Chapter 1

Looking up from checking the oil in the truck, I see my wife Meg locking the door behind her. “All set?” she asks, bouncing down the steps.

“Looks that way,” I reply, climbing behind the wheel, ready to start the trip. This was to be our last big adventure before she entered residency at the local hospital while I took up teaching history at the university. The back seat held our dogs, and the trailer was packed with our personal gear, all four of our horses, my portable forge setup, building tools, as well as Meg’s leatherworking and fletching tools. We were on our way to a new living history village depicting life in late medieval Europe that was in its infancy. I was to be the resident blacksmith, helping with the building and ‘martial’ exhibitions. Meg was to be our leatherworker, giving demonstrations of various methods of making bows and arrows and acting as our resident medic if anyone was hurt or became ill. We had started out on what would turn out to be the trip of a lifetime.

At this point in our tale, I should probably introduce myself and my companions. My name is Alan Ward. I’m a 28-year-old soon-to-be history professor. My thesis was a study of metalworking advances in the High Middle Ages. I’m 6’2” tall and 240 pounds with dark brown hair and green eyes. My wife, Meghan Ward, is 26 years old and scheduled to begin her residency in emergency medicine this fall. She is 5’6” and 125 pounds with long red hair and green eyes. Meg is one of the rare redheads that can tan rather than suffer through the “freckles growing closer together” reaction to the sun. Our traveling companions include our dogs Max, Emma, Bonny, and Janie. The dogs are all Black Mouth Curs. While a fairly young breed, they are great hunting and watch dogs. The horses are Rorschach, Midnight, Blackie, and Shadow, named in honor of the black coats that are part of the Friesian breed standard. Rorschach, our stallion, and the three mares are all purebred Friesian horses, each over 15 hands, with the stud horse being over 16.

Meg and I met our freshman year at university. To say it was love at first sight would be a lie. At 17, I still had not grown to my full height, and ‘husky’ was used to describe me more than once. Looking back, I know I made a pretty poor impression, if I was noticed at all. Meg, on the other hand, was one of the most beautiful girls in the class. Many thought her a bit ‘stuck up,’ though it was more a case of her being preoccupied with her studies, determined to maintain her academic scholarship. At the beginning of the second semester, we found ourselves members of the same study group for a philosophy class. During the semester, she somehow decided I wasn’t such a waste of time, and we became close friends. I don’t doubt that my “Freshman Fifteen”—the weight often gained by new students—being a loss of 15 pounds while gaining a couple of inches of height to a tad over 6 feet helped much. While not thin, I was getting more and more solid as I worked out in the school gym at least 4 times a week. I learned that Meg’s parents had been killed in a car wreck the previous summer and that she was determined to go to med school and specialize in emergency medicine. As we had become close friends, near the end of the spring semester, I asked her what her summer plans were to find that she didn’t have any or really any place to go after the loss of her parents. I invited her to spend the few weeks between spring and summer semesters at my Uncle Jack’s ranch outside of town. I’d lived with Jack for as long as I can remember, my parents lost in a boating accident when I was a baby. The break came and went, and we each took one class during the summer. I took a course on blacksmithing that filled an art elective, while Meg took a botany course that focused on herbal medicine. As summer turned to fall, I asked Meg if she would consider staying at the ranch and saving the money the dorm would have cost her for med school. As our sophomore year progressed, we both became involved in the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) as well as the local HEMA (Historical European Martial Arts) club. She became interested in archery and bow making, while I developed a love of the axe, spear, and sword. As time progressed, our friends started asking when the wedding was or referring to the other as our ‘boyfriend/girlfriend,’ etc., to our confusion. As we drove home from a HEMA training class, the Bonnie Raitt song ‘Something to Talk About’ came on the radio, causing her to turn to me and ask, “What do you think? Do we risk our current relationship in hopes of something better, or do we maintain the status quo?” I pulled the truck to the side of the road before turning to reply. “Meghan, I think I’ve been half in love with you since we met. The time since has only deepened that. I would love to see where our relationship could go. What I won’t do is push you to do something you are uncomfortable with.” Nodding, she turned back to the windshield, deep in thought, as I drove back home. Over the next few days, Meg was withdrawn, driving her car to campus rather than riding with me and talking little over dinner. Just when I was thinking I had screwed up and lost my best friend, she came into the ranch ‘office’ where we often did our studying. “I know I’ve been quiet the last few days, but I had a lot to think about. I realized how much I love you and want to move forward with our relationship. I do want to take it slow and remember I will be going to med school and refuse to jeopardize that.” Standing, I took her into my arms and replied, “I can live with that.” The rest of our undergrad years seemed to flow by, culminating with our wedding between graduation and our beginning medical/graduate schools.