Amendment

{Six} Tomorrow is a Different Day

Russ talked a lot. He loved the sound of his own voice, but mostly I think he was just that excited about history; he couldn’t contain all that knowledge just for himself. He told stories about saddles he was selling on e-Bay; about how he got in an internet battle with a guy who dared to question his historical accuracy. Russ would talk about work, about horses, about his newest leather-made creation. But mostly Russ talked about the Civil War. Almost everything came back to it. I could be having a conversation with my mother about how gorgeous Gerard Butler is, and Russ would butt in with a conversation about Stonewall Jackson he’d brought up that morning.

If my brother didn’t get to finish his thought process, he would bring it up until he said his peace—and then some. For the first half hour, we’d sit there and try to act interested, trying to say more than “huh” or “uh-huh”. But eventually it would wear on us and, no matter how craftily we’d try to shift the conversation, we’d be so bored that all our responses would be simply “huh”. The bad part was when he’d say, “Okay, I’ll leave you alone now” you’d feel so freaking bad you’d say something about the topic he’d been discussing, just to let him know you’d been paying a little bit of attention. And that’d get him started all over again.

It was something about him that drove us crazy. Sometimes we could really be into the conversations, being as though Russ was so freaking smart, especially about history. Yet other times we’d just want to brain ourselves…..and him.

But now, sitting at a lackluster of a table surrounded by people I’d known for only four days, I would give anything to hear Russ talk about the Civil War. Just to know he was okay. I’d find out tomorrow, hopefully. The wait was absolutely killing me. I hadn’t slept a wink last night; too worried about him showing up to this Election Day thing. What if he didn’t? Would that mean something had happened to him or that I’d just have to search harder? Or did it mean that I’d been the only one thrown back into time?

I swore I would act interested in whatever he wanted to talk about for the rest of his life. I’d even do some historic research just to keep up with him. I just needed to know he was safe. If he wasn’t….I didn’t know what I’d do. Probably go crazy—literally. I could feel myself headed there sometimes. This morning was not the first I’d woken up confused and thrown into despair when I realized it wasn’t just a dream.

I was thwarted by the few back-in-time novels I had read. Why weren’t they sick with worry? Why did they just relax into what they’d been dealt? It would help if I’d known at least one person who wasn’t awed by the science or history of it all. It was cool, sure, but in the grand scheme of things I didn’t really give a shit. I was a fairly historical-ignorant seventeen year old girl who was thrown back into sexism and violence with or without her older brother. What the hell was exciting about that?

I wished I could lose myself in this reality. I really did. But until I knew if Russ was okay…I just couldn’t.

To top it all off, Jim Vance was here again.

I’d been helping as much as I could preparing breakfast—Mrs. Hatfield had since learned her lesson on letting me help with cooking and had placed me in setting the table—when Cap looked out the window and announced loudly, “Uncle Jim’s here with that bitch.”

I was so appalled I nearly dropped the plate I’d been holding. I wasn’t sure what was more shocking; the fact that Cap had just called some poor lady a bitch, or that someone would actually be with Jim Vance.

Levicy growled under her breath and wiped her hands on her apron. She walked out of the kitchen to open the door for Jim, demanding, “That dog stays outside.”

What? They were calling her a dog now? Jeeze. I didn’t think things could get much worse in the world of the Hatfields. But, glancing out the window, I quickly realized my foolishness. Not a woman so ugly she’d been resorted to being called a dog, but an actual dog. I guess people really liked the term ‘bitch’ back then in referring to a female dog. Go figure I wouldn’t catch that, either.