force—“
“Invasion---why would France want to invade Wisconsin, and its July, for God’s sake, why the fire? We’ve had the worst heat wave in history--open a window.”
“July, says you. Tis January, have ye slept away the years in the land of the Tir-o-nog?” Annie looked at him with worry. Was the man daft, then?
“I live in Wisconsin, what the hell kind of joke is this? Am I on an episode of Lost or Survivor ? Who’s paying you to dupe me and how much?”
“This is Ireland, Sir. I know naught of this Wisconsin you keep screechin’ about. Ye be lost, tis true, and ye’ve survived a shipwreck, but it is January of 1798.”
“Arggghhh.” The man slumped back on the cot. “God, I’ve gone over the edge.”
“Easy, lad. You’ve suffered more than a cold bath, but a bit of fairy mischief. Have ye a name, sir, or did the fairies steal that away from you as well?”
“Daniel Wilson.” The giant gave Annie a level look. “Thank you, for taking me in.”
“Aye, and I’ll just be getting you a bit of broth.” Annie moved to the hearth.
Dan scanned the small cottage with worry. His limbs were stiff and sore, his head ached. He hadn’t the strength to argue with the woman regarding the year, but this was definitely not his grandparent’s cabin in Fish Creek as he’d been dreaming with the smell of fish, an open fire, and fresh bread baking.
Ireland---1798? Was he lying in a hospital bed having a drug induced delusion? The crack he did in the army might have caught up with him after all. He went from Surgical Nurse to civilian faster than he could wink when they found him stealing morphine to feed his addiction. And twenty years later, he was finally a paramedic on the Marinette County Rescue Squad.
Where the hell were his buddies now, damn it? He had suffered a severe jolt of lightning but somehow he was still breathing. Why didn’t these people call the hospital, for God’s sake? It hurt to think about it. It just plain hurt to move or think, even to breathe. Yeah, he’d had quite a jolt. His limbs still tingled from that powerful surge of electricity. He was lucky to be alive, even if he was delusional. Must be the drugs they were feeding him through his IV tubing. Yeah, that was it, he was dreaming. Had to be.
Annie was back at his side, holding out a clay bowl of steaming soup. It smelled delicious. Dan struggled to sit up once more.
As she handed him her offering, he noticed her queer get-up. She had on a plain gray wool dress, a black shawl wrapped about her shoulders, and a large white cap on her head. Her shoes were high ankle boots. What the hell. Was this Little House on the Prairie ?God, any minute, Pa Ingles might be coming through that door.
He glanced about the primitive cabin. There was no stove, just the stone hearth with a black iron pot hanging from it. The walls were white, some kind of crude plaster. There were chickens in the rafters, he noticed, when one dropped a load on the floor beside his bed. He covered his soup with his hand, suddenly losing his appetite.
“Ma’am?” He searched her face as she pulled the stool next to the bed and took the bowl from his hand. It was an honest face, the weathered face of a pilgrim from the puritan days, no make-up, no jewelry, just a kind smile. “There was a girl with me. I have to find her.”
“We found no one else.” Annie lifted the spoon to his lips, her voice became sad. “There’s bodies aplenty washed up. If some lass were with ye, she’s likely with the angels now, Sir.”
“We were not on a ship. We were at the radio station.”
“All I know is that there was a shipwreck some miles north of here, and all hands went down, save you. If ye like I’ll send for the priest. Ye’ve suffered quite a blow, now, haven’t ye?”
Dan nodded. He was not Catholic, but he was just scared enough to convert.
Chapter Five
Tara looked about the strange room with awe.
It was like a set from a Jane Austen