ONE

She hurried down the middle of the well-traveled road. With every stride, her feet scuffed up dust and pebbles into the humid air.

Morning illuminated the wayside garden, its sunflowers bowing in autumnal postures. A long shadow crept across the facade of the parish church, cast by a diminutive pastor climbing the steps. Sunlight glinted off a scarlet coach pulled by four horses, turning onto the green toward the Governor’s Palace.

She raced through the market square, darting past merchants arranging bonnets and baskets for sale. In the field beyond, soldiers in long blue coats with shouldered muskets practiced formations.

The scent of a hickory fire from the tavern yard hailed the preparation of roasted meats for luncheon. Her mouth began to water. She ran past a young woman unlocking the apothecary shop with lace-gloved hands, her gown rising off the ground to reveal a glimpse of petticoats.

Directly ahead was the massive Capitol building, blockading the street. She detoured around its walled girth, her attention drawn by the mumbling of Burgesses inside, about to gavel into order. She almost collided with a nearby trio of cloaked girls, giggling and playing with hoops and sticks. For a moment, she considered joining them in their games, but continued on.

Finally reaching the inn at the far end of town, she sat on its steps to catch her breath. A maiden peered at her through a rippled window, unlatched the door, poked her linen-capped head out, and asked, “Will ye be in want of refreshment, ma’m? The cider has been pressed of late, and has been declared most excellent.” Although touched by the girl’s offer, she politely declined, stood up, and ran off toward the main street again.

Her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest, but she continued her pace. Dizziness set in. The carved shop signs and colorful flags became a blur. A breeze blew up the dust. She sidestepped a hitching post, and barely avoided an oxcart. Just one more block to go...

Suddenly Lady Gaga burst into song: “I was born this way, I was born this way...”

“Who the hell’s calling me so friggin’ early?” she growled while yanking the singing phone out of her waistband. Squinting at the screen, she saw her boss’s name. At that moment, her left foot squished into a deep, sticky pile.

“Sssshhhhitttt!” she hissed, stopping in her tracks and peering down at her sneaker, which was embedded in a mass of brown dung. “Shitshitshit!”

She looked around for the nearest place to sit, plopping herself down on a log curb. The rough bark pinched through her spandex shorts. Tossing the unanswered phone beside her, she groaned, “I can’t believe it...I take my eyes off the street for one lousy second...” As she reached down and unlaced the sodden shoe, a shadow hovered over her. Looking up and squinting into the sun, she saw the silhouette of a tall man in a three-cornered hat, perched atop a horse.

“May I be of some service, m’lady?” came the voice from above.

“Too late, pal,” she snarled, “I already stepped in your animal’s crap. Ain’t you guys s’posed to clean up after your filthy beasts?”

The man dismounted gracefully and removed his hat, revealing bright red hair tied in a ponytail. His long coattails blew in the breeze, and sunlight glimmered from his brass buttons and knicker buckles. Studying the pile of droppings in the street, then her splattered shoe, he announced, “I assure you that it was not the fault of my stallion. It must have been deposited by the Governor’s four-in-hand, which passed this way most recently.”

“Well, whoever’s fault it is, they just ruined a brand new pair of Jordans.” She managed to slip off the tainted sneaker and muttered, “Ugh! What a mess! They’re destroyed! Ya know how many benjamins these cost me?”

“Pardon me...benjamins?”

She dropped the sloppy shoe onto the ground and looked up at him. “You never heard of benjamins?”

“I fear not. Not in that manner.”

“Franklin, ya know? He’s on the hundred dollar bill.”

After pondering for a moment, the stranger began to chuckle. “Benjamins indeed! Who would have thought?”

She rolled her eyes. Lady Gaga sang again; it was her boss redialing her. This time she answered it. “Hi, Ronald.”

“Where are you, Professor Gallucci?”

“I’m running the DoG.”

“The what?”

“Ya know, Duke of Gloucester Street. What is it, Doc?” She knew that when he called her “Professor Gallucci”, it meant that he had serious company.

“Come up to my office right now. You’ve got to see something.”

“I can’t, Ronald, I’m teaching an 8:15 and I’m sweatin’ like Nixon. Lemme clean up first...”

Engrossed in the chat, she didn’t notice that the stranger had carried her dirty shoe to a nearby water pump. Pushing the pump’s arm slowly, he carefully controlled the flow of water as he rinsed away the muck, handling her sneaker as if it were the most precious of objects.

Her attention was on her phone call. Ronald grew more insistent. “This is really important. You’re not going to believe what I have in my office.”

“I don’t care if you got Mick Jagger in your office. I gotta hose down and teach my class first.”

“Damn it, I need you here now, Professor!” he grunted and hung up. He was pulling rank. She couldn’t just blow off the head of the department.

“Great. So I’ll go to your office in my sweaty shorts and shitty shoe,” she muttered at the silent phone, then tucked it back into her waistband.

By then, the stranger had returned, buffing the perfectly cleaned sneaker with a fine white handkerchief. She gazed up at him from her curbside perch, her brown eyes widening with amazement. “It’s looks like new! How’d ya do that?”

“You are fortunate that the excrement was lately produced. Such fresh matter is removed with ease.”

He lowered himself to one knee on the street in front of her and asked, “May I?” Delightedly astonished, she extended her long leg toward him and replied, “You soy-tainly may!”

He lifted her ankle, carefully slipped the sneaker onto her foot, and laced it up neatly before rising.

A warm tingle crept up her spine. Her scowl turned into an enormous smile. “I feel like Cinderella!” she beamed up at him. “How can I ever thank you?”

“You have already thanked me with your humorous jest,” he replied. “I believe Mr. Franklin would find it most amusing that his image is engraved upon currency.”

“Well, you’ll just have to tell him all about it.”

“It is unfortunate that Mr. Franklin does not dwell here at the present time.”

When she prepared to hoist herself to her feet, the stranger offered her his outstretched hand, which she gleefully held as she rose. Adjusting her workout top, she noticed him stealing a glance at her cleavage, then quickly looking away. Men...they never change, she thought.

“Hey, I gotta run now. Thanks again, Mr... Mr...?”

“Jefferson,” he replied, holding his hat and bowing deeply. “Your servant, madam.”

“Thomas Jefferson?”

“The same. And, may I ask...?”

“I’m Gina. Professor Gina Gallucci. Nobody’s servant.” She attempted some sort of curtsy and almost toppled over.

Jefferson’s face showed genuine surprise. “You...a professor? At the college?”

Her toothful smile reappeared. “Are you shocked to meet a female professor?”

“Indeed,” he answered, stepping closer. “And, may I add, such a youthful and charming professor at that. I only wish such a pleasant academic arrangement existed when I took my schooling there.”

A strange rush ran through her. She felt her face burning. Am I freakin’ blushing? This guy’s unbelievable. And he looks kinda cute in that colonial get-up.

As Gina turned to leave, Jefferson asked, “May I offer you a ride?”

She stopped and stared. “On your horse? You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

“Have you never mounted a steed?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But we got a different kind of steed in Bensonhurst,” she winked as she resumed her run.

“Bensonhurst?” he called to her. “Is that where you hail from?”

“Yeah, Bensonhoist, in Bwooklyn, ya know?” she replied.

As the distance widened between them, he raised his voice. “Thank you for informing me about the benjamins!”

“Don’t thank me too much, Jeff,” she yelled back, “Franklin’s on the hundred. You’re only on the two.”

Near the end of the block, she passed a small colonial building labeled “Tickets and Information.” Running past an open window, she exclaimed to a clerk inside, “You got a great Jefferson here!” The clerk nodded knowingly.

Just as Gina stepped off the curb, a huge bus barreled through the busy intersection, heading straight toward her. Its horn blasted and she quickly jumped back onto the brick walkway. “Damn tourists!” she snarled. A line of faces gaped from the passing row of bus windows, above a long sign proclaiming “Welcome to Colonial Williamsburg.” As soon as the massive vehicle passed, she hurried across the street, through an opening in a white picket fence, and was instantly on the campus of the College of William & Mary.