One Particular Patriot Ii: Transient Reality

ONE

PARTICULAR

PATRIOT II

TRANSIENT REALITY

GARY B. BOYD

AuthorHouse™ LLC

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2013 by Gary B. Boyd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/17/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1590-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1589-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916629

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

I dedicate this novel:

To my wife, Shirley, who encouraged me when I needed it the most;

To my daughter, Tina, who read and edited when she had other things to do;

To Mrs. Sabre Davis, U.S. History and English teacher who saw the writer that I did not know existed.

PREFACE

Forged in the crucible of war, the New Nation was destined for greatness, but to achieve that ultimate goal, it first must face the demands of mortal men; men who would try to carve their own niche from the chaos that followed revolution.

Revolution requires strong-willed, fearless men, men who refuse to be denied for to do otherwise would invite sure death. The men we know today as The Founding Fathers were just such men, but they were not all such just men. Their moment in history raged, full of fire and fury and left many of them wanting more after the smoke cleared and the battlefields had fallen silent.

The fledgling United States was embarked upon an experiment in governance. No one was truly versed in how to rule. The only examples The Founding Fathers saw before them were monarchies or dictatorships.

They were educated men, those revolutionaries. They were curious men, those freethinkers. They wanted more than just another country. They wanted to relish the freedoms and liberties their victories in battle had won. They wanted the citizen soldiers who fought against and defeated the world’s greatest military power to enjoy those same freedoms and liberties.

Nothing is free; neither freedom nor liberty. Nothing is clearly defined in an experiment. Each Founding Father developed strong opinions regarding the implementation of the new form of government.

Beginning with the struggle to put into word a document to guide the government of the new nation without treading on the rights of the individual states, differences of opinion polarized the men who held sway over the direction the country would move. Those differences soon drove wedges between some previously held strong alliances.

General Washington unanimously won the honor to be the first President of the new United States of American in 1789. That was the last time the leaders of the United States spoke in a unison.

Assured that the only way the new country could survive was if the Federal government was strong and held dominion over the various States, an alignment of federal thinking men formed an alliance that quickly became the Federalist faction. The Federalist firmly believed that The Constitution supported their beliefs of a strong Federal government and used the words in the document to exemplify their point. The proponents of federalism were generally from the Northern States where the highest percentage of the population resided.

Opposing a strong federal government was an alliance that described itself as democratic republicans. Above all else, they feared that a minority of the population would be ruled by the majority. The Democratic-Republican faction believed the individual States were sovereign as defined by The Constitution and presented the words in the document that proved their point. Aligned with the Democratic-Republicans, who were generally from the Southern States, were the Anti-Federalists from the Northern States.

The divisiveness of the two factions came to a head after Washington left office.

On the Federalist side were John Adams and Alexander Hamilton, both noble men who supported the continual growth of the new nation. Fastidious in nature, Adams penned much of The Constitution in a way to achieve compromise with the State leaders who would prefer a confederation. Hamilton was a financial wizard who thought in terms of long term solvency as the backbone strength of the new nation and believed a federalized system would assure the nation’s success. Upon Washington’s exit from public office, those two men became the de facto leaders of the Federalist movement.

On the Democratic-Republican side was Thomas Jefferson, a self-effacing populist who feared any loose interpretation of The Constitution as it was written and harbored anxieties about the over-reach of a strong Federal government. Within his faction were many firebrand leaders who believed the Federalist were bent on complete suppression of States’ Rights, in effect, eliminating the individual States as sovereign entities. They wanted nothing more than complete eradication of the Federalists.

The war did not end with Cornwallis’ surrender.

Aaron Clements of North Carolina was not a man who sought the limelight or political office. He only wanted to avoid the loss of freedom and liberty, taken by a too strong Federal government. He had the good fortune to have seen the future of his country. He liked much of what he had seen, but some of it disturbed him. The Federal government, under the guise of caring for its subjects and under the leadership of powerful men who sought more power, had utilized subsequently contingent interpretations of The Words of The Constitution to consolidate the States’ authority into a single central government.

Aaron knew how to stop that overreach and made it his life’s mission.

CHAPTER ONE

RETURN

The Fog cleared. The man fought to keep his balance. The woods around him swirled momentarily as his eyes flitted, searching for a point of reference.

Desperately clinging to the lead rope of a skittish mare, Aaron struggled against the pain in his right arm. For a moment he feared that the mare would break free. Two strong hands helped him grasp the rope and a tense voice called to the horse.

There. There. It’s alright girl. Calm down. I’ve got her, Aaron. Watch out for your arm.

Ica and Ruth began to giggle. Sarah tried to shush them as she reached to help with the other mare. The two horses had tried to bolt when the musket belched fire and smoke so near their heads. She noticed that the hound, Clyde, had broken free from his harness. He was now standing about ten feet away, hackles raised and growling. Clyde appeared confused, trying to detect and act against an unseen threat.

The new mare calmed enough that Aaron felt okay loosening the grip of his right hand. His bicep hurt. He glanced at it but could see nothing because of his leather jacket sleeve. At that point, he noticed Carson was nearly naked. The girls continued to giggle, even though Sarah tried to quieten them. Sharon averted her eyes as she worked to calm Nellie, the family’s heavily laden mare.

Girls, Aaron scolded, help your mother and quit that giggling. Sarah, do you have a blanket for Carson? He tried not to focus on the pain in his arm.

Sharon could not help but glance toward the nearly nude Carson; even though he was twenty years her senior, she was compelled to look. Her face shaded crimson. She turned away, holding the mare while her mother struggled to open the pack on Nellie’s back. The mare was reacting to the explosive noise, the heavy weight on her back and the sudden transition of surroundings.

Sarah found a hand sewn quilt and quickly helped Carson wrap it around himself like a toga. I think that will do until we get back to the cabin and find you something suitable. What happened?

It’s like Uncle Charles said, nothing that isn’t naturally in this world-time can come into it. My clothes and stuff were not of this time. How far from here to your cabin? I don’t have any shoes either. Everyone looked at his bare feet as he wiggled his toes to demonstrate his unshod state.

Ica and Ruth could not help but start giggling again. Sharon and Sarah laughed at the sight of the thirty-two year old man wrapped in a quilt while standing barefoot on the forest trail, all the while struggling to hold a reluctant horse in check.

Aaron’s arm had gone unnoticed by the others for the first few minutes. At once, it dawned on Sarah and Sharon that Uncle Charles had warned them to check his arm as soon as they arrived in their world-time.

Oh, Aaron, your arm! Sarah exclaimed. She hurried to his right side, still controlling the musket she had used to frighten the Federal Agents away from the Shift Fog. Let me look at it. Uncle Charles said we should clean it as soon as we returned. She leaned the musket against a nearby tree and began gently removing her husband’s leather jacket.

The jacket did not come off his arm easily. Carson clung to the mare’s lead rope, now conscious of his bare feet and the horse’s heaviness should she step on his toes. He wanted to help, but needed to keep the mare away so she did not jostle into the couple while they tended to their very important task. The girls watched, holding their breaths in anticipation. Aaron winced against the pain.

The jacket cleared his arm. Aaron’s cotton shirt sleeve showed small spots of fresh blood. Sarah did not like what she feared she would see when she fully exposed the gunshot wound. Nonetheless, she carefully worked the loose sleeve upward, bunching it above the wound as best she could. The wound was only seeping a little bit of blood, probably caused by the strain of holding the frightened horse in check.

Uncle Charles had given Sarah a tightly wrapped piece of cotton. It had been boiled, soaked in alcohol and then carefully rolled and wrapped within itself. The intent was to keep the inner most portion of the wrap sterile. Using care to not touch or otherwise expose the sterile area to contaminants, Sarah tightly wrapped the wound as Uncle Charles had instructed. By keeping it held together, now that the stitches had disappeared, and keeping it clean, the wound should continue to heal. It was up to Aaron to avoid ripping it open and getting it infected.

Once the wound was tended, Sarah looked toward Carson, Do you think that is good?

Only then did Carson realize he was holding his breath. He exhaled and nodded. I think so. You did a good job. I just wish he had not grabbed the rope with his right hand. But, I suppose he had to, what with Clyde yanking on his leash.

The hound had settled down, determined that there was no longer a threat to his family and began wagging his tail at the mention of his name. He lolled his tongue, drooling as he breathed vapor into the cool November air.

In truth, Aaron began. I was holding both the mare’s leather lead line and the dog’s leash that Uncle Charles had made for Clyde in my left hand. I felt the rope slip completely away and thought I had lost the mare’s lead. I don’t see Clyde’s halter or leash anywhere.

Everyone looked around, startled to not see the rope harness and leash that had been used to restrain the wandering hound back at the hunting cabin. Then Carson smiled knowingly. Oh yeah. I bet he used some nylon rope to make it. The nylon would not have shifted with us. But, it lasted long enough to get Clyde back here.

Aaron nodded, That’s all that matters. It was a nice rope, though. Let’s move along now. But first, I need to reload the musket. He reached for the musket with his right arm and winced slightly, remembering his situation.

Aaron, let me load it. Sarah knew how to handle that chore. She knew how to handle the long barreled French musket. She had loaded it and fired it before. An eighteenth century American woman had to be able to do everything a man could do, plus all that a woman was required to do, just to survive.

The family and Carson stood watching while the slightly built woman in the pale blue cotton dress and white bonnet carefully measured powder into the muzzle. She was not quick but she was not clumsy either. A small patch and a lead ball followed, both tamped into place using the wooden ramrod that fitted into a designated slot beneath the barrel. Once satisfied she had done it correctly, she looked at the staring faces and embarrassedly stated, Okay. I’m ready. She hoisted the heavy musket into the crook of her right arm, barrel up and out, and then turned to walk eastward along the familiar trail.

Aaron was thirty-five, almost thirty-six. His beard and hair showed signs of gray near the temples. His long, shaggy hair was partially covered by a floppy but serviceable leather hat. The brim drooped over, shading his eyes and the back of his neck… though the hair prevented the sun’s rays from reaching his neck anyway. The eyes that peered from beneath the brim were piercing gray, caught between being blue and being something else. The patches of skin on his face that were exposed were weathered, wrinkled more than a man of thirty-five should show. Eking a living from the rugged and wooded mountains of North Carolina was not easy, no matter how bountiful the flora and fauna. Eighteenth century hand tools were just that, hand tools. Tools that coupled with years of experience could perform tasks that later generations would look upon incredulously and marvel at how they actually worked. But those tools took their toll upon the body.

Three years of war left their mark on the man also. As a War of Independence veteran, Aaron Clements had seen men die. It was bad enough that he had seen enemy soldiers, young men just like him, die. Some had died from Aaron’s own hands. Worse, he had seen some of his friends die. Even for a cause that was good, a cause that was considered just, seeing someone, especially someone who was a friend die left scars. Not scars on the body; scars on the mind. Those scars showed in the eyes of the American Patriot. There was a sense of great pride, but an aura of distrust. That kept him alive in an unsettled land fraught with dangers. Yet, in all of that, his general demeanor was amicable. People who met him came to like him rather quickly and trust him as a man of his word.

Sarah at thirty-two was weathered as well. The hard work showed more in her hands and her stride than it did in her face. She carried her five-foot two-inch frame with a power born of confidence; confidence that was proven by years of subsistence living and standing beside her husband in those Blue Ridge Mountains. Her hand sewn clothing showed the skills of a seamstress and the pride of a mother. All three of her daughters carried her blue eyes and sandy blond hair. The quick smile that beamed from her face further exemplified the confidence of this American woman. Thoughtfully, her eyes surveyed the world around her, as much to enjoy what she saw as to be vigilant for danger. As she strongly strode forward along the trail, she did not see the admiration in the eyes of her husband who watched her lead the family toward their home.

Sharon was fourteen… going on fifteen… and shorter than her mother. She was much more pensive than her younger siblings. Some of that was because of the difference in their ages, but most of it was because she took after her father. Within her was a fire for expansion and a focus on purpose. She clung to the family mare’s lead line as if accustomed to doing so. Her stride was not as strong as her mother’s but it was confident nonetheless. She casually brushed an escaped lock from her eyes as she walked, not pausing to tuck it back inside the bonnet on her head. Her light blue dress matched the dresses of the other females. Blue cotton cloth was easy to find even if it did not make a fashion statement. In her world, fashion statements were unnecessary. Utility was the key. Solidarity was the driver. Family was the core. And she wanted to start her own family because she was almost fifteen.

Ica was ten, barely. Born almost nine-months to the day after Aaron returned from service in Nathaniel Greene’s North Carolina Army, she was pragmatic in her actions. Caught between Sharon’s contemplative demeanor and Ruth’s indomitable inquisitiveness, Ica focused on what was around her and tried to make sense of it. Unlike the others, she wanted something more to come from her life than just raising a family and existing. Though she was nearly two years older than Ruth, she was not much bigger.

Ruth was a mess. The eight-year old girl was unafraid. Questions poured from her like water over a falls. She seemed insatiable in her quest for knowledge, but few adults appreciated her inquisitions. Even though she was often an overbearing nuisance while the more mundane activities of life took place, she never stopped asking why. People unacquainted with the family often thought her to be older than Ica. She was tall for her age.

Carson was out of time. The thirty-something man had Shifted accidentally. He had seen how the new mare, bought from a neighbor in 2010, was reluctant to carry her load into the Fog and how she was resisting Aaron’s one armed attempts to control her. At the same time, Aaron was also trying to control the suddenly defensive hound-dog. The hound’s snarling and barking at the rapidly approaching Federal Agents further spooked the unfamiliar mare. Carson had seen that Aaron would not be able to contain the two animals with only one hand; therefore, he did all he knew to do… cling valiantly to the mare. As a result, the clean shaven, slightly over-weight man found himself out of time… in 1794. Without trepidation, he was going to relish every moment. He knew, according to Uncle Charles, that his time-window to return would be in six days. Carson Setters would make the most of his adventure.

Aaron stopped. Since Carson was behind him, Carson stopped also.

Carson glanced around, wondering if Indians might have caused the frontiersman to pause so quickly. What is it, Aaron?

The quilt, he replied succinctly. Denver said he cast the quilt aside. With that, Aaron peered carefully into the forest.

Ruth saw that the two men had stopped walking. Dad, Cousin Carson, why did you stop?

We are looking for a quilt, Aaron replied. Maybe you can help us look for it. He hoped to find it quickly so they could return to the cabin as soon as possible. Bessie the family cow needed to be milked, he was sure.

Where is it? Ruth seemed puzzled as she looked around, not searching very far beyond the sides of the woodland trail.

I’m not sure. Somewhere in these woods. Maybe it is over on the side of the ridge. Aaron started to move toward the northern side of the ridge. Ruth rushed past him, now interested in participating. He slowed and smiled, satisfied that he had the youngster engaged.

Carson watched the girl slide into the woods. He marveled at how clear the forest was of undergrowth. There were many more big trees, old growth trees, than he had ever seen together in one place. Ruth scampered all the way to the far edge of the ridge where it began to break severely into the valley below.

I think I see it! she exclaimed.

Ica had taken an interest in the activity. What do you see?

I think I see our quilt. Ruth was bouncing with excitement.

Ica ran to stand beside her sister, leaning and squinting as she looked in the direction Ruth was pointing. Yes! Yes! I see something. Dad, I see something.

Aaron waved Sarah and Sharon on as he ambled to where the girls were standing. Okay, I think you have found it. Ica, why don’t you go down and get it?

I want to do it, pouted Ruth. I found it.

Okay, both of you go. I’ll stand watch. The hardy people of 18th century North Carolina did the necessary to survive. Aaron watched the two girls slip and slide down the embankment, clinging to the few shrubs and trees that grew on the steep slope. He did not fear they would fall. They were used to scampering about on the mountainsides. He kept a wary eye for Indians, especially since Denver had recounted his capture and eventual release by a group of braves from a Cherokee village. He was unsure where the village was located, but reckoned it to be far enough away to not be a real problem.

Almost out of breath, the two girls returned gleefully showing that they had indeed recovered the hand stitched quilt with a striking rose pattern made from multicolored scraps of cloth. Typical of a 21st century, Denver had gotten what use he needed of it and then cast it aside while he was in their world-time.

The small band traveled slowly through the woods for nearly two hours. Sarah stopped, looking ahead then looking back toward Aaron. The group stopped what they were doing. Even Ruth stopped talking while Aaron walked to the lead. They had reached the edge of a clearing. Near the center of the clearing was a small log cabin. Smoke was gently drifting from the chimney and from a stump located near the right side of the clearing.

Aaron surveyed the area for several minutes. A Jersey cow was grazing on grass that was still green near the edge of the clearing and close to a small lean-to structure that served as a barn. Chickens, brown, white and speckled gray scratched in a shriveled garden area, searching for worms and abandoned seeds. A white flash behind the cabin indicated a whitetail deer had either seen them or smelled them and was making a hasty retreat into the mountain forest. That was a good sign.

Okay, it’s all clear. That deer would not have been there if anyone was around. Aaron moved into the clearing and the rest followed.

There’s Bessie, exclaimed Ruth, pointing toward the brown cow. She’s not lost. I’m so glad. With that, she began running toward the cow.

If you are the first one there, you have to milk her, shouted Sharon at the running girl.

Ruth’s headlong dash abruptly stopped. When she turned to look back, Aaron and Sarah burst into laughter at the shocked realization on the youngster’s face. Ruth waited.

Sharon took Nellie to the small barn and started to remove her packsaddle, only to realize that it was too heavy for her to manage.

Slow down girl. I think Carson and I will have to do that. That’s a heavy load. Aaron chuckled at his eldest daughter’s enthusiasm.

I forgot, she replied with some embarrassment.

Darn, joked Carson. I was hoping she would do it so I wouldn’t have to. He led the other mare to the small barn and tied her to a post. Aaron, you let me do it. Show me where you want me to put the stuff. I don’t want you hurting your arm any more.

Aaron reluctantly complied with Carson’s request which had been reinforced by a stern look from Sarah. Unaccustomed to letting others do work for him, Aaron fidgeted while he watched the taller man unload the packsaddles of the two horses. At six-foot two-inches, the lift from the horses’ backs was not that great for Carson. It would have been more for Aaron at five-nine, even without an injured arm. Nonetheless, seven hundred twenty pounds is a lot of weight, even in sixty pound units. Keeping the quilt toga modestly in place made it more cumbersome. Carson was glad to be finished. The horses were relieved even more than he was. They both shook their bodies vigorously as soon as the load was lifted away.

Sharon was ready with a homemade curry brush as soon as the mares were free of their burden. She dutifully brushed each horse, refusing help from Carson. It was apparent that her chore was care of the horse, now horses. Carson did not intend to take the newly purchased mare back with him.

Ica, can you get Bessie over here? We probably need to milk her. Aaron was tending to business. The trip was not over until all the chores were done.

Carson watched as the middle child slowly walked to the cow and grasped the rope that was affixed to a braided leather halter on the cow’s head. She then led the cow toward the small barn. He saw how the cow was pacified by a small amount of grain and hay while Aaron put a short three-legged stool near her right side. He knew this was a time for him to volunteer, but he dreaded it.

Here, Aaron, let me do that. Carson took the wooden pail that Ica was holding for her father. He studied the hand made bucket for a moment then cautiously squatted his heavy frame onto the little stool. As soon as he was settled, Bessie gave a nervous kick, hitting him on the knee. Carson fell back to the delight of Ica. His bare legs flailed from beneath the toga. Aaron held his laughter, though his eyes showed his feelings. Sharon covered a snicker with one hand while she continued to curry the mare in front of her.

Wow! I didn’t see that one coming. Carson laughed nervously as he righted himself and wrapped the toga back in place. Okay, Bossie. This isn’t going to hurt a bit.

Bessie.

What? Carson paused to look at Ica.

Bessie. Her name is Bessie, not Bossie. Ica was adamant about the cow’s moniker.

Oh, chuckled Carson. I figured her real name must be Bossie, because she’s trying to tell me not to milk her. Okay, Bessie. I don’t like this anymore than you do, but it has to be done. He patted the cow’s flank so she would know he was there and settled back onto the stool. There. There. That’s a good girl. He reached beneath her and took hold of a teat in his left hand then grasped another with his right hand. Holding both teats firmly, he squeezed.

Bessie jerked her head up from her eating and gave a half hearted kick as she stepped away. Carson escaped backward, falling onto his back as he vacated the stool. The wooden bucket was pushed aside by Bessie’s hind leg. She assumed another spot, returning to munching the grain and hay in her manger.

Carson reset himself at the cow’s right side, stroked her flank, set the bucket in position and gently grasped a teat in each hand. Man, he lamented, and there are four of these things. This time he gently squeezed the teats he held. Nothing happened. He squeezed again, hoping the milk would squirt out like it was supposed to do. Nothing again. Okay, Aaron. I’ve never milked a cow before. What am I doing wrong?

Ica could not stay out of the conversation. You’re not milking. You are just squeezing. Let me show you. The girl leaned over beside Carson and grasped a teat in her small hand. She gently squeezed her hands, applying pressure first at the top then allowing that pressure to transfer from her index finger down to her pinkie finger. A stream of white fluid squirted into the bucket. Bessie did not move. Ica repeated the process with both hands several times. That’s how you do it. If you will let me sit on the stool, I will do it. She sounded a little disgusted with Carson’s performance.

Aaron was caught between wanting to scold his daughter for being rude and wanting to laugh at Carson. He held his thoughts inside while he watched the girl milk the cow. After a few minutes, it was apparent that the cow was not going to yield much milk. Ica, is she not heavy with milk?

No, Dad. I think she is already through.

Aaron was puzzled. Well, that makes no sense. Let me see what I can do. He positioned himself near the girl and used his left hand to try to get milk from one teat. Almost nothing came out. He straightened and shook his head. Denver said she was streaming milk, like she had not been milked for awhile. I hope she hasn’t gone dry because we were not here to milk her. He looked at Carson.

Well, maybe what Uncle Charles said makes sense. Time does not move here for you while you are away. It moved for Denver while he was here, but not for you. You got back here only a few hours after you left… more or less.

I don’t understand that, but Uncle Charles was… is wise. Aaron took the bucket and handed it to Ica, Take this to your mother. He then returned the stool to its hanging spot inside the lean-to barn. He and Carson walked toward the cabin, satisfied that Sharon would adequately tend to the two mares. She had already named the second mare Stella.

Carson stood and looked at the cabin in awe.

Cousin Carson, come on in. Aaron stood at the doorway, having used the familiar greeting to assure his friend that he was welcome.

Do you mind if I look at the cabin? This is fantastic! Carson’s enthusiasm was evident in his voice and on his face. I really want to know how you did this.

I had help, replied Aaron humbly.

I would hope, replied Carson. Man, you chopped every one of these trees? No chainsaw? Wow! Carson ran his hands over the mud chinked logs, gently plucking at bits of grass that were mixed in with the clay sealant. Where did you get the clay?

Near the creek. It is under the soil everywhere here. Aaron seemed puzzled that Carson would not know where to get clay because he had seen clay in the woods and along the roads in Carson’s world-time, just like here and now.

Oh yeah. Dumb question. It’s just so fascinating. Just look at these corners. You did a great job hewing these logs to fit so well together. I saw a guy up in Silver Dollar City demonstrating cabin building, but it was nothing like this. Wow! Carson’s mouth was agape as he continued his study of the cabin’s construction. He had seen the theme park craftsmen pretend to build a replica of a rustic cabin. He had seen machine processed logs used to build log houses. He had never seen the real thing built for real use in real life.

Sarah and Ruth came outside to watch Carson as he walked around the cabin, puzzled by his interest in such a mundane thing as a cabin. They were all the more bemused because they had seen the Setters’ cabin made from precisely sawed boards and panels of wood when they were in Carson’s world-time. They had seen the brick, concrete and glass buildings in the cities of that world-time. They could not understand how Carson could be so fascinated by a simple cabin. And they could not help but giggle at the sight of the quilt wrapped man.

Look at those shingles! Did you make them yourself?

My brother Byron did most of them. He is much better… and faster than I am. I make a few to repair leaks, but if I needed this many all at one time, I could not do it with much haste. Aaron smiled at the man.

So, did Byron help build the cabin?

Oh yes. Byron and several other neighbors. We all get together and raise houses and barns when needed. My barn is not much. I built most of it myself, with help from Byron to split the shakes.

Carson appeased his desire to see the cabin exterior and headed inside, only pausing politely for Sarah to lead the way. He was equally fascinated with the mud covering on the inside of the walls. The walls were unpainted and relatively smooth throughout, with occasional log knots aesthetically exposed. He studied the door made of hand hewn boards and hand forged square nails. He noted that all the internal connections were either tightly fitted or securely pegged with wooden dowels. Everything was sturdily constructed.

A stone fireplace was built into the back wall using square-edged native stones of various sizes. The stones had been cleared of lichen and moss and appeared to have been buffed clean. Forged andirons held burning chunks of wood in the firebox. A swiveled fireplace hook was affixed to each side of the firebox so cooking pots could be moved closer to the fire. Three Dutch ovens and a cast iron skillet were on the hearth. The mantle was a hewn red cedar log, sanded smooth and coated with something that helped retain the red and white details of the cedar wood. Other than that, there was little color in the building.

Carson watched as Sarah frowned while she inspected the cookware on the hearth. These are dirty! she exclaimed loudly. Everyone came to attention and focused on the dirty pots and several dirty metal plates on a sturdily made utilitarian dining table. And not only that…

Aaron interrupted her developing tirade. Sarah, Denver was here. He used these things while he was here.

Sarah signed and resigned herself to the fact that cleaning and straightening was the first order of business now that they had returned to their home. She and the girls carried the dirty dishes outside to clean them.

Carson continued to study the building’s interior. After a short time, Sarah and the girls returned with the cleaned pots and plates. With a sense of urgency, Sarah ordered the girls to gather specific food items from storage. She was looking around the room, searching for something. She finally stopped looking and scowled at the other family members. Where is my knife? It is not where I keep it. I need it to cook.

Aaron paused before speaking. Uh, that is the knife that Denver carried to the other world-time. Remember, Uncle Charles and I spoke of it.

Nonplussed, Sarah held out her hand. Aaron understood her request. He reached to his boot sheath and handed his hunting knife to her. Is there anything else I should know?

Aaron shook his head. Mayhap some sewing needles and thread are missing… and some cloth.

Carson could not help but smile as the domestic scene played out before him.

With a resigned shake of her head, Sarah continued her mission. She worked at a small kitchen counter, crafted from native woods, preparing ingredients for a stew that she was assembling in one of the Dutch ovens. The work table was near a glassless window on the back wall to the right of the fireplace. The window closure, a solid wooden shutter, was ajar to let in work light for Sarah. Carson watched her briefly then continued his survey.

At each end of the cabin was a partition wall that rose only four feet above the hard packed dirt floor. The partitions created separate sleeping quarters. The one nearest the kitchen area held one low and relatively narrow bed, constructed from sturdy saplings. Carson could not see much of the construction because the bed was covered with the quilts that had recently been used on the Setters’ cabin bunk beds. The room on the opposite end held two similarly constructed beds, apparently the girls’ bedroom. One of those beds was not yet made. Carson saw a tick mattress that appeared to be stuffed with straw and grass. Curiosity drove him to sit on the bed, testing its comfort. The straw padding would likely serve the lighter weight girls well, but he knew it would not protect someone of his size from the sapling cross members of the bed frame.

This is fantastic, Carson finally exclaimed. You did a beautiful job building this house. I wish I knew how you did it. In my time, it’s all about hammers, nails, sawed boards and plywood. No craftsmanship. God, this is great!

Aaron was embarrassed, and somewhat puzzled by the man’s effusive homage to the cabin’s construction. He tried to deflect the adulation. It is the work of many, led by men with experience in such things. I was equally impressed with the buildings in your world-time. The materials and tools at hand determine the manner of buildings. But, no matter the construction, they require craftsmen.

Carson nodded agreement. The two men walked outside, leaving Sarah and the children to their tasks.

Sarah chided the younger girls for not having made their bed, which required unpacking their bedclothes from the saddle pack. Almost immediately, the youngsters expressed feelings that were a mix of being angry and being hurt.

My pajamas that Aunt Claudia gave me are gone! Ruth was shocked to find her bunny rabbit printed polypropylene sleeping attire missing from the bundle.

And someone ate the Skittles! Ica was incensed that anyone would have taken her brightly colored fruit-flavored bits of candy from the pack.

Carson grinned. He finally had the chance to laugh at the girls. He briefly stuck his head inside the cabin. Kids, Uncle Charles told you that those things would not travel. Nice try though. He turned back to Aaron. I wonder how Uncle Charles is dealing with those things laying there on the ground. Those Federal Agents will be curious as Hell about them.

Aaron’s facial expression changed to concern. I wonder how they are reacting to your absence?

Carson’s eyes widened, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure Uncle Charles will manage it. He is quick witted.

Once she had the stew simmering to her satisfaction, Sarah called Carson inside. Without hesitation or embarrassment, she measured his inseam and waist, and then measured his shoulder width and arm length. She set to the job of sewing some heavy brown cotton fabric into britches. Sharon was assigned the duty of sewing some lighter weight white cotton into a shirt for Carson. Aaron guided Carson in fabricating a simple pair of shoes from some leather scraps. By the time the meal was ready, Carson was wearing suitable attire.

Aaron recited a family prayer and everyone began eating the savory stew that Sarah had prepared. Carson blanched in pain when he bit down on a small portion of hot meat.

Is the stew not good, Cousin Carson? Ruth asked, causing Carson embarrassment from the following attention he received.

Carson played his tongue along the area of pain. He felt the ragged edge of a hole in one of his molars. At first, he thought the meat might have caused the tooth to break but further teasing with his tongue clearly indicated that a filling was missing. The exposed pulp reacted to the cool air that he breathed as well as the pressure when he bit into the hot morsel of food. The pain resonated through his jawbone, causing him to wince. He realized that he would have to accept the discomfort until he returned to his own world-time. The stew is delicious. I have a bad tooth that hurts sometimes. He did not want to belabor the point.

I hate that feeling, Sarah said plainly, nodding her understanding.

After the meal was eaten, the cleaning chores were attended to by the children without the need for chiding. Everyone knew what had to be done and did it.

Carson had helped Aaron gather wood and bring it inside. He tested and used Aaron’s broadax to cut some heavy branches into logs for the fireplace. The handle was hand hewn ash, smooth and tough but apparently shaped for Aaron’s use. Nonetheless, the chore was completed successfully without mishap.

With basic chores completed, the family contentedly sat by the fireplace to ward off the approaching night chill. Sarah noted that most of the smoked venison was gone. Without discussion, everyone knew that Denver had eaten most of the saved meat. Aaron asked Carson if he was up to deer hunting the following morning.

Carson was.

Carson slept on the dirt floor near the fireplace, wrapped in the quilt he had worn as a toga the day of his arrival. He ached. He had gotten the necessary amount of sleep, nothing more. As soon as he awoke, he tended to the embers in the fireplace to make a fire. His concerns about how soon Aaron would awaken were quickly answered when the man came around the partition wall.

Oh, I see you are stoking the fire. That’s good. It is a bit chilly out this morning. It should be a good day to find a nice deer. Aaron was an early riser, always up before the rest of the family making sure a cooking or warming fire was lit by the time Sarah crawled out of the bed. He excused his late rising, I didn’t want to disturb you, so I was just lying in bed. I think I became accustomed to Uncle Charles’ nice mattresses while we were there. Those slats seemed uncomfortable. I think it is time for new straw. He stretched and twisted to relieve the stiffness in his shoulders and winced when he moved his right arm too much.

How’s the arm? Carson asked, guiding Aaron toward the fire’s light before the man put on his shirt. He studied the wrapped, wounded bicep. Good, no seepage and it doesn’t appear to be reddening. I think it is going to be okay. Just keep it clean and don’t use it much for a few more days. He nodded optimistically. Maybe Sarah can boil another cloth to rewrap it later today. Do that everyday and it should ward off infection.