21st birthday

Patrice slowly came to consciousness with a cold rain on her face and warmth at her back. She slowly sat up and looked around in the dim light, her head pounding and she shivered. The warmth moved and her eyes partially focused on a large canine face with green eyes.   It nudged her and she got up to follow it nearly tripping over a backpack, she picked it up, and recognized it as her pack she used for camping. She staggered as she swung the pack to her back. Lightning struck a tree about 6 feet from her, she could feel the charge of electricity tingling throughout her body, she felt her dark hair pull away from her head in all directions.  She reached down and grabbed a handful of fur and followed the wolf down a very narrow path through the trees. She stumbled as he nudged her into a small cave nearly hidden at the side of the path. It was just as cold as the outside but it was dry.  Patrice dropped her pack and sat next to it on the hard floor, and breathed in the musty smell of decaying leaves. 

“A great way to start my 21st birthday adventure, thank you for saving my life” she said aloud to the large, grey and black wolf.

Patrice rubbed her eyes and looked out of the cave opening, the rain had stopped and the sun was just coming up.  She started to step out onto the path but the wolf quietly blocked her way. When she looked through the trees she saw five natives with painted faces walking slowly up the hill, only one was on the path but the others, partially hidden in the trees, were there. 

Patrice froze as a hand covered her mouth, she felt someone's hot breath on her neck. She turned to face a man in buckskins with a deeply tanned face, but she thought he was white he put his fingers to his lips and motioned for her to follow.  She hesitated but thought that this man dressed like an old time trapper or woodsman of some sort and definitely looked more friendly than the warriors with various designs of red paint on their faces, besides if they were filming something she didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, she was sure her hair was a mess. She picked up her pack and followed the man down a smaller path away from where the warriors were headed. She was aware of leaves and twigs crackling and snapping under her feet but the man and the Wolf made no sound. 

“Where are you taking me? Who were those people? What are you guys filming?”

“Those Apache are part of a war party; the least they plan to do is steal horses, but one of their braves was killed a few days ago, so they may have more than horses on their minds. What are you doing here alone!?” 

“I came out here to be alone.  To collect samples of wild herbs and flowers, to fish and rest in the wilderness.  I cleared it with the park rangers. They told me that there was only one other camping party coming in but he thought that they would be on the other side of the ridge by now.  Nobody said anything about  filming any native american pieces.”

The man stared at her and raised one eyebrow. “I am Smith, you are?”

“I am Patrice and this is wolf, he saved my life last night”

The man almost smiled at that, held dried meat to the animal, “I call him Ba’cho, I saw where he took you last night.”

“You’ve been watching me?!”

“It is unusual for a woman to be alone in the woods, your clothes are unusual too”

“These are normal clothes, jeans and tee shirts.  What are you filming? Why didn’t the park rangers know anything about it?”

“I have no idea what you mean by any of that, but I can introduce you to some women who can help you with your herbs and fish.”  The man and his wolf continued down the narrow path.  Patrice followed, frowning, looking around for cameras, when she couldn’t see any cameras or any production staff she started getting nervous.  Her apprehension grew when a village appeared seeming to sprout right out of the ground.  There were several Teepees, some fires and a few women scraping hides stretched  over wooden frames. Patrice stared at the scene, she heard the women talking and didn’t understand a word they said.  She felt panic rise from the pit of her stomach, flashes of light and dizziness overtook her. 

Pritrice tentatively opened her eyes; she lay on a pallet made of hides, strange smells assaulted her nostrils, old hides, fresh hides, and some burning herbs brought her fully to conciseness.  She looked around at the brown faces staring at her.  Her gaze traveled until she found Smith. 

“What day is it?”

“Last time I was in town it was September 6, 1737, not sure exactly how many days since then about a week I’m guess’n”

Patrice closed her eyes again and took several deep breaths, sat up and said half to herself “Am I dreaming? two days ago I entered the state park on September 14, 2023” louder she said “may I stay here for a few days? Does anyone else speak english?”

A young girl about 14 reached out and took Partrice’s hand. “I speak english, learn at mission school, this is grandmother” she said, indicating a beautifully wrinkled old woman, “she say you can stay with us as long as you need to.” 

Patrice sighed and nodded “thank you”

A few days later Patrice’s small teepee was full of drying herbs, drawings and descriptions of herbs with their intended usages.  She sat on the ground at the edge of the village watching the sun set.  She had traded her clothes for buckskin tunics, breaches, and moccasins. She had to admit that the buckskins were more comfortable than she thought they would be.  She was watching a couple of braves training a horse with her Pitt State t shirt covering its eyes. She turned her head slightly and saw Grandmother sitting next to her.  “You want go home?” 

Patrice’s eyes widened, “you speak english?”

“you come from other time. You go home?”

“Do you really think I can?’

“The place where Ba’cho found you is sacred, no one walks there, during storm, my grandmother disappeared,  returned years later.”

Patrice continued to stare at the older woman, nodding unable to speak. The older woman continued to speak softly. “Storm come tonight,”  pointing to the darkening sky.  

 She packed her bag quickly. All that was left of the things she brought with her was her pack, her phone which she managed to mostly keep hidden, a notebook, one last pencil and ballpoint pen.  She tore the unused sheets from the notebook and handed them and the writing utensils to the older woman.  “I will always remember you. Are you sure I will be able to get home?”

The older woman shrugged, and led the way away from the village, up the path to the sacred clearing. 

A few minutes later Patrice stood next to the rock that she woke up next to a week earlier, soaked to the skin in the pouring rain, she felt the charge of electricity as lightning struck the rock next to her.