She stood in the doorway of the wooden building, watching as the people strolled from shop to shop. Mist filled the air; the late February chill permeated the folds of her dress. Stepping back into the shop, she took a deep breath of must and earth. Bouncing the coins in her purse against her skirt, she browsed the shop waiting for the mistress to finish aiding a customer.
"I see you've come," the shopkeeper's wife said to her. She nodded.
"I don't have more to give."
The woman shook her head and placed a grouping of coins on the counter. Repayment of a debt she'd not long owed the woman.
"You've three shillings too much here," the woman said, picking them up and handing them to the woman. She shook her head though and backed away, holding her hands up in protest. A man, bearded and jolly, entered the store with a red-headed woman on his arm.
"I know your tongue escapes you so you cannot give reason, but I cannot accept this indulgence. You're stubborn and have been since the day I first met you. Take something from the back shelf so that we may be even and the matter be settled." The woman smiled and nodded. The shopkeeper's wife had been the kindest soul to her since she arrived in North Carolina. When she was in need of new stockings and bandages she readily located and applied them; when rent coin was scarce she offered her purse.
In the back of the shop, the couple who had entered spoke hushed and happily.
"I don't want to buy anything," the woman said. "I just wanted to see what Sears and Roebuck are missing out on."
"The last time you told me you weren't going to buy anything I got a call the next day saying you'd bought another Led Zeppelin record," the man responded with a poking jest. The woman, standing in the vicinity close enough to hear but not close enough for it to be known, perked up her ears.
"That's not true," the red-head bit back. "I called you to tell you about my Sonny and Cher album the week after that."
They both laughed and the woman, deeply entrenched in their conversation, mistakenly pulled nearly half the contents of the shelf off the wall. Clattering to the ground, the contents made an awful noise and the shop went silent. Rushing to her aid, the couple asked if she was hurt and the woman shook her head knowing that the only harm was to her pride. Looking at her, waiting for her to use her voice, the woman's eyes flicked to the shopkeeper's wife.
"She doesn't speak," the woman said, coming to her rescue. "Never has once all the months I've known her." The couple smiled at the woman and, though awkward tension filled the room like light, they helped recover the items that had been evacuated from the shelf. When finished, the woman quickly waved to the shopkeeper's wife and left the store empty-handed as quickly as possible.
The words the couple had spoken left a heavy knot in the pit of her stomach as she rushed back to her room before evening settled.
That night, the men who regularly visited the woman were more indulged in their spirits than normal. She was well paid, but her face brandished a long scratch from her hairline to the edge of her eyebrow from a man's ring. It bruised with green and yellow hues and, unable to cover it up, the woman stepped out into the new morning sun of the next day hoping to be ignored by the townspeople.
The ground was soft as the woman walked toward the bakery. She had a coin in hand, enough to buy a loaf of yesterday's bread, and three more in her purse in case she spied a salve in a shop window that might ease the vibrant wound on her forehead. To her delight, the townspeople ignored her. Battered women were not uncommon sights, especially with the increase in the presence of red coats and the anger of tax-paying husbands. She'd been able to hide her profession well the months she'd been in town. A mute, she did not have a name to share with the men who paid her, and she did not build a reputation as a cheeky flirt as there was no flirting to be had with her. She was invisible to the crowds, just as she wished it to be.
Nearly stepping into the bakery, the woman crossed paths with the bearded man, the bundles he carried snagging on her coat sleeve as they attempted to squeeze past each other in the crowded doorway. He apologized profusely as he attempted to loose the snag from her arm.
"I'm so very sorry about your coat," he said, picking up his packages once more. "I don't think any damage has been done." The woman smirked and brushed her sleeve, showing the man that no harm was done.
"I didn't introduce myself yesterday," the man continued, feeling awkward now that their initial interaction had come to an end but neither had a reason to leave immediately. "I'm Roger Mackenzie of Fraser's Ridge. My wife, who isn't with me this morning, is Brianna." The woman nodded and smiled. Roger stood for a moment before he realized he was waiting for an answer that would never come.
Chuckling anxiously he said, "Have a good morning," and set off towards his wagon.
The morning passed and the words Roger Mackenzie, Sonny and Cher, and Led Zeppelin played over and over in her mind. Sitting in her room, she stared out her window into the streets below. Grimy men hard at work. Women herding children through the alleys as they carried their wares. Dogs begged and fought for provisions and entertainment. Her life was the same day in and day out. The day shift and the night shift were two very different sides of the same coin.
Nights had become colder and the men more demanding. They were louder, drunker, and the woman found herself sneaking out of her bed more and more often to retreat down the hall when the drunkenly passed out men were too heavy for her to move on her own. Bruises appeared more often.
"I saw you left without doing as I instructed," the shopkeeper's wife scolded the woman a few weeks later. March had brought more snow and it had been the first time the sun had warmed the air enough to venture to the shop. "I set this aside for you. I don't know if you're learned but it never sold. Even if you aren't learned, it's nice to look at on a table."
Placed into the woman's hands was a raggedy printing of Shakespeare's Hamlet. Its spine was a dull blue with golden foil. It appeared plain in the shop but in the dim light of her room, it would be a library fit for a scholar.
"It's been nearly a month since I last saw you," the gifter said. "Have you been well? Are you in need of anything?" The woman smiled and shook her head. She needed little. Her wants, though, exceeded the contents of the shop. Lessened, though, by the contents within the small book.
Walking through the brisk air, the woman replayed the conversation in her head to pass the time. Nearly a month had passed already. Something nagged at her in the back of her mind, but she couldn't discover the source. She'd had no debts. There was no one she was to call on. She did not require any new bandages, stockings, or cloths of any sort. Then it struck her like lightning. It had been a month she'd worked, she had not bled for two.
She did not know the father. She could not know the father. Options were scarce as to what to do, though. Having no way of telling those around her without an active game of charades or pen, paper, and a man, she feared the worst. There were herbs she'd seen put to work, but she knew not where to find them. There were other ways more deadly and painful. Unemployment and homelessness were the last and more unappealing options. She berated herself over and over in her mind. How could she have let this happen? How did she not notice?
When she returned to her room, his mind fixated on the placement of her new book. The perfect place had to be found. Not too dark but not too much sun as to not tarnish the vivid hue of blue. Opening the front cover, the letters poured into her soul like water into an ocean. The next thing she knew there was a knock at her door, the sun had gone down, her candle was half gone, and a man barged into her room.
"The hell is this?" he asked. "What's this?" Taking the book from her hands, he flipped through the pages. "You ain't learned. You can't even speak. What do you need this for?" Slamming the book closed, the man threw it across the room into the corner. On her feet now, the woman tried to retrieve her library. The man grabbed her arm and gripped hard.
"I paid for a service, and I deserve to have that service fulfilled," he growled through his teeth. The woman pulled her arm away. A slap quickly followed. She'd never fought before.
"If I'd wanted a fight I'd have found a whore in the street." He slapped the woman again, throwing her to the floor. Laughter was heard from the rooms below. Rising to her feet once more, the woman rushed to her book and put as much distance between the man and herself as possible. When he came at her again she used her knee to her advantage and rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and into the night.
Footsteps quickly followed as she sped over the snow-covered ground. As quickly as they followed, though, they soon caught up to her.
"You think you can get away," the man grumbled as she wrapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her body towards a horse. "You'll think twice next time." Forcing her onto the horse, the man mounted behind her and they rode into the cold night.
Trees rose up over their path as they rode away from the town. A million thoughts raced through the woman's mind. One stuck out above the rest. She'd left her book on the edge of the window. It did not belong there.
Suddenly caught off-guard by a low-hanging branch, the woman's cheek was cut, and her hair was gripped by the small offshoots of the branch as she was pulled from the horse. Hitting the ground hard, the air from her lungs escaped and she was left gasping for oxygen. Her body begged for relief, but her mind told her to run. Pushing to her feet, she began in the opposite direction of the man and his horse. His heavy breath was soon behind her, though.
"Babylonian whore. You can't get away from me that easily." Shoving her to the ground, he kicked her over and over. The world went silent and her heart beat loudly in her head. Run, run, run, it shouted at her. Gripping around her in the snow for anything to aid her escape, she begged for relief the way her body had seconds before. It was as if she'd blinked and left her body for a moment. When she returned she was standing over the man, his hands warmed and chilled simultaneously. Looking down in the dim light she could see her hands were darkened. Below her, the man cried and grabbed at his leg. Impaled in it was a stick thickly covered in ice.
Leaving no time wasted, the woman ran to the man's horse and bolted away from the scene and the town she knew she'd never be able to return to.
The night left her in a haze. Directions didn't seem to matter or exist. Her body had been filled with adrenaline for so long she'd lost track of the road through the trees and relied on the horse to get her to safety. Her body began to give into the pain she knew she was inevitably going to suffer through–aches starting in her head and creeping down her spine to the rest of her body. The moonlight began to fade; the sun appeared on the horizon through the trees. She hadn't realized, but her horse had stopped to graze at the foliage peeking through the snow. Nudging it with her heels, the horse moved along and the pair began on their path again. Leaning forward, the daylight was blocked by the woman's closed eyes. Darkness overtook her.
Nightmares trampled behind as she frolicked through dreams. The red-headed woman from the shop, Brianna, smiled at her. The world around her sped by like she was a river after a heavy rain. She was hot and cold and scared and safe all at once. And then there was nothing. No pain, no fear, just darkness.
Hushed voices and the crackling of a fire awoke her. It took all of her might to not cry from the pain that filled her body. She didn't dare open her eyes.
"Broken ribs, perhaps some internal bleeding but nothing severe. She'll have a scar on her cheek, but the stitches should help with the healing. She's lucky you found her when you did. Who knows how long she could have been out there or where she would have ended up," a strange voice whispered.
"She's been asleep for nearly a day," a more familiar voice said. The Led Zeppelin man with the bear and red-haired wife. A wave of relief flowed over the woman.
"It just takes time," the strange voice replied.
Bracing herself to move, the woman took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and attempted to roll over. Around her, the room was lit with daylight. In front of her stood three people. Roger, Brianna, and an older woman with dark hair. She knew she was in no danger and yet fear filled her to the brim. Her heart stuck in her throat. They saw it on her face.
"You're okay! It's okay," Brianna said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "We found you and your horse nearly thirty miles from town. You're at Fraser's Ridge. This is my mother, Claire. She's a healer."
"You'll stay here, in the surgery, until you're well enough," Claire told her. The woman nodded.
"I'll fetch some water," Roger said, exiting the room.
"I know you don't speak," Brianna said, "but can you write? Tell us what happened?" The woman nodded again and took the paper and pencil that was handed to her. She simply wrote 'Angry customer. Fought back.' Reading this, Bri and Claire nodded and looked at each other.
"There's another thing," Claire said. Taking Bri's place on the side of the bed she held the woman's hand. "You've had a miscarriage." Mixed emotions filled the woman: anger, grief, questioning, but mostly relief. Her feelings must have been apparent as Claire and Bri both nodded and looked at one another again.
"You have a few broken ribs and they will take some time to heal. You'll have some cramping for the next few days and possibly weeks. There are stitches in your cheek and your face is a bit swollen. I'd like to keep an eye on you to make sure there is no internal bleeding or infection in your cut," Claire explained to her. Roger returned with water and handed the woman a cup. She hesitantly and tentatively drank, settled back into bed, and dozed off with less fear in her mind. She wasn't to be an unmarried whore mother and she was safe.
A few days passed. The bruises on her abdomen darkened but did not grow and she was allowed to leave her bed for brief bouts of fresh air. Her face became less swollen and, though it was still stiff, she was able to eat and smile every now and again. One evening, she was once again awoken by muffled speaking.
"Do you remember that song Daddy used to sing to get me to go to sleep? The one about what tomorrow brings and whatnot," Bri asked the dark.
"The Frank Sinatra?" Clair returned. A beat of silence followed. "Of course, you only fell asleep to one song for years. Why?"
"Jemmy's not sleeping well and Roger can only sing "Fly Me to the Moon" so many times before I wish I were on the moon," Bri chuckled. "I can't remember all of the words, though. Where heaven sings so have a little faith?"
As though a spirit had possessed her, the woman broke the silence she'd grown so accustomed to. "And trust in what tomorrow brings." The two women stared at her in near disbelief.
"You…you're?" Bri stuttered. "You speak? You've been through the stones?" All the woman could do was nod.
"More importantly, how are you feeling?" Claire questioned, getting right to the point.
"I'm okay," the woman croaked. Her voice was weak from disuse. "Sore. Tired."
"Where are you from?" Bri asked. "When are you from?"
"Bri, this is something to discuss tomorrow. She needs to rest," Claire urged in a way that told everyone in the room that a conversation was to be had and only the mother-daughter duo would be having it. Wishing the woman peaceful rest, they blew out the candle on the bedside table and left the woman to her thoughts.
It was a relief to speak but a risk she wasn't ready to take. There were others like her. Others who had found themselves in a strange time. How long had they been here? Did they come together? Was Bri born here? How long had Claire been in the past? All questions for another day. Another time.
Sunlight lit the room, and the smell of fresh bread filled the spaces the light could not reach. Bri and Claire stood in the surgery, helping the woman get dressed.
"I think most of the blood came out," Claire said softly, looking from the skirt to the woman. The woman nodded and allowed a whisper of a smile to cross her face. "Before we have any conversation about stones and Bing Crosby, I need to ask. Is there someone we need to worry about following you here?"
"No," the woman said.
"You've got to give us more than that," Bri demanded.
"Bri," her mother scowled, shooting her a look of warning.
"He was just an angry customer," the woman said. "I fought back and he didn't like that."
"Customer? What do you mean customer?" Bri continued probing.
"For God's sake Bri," Claire warned again.
"I'm a whore. He was a customer because I work in a brothel as a whore," the woman replied bluntly. Finally, the dots seemed to connect in Bri's mind.
"I did what I had to do to eat." The daughter and her mother nodded.
"I ran, he ran faster. He put me on his horse, the horse I assume is in your barn now. I don't know what his plan was. But I fell off. Cut my cheek on a branch and fell off. That's when he started kicking me and the next thing I knew he was on the ground with a stick stabbed into his leg, I was standing over him, and then I ran. That's all I remember. If I was really thirty miles from town like you say, I doubt he'd follow me. He was drunk anyway. He likely doesn't even remember what happened."
"Well," Claire said calmly, "You can stay here as long as you want." The woman nodded.
"What's your name?" Bri asked with less urgency in her voice than previously.
"Annie."
"And where are you from, Alice?"
"Mankato, Minnesota."
"And when are you from?" Claire asked.
"1943."
"How old are you?" Bri asked again.
"I was seventeen when I came through which I suppose makes me eighteen now."
Bri looked at her mother, but her mother continued looking at Annie.
"Where did you come through?"
"We were in New York. I'm not sure. It was so long ago, and we were lost."
There was silence.
"How did you end up here?" Annie asked the pair. And before she knew it there was a fantastical tale being laid out before her. Romance and peril and ships and kings.
"Wait," Annie said, trying to wrap her brain around what she'd just been told. "So, I'm older than you, Bri, and I'm younger than you, Claire, but I traveled here first? This doesn't make any sense."
"It is quite a lot," Claire tried to explain, "but in time you'll learn to live with the confusion."
Annie's mind raced. So much of her past that she'd hidden away for safe-keeping emerged. She had so many questions and yet she wished she could forget any of this ever happened. She hadn't thought of her family in months. She'd had to become her own family. To be alone to survive.
"Why did you choose not to speak?" Bri interrupted her thought.
"It just seemed easier," Annie responded. "I didn't want to say something that would cause me trouble. I didn't want to sound like someone who could cause trouble."
Claire chuckled. "I know the feeling."
"If you don't mind, I think I need to get some air," Annie said, abruptly standing up. Without waiting for a response she exited the surgery and bound onto the grass towards the trees. The door closed behind her, but she didn't bother looking who followed. Thoughts overwhelmed her—her family, the war-torn world she left behind, everything she'd witnessed and experienced in the last year—it all rushed around her like planes on strings swinging through the air. She reached the edge of the forest and didn't stop until she'd completely lost track of her whereabouts. She couldn't stop the tears from flowing this time. They burned and she had to let them fall, streaming warmth down her face. Letting herself fall to the ground, her back rested against a fallen tree and her face found its place in her hands.
Someone sat next to her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and when she looked up the worried face of Claire looked into her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Annie whispered. "It's just a lot."
"I know," Claire said. She placed her arm around Annie and tried her best to comfort her. "It just takes time."
They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity as Annie begged her tears to stop. And when they did, the silence was deafening.
"I'm sorry about your baby." The tears began again. Annie knew she didn't want the child but something about losing it gave her grief she'd never experienced. Guilt she'd never imagined.
"A blessing in disguise," she told herself aloud. Claire hugged her tighter.
That night dreams Annie thought she had vanquished reemerged. Planes plunging into the ocean. Her brother telling her he'd rather die at war than step foot in their house again. Fire and death all around. She was shaken awake. Her face was wet with tears and she had thrown the pillow and blanket on the floor next to her.
"Annie, you've torn out your stitches," Claire said, moving a candle closer to her face. "I'll have to replace them."
"Sorry…sorry," Annie said, disoriented and half-asleep.
"It's okay. You've just had a nightmare."
Closing up the wound on Annie's cheek, Claire carefully tied the knot and cut the thread before finishing.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, wiping a tear from Annie's eye.
"I don't even know where to start," Annie muttered under her breath. "There's so much."
"Well, you could just tell me what comes to mind. In whatever order it comes in."
"My brother turned eighteen the week after Pearl Harbor was bombed. He enlisted and we haven't seen or heard from him since," Annie started. "I guess I'll never see or hear from him again. Last we knew he'd gone to Europe."
Claire sat in silence.
"And Daddy doesn't know I left home for New York. I told Ma but she likely didn't tell him. And I'm just gone. They don't know what's happened to me. And I'll never see them again. And Ma, she can't take care of Daddy alone because he can get really mean sometimes and I was supposed to start working to help with the bills after graduation. And with the war and whatnot, they're probably beside themselves. Robert gone and me missing and Daddy getting mean sometimes. And Nana and Pop, they're in Poland." Annie stopped. Her mind was racing and she was struggling to catch her breath.
"Daddy says we'll likely never see them again. Says they won't survive. And Robert always wears his star. What if he gets caught? What will they do to him?"
Claire took Annie's hand and held it as she cried. She'd never forgotten the fear that comes with war, but she had forgotten the fear that comes with being young during a war.
"I was a nurse during the war," she said to the young woman. "And I know it doesn't seem it now, but times get better. I told you when I came from so you know I know." Annie nodded and turned towards Claire. There was still one basket of fears in her head. One left to unpack.
"I hadn't thought about my ma in so long," Annie said. "And then I was pregnant and then I wasn't and…I miss my ma." No number of tears could have expressed the depth of her longing. Moving to sit on the bed, Claire folded the woman who had transformed into a child before her eyes into her arms.
"I know," she said. "I know."