Time Will Tell

Time Will Tell - part 20

The road became more crowded. Taking in all the activity, Libby forgot her discomfort. Horse-drawn wagons and single riders coexisted with plenty of pedestrians. Vendors pushed their cars and pawned their wares on street corners. Men yelled, “Meat pies,” or “Get your copper pans here.” The smell of cooked meat infiltrated her nostrils as did the scent of horses, urine, and earth.

“That’s the Louisville Glassworks Company,” Colin said, pointing to a building.

She nodded, then noticed people around what looked to be a hand pump set right in the middle of the next street. “What are those people doing?”

Colin looked to where she indicated. “They’re filling water jugs. Those are public wells. Louisville’s progressive and one of the few western cities to pump water directly to houses. Still, there are some who’re squeamish at drinking river water.”

Libby hadn’t even thought about the water or the microbes most likely living in it. Thankfully, she’d gone weeks without a problem. “I don’t know which is worse.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Water is water. The city waterworks is massive and includes a filtration process. It’s a matter of taste.”

Eventually they turned onto Main Street. The scenery changed, became more congested, and the road widened. Only now it was cobbled, making the ride bumpier. The buildings were side by side, most between two and four stories high. Libby tried to find structures that lasted into the twenty-first century, but nothing looked familiar.

“Our hotel isn’t far,” Colin said. “We’re staying at the Galt House.”

“Really?” The hotel was a landmark in her time.

“Yes. I prefer its central location. The original burned some years ago. Of course the Louisville Hotel also offers luxurious accommodations. I have no problem with switching if you would rather.”

“I’m sure your choice will be fine.” She smiled, then glanced at Giselle, who’d remained silent for most of the trip. Libby cleared her throat, leaned into Colin, and lowered her voice. “So, are we clear on where I come from?”

“Yes,” Colin said, chuckling. “You’re a friend of the family and lived in Chicago until a couple of months ago when your parents, Thomas and Elizabeth Edwards, died. You came to the farm as a favor to my mother, who was your mother’s best friend when they were younger. No one will question it.” His smiled broadened. “How can anyone claim you don’t exist when the great fire wiped out all family records three years ago? Everything is being recreated by word of mouth. You really are quite inventive, my dear.”

“I only hope I don’t encounter anyone from Chicago. I have no idea what the city looks like or what’s there in 1874.”

“Do not worry about that,” Giselle said, speaking out for the first time in hours. “I was there six months ago. I can tell you about the city if anyone asks. It is much different than before the fire.”

“You’ve visited Chicago? Before and after the fire?”

Giselle nodded. “My uncle. He lives there. We take the train and visit often.”

Really?” Libby fought to keep amazement off her face. Too many of her friends in her own time didn’t like traveling. Despite the ease of traveling by air, some never went more than a couple hundred miles from home. Yet here sat Giselle in 1874, who’d traveled from France to New York, to end up in Louisville by way of Chicago. The woman most likely could teach her something about being adventurous.

“You’ll have to educate me on Chicago before I go into public. That way, I won’t blow my cover.”

Her companion shook her head, clearly not understanding. “Your cover? Qu’est-ce que c’est? What is that?”