you're saying," Jonathan said slowly, "is that Ellen is so bent on getting her brand of justice, she refuses to see any extenuating circumstances."
"Precisely," Roarke said. "She has yet to actually confront Ms. Gorman, but the lady knows your wife is here."
"Then she'll probably force a showdown," Rodney said bitterly. "Shootout at twenty paces, or whatever. It'll look like the O.K. Corral, without guns."
"You won't let my mother do anything to that poor lady, Mr. Roarke, will you?" Joanna asked anxiously. "If she's suicidal like you said, having to face Mom will probably push her right over the edge. And there're plenty of cliffs on the island—we saw them from the plane and all. I'd feel horrible if she committed suicide on our account."
Roarke smiled at her. "Don't worry, Joanna," he said. "I'll see to it that no harm comes to Ms. Gorman. In the meantime, you may want to get some sleep. I myself will be checking on the Knights." He turned to Leslie. "And you, child, how are you faring?"
She grinned. "This is fun, Mr. Roarke," she said. "I hope you'll let me do something like this again sometime."
He chuckled and squeezed her hand while Rodney, Joanna and their father watched, all wearing smiles. "Perhaps the opportunity will come up again one day. You'll be all right here for the night, then?"
Leslie nodded. "Joanna and I are sharing a room, so it'll be kind of like a slumber party." She and Joanna grinned at each other, and Roarke smiled, noting in passing the oddly wistful expression Rodney wore. No question, the boy was interested in his young ward. So far, Leslie either was oblivious or simply chose not to deal with it. He wondered how she was handling the added attention from David Stone and had a feeling that by the time this fantasy ended tomorrow afternoon, there was going to be some sort of "showdown" of just the sort to which Rodney had earlier referred.
He went off to the barn where the Knights were ensconced and found them sitting awake in the hayloft. "I wish there was a nice mattress," he heard someone say through a yawn, and smiled to himself before making his presence known.
"Mr. Roarke!" they all exclaimed in chorus.
"Good evening, everyone," he replied, smiling. "It appears you're having quite the adventure." This drew a smile from Corina; her offspring seemed to have mixed impressions, however, judging from the variety of looks on their faces.
"There's this really cute guy," Jenny volunteered. "I hope I get to see more of him, since I'm doing stuff with Mom in the house. Heck, once I'm done on the sewing machine, I'll have loads of time to talk to Ian."
Corina snickered, and Roarke's eyes sparkled with amusement. Before he could speak, David said, "I think that girl Susanna is pretty nice-looking, but I have to take care of the horses…so I don't know if I'll get a chance to talk with her."
"These horses are completely different from ours," Brian said, shaking his head. "I can't believe they're so backward here as to use horses to do work! Haven't they ever heard of tractors and harvesters and milking machines?"
"I'd rather feed the horses than the stupid chickens," Tara contributed. "All they do is go cluck-cluck-cluck at me, and they peck my feet unless I throw the corn real far away. And y'know what, they use corn…real live people corn! I thought they'd have chicken food here, but they don't. And they talk funny and wear funny clothes like in—"
" 'Little House on the Prairie'," the other Knights chorused with her. Corina sighed and shook her head, then began to laugh. Roarke watched quietly, his own amusement still confined to the gleam in his dark eyes; but Corina, having had her fill of her children's disillusionment, had apparently found their confusion hilarious. The children stared at her in disbelief and growing indignation.
"What's so funny?" they began to demand.
Corina tried to catch her breath, but her merriment had gotten the better of her and she could only flap a hand, rocking back and forth where she sat and guffawing uncontrollably. Roarke chuckled and explained, "You see, children, you're in the year 1876. That's why everything seems so primitive to you. Your hosts are immigrant farmers from Scotland, trying to make a living from this new land of theirs."
The four youngsters looked at each other, stunned. Then Brian said ironically, "No phones, no lights, no motorcars."
"Not a single luxury," David added and grinned at his brother. "Like Gilligan's Island without the coconuts."
Jenny's face had filled with horror. "No electricity? No running water? Not even a bathroom? Oh my God!!"
"Wait'll you see the outhouse, sis," Brian taunted, beginning to laugh himself.
Corina finally recovered enough to say, "Okay, that's enough. But I have to tell you, you guys are positively priceless. Worse than that, all four of you are a bunch of wimps. No cars or tractors for you to drive, Brian. No hair dryers or telephones, Jenny. No milking machines, no sewing machines, no light switches on the walls…and no special food for the animals, Tara. This is how life was in the nineteenth century."
"Why on earth would you bring us back to something so primitive?" Brian wanted to know. "You didn't think we'd learn a lesson any other way?"
"Frankly," Corina said, losing patience, "no! Asking for Froot Loops when you've been served breakfast by folks who probably have barely enough for themselves. Complaining about walking and thinking you should have been provided with transportation. Bragging about show horses when most people can't afford the care and upkeep of a horse. Thinking every luxury in the universe is your due simply because your father has the money to give it to you—and knowing full well he'll just hand it right over to you, especially once he hears I can't or won't do it." She turned away and brushed at her eyes; her children glanced guiltily at one another. "Whatever happened to the days when the five of us could just pop out to a matinee after lunch on Saturday, share a tub of popcorn among us all and have a good time doing nothing more than that? No…now it has to be the newest luxury car in existence, or a pony, or trendy clothes, whatever's in vogue at the moment. What's so wonderful about all that stuff? I was hoping this weekend would remind you kids of what a good time we used to have playing board games on Sunday afternoons, and things like that. But I guess that's just not highbrow enough for you anymore." Frustrated and finally out of words, she descended the ladder from the hayloft as quickly as she could go, without even noticing that Roarke had vanished into seemingly nowhere.
After a very long silence, Tara mumbled, "I don't want any old pony after all."
