The day was rainy, and since I'd been up late the night/morning before, I decided to take a little nap and enjoy the natural cool while the rain saturated the air and fell on the thirsty earth.
I awoke to a steady banging on my front door. Good grief, I thought. It can't be a wildfire with all this moisture. Not sure why else someone would make all that racket, I hurried to the door and flung it open.
Fuzzy as I was with sleep, I was confused to be confronted by a slight young woman dressed in 19th-century finery. I know I frowned, but her face already bore that expression, her mouth down-turned and her eyebrows drawn together, which made unflattering lines on her face.
Me (blurting the words): Who are you?
Her (angry, angry, angry): You know who I am! You said I'm spoiled. I never heard the like. I've half a mind to tell my father how to get here to deal with you, you wicked . . .(her voice peters out as she takes a breath.)
Me (half-offended, but stoic): Oh. Ella Ruth Allen. So Ben spilled the beans.
Ella Ruth: I do not know what that means.
Me: It means Benjamin told you about our conversation.
Ella Ruth (in a prissy tone): No. He did not have to do that.
Me: What do you mean?
Ella Ruth: I followed him last week, and learned his secret, his little rainbow trick. All I had to do was stand beside the rainbow and listen.
Ella Ruth (snorting at what must have been my astounded face): You writer people think you can keep us in the dark. Well, it did not serve you well to keep the rainbow entrance secret. I will let my father know about you and your vile ways.
Me: Your father hasn't made an appearance. He does not exist yet.
Ella Ruth (glares at me)
Me (narrowing my eyes at her.): Perhaps this writer person will not put him into a scene at all. Then he will never exist. How about them apples, missy?
Ella Ruth: Humph!
Me (pointing down the ramp): Get off my porch.
Ella Ruth swirls her skirts angrily and starts down the ramp to disappear into the misty rain.
Me (muttering): I'm going to get a lock for that rainbow!
Copyright © 2013 Marsha Ward
*This is a work of fiction. I don't really talk to time-traveling characters from my
novels. I do like them a lot, though, and am glad they pass under the
rainbow from time to time to visit me in my own time and place. To order autographed copies of my novels, The Man from Shenandoah, Ride to Raton, Trail of Storms, and Spinster's Folly, visit my website at marshaward.com or Westward Books.