On day three of my bed-ridden confinement, I was awoken from a fitful slumber, not by the traditional "good morning" that one expects, but by a stern faced English woman staring straight into my eyes. I jumped back in fear and was rewarded with the stinging pull of my scabbed-over back,
"What the-" I shrieked, breathless. My last memory before waking had been of a set of cold hands, trailing up my two arms, as if searching for something.
"What the heck are you doing?!" I said again, this time with more vigor, as I grasped the woven, moth-eaten blanket to my chest. Claire, seemingly surprised at being caught doing who-knows-what, backed away and sat herself down in the chair by the fire.
"I- I was searching for a scar." She said, almost unwillingly.
"A scar?" I repeated, "Why you were searching for a scar?" I said, my mind was spinning with hypotheticals as to what a scar had to do with this, but I was coming up blank.
"I wanted to see if you had been vaccinated." She said, her chest puffed up in defense. As she brought her jaw up defiantly, mine dropped like a bag of rocks.
"Vaccination?" I squeaked, the air having been thoroughly stolen from my lungs, hearing my tone and genuine surprise, Claire shot out of her chair, finger pointing accusingly,
"Ah! You've heard the word before!" She yelled excitedly, "What time are you from?" she asked, almost as breathless as myself, while bringing her chair closer to mine and grasping my chilled and shaking hand between her own. I swallowed loudly and took a deep breath, this was all happening too fast, I had counted on at least a few more days before my curious tendencies raised suspicion.
"Vaccination? Like for Polio?" I asked, my mind spinning with explanations for what a vaccine had to do with this.
"Polio?" she asked, her eyes widening in wonder, "they discovered a vaccine finally?"
"Finally? It was only discovered some fifty years ago" I thought to myself in amazement. Claire gasped and absentmindedly clutched my hand to her chest, "Why- that must- oh how unfortunate!" she cried, "Roosevelt was so close, a few more months and they could have administered it!" Her eyes had taken on a far away quality, like she was seeing something beyond the room and I. With a small start, she turned and took in my thoroughly confused expression,
"Why, Franklin Roosevelt, the American president with polio, you've heard of him haven't you?" I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and nodded my head,
"I've heard of him, well, I've read about him, in the history books at least." Her brow dropped as her brain processed my words,
"Histo-, oh my dear lord," she said in awe and if I wasn't mistaken, a bit of horror; "what year was the vaccine created?" Her hands were white against my flushed skin, the bones and veins seemed to almost protrude from the skin as she grasped with all her might.
I racked my brain, trying to recall the date from history class, "1952" I said.
"So- so your from-?" her voice broke off as she asked what was becoming a question I'd never thought I'd be asked,
"No" I said in a hushed tone, "No, I'm not from the 1950s, I'm from-" I was losing my nerve rapidly, how was I supposed to tell this woman, this nice if not a little eccentric woman that her time had ended? That everything she knew, from people, to places were most likely gone? Family and friends dead, or otherwise in states of varying decay; the houses and establishments she knew, probably in similar conditions. How was I supposed to tell this woman that in my time, she was, for all intents and purposes, dead? And yet, here she was in front of me, anything but dead; she was alive, full of blood and covered in flesh, made out of bones, just like me. Her eyes alert and urgent, boring into mine like drills, urging me to tell her what I knew, to tell her the truth.
"I'm from 2015" I said, so silent that she had to lean in to catch the words as they tumbled from my mouth, but that was all it took. Her eyes glazed over, no longer looking at me, but through me. Trying to piece together the horrifyingly impossible truth that had been laid before her.
I tried to imagine how she was feeling and blanched, in just the blink of an eye she was expected to comprehend the expanse of fifty plus years. Years that a normal human being would have time to adjust to; Claire was forced to imagine it all in seconds. To jump a wide chasm filled with advancements and inventions, with wars and historical events, all without knowing what lay on the other side. And yet it was a jump she would have to make alone, I already knew what lay on the other side, and in the middle, even on the side that she started on; I could not, would not have been able to relate to her situation in the slightest. The difference between jumping forward and jumping backwards in time is that in the past, you have the upper hand.
I was appalled to see that her eyes were rapidly filling with water as she sat before me, not spilling over but coming dangerously close to it. I looked around in vain, searching for a tissue, or better yet some backup; when it came to feelings, I was helpless to comfort people. Usually too uncomfortable at their excess of emotion to force myself to stick around, choosing to leave that job for someone more adept. Down here, there was no one but her and I, and as her chin began to wobble, I took a deep breath, scooted closer, and took her hand. It was cold and fragile looking in mine, long fingered like an artist, her nails were lightly caked with dirt making me think that she tended her medicinal plants as well as administering them.
"There- there" I said awkwardly, lifting my hand up to pat her back and then abandoning that route and settling for reassuring hand squeezes.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." she said shortly, she sniffed once, dragging her hand across her face and sat up straight. "I'm fine, I just have- had a husband during my time, and now-" I could see that she was steeling herself internally to come to terms with the inevitable truth, "and now he's dead, in your time he is at least." her voice broke with a strangled laugh, "here he hasn't even been born!"
I didn't know what to say to that, and looked down at my hands, searching my mind for something to add. With a mental sigh at my atrocious social skills I chose the first thing that came to my mind,
"Do you know whats for breakfast?" Her eyes momentarily popped wide in surprise, and I was granted with a small smile.
"I'm sure Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons will be happy to get you whatever you want." She looked at my expression and added, "She's the matriarch of this establishment, head of staff and like a mother to all the men here." Her eyes crinkled as she described the woman, and I found myself smiling along, imagining a bustling old woman, clucking like a hen to her chicks as she whooped the whole household into shape. As I was thinking, another request came to my mind, this one a bit more challenging to ask;
"Would I- perhaps, be able to go get the breakfast myself?" I said it timidly, hoping to convey that I had no ulterior motive. All I wanted was to get out of this damp cave, breath fresh air, stretch my aching muscles, and with luck, see some sunlight. I was beginning to feel like a wilting plant, miserable without my H2O and vitamin D.
Her eyes narrowed at my request, sizing me up and debating whether I posed a serious threat to anybody. Which I did not, at least not in my current condition, seeing as I was pretty much being held together with rudimentary stitches. Coming to the same conclusion that I did, her facial muscles relaxed and she smiled,
"Of course, but let's get you looking a bit more human first hm?"
Half an hour later I was freshly, and when it came to my back, gently scrubbed and smelling of lavender. My hair was washed and toweled dry, or should I say 'wooled' dried, seeing as towels were yet another commodity that hadn't been invented. My shift had been exchanged for a loose dress, sans corset; my back was bandaged underneath. It was made out of a warm, and extremely scratchy bit of dark blue fabric; which I was sad to say made me look even paler than I already was and was also regrettably about an inch too short. To top off the whole look, I squeezed into a pair of her shoes, which were surprisingly not as ugly as I thought they would be. Almost resembling a sturdier version of ballet slippers, but in brown instead of pink; and extremely comfortable once the rigid leather warmed to my feet.
With my appearance meeting Claire's standards, we finally began the grueling journey up the stairs to main level, each step pulled on my healing stitches like a puppet string, tempting me to abandon the effort and go back down. Claire gracefully stayed by my side, out of kindness and I suspected a small amount of pity; her strong, sure hands supported my elbow as I worked my way up, taking small breaks to catch my breath as the pain faded each time.
After a few minutes of small talk and awkward conversation to fill the silence, we made it to the top, I paused to look back at my feat and was disappointed to see that my 'Everest' was only ten steps long. With a small huff I followed after Claire who had gone ahead, and was waiting patiently for me to come along. Walking straight was much easier then elevated and I hurried along with ease, pausing ever so often to look into the rooms on either side, constructing my mental map of Castle Leoch as I went.
At the end of the corridor, and to the right were the kitchens, the walls were made of stone and the room was not at all as large as I thought it'd be, it also didn't help that it was full of women, shuffling about as they prepared the meals for the day. A great window sat opposite of me and a massive fireplace was to my left, filled with the crackling flames of a roaring fire. Dried herbs and spices hung from the smoke-darkened rafters above, giving off a multitude of scents and tempting my nose to sneeze with every breath. In the middle of the room was a large and especially long table, sturdily made of wood and buried beneath dishes and ingredients of all sorts, here a bunch of carrots, there a bloodied mess that I thought had once been a chicken. The women worked in organized chaos, flitting around each other with no pattern and yet narrowly missing full on collisions like dancers in a play.
I looked around in awe. From the corner of my eye I watched as Claire drifted off and said a few words to a plump, older woman; dressed in a faded white and brown dress and wrapped in a smudged apron. I turned to look as Claire brought the woman to me, her wrinkled face creased into a kind smile as she approached.
"As I was saying Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons, this is my patient, Laine." Claire said as she beckoned to me with her hands, I smiled politely, not sure if I should say something.
"Aye! So this is the wee bonny lassie I saw fallin' off tha' horse a few nights past!" she chirped happily, her cheeks swelling like too red apples as she grinned up at me, "Aw, but the lassies no' so wee ye ken, almost as tall as some o' the men 'round here you are!" She giggled loudly and jovially tucked my hand beneath her elbow, bustling me towards the large wooden table in the process, with Claire following behind.
"Bein' downstairs so long does naught but a bad thing to yer' appetite eh?" she squinted up at me as I nodded in agreement, "Weel lets see if there's no something we can do about that!" With a little shove to a woman standing in her way, Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons grabbed a small basket and made her way, with Claire and I following at her heels, around the table. Picking up little bits of food as she went, a loaf of bread here, some cheese there, until the basket was almost bursting. With a satisfied "humph", she then handed the package over to me, smiling,
"Aye lassie, go now and fill yer' stomach, I've got washin' to do, but if ye' ever need anythin' be naught afraid te' ask" and with a little pat of my cheek she had hurried away, disappearing once more within the swarm of women. I looked after her, slightly dazed at the speed that Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons conducted herself, and realizing that in what had felt like a two person conversation, I had said not a word, letting her do all the talking. With a shake to clear my head, I turned around looking for Claire. She was waiting quietly by the far corner of the table, grasping a bundle of herbs that she must have gathered while I was otherwise distracted. Seeing that I had been released from my captor, she came over and relinquished me from the heavy basket of food.
"How would you like to eat outside today?" she asked, while also scrutinizing my body as she decided if I could handle the exertion at all.
"I would love to" I said quickly, infusing my voice with strength that I did not feel, "Got anywhere in mind?" I asked.
"What do you think about the stables?" She said, with a gleam in her eye.