Chapter 2

I am Mick Odell, the Next and I was born on the boat coming over from England. My parents thought that this new world would be better than England and they were right. My father disembarked, with me in my mother’s arms, and walked straight away to the first smithy he saw. Being an experienced wheelwright, he found work, as you would say today, right off the boat.

Making wheels for wagons and carts, at a time when the whole world seemed to be moving West, paid well, and provided steady work. My father eventually opened his own shop way out west in the wild lands 100 miles west of Philadelphia. It was located on the road to Pittsburgh. My mother insisted that I learn how to read and write and how to do arithmetic. She wanted me to take over my father’s business someday and she knew that I would need those skills.

That occurred far before I thought I was ready. At the age of 18, I was forced to take over my father’s business when he and my mother took our wagon to acquire wood for wheels and disappeared. I found the wagon but no sign of them was ever found. It was a great mystery that was the talk of the area for many years, since it was rumored that my mother was a witch or a faerie from the old country.

I’d built a room onto the back of what was now my shop and was living in that room instead of in my parent’s home. I wasn’t aware that they’d left for a day. A few weeks after I realized they were gone I was in front of the shop fireplace having just finished an evening of sitting in the pub staring at a dark ale while the local doxies tried to take me upstairs.

It was another dark and stormy night in the Spring when a tremendous bolt of lightning appeared to hit just outside of the shop, followed almost immediately by a tremendous clap of thunder. It was so loud and intense that I ran to my door to see if any damage had been done to anything.

As I peered out into the darkness, I saw a small figure curled up in a ball. It was illuminated with each proceeding bolt of lightning. My first thought was that some poor individual had been struck by the huge bolt of lightning and was dead out in the rain and wind.

Out of concern, I ran into the storm to the figure on the ground. Imagine my shock, to find that it was a female that was lying in the depression of the earth. When I reached her side, I took hold of her arm and she stirred. She was alive! She was unconscious and was not wearing a stitch of clothing. Picking up her slight body was easy for a man that made wheels and I took her into the shop. I lay her small body on the hearth in front of the fire before retrieving a heavy quilt from my cedar chest.

I dried her the best I could without taking liberties and then wrapped her in the quilt. I wonder how many people may have seen me taking a naked woman into my home. It was very late, and not knowing who to go to for help, I decided that the only thing I could do was to make the young woman more comfortable. I stoked the fire a little hotter than normal, placed a pillow under her head and sat, watching her for over an hour before I turned in.

Imagine my concern when I woke in the morning to find that the young woman had not moved. Figuring that she had succumb to her situation in the night, I went to her and shook her shoulder. I jerked back, startled, when she jumped up and stood before me. She clutched the quilt to her body, looked at me and froze.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mick. Mick Odell, the Next.”

“It worked. It really worked. Hurry, Mick Odell, the Next, kiss me.”

Dumbfounded would not adequately describe my reaction to that statement. The woman stood with the quilt still clutched to her body and, on unsteady feet, advanced towards me.

“Please kiss me. It is vital that you do so immediately.”

I can read and I can write, and I can do various mathematical functions, but this did not add up. I stood frozen in place as she stepped closer until she was within arm’s reach. She dropped the quilt and, standing on her tip toes reached up, took my head in both hands and kissed me.

This was not a kiss like I had ever heard of from the more experienced men at the tavern. The woman pushed her tongue into my mouth and moved it around, chasing my own tongue like she was playing some strange game of tag. That game was accompanied by a tingling sensation like none I’d experienced.

When she broke the kiss, I bent down to pick up the quilt at her feet. I found myself pausing to take close stock of what a woman’s body looked like, having never seen one, other than my own mother’s when I was a nursing child. I had never seen a naked breast and here I was looking straight into two of them. I looked down into a tuft of golden hair covering a puffy mound of flesh with two very distinct portions of pinkish, brown flesh protruding from the fluffy bush.

I stood, blushing furiously at my ungentlemanly boldness. She noticed my flushing face, brushed some of her golden hair away from her face, picked up the quilt and covered herself.

“Hello Mick Odell, The Next. My name is Angel and I’m here for you. I am to be your wife and to be the mother of your sons.”

I couldn’t have dropped back into my chair any faster if you had shot me. I watched Angel as she walked around and began to examine her surroundings.

“They said it would be primitive, but I had no idea. This is going to be a wonderful life.”

“Angel?”

“Yes, Mick?”

“I have questions.”

“I imagine that you do. But for now, let’s worry about the basic important things in life. I need clothes and food.”

“I have pants and shirts, but they will be very large on you.”

“I can wear them until we can find a shop with clothes for me. Now what have you to eat?”

“I have bread and butter and porridge.”

“Thank you, that’s a good start.”

I made breakfast and tea. While I prepared the food, I told Angel where she could find my pants and shirts and she clothed herself. When she joined me at the table, I served her what I thought were healthy portions of porridge and bread and butter. She ate with such zest that I thought she may not have eaten for days or weeks.

“Angel, now that you have eaten would you please tell me your story?”

“No. I can’t tell you the whole story, only the part that will help you and me to make a life and pass it on to our sons.”

“You see, that is one of the questions I have. I don’t know you or your people, how is it that you would think that I would have children with you?”

“Because I have come all this way to be with you and you will NOT turn me away.”

“You came a long way, did you?’

“Farther than you can imagine.”

“I don’t recognize the accent of your speech. I know that you are not Irish or English or Dutch.”

“No, my dear, I am none of those. Does it matter where I am from? Or is it more important that you don’t have a wife or sweetheart and I have come to fulfill those roles for the rest of our lives.”

“Angel, I am not sure that I want to spend an additional day with you. How is it you think I would spend my life with you?”

With that she must have had enough of my logic. She stood and took off my pants and shirt and walked, naked, towards the door.