“Who—who are you?” I stammer.
“My mom named me Tallulah Mae, but you can call me Tallie.”
I stare at her. Who is this woman who just appeared out of nowhere? I don’t think she’s with Whit—I never saw any women with him in the Readings. And from the way that she waits, arms crossed, for me to say something, I can tell her attitude is impatient rather than menacing. She throws off her hood and a cascade of elbow-length red curly hair springs free. “See. A normal, unthreatening, thirtysomething woman. Not a serial killer bone in my body, I swear.” And she gives this grin that wipes any lingering doubt from my mind.
“There are some men after me,” I say, half whispering, and dart an anxious look over my shoulder toward the pastureland.
“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m ninety-nine percent sure they won’t follow us, and my house is just five minutes upslope. Now come on, let’s get you indoors.” And she drapes my arm around her shoulder and helps me hobble much more quickly than I could on my own.
As we follow the stream uphill, I don’t see anything slightly resembling a house or any sign of civilization. And then, all of a sudden we are approaching a large log cabin. “Wow, I didn’t even see that coming!” I exclaim.
“Camouflage,” she says proudly. “I’ve planted trees strategically around the place so that even if lights are on, you can’t see them from the base of the mountain.”
We come around a clump of bushes and I get a full view. It stops me in my tracks. “Your house is built over the stream?” I gasp.
The main section of the log cabin is two stories high, but there’s a windowed room—like a closed-in balcony just as wide as the house—that stretches over the rushing water and is supported by stilt-like wood columns on the far bank.
“Yep. You’d think it was just whimsy, but in fact it’s terribly practical to have running water so close.” Smiling, she opens the door and helps me totter through. Her jade-green eyes sparkle, and the smile on her bowed lips is genuine and friendly.
“Let’s see about this foot now. I’m going to be really careful,” she says, and eases my tennis shoe off my hurt foot. I wince as a lightning bolt of pain passes through my ankle, but the shoe is off and now Tallie’s peeling back the sock. “Well, now. It looks like you might have a sprain here,” she says, touching the swollen skin lightly. “But if you were able to put a tiny bit of weight on it, which you did, then it must not be too bad. Let’s get you over to the couch and ice it.”
She leads me into the space, which I see is one big sparsely furnished room lit brightly by a half-dozen oil-burning lamps.
She eyes me merrily. “Don’t usually like guests. But you’re a special exception.”
“Why’s that?” I ask. I hobble my way across the room and lower myself onto the couch, swinging around to prop my hurt foot on the cushions.
“Because I was expecting you,” she says matter-of-factly, staring straight at my right eye.
“But why?” I ask. “And how did you know where to find me?”
“Do we have to share all our secrets right away?” she asks, and pulls a metal box from a corner cupboard. She starts rummaging through it. “Let’s see. Ace bandage might come in handy. Skin’s not broken, so we don’t need disinfectant. Ah, here,” she says, and pulls out a plastic pouch the size of a paperback book and begins squishing it in her hands. She presses it against my ankle, and I gasp in surprise.
“It’s ice-cold!” I say, and put my hand on the first-aid box to see if it’s some kind of refrigerator. But no—the metal is room temperature.
“You’ve never seen an ice pack?” Tallie says, a grin stretching across her lips.
I shake my head.
“Okaaaaay,” she drawls. “I thought you were supposed to be from the future.”
“What?” I ask, mystified.
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “By the way, I told you my name. I still don’t know yours.”
I sit staring at her. What is going on? Who is this stranger who claims to have been expecting me? If she’s not with Whit, how did she know I was coming? Her body language suggests friendly, not dangerous. But I’m still wary.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just pick a name. Hmm . . .” She leans her head to one side, considering. “How about Frederica? Fred for short?”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. “I’m Juneau,” I admit.
Tallie nods approvingly. “Suits you better than Fred. Goddess or city in Alaska?”