Tuesday, May 24th, 1870

Dear Diary,

I met with my sister yesterday. Riding crop in hand and hat pinned high, I galloped north to a coastal area of Winterfell. The Laird and Lady boast a most impressive yacht. Also included upon their estate are the charming ruins of an ancient church. Randy tells me that a secret underwater cavern also graces the estate. She has promised to take me there when we are both more properly attired for sea bathing.

In the church, Randy introduced me to a Mr. Derrick Dreamscape. Duke seemed quite taken by the sandy haired young man; mt trusty mount normally stamps and fidgets dreadfully in the presence of strangers. For my part, I found Dreamscape useful. He is assistant, he claims, to a man of discretion who has considerable experience in transporting unusual packages. This employer, he claims, may be able to transport my 21st century parcel back to the appropriate time and place. How Mr. Dreamscape is paid for his troubles escapes me. Apparently, this service is offered for free and without question.

Randy says the assistant is positively enraptured, but then again, Randy is rather appropriately named. She hardly bats an eyelash but to clear her field of vision for the sight of some new suitor. For all that she says she needs no man upon whom to rely for her living, she certainly has a habit of foisting them off on me! Mr. Dreamscape has good looks and charms aplenty, but is that any reason to trust him, let alone to pursue him?

Besides, his hair reminds me of Michael, whom I’ve not seen in an age. Oh, dear. Please allow me to change the subject before I wax melancholy.

I know I should make allowances for differences in temper and upbringing when it comes to my sister. I do make such allowances. Truly! Why should my sister not trust time traveling strangers when experience has never soured the thrill for her? She has a point. She told me when I expressed concern about her 21st century wanderings that caution did not require absolute avoidance. If this man can assist me in reclaiming my home as my own before the sergeant and Matilda come to blows, I should be grateful for his help. Isn’t that the natural way of things?

I just don’t understand why my sister trusts so completely in a person who claims to want nothing in return. Perhaps I am too jaded, but there it is. A man who appears besotted at first sight and then agrees to transport human cargo across centuries without asking for payment or an explanation sets my internal engine to sputtering. In my experience, there is always a price to be paid. Why should this Dreamscape fellow be so unquestioningly agreeable?

I have a feeling Randy would laugh and tell me to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. Then again, the Trojans took that advice, and look how that turned out.

Your Skeptical,

–Miss Palabra Puddlegum–

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