Past Destinies. Constance Ruth Clark
warmth felt like heaven after his freezing room.
A small thin woman stood at the old-fashioned black cook stove, stirring something in a pot. Her hair was wound tightly into a bun on the top of her head, and she wore a floor-length dress of dark blue covered with a lighter blue apron. She was by no means pretty, and she had an air about her that made him think of a military commander. He knew as soon as he saw her that he’d never seen her before.
She turned to look at him with a frown.
“I’m glad to see you have finally decided to grace us with your presence, Mr. Coleman.” She sniffed, confirming the source of the earlier voice at his door. “My name is Miss Waters.”
Doug was startled. She knew his name! “Uh, yes…good morning, Ma’am.” He gave her a tentative smile, feeling about six years old. Her attitude brooked no questions, so he held back and decided to go with the flow, wherever that might lead.
“You’ll find a place to eat at the table in the next room,” she said as she handed him a bowl of porridge.
“Th-Thank you,” Doug stuttered, hoping like hell he didn’t forget his manners, and went into the next room. There he found a table crowded with two other men and another, less fierce-looking, woman. They were all dressed so strangely that Doug could hardly keep from staring. He suddenly felt like he’d stepped into a movie set and had been the only actor not given the script.
“Good morning,” one of the men who looked to be about his age greeted warmly. He had several days’ growth on his face and had a stocky look about him that said he was used to hard work. “I understand you arrived here rather late last night.”
Doug nodded briefly. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” he answered, sitting down in an empty seat. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Doug Coleman,” he said with a smile, and the man who had spoken to him nodded and shook his proffered hand.
“Jack Green,” he said, revealing a crooked smile. “I work for the Washburns, down the road a piece. Don’t mind Brooksay. She’s always got a bug up her ass about something.”
The last bit was said in an undertone, out of the corner of his mouth. Doug grinned and started to eat his breakfast.
“Would you like me to put in a good word for you at the Washburn estate?” Jack pressed. “Miss Waters told us you’ll be needing work”
“Sure, why not?” Doug shrugged.
He guessed it wouldn’t hurt, and he would have to do something with his time while he figured out where he was and what he was doing here. He bit back a curse as he burnt his tongue on the hot oatmeal. This definitely was not a dream!
Playing a hunch he asked, “What’s the date today?” in what he hoped was a casual manner.
“It’s the twenty-ninth of April, I believe,” the woman at the other end of the table answered. “1868,” she added as an afterthought.
The rest of them went back to eating as Doug tried not to choke on the food he’d just put in his mouth. Were they playing some kind of sick joke? But it all seemed so legitimate. The clothes, the way they spoke and acted, the style of furniture, the lack of telephone poles. Looking out the window he could see a horse and buggy coming down the road. It was a lot to take in without warning, and for a moment he felt overwhelmed.
He needed to find out how real this was. Not that he would panic if he found himself in the past. Doug never panicked. Ever. He was a doctor and had been trained in how not to panic. Ever. He wasn’t going to start now. Nope. No sir. No panicking. Not happening. He took a deep breath and concentrated on breathing. And not panicking. Then Doug recalled his dream and the feeling of being pulled as it had ended. Remembering the old woman he’d seen last evening and how she’d said he was the one, he again wondered if something bigger than he could have imagined was happening to him.
Time travel. Was it even possible? From where he was sitting it almost seemed so, but then again it could be a practical joke. A very elaborate and realistic practical joke. What was that show with Ashton Kutcher? Punked? Nah, even Ashton couldn’t have come up with this amount of realism.
Either way, his current circumstance was something different and definitely not mundane. It made him curious about what was outside the house. Now that he wasn’t panicking, he wanted to explore this unfamiliar world.
“Do you think Mr. Washburn would mind if I came to work with you this morning?” Doug asked Jack.
“I don’t see why not. He always needs help with the horses.”
Luckily Doug had some experience with horses, having ridden a lot on his grandparents’ ranch while he was a kid. His grandfather was a big believer in taking care of your horse in every way, so Doug had plenty of experience in mucking stalls, exercising and caring for tack. His knowledge might be rusty, but it was there.
After finishing breakfast, the men left the table, and Doug walked with them down the road to the Washburn Farm. The air was nippy, but the sun shone bright, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. Breathing deeply as he walked, Doug thought he’d never smelled such clear air. He could smell the wood smoke from the buildings along the road and occasionally the pungent smell of manure from a passing horse but no smog or vehicle exhaust anywhere. He also realized he could hear more birds than he remembered. Wondering why the world seemed so quiet now, it occurred to him there were no airplanes overhead. The only sounds were those of the men’s conversation and the crunch of their boots on the hard, frosty ground as they walked.
“Will you be here long, do you think?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll play it by ear.”
He’d decided to be as close-mouthed as possible about where he’d come from and where he might be going, especially since he wasn’t sure himself.
Doug had no problem getting a job from Israel Washburn. The problem, as far as he could see, would be keeping the job. He told everyone that he was from the city and not used to farming but wanted to learn and was willing to do whatever needed to be done. They seemed to accept that as a good reason for why he didn’t know most of the basics when it came to farming.
“Aren’t afraid of hard work, are ya boy?” Mr. Washburn boomed out in his large voice, clapping him on the shoulder.
“No sir!” Doug replied with certainty, liking that he was being treated the same as any other man.
“Well then, don’t see what you have to worry about,” Washburn chuckled. “You can start by plowing the back field with Jack there. He’ll be happy to show you the ropes.”
“Yes sir,” Doug said to his retreating back.
This might even be fun, he mused as he caught up with his new friend, busy hitching the oxen to the plow.
Four hours later he wasn’t sure ‘fun’ was exactly the right word to describe what he had done all morning. It seemed Mr. Washburn was right when he had said ‘hard work’ because that’s exactly what it was. Making sure the plow ran straight and deep in the ground while controlling the oxen was no easy task, but Doug was determined that neither Mr. Washburn nor Jack would have a reason to laugh at him. He continued on, uncomplaining and unwavering, as the sun grew hotter and hotter and sweat poured off his head like a waterfall.
When it finally came time to go in for supper, Doug gratefully trudged behind Jack as he drove the oxen back toward the barn, stinking like an overripe apple. On the way back to the boarding house he mentioned wanting to clean up. He really wanted to shower but Jack laughed, actually laughed, when Doug questioned him about a bath. So he asked about the location of the nearest body of water.
“It’s down the road about a mile or so. You’ll find a river, but it’s mighty cold this time of year,” Jack said with a shiver.
“I don’t care,” he said, wiping his sticky face. “I can’t stand my own stench.”
Putting