Just thinking of Marilee saddened him. What would become of her? He couldn’t imagine her ending up with some rough and rowdy cowpoke, but in all likelihood it could happen. She was young and inexperienced for all her womanly ways and could easily fall prey to an unscrupulous drifter. If only he hadn’t given his word to Lilly. In fact, if not for the injury he may well have called the wedding off. She was not the woman he imagined her to be.
Spiteful and mean spirited to Callie Mae and the girls, she seemed to delight in causing trouble for them. Half the congregation shunned them and those that didn’t only managed polite conversation at its lowest form. If Lilly hadn’t seemed so heartbroken and contrite over his injury, he would have told her she’d need to look elsewhere for a husband and find someone willing to put up with her deceptions and attempted manipulations. As it was, he’d been drugged half senseless when she pleaded for a second chance. He still didn’t know if it was from genuine affection for him or concern over the loss of his income that had her weeping and wailing. She’d begged his forgiveness and he’d given it, his speech slurred, but still they’d all heard him. Now he was stuck, possibly for life with a woman he neither trusted nor respected. Well, it wouldn’t be a comfortable union for her either. He had a feeling his hand would wear out long before Lilly learned to behave. The knock on the door pulled him back to the present.
“Come in.”
“Dinner’s about ready,” Witt said. “Would you like to join us or would you rather I bring you a tray?”
“I’ll join you,” Mead replied, pulling himself into a sitting position before laying the bed flat.
“Here, let me help you,” Witt said with a chuckle as he took the remote from Mead. “I know everything is strange and different, but by the time you’re ready to go back you’ll be an old pro at this.”
Once the bed was down, Mead used his strong arms to transfer himself to the chair and released the brake as Witt had shown him.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Witt asked as he led the way to the formal dining room.
“Not nervous exactly, just afraid I’ll make a mistake and give myself away.”
“Not to worry, your back story will cover any mistakes and the testing tomorrow will be painless if a little uncomfortable depending on the position they put you in and how long you’ll be in the machine.”
“Machine?”
“Yes, it’s similar to a very large barrel. You lay on a narrow table, and they slide you in. Don’t worry, it’s open and you’ll be able to see the room and the technicians through a glass window. They’ll be able to hear you and you them. It is quite loud and will remind you of someone hammering, but it takes pictures of your body beneath the surface. They’ll be able to see precisely what damage has been done to bone, muscle, and circulatory system and assess what the best method of treatment is. Hopefully it can be repaired with only one surgery.
“They’ll also draw blood from your arm with a needle.”
“Why would they need my blood?”
“They’ll need to type it, or match it with donor blood,” he explained, “in case you were to need a blood transfusion during surgery. It’s all standard procedure,” he assured Mead with a smile. “By the time you leave here you’ll know more about your body than you ever wanted to.”
As a courtesy to their guest, Witt kept the meal simple with roast beef, mashed potatoes and carrots. For dessert he served apple pie ala mode and coffee.
“You probably shouldn’t eat anything else tonight,” he advised as they sipped a brandy in his office while Cara cleaned up. “Some blood tests require fasting. You can drink water, and in the morning have black coffee, but that’s it until we know for sure what they’ll need from you.”
“All right,” Mead agreed, savoring the best liquor he’d ever tasted. “Thank you for being so accommodating.”
“Not at all,” Witt said, lifting his glass in a salute. “In some way we are connected and after you’ve recovered sufficiently to return here for rehabilitation, I’d like to ask you some questions, sort of pick your brain, if you will.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you what I can, but I don’t know how much help I can be. I hope at some point before I go back, we can figure out whose great-great-great grandson you are?” Mead said with a teasing grin.
“Yes, that would be interesting. Do you have everything you need? Would you like something to read?”
“No, I’m having a good time just playing with that box on the wall,” Mead smiled. “You wouldn’t believe what I saw on there this afternoon.”
“Oh, I think I would. It must seem odd to you, but people in this century are very uninhibited.”
“Morgan told me about the way people dress, but I never would have guessed some don’t dress at all.”
Witt laughed.
“Most of what you see on the TV is fiction. Actors are paid to play the parts and it’s recorded and shown to millions of people who pay to watch it.”
“I watched part of a gun fight and almost dove for cover,” Mead admitted sheepishly.
“Those are called westerns. They try to depict life in another time, like the old west. You’ll have to let me know how accurate they are.”
“I’ll do that,” Mead agreed, finishing his drink. “But for now, I think I’ll turn in.”
“Goodnight, and don’t hesitate to use the intercom if you need anything.”
