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A Place So Foreign
==================
My Pa disappeared somewhere in the wilds of 1975, when I was just fourteen years
old. He was the Ambassador to 1975, but back home in 1898, in New Jerusalem,
Utah, they all thought he was Ambassador to France. When he disappeared, Mama
and I came back through the triple-bolted door that led from our apt in 1975 to
our horsebarn in 1898. We returned to the dusty streets of New Jerusalem, and I
had to keep on reminding myself that I was supposed to have been in France, and
"polly-voo" for my chums, and tell whoppers about the Eiffel Tower and the fancy
bread and the snails and frogs we'd eaten.
I was born in New Jerusalem, and raised there till I was ten. Then, one summer's
day, my Pa sat me on his knee and told me we'd be going away for a while, that
he had a new job.
"But what about the store?" I said, scandalised. My Pa's wonderful store, the
only General Store in town not run by the Saints, was my second home. I'd spent
my whole life crawling and then walking on the dusty wooden floors, checking
stock and unpacking crates with waybills from exotic places like Salt Lake City
and even San Francisco.