said, gazing upward too. “A penny for yer thoughts.”
“Oh, just some speculation about symmetry in our world. You see that bright star there, just above the horizon, it’s actually not a star; it’s the planet Venus. I was just thinking about how the objects in the sky are of the same apparent sizes from our vantage point here on earth. The sun and the moon are almost exactly the same apparent size, and all the stars and planets look like pinpricks of light, even though they differ in size greatly. They are placed at the right distances so as to make them appear the same size. And what’s most amazing is that many of those stars that don’t look so bright are incredibly far away. Others aren’t stars at all; they’re gigantic gaseous clouds of luminescent vapors—one of those is part of Orion’s sword. In some cases though, they are very, very faint; some “stars” are actually globular clusters of hundreds of thousands of stars.”
“How do you know about things like that? To me it had never mattered much,” she said. She knew there was something special about him from the first moment she set eyes on him.
“The boys are gettin’ the dogs ready. You can wear some of Sonny’s clothes, if ya like,” she said.
“That’ll be fine,” he said, still looking up at the stars.
Billie slipped over and sat down beside Dorian, her bare feet draped by a pool of moonlight. “Smell the night air. Isn’t it so fresh?”
Dorian was mystified by the wonders of the nightlife that began to stir the silence around him. The wild cry of a coyote on a far hill was answered by another from the valley. Then a nighthawk screamed during its flight across a nearby meadow. The sounds of the Ozark night, mysterious and sublime, were something beyond his range of experience.
Dorian finally glanced over at Billie. She had combed her hair, washed her face and put on a clean dress, clothesline-dried and wrinkled. The dress was plain and worn but probably the best she had, he thought. Dorian looked her directly in the face and smiled. She was even lovelier that evening than she had been when they first met near the stream. A gentle breeze floated across the porch, rustling her hair. The moonlight, filtering through the leaves and branches of the trees, illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across it.
Dorian took a deep breath of the night air and slowly exhaled. He paused for a moment, then asked, “Why do they call you ‘Billie’?”
“It’s ’cause Pa was hopin’ for a boy, ’cept it ain’t spelt the same way.”
His gaze traveled from her eyes to her shoulders and down to her waist. “I see.”
She slid closer to Dorian. “I’m glad Pa let ya stay. Must have takin’ a-likin’ to you. He’s not like that.”
Dorian sighed. “I wasn’t prepared for any delays. But what else can I do; I’m stuck here.”
“Are you late?”
“That’s the best part; time is on my side. I’m never late.”
They smiled at each other. She leaned toward him, pressing her cheek against his. He reacted strangely to her touch, withdrawing a few inches from her and said, “Can I ask you to do something for me?”
“Sure. Ask whatever you like.”
“You promise you won’t laugh?”
“I promise, I won’t. Tell me.”
She moved her head closer to his again, her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” Dorian said. “What I wanted to know…uh…could you tell me the date?”
She backed away, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. “Is that all you wanted?”
“Yes. You see, I have no idea. I’ve been through some confusing experiences lately.”
“It’s Friday, silly.”
“Friday, huh.”
She smiled, nodding her head.
“What year?”
She laughed hysterically.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Shucks, most folks forget what day it is,” she said.
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh,” he said, laughing too. Her laugh was wonderful, infectious.
She stopped laughing and studied him a moment. Then the grin on her face faded away.
“You’re really serious, ain’t ya?” she said, her head tilted to one side.
“Yes, I am. I’ve lost all track of time.”
“It’s 1932.”
“You’re sure it’s 1932?”
“Pretty sure. Yes.”
“My God, they were way off. I expected some degree of error, but not this.”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
Billie’s mother appeared at the screen door and said, “You best get dressed, boy. Here’s some clothes for ya. Sonny’s a bit bigger than you, but there’s some suspenders to keep your britches up.”
Billie jumped up, went to the door and took the clothes to Dorian. “The smokehouse is ’round back,” she told him, pointing in the general direction. As she turned to go back into the house, she looked back at Dorian, staring at him in bewilderment as he tucked the bundle of clothes under his arm and headed toward the smokehouse.
Following a pathway, he could see the outline of the smokehouse off in the distance. Faintly, he heard Clyde and the two boys down at the barn making preparations for the big hunt, their voices drowned out by the sound of barking dogs.
Dorian reached the smokehouse and opened the door. He stepped inside, panning the room quickly. There was no lamp anywhere in sight. A candle stub next to a large box of kitchen matches stood in a saucer on a small table by the door. He lit the candle, then looked about the room at the new surroundings, cobwebby and decrepit. It was a run-down dwelling, small and rather untidy, no longer used as a smokehouse. Dorian had learned at the supper table that the building was once sleeping quarters for Amber, Billie, and two of the smaller girls. A few years back, Clyde and Sonny had added two dormers and windows to the attic of the family house, making two extra rooms there. A covered breezeway separated the main part of the house where Billie and her younger siblings slept.
Dorian continued to explore the little dwelling. Below was a dusty wood-plank floor, above a water-stained low ceiling, spotted with black mildew. A battered wicker chair, a dresser, and a bed were the only furnishings. Patterned wallpaper was peeling from the walls layer by layer, exposing the dry, porous plaster beneath. Dust had accumulated on all surfaces. A single window faced the front, covered with lace curtains stained by moisture and bleached by the sun, showing years of neglect. He examined the bed, pushing the mattress with the palms of his hands, testing it for firmness. It seemed comfortable enough; a wrought-iron bed with chipped white paint, high steel springs with a mattress covered in quilts, home-made from worn-out garments, sewn into patches. On the floor below the bed lay a hand-braided rug.
Dorian unzipped his silvery-white one-piece suit to change into the less conspicuous country clothes. He took the gold medallion-looking device from the pocket of the coveralls. It was oval-shaped, about three by four inches long, attached to a long chain. It was the time-portation device that no longer functioned properly. He stroked the red ruby located at the center of the device gently with a thumb. The ruby, the failed component, had left him stranded here. In his mind it was only a temporary setback, and somehow he would find a replacement ruby and continue on his mission. He pressed different indentations around the outside edges of the device; the ruby began to glow with a faint red light. Though it was not functioning properly, he dreaded the thought of leaving it out of his sight, and was reluctant to remove it from his person. He knew, however, that he had to in this case. The device was delicate, and