Jarrod looked over his sister's shoulder to peer out the second story window. Indeed, a figure, still just a silhouette, approached the ranch house on foot. "I don't believe so, Audra. That appears to be a man. Maybe one of the ranch hands..."

The person was still too far away to be identified, but, now that her brother had pointed out, Audra could see that the visitor was wearing trousers. "You're right, Jarrod. Besides, I can't think of any reason why Anne would be coming to the house on foot. There's no way she could have walked all this way, and Mother sent Nick in the buggy to pick her up at the depot."

"Exactly," Jarrod agreed. "I'm sure Anne will be here soon. Now, let us go downstairs and see what this gentleman requires."

Outside the gleaming white ranch house, the visitor stopped and squinted. From all appearances, the house was freshly painted. The dark green shutters glimmered against the white paint. The stables out back, complete with the old timey horse and carriage, looked amazingly realistic. Behind black sunglasses, the visitor dubiously regarded the spread. There were no other cars or trucks, no photography equipment, but surely this was the right place. There didn't seem to be any other houses around for miles. Did that curtain at the second story window flutter, as if someone were watching? Yes. The visitor shrugged, sighed, and continued toward the house.

Silas answered the door when the bell rang. After a moment, he called, "Ah, Mrs. Barkley? Mr. Jarrod?"

"What is it, Silas?" Victoria Barkley's voice floated down from the second floor. "Is Anne here?"

Audra and Jarrod came into the foyer together. Audra gasped and grabbed Jarrod's sleeve, arresting his progress. "Why, that's not a man!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"Very perceptive," said the visitor calmly.

Victoria paused halfway down the stairs and allowed herself an unladylike stare. She hadn't seen her sister Rosalie's daughter, Anne, since the girl was a baby, but surely this wasn't her?!

In the foyer, the visitor pushed her sunglasses back to anchor her long, curly, reddish-brown hair out of her eyes and looked from person to person. She shifted her weight to one tennis shoe-clad foot and frowned. "Where is everybody?" she asked.

"Heath is mending a fence in the south pasture, and Nick went into town to fetch...ah...you?" Jarrod suggested doubtfully.

"To 'fetch' me?" the visitor repeated.

"Anne?" Victoria asked, descending the remaining stairs.

"I'm sorry, you've got me mixed up with someone else. Look, maybe I'm in the wrong place. This is the Stockton Road, isn't it?"

"Yes, miss, it is," Jarrod said pleasantly.

"Well, then, this must be the place. They said it was a big white house, and this is the only big white house I've seen. I've been driving around forever trying to find it -- the studio gave me lousy directions. It's a good thing I got here when I did -- I think I just ran out of gas. So, where's the crew set up? Are we doing the shoot in here, or are we doing exteriors? Or both? And where's wardrobe? I need to get changed." She looked expectantly from one face to another. "I thought these were just regular publicity shots. They didn't tell me they were going to be period. What are those costumes, about 1870s or 1880s? Ah, did they actually have that color of blue eyeshadow back then, and should you ladies be wearing panty hose? Oh, well, I'm not the expert. They didn't tell me there were going to be extras, either. Well, I'm pleased to meet all of you. And you are?"

The Barkleys looked at one another in utter bewilderment. What on earth was this strange woman talking about?

"Crew? Studio? Exterior? Out of gas?" Audra repeated.

"I'm afraid you are in the wrong place, miss. We're the Barkleys. I'm Jarrod, this is my sister Audra, and our mother, Victoria."

"What is your name, dear?" Victoria asked.

"Maybe it is Cousin Anne," Audra whispered rather loudly to her brother. "Maybe she's playing a joke. Maybe those clothes are the new fashion in Boston?? And she does look a great deal like mother."

"Yes, I see the family resemblance," Jarrod agreed.

Their visitor was looking at them all as if they'd each grown two heads. "Do you mean, what would I like for you to call me? Well, most people call me Missy, if you would prefer that." She smiled hesitantly. "Now, we really should get down to business. Is the photographer here yet?"

"Photographer? Well, Missy, I'm afraid we're not expecting a photographer." Victoria raised her eyebrows. "Missy -- Is that your real name?"

"My birth name was Ruby...Not expecting a photographer, huh? So why are you all wearing period costume? What is this, some kind of joke? If somebody set me up and sent me out here on a wild goose chase -- This is exactly something Jack would do. He's probably in Palm Springs laughing his head off. And to think I was supposed to fill in for Mary on the radio show tomorrow night! Well, Benny can forget that. I'm a loyal friend, but really..."

"Are you feeling all right, dear?" Victoria asked anxiously.

"I'm fine." She looked at them as if they, very obviously, were the ones who must be taken ill.

"You said you were here on business," Jarrod reminded. "What sort of business do you do, Miss - ah - Missy?"

She blinked several times. "I make pictures."

Audra clapped her hands. "Oh, an artist! What sort of pictures do you draw?"

Missy stepped back toward the door. "Uh, not that kind of pictures. I make films." More blank looks. "Ah, moving pictures?" she suggested. "Movies? Maybe you've seen some of them?" No sign of recognition. "Okay, maybe not. I can understand that. Not everybody likes my pictures..."

"What is it that you do exactly, my dear?" Victoria asked, to clarify.

"I'm an actress." She was getting exasperated now.

"On the stage, then?" Audra said, looking disapproving.

"No! I just told you I make movies! Good grief. Hollywood? Warner Brothers? MGM? Where the hell am I, anyway?"

Victoria frowned. "I'll ask you to watch your language in front of my family, young woman."

"Oh, my God. In the name of all that's holy. I can't fu -- I can't believe this. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was drunk. Can I please use your phone?"

"Our what?"

"Telephone."

"Excuse me, miss?"

"The thing Alexander Graham Bell invented?"

"Who?"

Missy fumbled in the pocket of her trousers and extracted a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. She got one out of the pack, tamped it down, and reached for her lighter, only to find it missing. "One of you got a light?"

They all stared at her. Not only did she wear pants, but she smoked!

"Well?" the woman prodded. Victoria looked at Jarrod, who, after a moment's hesitation, provided a match. Missy lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing smoke over her head. Audra coughed delicately.

"I don't know what's going on here," Missy said, "but have you got any coffee, by any chance? I could really use a cup or two. Or fifteen."

The back door slammed. "Mother!" Nick bellowed. "Audra! Jarrod! Heath! I'm home!"

Nick came in search of his family and stopped short in the library door, looking into the foyer at his family and their strange visitor. "Who's this?"

"This," said Victoria, "is Miss -- Missy. She seems to have come to our house by mistake. She's looking for a photographer..."

"Don't know no photographers," Nick said disdainfully.

"This really isn't funny at all," Missy said.

Nick looked her up and down disdainfully. "Well, you sure do look funny. Smoking?" he asked. "And what in blue blazes are you wearin'?"

"I should ask all of you the same thing," Missy replied, looking from her blue jeans, red blouse, and tennis shoes to the women's flowing skirts and pantaloons and the men's chambray shirts and spurs.

"Anne wasn't on the stage, Mother," Nick said to Victoria. "I guess she'll be here later. I'll go back to the depot and see."

"I still think she --" Audra looked accusingly at the mysterious visitor -- "is Anne. I think she's playing a joke, and it's not a very nice one."

"Look," Missy said flatly, "I don't know who the hell this Anne is, but it ain't me. You know damn well who I am. And whoever engineered this little joke is going to be sorry, because no one messes with me -- I'm from Brooklyn."

"You do have an interesting accent," Jarrod said conversationally. "It doesn't really sound Bostonian, but you do look a great deal like our mother. You have the Davis eyes, the Davis hair color, and the Davis profile."

"Yeah!" Nick blustered. "How do ya explain that?"

No one had noticed Heath come in. "Boy howdy," he said softly, looking at the visitor appreciatively. "What's goin' on here? Howdy, ma'am." He tipped his hat.

Missy's reply was unprintable.

She kept looking at the older woman -- There was something eerily familiar about her. She does look like me, Missy thought. Me in twenty or thirty years. We have the same features -- the exact same gray eyes -- the same build -- I bet we're exactly the same height -- and that nose, well, it's unmistakable...There is something very eery about this. She could be my mother. Except, of course, that my mother has been dead for over thirty years...I'll have to find out if we could be related to these people in some way.

Victoria stared back at the young woman. Now that the children mentioned it, she really did see a resemblance between herself and this visitor -- It was like looking back in time and seeing herself. She looked into the expressive gray eyes and shivered. How very odd and unsettling!

Missy took another step backward and opened the door. Like Victoria, she'd been standing with her hands planted firmly on her hips, and now Victoria noticed that they shared the same cat-like stride. "Well, it certainly has been interesting," Missy hedged, "but I think I'll just get the hell out of Dodge --"

"This is Stockton," Audra said helpfully.

"Yeah. Right. So, I'm going. I'll just walk back to my car. I'm sure someone will come along eventually and give me a lift."

"I could take you wherever you need to go, ma'am," Heath volunteered, and was immediately shushed by his family.

"No, really, that's okay." She stepped back outside into the June sunshine. "I'll be going now. I've got a photography crew to track down."

With that, she beat a hasty retreat, not stopping until she reached the end of the long driveway, almost back at her 1940 blue phaeton. She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, praying there was enough gas to start the engine and get her out of this lunatic asylum. To her relief, the mother turned over, and she stomped the gas, heading for modern civilization as fast as she could.