Murder Recall

Rates of Time

Today I am one hundred and four years old. Everyone seems very old or has already died. Michi is a grandmother. A certain peace has finally settled upon our world unheeding the words of those who admonish that history repeats itself, especially to those who care not to remember it - against the words of those who claim that there is far more than one telling of a story and truth is never grasped in the service of one opinion or another. I am alone today because Michi and her family are struggling with winter illnesses they don't want to pass along to an old lady. I don't mind. I never feel lonely especially when I am by myself.

I am repairing the doll that I have had since I was a baby. Eventually I gave it to Michi, then Michi gave it to her daughter and then her daughter gave it to her own daughter. It was my birth mother's before me, so Dolly is a real antique. Upon Michi's request when she was eight years old, I made a cloth doll, much smaller than Dolly, out of a white lace handkerchief and a little white baby sock I found at New Eden, which is what I named the old Laymuir Residence, where I am today. I sewed the little doll to the left hand of Dolly so that Dolly was always holding the right hand of the little doll that Michi named Babydoll. The embroidered stitching of Dolly's heart had frayed and I was adding more brilliant red thread to her heart with thoughts of Dolly's original maker who I never knew and could only imagine however vividly. Was it my grandmother or my great grandmother or someone yet further back in time who had originally created Dolly?

Steam rose from the boiling kettle. I am still strong, especially for my age. I rose and poured the boiling water into a teapot containing loose leaf tea. I finished repairing Dolly and placed her on the table against a very old typewriter, one of the first models from way back, so that Dolly was facing me with Babydoll snuggled beside her. I took my first sip of tea. I heard noises, put my cup down and went to the open window. I was on the third floor in the room in which I had made my little home within the residence. Other than the garden, the rest of the place was still in the state of abandon that it was when I inherited it. A mother bear and four cubs almost ready to be on their own were making their customary rounds of the property. Suddenly there was the extremely loud explosive bang of a shotgun and the bears fled - none hit.

I ran down the spiral staircase, gripping the railing so as not to fall. I ran outside and screamed, "No shooting! No hunting! This is private property!"

A man showed himself amongst the trees, "It's not loaded," he called back to me.

I advanced with confidence towards him, utterly unafraid. "What are you doing here?" I asked. We looked at each other. "Who are you?" I asked again. He was familiar but from another time.

"My name is Conrad Conner," he said, "I was scaring the bears away from the house. They shouldn't be snooping here. There's plenty for them to eat in the forest. There have been incidents where bears have charged people and eaten some of the flesh."

I spoke slowly, "Conrad Conner was the name of my adopted father. He died many years ago. Who are you? As for the bears, I am familiar with this family you just scared off. You may have caused more damage than good by displacing their trust with suspicion and fear. I have heard no gossip about bears around here eating people."

He was looking at me intently and said, "I adopted a little girl years ago. Her name was Gwen."

"That's my name," I exclaimed totally surprised, "That's me. I am Gwen Conner by adoption and Gwen Laymuir by birth."

"Is this coincidence?" Conrad asked, "It has to be since our respective ages are wrong for it to be fact. Was your adopted mother Hilda?"

"She was," I answered completely puzzled. He looked mystified too. How could this be? But it was. We were staring at each other, experiencing and sharing the same reality.