I begin telling it.”
She ran plausible scenarios through her head, backwards and forwards. She could pretend to be sick, addled, or soft-minded, but that might be dangerous. They might try to take her to a doctor or admit her into a sanitarium. Then, they might try to contact her family in Chicago. She could be arrogant and demanding and put them on the defensive. This was another bad idea, since they could insist she leave and decide she was some kind of gypsy, thief or imposter. Why shouldn’t they? She had no identifying papers, no letters of introduction and no clothing. That could turn disastrous and she would end up shoved out on the road with only the clothes on her back. She didn’t have any money to travel with, and besides, where would she go?
There had always been charlatans and identify thieves since the beginning of time. The Bradentons might be cautious also. She thought it best to be friendly and stay open to clues in their conversation. She could be a distant relative, traveling, who decided just to drop in. Might that not work?
One time she and her mother played hostess to a distant relative from Poland. All they had was a phone call from the girl’s aunt, who they knew socially, in the suburbs and an initial meeting in a hotel lobby downtown where the girl was staying. They had a pleasant evening, with dining out, and a little sightseeing without any problems, except a slight language barrier which was breeched with laughter and sign language. They could have been easily tricked into accepting her visit, but at least they did know the aunt. People crashed awards shows and parties all the time. All it required was a little chutzpah.
She felt a little better, and thought it best to play that hand. She would throw herself literally and figuratively at their feet, expecting hospitality and comfort for a short while. Later, she could figure out a way to get back to the year two thousand ten which she had come from. Once again, she heard footsteps. This time it was not the maids. Mr. and Mrs. Bradenton entered the room, a little worse for wear, Donna thought.
“Good morning, young lady!” Mr. Bradenton said. His wife was on his arm, a little pale but smiling. A good sign , Donna thought.
She remembered her manners, rose, and went to take his hand. She started shaking it firmly, but then had doubts. Perhaps in this time period, a woman would offer a weaker, more feminine grasp. Unsure of the mannerisms, she split the difference. She offered a medium-strength clasp and hoped it would be acceptable. Mr. Bradenton surprised her and not only shook her hand but grasped her arm halfway to her elbow. He immediately set her at ease with his friendly gesture. He was dressed in a manner that Donna would have thought a bit stuffy and formal in her time, but people were more particular in their way of dressing in this time—whatever time it was. He had on polished black boots, black trousers, a white shirt and jacket, though tie-less. Perhaps that was good enough to greet guests on a weekday in your own house. Donna would have been dressed in a jogging suit and slippers if it was up to her.
Mrs. Bradenton was dressed in a sort of shirt-waist dress, with her dark hair pulled back into a loose braid. Her hair was very long, with the bottom of the braid hitting low on her hips. She’s probably never cut her hair , Donna thought. Her shoes were a sort of soft looking leather, almost made as a ballet slipper. They didn’t look durable enough to wear outside; they were probably her house shoes. People in their social class wouldn’t wear bedroom clothing to greet a guest.
“My dear,” Mrs. Bradenton said. “You must fill us in on your trip. Please, sit down and we’ll have the maids bring some tea and toast.” She looked curiously at Donna’s face, and Donna hoped that nothing was amiss. All her makeup was washed or worn off and she was rather bare faced. Suddenly, she realized Mrs. Bradenton was staring at
She ran plausible scenarios through her head, backwards and forwards. She could pretend to be sick, addled, or soft-minded, but that might be dangerous. They might try to take her to a doctor or admit her into a sanitarium. Then, they might try to contact her family in Chicago. She could be arrogant and demanding and put them on the defensive. This was another bad idea, since they could insist she leave and decide she was some kind of gypsy, thief or imposter. Why shouldn’t they? She had no identifying papers, no letters of introduction and no clothing. That could turn disastrous and she would end up shoved out on the road with only the clothes on her back. She didn’t have any money to travel with, and besides, where would she go?
There had always been charlatans and identify thieves since the beginning of time. The Bradentons might be cautious also. She thought it best to be friendly and stay open to clues in their conversation. She could be a distant relative, traveling, who decided just to drop in. Might that not work?
One time she and her mother played hostess to a distant relative from Poland. All they had was a phone call from the girl’s aunt, who they knew socially, in the suburbs and an initial meeting in a hotel lobby downtown where the girl was staying. They had a pleasant evening, with dining out, and a little sightseeing without any problems, except a slight language barrier which was breeched with laughter and sign language. They could have been easily tricked into accepting her visit, but at least they did know the aunt. People crashed awards shows and parties all the time. All it required was a little chutzpah.
She felt a little better, and thought it best to play that hand. She would throw herself literally and figuratively at their feet, expecting hospitality and comfort for a short while. Later, she could figure out a way to get back to the year two thousand ten which she had come from. Once again, she heard footsteps. This time it was not the maids. Mr. and Mrs. Bradenton entered the room, a little worse for wear, Donna thought.
“Good morning, young lady!” Mr. Bradenton said. His wife was on his arm, a little pale but smiling. A good sign , Donna thought.
She remembered her manners, rose, and went to take his hand. She started shaking it firmly, but then had doubts. Perhaps in this time period, a woman would offer a weaker, more feminine grasp. Unsure of the mannerisms, she split the difference. She offered a medium-strength clasp and hoped it would be acceptable. Mr. Bradenton surprised her and not only shook her hand but grasped her arm halfway to her elbow. He immediately set her at ease with his friendly gesture. He was dressed in a manner that Donna would have thought a bit stuffy and formal in her time, but people were more particular in their way of dressing in this time—whatever time it was. He had on polished black boots, black trousers, a white shirt and jacket, though tie-less. Perhaps that was good enough to greet guests on a weekday in your own house. Donna would have been dressed in a jogging suit and slippers if it was up to her.
Mrs. Bradenton was dressed in a sort of shirt-waist dress, with her dark hair pulled back into a loose braid. Her hair was very long, with the bottom of the braid hitting low on her hips. She’s probably never cut her hair , Donna thought. Her shoes were a sort of soft looking leather, almost made as a ballet slipper. They didn’t look durable enough to wear outside; they were probably her house shoes. People in their social class wouldn’t wear bedroom clothing to greet a guest.
“My dear,” Mrs. Bradenton said. “You must fill us in on your trip. Please, sit down and we’ll have the maids bring some tea and toast.” She looked curiously at Donna’s face, and Donna hoped that nothing was amiss. All her makeup was washed or worn off and she was rather bare faced. Suddenly, she realized Mrs. Bradenton was staring at
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