William considered Keziah's request, and he wanted so badly to tell her the truth of his situation.  It would be such a relief to tell someone ... [i]anyone[/i].  For days now, his mind had been skipping between believing that this was real and believing that it was all a fantasy.  Perhaps talking about it out loud would finally push it entirely one way or the other.  But ... would Keziah believe him?  How [i]could[/i] she?  [i]William[/i] didn't believe it himself, and he was from an era when stories of time travel not only filled the scripts of books, television, and movies but was actually being researched -- directly and indirectly -- by both governments and private industries across the globe.

"I told you who I am," he told her in the most sincere tone he could, adding, "Sort of."  

William paced a few more steps before the fire place, during which his mind asked [i]Do they say 'Sort of' in this time?[/i]  He glanced to Keziah and knew that what he'd said wasn't going to be enough.  He moved a stool over before her and sat upon it, just two feet between the two of them.  He was about to tell her a story about being a Continental Army spy under the direct authority of General Washington himself, when he hesitated instead, then said bluntly, "I'm from the future."

He watched for her reaction, then leaned in a little closer.  He began to speak, then chuckled nervously.  After drawing and exhaling a deep breath, he spilled out every little detail of how he'd ended up here and how he'd known about the Tyler Farm: the reenactment, the terrorist attack, the Hessian rifle, the Covington Letters.  "My name is William, as I told you.  William Kutcher.  I'm 27 years old ... but--"  He did the math quickly, then continued, "But I wasn't born in 1748.  I was born in 1990.  Keziah ... I won't be born ... for another, what ... 215 years."