Chapter 12

“What should I do?” My head was still on Cassandra’s shoulder. I didn’t really want to let go. Letting go meant that I had to go back to reality. Reality sucked. I lingered for a few more moments and pulled back from Cassandra. If you’re doing the hugging, you should always be the one to pull back first. If you are the recipient of a hug, or you’ve offered the hug, don’t be the first to let go. You don’t know what the other person (the hugger) needs. Just let it happen. Again this would be another one of those Twitter hashtag moments. #CassiesFunFacts.

            “To be honest, I do not know.” She sighed. “You are in your own story now, Cassandra. You have the power to control what happens here. Roderick can’t take stories that are still being written. I guess you could call it a loophole. For now, you and this story are safe. But Wonderland is not.”

            I couldn’t have five minutes without being reminded that I’m here to save Wonderland from the Black Fog of Doom? Can’t Duncan come back into this pub? Why was I not getting my wishes! The questions kept piling up in my head. It was about to explode. Cassandra was still talking to me, so I had to snap myself back into reality.

            “Wonderland,” was the only word that could come out of my mouth. I was beginning to think that I had bumped my head along the way and the power of intelligent conversation had gone out the window.

            “Yes, Cassandra, Wonderland. It’s still being consumed. Luckily, your presence has done enough good so that Roderick’s forces have been pushed back and delayed hopefully until your return. We need to get you back to Wonderland soon. I don’t know how long the delay will keep it back.” Cassandra’s eyes were wide with fear and hope.

            I could only nod my head as I watched her pop out of my presence. I didn’t know what I wanted any more.

            In this world, in this story, I was safe from Roderick. I didn’t have to worry about Black Fog of Death or him stealing this story. For the first time in a while, the safeness consumed me.

            I was safe from Roderick.

            Wait.

            I was in my own story.

            Sorry it took so long for me to come around and face the facts here. This was my story. I could control what was going to happen. Roderick couldn’t come steal this story because I was still writing it!

            I hoped people would like it.

            Duncan.

            Oh, girl. I could so go for man candy right about now.

            Laughing at myself and how I was acting, I walked back to the bar stool that I was sitting on the first time I was in this pub. I claimed it as mine.

            I looked around the place, really noticing the details this time. It was as authentic as I could have hoped or dreamed of. I didn’t see any electric wiring, or hidden WiFi spots.

            Oh, Wifi. Since I was technically in 2014, I could get Wifi. Beautiful. Glorious. Wifi.

            This was my Survivor challenge. I was going to try to survive our techno-loaded world without the use of my iPhone.

            Whattttttt? #thisisgoingtobeahard

            See? I’m already struggling. I’m hashtagging without my Twitter-feed. Must. Stop. Hashtags. (#NotGonnaHappen)

            “Cassandra?” I forgot that the original Cassandra was still in the pub. Right. How rude of me. Shoot.

            “Oh god, I totally spaced out!” I spat out a hurried apology and reached towards her.

            She giggled at me. Actually giggled. I didn’t know that Ancient Greeks knew how to giggle. Apparently they did. It was a pleasant giggle.

            “Quite alright, dear. I must be going, however. Apollo and his muses have use of me yet, apparently. They send their love and protection.” With that blessing from the gaggle of women I had briefly met, she was gone.

            “Protection.” I spoke out loud.

            “What are ya rattlin’ on about out there?” I heard Griselda call from the kitchens. A moment later, her head popped out through the door, and she grinned at me.

            “Oh, this and that,” I hated to admit that I was talking to the Seer Cassandra from Mythology. She probably already thought I was a bit crazy. I couldn’t blame her. I felt crazy.

            “Duncan’s coming over later, for a pint and company. You might want to brush your hair,” Griselda threw a look over her shoulder as she closed the door to the kitchen. A second later she came out, holding a brush.

            “He’ll want to see you in those jeans again, lassie. But for now, at least make yourself look presentable.”

            I was flustered at the thought of Duncan wanting me to be presentable. Griselda had to be joking. There was no way in Hell that Duncan wanted me. No. Freaking. Way.

            As you have probably deciphered, reader, I am not the kind of girl who is fawned over by men. Quite the opposite in fact. I ogled at gorgeous men from afar, and that’s about the extent of it. I don’t talk to them. I make up fantastical stories about how our life could turn out, but I never do anything.

            The opposite is just as real. I was never approached by men like my friends were. I was the outcast, the perpetually single friend that stood smiling in a corner, patiently waiting for my turn.

            Apparently, my turn had come. But I was full of doubt. One time, I thought my turn had come at a tailgate for a lacrosse game at my college. This guy had come up to me, smiling, handing me an unopened can of Miller Lite. I accepted, seeing that it was closed and the chances of it being drugged were small. We talked for hours, taking our conversation from the tailgate to the game and long after at the next party on the agenda. When the time to head home came, I gave him my number and hoped he would call the next day, like he said he would.

            He called all right.

            So did 50 other people, laughing at me. Just laughter.

            I had been pranked, punked, made a fool.

            And he had enjoyed it.

            From then on, I avoided lacrosse games, parties, and men in general.

            So hearing that Duncan wanted to see me in my jeans again had to be a cruel joke.

            But I did as Griselda commanded, and made my hair look presentable. I didn’t realize how messy and knotty it had become. How unfortunate for me, as brushing my hair became a terrible, messy process.

            I discovered that I had sticks, leaves, and other bits of nature lodged in my hair from my adventures in Wonderland. I knew they were from Wonderland, because one of the leaves was pink. Not a normal color for Scottish trees. I needed to hide the pink leaves. I didn’t really want people to know about the fact that Wonderland is real. Not yet at least.

            I adjusted the hair on my head to a neat top-knot – quick Cassie hair-tip: twisting the hair and then turning it into a bun is super helpful if you can’t figure out the sock trick. After tucking in the corners of my hot pink hair tie, I checked myself out in the wavy mirror in the corner of the pub.

            I was shocked at my appearance. I was wearing a navy blue wool skirt, a white cotton blouse with ties at the neck, and what I was told is called an “earasaid.” From what I could gather, this “earasaid” is several feet of tartan that is wrapped around you, kind of like a cape. It came down to about my calves, belted at my waist, and then the rest of the plaid was thrown over my left shoulder, and pinned down by a gorgeous silver brooch. The plaid that I was in had a beautiful blend of greens and blues, with a thin red stripe. I had no idea whose family owned this tartan (or is it a plaid? I wasn’t sure, so I interchanged them). I thought it was gorgeous, and I would continue wearing it, as long as I was in this town. Having my hair on top of my head made my neck look ridiculously long. I touched my collarbone, wishing I had a necklace or something to break up how long my neck looked. It was making me uncomfortable.

            “Och, lass, that looks wonderful,” Griselda said from behind me. I could see her smiling in the reflection of the mirror.

            “Don’t you think I need something around my neck? I think it looks weird,” I didn’t turn around, but met her eyes via the mirror. My hand was still at my neck, almost wishing that I had something to replace it with.

            “I do. Which is why I brought these,” she stepped up to the mirror and handed me a string of pearls.

            “I went down to the costume department a few minutes ago. I told them you were my cousin, and in need of a bit of jewelry. Those women clucked like hens, poked around their shop, and picked out some pieces. Do you like the plaid you’re wearing?”

            Taking the pearls out of my hand, she fastened the pearls around my neck. They were irregular in shape, and must have cost a fortune for the 18^th century woman who probably wore them before me. Along with the necklace, Griselda fashioned pear earrings on to my ears. I was lucky that I had pierced ears, and wasn’t wearing my normal pair of studs – conveniently, they were being cleaned back in my real reality.

            “Such a bonny lass,” Griselda winked at me, proud of the work she had put in to make me look authentic. I smiled in thanks.

            “Can I help? What do you need me to do?” I was ready to help out with the pub. I didn’t want to look like a loaf.

            “Well, when the customers start coming in at about sundown, that’s when I’ll really need you. You’ll be pulling pints, and running food. Have you ever worked in a restaurant?” She was walking away before I could respond. I had to skip to catch up to her.

            “My mom owns a coffee shop in our town. I’ve waited tables a couple of times. I can manage, if that’s what you’re asking.” I picked up some coasters that were tossed about the floor.

            “Perfect. I can never find someone in this blasted town that could help me with the customers. It’s our busy season, so we’ll be slammed. Duncan comes over to help. He’ll stay behind the bar, though. He’s got a way with the ladies.”

            Her smile was, again, sly, and not unlike my friend the Cheshire Cat.

Chapter 11

“Why don’t you take a nap, Cassandra?” The one to my left spoke softly. “It is almost nightfall. We will stay with you until you wake.” The conjured a blanket and a pillow out of the air. I wished I had those kinds of powers. Do you, my dear reader, know how awesome it would be to be able to create a blanket and pillow out of thin air? Imagine the naps you could take!

            I’m really glad that you’re still with me, dear reader. And I mean that. You’ve stayed with me through this strange journey, and I am so very thankful for you. Are you having fun? You are? You believe me? Best news I’ve had all day! You rock, reader. Keep it up. I still need you. You are my witness.

            I took the blanket and pillow and found a spot under a tree to make camp. I didn’t realize how tired I was. I was a bit concerned at what could happen. The last time that I fell asleep I woke up in this story. I was hoping that I would wake up at home. You know, to grab some supplies, pack some snacks, and maybe change my outfit. I desperately needed a shower.

            Oh, a shower would be wonderful. As my eyes started to ache, and my eyelids got heavy, I saw the Muses gather around me. They formed a protective barrier around my camp. I was hoping that nothing would happen to me to need that protection, but I was grateful for it.

            I got a whiff of the cotton-candied gravel, smiled and let myself drift off into dreamland. The last thing I remember was seeing Roderick in the glen, with a wicked grin upon his face. So I fell asleep afraid.

            When I woke up, I was not where I was before. Maybe I was home? But I had fallen asleep on my couch, and on a couch I was not. I folded the blanket up, and put the pillow on top of it. Under the pillow, I noticed a backpack. The Muses must have left it for me. Which was kind of them, they seemed like really nice ladies. But where the hell was I?

            This was not the gloomy, dead glen that I fell asleep in. No this was nice. Like, green luscious grass, blue cloudless skies, and a light breeze that made the whole place feel like a dreamy summer day. It was perfect.

            I felt bad that I was relieved to not be in Wonderland. At least, I didn’t think I was in Wonderland. The ground was a normal color, there was no faint smell of cotton candy, but I wasn’t quite sure.

            I decided that in order to find out what where I really was, I was going to have to go exploring. I slung the backpack over my shoulder, and headed towards what looked to be a path. And this was a normal path, too. It wasn’t purple like the path through the woods in Wonderland. And the trees stayed their normal colors. None of them turned pink and aqua as I walked past them. Normal trees all around. I just couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

            The walk out the woods was easier than I had expected. I am not very good with directions. As my mother would say, I can’t get myself out of a brown paper bag. So directions – especially when they say ‘go north on blah’ – are kind of hard for me. I was very proud of myself for getting out of the woods, and not getting lost. Score one for Callie!

            On the other side of the woods was a small village. It looked older than any other town that I remembered in New England, so it was possible that I was still in Wonderland. I still didn’t know how to feel about this.

            I hated being in my own head for too long. It got me in trouble. A lot of trouble. Sometimes, when I would get into my own head, I would imagine up these scenarios of things that could possibly happen. You know, the usual – the cute baseball player in high school who would ask me to prom, the cute frat guy at the party would want to get me a drink and we would spend the whole night getting to know each other. The problem with making up all of these scenarios was that they never came true. And when they didn’t come true, I got really sad. Like, holed up in my room, under a blanket, drinking tea, and watching Love Actually on repeat, sad.

            To get out of this train of thought, I smacked myself.  I know that it sounds extreme and violence is never the answer, but it’s surprisingly effective. After the smack, I shook my head to continue to erase those thoughts. It was a dark path, those thoughts, and I couldn’t afford to go there. I had a town to investigate!

            As I got closer to the town, I noticed how old it really was. The buildings were white washed with brown trim. They seemed smaller than any of the town I’ve seen in America. So I probably wasn’t in America. The probability of me still being in Wonderland was completely, 100% possible.

            I strolled into town, slightly afraid of what I could find in a Wonderland town. I didn’t even know that Wonderland had towns, let alone other “normal” people, well, humans, like the Red Queen and her sister the White Queen.

            The town was relatively empty as I strolled down the main street. The windows were shut on a lot of the buildings, and the wooded signs that denoted what the business were swung eerily in the light breeze that pulsed through the town. I assumed that it was a ghost town, that Roderick’s Black-Smoke-of-Evil or whatever it was had already rolled through this town and devoured it’s inhabitants.

            And then as suddenly as lightning, the windows on the building flew open and people started shouting orders to one another and, apparently, their day had begun.

            “Ah need a dizzen eggs! fower loaves ay breed!” A woman from the shop closest to me screamed. I jumped into the air because I was not expecting her to shout. Apparently, she needed eggs, and bread

            “Och, sorry, loove. Ah didne see ye standin' thaur!” The woman smiled at me. Her accent was obviously Scottish.

            “Oh, it’s okay.” I weakly smiled at her.

            “Yoo're nae frae aroond haur, ur ye, dearie?” She asked with a smile. She was a beautiful woman, with sandy blonde hair, green eyes, and a wide toothy grin. I liked her instantly.

            “No, ma’am, I’m from New England.” I was in awe of her accent, and luckily for me, I had watched enough BBC America to understand the Scottish accent.

            “Ah, a Sassenach! Weel, we won’t hold that against you, dearie.” Her hand patted my cheek. “You look famished, come on in for a bowl of stew.”

            I walked into her pub, thankful that her accent had suddenly become clearer to me. It was a strange switch. She went from a heavy Scottish brogue, to a more understandable English accent, but she hadn’t changed. She was just easier to understand.

            As I walked through the door of the pub, I was taken back by the homey-ness of the place. There were tables with mismatched chairs and worn pillows. There were bookshelves lined with leather-bound titles, aching for a person to hold them.

            “This place is really nice, ma’am.” I smiled at her as I sat on a stool at the bar. She placed a wooden bowl of beef stew and a spoon in front of me, and gestured for me to eat.

            “The name is Griselda. And I’m the owner, too. And I thank you for your compliment, little Sassenach.” Griselda leaned over the bar to wipe up something with her rag.

            “Sassenach? What’s that?” I asked with a mouthful of stew. I involuntarily moaned at the taste of a delicious meal.

            “It’s what we call an English lass,” she smiled and walked away. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was American.

            The door to the pub swung open, and I turned around to see who had walked in. I started at the feet of the person, noticing mud covered leather boots over large feet. As my eyes traveled up this persons legs, I could definitely say that it was a man, because those legs were super hairy. The kilt he was wearing kind of gave it away. The tartan was mostly red, with a bit of blue and green in the plaid. The chest of the man was broad, covered in a black cotton shirt. And the face, my goodness the face of this man was heaven. He had a square jaw that was graced with a scruff that would melt any woman into a blob of gush. His nose was solid, strong, if not a big crooked, probably from his share of bar fights. His hair was dark, like the clear night sky. And his green eyes looked at me with such vigor that I swore he knew everything about me and he knew every secret I could possibly hide. It was intimidating.

            “Griselda, my favorite. A pint, please.” He sat down on the stool right next to mine. The place was empty and he had to choose the one right here? I couldn’t breathe. He smiled at Griselda as she put the tankard down in front of him, and I swear his smile could cure cancer. He nodded his head in my direction, asking Griselda a silent question.

            “A Sassenach, Duncan. And a verra lost one, it would seem.” Griselda answered his question with a wary look my way. She leaned on the bar top, and the two of them studied me, like I was a mouse in a cage.

            “Cassandra. My name is Cassandra.” I told them after a minute of silence. I didn’t know if it was what they were asking, but I figured it was a good start. Beginnings are not my strong suit, reader, if you remember. “Or, you know, Cassie, works, too.” They didn’t answer, so I was awkwardly trying to fill up the silence.

            “And where are you from, Cassandra, lass?” Duncan asked me with a wink. He was deliberately flirting with me! I reminded myself to breathe.

            “Um, Reading? It’s near Salem, Massachusetts.” I swallowed hard. He was making me nervous and uncomfortable.

            “The colonies? You’ve come a far way, Sassenach.” He winked, actually winked, at me as he took a swig of his beer.

            “You could say that. How far, exactly?” Maybe I could reason with this beautiful man in front of me. Reason wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do with him, but civility was a must in a strange town.

            “Och, have you hit your head, lassie?” Griselda laughed at me. Apparently, it was a stupid question.

            “Yeah, let’s go with that. Could you help me? I honestly don’t know where I am.” I supposed I had to play up the confused card. It wasn’t that hard. I was completely confused.

            “You’re in County Argyll, Sassenach. The seat of Clan MacDougall.” He said matter-of-factly.

            “Right. Okay. Clan MacDougall. No idea who that guy is. Let me ask you a stranger question, is that okay?” I waited for their approval. “What year is it?”

            The laughter that boomed through the pub sat with me for a while. It was an all-encompassing laugh. A laugh you wanted to hear forever. I longed to hear that laugh again. I told my self to think of a funny joke that a handsome Scotsman would like to hear.

            “What

            The laughter that boomed through the pub sat with me for a while. It was an all-encompassing laugh. A laugh you wanted to hear forever. I longed to hear that laugh again. I told my self to think of a funny joke that a handsome Scotsman would like to hear.

            “What year is it, Sassenach? You must have really hit your head! It’s the year of our Lord, 1750.”

            I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

            I was in 18^th century Scotland. With a man who looked like sin.

            And I was wearing jeans.

            I was about to be burned at the stake for Witchcraft.

            I was so screwed.

            “Sassenach,” Duncan leaned in closer than he probably needed to. And for an 18^th century man, he did not smell as bad as I had expected him to. Surprisingly, he smelled clean, and musky. And gorgeous.

            “Yep, apparently that’s me.” I tried to keep my eyes on him. I figured it was the best idea. I didn’t want to show fear. “I mean, that’s okay. It’s a cool nickname. I’ve never had a nickname before. Well, they say you can’t pick your nickname, so I’ll take it, I guess.”

            “You talk a lot for a woman.” He was still very close to me. “But, that is besides the point. What kind of breeches are you wearing, Sassenach?”

            I had to look down to remember what I was wearing, because at the moment I wasn’t sure of much.

            “Oh, these are jeans. Are they okay?” I wanted his assurance on everything. That sounded logical. Why did I feel stupid?

            “Och, I like them. I’ve never seen a lassie in men’s breeches before. I wouldn’t complain if I did again.” His smile was a sin. It was like eating a chocolate sundae after trying to lose weight. It was sinful. “But I have a feeling that the other men in this town might have a problem with it.”

            “Sassenach,” Griselda took me out of my trance. I had to look away from Duncan’s face in order to address her. She was smiling like a cat that had just caught a mouse. “There is a dress shop down the way. I’ll take you there. We’ll get you some proper clothes. Duncan, watch the bar.” She winked at him, and made her way around the bar to me.

            We walked along the road, her arm in mine. It was familiar, like a sister, or a best friend would walk with you like that. Griselda was a nice woman. She mentioned shops in town and the people that owned them. She waved hello at a few who were looking at me with odd expressions. Those looks made me feel naked, and exposed. Usually I love wearing jeans. They are my favorite type of pants. But I realized that in 18^th century Scotland, I was being pretty vulgar showing off the contour of my legs. I wished that we could get to the dress shop quicker.

            “How did you get to County Argyll, Cassandra?” Griselda asked me as she steered me through alleys and side roads.

            “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. I just woke up in the woods back there,” I pointed away from where we were walking.

            “Och, I’m glad you’re here. There needs to be a woman in town who I could talk to. A lot of the Cailleach don’t like me.”

            “What’s a Cailleach?” I asked attempting to mimic her accent. The Scottish words were always hard for me to remember.

            “An old lady. They don’t like me. They think I’m in this town to steal all their silver and their sons. I’ve just opened a pub.” She shrugged her shoulders, and smiled at me. I really was starting to like her. She led me into a shop (finally), and looked around to see if the shopkeepers were around.

            “Stay here, little Sassenach. Don’t want you startling any one just yet.” She walked towards the back of the shop, and disappeared behind a white curtain. I heard the shrieks of women greeting each other, and smiled at the sisterhood of female friends.

            I only had one friend back home in Reading, Mass. We had met in first period History our freshman year of high school. Her name was Maggie. She looked past my strange, friendless past and embraced me. We talked about all of the normal things girls do when alone. We talked about the boys in school, the cute ones, the ones we liked. We talked about future plans, like where we would go to college and all the exotic places we would visit on our summer “after high school, before college” trek across Europe. Of course, the Europe plan was always contingent on parental approval. Which my parents flatly refused. They didn’t like that I had gone to Orlando with friends on Spring Break. They sure weren’t going to let me go to Europe by myself.

            Griselda walked out from behind the curtain with the dressmaker and her husband. And I was frozen in place. Roderick.