Chapter 5

My mind raced back to a memory from two years ago. Due to a certain heritage project in history, I had taken an interest in my family history. That night, when I got home from school I asked my mom a question that I had been holding in for practically my whole life. I wanted to know about my dad.

When I was finally able to ask mom after dinner that night, I was a little surprised as to how calm she actually was about it. “I always knew you would eventually ask” she had said. We then sat down in the living room and she told me about everything from when she and my dad , whose name was Charles, had first met until when he had died in a car wreck when I was only ten months old.

She told me all about his personality and all his quirks. She went on and on about how he would’ve wanted nothing more than to see me grow up into the beautiful young woman that I had become. She didn’t really cry until she told me about the night that he died. She explained how she had never really talked about him before because she missed him so much and couldn’t help that think it had somehow been her fault that he was dead, even though it wasn’t. She admitted that she felt guilty and almost silly even for have never telling me more about him before.

At the end of all this, my mom gave me a small picture that she had pulled from a hidden pocket of her wallet. It showed a much younger version of my mom holding a small baby, me, and a man that I had never seen before, but I definitely recognized him. The most certain give-away was his blue-gray eyes, the same ones as mine. This man was my dad.

And now, I found myself standing before the same man, looking into the same exact blue-gray eyes. Only this time it wasn’t a picture, it was real. He looked at me and smiled, spreading his arms, welcoming me to a hug. With tears brimming in my eyes, I ran toward him and returned the hug, with even more tears beginning to pour down as I buried my face into his chest. He squeezed me tightly and kissed the top of my head. I never wanted to let go. But he had to.

He took a step back form me and put his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye and smiling, obviously oblivious of how important this moment was to me and exactly why I was crying. “It’s okay now, darling. You’re safe and sound back where you belong…” He looked over my shoulder to Thomas and called him over. Thomas looked down, appearing flattered and took a step closer. “Yes sir?” he questioned, looking up to my father.

“If you would be so kind, Thomas, would you please walk Anna back to her quarters? Once she is there, please come back to my cabin for a word if you would.” Thomas nodded curtly and turned to me, offering his hand. I didn’t want to leave my father but I didn’t dare contradict him either so I cautiously took Thomas’ hand as he led me across the deck and down a set of stairs into the ship, the entire time being acknowledged by random men that I had never before seen in my life. I quickly came to a realization that I had yet to see any other women on the ship.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a hallway with many doors. Thomas kept walking and led me to the door at the very end where he opened it and led me just inside the room. It was a small room, about half the size of my room in New York. It didn’t have a lot in it either. Just a small bed, a chest, and a simple desk with a mirror over it and a chair.

I cautiously walked further in the room and over to the desk. On top of it lay a brush and a small, detailed, metal jewelry box. I placed my hand on the desk and absentmindedly ran my hand over the grainy wood when I heard a cough in the doorway and turned back around. It was Thomas, who had yet to leave. “I-Is everything alright, Anna? Do you wish to talk about anything?”

“I’m fine…” I mumbled absentmindedly. He looked downward, defeated once again, and turned around, apparently headed back up to see my father.

As soon as he was out of sight, I shut the door and went back to the desk. There was only one drawer and the only things in it were a journal and things for writing. I grabbed the journal and sat down on the bed, leaning against the wall, and began to read. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as I realized that it was mine, handwriting and everything. The only thing that actually surprised me was the date: February 26^th, 1645. It was the same day as the ski trip, except nearly four hundred years earlier.