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than the hand-painted hues Godey's sometimes employed. The magazines were named Handyman and Do-It-Yourself, and on their covers were shiny pictures of houses and furniture and people holding hammers. |
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And then Abby noticed the dates on the magazines. She stopped breathing. This could not be. The month was correct, she believed, though one lost track on a wagon train. But the year? Impossible! Yet the two magazines said the same thing: 1995. |
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Suddenly she felt terrified. Her heart hammered erratically as she gulped for breath. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she used her fingers to hurriedly wipe them away as the door opposite her opened. |
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Mike got in and sat beneath the large wheel. "Fasten your seat belt," he said, then looked at her. "Abby, are you all right?" |
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No, she was not. Maybe she had died at the fossil site, for that made more sense than that she was in a time more than 130 years in her future. |
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But she grabbed one arm with the opposite hand and squeezed. She felt solidity and pain. She must be alive. And crazy. |
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Pasting a smile on her face, she choked back her fear and said brightly, "I . . . I was interested in these magazines." |
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He shrugged, fighting a grin that gleamed with pride. "My hobby's making things. I built the cabin." |
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"Really?" She listened while he spoke lovingly of the furniture he constructed, the projects he |
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