Free The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 1): First Time by Samuel Ben White

came. I don’t feel it at all now."
    She reached a hand out to his forehead and said, "You don't feel feverish. Have you perhaps hit your head recently?" She bit her lip lightly, realizing she had already asked that question. She began to wonder if maybe he had, but didn't remember it. She also continued to ask herself just how wise it was to be talking to such a strange man.
    "Not that I know of."
    For his part, he was noticing the coolness of her hands, the somewhat rough skin of a woman who worked hard and, by the looks of her outfit, scrubbed floors and maybe dishes. Still, the feel of her hand on his forehead sent chills through his body. He wanted to hold onto the hand indefinitely. The thought made him blush and he quickly moved her hand off his forehead. He thought he saw a blush in her cheeks and wondered if she were having similar thoughts though he refused to let himself believe she might be.
    He put his hands briefly on his knees, then stood up. He hadn't realized how short she was—probably no more than five-two—when he was sitting, and now he towered over her. He was used to being taller than most people, but this made him uncomfortable for some reason. He looked around, though he saw nothing beyond Sarah, and finally said, "Well, I seem to be, um, confused. Until I can get things straightened out, I'll probably need to find a place to stay. I'll probably also need some funds. Do you know where I might find work?"
    She thought a moment and his size reminded her of something she had heard recently. She said, "I believe I heard Finneas Franklyn—that's the smithy—say he was looking for a strong young man to assist him. You might try there."
    "A smithy, huh? Yes, that would be great. Where might I find this...Franklyn, you say?"
    She nodded and pointed to her left, "Go down to that next street and turn right. You'll see a large barn a couple dozen paces thataway. Finneas should be in there."
    He nodded in thanks and took a step or two in the direction she had pointed. He abruptly turned and said, "Thank you for talking to me."
    She initially wasn't sure why, but she smiled and said, "The pleasure was mine."
    He nodded again and started again to turn and go, but asked, "Will I—will I see you around?"
    "In this town?" she chuckled. "It is nigh impossible not to see someone. You have to try really hard to not see or be seen." She pointed to the building Garison had sat in front of and said, "But I work here, at the tavern. If you want a meal you haven't cooked yourself, you will most likely find it here."
    He looked up and, for the first time, noticed a rough piece of wood hanging over the door bearing the legend, "Blue Boar Inn." He smiled to her one more time, could think of nothing else to say, and turned quickly to go. As he walked away he wanted sorely to turn and take one more look at the angel he had just met, but figured she had already forgotten him and gone inside. But Sarah stood on the porch until he had turned the corner, wondering just who this Garison Fitch was. He raised in her a feeling she had never had in the presence of a man and the sensation thrilled, frightened and annoyed her.
     
    Garison turned the directed corner and willed himself not to look back, though he wasn't sure why. He saw the big barn and could smell the smoke of the smithy's place from the corner. He quickened his pace a bit though he was a little worried that the smithy would treat him like everyone else had. Everyone but Sarah, that is.
    He then slowed his pace as he wondered why Sarah had talked to him when no one else would. If he truly were in the eighteenth century, that would explain why his clothes—and even his hairstyle—always drew such looks of surprise. He could understand the reticence everyone seemed to have towards him and imagined he might be equally suspicious of meeting someone who showed up in twenty-second century clothing. But why not Sarah? He guessed her to be a young single girl for she hadn't