Marcie Niles had remade the guest bed, tossed the washed sheets into the dryer, and had been staring at the two plates and two glasses in the sink for twenty minutes. The news was on her phone. Men in strange clothing. The Penobscot River. She didn’t know what any of it had to do with her daughter, but she had the uneasy feeling she was about to find out.
She heard the garage door open, then close, followed by the interior door.
“Emily? Have you seen the news? There’s talk of some men arrested in Bangor. Strange clothing. Strange manner of speech. There are rumors all over Facebook.”
Emily stepped into the kitchen with Caleb in tow.
“Oh,” Marcie said. “Hello.”
“Good morning, madam,” Caleb said.
Marcie did a double take.
“Mom,” Emily said. “This is Caleb. Caleb, this is my mom, Marcie.”
“Are you English,” Marcie asked. She raised an eyebrow as thoughts started working their way through her head. She stared at Caleb, then at Emily, and back to Caleb.
“I’m from Nashua,” Caleb said.
“What are you wearing?” Marcie asked.
Caleb looked down at himself. “Trousers and a tunic, madam.”
Marcie turned to Emily. “And you found him by the Penobscot River.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“What is going on?” Marcie asked.
“Mom,” Emily said. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“I think I’d prefer to stand.”
“It would be safer if we sat somewhere. Somewhere with soft cushions.”
“The—the men—are claiming to be from 1779,” Marcie said. It was a statement, but her eyes held a question as she looked between Emily and Caleb.
“Yes, Madam,” Caleb said. “It appears that we have been displaced from our own time.”
“I think—,” Marcie said. “You might be right about cushions.” She walked numbly to the living room and sat in an easy chair.
Emily and Caleb sat together on a sofa, as if they were together. Marcie found this odd.
“You were really in the Revolutionary War?” Marcie asked.
“So I have been told,” Caleb said. “Emily has told me what you call it, but as I said to her, we did not think we were having a revolution. We thought we were just defending our lands.”
“But this is no joke?” Marcie asked. “Those men on the news and you. You are all from the Penobscot Expedition? Like from 1779?”
“Yes and no, Madam,” Caleb said. “At least one man is a redcoat. He would not have been with our flotilla. Instead, he’d have been one of those we were trying to expel from Fort George. The other two, I don’t know. I have not seen them or heard anything about them.”
“Well, let me show you,” Marcie said, playing several videos from her phone.
“Astonishing!” Caleb exclaimed as the first one played. “I have seen so many wonders these past hours. These moving pictures in miniature may be the most bewildering.”
“Do you know who they are?” Emily asked. “The men in these moving pictures?”
“I do not think so, but I did not know everyone on all the forty-two ships we had,” he said.
Marcie studied Caleb as he spoke. “You know, young man. There is bewilderment on both sides. You are not alone.”
“That is a kindness,” Caleb said. “And appreciated.”
“But how did it happen?” Marcie asked.
“Yet another bewilderment,” Caleb said. “I had just buried my mate and stepped into the woods. I saw a flash of light and thought I had died.”
“Died?”
“It was as if an angel appeared from the light. But I now know she was—is—Emily.”
Marcie stared at him, and then caught herself.
“I’m sorry for being such a bad hostess. Have you had breakfast?”
“I have not, madam,” Caleb said.
“How do pancakes, bacon, and eggs sound?” she asked.
“I would not want to be even more of a nuisance,” Caleb said.
“Oh, it’s no bother. You both need to eat. Come sit at the bar, both of you, and I’ll make some food.”
They followed Marcie to the kitchen, taking stools at the bar.
“So you met at the campground then?” she asked as she pulled eggs and bacon from the refrigerator.
“I was planning to photograph Saturn,” Emily said. “Doesn’t rise until about ten now, and two to three in the morning is the best viewing time. It’ll be better in an all night viewing position next week, but I was worried about the weather.”
“Saturn, the planet?” Caleb asked.
“You know about that,” Emily asked.
“Of course I know about Saturn,” Caleb said. “I have read that it has rings around it, though the matter of their substance remains subject of much debate. Cassini discovered that there is more than one ring and some say the rings are debris from ancient moons, but that speculation is questionable, at best.”
“Have you seen the rings of Saturn?” Emily asked.
“No, but I have heard with some telescopes that it is possible. Can you see the rings with your telescope?”
“On some nights, depending on the atmosphere. Maybe we could try tonight?” Emily said.
“That would be most interesting,” Caleb said.
Marcie’s eyes narrowed as she looked between the two young people. She placed six strips of bacon on her cooktop, cracked eggs in a bowl and put a few drops of vanilla in, along with a small amount of whole milk. She whisked the eggs while talking.
“So, did you spend the night with my daughter last night?” she asked. Her tone was even.
“Yes, madam,” Caleb said. “It was a matter of happenstance. I was—unwell, yesterday evening and Emily attended to me.”
“Did she?” Marcie asked, raising her eyes to look at Emily.
Emily mouthed, “Stop It” to her mother.
“Indeed,” Caleb said. “She gave me water when I was parched and fed me twice. She gave me something called a shower which was luxurious.”
“She gave you a shower?” Marcie asked.
“I showed him where the showers were on the campsite,” Emily said hastily. “He needed one, believe me.” She stopped and put her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to offend by saying that.”
“No,” Caleb said. “You are quite right. I had been on the ship for nearly a month. It had been two since I’d had a bath. Aside from the occasional swim in the ocean, I was not particularly clean, plus I had spent two days trying to forage and carry a wounded friend. I’m sure I did not smell great.”
“Where is your friend?” Marcie asked.
“He has gone on to the Maker,” Caleb said. ‘I buried his body beside the Penobscot River yesterday morning.”
“I’m so sorry,” Marcie said. She poured the eggs into her pan and began scrambling them.
“Many men were lost,” Caleb said.
Marcie nodded and continued cooking. Emily got up and made coffee while her mother worked. Caleb watched, curious about everything they did.
“Tell us about yourself,” Marcie asked Caleb.
“Certainly, Madam,” he said. “I was born in Nashua, New Hampshire in 1759 to my parents Jonathan and Abigail Harding. I was the first of nine children, three of whom died very young. Their names were Francis, Drake, and little Gabriella.”
“Oh my gosh,” Emily said. “I had no idea.”
Caleb shrugged. Infant mortality was almost a way of life in his time.
“My father is a silversmith, same as Mr. Revere.”
“Wait, Paul Revere?” Marcie asked.
“Yes, Madam,” Caleb said. “It’s the whole reason I was on the Warren. You see, Mr. Revere was our demolitions expert, and as he and my father were friends, I had the good fortune to accompany him on the Warren.”
“You knew Paul Revere?” Marcie asked, her eyebrows raised.
A look of doubt crossed Caleb’s face. “Yes, you would say knew, not know. Because Mr. Revere would be gone now, wouldn’t he?”
He paused letting that sink in for himself before continuing. “I was educated by tutor until age twelve, learned to read and write, became fluent in Latin and Greek and natural philosophy. I went to University when I was fourteen.”
“Wait, you’ve already been to college?” Emily asked.
“Yes, Miss Emily,” Caleb answered. “I graduated Harvard University with my bachelor of arts degree in philosophy in 1777, after which I enlisted in the colonial navy.”
“You went to freaking Harvard?” Emily asked.
“That’s a strange expression,” Caleb said. “But yes, dear Emily, I graduated at eighteen before my enlistment.”
Emily flushed slightly at the words he chose.
“Is that normal for you, to refer to a girl you’ve just met as Dear Emily?” Marcie asked.
“Oh,” he said, putting his hand to his mouth. “Have I offended you?”
“No, she’s just being silly,” Emily said.
“Well, I apologize if I’ve failed at decorum. Your customs are likely to be different.”
“Why enlistment instead of officer?” Marcie asked.
“That’s only for folks with aristocratic blood,” Caleb said. “Navy appointments, far too often, are based on parentage, not capabilities. Plus enlistment was a quicker route. I wanted to defend my country.”
“So what happened on the Warren?” Emily asked.
“It went badly,” Caleb said. “Our leadership quarreled, and we lost the advantage. When the British were reinforced by sea, we were forced to scuttle the ships and make our way back to Boston overland.”
“On foot?” Marcie asked.
“Yes, Madam,” Caleb said. “I traveled with Benjamin Haskins. Around nightfall, poor Benjamin took a musket ball to the — well, I shant say in mixed company. I buried him just north of the campground where Emily found me.”
“So, you are twenty,” Marcie said. “Just a year older than Emily.”
Caleb glanced at Marcie, as if finally recognizing the line of inquiry.
“I am nearly twenty. Next year, I shall be counted as an adult and can buy land. I was the Warren’s boatswain, a position I earned early, perhaps in no small part the result of Mr. Revere’s influence. I am to be paid fifteen and two per month.”
“Fifteen and two?” Emily asked.
“Aye,” Caleb said. “Fifteen dollars and two bits.”
“Two bits?” Emily asked.
“The two bits is nothing to sneeze at. It would buy a man a gallon of whiskey.”
“Did you often buy gallons of whiskey?” Marcie asked.
“Why no, madam! I am not a drinking man, myself, although I did try beer twice on the ship, as it was more palatable than thirty-days’ old water. But I don’t particularly care for it,” he said. He sipped his coffee for the first time, enjoying the flavor. “This is quite good though. Very enjoyable.”
“So you’re a sailor and you have a very outdated degree in philosophy from Harvard. Do you have other skills?” Marcie asked.
“Outdated?” Caleb looked at her quizzically. “As I said, I have a history in silverwork.”
“Mom,” Emily prompted. “What’s with the third degree?”
“Well, he’s stuck here in 2025. I’m wondering what skills he might possess, which I think is pretty important for a young man who refers to my only daughter as dear.”
“Mrs. Niles,” Caleb said. “I have apologized for that offense already and I beg your forgiveness a second time. I was not aware of how your customs now differ from those of my day. I would have thought it would be welcome news that an employed and loyal sailor found Miss Emily to be enchanting; but I shant speak of such things any further if it offends you.”
Emily, for her part, didn’t mind hearing these kinds of things and she knew she was blushing as the result of his words, and not for the first time.
Marcie stared at him, as if weighing options. Finally, she said, “I need to speak to my daughter in private.”
“Certainly, madam,” Caleb said. “May I step into your garden?”
“The backyard? Sure.”
Emily showed him how the sliding door worked, and he stepped out into the backyard.
Marcie turned toward her daughter. “So, just how much time did you spend with Caleb last night?”
“It was nothing like that, Mom,” she said. “I fed him and put him in the guest bedroom. That is all that happened. Oh, and I shaved him.”
“You what?”
“He needed his beard trimmed.”
“You should have woken me,” Marcie said.
“So you could say ‘No’? I don’t think so. I wanted to get him at least one good night’s sleep. He was dehydrated, exhausted, hungry, tired.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Marcie said. “The question is, what are we going to do with him?”
“I want to ask him to stay here,” Emily said. “I’m worried about what will happen if they find him. I’m worried they’ll take him somewhere and who knows what will happen to him.”
“And I’m worried about what will happen to my daughter around a handsome, but lost, twenty-year-old who thinks my daughter is enchanting,” Marcie said.
“Is that such a bad thing?” Emily asked.
Marcie considered for a moment, tilting her head to the side. She scratched her forehead. “No. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just fast. And you have to admit it’s not really normal.”
“He’s an eighteenth-century man,” Emily said. “Already with a degree from Harvard. Already with military experience. Already seen men die. He’s not like modern twenty-year-old boys.”
“That’s precisely what worries me,” Marcie said. “He’s not a boy. He’s all of a man. And you’re still a girl.”
“But he’s also gentle, Mom. I just know he is.”
They stared at each other for a while as Marcie tossed the options around in her head. It wasn’t really matching up with her dream for Emily; but then again, it wasn’t exactly matching up with so many worse nightmares she had envisioned.
Finally, Marcie said, “There will be no hanky-panky. Do I make myself clear?”
“Mom, be real. He said some things using words we don’t hear these days. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being kind. It’s nothing like what you think.”
“No,” Marcie said. “That man likes you. He likes you and he wants you. If you can’t see that, then I’m inclined to say no. It just means you’re not ready.”
Emily sighed, looked out at Caleb standing in the backyard, and then turned back to her mother, trying to overcome her frustration. “I know, okay? I know. I can tell,” Emily confessed. “Yes, I know he likes me. And—you’re right. If I’m being honest, there’s something in his eyes that’s a little scary, but not too scary, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know what you mean,” Marcie said. “But you just said it was nothing like that.”
“I was just trying to calm your fears.”
“I’d rather you just be honest with me,” Marcie said.
“Fair,” Emily said.
Marcie brushed her daughter’s cheek and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Honey,” she said. “Is the feeling mutual?”
“I’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours!”
“Yes, but there’s always a moment of attraction long before people admit what they’ve known all along. Are you introspective enough to see that?”
Was there an attraction? Yes. Undeniably. When he'd stepped out of that shower, cleaned and shaved, she'd seen him differently. And when she'd shaved him the night before, something had stirred in her that was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying, leaving her caught between wanting to flee and not wanting to leave at all. She didn't know what he would have done if she'd stayed. She wasn't entirely sure what she would have done either. What she did know was that she'd lain awake for hours afterward, fighting the urge to go back downstairs just to be near him again.
“Well?” Marcie asked.
“Yes, Mom. It’s mutual,” she said.
She looked out the window at Caleb standing in the backyard, his hands clasped behind him, studying the garden with the same quiet attention he gave everything. As if the world were endlessly worth examining.
She turned back to her mother. “I’m also worried that the police will manhandle him if it becomes known that he’s here. I need to help him. I want to help him. And I can either do it here or elsewhere. Please don’t think that’s a threat. I just need to do what I think is right.”
“Then he can stay,” Marcie said.
Emily was breathing heavily, prepared to continue the debate. But she stopped at the look in her mother’s eyes.
“Really, Mom?”
“Now that you’ve confronted the truth and the risks. This is why I wanted honesty from you, Emily. The man likes you. You like him. If you’re not aware of that, then things can happen by accident even with well-intentioned gentlemen and careful young ladies. I want you to be aware of it, so that your choices are purposeful. So there are no accidents. Do you understand that?”
“I do, Mom. And, thank you. I will not disappoint you.”
“I don’t want you to disappoint yourself,” Mom said. “That’s what’s important.”
Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible. The first seven chapters are available on this website for free.