Untitled for now

"You'll never guess what Richie Marshalls said to me yesterday," Sally buzzed, her lips moving animatedly.1

"Richie Marshalls?" I said, glancing up at her. "Of Glennsdale?"2

"John Marshalls' son?" April gasped, eyes wide.3

"The very one!" she answered, curls bouncing as she nodded. "He was here on business with the press, and he said he would love nothing else than to court me next Saturday at the city dance!"4

"Are you serious?" Sarah cried, clasping her hands together. "The city dance, my goodness!"5

The three girls gushed and talked about Richie Marshalls and the dance next Saturday. I sighed and walked beside them, waiting for them to move onto the next topic, adding in a word here or there when they glanced at me in expectation.6

I looked around us into the woods, the leaves on most of the trees already turning slightly orange or yellow. A wind picked up, and a few leaves came loose and fell before us onto the path. The weather was fair for the middle of October, compared to last year, when a twinkling of snow had covered the streets this month.7

My father looked fearfully at the sky every day, each time telling me he hoped the snow would be delayed a little longer. He wasn't a farmer, but an early snow could mean living off cold potatoes all winter. The harvesting had been postponed this year with the late start of summer, and they needed all the time they could get. Alas, the heavens seemed to be obliging, as it continued to be as pleasant outside as on a day of early September.8

As we walked, the outskirts of our town began to be visible. The winding path we had followed through the woods did not compare to the massive road near Kensington where many horses' hooves pounded the dirt down every day. We were walking back from there now, spending the day buying fresh clothes and shoes, the way my friends and I always did once a year before the first snow. 9

Small homes began to appear on either side, the woods slowly parting, the path winding down the center. There were almost no trees near us now, most of them several hundred meters away from the field we walked through. My father had told me once or twice that it was hoped that it could be used for farming one day, when we had more people. Although our town was quite small now, only about sixty families in all, it was expanding quite quickly, and the amount of food produced by our harvest would barely be sufficient to feed them all this year.10

I listened back into the conversation, and found that they were now talking more quietly, almost whispering. The three girls motioned a ways to the right of the path, near the line where the field turned into more dense shrubbery. A quaint house stood there, nothing impressive, a thin line of smoke silently spiraling into the sky from its chimney.11

"That's where Mister Claude lives," Sarah said, her sky blue eyes narrowing slightly. "They say he can predict things in the future."12

"I heard that he openly practices witchcraft," April chimed in, looking at the house with something like nervousness on her face.13

"Don't be ridiculous," Sally said, rolling her amber eyes. "Everyone knows there's no such thing as witches. And aren't they all scary old women?"14

"What about those witch trials we heard about in Salem? Lots of men and women were accused there. What do you have to say about that?" April said.15

"Oh please, April," I joined in. "Those were over a century ago, and in Massachusetts, not here in Connecticut. And besides, everyone knows that those girls were just fooling around."16

"How do you know that?" Sarah said, her eyes flicking between mine and Sally's nervously. "They said that the witches flew into their windows at night, and possessed them," she continued in an excited voice, "Tempting them with treasures you couldn't imagine. The witches made the girls bark like dogs, and--"17

"Enough!" I said harshly, dismissing the subject with a wave of my hand. "There will be no more talk of witches. It's impossible for such things to exist, everyone knows that."18

"If you're so sure of that, why don't you go talk to him yourself?" Sarah said, looking at me sharply.19

"Why would I want to do that?" I snapped. "That poor man is pestered enough as it is. I don't have any reason to be bothering him."20

"You'll think of something," April said, smiling widely. Her hands moved over her braided hair over and over, as they often did when she was anxious or was anticipating something.21

To my dismay, Sally had a similar look on her face. "Yes, go talk to him! Then come out and tell us how it goes - if you come out at all!"22

"I bet she'll actually like it there, it's just like Annabella to be interested in weird things like that!" Sarah chimed in.23

I sighed. Sure, I had heard some odd things about Mr. Claude ever since he had moved here several months ago, but it was absurd to think that he practiced witchcraft simply because he had said some strange things. I had never heard anyone describe what he looked like, and for a fleeting moment I tried to imagine it: a stooped old man with piercing eyes and crooked teeth, straggly gray hair and a gnarled walking stick. I shuddered for a moment, then decided this would be worth it, if it would finally get these girls to stop being so superstitious about everything.24

"All right!" I said, raising my arms as if in surrender. "I'll go talk to him. Just don't get your hopes up."25

The girls giggled. I handed my small bag of clothes to April, and she and the rest of the girls scattered in different directions as I marched through the field toward the cottage. I felt weeds brushing past my stockings, and thought again about how this land would one day have vegetables and wheat growing in it. Then I wondered what I would say to the strange man when he answered the door. I pondered what I had heard around the village about him: that strange noises had been heard coming from his home, along with the reported sights of unearthly lights shining through his windows. I had heard many things, but I chose not to believe them, seeing as how many bizarre rumors were constantly circulating in town, especially between my friends.26

By the time I reached his door, I still had not thought of anything to say. I swallowed, and knocked loudly on the tall front door three times, without hesitation. At first there was silence, and just as I was about to raise my hand again, I heard some movement from inside, then the sound of footsteps, and a lock being removed. The door opened smoothly a moment later, and I stood there looking into the face of Mr. Claude.27

I had to try not to let my jaw drop. After hearing those stories of him, I had never in my life thought he would be a young man, no more than a year or two older than me. He had dark honey colored hair that brushed over his eyes slightly, and was quite tall, so I had to look up to properly face him. His eyes were large like a child's, and were almost the same color as his hair, brown and clear and shining bright. His face was seemingly perfect, without any sort of noticeable blemish on it. He had a long nose, though it did not ruin his appearance in any way, and lips that could have been carved from stone. A bit of rose colored the tops of his high cheeks, as though he had been running recently, though the rest of his face was lighter than the tanned farmers' faces I was used to seeing.28

"May I help you?" he asked politely, a strange soft accent barely brushing his soft voice. He was looking into my eyes with a burning curiosity I had never seen in anyone before.29

Despite my surprise, I found my words easily, as though I had recited them in my head on my way here. "Are you Mr. Claude, sir?"30

"That would be me, yes," he said in the same soft voice, raising one hand to sweep some stray hair out of his eyes. "May I help you?" he repeated.31

"I heard about you in the village, Mr. Claude," I said, and I thought I saw his eyes darken slightly.32

"What are they saying about me now?" he said slowly, though I didn't hear any annoyance or anger in his voice.33

"I heard that you had spoken of strange things, mentioned events that had never happened," I said, trying to pick my words carefully now.34

He nodded slowly. "So why are you here?"35

I sucked in a breath. "I am interested in time. Time travel, actually, sir."36

He simply looked at me, blinking, then chuckled softly, and I gasped as I saw his teeth. They were a dazzling shade of white, like I had never seen before, and were perfectly straight and unblemished, just like the rest of him.37

"I suppose you had better come in." His R's sounded hushed, almost like a cat's purring, and I wondered briefly if he was Dutch, though I decided that couldn't be right. His accent was much different.38

"Thank you, sir," I said, stepping inside his home, but he stopped me.39

"One thing, girl," he said, looking at me seriously. "You have got to stop calling me 'Mr. Claude' or 'sir'. My name is Stuart Claude, but you can call me Stuart. Art, if you wish."40

"Yes, Stuart," I said, trying not to show the growing surprise I felt at everything he said and the way he looked. He laughed quietly and walked gracefully into his home. I followed, shutting the door behind me as silently as possible.41

The front room of his house was quite plain, unfurnished, as though he had not touched it at all from the time he had moved in. Everything was neatly arranged though, and clean as well.42

"Come here," Stuart said, motioning through a doorway into another room. I followed him obediently, cautiously lifting my long light blue skirt as the floor raised slightly in the doorway. This room looked more furnished, though the walls were still bare wood, not a single picture or icon visible in the room. The far right side of the room had a large window with frayed white curtains blocking out some of the light, and yet another doorway stood to the left of that. Through it I could see a bed with a light bedspread, unmade.43

The room I was in now had a small gas stove against the wall opposite me and a tiny round table standing in the center, making the room seem even more empty and large. One stool stood by the table, and a lonely overstuffed armchair sat by the window, with a few papers scattered by it. A light brown door in the wall to the left of me stood closed. I wondered briefly what was beyond it, then decided I wasn't sure I wanted to know, what with the rumors.44

"Sit down, make yourself comfortable," Stuart said, carrying another stool from the room with the bed. I sat, folding my hands in my lap and waiting patiently for him to get settled. He sat down, stretching out his legs and sighing.45

"Tea?" he asked, pointing to a kettle on the stove behind me. 46

"No thank you, Stuart," I said politely.47

He shrugged and pulled one leg off the floor, pulling his arms around it. I had never seen anyone sit that way before, not past the age of eight anyway. He leaned forward slightly, studying me with the same curious expression on his face.48

"What did you say your name was?" he said, as if as an afterthought.49

"Annabella. Annabella Sinatra," I answered. "I'm Frank Sinatra's daughter." His eyes widened a little. "The tailor," I added, a bit confused at his reaction. 50

His face softened, and he nodded. "Of course. So it's Anna then?"51

"That would be fine," I replied curtly.52

"So, Anna," he said, drumming his fingers on his leg, still pulled up oddly. His eyes seemed to fade out of focus, as if he were thinking hard. "Anna, Anna, Anna..."53

I fidgeted. People in town were right, this man was different somehow. I thought back to my Dutch theory.54

Finally he seemed to come back to the present, and he sighed deeply. "Why are you interested in time travel, Anna, and what makes you think I, of all people, should know anything about it?"55

I shrugged slowly, thinking. "I heard stories in town..."56

"And you believe them?" he cut me off, his eyes getting the same look they had earlier when he had first answered the door.57

I was silent for a moment, then shrugged again. "I hear a lot of stories, and it's hard to tell what's true and what isn't." I gazed at Stuart for a moment, phrasing the rest of my answer in my head. "It would be wonderful to be able to see what the future will bring, or live through days past again, don't you think?"58

"I think that would be a very big burden to take on oneself," Stuart said.59

"But it would be so great. I could go back to the revolution, meet my mother," I said, smiling faintly as I thought about that.60

"Meet her?" he said.61

"Yes," I said softly. "She died, almost twenty years ago. I was only three at the time, and she was a war maid in the revolution."62

"That's very unfortunate," Stuart said quietly, still looking at me.63

I nodded.64

"Well, I'm sorry to say that there is no such thing as time travel, as far as I know. The whole idea is simply preposterous, as is witchcraft." Stuart passed a hand over his forehead. "I'm afraid you'll never get to see your mother again."65

I felt my heart fall a little. As little faith I had had that such a thing existed, it was still an intriguing idea. 66

Suddenly, I remembered the girls, waiting outside in the field. 67

I stood up. "It's been very nice talking to you, mister Claude."68

"Stuart."69

"It's been nice, Stuart."70

"It was nice talking to you too, Anna." Stuart smiled warmly. "Come visit me sometime. It gets lonely, you know, when everyone thinks you're..."71

"A witch," I finished, nodding. I smiled back, slightly sadly. "I don't think you're a witch, though."72

"I sure hope not." He passed a hand over his eyes. "What a town this is, Anna."73

"Where are you from?" I asked him curiously.74

"Well," he said slowly, "Let's just say I'm a long, long way from home."75

"Why did you leave?"76

"It's quite a long story." He sighed again, heavily. "Come visit me."77

"I'll try," I said, honestly. Maybe Stuart was a little bit strange, but it was pleasant how open he was. He wasn't nearly as bad as I had imagined. He walked me to the front door.78

"Good bye, Mister Stuart. It was nice meeting you," I told him as I stepped outside into the sun. I noticed it would be setting soon, glad I had left before it got dark.79

"See you later," he said. As the door shut, I thought about what a strange farewell that was.