The Traveler

Once again, I am participating in Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 2/15/24 edition.

I wrote this story a long time ago and have not developed it further. It was another book idea just like last week’s story. I’ve tweaked it so that it can appear along with this picture that instantly reminded me of my story. Thanks for giving my story a home, Kevin!

Edit: all of the installments of the story have been published. Before you read The Traveler, read Prequels I-IV. Then read The Traveler, then the Sequel. I will put the links below. It will make more sense if you do it that way, as these were Chapters 1-6 of a book I haven’t finished.

Read The Traveler Prequel I first, here

Next, The Traveler Prequel II, here

Then The Traveler Prequel III here

Next, The Traveler Prequel IV here

Now read The Traveler, the story you in right now. It starts below.

After reading the story below, you are ready to read The Traveler sequel here

And that is where the story ends – for now. Thanks everyone for reading and supporting my almost-book. 🫶

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As I stepped off the curb, I wondered why I had agreed to repair the gowns, and then, why I didn’t just travel the four blocks to my hotel. While I was trying to avoid tripping over my feet, I looked to the left for vehicles coming toward me. Problem is, I was in England.

Stepping out into traffic and looking the wrong way, well, I didn’t see the black blur that was suddenly next to me—on me — is a more apt description.

I lay in the road with people milling around me for several minutes before I came to. A sharp, rich, English-accented, male voice bellowed, “Doctor! We need a doctor at once!” My eyes shot open in alarm when I realized he was most likely calling the doctor for me. I saw blurry figures peering down at me, with one leaning over, precariously close to toppling. Confused, I closed my eyes again and wondered with a goofy smile if every man in Heaven spoke with a British accent. Heaven would be just fine in my book, if so. Suddenly sleepy, my eyes stayed lazily shut as I gave into the drowsy, light feeling.

“Madam! No! Do not shut your eyes! You must keep them open or you might never open them again!” A crisp, rich voice ordered stiffly. Who is this guy? His piercing voice is disrupting my nighty-night time, I thought as I tried snuggling into my blankets. I reached for them, but when I did, I felt no blankets, no cozy warmth. No covers? Why don’t I have any sheets on my bed?! I cracked one eye open to survey.

“Eeks! I’m lying in the middle of the freaking road!” I screeched as I bolted and sat upright, immediately regretting that sudden move, as the searing pain in my right arm caused the nausea to rise in my stomach in a flash and I froze to avoid vomiting.

“Madam, do not move!” It was The Voice again.

“Oww, my arm really hurts,” I croaked out after the nausea had passed. I squinted my blurry eyes in the direction of the guy with the cool voice, but I didn’t see anyone there.

“Clear the way, the physician is coming through,” Mr. Voice ordered the onlookers. His authority seemed to do the trick. As I surveyed my bum arm, I heard the bustle of the crowd as they parted. Wow, this guy must have pull in some major quantities.

“Oww,” I hissed at the pain and decided to leave my arm alone. My head hurt, too, but with my left hand I couldn’t find any gashes on my face or head —that was a good thing. Maybe I have a concussion. “I so don’t need a concussion while in England. My insurance will not cover this,” I mumbled to myself. Feeling less nauseous, I tried to crawl-unnoticed-to the my bag that I had with me when I was hit. My sight was still a bit fuzzy, but Mr. Voice could see me, apparently.

“And where are you going?” he asked with mild interest. I stopped mid-crawl and smiled up at the blurry face sheepishly.

“Over here to check on my bag?” I offered helpfully.

“No, you most certainly are not. The doctor is here to examine you for bodily harm following your accident,” he answered simply. He placed his hand on my shoulder gently but firmly, to let me know I was not moving another inch.

“Okay, whatever.” I shrugged and glanced up at the face with the somehow familiar voice. He was so close now that I could make out his features with ease.

“It’s you!” And it was him-Nicholas Langdon, Royal Pain in the Ass, from the museum. Same chocolate brown eyes, same dark brown hair, same hot bod, same voice… It all made sense now.

“Nick Langdon.” I narrowed my left eye and gave him the once over. Okay, the thrice over.

He blinked three times. “Pardon me, madam?” He asked quietly with large, disbelieving chocolate candy coin eyes. “I am quite certain we have never met before.” He studied me for a few seconds. “How do you know my name?” he asked with thinly veiled interest. He had the nerve to sound ruffled!

“Ha! That’s a good one, Nick. Not twenty minutes ago you gave me orders not to destroy the gowns!” I rolled my eyes and studied him closely, my vision finally focusing enough to scan my immediate surroundings, which, at present consisted of one handsome but irritating Langdon and one older man with a sadistic streak who carried a black physician’s bag.

“Ouch! That hurts…doctor.” I said suspiciously as I narrowed my eyes at the dude carrying the bag.

“Sorry, dear. Please do stop moving,” he pleaded with an exasperated sigh.

“Right. Say, Nick…what’s with the get-ups you two are wearing?” I nodded first to him and then in the direction of the doctor. He didn’t answer me immediately, rather, he looked at me blankly for several seconds. I looked him over closely. Somehow he and the doc had gotten their hands on some darn good Victorian costumes. If he swiped those from the museum and he’s yelling at me for repairing two gowns, l’ll deck him. I fumed to myself. Still, it was a gorgeous outfit. I tried not to gawk.

All topped off with a top hat, naturally. Nice, very nice, indeed.

The jerk looked dashing. The doctor was similarly outfitted but not nearly as scrumptious.

“Excuse me, Madam, but I don’t know of what you are speaking. Perhaps you are out of sorts now you have been struck by the carriage-“

“Carriage? Carriage?”

“Yes. Carriage.”

“Is that what you people call them?” I snorted.

We looked at each other as if neither one of us spoke the other’s language.

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” he said slowly so I could follow. “As I was saying, perhaps you are out of sorts since your…er…accident.”

“Don’t get condescending with me, Langdon,” I pointed at him and frowned at the doctor who forced me to look up and down, side to side, following his gloved finger.

“What is your name, madam?” The doctor asked warmly.

“Maisie Reynolds.”

“Miss Reynolds, can you tell me today’s date, with the year included, if you please?” The doctor winked conspiratorially at Langdon, as if he were on the precipice of curing me. Knowing the date was not going to help fix my arm. And even if I had a concussion, I wasn’t suffering from amnesia. I wished someone would call an ambulance for goodness sake.

“It’s August 12th, ’05.” I answered drolly. Duh.

“Ah, ha! There is the problem, my dear!” The doctor exclaimed.

“It’s August 12th, yes, but the year isn’t ’05, it’s 1904.”

Langdon said smugly, apparently overjoyed that he could break this news to me.

I did a double-take right there on the ground. And then I laughed and laughed. I wiped my eyes as the tears streamed down.

“Nick you really got me with this, I’ll hand it to you. 1904.

Carriages. Top hats and Morning suits. What a hoot! And look, you even got Doc here to participate in your theatrics. And that woman over there…look at her gown! Isn’t it fabulous—” My voice trailed off.

I glanced around me as quickly as I could with a pounding headache and noticed then that the entire street was authentically 1904-ish.

There were old cars, cobbled streets, finely dressed ladies and gentlemen mingling with the poorest, grimiest-looking of the poor. There were cozy storefronts, an open market, and a very real stench of coal.

“Amazing, just amazing. Nick, this is one hell of a recreation.

Is this all for the grand opening?” I looked up at him with wide eyes, completely convinced he was a genius – a sexist pig genius.

Nick shared a look of concern with the doctor who was rummaging through his black bag for something to wrap my elbow with.

“Er-” Nick waffled.

“What?” I felt a sense of foreboding all of the sudden, like I had entered the Twilight Zone.

Nick crouched down and took my left hand gently. His eyes were mesmerizing and so kind. Okay, I thought, now I know I have a concussion.

“Mrs. Reynolds-“

I shook my head. “No. Not ‘Mrs., “Miss. Doc was right the first time when he addressed me as ‘Miss. Mrs. Reynolds is my mother.”

Nick gasped slightly. “And you travel alone, without a chaperone?”

I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Huh? Why would ! need a chaperone? I’m thirty, for God’s sake!”

“I see…” A look of amusement passed over his face, but just as quickly, Nick put his business face back on. “Miss Reynolds, I am Nicholas Langdon—”

“YEAH, I knoooow… What is going on Langdon?” I frowned at his latest Captain Obvious act; he could do so much better.

“Ahh, I do not know how you know my name, as it is quite apparent by your manner of speech and dress that you are not from London nor from England, and you must have only arrived here very recently judging from this unusual bag which you carry.” He pointed to my bag as it lay in the muddy puddles of the cobblestone street. How’d they get the streets from tar to cobblestone that quicky?

“Great. So we’ve gone from Captain Obvious to Sherlock Holmes,” I said dryly. “And you’re the one with memory loss if you don’t remember me at all, Nick.”

He jerked his hand away. “I am called Cole by my friends.”

He buffed an already pristine-looking button on his coat. “As I was saying, you have suffered a head injury of some kind-” They nodded in agreement, over eagerly, I might add. “—As a result of the carriage impacting you as you attempted to navigate the street here.” He gestured with his big hat head toward the street I was currently residing on. The doctor finished his examination and declared me “confused.” I rolled my eyes as I sat there contemplating the obvious decline in the state of health care.

He knelt down to my level again, bringing those eyes back in full view. Be still my racing heart! “You need rest. You will feel better tomorrow, the doctor has assured me. He could find nothing wrong with you—”

“Yeah, I guess he couldn’t out here in the middle of the street instead of in a hospital with diagnostic tests and modern equipment…”

Nick sighed. “Where are you staying? Please allow me to escort you there,” he said with genuine chivalry. Hmm… I think I like this 1904 Nick much better. Can we keep him after the grand opening has ended?

But it was all an illusion-some kind of cruel game. It slowly, fully registered that Nick Langdon was beyond mean and nasty. He was leading me to believe I was going crazy. An elaborate hoax was underway to trip me into insanity, and all because he didn’t trust in my abilities. His sisters told me the whole story of how furious he was when his father chose to go with my employer rather than a British company. So this was his attempt at forcing me off of the assignment; he assumed he could convince his father to accept the bid from the other company once he had proven me unstable, and my employer incompetent. Well, I had news for Langdon-I wasn’t going anywhere but back to my hotel room to rest up for tomorrow’s work.

I shook my head. “No, I don’t need your assistance, Cole. I can find my way back to my hotel unaided, thank you. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow, and I fully expect to be at work.”

“Work?” His luxurious eyes were as wide as half-dollars.

“Oh, come on now. Enough with the act-you know exactly what I’m talking about!” I stood slowly, picked up my bags with my good arm and took a deep breath. I looked Nick/Cole over one last time to fully appreciate his fine masculinity dressed up in an early 20th century day suit once more; that is, before this hoax was revealed. Such a shame it would all be over when the ruse was lifted. I sighed and turned to go, but I didn’t get far.

Cole grabbed my arm gently and turned me to face him.

“You know, madam, it is not safe to… work…the streets…do you need money? I can help you to find a respectable home to lodge in, I’m sure…” he whispered. His eyes and lips so close to my face mesmerized me for a time, so that I didn’t register what he said-at first.

“What?! You think I’m a prostitute?” This had to be the worst insult he had slung at me yet. And I made quite a scene about it, too. For all his attempts at discretion, I was yelling at the top of my lungs. “That’s right, when I’m not working ninety hours a week as a Costume Historian and Photographer, I’m a street walker! Is that what you truly believe about me?” People were stopping and staring by this point and Cole shared conspiratorial looks with Doc before gently nudging me toward what I assumed was his car. I plopped down hard on the seat and he gracefully sat across from me. “I’m sorry, Miss Reynolds, I misunderstood your words a moment ago. Forgive me. Please allow me to escort you to your dwellings.”

He looked so damned sincere and I was tired of arguing with him. Plus, my arm and head hurt. “OK, fine. It’s only four blocks from here.” He told the driver where to go and we were off. I was certain the scenery would change back to modern day once we reached my hotel and that cool Cole would morph back into nasty Nick. We jiggled and bumbled along in the car, with an awkward silence between us. I felt my expression of awe turn into a frown as we reached the end of the third block and there was no change in scenery. To be honest, I was more than a little concerned for my mental state.

“Umm, Cole? This…this is my hotel here,” I lied. I took a quick, desperate survey of the street and saw a quaint establishment with vacancies. The rising panic in my gut made me want to bolt out of the car and run as far as I could, to anywhere that would lead me back to 2005.

Cole peered up at the two-story building just ahead on the right and called for his man to stop the carriage. “Are you certain this is the correct place?” He sounded concerned, but it looked fine to me. Besides, I had to remind myself, this is all an illusion, anyway.

“Miss Reynolds, this establishment doesn’t seem proper somehow. Why don’t you let me arrange a lodging for you-” Cole grimaced up at the shutters, that, upon closer inspection, were in obvious need of repair. The one on the left looked as if it would fall at any second and crush both of us flat like pancakes. The front door was a tattered, peeling shade of faded cobalt blue and the ground floor window was so grimy I couldn’t see through it. “Uhhh-” I hesitated. Even in make-believe land I did NOT want to lodge there.

Cole nodded and seemed to understand my reticence immediately. He called to his driver at once and we drove off. “I cannot allow you to stay here. We will call on someone whom I think will have plenty of space for you to stay until you decide otherwise.” Chivalrous Cole was a welcome relief and soothed me a bit, although the fact that the scenery did not change from 1905 to 2005 at all in the course of driving to his friend’s house was worrisome. About ten minutes into the uncomfortably silent journey, and after much thoughtful deliberation with myself, I decided that I would go with the flow and accept it all as a reality.

If I did have a concussion, there wasn’t anything I could do about it, anyway. Maybe I’d have to wait until the swelling in my brain went down and I suddenly snapped out of it. Or maybe it was all a dream and I’d wake up at any minute. Regardless, I couldn’t think about it anymore. I was in 1904 and I would savor the experience as if it were real, until it was not real.

And, if I were truly dancing gaily around in the fields of madness, then, hey, being crazy was looking as promising as the huge stone mansion we were approaching after twenty-five minutes of bumping along in the car, both of us ignoring the amazing zing in the air when our knees bumped as we rolled to a halt.

To be continued…?

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