A Revolutionary Moment (chapter two)

Chapter Two

“Are you sure?” Aimee choked.

“No, I’m not sure, you nitwit. I told you we don’t mark the year very precisely!” she snapped.

Aimee was still frozen. This can’t be possible. There’s no way to go back in time yet! She thought urgently.

The woman watched as Aimee remained unmoving for quite some time. Then, suspecting that there were no more interrogations, she briskly turned to resume what she was doing before being interrupted, and her skirt kicked up a small cloud of dust.

This isn’t possible, she thought again, unless they’re playing some kind of game. But that doesn’t make any sense either. I’m always able to tell when Trevor is keeping something from me, and I just saw him! Maybe he wasn’t in on it. But, why would he stop me and talk to me for so long in the hall? He must have been trying to distract me so the others would have time to set up this illusion. But, like I said, I would have been able to tell. So…this must all be real. But how?

While pondering this, she was faintly aware of her name being called over and over again. She finally looked up to see a woman of about thirty walking towards her. She was wearing another one of those out of-this-century dresses. She walked over to her nimbly.

“Where on earth have you been?” the woman asked in another British accent. “I told you to stay by the watermelon stand!”

All Aimee could do was look at the woman, pondering who she was.

“Answer me! Don’t you have any respect for your mother, anymore?” the woman nearly shouted.

Befuddled, all Aimee could say was “You’re not my mother.”

The woman gasped. “Of course I’m your mother! You’ve been living with me for fourteen years!”

“No. My mom is Donna. My father is Randy. You aren’t either of them!” she snapped, but was secretly glad her age hadn’t changed any.

To this, the woman almost screamed. “You will come home with me right now and go straight to your room!”

She grabbed Aimee’s collar and began to drag her across the town square. Aimee looked down and was about to pry this strange woman’s hand off her, when she realized she was wearing a floor length dress with ruffles at the hem. It was a faded shade of salmon pink and had a pattern of roses all over it. She took a deep breath and was about to scream with frustration at not knowing what all this was, but found it strangely hard. After speculating this, she realized she was wearing a corset! Just like in her text book! The woman continued to tow Aimee into an old looking house. For some reason, she thought she recognized it. It was tall, with slightly faded, red brick. There were two small windows on the first floor, and two small ones on the second. The steps up to the door were lined with roses and pansies, and she could smell apple pies baking inside.

The woman hauled her through the door and said, “Go straight to your room!” When she said this, she pointed. Aimee decided not to argue. She turned and slumped down the hallway. The walls were filled with pictures, but no doorways. Aimee turned to a painting that looked like the woman that had just claimed she was her mother, and a man standing by her side. The painting was big, covering the wall from top to bottom. At the bottom of the painting, it said Mary and Randall Arnold, 1750. This must have been the year her “so called parents” were married.

She turned away and continued to trudge down to the end of the hall where there was a staircase. She looked up to see a set of about twenty steps leading up to a single doorway. The door was painted cream, but was turned a delicate peach because of the old lighting, which she discovered was candles.

She warily walked up the steps to ‘her’ room. It was not painted, but had walls of stone that seemed to have chills constantly coming off in waves. In the middle of the room was a metal framed, twin sized bed. The comforter was a light, worn down, pink. There was on pillow on the end with hand-embroidered cross stitching on it. A single stuffed bear sat in the direct middle with a dull crimson bow under its chin. Beside the bed sat a chipped, white table with an oil lamp in the center. There was a single, leather covered book in font of the lamp. On the left wall was a wide window with lace curtains and a window seat under it. On the right wall was a vast wardrobe with elegant carvings on the head and doors. Against the wall, next to the door she had just come through was a wooden table. Sitting on the table was a horsehair brush, and a single, silver hand mirror.

The whole thing looked as if it should be in an old movie.

She tiredly sat down on the rigid window seat, and gazed out the window. She could see the town square. There seemed to be two girls wandering around, looking just as confused as she had been, and still was. Behind them was a tall boy with dark auburn hair, who was either following them, or was with them. The strange thing was the three heads looked vaguely familiar. She shook her head and turned away from the window.  

Maybe I’m going crazy, she thought.

She decided a little sleep might help. She looked in the wardrobe to find more comfortable clothes in which to sleep. Finding a wool nightgown and deciding it was the best thing she would find, she tugged back the comforter and snuggled into her bed.

Just as she was drifting to sleep, she realized why those heads had looked so familiar. Three names rang through her mind in alarm.

Trevor…

Abby…

Claire…