I was upset.
I was upset about the two kids in my house. I had a sick feeling that I knew where they had come from, and why they had gotten here, but I couldn’t confirm anything just yet.
I was upset about my argument with Greg. I felt like he had rejected me as a friend.
I awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, still thinking about it.
Perhaps it had been Greg’s answering machine that had made me self-conscious. I’d tried calling him at least three times. I guess I’d wanted to say I was sorry. All I got was the prerecorded message in the curt voice of his father saying “This is Dr. Jarred’s. I’ll call you back.”
I’d known Greg since I’d first moved here, after Mum and Pop passed away. When I first met him, he’d been awfully nice, and took me down to the creek to show me his pet frog. That’s when our friendship began. We went to a boarding school two hours away together. We spent hours pretending to be knights errant in the woods in the cow pasture. Until his mother and father split up, he was happy. He liked fishing, and swimming, and we’d walk together after church. I’d loved those days.
But he’d taken a turn for the worse. I wasn’t sure when he’d started to get sour, but I think it was two weeks into the second semester of last year, when his mom moved away. Then his father had taken him out of the Academy and put him into the local middle school. He’d stopped coming to Sunday services then.
That was a blow to me. Who was I going sit right next to and throw paper airplanes at during the sermon? Who was going to sit next to me on the train home from school and play rummy five hundred? Who was going to stick by my side at the Academy during the year?
Over the rustle of my oversized tee shirt as I sat up in bed, I heard Grandad’s voice from the kitchen. The usual quiet confidence had a hint of anxiety in it. “It’s not good, Branwen,” he spoke. Branwen was my Grandmother. “One of the cows is dead. I don’t like the situation. I want to go into town and alert the Sheriff. Something’s not right.”
I stiffened and slithered out of bed. There was a light coming from downstairs, illuminating the hallway.
“Eddie,” Gram replied quietly. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” my grandfather said.
I did my best not to creak the ancient farmhouse steps as I tried to sneak down them, but, of course, my foot slipped, and the bottom board let out a hideous moan.
Cringing, I looked up into Grandad’s face
“Come here, Jen,” he smiled sadly.
I shuffled over. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay,” he shook his grey head. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, sliding into a stool and putting my head in my hands. “I don’t want to lose him as a friend. Did I do the right thing?”
I felt Gram’s hands rub my back. “You did, Sweetie,” she soothed. “I don’t think Greg would banish all thoughts of friendship over one argument.”
“No, Gram, this time it was bad,” I shook my head. “Anyway, what’s with the cow?” I stared at Grandad.
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I couldn’t sleep either. I thought I’d forgotten to roll the truck windows up, and it’s raining. I went down and did that, and then I heard a commotion in the barn.” He cleared his throat wearily. “One of the heifers was just lying there with her neck all mangled—”
“That’s enough!” Gram put her foot down and glared at him. “Don’t frighten Jen!”
“Your Gram and I are going to make a quick run to town. It could be somebody’s dog, or maybe there’s some strange wild animal hanging around. You’ll be alright for a half an hour?”
“Sure,” I shrugged. “When you get back, I want to talk about something.”
I must have looked a perturbed, because Gram kissed my forehead, and they both nodded.
“Fix yourself something to eat,” Gram told me before zipping up her rain slicker and following my Grandad out the door. I heard the farm truck rumble as its headlights flashed away through the rain.
My stomach pleaded with me to take Gram’s advice, and I crossed to the refrigerator. As I pulled out the milk jug, someone calling from behind me nearly scared me silly. “Jen?”
I turned and saw two forms emerging from the stairwell. “Gwenllian. Felix,” I addressed them each with a tired smile.
“Where has the couple gone?” Gwenllian asked, concern knitting her brow. “Will Gram come back?” Her lip quavered.
“Yes, of course,” I replied in a reassuring tone. “They have only gone into town very quickly, and they will be back soon.”
“What are you doing?” Felix asked, staring at the milk jug in my hand.
“Making cocoa,” I replied.
They both cocked their heads at me. “What is cocoa?” Gwenllian asked.
“Well,” I thought about it. “It’s like chocolate mixed with milk, except it’s hot.”
“What’s chocolate?” Felix pondered.
I tried to explain, but they couldn’t understand. Finally I told them “How about I make you some.”
They crept over to stools by the counter, watching me intently. I pulled the box of cocoa powder towards me and spooned some into a saucepan with some milk in it. Turning on the stove, I leaned my back against the cabinets.
“Gwenllian, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” I told her. I’d learned in the few days that I’d been with them that one had to be gentle and quiet to get them to talk.
She nodded.
“My Gram said you were born in 2006. Were you really?” I waited for an answer.
“2006?” Her eyes grew wide with confusion.
“2006,” I repeated, taking three mugs off the shelf over the stove. My stomach twisted into a knot. If that wasn’t true, and she really had been spinning in a convent right before she ended up in my cow pasture, then there was only one possibility for what had happened.
“T-that is not what I told Gram!” She seemed flustered.
Gingerly, I placed a hand on her good arm. “If Gram didn’t tell the doctors the right thing, she did it to protect you. But I want to help you get back. Please, tell me what you told Gram.”
She swallowed hard. “I was born in 1282.”
“1282?” I whispered in disbelief.
She nodded gravely. “What year is it now?”
“2019,” I said slowly, and then wished I hadn’t because of the look of sheer panic that spread across her features. “It’s okay,” I tried to calm her. “I’m going to get you back.” Moving away to the stove, I poured cocoa for each of us, and placed mugs on the counter.
Felix, this whole time, had been listening nervously, but now he spoke up. “I-I was born in 65.”
“Like 1965?” I asked him.
“No,” he shook his head, wrapping his thin fingers around his mug. “Just 65.”
I trembled. This was not good. And my Gram knew. No doubt, she’d told Grandad (she told Grandad everything) but neither of them knew about Greg’s father’s experiment.
“Nobody panic,” I looked at them both.
Just then, the screen door slammed.
Picture Credit:
Pintrest