Page 15 of Stolen Time

“Oh, you can borrow mine,” Seth replied immediately. “It’s not as if I’m going to need it any time soon.”

Probably not. Witches and warlocks weren’t world travelers at the best of times, and I had to imagine the opportunity for travel was even more limited in a place with no interstate highways or commercial flights, just Model Ts and whatever other cars were common in the 1920s.

And railroads, I supposed, but I had absolutely no idea if there was any rail in the area other than the trains they used to transport the copper ore from the United Verde down to the smelter in Clarkdale. The only reason I knew about that at all was because there was a great brewery that called itself Smeltertown, located in Clarkdale down the hill from Jerome, and the name had intrigued me enough to prod me to look up some of the local history.

“Then it seems I’m indebted to you once again,” I said, and Seth just gave an awkward hitch of his shoulders.

“Well,” Helen said, rising from her seat on the couch, “it looks like you have everything in hand, so I’ll be heading home. But Deborah, if you start having headaches or any other kind ofodd aches and pains, please let me know. I don’t think it’s very likely that you have a concussion, since you don’t have any sign of physical trauma, but sometimes these things can come on a person out of the blue.”

“I’ll do that for sure,” I promised her, although I knew that wasn’t the problem here. No physical trauma at all…just the mental trauma of being trapped somewhere more than a hundred years before I was born.

But I knew I had to keep it together as best I could. Freaking out wasn’t going to help me, and at least it sounded as if I was going someplace safe and stable, and not too far away. Things could have been a lot worse; I knew I was very lucky that Seth McAllister was the one who’d found me, considering what I’d heard about some of the rough types who’d inhabited Jerome during its early mining days.

Helen said goodbye and headed for home, leaving Seth and me alone in the house. Still looking a little awkward, he said, “I’ll go get that suitcase.”

He went down the hall to his bedroom while I waited in the front room. The clothes he’d given me were still stacked on the washstand in the bathroom, but I didn’t see the point in moving them out here. Maybe it would have been a little easier to pack with some more space to spread out, except for the part where I honestly didn’t have much to pack, not when I was already wearing a good third of what he’d given me.

A moment later, he returned with the suitcase — a small leather case that probably wouldn’t have held much more than what I planned to put in it — and handed it over to me. “Here you are,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

What else could I say?

I took the suitcase and went into the bathroom and, with an overwhelming sense of inevitability, put the other changesof clothes he’d given me inside. While I had no idea how long I was going to be stuck here, I somehow doubted that the tiny wardrobe was going to be enough to get me through my tenure in 1920s Jerome. Would I have to wash everything every third day and hang it up on a clothesline?

Maybe. I had the vaguest of vague ideas that maybe washing machines had already been invented by now, but I also had the impression that dryers had come along a lot later.

Not to mention that I had a whole hell of a lot more to worry about than simply keeping up with my day-to-day clothing needs.

The suitcase was packed, so I headed back to the living room. Seth hadn’t sat down and instead hovered sort of nervously near the sofa, as though he hadn’t quite known what to do with himself while I was otherwise occupied.

Well, that made two of us.

“All packed,” I said, and lifted the suitcase I’d just filled as my way of proving those words. “So I suppose we can go to your Aunt Ruth’s house now.”

He nodded, although his expression wasn’t exactly what I could have called enthusiastic. Was he also wishing that I might be able to stay here with him?

“Let me carry that,” he said, coming over so he could take the suitcase from me. It wasn’t nearly heavy enough to be any kind of a burden, but I had a feeling that he was doing his best to be chivalrous. “It’s not far to Aunt Ruth’s, but it’s hilly, so it’s something of a climb.”

Although I’d only been living in Jerome for less than a month, I was already all too aware that the simplest walk could turn into a challenging hike, thanks to the steep hillsides where the town had been built. I’d always thought of myself as being in pretty good shape — I did yoga and ran several miles daily back home in Flagstaff — but I knew my calf muscles were already alot more toned now than they’d been before I relocated to the former mining town.

Current mining town,I reminded myself as Seth and I exited the house. I noticed he didn’t stop to lock the door and wondered if that was common practice around here, or whether it was only the McAllisters who could be that casual about security. True, locked doors didn’t constitute any sort of a barrier to a witch or warlock, but still, enough rough types lived here, whether working at the mine or being some kind of hangers-on to the mining community, that I would have thought he’d be a little more careful.

As we walked, though, he told me a little about Uncle Timothy and Aunt Ruth, how Timothy had been a blacksmith who’d gradually transitioned to working on cars. It sounded as if the mines still used mule teams to move the ore around, so his original skills were often called upon, but he’d made himself invaluable by also being able to bore out a carburetor or rebuild a transmission.

“And with Daphne married a few months ago, all their children have moved out,” Seth went on. By that point, we’d reached Hull Avenue, and I was really wishing I had on my hiking boots or even a pair of sneakers rather than the heeled lace-up shoes I was wearing now. True, the heels were sort of chunky and therefore much sturdier than a pair of stilettos would have been, but still, they weren’t the most practical thing in the world. “So Ruth and Timothy have plenty of space for you.”

“It’s very kind of them to take me in,” I said. I’d almost said “nice,” but I was doing my best to imitate the speech patterns of the people I’d met so far, and “kind” just seemed more like something a young woman from the 1920s would say. “I hope I won’t be too much in the way.”

“Their house is big enough that I doubt you’ll be bumping into each other much,” Seth responded, reassuring me somewhat. “Although, don’t be surprised if Aunt Ruth puts you to work. She’s a great baker and likes to make treats for other members of the family and also for Monroe’s, a café down on Main Street.”

Baking wasn’t anything I’d ever gotten into, but I had to hope that all Ruth McAllister would want me to do was sift flour or pit cherries for pies or something equally mindless.

“How interesting!” I said brightly, hoping I didn’t sound as intimidated as I felt.

Apparently not, because Seth only nodded. “Her pies are always the star at our holiday gatherings.” He paused there before adding, voice a little too casual, “Oh, and she asked me to come to dinner tonight. She thought it might be better for you to have a familiar face there on your first night at their house.”

Those words relieved me more than I wanted to admit. I’d already imagined myself sitting at Ruth and Timothy’s dining room table and not knowing what the hell I was supposed to say or how I was supposed to act. Having Seth there would make the situation much more bearable.

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