A Knight in Central Park (7 page)

Joe lifted a brow at Shelly, surprised by her ability to accept any or all of the woman’s time-travel nonsense.

Shelly raised a brow of her own. “You’re the one who just promised to rid her family of some ancient medieval knight.”

He turned to Alexandra. “Is Richard a knight?”

“A pampered lord,” she corrected.

“Ahhh,” he said as if that made more sense and would be no problem.

“Where do you keep your weapons?” Alexandra asked anxiously. “We have less time than I originally thought. Weapons will need to be inspected and blades sharpened.”

“Woaahhh, wait a minute,” he said, wondering suddenly if he’d been a bit hasty in making a deal with her. “What does the full moon have to do with my meeting Richard?”

“Everything,” Alexandra said. “I cannot take you to meet Sir Richard until the moon is at its fullest.”

“What is he, a werewolf?”

“Nay. He’s merely a man, like you.”

Shelly came back to the table and took a seat, setting the stone before him. “I’ve never seen anything like this. At first glance it looks like a chunk of granite, but if you hold it to the light...” She drew the stone up close to the lamp. “You can see flashes of color inside.”

Joe nodded, his thoughts a million miles away. This was Wednesday, two more days until Friday. He turned toward Alexandra. “Where exactly are you planning on staying until the next full moon?” He was sure he already knew the answer.

Alexandra peered at him with wide, hopeful eyes and said, “With you. I promise to make myself useful,” she quickly added. “I can weave and—”

“I’m sure you’re talents are never-ending,” Joe cut in, “but what I need is quiet.”

“I can hawk, hunt, and play chess as well as any man,” she went on desperately. “I can help with the gardening.”

“No, no,” Shelly blurted, “I wouldn’t go near the garden again if I were you.”

Joe stood. “Hawking abilities, or not, you can’t stay here. It’s out of the question.”

“But she’s only asking for three more days,” Shelly argued. “Classes don’t start for another week. I’ll keep her busy during the day while you finish your research.”

“What about the student papers I gave you to grade and the handouts I need for next week’s lecture?”

“I’m nearly finished with them,” Shelly replied. “I’ll take Alexandra to the library with me tomorrow. Since you have an extra bedroom, she’ll have to sleep here though. Then on Friday she can take you to meet Richard.”

“’Twould be appreciated,” Alexandra murmured.

It was suddenly so quiet you could hear the drip of the faucet. The women stared at him, waiting for his answer, making him uneasy.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Alexandra can sleep here for two more nights, but that’s it.” He wagged a finger at Alexandra. “And don’t think for one minute that I’m buying into this moon story. I don’t like being conned. If Richard exists, then I’ll talk to him. But after that I’m taking you straight to the women’s shelter across town.”

“Come on,” Shelly said to Alexandra, urging her from the room while he rambled on with his lecture.

Alexandra didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly gathered her stones and followed Shelly out of the kitchen.

Standing in the empty room with his finger still pointed outward, Joe realized he’d been duped. Alexandra Dunn had gotten exactly what she’d wanted. From the first moment he ran into her, she’d played on his guilt like Jimmy Hendrix played the strings of his guitar.

It was true. A sucker was born every minute.

F
riday came fast and Joe did the same thing he did every morning. He showered and shaved, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then put on a clean white t-shirt before heading downstairs.

Shelly and Alexandra had left hours ago. When they returned, he would go with Alexandra to Central Park. He felt like Don Quixote on some unimaginable quest. Only in this version “Dulcinea“ was the crazed and impoverished one who wanted to set out and revive the glory of knighthood that had been so romanticized.

Would Sir Richard turn out to be a giant windmill, he wondered...a figment of Alexandra’s imagination?

Joe hit the switch, lighting the kitchen before he set about making a pot of coffee. Soon his life would be back in order, back to normal, back to the way it was before he ran into Alexandra Dunn.

Odd, he mused, that he failed to feel the usual excited rush that generally accompanied any thought of getting back to work. He dumped three scoops of coffee into the filter, hit the ON button, and tried to transform his muddied thinking to a more studious mind frame.

He spotted the beaded cardigan Shelly had purchased for Alexandra; the cardigan hung wrinkled over one of the wingback chairs. Until Alexandra was gone for good, he wasn’t going to get any work done at all. Slippers and magazines had been tossed under the kitchen table. Did the woman ever put anything away?

While the coffee brewed, Joe gathered Alexandra’s things and carried them to the guestroom. He frowned at the sight of sheets and pillows strewn about the room. From the looks of things, she had meticulously dissected a fake fern. Amongst the plastic leaves littered about the floor were pictures torn from magazines. It took him a moment to find a place to set her things.

The woman was a slob.

Hours later, Joe sat at the built-in desk in the kitchen, skimming his notes. Straightening, he tried to get the kinks out of his neck. Alexandra and Shelly returned a while ago and were now busily packing Alexandra’s things.

He took his reading glasses off and rubbed his eyes, thinking of the day when he would be accepted in the Academy. What would his father say to him after all these years? His father, a renowned archeologist, rarely visited the States to see his only son, but by the end of the month his father would undoubtedly show up for the acceptance of the Academy’s newest member.

Joe pulled the chain from around his neck, touched the gold medallion with the pad of his thumb. Years ago, long before his mother passed away, his father had found the medallion near The Pennine Chain, the backbone of England. His father had spent most of his life trying to prove the medallion belonged to the Black Knight, one of the last knights of the Middle Ages. But his father’s theories were always proven erroneous.

Joe had just turned thirteen when his mother died. His father returned long enough to attend her funeral and give his only son his cherished medallion. Joe knew the ornament meant a lot to his father, but that didn’t lessen the pain when his father left him for good, leaving Joe to be raised by an endless string of friends, who, if truth be told, had no idea of what to do with him.

Every few years Joe received a letter from his father. The hard-to-read scribblings told of his whereabouts and generally ended with a message saying he would visit...but also with details of how he was oh-so-close to unearthing the identity of the Black Knight and thus couldn’t break away just yet.

The Black Knight. How does one go about uncloaking an illusion?

Joe pulled the chain back around his neck, tucking the medallion safely inside his shirt. A round of muttering in the other room caught his attention. He went to the living room where Shelly was packing shoes, clothes she’d collected, and magazines in a duffle bag. She crossed the room, fiddled around in her purse, then returned with a BB gun and pepper spray, which she placed in his open briefcase.

“What are those for?” he asked.

“Alexandra insisted.”

After a short pause, Shelly said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I’ve been meaning to apologize for being so frank with you.”

“No harm done.”

“Although I’m definitely not in love with you, Professor,” she teased, “I do care for you, which is why I’m starting to have second thoughts about you going to the park tonight.”

“Alexandra is perfectly harmless, remember?”

“I agree, especially after spending the last three days with her. Her views on life and family are healthy ones.”

He cocked his head. “Then what’s the problem?”

Shelly placed a few more items in his briefcase. “I think Alexandra is telling the truth.”

“About what?”

“About everything.”

Joe frowned. “You can’t be serious.”

Shelly wrung her hands together. “Can you believe this?” She waved her arms in the air. “I’m majoring in Psychology and all I can come up with is that Alexandra Dunn is telling the truth about traveling through time.”

A sharp laugh escaped him. “Don’t go there, Shelly. You’re the best assistant I’ve had in years. I don’t need you to go traipsing off the deep end. Not now.”

“You should’ve seen her face when we walked through the mall the other day. She was speechless.”

He’d seen the look. Saw it every time Alexandra turned on the faucet or opened the refrigerator. Twice he’d caught her turning on every lamp in the house. “’Tis amazing,” she’d say when he asked her what she was doing. Nothing though, fascinated her more than the television set. She’d stayed up every night watching late night movies.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Shelly went on, “but I don’t think you should go to the park tonight, especially to meet some guy who only comes out when the moon is full.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said with a smile. “The Renaissance Fair begins tonight. The park will be filled with college students.”

Shelly smiled half-heartedly.

“There’s a package on the kitchen table that I need dropped off at Professor Whitaker’s office tomorrow afternoon. Would you mind?”

“Done,” she said before adding, “Did Alexandra tell you about our visit to the museum?”

He shook his head.

“It was amazing to listen to her. She knows more than most curators about medieval art and history...things a regular person off the street wouldn’t be familiar with.”

“I know.” Joe went to the window and peered out into the night. The moon had never looked so full and round, and eerily bright.

Who was Alexandra Dunn?

It was dark by the time Alexandra thanked Shelly for the clothes and gifts and all else she’d done for her since she arrived. Alexandra wore a comfortable off-white sweater and stone-washed jeans beneath a beige faux-fur jacket. Wearing breaches had taken some getting used to, but they were quite comfortable. She gave Shelly a hug, then headed for the dimly lit street, leaving Shelly and Sir Joe alone to say goodbye.

Alexandra watched the carriages they referred to as cars. As they sped past, the headlights resembled shooting stars, one after another. Horns sounded in the distance. A breeze touched her face, leaving a string of shivers in its place.

Although she would miss some of the wonderful conveniences of this time, especially the people boxes they called television, she was eager to return home and rid her family of Sir Richard, once and for all.

She glanced back at Sir Joe. Hard lines, a firm chin, and a strong profile made it hard to look away. With each passing moment it was getting easier to imagine him aglitter in polished armor; holding a sword, the hilt inlaid with precious stones. Tingles crawled up her arms at the idea of Sir Joe gazing at her in the same way the man on the television had looked at his lady...with a fiery, intense passion. But the odds were surely against that ever happening, for Shelly had told her everything she knew about Sir Joe: His inability to love fully, his inflexible nature, his fear of marriage, children, and commitment. Shelly would have laughed had Alexandra told her Sir Joe was her destiny...the man she was to marry.

Regardless of his many shortcomings, Sir Joe had some desirable qualities, too. He always smelled nice, like fresh air after a good long rain. And he had been fairly helpful upon occasion when it came to showing her how to clean or how to use one of his many modern contraptions. And he was kindhearted, going to all the bother of capturing a small eight-legged creature and setting it free, instead of squishing it beneath the heel of his boot.

Alexandra pushed flyaway strands of hair from her face. Continuing her perusal of Sir Joe, she found herself questioning whether he looked more scholarly than knightly. He definitely possessed a warrior’s physique and a noble face: chiseled cheekbones, firm lips. She did not want to think about those lips. She had yet to passionately kiss a man, but the yearning to kiss Sir Joe had struck her at the oddest times. For instance when she had left a muddied trail across the wood floor. His face had lit up with a fiery intensity. Not in anger, but in utter frustration. He had looked childish, rambling on about trudging mud into the house, until she could think of nothing but the idea of silencing him with a kiss. Again the desire to kiss him had struck her when her mouth had been filled with toothpaste and he had insisted on instructing her on the art of cleaning teeth. With his body pressed hard against her and his intentions clearly noble, he had been difficult to resist. But the moment she most wanted to kiss him was when he’d read to her after breaking their fast. Together they had shared opinions and ideas between sips of steaming tea. And after a moment’s pause, he had read to her from the morning paper, one story after another. She had hung on every word, each building upon the other, adding to the story and bringing them closer in the process.

And when she had stopped him to question him on a word’s meaning, he had simply explained and then continued on. Aye, that was the moment she had envisioned him holding her tight and kissing the very breath from her.

Sir Joe came toward her now, breaking her from her thoughts. “Time to go,” he said. “The moon isn’t going to get any fuller.”

“Come be thee blithe and merry at the Faire,” a young woman dressed in medieval costume called out, gesturing for Alexandra and Joe to come forth.

A large portion of Central Park had been transformed into a maze of crowded artisan stalls. Hundreds of costumed players entertained visitors who browsed the make-believe village for unique handmade goods and one-of-a-kind treasures.

“Eat, drink, and be merry, for food purveyors are on hand within these gates,” a young man added. “Hello, Professor McFarland,” he called out. “Louise! Get the professor something appropriate to wear. ’Twould seem he forgot his costume.”