Chapter Four

Last Night

Sorry for the delay! I came down with food poisoning, and I didn't feel like doing anything at all, much less writing.

I promise that, starting next chapter, there will be much more of our favorite blacksmith!

I also apologize for the shortness of the chapter. It's a filler one to lead to an... interesting... next chapter!

Thank you for the reviews, and enjoy!

I spent the rest of the day upstairs. I managed to get my hair untangled, though it took too much effort, I thought. My hair was too tangled for even a good comb to get through, much less a brush. Through many curses and thoughts about breaking the mirror I was sitting at with the brush, I accomplished my task and made my hair somewhat more manageable. The tangles were out, but my hair was still a mess. I pinned my dark hair back

I spent the rest of the day in the confines of the yellow room. I laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, at times; other times, I sat by the window and thought. I thought about how I had managed to ruin my family's vacation – not a surprise.

As the hours ticked by, I became more restless and bored. I began to not care who it was that I talked with – it could have been Mrs. Ashford, even!

The sun lowered in the sky, edging closer to the horizon. It felt like an eternity had gone by since I arrived here – wherever here was. I began to force myself to believe my time travel theory. It was the only one that now made sense, though the very thought of believing it made me sick to my stomach.

I saw the man who gave me the odd look today in the bakery – Will – come out of the blacksmith's shop, I couldn't help but have my gaze focused on him. Why had he given me such an odd look? I knew that it wasn't a look of desire. The more time I had to think about That Look, I came to realize that Will was more bewildered than anything.

Why, though?

Just as I was going to continue my thoughts, I heard knocking on the door. I knew it was Mrs. Ashford.

On second thought, her company didn't seem as welcome.

"Yeah?" I asked, craning my neck around to see her walk in.

The door opened, and in came Mrs. Ashford. She looked no more tired than she had this morning. Either she had an endless supply of energy, or she was perpetually tired and never showed.

She closed the door behind her and looked straight at me. She said nothing. Mrs. Ashford simply leaned against the door, her hands still on the doorknob. It almost looked like she thought I would try to escape, and she was blocking my exit.

"What were you thinking?" she asked after a long silence. She didn't sound angry, she stated it as more of a casual question.

"What?" I asked. I didn't understand – what did I do?

Her brown eyes were darts, and I was the dart board. Her gaze turned into a stare, which became more intense.

"I lied for you," she said.

"I know."

What part did she lie about, though? Was it my "amnesia", or my clothing?

"I'll just pretend that your memory loss made you forget how to dress like a lady, and not like a wench at an inn," she said nonchalantly.

A wench at an inn? I looked like a prostitute to her?!

"What?" I demanded.

She sighed, exasperated. "Good Heavens, Christine!"

Mrs. Ashford began walking towards me, but then sat down on the edge of my bed. I felt like a child: me against the wall, and her on the bed.

"William must question what line of work you're in! Do you know what that could do to my business if he told just one person? What if he slipped out that there's a girl in Mrs. Ashford's Bakery that's dressed like a whore? This place would be tainted forever!"

I tried to see where Mrs. Ashford was coming from, but I really couldn't. She was overreacting. It was one dress that I wore! It was at my knees!

"Mrs. Ashford, with the day that I've had, do you think that my first concern is how short my dress is?" I questioned.

I could feel myself boiling, an explosion about to erupt inside of me. I hardly cared, though.

"I wake up here, I try to figure out how I got here, I wonder if you're not some serial killer --"

"A killer?!" she interrupted, her voice high with insult.

"What the hell do you think that I would have thought?!" I said.

Much to my dismay, I found a lump forming in my throat, but I refused to cry. I blinked back the tears and swallowed tightly. I kept my sharp gaze on Mrs. Ashford, who looked like she was slapped in the face. I felt satisfied, but wouldn't dare let it show.

I knew that I could play the innocent, lost girl card if I wanted right then with little effort. That would be the wisest one. Maybe Mrs. Ashford would cut me some slack, then.

Or, I could play the Christine card – the brutally honest one that would cause her to call me a whore and kick me onto the streets.

I opted for the first one.

"You don't know what I've been through today," I said, letting my voice waver slightly.

I knew that was all I needed to say as I saw Mrs. Ashford's expression soften slightly. She drew her full lips into a thin line.

"Do you have a place to stay?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. No family."

She looked down at the floor and pondered for a few moments. "How are you planning on keeping a roof over your head?"

I shrugged, probably unladylike in her eyes. I hardly cared, though.

"I don't know," I said.

The motherly side of her took over now, although it was hard to see under the stony facade she had on.

"I'll make you a deal," she said. "I'll let you stay here if you help me in my bakery."

I had no choice but to accept her offer, despite the fact that she grated on my nerves. I had nowhere else to go, and here was better than nowhere at all.

"Sure," I said.

I knew I was signing myself away to the job from hell once I said that. It wasn't as if things could have gotten much worse, though. Agreeing to work for Mrs. Ashford may have been better than the alternative.

"Wonderful," she smiled, thought I couldn't tell if it was a fake smile or not. "I'll be sure to wake you up bright and early."

Mrs. Ashford stood up. She was planning on ending our conversation already? How early was she going to wake me up?!

She went over to what appeared to be a large chest of drawers. Mrs. Ashford pulled out a white nightgown and set it on my bed.

"One more question, love," she said. "Where are you from?"

My mouth became dry at the very question. It was clear I was from nowhere that she would recognize. I could easily say America, but the colonies were still under British rule, and I was sure that the colonies accents were still not their own.

"I really don't know," I said.

I wasn't sure if she believed me, amnesia excuse or not. I wouldn't have believed me.

Mrs. Ashford simply looked at me before saying, "Goodnight, Christine."

I hated that look she gave me. It read nothing. I wondered what she was thinking.

"Goodnight," I replied.

She turned her back on me and walked out of the room, gently shutting the door behind her. I drew the curtains, changed out of my red dress, and changed into the nightgown, tying the drawstring at the top. I hated how loose it was around me. It seemed like it would fall off at at any moment.

I held the red dress in my hand. Just twenty-four hours ago, it was a simple dress, no different than all the other ones out there. Now, it was one to prove that everything that happened today wasn't a dream, or that I really wasn't losing my mind.

The dress was now the only thing of my former life. It reminded me of Adam, Irene, and my family.

I walked over to the drawers and set it in the bottom one under a few eighteenth-century dresses, not unlike the one that Mrs. Ashford was wearing today.

I went to the vanity and pulled the bobby pins out of my hair and set them back in the tin. My hair was still a mess, but nowhere near the mess it had been this morning. Mrs. Ashford did have a point -- I most likely did look like a woman of the night when I saw Will, with disheveled appearance.

Out of boredom, I crawled into bed, letting the thick covers form a cocoon around me, despite the heat. For the first time, I thought about the consequences of what happened last night. Adam would most likely be committed of a crime he did not commit (murder and kidnapping were the first things that came to mind), and Irene would have to live with guilt of letting me go out for the rest of her life. She would probably wonder each day what happened to me.

Foolishly, I wondered that they would hear me if I screamed loud enough. I needed to let them know that I was alright, but that I was in a very odd place, that I was very scared, and that I didn't mean to make them worry. I needed to let them know that I was sorry.

The guilt suddenly flooded me, just like the water did last night. Like last night, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Like last night, I felt completely helpless.