After what felt like an hour, he came upon the first building—Couture Clothing. The lights were off. He continued and saw Stanton's Spirits, Bridgeport Chemist, Porter's General Store. And there, on the right was a bank. He really was back in time. Verity had mentioned Bridgeport. A surreal strength came over him, an invincibility.
Mathew crossed the threshold and found a man counting a stack of coins.
"Howdy, there. We were just closing. What can I do for you?" The teller's curious eyes raked over him. Yeah, Mathew was underdressed—or perhaps overdressed—for the occasion.
"I need to open an account."
"Well, you've come to the right place."
Mathew set the bag down on the counter and stacked the remaining silver bars. The teller whistled.
"We've had a lot of entrepreneurs settling around here, but none looking like you, carrying this much silver. I'd like to know what it is you've found so lucrative."
Mathew snorted. Since he couldn't tell the truth, he opted for alluding to the Gold Rush Verity had mentioned. "If I told you, it wouldn't be lucrative much longer."
The teller chuckled and filled out a card. "Hold on to this. It's your account number."
"Thank you, sir."
Mathew passed through town with a new card in his wallet and empty hands. He didn't see the need to carry an empty bag around. Beyond the town, thick underbrush crept close to the road. Daylight quickly faded. About a half mile down on his left, his ears picked up a horse snorting, and when he found the source, his back stiffened.
The unremarkable horse stood alongside a building, currently a house, that in his time was his very own veterinary clinic. The exterior logs were newer and the plaque announcing the year of construction was shiny steel—not the dull patina plate he knew. It was a private residence, smaller, since he was the one who commissioned an addition, but since he was freezing, lights flickered in the windows, and he was nosy, he thought this would be the best place to warm up.
When the door swung open, Mathew's jaw dropped. He blinked several times as if he didn't trust his own frozen eyeballs. The woman held a sleeping baby, nestled in her arms. Her dark brown hair reached all the way down her back. Her skin aged, just a little, from working hard, and her body was a little softer.
"Matty?" The familiar voice sent warmth blossoming through his chest.
"Meatball?" Mathew asked in a whisper of shock.
She opened her free arm to welcome him in a hug and he rushed into her arms, careful to not startle the little squirt. He'd missed her so much. Seeing her safe and well returned a piece of him that had been lost. His sister pulled back first and said, "Come on in. It's freezing outside." Mathew rubbed his arms and his sister closed the door behind him.
"I don't suppose you brought me a cheesecake, chocolate bar, or a bag of fast food?"
He laughed. "Sorry, the delivery man didn't receive your order. Wow, look at this place! It's so familiar yet...Like the freaking Twilight Zone in here."
"I know, right? I had the same thoughts when I first saw it."
Mathew took a turn around the room, inspecting it as if it were a museum.
"Come sit by the fire. You look half frozen."
He crossed to the fire and held out his trembling hands. He shivered as the warmth penetrated the inadequately thin layer of polyester.
"I haven't seen you in so long, but you look like you haven't aged a day," she said, rocking a baby in layers of linen.
"You've been gone three weeks."
"Right," she tapped herself on the forehead with her open palm. "Time is different. It's been a year and a half here but feels like five."
Mathew sunk into the recliner next to the fire. Orange light flickered over his sister's face—so familiar yet so different. "Who's the little squirt?" April smiled with a motherly glow, and Mathew knew. "Yours?"
"This is...well...we named him after you. Matty, meet Mathew Hartley."
Mathew's eyes welled with tears of pride and love. His throat was constricted, so he didn't respond.
"I hope you don't mind. I just thought since you were the best role model in my life, I wanted to honor you."
"I am honored." He swiped his eyes. The little bundle carrying his namesake slept soundly in her arms. He was only a couple months old. "Jesus Christ, April. I'm so happy for you. I didn't know you came here. What happened?"
"Kiko sent me back to save Sam's life, Mathew's father. I screwed up, but she let me try again. After that, I couldn't let him go," she said, wistfully. "He made me return home for medical care."
Mathew remembered driving her. "The emergency room." April nodded and Mathew blew heat in his palms. "Can you tell me now what happened to you?"
"Jaime Perez."
Mathew blanched in confirmation.
"He thought I was someone else. Blamed me for Greenleaf, whatever that is. I thought it was an organic toothpaste or something. Sam tells me it's a town southeast of here. Never been there."
"You've passed by Greenleaf on the highway many times."
"I have? Well, it's clearly forgettable. "
"True." Mathew sighed. "I know who he mistook you for."
"Who's that?"
"Verity Arris. She's the one Kiko sent me to save."
Fear crossed April's smooth face. "Jonathan Arris's sister. Where is she?"
"I don't know, but now that I know where we are, my clinic, and where my apartment is, I should be able to find her farm without trouble. I just hope she's there."
"No one's moving in this cold of night. I've got a spare room for you. We can give you a ride over in the morning after breakfast."
Mathew's cold bones were grateful for the hospitality. It was a culture shock going from July to December in a blink and being ill dressed for the occasion. "I'd appreciate it."
"Is it summer back home?" April nodded to his shirt.
"It was. Wish I still had my suit on anyway." Mathew's cheeks heated, which normally he'd hide, but right now it helped thaw him.
"Suit? That's not your style unless—did Dad die?" She asked with a hint of excitement.
"I wish, but no. I had a date."
April's knowing brows rose. "And I'm guessing it didn't end well."
"I'm guessing not also. Verity had different expectations than I did."
"That's understandable." She chuckled. "Women of our time are not like this time."
"I've noticed." Mathew ran a hand through his hair, and it stood up on ends. "Mind if I use the bathroom?"
"Sorry, sport. No bathrooms here."
"What?" Mathew stood. "Where do you? How..."
"There's an outhouse out back for a toilet. Otherwise for a bath, the pantry, uh, the office bathroom, has a basin. There's a hand pump outside to fill it. You might want to heat it on the stove for a while first. A splash of that frigid Wisconsin ground water will shrivel your...Never mind."
Mathew growled in frustration and put his shoes back on. This would be a new experience. No worse than a blue porta potty at a beer and cheese festival, right?