Published: Life Goes On

CHAPTER 1

I’ve lived too damn long. I sighed and started copying the questions Professor Barnes was writing on the board. Our midterm was in two weeks and Barnes was one of those teachers who gave us all the questions in advance but he’d choose two to be answered on the actual test day. I wasn’t much of a fan of the system because it took away the adrenaline rush that comes with the unknown. Granted, there’s little that I didn’t have some kind of firsthand knowledge of, especially of that covered in a bachelors level European history course, but still, I get my thrills in the smallest places. I decided that complaining wouldn’t make me any friends, though, so I quietly scratched away. I like my fountain pen, even if I do get funny looks about it. At least I had finally broke down and use a cartridge for ink, back in the seventies I was that oddball with the ink-well.

Maybe I just won’t bother to study for the test, I thought, writing: ‘Compare and contrast the House of Wessex and the House of Denmark and explain the effect of the Danish kings on England’. I chuckled to myself at the irony surrounding modern complaints about “revisionist historians”—supposedly liberal scholars who go out of their way to alter the past into a form that promoted their views for a “New Age” world. I remember clearly the way that my tutors had cursed the bloody Danes, pretending that all effects of their reign had been wiped out. For as long as modern ‘professional’ historians have studied early England, the stories they’ve uncovered have never been half as wrong. History is usually told from the winner’s prospective and the truth almost always lies somewhere in the middle. If that means revising earlier histories as we discover more evidence to make them more accurate to what was real life, then what is the problem? The world wasn’t entirely the WASP ideal that modern conservatives promote. I’ve lived through a lot of history that is just now making it into the books…and even more that will never be ‘common knowledge’.

Professor Barnes dismissed us and I went back to my apartment, done with classes for the day. I thought about that question he’d asked and started chuckling again. The Danish kings sure had a hand in my English life; if it wasn’t for some obscure Danelaw, I might have lived a much simpler, and shorter, life. My father was the English king Harold Godwinson, to use the modern English spelling. You probably know him as the Harold who died at Hastings in 1066. I used to go by the name Gunhild, and still do sometimes when I play Dungeons and Dragons and other medieval-ish roll play games with friends, especially when I feel like pretending that I have a great imagination. I don’t, for the record. Real life goes far beyond anything my imagination could create.

After my father’s death, I got my first taste of formal education at Wilton Abbey, learning everything that was proper for a woman of my breeding. That stupid Danelaw made me a woman worth her weight in gold, to use an ancient concept. It made me heiress to some of my mother’s lands, near impossible under English law, which men hoped to convert into their own. One Alan Rufus decided that I would be the ideal bride and stole me away from the Abbey to marry me against what will I had, which admittedly wasn’t a lot. I was, and still am, a small woman while Alan was uncommonly tall. At the time I was flattered and submitted to my husband as was customary. In retrospect, ugh. He was fifteen years my senior and a brute in bed, but it was a long time before I learned that small fact. Sex education has always been lacking in the public sphere, though thankfully I eventually found female friends scandalous enough to enlighten me.

In any case, Alan, again seen in retrospect, made my life miserable from the first time we met. His actions toward me caused rumors to spread, and while the Middle Ages weren’t nearly as…conservative? (for all my years, I don’t think that I will ever keep track of what words mean what and when) as some may think, and I was still the laughing stock of our town. Alan laughed, too, and then he would proceed to show me how happy I should be to have him. Sigh, my poor naïve body. Still, what ‘friends’ I had told me to enjoy the fact that he was rich and that I was to be a Countess when he founded the Richmond Castle, even if my pride was slightly wounded. I knew that I was in the best position possible.

For all that I hate…well, seriously dislike, the way he treated me, now, I did love him. Or at least, I felt whatever passes as love in 1080. He was my world, or possibly, some small part of me knew that the world that I enjoyed would disappear should anything happen to him. We had no children, though not for a lack of his trying, and I had no one who would care for me. My lands had passed legally into his possession and together, they would pass on to his heir, his brother, whose only legal duty to me was as he would care for a sister, as the Bible says. But it wouldn’t be the first time that such duty was shirked in a world where Christianity was still just beginning to take hold, especially when I was still young enough to make a suitable bride. In essence, my choices were limited to the husband I had or the husband I didn’t yet know. Humans are creatures of habit and it took me a long time to embrace the thrill of the unknown. I would die to protect the man who was so vital to my life. And I did.

I wasn’t quite twenty-five that year, when a man walked into the great hall demanding a dual with Alan. I still have no idea what precisely caused this, I later suspected my husband’s fidelity, and I would not be surprised to hear that he had acted inappropriately with some woman in the man’s life. His name was Hugh de Montgomerie and he wanted my husband’s head for what he’d done. I, still the naïve child and willfully ignorant of the world around me, was certain of my husband’s innocence and stupidly stepped into the middle of their argument, which put my heart in the direct line of Hugh’s dagger. My breast stopped the hilt of the dagger, but not before the full ten inches of the blade passed through my body. I don’t recall most of what happened next, but I was told that the room went silent and Hugh’s face turned a ghastly shade of white. Alan, to his credit, caught me before I hit the floor and held my body until a trio of village women instructed him to take me to the kitchen and lay me on the table before telling everyone to leave the room. No one ever told me whether he shed any tears on my behalf, probably out of fear that he would retaliate. I remain on the fence as to whether he showed any emotion over my injury, though for a long time I liked to believe that inwardly he was broken.

The women stripped my bodice away and did their magic. Literally. They never told me exactly what they did, no matter how I asked, but after three hours or so I was suddenly aware again. I cannot say exactly where I was for those three hours; all I remember is feeling fuzzy, like my entire body had fallen asleep, blind and deaf. I hurt when awareness returned. Not just my chest, but my head, and especially my eyes and ears. It was as though three hours without even the minutest sound was too much. The buzz of a fly across the room was too loud, though this pain subsided after a few hours. The pain in my chest took longer to fade away, which turned out to be a good thing. Instead of being labeled a demon returned from the dead, I was congratulated on my good fortune that the dagger didn’t sever anything major and cause my death. The villagers stopped laughing at the way my husband possessed me, and proclaimed that I was a miracle, blessed by the angels.

The trio, though, knew the truth and shared it with me. I had died and they brought me back. It was the first time they’d tried such a spell and they didn’t know what the effects would be. What they did know was that I was bound to this Earth until I found love. But I was young and married. I knew that I had already met the requirement demanded by the spell that saved me. We actually shared a laugh at my good fortune, since I could easily have been destined to be an old maid. If the trio’s laugh sounded hallow, I didn’t notice, but I did strive to love my husband more. So what if he wouldn’t admit to crying over my lifeless body? He was a warrior. Warriors do not show emotion publically, and the best warriors do not show emotion privately.

At first I welcomed the comments on my youthful appearance, and ignored the implications that they foretold. It wasn’t until Alan was on his deathbed that I finally admitted to myself that my body was no longer aging. He’d collapsed while riding around the estate, checking on its progress. When he was brought into our bedchamber he was delirious and no longer recognized those who’d been with him for over fifteen years. But he recognized me immediately as I settled onto the bed beside him, confirming my worst fears. He admitted a number of secrets which I suspect he wished to die with him and which I will not repeat out of respect to a dying man. It did nothing to change my opinion of him and still does not. The fact that he opened up in such a way suggested that he did not believe me to really be there with him, thus proving that I did not in any way resemble a woman of thirty-eight years. He died the next day leaving me heartbroken and confused. The last of the trio had passed away two years before and I still had no children to care for me.

I turned to the man who literally held my fate in his hands, Alan’s brother, also named Alan. We’d never been close, but after my Alan’s funeral, I confided in him about my fears for the future. He asked me to marry him and I accepted, wondering how I could tell him about my ageless status. He proved to be a better man than my first Alan, at least when it came to caring for me. He admitted to lusting after me for years, but he was discreet enough to hide these feelings while Alan was alive. He also proved to be more attentive in bed, though still not to the caliber of some of my later lovers. But his most valuable asset was that he recognized my problem without my ever having to tell him. After three years of marriage and no sign that I had restarted aging, he helped me forge my death and prepare for my new life on the road.

CHAPTER  2

My apartment isn’t too large, but bigger than the one’s usually rented by solitary second year college students. I tossed my keys into the Tiffany bowl someone had given me two centuries before, and went into the kitchen to put a small macaroni and cheese casserole from the freezer into the oven. I do not miss the old days where I kept a pot of stew in front of the fire at all times, throwing in new food whenever I had it.

I was just settling down into the leather overstuffed recliner in front of the picture window overlooking the mountains with my reading assignments for the next day when the phone rang. That might be my least favorite invention. I groaned and crossed the room to my desk to answer it.

“Ms. James?” a male voice asked.

“Speaking,” I told him only half politely. I really dislike phones.

“This is Professor Barnes. I was wondering if you could meet with me next week to discuss your midterm.”

Weird. “Umm…we haven’t taken the midterm yet.” I frowned at the phone, but put the receiver back to my ear when he started talking again.

“I know. I like to discuss the questions with students before the test to make sure that they’re on the right track with the material.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess I can stop by. Is next Monday at four fine?” Definitely weird.

“Perfect.” Was it me or did he just purr? Creep! “I will see you in class Thursday. Goodnight.” He hung up before I could reply.

I stared at the receiver before I replaced it. I would never have thought that the slightly stooping, sixty year old man would have called me in such a way. I couldn’t remember if I’d seen a ring on his finger, but if there was one, I think I would have to hurt him. I can take getting hit on my random men, but a man cheating on his wife, I cannot stand.

I sighed and went out onto the balcony to stare at the mountains. I picked this university for the scenery more than anything else. I didn’t need another degree, so why should I study in an ugly box? The sunset over the mountains did a great deal to relieve the ache I felt forming in my temples after that phone call. I honestly couldn’t believe that my professor would proposition me, but what other explanation was there? I know that if he was serious about the midterm he would have mentioned it in class and had us arrange meeting times then.

The timer on my oven rang. Oh, the beauty of modern conveniences. I took my casserole into the living area and ate while I watched the evening news. More death and destruction; same old, same old. There were a couple human interest stories, though, which always warm my heart—if only everyone could take the time to do more good than harm. After supper I checked my appointment book, adding in the meeting with Professor Barnes. I had a meeting with the Habitat for Humanity club the next day to discuss the plan for the house we were working on this Saturday. I’d spent enough of my life living in a dirty hovel and I wanted to make sure that other families don’t have to do the same.

I was just settling down, again, to read over my assignments for the next day when I saw that the teaching assistant for Professor Barnes class had included his email address on the syllabus. I decided that it couldn’t hurt to have a bit of foreknowledge about the meeting with Barnes. Maybe it really was purely a professional meeting and he’s just socially awkward enough for it to come across as creepy—it wouldn’t be the first time this has happened to me. I sent a short email to the TA to ask him about one of the questions then slipped in a comment about not knowing how to prepare for the pre-midterm meeting with Barnes.

I guess he was online at the same time I was because I was browsing one of the on-line newspapers when I got a reply:

Gretchen,

You’ll want to focus on how Harold’s death at Hastings affected the future of England, specifically how the Norman kings’ rule differed from that of English kings.

I admit to being ignorant of a meeting between Professor Barnes and the students prior to the midterm. I’ve never known him to arrange any meeting except when the student risks failing the class. I’m hesitant to make any guess as to what the two of you will discuss, but if you wish for me to be in the area during your meeting, I will be there. I understand and respect a woman’s need to protect herself from harassment of any type and if…if his intentions are less than honorable I will stand by you.

Please, let me know what else I can do for you,

Nick

I decided that having back-up would be a good thing no matter what happened, so I quickly responded with the date and time of our meeting and my thanks that I was probably over-reacting, but it would be better to be safe than sorry (for his safety, not my own, but I didn’t include that part). Our final correspondence of the night was his message to me confirming that he would be in the waiting area outside Barnes’ office during the appointment, but that we wouldn’t try to infer more about it than what we already knew.

I closed my computer and picked up the pile of neglected printouts as I walked towards my bedroom  laid them on the bedside table and went into the bathroom for a shower. I sighed as I examined my face in the mirror before I undressed. For some reason, I’ve been called beautiful for most of my life. My thick reddish gold hair, which usually curled gently down my back, was tangled and frizzy. The abnormally warm March was wreaking havoc on it. The light brush of freckles over my nose and cheeks hadn’t extended their reign over my heart shaped face since I actually was twenty-four years old. I hadn’t gotten a decent tan since then, either. I’ve been told that my pale green eyes are evidence of my old soul…to me they just look tired. I scrunched my face to see what I’d look like with wrinkles and wondered if I’d ever earn them for myself. Wrinkles are a badge of honor to be worn proudly…or so says the girl who hasn’t aged a day in over nine hundred years. Was I beautiful? Probably not this century, since I was six inches too short according to the magazines and not as petite as I could be given my height. Fifty years ago, though, I was a babe—curvy girls were definitely in.

I sighed again and turned the water on before I undressed. Indoor plumbing is definitely the best thing ever invented and I spent five minutes just enjoying the hot water. Then I felt guilty about wasting the water and quickly finished the task. Shaving was still something I found annoyingly tedious and made me wonder why women had bothered to make it fashionable in the twenties. I put on a pair of men’s boxer shorts, probably the most comfortable thing I’d ever found to sleep in, and a t-shirt before I climbed into bed to read myself to sleep.

My Wednesday was as hectic as usual. Most of my classes met in some form or another on Wednesday, but it left me Friday free, which was really worth it. Also, it’s a common day for club meetings, not that I have a lot of clubs, just Habitat, which meet twice a month, plus I volunteer at one of the local elementary schools reading with the kids on Friday mornings and work at the food bank Sunday afternoons. It’s not a fancy life, but I feel at least somewhat fulfilled. Most of my classes were interesting, but the discussion for my American Civil War class was duller than dirt. Actually that’s a lie. I’ve taken some environmental science classes and dirt is actually quite fascinating. Nobody talks in the discussion section, so it’s just fifty minutes of listening to the TA, Alexa, try and coax responses for her obvious questions. I choose to answer one question during each session, just to get my points, though I see the pleading looks Alexa has sent me begging for more participation. I don’t like to attract attention to myself, though, so I don’t comply. My goal in life is to blend in with the wall. The Habitat meeting went well, though there were the usual tangents and complaints, like you’ll find in any group made up of more than one person. Mostly we were arranging rides to the job site this weekend and discussing what we’d say at the state conference the next weekend. We don’t have much say in the way the organization as a whole is run; we are just a university club, socializing when we don’t have a job set up by ‘corporate’ within driving distance, but we do send a representative or two to the annual statewide conference to learn all the new procedures and share our progress.

I don’t attend the conferences because I’ve worked for Habitat for about twenty years in four different states and I don’t want to risk being recognized by someone who knew me under a different name, but yet the exact same face. In any case, I was acting as a driver on Saturday so I arranged a meeting time and place with the three others who’d be riding with me. I was reaching for my bag when I noticed a shadow fall across my chair.

“Gretchen?”

“Yes?” I asked, looking up at the tall, dark haired, dark eyed man standing in front of me. He looked familiar though I didn’t know him, but then except for the few people in the club that I regularly socialize with, and the leadership of the club, just about everyone in the room only bore only a passing familiarity. “Can I help you?”

He frowned at me slightly. “You don’t recognize me?”

“Uhh...sorry. I’m awful with names and faces. I call people I’ve known for months by the wrong name and if they’re in the wrong place, they’re as good as a stranger.” I laughed softly, wracking my brain to figure out where I know him from. Nothing.

“I’m Nick, TA for Professor Barnes’ class,” he said slowly.

“Shoot!” I slapped my forehead. “I knew I knew you from somewhere stupid…not that the class is stupid, just…” I shrugged. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, the only time I’ve stood in front of the class was on the first day’s introduction. I’d expect better recognition skills if I led a discussion section or something.” He smiled and I felt it to my toes. Woo. Cutie. His smile faded. “I wanted to talk to you about that email you sent me.”

“Uh, first, why are you here? Forgive me if I’m leery about being randomly approached.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ve been volunteering for Habitat since I was an undergrad. I guess you blend into the crowd too, since we’ve been attending meetings together for, what, a year and a half and I didn’t make the connection until tonight.”

“Touché.” I looked around the room and realized that it had emptied already. “Do you want to talk here or go somewhere else?” My stomach gurgled; I hadn’t eaten supper yet.

He heard it. “Have you eaten? We can stop someplace and get food.”

“Yeah, let’s go somewhere. I don’t like to miss meals.” I’ve had to go days without food, so I’m always the first person to suggest eating.

He laughed. “Not many girls would admit that.”

“They’re stupid.” I grabbed his arm and my bag and dragged him out of the room. “Let’s eat.”

We walked quickly across Grounds towards the Corner, which has two blocks or so worth of restaurants of every denomination. I pointed us towards a Mexican place. “Good?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorite places.” He stuck his hands in his pockets as we waited just inside the door for a table. “Do you come here often?”

“Every couple weeks or so. I’ve made a goal to eat at every restaurant this town has to offer, but there are a few that I eat at regularly for one reason or another.” I waved at Patrick who works behind the bar; we dated a couple times last year.

“Is he one reason?”

I looked up at Nick’s face. He was staring at Patrick as though he was sizing him up for a challenge. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was jealous.

“No idea what you’re getting at,” I told him blandly, but I was happy when a waitress finally showed us to a table and took our drink orders. There was no reason for him to feel jealous, at least, not since we’d just met for real today. I studied his warm brown eyes and the way his short hair stood up at odd angles as though he’d just gotten out of bed. His strong jaw line belied his otherwise scholarly appearance and careful observation of his shoulders and chest showed that they weren’t as thin as they first appeared.  

“So,” I started, setting aside my menu after deciding to order a pork chimichanga, “what are we going to do about Barnes?”

Nick handed his menu to the waitress who’d just arrived at the table bringing our drinks, and ordered a couple of tacos. I passed along my own food request. He waited until she’d disappeared again before answering.

“I don’t think we should really do anything. I’ll stay close in case you need back-up.” He took a sip of his soda.

“Yes, that’s what we decided in the email. Why are we here?”

“You were hungry,” he informed me, completely deadpan.

I stared at him for a full minute, deciding that he had to make the next move. When he made no endeavor to speak, I raised my eyebrow at him. Finally he cracked.

“I recognized you at the meeting tonight and I figured that it would be more polite to introduce myself now than wait for either class tomorrow when we really wouldn’t be able to discuss anything, or Monday. I told you that I wanted to discuss the email, more or less in case you wanted to talk about it. I also volunteer for One-in-Four, so I’ve been trained how to…well, deal with these kind of situations.” He sipped his soda again and I saw him seem to transform into a counselor or something.

“Nah, I’m not the type to go around complaining about getting hit on. I would like to know for certain that I’m the only person he invited for a meeting next week, but I have no idea how to get that kind of information without scaring him off.” I saw Nick’s eyebrows rise and I held up a hand before he could speak. “What I mean is, if his intentions aren’t educational, then I want to stop him. Sure, we could clear this up now by simply asking him what he wants, but I don’t want to make him back off because then he’ll just prey on someone else and I can’t forgive myself for that.”

“You really shouldn’t put yourself at risk.”

I made a brush off gesture. “Trust me, he won’t hurt me.”

“I don’t mean to sound chauvinistic, but stronger women than you have gotten in over their heads in situations like this.” His jaw twitched. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. It is easier than you think to be sucked into a situation that you cannot get out of, even when you think you are prepared for it.” He gave me a significant look, as though that alone would get me to back down. What he didn’t know is that I have had centuries of practice dealing with pricks of every shape and size, both literally and figuratively. I didn’t spend all my time flaunting my feminine wiles looking for a husband; I spent quite a bit of time practicing various combative tactics that would help me on the darkest and scariest of nights in the darkest and scariest alleyways.

“Trust me. He won’t hurt me,” I repeated, enunciating each word. “I know a variety of hand-to-hand combat techniques,” I told him lightly, as though I hadn’t just offered a veiled threat. I shrugged. “My father wanted me to be prepared for anything.” The last bit wasn’t true; my father wanted me to be a lady, and ladies have never spent time studying the arts of war. Oh sure, women have always done what they had to in order to protect themselves and their families, but ladies don’t do such things.

“Combat?”

I winced at my word choice. “Well, self-defense. I’m an army brat and my dad was over-protective.” Well, rather it was my protective second husband.

“Was?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, he died a few years ago.” Understatement of the…well, century would also be an understatement.

Our food arrived then, and we ate in silence for a few minutes; me, blissfully ignoring just how many calories I was eating. The real reason why I frequent a few restaurants regularly is that I just haven’t been able to replicate the taste of their food no matter how much I’ve tried. I was going to miss the food when I left this town. One day I was going to invest in a professional deep fryer, but explaining such a thing to a nosy landlord was more than I wanted to do. I know, I know. All the professionals say that the same results can be had from a good Dutch oven and a candy thermometer, but I was still left unsatisfied. There was some sort of magic that went on within a small number of restaurant kitchens worldwide and I’d be damned if I could figure it out.

Food. For most of my life it was the most important thing. I’ve lived through more famines than I can remember properly and not because I was eating. I knew that I couldn’t die, so I chose to give my rations to the children who needed it more than me. Food was a luxury for me during those years, a luxury I could afford to give away. Restaurants, now, were my vice; a relatively modern invention that filled me in a way that my own attempts in the kitchen failed. I knew that changes in food made within the past sixty years were taking a toll on my body though. I might not have to worry about heart disease or cancer, but I’d definitely put on some extra pounds recently, more than my once emaciated frame needed, at least. I was going to have to take advantage of the gym membership that came with my university enrollment; maybe even learn how to swim.

I realized that Nick was watching my silent worship of my supper with an amused expression. I blushed and wondered what he thought I was thinking about.

“Enjoying your dinner?” he asked, grinning.

“Oh yes. I love the chimichangas here. Those chain places just can’t compare. Do you want a bite?” I noticed that he’d almost eaten all his tacos. I moved to take another bite of my fried burrito.

“Sure,” and he reached over and stole my fork before it could reach my lips. I rolled my eyes at him as he licked it clean.

“Perv,” I growled under my breath. He gave me my fork back, blushing as he looked both shocked and ashamed at his action.

We idly discussed the Habitat house we would be working on this Saturday, the warm winter we were having, laughed at the fiasco that was politics, and a few other topics that have since slipped my mind. The conversation was easy, even when we didn’t agree. Before we knew it, the restaurant was almost empty and our check had been delivered and was starting to gather dust.

I pulled out enough cash to pay the bill as Nick reached for his own wallet. “I got this.” I told him firmly, waving his money away. And before he could comment further, I grabbed my bag and practically ran to the register. I heard him laugh as he joined me at the front of the restaurant. I was stuffing the receipt into my pocket when we reached the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

“I’ll walk you home,” he told me, not leaving room for argument.

I was opening my mouth to do just that when I realized that there was no point. He volunteers for One-in-Four, which advocates the male role in rape prevention. He was going to escort me home even if it meant following me from a block behind. I told him thank-you and led him in the direction of my apartment, a couple blocks away from the restaurant. He left me at my doorstep and told me he’d see me in class the next day before turning around and heading back towards Grounds.

CHAPTER 3

Professor Barnes wasn’t in class on Thursday. Nick walked into the classroom about five minutes after it was supposed to start, looking slightly green. I learned why when he walked to the computer to load a presentation before standing behind the podium.

He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on a spot on the wall at the back of the room. “Professor Barnes is sick and he asked me to give a lecture today about my thesis project.” He spoke quickly, his voice shaking and he paused to swallow loudly, never moving his eyes. “While my lecture is consistent with that taught in this course, the content will not be on either the next midterm or the final, you don’t need to take notes and if you want to leave and use this period to study for the midterm we have in a week and a half, you may.” He paused again and finally allowed his eyes to roam the room, as though pleading for everyone to leave so that he didn’t have to give the lecture. Half of me wanted to stand up and break the ice in case anyone wanted to go who didn’t have the courage to desert. The other half of me wanted to stay and send positive energy to Nick. I really was interested in his thesis subject, so in the end, I stayed and Nick’s expression looked like he was silently whimpering when everyone else stayed as well.

I coughed loudly to get his attention. When he finally looked at me (as was half the class because I sounded like I was dying), I gave him my best smile to encourage him. The smile he returned was small, almost a grimace, but his shoulders seemed to relax a tiny bit.

He cleared his throat and this time his focus was on me. “Okay. So, I’m interested in the lives of medieval European women, specifically from 1200 to 1500 CE.” He clicked the pointer and the first page of his presentation appeared on the screen.

I choked back a scream. It was a photograph of a painting I’d posed for in 1329. One of my artistic, and coincidentally gay, husbands had talked me into standing for it and I’d agreed. It was my face he’d used on The Virgin’s body and it was the first time that I’d posed for anything. I hadn’t seen any of them in over a hundred years and always they’d been standing anonymously on someone’s wall or in a museum.

I looked at Nick and prayed that he hadn’t seen my panicked expression. He frowned slightly, but seemed to shrug it off.

He discussed his method for finding nuggets of information on women, so long ignored by historians, specifically using court cases and wills and that his focus was on how women differed from and challenged the society that men, and other women, created for them. I could tell that he was turning on every woman in the room, many of whom I’d seen in the women’s history courses I’d taken. There aren’t many men willing to admit to taking women’s studies courses, let alone join the major.

His presentation included quite a few photos of various artistic pieces I’d posed for. My shock had worn off and once Nick “zenned” into the subject that he so obviously loved, he was able to talk calmly. If I hadn’t seen his behavior at the beginning of class, I would never have known that he had such severe stage fright.

No one noticed that the class period had ended until a student from the next class opened the door. It was obvious that Nick was going to be a fantastic professor if he decided to go in that direction.

I packed my things quickly into my backpack and waited for Nick in the hallway.

“You did great,” I told him, grinning.

“I guess. Thanks for the support. I really thought I was going to puke at first.” He looked sheepish. “What kind of historian has stage fright?”

“I noticed. Hence my rather fantastic interpretation of a person hacking up a lung.”

He laughed. “So,” he said, his laughter fading and he shifted his feet. “I have an extra ticket to see J. Nathan Bazzel do Jefferson downtown tonight. You want to come?”

I held my breath for half a second. He was asking me out on a date? “Umm…sure, if it’s not over too late. I’m expected at Clark Elementary at 9am tomorrow.”

“It’s from 8 to 10 with a small reception afterwards, but we can skip that if you need to leave.” He had that pleading look in his eyes again. “I really don’t want to go alone. Most of the history department is going to be there…including my ex-girlfriend,” he mumbled, “and I’d rather not go stag since…” he trailed off and looked down at the floor for a moment before he met my eyes. “It’s just as friends, honestly.” He crossed his heart.

I laughed. “I’ll be your arm candy. Don’t worry.”

“Do you want to grab dinner before? Or we can just meet at the theater.”

“Dinner is good. How about Downtown Thai? I’ll meet you there at 6:30?”

“Okay. I’ll be there.” We parted at the stairs where he went off towards the TA office and I went up to the exit.

At home I sorted through my closet looking for something suitable to wear. I’d kept a few outfits from throughout my life and I liked wearing them for costume and Halloween parties. I pulled a crisp white shirtwaist from the closet. This decade, I mostly wear “vintage” t-shirts and jeans to fit in with the typical 21st century college crowd, but my shirtwaists had proved to be a fun alternative. Jeans would be too informal for the show and if I wore a long skirt with the shirtwaist, I’d definitely look weird. I put it back and reached for one of my favorite items.

It was a riding habit from the mid-18th century. It’s a simple piece, black wool with blue trim and a high collar. Jacob had wanted me to order something much more elaborate, but I was firm on the fact that I favored practicality over fashion. For all that it was plain, it complimented my figure in a way that the more decorated jackets didn’t, flaring out at the waist to emphasize the taper. In all my years, there have always been women who would rather look bad in something full of ornamentation, than something plain yet flattering.

I decided to pair the jacket with a black pencil skirt and simple pair of black pumps. I hopped into the shower to freshen up before I got dressed. For the first time since my marriage to Phillip, I had to pull my corset strings tight enough to alter my waist in order to fit into my jacket. For all that I hated the corset during that marriage and rebelled against the fashion ideal that a smaller waist is a better waist, when used, I guess properly, I found I got more support from my corset than a modern bra. Normally I’d tie it to match my natural figure, but now my waist was bigger than it’d ever been before. I only had to remove an inch, but it was still a pain. Yeah, I was definitely going to go to the gym…next week.

I started walking towards downtown at six and by six-fifteen I was regretting my clothing choice. It had been too long since I’d used the corset to cut off my circulation and I had to walk slowly to keep from fainting.

Nick was waiting for me outside of Downtown Thai. “You look great,” he told me, looking me up and down. He was wearing a dark blue silk button down and dark slacks with basic black dress shoes.

“Thanks,” I said, a bit breathlessly. “Shall we go in?”

He took my arm and led me inside. “I took the liberty of making a reservation, just in case.”

“That was a good idea.” We were seated quickly and I had to sit up extra straight to keep my blood and air flowing properly.

“Are you alright? You look a little pale.” Nick’s expression was concerned as he peered at me over his menu.

“I’m fine. Just my vanity getting the best of me,” I told him, trying to breathe out in a way that would grant me an extra bit of space.

“Your vanity? What did you do?” he asked, setting aside his menu and looking me over again.

I blushed. “My jacket wasn’t fitting, so I put on a corset—I’m cutting off some of my circulation. But I’m okay. I’ll adjust eventually, you don’t need to worry; just don’t expect me to do any running.” I laughed quietly.

Nick’s eyes narrowed during my explanation. “That’s stupid. Your body is fine.” He let out a breath loudly. “I’m shocked that you of all people would do something like this—you seemed so comfortable in your own skin, but I guess you’re just like other silly women thinking your appearance is the most important thing!” His voice rose with his anger. He stood up. “I’m sorry, but I cannot condone such actions.” He reached for his wallet. “Here’s your ticket to the show,” he said, holding it out to me.

I didn’t take it from him. I sat there stunned. No man had ever said anything like that to me. In fact, more than one had made me tie my corset tighter or to do other things that I hadn’t cared to. I blinked up at him in shock.

It took a moment for me to find my voice. “Wait! Please! Please sit down,” I begged him as he moved to leave. “Let me explain.”

He scowled down at me with his hands jammed into his pockets. “I don’t think that there’s anything to explain.”

“I didn’t put on the corset to make myself look smaller,” I told him quickly. “I just love this jacket and I wanted to wear it tonight. I didn’t realize that I’d gained so much weight; it used to fit perfectly. I’ve never had trouble when I put on my corset before, so I’m as shocked as you are about my predicament.” I noticed that people were staring at us. “Please sit down. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m more than uncomfortable enough for both of us.”

He sighed and looked around, not seeming to see anything, before he sat down again. “Sorry about my outburst; I just really have a problem with women hurting themselves for society’s whims.” He looked a little sheepish.

“It’s fine. I actually appreciate the sentiment—not many guys would say something like that. I want you to know that if I’d known that I was going to have this much trouble breathing, I would never have worn this outfit. Like I said, I’ve never had this much trouble with the corset and by the time I regretted the choice I was running late.”

A tiny Thai woman came over to ask if we were ready to order. The distress on her face told us that she’d stayed back, not wanting to interrupt Nick’s tirade. We both ordered Pad Thai, mine mild pork and water to drink, his spicy beef and sweet tea.

“I hope that I can eat like this,” I told him, laughing again. I quickly regretted the laughter when I had to gulp air for relief. “Ugh. Now I know how Keira Knightly fell off the wall in Pirates of the Caribbean,” I said, rubbing my chest.

“You really should just go home and change. It can’t be good for you to wear that thing,” he said, drawing out the last word.

I waved my hand. “I’ll be fine. I’m stubborn enough to exist without air.”

He shook his head. “I can bet,” he murmured.

We sat in silence. “Are you mad at me?” I finally asked tentatively.

“No. I mean, I have no reason to be mad at you—it’s your life. I just reacted badly. Let’s talk about something else. How about those Cowboys?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into half a smile.

“Ugh. I hate the Cowboys…and the Redskins, so don’t even ask. When it comes to football and just about all sports I root for the underdog unless I can’t stand them.” I felt a sudden pinch on my side from the corset and wiggled in my seat to ease the pain.

“That’s probably the stupidest invention ever,” he told me.

“Not really. In my own experience, it’s more comfortable and supports better than a modern bra and more versatile than structured clothing. It’s just when it was used to make waists smaller that it became a nuisance,” I admitted without thinking. My eyes went involuntarily wide when I realized what I’d said. Modern women don’t wear corsets!

“You make it almost sound like you wear a corset under normal circumstances,” he said, turning to thank the waitress who brought our food. She heard the nature of our conversation and I saw her face grimace as though she expected Nick to start shouting again. I smiled at her as I accepted my dinner, stalling for time.

“Yes,” I told him, finally. “I do wear a corset usually. And that’s why I can tell you that there have been much worse inventions throughout history. Take the air conditioner, for one. Prior to its general use, homes were being built with what we now call “Green” ideas. They employed building practices that maximized cross-ventilation and were turned to take the best advantage of the sun. Then the air conditioner was came along and homes became dependent on non-renewable energy to heat and cool them. Sixty years later and we’re moving back to building practices used in the Thirties and Forties—what was the point? And don’t get me started on the gas engine for automobiles. There were plenty of cars running on electricity back in 1900. Could you imagine where we’d be if the gas engine hadn’t taken over the market? And it’s not like there was that great of an advantage for gas over electric, as the current market for such vehicles indicates.”

“Okay, okay. No need to bite my head off,” he laughed, holding up his hands. “Eat so that you can’t lecture me anymore.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to get me started on plastic,” I replied, taking a bite of my pad thai. Delicious.

We talked about his thesis subject and I asked him what he’d learned about sex in medieval times.

He choked on his noodles and swallowed half of his tea before he could answer me. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, it’s the obvious question, isn’t it? It’s the ultimate thing that wasn’t published, so aren’t you curious about how it was? I took a class last semester called Women in America and our all female class felt comfortable in discussion section wondering about the sex lives of Puritans. I mean, they’d have a dozen kids in a two room house; it isn’t much of stretch to think that they were having sex with children in the room, or even in the bed with them. You shame the feminists you claim to promote if you ignore such an important part of everyday life.” I scowled at him before smiling to show him that I wasn’t very serious.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sex is complicated enough without me trying to make a historical statement on it. I just want to show women acting against the societal rules…”

“Which includes sex,” I interrupted, laughing.

“…and am not complicating things by speculating on a subject that has no objective, or even subjective, evidence,” he finished, ignoring my interruption. He checked his watch. “We should get moving if we want to get a good seat for Jefferson.”

He stood to pay the bill before I could even get out of my seat. My years of practice at sitting and standing elegantly had obviously deteriorated due to malnourishment because I was having trouble standing up without bending my back, impossible to do with my corset as tight as it was. I finally was able to scoot to the edge of my chair so that my short legs could get the leverage they needed to stand up.  I vowed again to go to the gym and to never tighten my corset beyond my natural waist again.

Nick was shaking his head again when I joined him at the door. I ignored it and started walking towards the Paramont without him. He caught up to me after only three steps, not exactly difficult in my current condition.

There was a line already forming outside the theater. It’s no wonder in this town that a Jefferson interpreter would be so popular. There was a knot of professor-types standing off to one side, laughing. Nick waved at them before walking over with me following behind.

“Gretchen, this is Professors Jones, Robbins, Patterson, Cooper, and Richmond,” he told me, indicating each. “They make up the majority of the Early American History department.”

I shook hands with them all, exchanging welcomes.

“We plan to test this Bazzel guy with the really hard questions,” Professor Robbins told me conspiratorially. “I wonder where he stands on the problem of Jefferson being the ultimate hypocrite when it comes to his ‘Ten Rules to Live By.’” She laughed. The tiny, plump woman peered at me over her spectacles (this woman did not wear glasses—they were definitely spectacles), “you do know that he broke every single one of his rules, right?”

“Oh yes ma’am,” I said quickly. “He bought so much stuff on credit and had to sell land and slaves to pay for it and he left his heirs a massive amount of debt to deal with after his death, which breaks two of his rules for sure.”

“Ahh, the girl knows her history. Good choice, Nick,” she praised, patting him on his back. He looked uncomfortable at the implications of that statement.

“We’re just friends,” he told her firmly, but she waved her hand ignoring him. I just smiled politely, looking at the rest of the professors who seemed amused by the conversation.

“Are you in the history department?” Cooper asked me.

“Yes sir, but I’m not in any particular area—I’m just taking whatever classes sound interesting.”

Professor Richmond turned to me, “Have you taken anything in the American History section?”

“I took your Civil War class last year—I really liked it a lot, especially your focus on what was happening in Congress while the states were seceding. It gave a refreshing perspective to the conflict.” Richmond looked impressed, too. “But the real question,” I continued, “is why a medieval Europe TA is hanging out with a bunch of American history professors.” I looked up at Nick.

“Easy, I majored in American history for my undergrad. Professor Richmond was my advisor.” He shrugged and started scanning the crowd, I supposed, for his ex. He must have spotted her because he moved a step closer to me. “The doors are open,” he informed us.

The professors found their place in line and we filed in behind them. Nick pulled out his wallet for our tickets and frowned when he only found one.

“It’s in your pocket,” I told him quietly, remembering that he’d stuck it there when I’d refused to take it from him at dinner.

“Oh yeah,” he said, blushing slightly. He pulled the now crumpled ticket out of his pocket and tried to straighten it before he handed it to the ticket taker. The girl looked at Nick as though wondering what the poor ticket had done to him.

He took back the stubs without comment and put my arm through his before guiding me to the main auditorium. We found seats next to the professors who looked more like teenagers about to heckle a movie than serious college professors about to listen to a program. Professor Robbins had even pulled some Milk Duds out of her purse. I declined the offer of the candy.

Nick wordlessly offered me his hand to sit in the padded folding seat. I took it gratefully, though I think I could have sat without incident if I’d tried very hard. I felt Professor Cooper’s eyes on me, but I ignored the question he didn’t ask.

I settled into my seat and only had to push myself up with my arms once when it became too hard to breathe. One cannot slouch while one is wearing a corset. Bazzel turned out to be a great interpreter of Jefferson. He addressed the controversies and quirks of Jefferson with the same wit and charm that it’s most likely the third president possessed. I was quite surprised to find that the two hours had passed so quickly.

“Are you ready to leave or do you want to go to the reception?” Nick asked me, once again offering his arm.

“Let’s go to the reception. I want to see Professor Robbins corner Jefferson,” I said, grinning up at him as I stood.

He laughed. “Yeah, that should be something to see.” We followed the crowd to the lobby which had been transformed into a reception area, namely by the addition of two tables filled with food and drink. Nick and I avoided the tables and were discussing the idea of leaving because the crowd made it impossible to get near Bazzel when she appeared again.

“Sharon,” Nick nodded to her in greeting.

“Nick!” she said excitedly, kissing him on the cheek with her hug. “I didn’t expect you here. I thought you were done with us Americans.” She laughed loudly.

Nick shrugged. “You know that I like stuff like this.”

“Oh! Who’s this?” Sharon asked, suddenly seeing me. She was much closer to Nick’s height, about seven inches taller than me. I wasn’t quite sure if her blond hair was natural or not, but she was very pretty with big blue eyes and wearing a red wrap dress that hugged every one of her curves.

“This is Gretchen. She’s in Professor Barnes class and graciously agreed to accompany me tonight.” I shook her hand, noting the formal way Nick introduced me. He was trying to keep all emotion from his voice. They must have broken up fairly recently.

“You! Dating a student? I cannot believe that Mr. Straitlaced himself would ever do such a thing.” She looked me up and down as thought sizing me up.

“We’re not dating,” I told her, just as stiff as Nick. “We were talking about class and somehow the conversation got to how I wished I’d been able to get a ticket to tonight’s show. When Nick told me that he had an extra one, I told him that he wasn’t coming without me.” If Nick was shocked that I’d lied so smoothly, he didn’t show it on his face. He even nodded a bit as though he hadn’t practically begged me to come with him that very afternoon.

“Oh.” She shrugged at the information, as though bored. “That’s an interesting jacket you’re wearing. Is it vintage?”

“Yes. I picked it up at some shop awhile ago.” I told her.

“It fits you like a glove! Can you even breathe in that? Did you have it tailored?” She gestured for me to spin around, which I did. “If so, they did a fantastic job! It must be so hard for you to find clothes to fit your body.”

“No, it’s not tailored. I was just blessed with a body from the 1800s. It’s one of the few things that I like about my height and shape—I can wear just about anything over two hundred years old.”

“You’re so lucky.” she laughed, flipping her hair. “I just can’t wear anything off the rack.” Her smile seemed forced.

“That’s too bad.” I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of her looking like a stick.

“And on that note,” Nick interrupted, “I think it’s time for me to take Gretchen home. I’ll see you later Sharon.” He took my arm and steered me towards the door, not stopping until we were outside.

“Stop! Can’t! Breathe!” I told him, panting. He’d dragged me a little too quickly out of the theater. He paused to allow me a minute to breathe shallowly. I felt another pinch, which I rubbed to relieve. “Okay,” I said after a couple minutes. “I’m good.”

He started walking towards my apartment building. His stiff posture told me that he was irritated…again.

“Now what?”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You’re in a bad mood again and I want to know what I did this time.” I stopped walking and put my hands on my hips.

He turned to look at me. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me…or her…or I don’t know why I’m mad.” He stared up at the stars for a minute. “I have no idea why she suddenly decided to break up with me a couple weeks ago and that’s frustrating.”

“And you still love her,” I said, wearing my serene, all knowing expression and nodding slowly.

“Yes, no…I don’t know.” he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets again.

“Well, you’ve come to the right woman. If there’s anyone on this planet who understands what it’s like to love someone and not have their love in return that’d be me.” Oh how true, how true.

“I really don’t think I should talk about this with a student…”

“Then forget that I’m a student,” I told him. “I thought we’d decided that we were friends.”

He groaned. “Fine.” He started walking again. “We started dating fourth year after we’d both been accepted to the grad program, after being friends for a few years. I thought things were going great and we were even discussing marriage and then out of the blue she breaks up with me and won’t even tell me why. I don’t think that there’s another guy, but isn’t the partner always the last to know?”

“She called you ‘Mr. Straightlaced’—do you think that maybe she found you to be too conservative for her taste? That’s gotten in my way a few times.”

“You sound like you’ve had a lot of relationships,” he commented idly before answering. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m too conservative; you know, being a feminist and all.”

“You know, there’s more to a relationship than conversation that can be condemned by one’s preferences. Maybe you are too conservative in the bedroom?” I asked gently.

“What is it about you and sex?!?” Nick asked too loudly, turning to face me. “Is that all you think about?” His face was bright red from embarrassment.

“No, it’s not the only thing I think about, but it is an important part of any relationship. And trust me when I say that it can be the difference between one that lasts and one that falls apart for seemingly no reason. And if you are this uncomfortable talking about it with a friend, then I’m willing to bet that you’re just as uncomfortable talking about it with the person that matters—and if you can’t talk about it, then it’s partially your fault if the relationship fails,” I said gently, resting my hand on his arm.

“Look, I grew up in a household where such stuff wasn’t discussed beyond ‘don’t get your girlfriend pregnant’. And that was enough sex education for me. So can we please change the subject?” He was obviously flustered by this conversation.

“Fine, fine, but I really think that you should think about it.”

We walked in silence the rest of the way to my door.

“I don’t want to seem weird, but can I have your phone number?” he asked. “In case I want to talk about stuff...” he said vaguely.

“Sure, and let me have yours.” We traded the numbers before saying goodbye.

“I’ll see you Saturday, I guess.” He said before turning to leave.

…

I would have run up the three flights of stairs to my apartment if that had been physically possible, but as it was, the only sprinting I did was to get through the row of buttons on the front of my jacket and take it off as soon as I got through my door. When I reached for the strings at the back of my corset, I found…Hell. The stupid bow I’d tied behind my back had knotted and I couldn’t work it loose. I struggled with it for almost five minutes and was nearly in tears when I realized my luck. I grabbed for my cell phone and prayed that I hadn’t transposed the numbers for Nick.

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh thank God!” I swooned. “I need help, please.”

“Help? What’s wrong?” His voice sounded strained. I could hear his footsteps as though he was running.

“I’m stuck! Karma’s a bitch and my stupid corset won’t let me out!”

There was a whoosh of breath on his end of the phone and the footfalls were gone, like he’d stopped running and bent over to laugh. “You should cut the damn thing off and be done with it.”

“No! I can’t. Do you know how hard it is to find a corset that is both tasteful and comfortable? For some reason all the lingerie stores want to sell me exotic things that women wear like they’re outer clothes. I don’t care if you laugh your ass off, please get me out!”

He was still snickering when he wheezed “I’m at your apartment building, which number are you in?”

“302,” I pushed the button to let him into the foyer.

“No elevator?”

“Sorry,” I said sarcastically. “You’ll get real sympathy from me when you climb all those stairs in a corset that is cutting off all your air. Hurry!”

“You seemed fine earlier tonight, what’s the rush now?” He huffed, apparently not used to climbing stairs, even in this town.

“Earlier I knew I’d be out of it in a matter of hours. I’m getting claustrophobic from that feeling that I’m going to be stuck forever.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming…hold your horses,” he wheezed again, but this time from the climb, not laughter. “How the hell did you get up these stairs before?”

“Practice.”

“I’m here.”

I opened the door before hanging up my cell. Nick was bent in half in my hallway, trying to catch his breath. I grabbed his collar and tried not to slam the door when I pulled him into my apartment. Honest.

“Get me out!” I said through gritted teeth, presenting my back to him.

He coughed, rubbing his neck. “Woman, have some patience. And I can’t reach the knot or see what I’m doing with you standing on the floor.” He went to the dining table and brought back a chair. “Excuse me,” he said, just as a formality before he picked me up by the waist and stood me on it.

I stood, using the back of the chair to keep my balance, while he worked at the knot at the small of my back. After a few minutes of no progress, and with more than a few grunts from both parties, he warned me that he was going to do something “that is probably going to hurt.”

He grabbed what he could of both sides of the corset and pulled them tighter to give some slack to the strings. I whimpered and saw stars. But he was able to loosen the knot and quickly pulled the sides apart again. For the first time in nearly five hours I was able to take a full breath. The feeling was almost orgasmic, and I threw my arms around Nick’s neck in thanks.

“My hero,” I moaned into his shoulder. He put his arm around my waist and lifted me down from the chair as I slid limply to the floor. “Air is good.”

He laughed quietly before untangling my arms and nudging me to sit on the chair. I smiled up at him, not caring that the corset was drooping and my camisole was showing more of my breasts than it was covering. I saw him lick his lips after glancing down. I chuckled and he blushed knowing that I knew he’d peeked. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s fine. If I didn’t want you looking, I would have covered myself better,” I told him lightly, giving a small shrug that might have attracted his eyes to my chest again. It had been a long time since I’d let a man share my bed; after my last relationship I’d decided that I was tired of being hurt and all my dates since had been purely platonic. Ninety years is a long time to be celibate, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to change our budding friendship that way so soon. I held my breath (in a manner of speaking—I wasn’t going to go there again) waiting to see what he would do.

Nick cleared his throat. “I should go.”

I gave a small nod, though neither of us moved. We stared into each other’s eyes, wondering what the other would do and what they wanted. Nick broke the tension when he closed his and took a step away from me, making the situation clear.

I nodded again. “That’s probably the best decision,” I said quietly. “Not the most fun,” I told him, louder, chuckling, “but probably the best.”

He gave me a small smile before he turned around and let himself out of the apartment. I stood and removed the corset before throwing myself onto the couch to watch some mind numbing television before bed. Yep. Celibacy sucks.

CHAPTER 4

Saturday was busy at the Habitat job site. There were about twenty-five people volunteering, plus a couple of Habitat employed contractors. One of the people in my carpool overslept so we were late getting there and were given the less popular jobs—as the last person to arrive with a car, I had lunch duty. I’m not sure if I should complain or not since it gave me a break from my other less optimal job—grunt work. The house was at the framing stage and when a wall was ready to be stood up, it was all hands on deck. Otherwise we were left standing around while five or six people did the actual work.

Nick was helping to build the frame, so there wasn’t much time to do anything other than wave at each other. Half of the exterior walls were up by the time I left to get the pizzas (five pepperonis, five cheeses, and five veggies) and by the time I returned the rest of the exterior and load baring walls were up and the roof was getting started; plywood was going up onto the walls.

I’d just set the pizzas out on a makeshift table when the foreman blew the whistle for everyone to break for lunch and I had to jump away from the mass of humanity that charged at me. When Nick reached the front of the line, he told me to meet him at the lumber pile while grabbing a slice of each. Once everyone had gotten their share, I was left with two slices of cheese. Yea, my sarcastic brain said.

I took them and a can of Coke, over to where Nick was sitting on the pile of wood. I noticed that he hadn’t started eating yet.

“I thought that you’d get stuck with the cheese,” he said, eyeing my plate as I settled next to him. “You can have either the pepperoni or the veggie,” he told me firmly, taking one of the slices of cheese off my plate and taking a bite. I took the veggie and thanked him.

“How’d you end up with lunch duty?” he asked about thirty seconds, and an entire slice of pizza, later.

“Jackson overslept and begged us not to leave him,” I told him, watching in fascination as the second slice of cheese disappeared as well. “Did you forget to eat breakfast?”

“No. Why?” And there went half his can of coke. I shook my head and ate my veggie pizza at a much slower pace.

“What are you working on now?” I asked him, taking a sip of soda.

“Up on the roof,” he said, eating the pepperoni slice slower. “Do you have a new task yet?”

“Nope, but at least I should get to do actual work now.”

“Hey, getting lunch is real work—you had to carry how many pizzas and sodas?” he said, nudging me with his shoulder.

“Ha…ha…..ha,” I said dryly. “I came here to swing a hammer.”

“That’s a nice image,” he said, putting the last of his pizza in his mouth and looking a little forlornly at the pizza still on my plate.

“I hope you get a stomachache,” I told him, tearing the slice in half and putting the crust-less piece on his plate.

“Well, if you’re going to be that way,” he said, trying to give it back to me.

“No, you go ahead and eat it. I’m good,” I said, eating my half contently. I had eaten a large breakfast and wasn’t very hungry. Plus, I was serious about watching my weight.

He refused to eat it and tried to put the half back onto my plate. I twisted myself so that my plate, which was on my knees, was further away from him before grabbing his wrist and shoving the pizza towards his mouth. I might be almost a thousand years old, but I’m not opposed to childish behavior. We wrestled over it for a bit before he let me win and I grabbed the pizza and shoved it into his mouth, my fingers included. I don’t know if he meant to or not, but I felt him suck on my fingertips before I could pull them out of his mouth. The intense look he gave me made me think that it was completely on purpose. I smirked up at him.

His face turned red again and he twisted away from me. I looked around the site, wondering if our teasing had attracted any attention. Michelle caught my eye and grinned, giving me a thumbs-up. I rolled my eyes, but she probably couldn’t see it over the distance. Everyone else looked too busy with their own conversations to bother with us.

Michelle, tall, pretty, ash blond, and a third year, walked over and sat next to me.

“So, what do we have here?” she asked, nudging me with a ‘heh, heh, heh’ laugh.

“Absolutely nothing,” I told her calmly, but shaking my head pointedly tell her to lay off. “He wouldn’t take the pizza, so I made him. Nothing more.”

“It didn’t look like ‘nothing more’ to me. Was that what it was to you Nick?” I sighed. Despite all my efforts to push her away, she’s probably the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real best friend. She’s the type that likes to tease her friends mercilessly and was probably going to take it into her head that she needed to set us up next. I needed to stop her before she got too excited about the project.

Unfortunately Nick spoke too quickly. “Just friends,” he said softly and somewhat hoarsely, still watching the rest of the job site. Michelle just laughed merrily at that.

“Sure.” She mimed wiping away a tear. “I’ll start working on the seating plan.”

I glared at her. “Michelle, don’t you have something better to do?”

“Nope. It’s my lunch break. It’s your lunch break, too. What a coincidence.” She leaned back against the lumber and turned her face up to sunbathe. “Nice weather we’re having today. Very warm for March.”

“Global Warming.” I told her sharply, but decided that the change in conversation would be better. “How’s Orgo?”

“Ugh, organic chemistry is the devil. Tell me again why I want to be a doctor.”

“Because you like to be the center of attention in everyone’s lives and being a doctor gives you that authority.”

“Ouch. But true,” her eyes were still closed as she sunbathed, not affected by my words. Michelle can take the teasing as good as she can give it…but I’m not sure if I was teasing. Nick was still looking anywhere but at us and I couldn’t see his face to judge his mood.

Luckily, or not, I’m not sure, the foreman blew his whistle to tell us all to get back to work. I worked with Michelle putting sheathing on the outside of the house.

“What was that about?” I asked her, probably a bit more testily than I meant.

“What?” she asked innocently, waiting while the guys lifted the sheet of plywood into place before hammering her side.

“You know what. You were embarrassing him…and me.” I said, hammering the nail a bit too hard.

“I’m not the one who was sucking on your fingers.”

“Irrelevant,” I said glancing at the two fellows who were helping us with the plywood. They were trying to hide their grins. “Really mature, guys.”

“You want one of us to suck your fingers?” Mike asked, lewdly. I stared at him in shock. I knew the look he was giving me. He was obviously ogling me. “I’m sure one of us would satisfy you if spaz can’t.” Both guys laughed.

“First off, no. Secondly, hell no. And thirdly, not if you two were the last men on Earth.” I dented the plywood when I hit my last nail too hard. “And if you wanted to keep all your pieces intact, you would have changed the topic yesterday,” I told him, glaring.

“Look, bitch, I was joking. So chill, okay. You don’t know me.” His voice was angry, but his body positioning was defensive. This guy was all talk.

“You’re right. I don’t know you, Mike. Or you, John.,” I said with false sweetness. “But you don’t know me either. You don’t know if I’m a black belt in Tae Kwan Do, if I’ve been hurt before, or what else I’ve been though that makes me believe that your statements aren’t made in jest. For all you know, I could be a murderess who turns on anyone who hits on me. I’m not, but I could be anything and making statements that come across as sexist, and maybe even harassing, isn’t very smart when you don’t know the person who is on the receiving end.”  My voice hardened as I finished my speech.

“Is something wrong?” Jeff asked, walking over. He’s the president of the Habitat club at the University.

“No, everything’s fine here,” I told him coolly. “Just waiting for the boys to put up the next piece.”

Jeff looked at all of us, his expression severe. “Gretchen, can I speak with you a moment? Privately?”

“Sure.” We walked over to the side of the lot.

“If they’re harassing you, I need to know right now,” he said without preamble. Jeff is a fourth year math major. He looks like one, too; an inch or two below average height, muddy brown hair that is too long, skinny, with glasses. He’d outgrown the acne and braces, but you knew that he’d had them in high school. But his appearance is where the nerd ended. He’s a very outgoing guy and not socially awkward at all. He’s been known to throw the best non-alcoholic parties on grounds and he may look like he’d break in half if the wind blew too hard, but he’s got that black belt and has been known to use it when someone at those parties gets out of hand. He doesn’t take any crap.

“It’s not quite so dramatic. He was being stupid and I hope that I drilled some sense into him. There’s not much else to do, without making it a bigger issue than it is.”

Jeff crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t like it, but if that’s what you want.” He took a deep breath. “Nick isn’t going to be happy either, by the way,” he finished, a little more kindly.

I glanced up at Jeff.

“Yeah I noticed. He usually keeps to himself, so it was a bit obvious,” he said, chuckling. “I think you two will do each other good. The tough girl and the uptight scholar.”

“He’s not uptight,” I protested.

Jeff held up his hands, palms out. “I know, I know. He’s quiet. In any case, if there’s no immediate crisis, let’s get back to work. The crew coming tomorrow isn’t going to be happy if we don’t have the roof framed and the walls sheathed before we leave.” It was a hefty goal, but possible since the house was a small two bedroom, without any fancy architecture: just a rectangle except for the bump out on one side to make enough square footage for the bedrooms. Perfect for a newlywed couple with a small child to get out of an apartment and into the home ownership market.

When I got back to Michelle, John, and Mike things had calmed down considerably. I guess Michelle had given them her own lecture because both boys were looking a little sheepish.

“Sorry I’m a jerk,” Mike told me when I reached for some more nails to put into my belt.

“No problem. Sorry I gave the rant, though you did deserve it. And for the record, none of that is true.” Lie. Well, I don’t have a black belt, but I’ve picked up a variety of fighting styles, including boxing. Huh. Maybe I need to pick that up again to fit into my jacket. Anyway, where was I? Oh, and I have been hurt…a lot. “I just don’t like guys talking like that. It’s not funny and it causes confusion when one thing is okay to say, but something seemingly similar crosses the line. No hard feelings?”

“None.” We shook hands like men, though without the awkward half hug. “Let’s get this side of the house done.”

…

We were able to meet and exceed our goal and by five o’clock when it was too dark to work, we’d started putting sheathing over the roof trusses and cutting the holes for the windows. Alex, the burly foreman, called us all together to thank us for our work before inviting us all to join him at a local hamburger place for dinner. After rearranging the carpools for the people who needed to go home, we made our way to the restaurant.

“You aren’t sick of restaurants yet?” Nick asked, sliding in next to me in a booth. Michelle and Jeff were already sitting across from me.

“Nope. It beats cooking for myself. Though the consequences…” I trailed off, giving him a significant look.

“Ahh. I see,” he said nodding sagely, but not completing my thought out loud. I don’t like to publicize my choice in undergarments. Jeff looked at Michelle as though asking what we were not saying. Michelle just shrugged then giggled.

“You two are at the completing each other’s sentences stage? How romantic.”

I opened my mouth to tell her to knock it off, but Nick spoke first.

“You and Jeff seem awfully flirty lately. Is there something we should know?”

I burst out laughing. He’d said it completely straight faced while browsing his menu.

“Well, turnabout is fair play, I suppose,” she said. “We’ve gone out on a couple dates, but who knows where the relationship will go.” She leaned forward. I noticed that Jeff was looking a little embarrassed, but seemed comfortable enough otherwise. “I spilled, now you. I want details.” She was looking at me, but Nick answered again.

“We went to dinner after the meeting Wednesday to talk about class stuff and on Thursday I begged her to go watch a Jefferson interpreter because I’m too chicken to deal with my ex on my own. We had dinner before the show, as well. We ate Mexican on Wednesday, Thai on Thursday, and now we’re eating good old fashioned American hamburgers. She complains about her weight, as any woman is prone to do, which is why she’s been browsing only the salad page in her menu. I think she should get a cheeseburger and say the hell with her weight. Is that enough detail for you?” He sounded as uninterested as though he’d been reciting the menu and went back to his once he’d finished speaking. For the first time he wasn’t blushing.

I started laughing again. Michelle was in shock, her mouth hanging open. Jeff had buried his nose in his menu and was snickering rather loudly.

“I’ve never heard you say so many words,” she finally said, the awe clearly in her voice. “I didn’t even think you could.” Jeff elbowed her, but Nick just laughed.

The waitress finally reached our table and took our drink orders. After she left, I went back to sighing over the salads. Nick turned the page to the hamburgers and kicked my ankle gently, his subtle hint that he was serious about me eating what I wanted, and not worry about my weight. Otherwise he didn’t look at me. I took the advice and ordered a greasy cheeseburger, but got a side salad instead of the fries. If I’d blinked I would have missed the tiny nod Nick made.

Our conversation actually stayed away from our romantic intentions, or lack thereof. I’m not sure how Michelle kept off the topic, but she seemed happy enough to bash her professors. For a girl who loves being pre-med, she sure does hate her math and science classes. That’s why she was minoring in art.

It was after eight when we left the restaurant, and after reshuffling the carpools again, I only had two people I had to drop off, both who lived not far from me.

I finally got home around nine and immediately got into the shower to wash off what felt like a week’s worth of grime. I was in the middle of shampooing when I heard my cell phone ring. Fifteen minutes later I was dressed in my pajamas and walked across the living room to the table by the door to check my missed calls. It was Nick.

“Hey, it’s Gretchen. What’s up?” I asked him calling him back.

“Umm…I was wondering if you play video games.” He sounded a little nervous.

“I’ve played a time or two. You want company?” I asked, deciding to be nice and not make him ask me first.

“Yeah. I bought a new game yesterday and it’s for two people.” I laughed softly at the relief in his voice.

“Well, give me your address and I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

His apartment turned out to be just a couple blocks away from mine, but he’d requested that I drive rather than walk alone. I put on a faded Smurfette t-shirt that I’d bought in the eighties and a pair of well worn bell-bottomed jeans from the seventies. Did I mention how much I love this decade?

Nick was waiting in the small parking lot to walk me up to his apartment. It was in an older building with four floors, maybe twelve apartments total. Nick lived on the second floor in a one bedroom, one bath, with the tiny kitchenette in the corner of the small living room. It was decorated in “male college chic,” a worn, but comfortable looking sofa in front of a moderately sized flat screen television surrounded by DVDs and video game boxes that spilled onto the floor. Someone, probably his mother, had given him a landscape painting to dress up the otherwise bare walls…it was currently on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door. The dining table near the kitchenette was covered with books and papers. The bathroom door was open and it appeared clean, though the counter held a scattering of male hygiene products.

Nick blushed when he saw me appraise his home. “Sorry about the mess…” he said nervously hanging my jacket on a hook next to the door. The days might feel like late spring, but the nights still had a slight chill to them.

“Oh don’t worry. My apartment often has minor hurricanes pass through,” I told him, laughing. “Where’s this game of yours? By the way, I suck at video games, so I hope you weren’t expecting real competition.”

“Here.” He handed me the game and flopped down heavily on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his hands shoved into his pockets. I sat, a little more gently, next to him reading the blurb about the zombie game.

“You know, that this isn’t just a two person game,” I said, trying to keep the humor out of my voice and failing.

“It’s not?” Nick asked, not looking at me, and not quite sounding shocked.

“No. In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you asked me here under false pretenses,” I said slyly, my lips pursed, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t!” he said quickly, looking up before laughing guiltily. “Okay, yeah, I guess I did. But I really do want to play the game with you…I just didn’t want to look like a total nerd.”

I laughed gently. “I don’t think you’re a nerd. Well, no, actually I do, but it’s cute.” I got up and turned on the TV and X-Box before loading the game. The controllers were already on the small coffee table in front of the couch and Nick’s blush was clearing up when I settled next to him again. He gave me a quick walk-through of the controls before starting the game.

“Wow, you really do suck at this,” he said four minutes later. “Is it really that difficult for you to walk up the stairs? Use the joystick!”

“I may have vastly overstated my video gaming abilities. My current game system is a Super-Nintendo from the mid-nineties.” I started laughing as my character walked up and down the same set of stairs three times before I got her going in the proper direction again.

“We haven’t gotten to the zombies yet and I’m pretty sure you’re life-points are half gone. Where the heck are you?” he asked, referencing the map.

“Lost. I think I’m supposed to stand still and wait for the search team. Got a granola bar?”

“No granola for you. Granola is for people who can actually be an asset in the fight against zombies….Woman…turn around slowly and walk in the other direction.”

Let’s just say that my first attempt at the game didn’t end well. I spent most of the time dead and watched Nick as he played, though he wasn’t an expert either, which gave me plenty of opportunities to demonstrate my utter inability to control the bodily functions of my character. At least I only killed Nick once in a friendly fire incident. It was nearly one when he tossed the controller onto the table and stretched. I’d given up an hour before and curled up to watch him play on his own. It was no surprise to see him easily complete a half dozen levels without my hindrance…I mean, help.

“So…” I said, looking up at him, my head on the arm of the sofa.

“So.” He looked right back at me and licked his lips slowly.

As I sat up, my feet connected with his leg. “I’m interested,” I blurted out quietly, but simply, letting him take the next step. I was tired of nights spent watching television after chaste kisses at the door. Nick was cute and a one night stand wasn’t going to kill me.

“I…” he gulped and closed his eyes. “We shouldn’t.” He stood up and walked towards the door. He turned around and leaned against it, giving me that piercing look again. An instant later his eyes were full of sorrow and regret. He bit his lip.

“Why not?” I asked curiously, not moving. His body language confused me.

“You’re technically my student, even if all I do is help grade papers. It’s not fair if we act like this.”

“I really don’t care about my grades—you can decide right now to give me the class average and I’ll be happy. You don’t need to feel obligated to pad my scores.” I stood up and walked towards him.

He held his hands out, asking me to stop. I complied. “Your grades will help you in the future. Believe it or not, many employers like to see that you’ve done well in your classes. So you really don’t want me to hurt your GPA by giving you scores that are below your ability.” And Nick was well into his comfort zone of rule abiding citizen. It was kind of annoying.

“I think that I know best what is good for me. If I want to slack off and face the consequences later that is my choice. So, can we calmly discuss the important issue in front of us? I’m interested and you’re hiding behind your job.” I closed the distance between us, ignoring him as he raised his hands again. “All I want to know,” I whispered, “is if you feel the same way. We can figure out what to next from there.”

He stared down at me, his eyes shifting from mine to my mouth and back. He finally answered me with the hottest kiss I’d ever received. He pulled me into his arms as his lips pressed tightly against mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before probing into my mouth. His tongue stroked mine as one hand moved to fist gently into my hair while the other wrapped tightly around my waist, lifting me slightly. I had to grip his shirt to stay upright and kissed him back just as enthusiastically before reluctantly pulling back to take a breath. “Wow.” It was all I could say as my insides squirmed.

Once again, his cautious side took over. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me gently away. “That should answer your question. But it doesn’t change the facts.” His voice was hoarse and his eyes were sad, but his message was clear.

I nodded, slowly, putting one hand on his arm to steady myself. “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. I shook my head to clear it before smiling up at him. “We’re just friends…who clearly want to make out with each other. I can handle that.” I smiled before suddenly yawning widely. The strange sound that accompanied the yawn did plenty to tell Nick that I was truly tired, not bored…I hope. “Sorry for yawning in your face,” I apologized blushing. “I guess I’d better get home.”

“I shouldn’t have kept you so late. You could crash here if you want.” He scratched his ear. “I mean we know where we stand with each other, so there’s no confusion. You can have the bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You know, I don’t live that far away. And I have my car,” I said slowly.

“It’s late and you’re tired and…I want you to stay.” He said, his eyes lowering to the floor. “It’s irrational and probably stupid, but it feels right.”

I laughed softly. “Careful. My presence might cause you to do things you don’t want to do,” I said, wagging my eyebrows suggestively.

“Maybe I want it to,” he whispered so quietly I wonder if he meant to say it out loud. I smiled gently.

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa,” I told him, deciding to stay.

“No, I’m a night owl, so I’ll be up for awhile longer anyway. Feel free to borrow any clothes you need from my closet.”

“Thanks.” I stood up on my toes and kissed his cheek before walking into the bedroom. I felt his eyes following me the entire way.

…

I awoke when I felt someone climb into the bed next to me. I was preparing to break the person’s nose before I remembered where I was and realized that it was Nick joining me. I relaxed instantly.

“I thought you were going to sleep on the couch,” I whispered.

“Sorry for waking you up,” he apologized quietly, spooning up behind me. “I’ve been laying awake for an hour debating and I decided the hell with it. I want to spend tonight with you in my arms. We can stay away from each other tomorrow.” He let out a low moan as he buried his nose in my hair, “you smell so good.”

I smiled as I pressed my back more firmly against his chest. “This is just for tonight?”

“Yes.” His voice was muffled and I felt a kiss on the back of my neck. “God, I’ve never felt this way before.”

“What about your ex?” I asked curiously.

“Don’t want to talk about her.” He paused, “but simply, we were friends who decided to try something new. There wasn’t the same instantaneous…physical attraction.” He shifted so that his leg was overtopping mine.

I felt the same way. Most of my marriages had generally started similar to his previous relationship. I’d meet someone and he’d decide to court me. I’m not ashamed to admit that after a few hundred years I’d grown to be a desperate woman who would marry anyone who might have saved me from…well, life.

When I was first changed I assumed that it would be a simple matter to find a man to love me and to love in return. Life wasn’t complicated back then. Marriages were partnerships of mutual gain: men got someone to bare their children, women got security. That was “love” at the time. I have never felt real love, obviously, though I’ve often believed that I have. I followed all the rules and was repaid with, well, crap. Men who’d used me, abused me, ignored me, or some combination thereof. I’ve felt physical attraction to the men I’ve married, but that was a rare occurrence, and when I rebelled against society’s rules and looked to appearances first, I was often hurt the worst. The one’s I’d been emotionally attracted to usually turned out to be gay, bi, or a killer.

I’d known Nick for just half a week and I felt a connection to him like that I’d never known. There was the overt physical attraction, but there was also the emotional attraction. He actually listened when I spoke, something only the fewest of my lovers had done, and he respected my opinions, even when he disagreed with them. He’d also proven himself to be supportive of me being me and not just be some pretty thing on his arm. In short, Nick was a man unlike any of my previous. Maybe he could break my curse. That idea hurt. It wasn’t the first time, or probably the last, that I’d had this thought.

I drew in a shaky breath. This is why I’d sworn off men ninety years ago. I’d fallen too hard for my last lover (we’d never married) and after he’d died I’d hoped that what we’d had was enough to bring an end to my long life…clearly it wasn’t, which hurt as though he’d died all over again. I didn’t think I was ready to try falling in love again.

“Just tonight,” I repeated, entwining my fingers into his, afraid to fall asleep.

…

The sun was high when we awoke the next morning. I rubbed myself against Nick as I stretched.

“Good morning,” he said, nuzzling my jaw and nibbling on my neck.

“Morning.” I giggled when his thumb rubbed my waist. He lifted his mouth away from my throat and studied my face before actively tickling my waist.

“Someone’s ticklish,” he commented, mildly interested as I wriggled around the bed trying to get away from him. He tickled me relentlessly until I was able to grab his wrists and flip him over so that I could straddle his stomach, pinning him to the bed.

“That’s enough,” I told him breathlessly, huffing out the residual laughs. I looked down into his brown eyes, which were full of a strained emotion. I knew exactly what was going through his head: the heated debate between doing what felt right and what we knew would be best for both of us. I sighed before lowering my mouth to his for a kiss. It was gentle, but passionate; lasting longer than I’d intended as he removed his wrists from my hold and pulled me against his chest. I groaned as I broke the kiss. “I thought you wanted to avoid this.”

“I’m procrastinating,” he murmured, stroking my hair. I licked my lips before kissing him again.

I don’t know how long we stayed in bed kissing and touching each other, but when I reached for the drawstring on his pajama bottoms he told me to stop.

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Really?” I asked suggestively, reaching mischievously lower.

“Really!” he yelped, pushing my hands away and moving away from me. “God, the world doesn’t revolve around sex! Can’t I just kiss you without you making it complicated? It’s going to be hard enough to let you leave this apartment.” He looked exasperated.

“Actually, the world as we know it wouldn’t exist without sex,” I said dryly. “But you’re right. I’m sorry.” I sighed and pulled my knees up, setting my chin on my kneecap. “This sucks.” I pursed my lips. “I guess that we could pick this up again once the semester is over?” I asked, somewhat hopefully.

“I don’t know. Don’t you think that it would still add pressure if we have a set timeline? I think we should play it by ear and see where we are three months from now. It seems that neither of us can be trusted to keep things platonic, so I think that we should avoid situations where we’re alone together.” He paused. “But you can still talk to me about anything class related without fear of me acting improperly.”

“And when Nick the Lecturer comes out, that’s my cue to leave.” I slid off the bed and picked my clothes off the chair next to the bed. I went into the bathroom to change; swiftly tying my corset and accidently pulling it too tightly in my frustration. Then I got mad at myself for being frustrated: I was the one pressuring him. I took a steadying breath and washed my face before opening the bathroom door and facing Nick in our post non-relationship phase.

He was leaning against the door frame of his bedroom, his arms crossed; not in anger, but as though to keep himself from reaching out. I simply nodded to him before picking up my purse and coat and walking out of the apartment without looking back.

…

My shift at the food bank was one of the longest three hours of my life. I was in the warehouse, putting together the boxes that we’d give to people who come in. It had been easy to avoid thinking about Nick while I’d been busy at my apartment, but with just canned and boxed foods around me, there was little else to occupy my mind.

I wanted him. I wanted him in a way that I hadn’t wanted anyone else. And that thought scared me. It took me a long time to find myself, to become really comfortable with who I am as a person. I spent so much time transforming myself into the woman that I thought my husbands desired that pushed my own aspirations to the side. It was only in the past hundred years that society and my life situation combined in a way that made it possible for me to feel comfortable being my own person. But I had no experience being myself while being in a relationship. Few men I met wanted a woman who was active in the social causes and even fewer were interested in women who proclaimed a desire for more rights for themselves. Those men which I did meet who didn’t mind my ambitions were normally too polarized for my taste.

I’d spent a lot of time doing exactly what many opponents to the women’s rights movement promoted: women didn’t need specifically granted rights because they were able to do everything they wished within the confines of the laws that were. I had to play that game. The problem was, it wasn’t easy and it forced me to submit to a lot of things that I knew in my heart I didn’t want to do. I’ve always been interested in educating myself, but often this was impossible and I was forced to scrounge pamphlets from the men’s philosophical societies. I wasn’t allowed into the male universities and with my…affliction, I couldn’t challenge the society into letting me attend. The last thing I needed was my face plastered all over the history books as the first woman to attend Oxford to study medicine. I had some of the earliest motivations to give women access to further education, but I was stuck submitting to my husbands.

I think I got along with my gay husbands so well because they knew how much their own position in society was dependent on me. They allowed me freedoms, and in exchange I gave a cover for their own desires, but more than that, many of them had the quality to actually listen. They gave me a way to safely express myself in a society where those who stepped too far out of propriety were banished. But Nick isn’t gay, so we could be more than just friends.

CHAPTER 5

On Monday afternoon I went to see Professor Barnes. Nick was already sitting in the small lounge outside the offices reading when I approached. We hadn’t seen or talked to each other since Sunday morning and he set aside his book as he stood awkwardly.

“Hey.” He’d shoved his hands into his pockets and avoided my eyes.

“Hello.” I smiled slightly at him. Being close to him was hard and I just wanted to give him a hug and maybe let him work his magic lips on me. But that would be a bad idea…very bad. God what is wrong with me?

“So….this is it,” he said awkwardly.

“Yup.” I pursed my lips. “It’s time…” I glanced at Barnes’ office. “That’s the place…”

Nick burst out a laugh. I couldn’t keep my face straight either. “God, it sounds like we’re on a blind sex date,” he said.

I covered my open mouth with my hand and stared at him with mock shock. “Nick Hamilton talking about sex?! I can’t believe it.”

“Well I was going to just say a blind date, but blind dates are never that awkward.” He looked ashamed. “Guess I don’t know how to act around you now.”

“That’s fine, actually. I’m definitely drowning some irresponsible thoughts of my own over here.” I grinned. He blushed. “I guess we’re back at square one.”

“I think that’s a good thing.” He checked his watch. “You said the meeting is at four? You should probably get in there if you don’t want to make him wait.”

I took a deep breath and stretched my arms to make sure that I had full range of motion, just in case. I noticed Nick watching me intensely as I stretched my neck. “You like?”

He coughed and flopped into the overstuffed leather chair, putting his feet onto the coffee table and re-opening his book. “Go.”

I grinned again, for just a second before I made my face go blank. I walked towards the office and knocked.

“Come in.” Professor Barnes’ office looked a lot like other professor’s offices: packed. There were bookshelves covering nearly all of three walls, each filled to capacity with books and binders. The desk, tucked against one wall, was equally covered with books and papers and a computer so covered with post-it notes that its brand was unidentifiable. He gestured for me to sit in the chair tucked awkwardly next to the desk. I had to shift a pile of papers first. Yeah, it was starting to look like Barnes was one of those socially awkward professors and the phone call was harmless.

“So, how’s the studying going?” he asked, looking at me through his thick rimmed glasses.

“Not bad,” I lied. I hadn’t done more than keep up with the reading assignments for the class, though every assignment but one I’d already read before at least once.

“Good, good. No questions?” I shook my head. “But then, I guess you wouldn’t have any.” I frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I have any questions?” I asked slowly.

Barnes stood up and sat on the corner of his desk. “Well, this class is beneath you, isn’t it?” he said lightly. “You have knowledge of medieval history that vastly surpasses everything that we in this department could ever hope to discover.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. That scared me. His eyes were wide, but his tone was cheerful. “Excuse me, sir? I thought I came here to discuss the midterm questions.”

“You really don’t think that you could fool an expert like me? I’ve been studying this period for over forty years. You can’t imagine my shock when you just walked into my classroom.” His voice had hardened and his fists were clenched. The way he leaned towards me made me think that he wanted to grab me and shake me. “I’ve been following your story for nearly two decades, finding your face in paintings, finding men mention you in their journals…you can’t be stupid enough to think that your body would pass through time unnoticed. Your scars made it easy to pick you out no matter where you were or who you were with.” He was staring at my left breast. He licked his lower lip. “I want to see them.”

“What?!” I yelped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And you’re creeping me out.” I stood up and grabbed my bag to leave.

Barnes moved faster than I would have believed. He grabbed my bag to push me back into the seat before he turned back his desk and the binder that was lying on it. I was so surprised that he’d knocked me off balance that I sat heavily. Then I was furious that he’d been able to do that.

I clenched my jaw and my fists and was moving to stand up again as Barnes dropped the open binder into my lap. I stared down at it in shock, the fight driven completely out of me. It was a two inch binder and it was entirely filled with dozens of plastic sleeves enclosing a variety of 8x10 photos of paintings and statues in just about every style used in the past thousand years, all of them seeming to come from the same model. There were photocopies of journal pages and Barnes had highlighted wherever I’d been mentioned. I recognized the handwriting and I was actually stunned to read what Phillip wrote the night that I’d caught him with Thomas. He wasn’t complimentary and in fact the word bitch was used a few times. Apparently he thought it was absurd that I would follow him to work. He neglected to mention what he’d been doing when I shouted at him and made the decision to leave, though.

I flipped through the pages, honestly fascinated. “This is pretty cool. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.” I said, looking up at him. He’d been hovering over me the entire time that I’d been reading.

He flipped to a page in the back, one of the last paintings I’d sat for, back in the late 1890s. He turned the page and showed a photograph from the thirties. The next page was my first photo driver’s license. “That’s your face,” he said matter of factly, pointing to the driver’s license.

“Huh. It does look similar…maybe it’s some long lost aunt? That’s awesome! I don’t have any family left so far as I know.” My voice didn’t even shake as I lied, but my heart was beating madly. “Do you know where she is now? I’d like to meet her.”

“That’s your face!” he shouted, his eyes cold. I jumped. “Tell me how you did it!” he demanded furiously.

“Professor…” I said slowly. “You’re scaring me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stood up tentatively, and as I expected, he shoved me into the chair again. I glanced at the door, biting my lip. I knew Nick could hear the shouting and I imagined that he was standing right on the other side waiting tensely.

Barnes was shaking now with anger. He’s a relatively short man, easily half-way through his sixties with little muscle left underneath his paunch. It wouldn’t take me much effort to overpower him, but until he actually hurt me I couldn’t find it in me to harm him. “Tell me the truth,” he said quietly through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know how you’ve lived this long.” He’d put his hands on the arms of my chair and leaned towards me, his face so close his nose was almost touching mine.

“Sir…” I breathed, letting my voice tremble. “Please…”

“NO! You aren’t leaving here until you quit lying.” He grabbed my shirt, a black button down, and ripped it open.

Nick threw the door open then, letting it crash into a bookshelf. “What the hell is going on in here?!” he demanded loudly. I felt my body slump in relief.

Barnes’ hands were still fisting the tattered sides of my blouse. “This is none of your business Nick. Get out.”

Before he’d finished the statement, Nick had strode up behind me and saw where Barnes’ hands were. He grabbed his wrists and shoved Barnes so hard he fell back onto his desk, sending the books and papers flying. I stood up, clutching the binder to my chest.

Nick put his hand on my back and urged me out of the office before he turned to look at Barnes, who’d managed to slide himself back onto his feet. “You crossed the line,” he said, his gritted teeth barely opening, his fists clenched. “We’re going to the dean right now and getting your ass fired.”

“Nick, you don’t understand. She’s not normal,” Barnes said almost kindly, stretching out the last word with a roll of his wrist to emphasize it.

“I don’t give a damn if she’s from Mars, you have no right to touch her!” he shouted.

“She’s immortal!” Barnes yelled, almost as loud. “Look at the photos—she has the same markings on her body. Look at her breast and back—those journals talk about the scars.”

Nick stared at Barnes for a full minute. “You’re crazy,” he said finally, sympathetically sardonic. “You are certifiable if you believe that.”

“Look in that binder if you don’t believe me.” He gestured at the binder I had in my arms. I gulped and held it closer. Nick stared into my eyes and I couldn’t read his expression. He took a step towards me and I automatically stepped back before I cursed myself. I had to act like I had before if I wanted to get out of the building without being a test subject. “See how she doesn’t want you to look at it?”

“No jackass,” I snapped at him. “I just had my shirt ripped open; you can imagine that I’m not very excited about men coming near me right now. Here.” I shoved the binder at Nick and started examining my shirt to see if it would close again. The top four buttons had been pulled free, but only one was lost, so I was able to mostly re-cover myself.

Nick flipped through the pages slowly, his eyes widening. His back was still towards Barnes so only I could see his face as he glanced at me and the book repeatedly. I tried to keep my face impassive as I saw the skepticism slowly turn to surprise. He looked at me again, a question burning in his eyes. I didn’t dare answer it and he shrugged before his expression changed once more to disbelief.

He turned back towards Barnes. “You have quite a collection here. But it doesn’t prove anything.”

“Look at her chest! That will prove everything.”

Nick looked back at me before deciding something. “I saw her chest last Thursday and there was nothing out of the ordinary, even if they are a bit small.” He shrugged again before looking at Barnes. “You have nothing on her but the fact that apparently her face resembles some old artwork. I’m not an art historian so I’m not one to judge, but I’ve seen a lot of Renaissance art and if I didn’t know better I’d say Leonardo and Rafael used the same models. I think that you are greatly mistaken in your belief and I am going to go to the dean and suggest that you get professional help.” He took my arm and led me out of the office.

“I’m going to prove you wrong, Nick. She’s hiding something major and I’m going to find out how she did it. I will revolutionize history AND science!”

Neither Nick nor I turned back as we made our way through the lounge towards the stairs. I finally broke the silence when we reached the exit.

“How did no one hear that?” I asked him softly.

“Most of the professors like to have their office hours in the middle of the week and earlier in the day,” he answered simply. He hadn’t taken his hand off my forearm and he still had Barnes’ binder tucked firmly under his other arm. He stopped me just outside the entry door and opened his cell phone to call Dean Winters, leaving a message to say that Barnes had attacked a student and that we needed to schedule a meeting. He snapped the phone shut and turned to me. “We need to find some place quiet to talk.”

I looked up at him and knew exactly what he wanted. “Let’s go to my apartment.”

We walked in silence again. I wondered what was going through his head, but I knew better than to ask. He needed to get his own head straight before I could add anything that would further confuse him. I unlocked the door and casually tossed my keys and cell phone into the bowl. I hung my jacket on the hook before I turned to look at Nick. His back was to me. He’d put the binder onto my dining table and was staring at it as though it might explode.

“Are you okay?” I asked him tentatively.

“Good question.” He was still staring intensely at the book and his voice was hoarse.

“Umm…well you can ask me anything and I’ll answer you honestly.” I said. For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. “But I’ll warn you now; if you turn on me like Barnes wants to, I’ll have to kill you.”

His spun around. “Have you…?”

“No,” I said quickly. I sighed. “Look, no one has ever confronted me like this before. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I’m not going to be a test subject.”

“So it’s true?”

“…Yes.” I saw him grimace as his last grasp for reality left. He closed his eyes and let out a loud breath.

“Okay. Are there more of you? Are you like some vampire or something?”

I let out a bark of laughter, but for the first time in an hour a real smile filled my face. “No. I’m an anomaly. Three kind old ladies decided to bring me back to life and here I am. I’m one hundred percent human except for the lack of aging thing…and I don’t tan.”

“Uh huh. I need to sit down.” Before he’d completed the sentence he fell into the chair he’d been standing next to. He put his head into his hands and shook it slowly. “This makes no sense.”

“I know. Trust me; I’m the first one to say that my life is crazy.” I sat next to him and reached to rub his back, but stopped myself.

Suddenly he laughed and sat up, looking at me. “Well, I guess you weren’t lying when you said that grades didn’t matter to you.”

I smiled at him. “Yeah.”

“So…what do you do exactly? Just go to school?”

“I do whatever…college, work, travel…whatever I feel like. If you feel up to it, the second bedroom is full of stuff I’ve collected over the years.”

He gulped and glanced at the door. “There’re probably a lot of priceless artifacts in there…”

“They have a price.”

“I guess things like that have little value to you.”

“For the most part yes; I’m more attached to concepts than the individual objects. Indoor plumbing, man…praying to the porcelain goddess has a completely different meaning for me,” I said with a wink.

That finally got a real laugh out of Nick and he visibly relaxed a bit. “I can bet.” He glanced at the bedroom door again before standing up. “I’m going to peek in there,” he told me, cocking his head.

I nodded and watched as he inhaled and exhaled slowly before disappearing into the room. I moved to sit on my couch and turned on the news. Death, destruction, politics…status normal.

…

Nick was in my “museum” for most of an hour and the national news was just ending when he emerged, looking pale. He flopped on the couch as I stood up and went to the freezer. I brought us both a fudge pop. He took the chocolaty goodness limply.

“What a juxtaposition…thirteenth century coins in nearly perfect condition and fudgesicles. I don’t know my artifacts…those could all be fakes. In fact, everything in Barnes’ book could be fake and you’re just playing with him and, by extension, me.” He looked at me hopefully while sucking on his popsicle. Oddly, he looked like a five year old who wanted me to buy him an inexpensive toy.

I gave him a tight smile. “Sorry, hon. I’m real.” I took a bite of my fudge pop and settled next to him on the couch.

“What’s it like?”

“It gets a bit monotonous after awhile. Life doesn’t change even though the world changes around you. I still have to eat, work, socialize, sleep. And it’s not like I can be excessively active in public life so I’m generally stuck with whatever society is at the moment. Plus, I have to leave everyone behind every dozen years or so, which is a heartbreak waiting to happen.”

“How exactly did it happen? You mentioned the three women…” he asked me curiously.

“I saved my first husband from an assassin. His dagger pierced my heart, hence the scars Barnes mentioned. The three women were elders in the community and they decided to attempt a spell they’d found to bring me back. It worked…I guess. I don’t think I was supposed to live this long.”

“What do you mean?” He’d forgotten about his popsicle and it was melting over his hand.

“I was supposed to find my ‘true love’,” I included the air quotes, “and that would kick-start my dying mechanism…or kill me outright…I don’t know exactly. But all I’ve met are assholes and gay men, so I’m doubly cursed---cursed to live and cursed to never die, if that makes sense.”

“Hmm…” he noticed the chocolate dripping on his hand quickly ate what was not melted before getting up and washing his hands in the kitchen. When he sat back down his expression was thoughtful. “You seem like a pretty modern woman…maybe you were just waiting for a modern man?”

I started laughing somewhat hysterically. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of,” I told him when I could finally catch my breath.

Nick was frowning at me. “Why? Are you honestly going to tell me that those assholes, as you called them, made you happy even as you were a product of the time? I can’t picture you being happy with someone who oppressed you and I haven’t seen much evidence that many men were above that in past centuries.”

I coughed and thought about everything that I’d learned about myself in the past ninety years…maybe he had a point. I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

Nick noticed my posture. “It’s not such an absurd thought now, is it?” He smiled. “Trust me; you aren’t the first woman from the past who was stuck in a world that she did not belong. Just because you were able to use the rules that they had in place to maximize the influence you had doesn’t mean it made you happy. And I’d be hard pressed to find a woman say that she’s in love with someone she isn’t happy to be with.”

I sighed and leaned back into the couch cushions. “Unfortunately, that means that I spent a lot of time pointlessly submitting to the will of the men in my life.”

“Not necessarily…in most time frames women who were too independent were forcibly removed from society, like the Salem witches or Ann Hutchinson. So submitting to your husbands was a coping mechanism. How many times have you been married?”

“Umm…twenty-two,” I said slowly, thinking. I had a list tucked in one of my journals where I’d counted them a few years back. “Plus a few lovers that I didn’t marry.”

“Good God! How old are you? Unless you’re like Elizabeth Taylor and went for efficiency of marriage.”

“I was born in 1055 and what do you mean by efficiency of marriage?”

“Most marriages in the shortest period of time. Wasn’t she married like six times?”

“Eight if you want to get technical; twice to the Richard Burton. And I will admit that I was one of those people fascinated by their marriage. ‘Course, now I’m sorry for buying the magazines that helped create the paparazzi industry that we know now. Are you hungry?”

Nick mimed whiplash at my sudden change in topic. “Sure, I guess.”

I went into the kitchen to see what I had on hand. I hadn’t gone shopping recently and the pantry and fridge were pretty bare. I did have everything I needed for sandwiches, though, so I quickly put together a variety that I cut in half, along with some apples and carrots.

“What do you want to drink?” I asked Nick while I put the food onto the table.

“Whatever you’re drinking,” he said, sitting down in the chair he’d vacated earlier, next to the binder from Barnes. When I came back with the glasses of apple juice, he’d opened the book and was slowly studying each page.

“This looks to be in chronological order” he said, conversationally. “Of course, there’s not much from your earliest years.” He took a bite of a turkey sandwich and raised his eyebrows. “Is this on cinnamon raison bread?”

“Yes. I have weird tastes.” I took the other half of the sandwich and ate happily, wriggling in my seat, my feet not touching the floor.

“You really like food, huh?” he assessed.

“And how. I’ve spent my fair share of time starving to death…or rather not death.” I licked some mayo off my lip. “It’s not fun and I don’t recommend it. Hence my round figure.”

“I like your curves,” Nick muttered so quietly I wasn’t sure whether I’d heard correctly, taking a bite out of a tuna sandwich, chewing slowly. “So, I guess by that statement, you’ve had times where you should have died, but didn’t?”

“Yeah. A few times and that’s not counting the famines. I’ve been in a variety of transportation related accidents where my neck was broken, my major arteries pierced by bone and/or wagon pieces, my chest crushed, yadda, yadda, yadda. I’ve also been murdered a few times.” I reached for a ham and cheese sandwich. It was fun being able to talk freely about my long life.

Nick’s face had turned slightly green and he set his sandwich aside. “What was that like?”

“Surprisingly enough, not too bad. It’s not quite like sleep because I can feel the pokes and prods while my body heals itself, but there’s not a lot of real pain. Being severely injured and not dying is definitely worse.”

“Did you ever get ‘the tunnel’?”

“No. Even during the time of my first death I just felt fuzzy.”

“Weird.” He emptied his juice before grabbing a handful of the carrots, munching them slowly. “Your oddities certainly make a lot more sense now. So, who were you originally to warrant such a re-birth?”

“My father was Harold Godwinson.”

Nick started to choke on the carrot he’d accidentally inhaled. I jumped up and started beating on his back to help him dislodge it. He coughed for a couple minutes even after it’d flown from his throat. “Not that Harold,” he rasped, rubbing his chest.

“The one and the same,” I said quietly, rubbing his back in small circles. I took his glass into the kitchen, filled it with water, handed it to him and sat back down.

“Okay…that line of questions will come later. I guess we should focus on what we’re going to do about Barnes.”

“Not much to do until he does something. I’m not going to worry about it. He’s more likely to get himself committed than I am to be found out if he starts running his mouth.” I smiled at him as I leaned my head against the back of my chair. “That sounds like you’re going to stand by me. Thanks.”

He shrugged and blushed a bit. “Nowhere else I could really be. It breaks all my rules to turn you over to someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

“Aww,” I grinned. “That’s sweet.”

“Whatever.” He threw a carrot at me. “But I’m still confused about one thing…”

“What?” I asked gently, figuring that it was something more than likely to hurt him mentally.

“Why the heck do you suck at video games?! I mean, you obviously have no trouble adapting and you don’t have to study or work so you have plenty of time to practice.” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at me. “There’s no excuse.”

I laughed. Hard. I even had to wipe a real tear away. That was not the topic I’d expected. “Sorry. I bought my Nintendo back in the nineties,” I pointed at it, “and it was enough game for me so I never upgraded.”

“Pathetic,” he said, turning his nose up and shaking his head.

“Hey! Don’t bash my Mario Brothers. In fact,” I said, poking his ribs, “I notice that the original Mario Brothers games have recently been re-made for the new consoles. It’s called ‘retro’,” I told him in my most patronizing voice.

“Pu-lease,” he said, pulling a valley girl from somewhere. “The graphics on those retro-ed games are totally better than the original even if they are still two dimensional.”

“But I can still kick your butt with my old console.”

“You’re on.” He got up and turned on my television. He tried to load the game, but the cartridge wasn’t reading properly.

I sat on the couch silently laughing as he fiddled with the cords and removing and replacing the cartridge a few times. I finally felt sorry for him, plus I was bored waiting for him to figure it out. “God, children these days. You know absolutely nothing.” I knelt next to him and took the cartridge from him and blew into it thoroughly before replacing it and turned the game on. “There.”

He scowled at me. “I was going to get to that eventually.”

“Honey, by the time you got to that I would have not aged ten years. Let’s play.” I grabbed my controller and settled on the floor in front of the couch. “Okay, do you want Mario or Luigi?”

“Mario.” We swapped controllers as he settled next to me on the floor. He started out well, but a miss-timed jump put him right in the mouth of a Piranha Plant in the second world. I made it to the fifth world before Nick tickled my ribs and I let Luigi fall into a hole.

“Jerk,” I said, laughing.

“I had to do something. I only have one life left.” Which was quickly lost as he was hit by rebounding “Koopa Troopa”—those turtle things. “Well, I guess you proved your point.”

“Damn straight,” I said blandly as I stood up to stretch. He seemed mesmerized by my movement. I decided against teasing him and let my arms drop before I put them on my hips. “You know, if you aren’t interested in me that way, you might want to keep your tongue inside your mouth.”

“I guess I have my own secrets to keep,” he said slowly, not quite looking me in the eye.

I frowned at him. I’ve never met a man who didn’t try to get into the pants of a girl he was attracted to; Nick is his own type of anomaly. “What’s up?”

He sighed and finally met my eyes. “It’s embarrassing. Really.”

“Do you have a problem? You know they have medicines for that these days.” I laughed nervously, hoping that my smart mouth hadn’t just gotten me into trouble.

“No, no. That’s probably less embarrassing than my own issue.” He glanced around as though afraid that there was someone around listening in. “I’m a virgin,” he finally mumbled, so low I barely heard it.

“What?” I asked gently, afraid that I’d heard wrong.

“I’m a virgin,” he said, only slightly louder. “My mom’s a conservative Christians and ingrained abstinence only into my brother and me. After awhile it just became natural to want to wait until marriage.”

“Oh.” Huh. “Okay. I’ll stop with all the innuendos then.”

“That’s not necessary. It’s something I have to deal with and if I can’t control myself then it doesn’t say much about me, does it?”

“Alright. But we’ll agree right here that whatever I may say and do, I respect your choice. I will tease you about it, in private only of course, but I won’t change my ways.” I lifted the leg of my jeans to show him my ankle in a very seductive way…if we were living about a hundred years earlier. He obliged by licking his lips slowly staring at my ankle.

I laughed and dropped my pants leg. “So I guess we’re done with the video game?” He nodded and I saved the progress before shutting it off.

“Now what?” I asked, settling once again onto the sofa with my feet tucked next to me.

“Twenty, or more, questions,” he told me simply, shifting so that he was lying parallel to the couch, “not necessarily all being answered with a yes or no.”

“Alright, just let me get comfortable.” I put my head onto the arm of the couch before lying completely stretched out, my hands clasped on my stomach. “So, doc. I’ve been having this recurring nightmare where I don’t age.”

“I am not a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists sit in arm chairs, not lie on the floor.” He switched to a terrible German accent. “So, Gretchen, about this nightmare; is it all terrifying or are there some parts that you actually enjoy?”

“You sound like the Swedish Chef. I liked the eighties. It was a good time to be a woman, plus the music was good, especially given what the seventies were like.”

“A good time to be a woman? Really?”

“Yeah. Come on—I know you’re young, but haven’t you seen Working Girl or anything with Diane Keaton? Women were taking charge and making a name for themselves; crushing the glass ceiling. The sixties and seventies were all about making a statement, you know, burning your bra and acting out. It was all well and good, but pretty unproductive overall. The sixties and seventies got men to open their eyes to the power women have, the eighties made them open the doors before the women kicked them in.”

“I guess that begs the question of do you think that the glass ceiling has been broken.”

“For the most part, yes. You’d be hard pressed to find a man who is actively holding down the women beneath them. Now the problem is women who allow themselves to be held back. Do you know that the main reason why women make less than a man is because they don’t open their mouths and ask for more? It sucks, but I don’t have much sympathy. We’ve fought for over a century for the right to not be coddled; if women want something they need to open their mouths and not expect it to be given to them whether it is work related or in the home. I spent a long time accepting the life that my husbands’ gave me, and yes, I was for the most part cared for in the way that our economic status dictated. I wanted for nothing, but you were right, I wasn’t happy. Even when my husband wasn’t abusive, there’s something to be said for earning the life that I have. Maybe if I’d been a mother I would have felt differently.” I shrugged.

“You have no children?” he asked curiously.

“I can’t get pregnant,” I told him honestly. “Still have stupid periods, though. Aspirin and Midol make the top ten on my list of wonderful innovations.”

“Ouch, but wow. How did that affect your marriages? I would think that your husbands’ expected you to give them a dozen.”

“Some of them didn’t care. Other’s found their heir in the arms of another. But most held it against me. They blamed me for it and divorced me over it. Which actually made my life easier. I mean, there were only so many ways for a woman to legally leave a marriage.”

“Were all the break-ups clean?”

“I wish. Some went better than others. The easiest were where my husband died. Though, Alex was an idiot who should have listened to me. I still sometimes have nightmares of being scalped.”

“Oh God. What happened?”

I rolled onto my stomach to look down at him. “You know that Proclamation made in 1763? Where George III told the colonists to not cross the Appalachians because he was not going to fund soldiers to guard anyone who went that far west? Yeah, Alex was one of those people. He dragged me to a settlement just past the present Virginia border in what’s now West Virginia after two years of marriage. I still don’t know what caused him to make the decision, but I bet he was running away from some gambling debt. Anyway, he told me that it was going to change our lives. Three years later we were murdered in our sleep by a rogue group of Indians. Actually, the Indians were probably a good thing because our farm was in sad shape. Alex didn’t have a clue what he was doing and he didn’t like taking my advice.”

“Why did you marry him?”

“Good question,” I said slowly. “One I wish I could answer for most of my husbands. He was cute; I was bored and tired of fending for myself. That’s generally the reason why I do anything.”

“So what did you do after the scalping?”

“I hiked my way up to Pennsylvania. I took my time getting there and married a guy in Gettysburg.”

“You walked from western Virginia to Gettysburg?!”

“Pre-Interstate System, too. Yeah. It’s not hard; it’s pretty much the Appalachian Trail. I’d stop at whatever farm house I came upon to work for food. I stole some breeches at one of the first and passed myself off as a boy—you can fool anyone with that; well, except for the robbers. They don’t really care one way or the other, so it’s easiest to just let them do their thing and wake up later from the slit throat. I’ve had worse husbands.” I shrugged when Nick sat up and stared at me.

“You make it sound like getting raped and murdered was as common as brushing your teeth.”

“More common. Teeth brushing wasn’t very well advertised. In fact, the smelly breath was probably the worst part.”

“God,” he whispered. “But if you were robbed so often, how were you able to keep all that stuff?” he asked, gesturing towards the museum.

“At first I buried it, then I put it into banks. I’m sure there’s a few stashes of stuff that I’ve forgotten about buried in what was once woods around London. That’ll make a few archeologists happy.”

“You’ve lived such an interesting life. I think I could spend a century just listening to you describe it.” I could hear the wistful tone of his voice as he lay back onto the floor.

“You didn’t see my journals? What were you doing in there for an hour?”

“Journals?!” Nick bolted upright and went into the museum. I followed him.

“They’re on the shelves inside the closet,” I told him pointing. I’d chosen this particular apartment because the second bedroom had a proper closet. In the bedroom itself, the walls were lined with cheap wire shelving that I covered with all my…crap. Priceless artifacts? Maybe. But a brush is a brush to me no matter when it was made. Inside the closet, though, I had four dark stained bookshelves with glass doors to keep the dust off my books. Most of them were the leather bound journals that my husbands’ laughed at me for keeping, but I also had a few favorite books and pamphlets I’d collected over the years. I’d donated a couple of the oldest ones to various college archives because I couldn’t bear to see them disintegrate any more than they already had.

I cursed and went to the dining table to look at the first pages of Barnes’ book. He’d not only found journal pages from the men in my life, but also pages from my own journals, where of course, I often complained about my husbands. It worked perfectly for showing that I actually knew the men who were talking about my breasts or lack of femininity. Gah!

I took the binder and went back into the museum to find Nick poring through the journals. He’d moved out of the closet and was sitting in the middle of the floor with five of them scattered around him while a sixth, the oldest, was nestled carefully in his lap. I sat with my back to the door and started reading through exactly what Barnes had on me. I wasn’t sure what was worse: that Barnes had been able to find me or what awful things some of my husbands’ had written. Apparently I could do little right.

“The enclosure movement really screwed over your sheep farm didn’t it?” he asked, finally remembering that I was in the room.

“Which time? It wasn’t exactly a comprehensive movement. And of course, I was on both sides of it at one time or another.” He was nodding absently and I realized that he hadn’t really been talking to me, but making a comment aloud. I smiled before returning to my own book. Damn my artists made me look good. Maybe I should try modeling again.

It was nearly midnight when I yawned and set the binder to my side. “Are you going to spend the night?”

“Huh?” he asked, blinking at me. It was cute the way he was so totally engrossed in the journal in front of him that he forgot about everything else.

“I’m going to go to bed. Are you going to stay the night?” I told him, using small words and speaking slowly so he would understand.

“Sure. If you don’t mind,” he retorted, equally slowly. “And can we use words that have more than two syllables?”

I smiled. “Yes, if you’ve returned from the past, that is. Don’t try to tell me that you weren’t time traveling for the past three hours…I know I was.”

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