Out of Touch, Out of Time - Chapter Six

July 2, 2008

Jonas found a pair of coarse blue trousers and what appeared to be an undershirt but no shirt. He shrugged and pulled the shirt on. It was all he had and it was cleaner than his own. He also found what appeared to be underwear, although much smaller than he was used to, and socks in the pile. All seemed to fit tolerably well, if a bit snug, especially the trousers.

He sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.

Why had the man moved out and left his clothes? He smiled wide. From what he’d seen of the talkative Cheyenne Cole, she’d probably kicked him out without giving him an opportunity to ask for them.

Which also brought the question: Had the world changed so much that a young woman alone could live openly with a man and not be branded a lady of the night? This was not a question he could bring himself to ask the beautiful Cheyenne. If he were here long enough, he was sure he’d learn the answer on his own. In the meantime, he had no intention of thinking less of her just because her standards of living did not match the world he was from, or the way he was brought up.

He was sure there were many common everyday things in his time that would have horrified travelers from a hundred years in his past. The world was a constantly changing place; it would be stupid to assume that it hadn’t continued to change over the past one hundred and eighteen years. Especially the morals of the people living in it. Morals had been changing even in his time.

There was no doubt in his mind that if he remained in this time, he could easily adapt. He was not a self-righteous prude, and he refused to view the world as old man Hucksinger had. Jonas had always been open to new things; and now that he had this great opportunity, he certainly wouldn’t back down just because he’d been told his entire life it was wrong. Yes, it was wrong then, but he was no longer “then”.

He smiled, leaving the room eager to learn what new wonders the day held.

Halfway down the stairs, he smelled bacon and coffee, and his stomach growled. He should have taken her up on her offer for dinner, but the whiskey had hit his empty stomach, and the exertion of being flung over a hundred years forward had left him exhausted, so he’d simply requested a room before he passed out on her again.

He hadn’t seen much of the house, the kitchen with the odd mix of appliances—he could pick out the oven, and of course the refrigerator, was that the right word?, now that she’d explained it to him. He’d been too damn disoriented to remember much of last night. Most of the other things in the kitchen didn’t make sense.

Then they’d gone into old man Hucksinger’s parlor to drink and sit for a few minutes. During his time, it was a place he saw rarely on his way to Hucksinger’s study, and only entered once. Cheyenne had called it the living room; interesting name. Once again there were items both familiar and not. The fireplace, of course, was still the same; the walls were a warm cream color, the furniture light. Although it resembled the furniture of his time, it was not the same; this furniture was comfortable to sit on and sturdy enough to hold him.

It was certainly not the dainty, uncomfortable horsehair covered sofas that Mrs. Hucksinger so favored. The intolerable dark, heavy curtains and massive amounts of clutter were also missing. The room was bright with few items lying around. There were framed photographs hanging on the walls and little else of a decorative nature besides the plants that helped to brighten up the room.

Then there was the large square item that sat on a table and the other set of odd items; he just had no idea what they could be, he would have to ask. He smiled, or he was sure she’d be more than happy to tell him even if he didn’t ask. One thing about Miss Cheyenne Cody, she could fill any silence with chatter.

Not, that he minded, he liked her voice that made him think of angels.

Entering the kitchen, he saw her standing at the stove. This morning, she was wearing very short trousers, once again the same fabric as his, only these were light blue and very soft looking and a top that reminded him of the one on the dead Cheyenne, except this one was multi-colored.

“Good morning,” he said, trying to be cheery, but the sight of her long, beautiful legs was enticing, indeed. If this was a common way for women to dress, he was definitely beginning to hope he was here for good. Especially if he could remain with the beautiful Cheyenne; that, of course, only being if she wanted him to.

She turned, and his attention was caught by the tear in the right leg of her short pants.

He must have been staring because she looked down and said, “Oops, sorry, I guess I should have thought about the fact that I’m entertaining a genuine Victorian gentleman.”

He smiled, “I may have lived during Queen Victoria’s reign, but she is/was, I don’t know what to say, in England, not here in the United States.”

“Oh, sorry. A lesson. In our time, anything during Queen Victoria’s reign is called ‘Victorian.’ It denotes the time period and the style of housing and furniture. As well as the customs and dress of the people.”

“I see, and what about our customs?”

“Well, as you can see, my shorts are a long way from the proper dresses of the women of your time. Our ankles can show, and always do. Even the feet of our tables can show.”

“Yes, I see your ankles very well, and they're quite beautiful.”

To his surprise, she actually blushed. Ah, some things hadn’t changed; he could still make a woman blush with a compliment.

Chapter Five

Chapter Seven