THE IMMORTAL
Chapter 4 - The Past
THE IMMORTAL
“Mr. Cobb? Mr. Cobb, are you out here?” Not finding the man in the house, Clea stuck her head out the back kitchen door and called his name, hoping he was close enough to hear her.
A muffled voice answered her. “In the barn, madam!”
She hurried to the building, arms wrapped around herself since she failed to grab her coat before venturing outside. He was slowly emerging from the barn by the time she reached him. His face looked thin and pale, and she knew why.
“Nice going. You’ve over-extended yourself. Now it’ll take you longer to recover,” she gently scolded. Grabbing his arm, she once again threw it over her shoulder and held onto his waist as they made their way back inside the house. She bypassed the kitchen to guide him into the living room where she finally released him, giving him a little shove. Jonah dropped into an easy chair where he sighed in relief.
“Now, here.” She retrieved one of the bowls of soup sitting on the hearth and handed it to him. “Eat.” Straightening, she wagged a forefinger at him. “And you better be here when I return.”
She was relieved to find him exactly where she’d left him when she reentered the room with a few thick slices of bread. She held the plate out to him. He started to reach for a slice but hesitated.
“I’m afraid my hands are too filthy to procure a slice. Allow me to go wash them first.”
“Nah-ah.” She pressed down on one shoulder to prevent him from getting up. “Here.” She took a slice from the plate and laid it over his bowl of soup before taking her own seat in the chair across from him. “I get the impression you’ve eaten a few meals with dirtier hands than you have now.”
The man snorted in amusement. “Guilty as charged. I must have eaten enough dirt and grime in my days to plant an entire crop.”
She watched as he tore off a piece of bread and dunked it into the soup before eating it. As he ate, whitish drops dribbled onto his beard. She was about to point out the napkins she’d brought in with the bowls when he reached over and got one for himself to wipe his mouth.
“This bread is superb, madam. I haven’t had bread this delicious since…” He looked up at her. “Is it sourdough?”
Clea smiled. “It is. I buy it from a little shop in town that makes it. I don’t like the white bread you normally find in grocery stores these days.”
“And the soup. Is this of your making?”
“Yes. I can claim credit for it. It’s my mother’s recipe.”
“You turned out to be as good a cook as her,” Jonah remarked and shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.
Clea continued to watch him. The jury was still out with regards to her believing him or not. Yet the more she listened to him, and studied his movements, and the longer she was around him, the less she was inclined to think he was trying to pull one over on her. Or worse, a possible danger to her and her son.
She figured this was as good a time as any to get a few things out of the way. “Mr. Cobb, would you be willing to answer a few questions for me?”
He smiled. “I was wondering when you would get around to asking.”
“You said you’re an immortal. That means you can’t die, right?”
“So far I haven’t.”
He was teasing her. But at the same time, she sensed a truthfulness in him. It was possible he just thought he was immortal because he hadn’t died yet.
“When were you born?”
He tore another piece of bread from the slice to sop in the soup. “As near as I can estimate, around sixteen twenty.”
She knew her mouth was open as she stared at him. He glanced up to see her expression but didn’t comment on it.
“Is there any chance I can get a cup of water, please?”
She said the first thing that popped into her head. “Will you still be here when I get back?”
He smiled. “I will try.”
Hurrying into the kitchen, she quickly filled two glasses with water and carried them into the living room. The man was still there.
“Okay, Mr. Cobb…”
“Jonah. Please. I would be grateful if you called me by my Christian name.”
Clea took a mental step back. In spite of his insistence that he was an immortal from the year 1620, there were two undeniable facts she couldn’t refute. He had a very odd accent, as well as a unique speaking pattern. Both of which could easily be explained since he definitely wasn’t a local.
But then there was that disappearing trick. And there was no way she could explain that one away.
“Jonah, do you honestly expect me to believe that you’re hundreds of years old?”
“You may believe what you will,” he answered with a deep sigh. “After all this time, I have learned there is nothing I can do or say that will convince you otherwise.” He tapped his temple. “All I have are my memories that prove to me of my past.”
“What about your disappearing act? How does that work?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “An act, madam? If only it were so.” When sadness crossed his features, an odd sense of guilt washed through her.
“I recall vividly the first time it occurred to me,” he continued. He was finished with his meal, and now he faced the fireplace, although she knew he wasn’t seeing it. No, his vision had turned inward. He had returned to the past in every way except physically.
“I was young. Very young. My voice had yet to deepen, and I had no facial hair. I was cold…hungry…and alone. I don’t recall my parents. I don’t know where I was, or how I got there. I recall wandering from one town to another, hiding in barns at night, stealing what I could during the day just to keep myself alive.
“One day, I was in some village. It was market day. Many, many stalls had been set up in the town square, and merchants were hawking everything from food to clothing and weapons. I liked market days. I could tag behind mothers with their children and blend in to where most people never gave me a second look.
“There was one merchant who was selling hot buns. They smelled…” He closed his eyes, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Heavenly. And I hadn’t eaten in so long.
“I waited a short distance away until he was distracted, then I ran up, grabbed one of those buns, and turned to get away when a soldier snatched me by the back of my shirt. He tried to throw me on the ground, but I stumbled, and I struck my head on the edge of the cart. I remember the soldier yelling at me, but I can’t recall what he said. My head hurt. Blood trickled down the side of my face. The soldier got angrier and angrier, I guess because I wasn’t doing what he was yelling at me to do. He lost his temper and pulled out his sword, raising it overhead I guess to hit me or cut me with it. I threw up my hands. I was so dizzy. I think I blacked out. But the next time I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on the side of the road, nowhere near the village. I was far from the marketplace, and I had no idea how I had gotten there. It was only later, right before dark, that I came upon that same village I’d been to.” He chuckled. “Fortunately for me, somehow I had kept my grip on my bun. It was the only thing I had to eat that day.
“Since then, I have learned a little more about this strange gift I’ve been given, and how to use my ability. I have also learned that my ability sometimes kicks in when I don’t expect it.” He swiveled his head to look at her. “I can transport myself whenever I want to and wherever I want to go, as long as it is to a place where I have previously been. And when it happens to me involuntarily, I go back to those locations as well. Except I just don’t have any say so as to where.”
He stared down at his hands. “I have lived a thousand lives. I have grown older, but it seems for every year a regular person lives, I age an hour. Perhaps a day. I’m not certain about that. It’s only a guess.”
“What are you doing in Terry County?” Clea asked. “How did you get here?”
“Oh, I have walked countless miles. I have ridden on horses, in the back of wagons, and then in automobiles. I have traveled over endless seas once I overcame my fear of accidentally being transported into the middle of the ocean. I keep going, keep pushing, keep travelling because it is all I have. To go from one new locale to another. I avoid people as much as possible, unless it is absolutely necessary.”
“So you have no home? No job? No…family?” she softly inquired.
“I tried to…many, many years ago. But being sent back to location after location took a toll on that. I sowed my seed, madam. I won’t deny that. But I was never blessed with children, that I’m aware of. In a way…” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “In a way I guess that is a blessing.”
“Why do you say that?”
When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, she saw the glitter of tears. “Because I could never forgive myself if I discovered my progeny was forced to live with the same affliction I’ve been cursed with.”
TO BE CONTINUED
