A Memorable Man. Joan Hohl

I’ve been told she goes off on rather wild and strange flights of fancy.”

      Delusions? Wild and strange flights of fancy? Containing an urge to laugh aloud, Adam shot a glance at the woman under discussion. Although the woman hesitated near the curb, her expression of growing consternation seemed merely to indicate mild indecisiveness. She certainly didn’t appear to Adam as either odd or given to sudden wild and strange flights of fancy.

      At that instant, just as Adam heard the two ladies say their goodbyes and separate, the woman stepped off the curb and into the street. Adam did likewise, strolling toward her as she strode toward him. As they drew alongside one another he felt another decidedly strange jolt, at the same time noting the sudden widening of her eyes.

      What the hell?

      Even as the thought flashed through his mind, Adam was brought up short by the sound of her voice.

      “Andrew?”

      A case of mistaken identity. Surprised by the sharp sense of disappointment he felt, Adam turned to offer her a small smile and a reluctant disclaimer.

      “Sorry, but no, I am—”

      “No, of course not.” She smiled, raised her eyes, and sighed, as if impatient with herself. “You wouldn’t be Andrew. Not again.”

      Huh? Clueless, Adam stood there, right in the middle of Duke of Gloucester Street, not only speechless but dumbfounded to the point of being oblivious to the horse-drawn wagon lumbering toward them.

      “Oh, dear, after all this time, you still don’t know, do you?” She sighed again, then, before he could think of a reply or even so much as how to reply, she glanced beyond him and grasped his arm. “Come along,” she urged, leading hum back the way he had come from the other side of the street. “We’re in danger of being run down here.”

      Run down? Adam frowned, but nevertheless moved at her bidding. Surely the woman knew better than most that vehicular traffic wasn’t allowed within the restored area? His silent query was answered the next moment, when the touristladen wagon rumbled by, missing them by a mere foot or so.

      Well, damn, he reflected, staring in bemusement at the horses and rough-hewn conveyance. He couldn’t recall seeing anything about the availability of wagon rides in the packet he’d been given at the visitors’ center. Of course, at the time, wanting to experience the place for himself, rather than read about it, he had given the information little more than a casual perusal.

      “It’s a wagon,” he said, unnecessarily, and more to himself than to the woman standing beside him...now well out of harm’s way. “A horse-drawn wagon.”

      “I know.”

      The thread of amused understanding woven through her voice snagged Adam’s attention. Forgetting the wagon, he turned to level a probing look at her. “What did you mean earlier, when you said I wouldn’t be Andrew again?”

      “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” she replied, her smile enigmatic and knowing.

      Knowing what? Adam wondered, frowning. She was a total stranger to him; what could she know? One of them was slightly off kilter here, and he knew that he was not the one. He suppressed a sigh, deciding that perhaps those two ladies had been correct in their assessment of the woman. Nevertheless, he forged ahead.

      “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about.” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

      She shook her head. “No, no mistake about your identity.” Her eyes, as green, deep and mystifying as a shaded mountain glen, stared into his. “My mistake was in believing, hoping that by this time you might remember.”

      “Remember what?” he demanded, his voice rough edged with impatience and a startling deeper sense of disappointment. “I’ve never seen you before. What’s to remember?”

      “Oh, lots.” The smile she gave him was wistful, overshadowed with longing. “More than you probably could ever imagine.”

      Adam felt a jolt of something stirring inside his mind, and a thrill of...excitement?...inside his body.

      But this was ridiculous, he reasoned, trying and failing to shake off the mental and physical activity. Those two elderly ladies were right; there was something not all together about this woman.

      So distracted was he, Adam didn’t notice the man coming abreast of them. The soft drawl of the man’s voice brought him into awareness.

      “Good afternoon, Mistress Dase.”

      “Good afternoon, sir,” she replied respectfully, dipping into a quick curtsy.

      Confused by her abrupt change of demeanor, Adam glanced at the man. Obviously another reenactor, he was elderly, pleasant faced, his costume denoting a personage of means and some standing in the community.

      “You are on your way home?” The gentleman’s gaze dropped to the cap dangling from her fingers, then back to her face. A twinkle of intelligent amusement sparkled in his otherwise plain brown eyes.

      “Oh...yes.” A becoming flush infusing her cheeks, she raised her hands and settled the cap over the knot.

      The man’s lips twitched. “I wish you a good evening, then,” he said, beginning to move on. His laughing eyes made contact with Adam. “And you, also, sir.”

      “Good evening, sir,” she responded.

      Thoroughly confused by the exchange, Adam could manage no more than a nod of acknowledgment in return.

      “What was that all about?” he asked the moment the gentleman was beyond hearing.

      “It’s bad form to be out of costume or character while in the area,” she answered, an unrepentant smile tugging at her full lips. “He gave me a teasing reminder of my cap.”

      “I...er...” Adam began, only to be interrupted by the very same gentleman.

      “Mistress Dase, on the chance you have forgotten where you are, you are standing in the middle of the road.”

      She groaned, grabbed Adam’s sleeve, and made for the curb before replying, “Ah...yes, thank you, again, sir.”

      Chuckling, the man went on his way.

      The woman beside Adam laughed as well.

      Adam shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this,” he confessed. “Who is that man?”

      “A reenactor,” she answered, her smile reflecting the laughter lightening her incredible eyes. “This time, his name is Mr. White, and he’s playing the role of a very important figure of the period.”

      Adam’s pragmatic mind latched onto two of her words. “This time?” He eyed her warily, as if steeling himself for a sudden flight of fancy. “What do you mean by ‘this time’?”

      “Oh, he’s been here before.”

      Uh-huh. A wave of regret washed over Adam. The ladies apparently knew whereof they spoke, he thought in abject dejection. Then, gazing at her laughing, beautiful face, another thought sent his spirits soaring on the wings of hope. Perhaps, forewarned and halfway expecting the odd, he had misconstrued her remark. Maybe, just possibly, she had meant that the older gentlemen had done this work before, and at that time had enacted a completely different type of role.

      “I see,” he said, not quite truthfully. “And... er, have you also done this before?”

      “Several times.” Her smile shifted from secret delight to soft compassion. “But, of course, you don’t remember.”

      Oh, hell, not again. Adam suppressed a groan, and raked his mind for an intelligent or even merely adequate response, hating the sensation of being way out of his depth. But before he could come up with anything, another, younger voice came into the confusing mix.

      “Good