Page 8 of Rose's Ripped Van Winkle

“Why do I need this? Are you planning on crashing?”

“It’s the law.”

I don’t complain. In fact, I suddenly pretend to be very dense so she has to lean over and buckle me in. Some of her hair has slipped out of the cap. The red highlights flash gloriously in the morning sun.

I don’t pretend I’m not interested. If the prophecy is correct, she’s the reason I woke from my slumber. She’s my one true love. There’s no reason not to take a deep whiff of her scent and then praise, “Roses. Of course pretty Rose would smell like one.”

Instead of appreciating my compliment, she snorts. It seems women have changed a great deal in the last hundred years.

The car is silent as we drive to town. I’m not certain which technology is more impressive, the microwave or this. For a moment, I want to resist all the changes, wishing I was back in 1911. Then I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and vow to embrace all the new developments I’m about to witness.

As we walk through a town alive with people, I can’t help but gawk. It’s like a circus, but instead of clowns and ladies on the tightrope, there are men, women, and children who all seem to either be talking into handheld devices or clutching paper cups.

As I lean closer to catch the aroma of the hot beverage carried by a teenage girl plastered in far too much rouge and cosmetics, Rose murmurs "Coffee from Sip and Smile. If you’re good, I’ll buy you one before we go home.” Her giggle is full of mirth as she teases me, then she gets serious. “But first, we need to get you some pants. Pronto.”

We enter the store and my breath catches when I see all the choices. The colors, fabrics, fits, and styles are overwhelming. Rose shops quickly. After having me try on a few shirts and pairs of pants, she darts from rack to rack, knowing instinctively what will look good. At least I hope so.

When we approach the counter to pay, Rose pulls out a little rectangle, smaller than a playing card, and passes it to the cashier.

“Credit card,” she whispers, as if this transaction she’s making is so commonplace, my ignorance of it will give away my secret.

I stare in awe at the little piece of plastic that causes a smile to spread across the shopkeeper’s face as if it were actual money.

We grab some food at an odd little restaurant where no one waits on us. Rose explained we have to go to the counter to order. After choosing the sandwich I want, I’m more fascinated with the box of moving pictures on the wall than the food.

“Television. TV,” Rose laughs. “Those are in every home and many businesses. It’s entertainment. In fact, the little rectangles people are so engrossed in as we walk down the street? You can even watch things on them.”

I don’t want to appear the rube, but I can’t contain my urge to shake my head in amazement.

After lunch, we continue our way through town. It’s a pleasant place full of interesting shops we have no time for.

“With all these great shops, it’s too bad there’s no art gallery,” Rose observes. “A touristy town like this could use one of those. Maybe one day it will be full of your paintings.”

“And yours.”

My praise surprises her, but we continue through town gathering necessities for me: new clothes, shoes, and toiletries.

There’s only one person on Earth right now whose opinion I’m concerned with. Rose. With every upgrade to my appearance, Rose’s smile broadens. For the first time in my life, I’m enjoying shopping.

Now that I’m dressed in the latest fashion of blue jeans and a black polo shirt that has a tiny embroidered moose on it, people have ceased staring at me, although I see one or two do a double take when they see Rose.

She seems tense and tips the bill of her hat lower.

For a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever discover the secrets Rose is hiding, but then I let that worry go. Everything will unravel in due time.

Chapter Eight

Rose

“This is perfectly good coffee,” he says as we drive back to the cottage. “I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Right. Coffee’s coffee, but I wanted to give you a Sip & Smile experience,” I reply, enjoying the way his lips twitch in amusement. “It wouldn’t do for you to miss out on the modern-day coffee shop experience. Now you’re in with the in-crowd.”

We park on the gravel drive and he takes my hand as we walk inside. He’s gushing about all the changes he’s seen, then stops, looks at me, and says, “I don’t have one of those little rectangles or any money, but I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

When we walk inside, I gesture to the walls. “You said you painted these?”

“Yes.”

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