Chapter 2
two
Damn it anyway.
“I’ll take the carob-covered raisins,” she said with a sigh.
“Excellent choice,” the salesgirl said. “I’ll throw in a few carob-covered carrot slices as well. They’re well chilled,” she said with a bright smile. “You’ll love ’em.”
Julianna could imagine many things she might feel toward them, but she suspected love would not be on that list.
“Anything to drink?”
Julianna looked hopefully for some sort of cola dispenser, but she saw nothing but a blender and what looked remarkably like lawn clippings in the bowl next to it, so she shook her head no. Quickly. Before the girl decided to puree any of that grass into something resembling a beverage.
Julianna took her purchases, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and shuffled gloomily toward an empty table near the window.
Actually, all the tables were empty, but she hoped that at least there she might soak in a few UV rays to cheer herself up.
She sat, tried a carrot, tried not to gag, and looked around for something to take her mind off what she was trying to ingest.
Ah, her mail. She’d grabbed it on her way out that morning for another ugly day of job hunting.
She’d made it through two interviews before stopping for sustenance.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much call for her kind of specialty in New York these days.
Her prospects were grim and her savings account balance even grimmer.
She’d have to do something, and soon, if she intended to eat again.
It was tempting to indulge in a far-fetched wish that a knight in shining armor might come to rescue her from her plight.
That was certainly more appealing than the alternatives.
Going home wasn’t an option. She’d have to listen to her father lecture her on the idiocy of having gotten two advanced degrees in Ancient Languages while dabbling in cartooning and lapidary arts.
She’d have to yet again explain her fascination with all things old, with things that made her laugh, and with sparkling things that went around her wrists and dangled from her ears—and why she had no desire to teach any of the above.
Her mother would look at her reproachfully and ask when she planned on settling down and producing a few grandchildren. Then she would face the inevitable comparisons between her and her sisters. No, home was not the place for her right now.
Siblings? Well, there was always her older sister’s offer of a couch, but that came with let-me-set-you-up strings attached and Julianna didn’t want to be set up.
If she couldn’t manage to land a decent job, how was she supposed to land a decent guy—even if he came as a fix-up?
No, far better that she get her life together, then look for a man.
She could only hope that when she managed the former, she wouldn’t be too old to attempt the latter.
She sighed, indulged in carob-covered raisins, and pulled out her mail.
Bills, bills, and catalogs she could never afford to order from.
She gathered up the lot to pitch in the trash when something slipped out, falling onto the table with a substantial plop.
Julianna looked at the return address and blinked in surprise.
All right, so she wasn’t completely surprised.
The letter was from a college roommate she hadn’t seen in years, but it was, after all, not entirely unsolicited.
Julianna had written her old roommate in care of that roommate’s publisher, but she’d only half expected a response.
That she’d actually run across Elizabeth again was something of a miracle.
She’d been intending to use some scraped-together money for a nice, highbrow piece of ancient poetry when she’d seen a book just lying on a chair in her favorite bookstore.
She’d picked it up and almost put it back down again.
Romance wasn’t her thing, but she’d flipped back to look at the author photo just to see what kind of yahoo wrote the stuff.
Her surprise was complete when Elizabeth Smith’s face stared back at her.
Elizabeth’s bio had said she was married and living in Scotland.
Julianna wasn’t very good at keeping up with old friends, but she’d found herself turning over a new leaf.
She had taken the plunge and written. It had seemed like a good thing to do at the time, though she hadn’t really expected anything to come of it.
Now as she read her old friend’s letter, she realized that maybe that small effort on her part might have been one of the best decisions she’d ever made.
There was the usual business about home and family (husband, son and another child on the way), and a dismissive line or two about what was apparently a very successful career. But it was the very last of the letter that had Julianna sitting up straighter in her chair.
You mentioned you were changing jobs. If you have some free time, why don’t you come to Scotland?
We have plenty of room in the keep, and you’d be amazed at what Jamie’s land can do toward healing all sorts of hurts.You can stay as long as you like.
Who knows, you might even find yourself never wanting to leave.
But I have to warn you now, you’ll need to be careful where you go. I know you’ll have a hard time believing this, and I probably shouldn’t be putting it in writing, but there are several places near our home that require care while roaming over.
Julianna frowned. And just what was that supposed to mean? Would she be thrown in jail for trampling clumps of heather or annoying delicately constitutioned sheep?
You have to be careful in England, too, or so we’ve found.
I’m sending you a map. If you come straight here and don’t stray off the beaten path, you should be okay.
In case you get lost, though, be careful.
Like I said, you never know what kinds of unexpected travel you might be doing thanks to an innocent patch of grass.
Julianna flipped to the last page and looked at the map Elizabeth had drawn. She recognized England’s shape. There were several Xs drawn here and there. Julianna peered more closely and saw that beside each was a little label written in Elizabeth’s clear hand.
Chaucer’s England.
Revolutionary France.
Trip to the Picts.
Julianna laughed. She couldn’t help it. Either Elizabeth was trying to cheer her up with a little make-believe, or she had smelled too much pure air and lost her mind.
Julianna suspected that perhaps it was the former.
Elizabeth had always been able to make her laugh, had always thought Julianna’s forays into cartoonland were brilliant and had worn every piece of jewelry Julianna had made her—even when the metal had been of considerably iffy quality.
And now an invitation to visit. Julianna looked out the window and felt a strange hope begin to bloom in her heart.
Scotland in the spring. Could there be a more lovely place to try to right what was wrong in her heart?
She mentally counted the meager contents of her savings account.
If she found a cheap fare, didn’t eat much en route (or afterward), and mooched off Elizabeth while she was there, she might actually manage it.
Besides, who knew what kind of contacts she might make?
Maybe she’d run into someone who had a need for a little Old English translation, or help with his Anglo-Saxon, or had some Roman inscriptions he was just dying to learn to read.
She had skills. She was just trying to use them in the wrong place.
Julianna folded the letter up and had almost tucked it away in her purse when she noticed a very small postscript.
By the way, watch out for Gramercy Park as well.That place is a minefield. Fell asleep on a bench there once and wound up practically on another planet. Love, E.
Julianna revisited her earlier opinion of her friend’s mental state.
It was obvious Elizabeth had lost her mind and was now mixing fantasy with reality.
The book Elizabeth had written had been a time-travel where the heroine had fallen asleep on a park bench and woken up in medieval Scotland, but that had been pure fiction as far as Julianna had been concerned.
Obviously, Elizabeth was starting to take herself way too seriously.
Well, the very least she could do as a friend was to hurry over and bring the girl to her senses. Surely she could deplete the rest of her meager funds on such a mission of mercy and not feel guilty about it.
Julianna shoved her carob delights into her high-capacity black shoulder bag, hoisted it and left the shop. Too bad such Gramercy-Park transporting wasn’t possible. It would have saved on plane fare.
She paused outside Rockefeller Center and contemplated her next two appointments with placement agencies.
A dead-end job or a trip to Gramercy Park?
A painful afternoon trying to justify her skills, or an afternoon in the sunshine on a park bench, willing herself across the ocean?
It took her all of two minutes to decide before she turned and jaywalked across the street—communicating to the angry cabbies in the multilingual hand gestures all true New Yorkers instinctively knew—then stopped in at Godiva’s to charge a very expensive box of assorted truffles.
That necessity seen to, she then headed toward the subway that would drop her near Gramercy Park.
What the hell. If she was going to lose her mind, her savings and all possibilities of food and rent money in one afternoon, she might as well be fat, happy and relaxed while she did it.
Once she’d reached the park, she concentrated on finding a likely bench. All were occupied with various sorts of people she had no desire to get to know better.
And then she came upon The Bench.
She looked at it and had the strangest tingle go down her spine.
It could have been from the volume of bird poop adorning it, but then again, it could have been something else.
Julianna looked down at her one good suit, a black Donna Karan number that had cost her an enormous amount of money but was practically guaranteed to get her taken seriously in any number of employment situations.
She wondered how hard it would be for the dry cleaner to remove bird droppings from the back.
Expensively hard, she decided. No sense in adding any unnecessary expenses to her venture.
She looked around for something to use as cleaning tools.
She plucked a couple of leaves off the tree overhanging the bench, made herself a relatively clean place and turned to back into the seat.
She heard what sounded like a shotgun go off over her head and sat down in surprise.
Her surprise doubled when she felt herself sit in something remarkably squishy.
Before she had a chance to wonder what it had been, the same explosive sound came from just above her head.
She realized that the same bird had deposited a second, and hopefully final, load onto her shoulder.
She had no need to ask what she had just sat in.
The bird chirped once and flew off, apparently feeling much better.
Julianna was suddenly very grateful for a warm day, as it was a certainty she wouldn’t be going anywhere until after dark now.
She probably could have covered herself up with the shawl she’d stuffed in her bag that morning, but that would have meant more dry cleaning and she suspected what she now had already was going to cost her a fortune.
So she turned her mind to more interesting things, namely discovering just what lay inside that five-pound assortment of Godiva she’d just purchased.
She sniffed, selected, nibbled, then began her work of focusing on getting herself zapped over to Scotland without having to resort to forking out plane fare.
She savored the chocolate and fantasized about fields of heather and handsome, bekilted Scotsmen.
Time passed.
She contemplated getting up and going for a drink, but then she might have lost her place on The Bench and that she couldn’t have.
The afternoon waned.
A bathroom was starting to sound mighty nice as well, but that would have meant facing the general public and Julianna did still have her pride. She could only imagine the looks she would get in her doo-doo-bedecked silk suit.
Twilight fell.
It was starting to get cold. The park, she found, was suddenly quite empty.
She pulled her feet up onto the bench and hugged her knees.
A strange mist came up from the ground and surrounded her.
Now, if it had been just any odd mist, she would have chalked it up to a sudden cloud of cannabis wafting her way from behind a bush, but it was more than that.
Much more. There was a chill and a definite sense of Something Being Up.
Julianna grabbed her bag and began to wonder if Elizabeth’s book had been more autobiographical than she’d admitted. Then again, hadn’t Elizabeth warned Julianna about the park?
“Oh, man,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping her sudden sense of vertigo was due to four truffles of superior strength and quality. “Man, oh, man.”
A stiff breeze full of mist blew over her suddenly. She opened her eyes and saw a boy standing in front of her, possibly the filthiest, scrawniest-looking teenager she had ever seen. His eyes widened and he yelped and ran off before she could yelp and run off herself.
And then she realized something else.
She wasn’t sitting on a park bench anymore.
She started to hiccup.
She should have paid more attention to Elizabeth’s postscript. She’d been cocky. She’d been pooped on. There had been red flags aplenty, but she’d ignored them. Maybe she deserved what she was getting.
And now, here she sat in a location of indeterminate origin, listening to what sounded remarkably like cursing coming her way—Old Norman French cursing, mixed in liberally with a few of those Middle English swear words she was just certain no one had ever really used.
She closed her eyes tight, clutched her bag to her chest and tried to smother her hiccups. Maybe if she sang a cheerful song her reality would return to normal. Yes, that was the ticket. She latched on to the first thing that came to mind.
“It’s the story . . . of a lovely lady . . .”