At a glance she saw that the man pinned beneath was a total stranger. At least he was alive; corpses didn’t groan. When Brianna knelt next to him to check his pulse, she was relieved to see there was a space of several inches above his legs. Thank heavens the side of the wagon was resting on a boulder instead of his body.
A deep gash sliced across his ribcage beneath his torn shirt and was bleeding heavily. The wound needed tending but it was beyond her reach. She’d have to pull him out from under the wagon to do it. Brianna bit her lip. If only there were some way to tell if he had a neck or back injury. Maybe if she’d taken that first aide class in college, she’d know what to do.
She was still trying to decide when she heard a horse galloping up the road. With a surge of relief, she stood up and peered over the top of the wagon.
Bent low over the horse’s neck, the rider looked as if he was competing in the Kentucky Derby as his mount thundered down the dirt road sending a cloud of dust into the air in his wake.
“Hey,” Brianna yelled, waving her arms to get his attention.
The rider waved back but didn’t even slow as he approached the wreck.
“Wait a minute,” she called, running around the end of the wagon. “There’s an injured man here.”
Still the horse came on, his speed undiminished. With a flash of anger, Brianna ran out into the road and planted herself firmly in the middle. “Stop, damn it. There’s been an accident.”
For a moment she thought the horse was going to run right over the top of her, but the rider pulled the animal back at the last minute. Brianna ducked as the flailing hooves pawed the air above her.
“Get out of the way,” the man yelled, fighting to control his horse.
“No! There’s an injured man over there, and I’m not budging until you help him.”
“Whoa, Archimedes,” he said as the horse stopped rearing and started dancing sideways on the road. Brianna was surprised to see how young he was. He didn’t look much more than sixteen. “I can’t take the time to help,” he said.
“Why not?”
“It’s against company policy to stop for any reason.”
“What company?”
“The Central Overland and Pike’s Peak Express Company.”
“Never heard of them,” Brianna said, shaking her head.
He rolled his eyes. “The Pony Express.”
“The Pony—oh, I get it.” Suddenly the old-fashioned wagon made sense, too. People were always trying to relive the old West along the Oregon Trail. “You’re doing a reenactment.”
He looked confused. “No, I’m doing my usual run to Split Rock Station, and I can’t stop.”
“Oh, come on. That’s carrying realism a little too far, don’t you think? What if that man over there bleeds to death?”
“Look, Mrs. Daniels,” he said as he guided his horse around her, “I’d like to help, but I can’t right now.”
“How do you know my name?”
He gave her an odd look. “We met at Platte River Bridge day before yesterday. Don’t you remember?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Maybe you better change your hat,” he said. “That might be the fashion back East, but out here it’s dangerous. Too much sun can affect your thinking.”
“It’s not a hat; it’s a crash helmet.”
“Ugly too,” he muttered. “I’ll be back as soon as I pass the mail on to Billy. In the meantime, you might want to put on a dress if you want to impress Lucas.”
“I don’t want to impress anyone. I need help. That man over there is far more important than the reenactment you’re doing.”
“The first thing you’re going to have to learn as the wife of a station master is that nothing is more important than getting the mail through.” He kicked his horse.
“You’re just going to leave us here?”
“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he called back over his shoulder as Archimedes broke into a gallop.
“At least call 911 and have them send the Flight for Life helicopter!” Brianna yelled after him. He gave no indication that he’d heard, and she turned away in disgust.
“Talk about getting too much sun. That guy’s brain is totally fried.” Irritated, she walked back to the injured man. A glance under the wagon showed his condition hadn’t improved. If anything, the wound looked worse than before.
“Well, mister, I guess you’re stuck with my feeble skills. I hope Tom Shaffer has a first aid kit in that backpack of his.”
It didn’t take long to locate the familiar red, white and blue box. Brianna wasn’t surprised to find it well stocked. Now all she had to do was get the patient out from under the wagon, stop the bleeding somehow, and bandage him up. A piece of cake, she thought. About as easy as flying to the moon in Tom Schaffer’s balloon.
Brianna removed her helmet and checked it over. The hard plastic of the helmet was unscathed. None of this made any sense. How could she have fallen that far and survived with only a few minor aches and pains?
She scanned the blue sky overhead. Surely Tom had landed the balloon by now. As soon as the chase crew found him, they’d come looking for her. She refused to even consider the possibility that the balloon had crashed.
“Uhhh...” The pain filled moan brought her attention back to the man under the wagon. There was no way she could wait until the crazy teenager brought back help, if he ever did.
With a sigh, she bent down, grasped the man beneath his arms, and pulled. At first nothing happened; he felt as if he weighed a ton. Then slowly, the limp body began to move. It took several tries, but Brianna finally managed to get him far enough out that she could reach his wound.
She looked around for something to wash the blood away and spotted a water barrel lying on its side. Most of the water had spilled, but there was a little left in a puddle on the side. That was where her good fortune ended, for she could find nothing to use for a rag. She was about to try tearing a sleeve off her T-shirt when she noticed the trunk laying among the wreckage near the wagon. Maybe she’d get lucky and there was something inside she could use.
Expecting an empty prop or a cleverly disguised beer cooler, Brianna opened the lid and stared at the contents in stunned surprise. It was filled with women’s clothes. She pulled out a long dress and studied it. The darn thing looked real. In fact, it appeared about half worn out. Whoever set up this reenactment was a stickler for detail.
Shaking her head in amazement, Brianna set the dress aside and dug down into the trunk looking for something to clean her patient’s wound with. She had just located a plain white handkerchief when a small book caught her eye. A journal. Brianna flipped open and smiled at the first entry on the page. Though the book looked new, it was dated April 27, 1860. To start a journal dated to match the time period was a nice touch of realism, Brianna thought to herself. So was the charming little fabrication the writer had begun.
It is fitting that I begin a new journal today for I am also starting a new life. Aunt Grace’s incessant harping and cruelties finally drove me to answer Mr. Smyth’s advertisement for mail-order brides. This morning I was married by proxy to a man I have never met, and am going to join him in the Wild West. I know very little about him, only that he is a station master along the Pony Express route. The letter Mr. Smyth gave me seemed more concerned with finding a cook than a companion. No matter. He’s bound to be better than Aunt Grace. We leave tomorrow for St. Joseph, Missouri.
It was difficult to resist the temptation to read further, but Brianna put the little book back. The man under the wagon needed attention.
With a sigh, she filled a tin cup with water, returned to the injured man and prepared to dress his wound. As she unbuttoned his flannel shirt, she nearly gagged at the overwhelming stench of body odor and stale whiskey that rose from the man. “Must have something against soap,” she muttered as his shirt fell open to reveal a dingy gray undershirt beneath.
The scissors from the
first aid kit made short work of the garment, and she soon had most of the blood sponged away. Though the cut was nearly six inches long and half an inch wide, it didn’t appear to be very deep.
The first aid kit contained iodine, hydrogen peroxide and an antibiotic ointment. Unsure which would work the best, Brianna decided to use all three. When she poured iodine in the open wound, the man’s hand suddenly rose from the ground and grabbed her wrist.
“Christ almighty,” he said, trying to focus his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Cleaning your wound. There’s been an accident, and you were injured. I’m sorry about the iodine, but I wanted to make sure it was disinfected.”
“You don’t need to torture me. I told you I didn’t know who you was when I tried to kiss you. There ain’t no way I’m going to tangle with that husband of yours.”
“But I’m not marr—”
“If I’d a known you belonged to Lucas Daniels, I wouldn’t have laid a finger on you.”
Brianna stared at him in shock. “D-did you say Lucas Daniels?”
“Man has a damned nasty temper if you cross him,” he murmured as his grip on her arm started to slacken. “Never meant to insult his wife. Didn’t even know he had one...” His hand fell to the ground as he drifted back into unconsciousness.
Brianna stared down at the man in opened-mouth shock. The crazy teenager had also mentioned Lucas. How could they possibly know about her great-great grandfather?
A dream. That’s all this was. She was probably lying unconscious at the bottom of Tom Schaffer’s gondola while her mind invented this incredibly real illusion.
That rationalization didn’t do much to calm her as she placed two sterile cotton pads over the wound and secured them with adhesive tape. Never in her life had she experienced such a life-like dream.
The book in the trunk drew her like a magnet. Maybe it would help make sense of this somehow. She retrieved it and settled down in the shade of a large rock to read. The back of Brianna’s neck prickled as she scanned the first page.
The diary wasn’t a clever prop created by an overly active imagination. It belonged to Anna Daniels, her own great-great grandmother.
CHAPTER 3
“I decided not to wear my crinoline today. It is just too impractical on the trail. My skirts are a little too long without it, but at least I don’t have to worry about showing an unseemly amount of ankle if a good strong wind comes along. I plan to put them on again before I meet Lucas for the first time. I wouldn’t want him to think me dowdy.”
Brianna smiled. Crinolines for heaven’s sake. She was totally caught up in the other woman’s hopes and dreams before she’d read five pages. This was not some romantic fantasy woven by a frustrated fiction writer, but a day-by-day account of a young woman’s trek west. It was impossible not to feel compassion for Anna as she struggled with the difficult conditions of the trip and wondered about the man who waited at the end of it.
Underlying every entry was the desperate hope that they’d come to love each other. Brianna suspected Anna had known little love in her life. The few references to Aunt Grace were always disparaging. As she neared the end of the journal, her brows drew together for Annie’s cheerful optimism suddenly disappeared.
We reached Platte River Bridge today. After the usual spurt of curiosity, everyone ignored me until I came out of the Sutler’s store. Without any warning, a man stepped out from between two buildings and tried to kiss me. He had been drinking heavily. It was horrible. Who knows what would have happened if a brave young man hadn’t come by right then and saved me. A few well-aimed punches and my attacker was unconscious on the ground.
By strange coincidence, Seth, my savior, is a Pony Express rider assigned to Lucas’s station. He knew so much about me, I realized Lucas must have shared the contents of my letters. Perhaps my new husband is as anxious as I for this to be a happy marriage.
Seth was on and errand and couldn’t stop to talk but promised to visit with me this evening after supper. I was surprised when he suggested it for he seems strangely nervous around me, but perhaps he has a message from Lucas. I also discovered the driver who is to take me north to Lucas is none other than the disgusting creature who accosted me. I can’t imagine traveling so far alone with such a vile man.
Brianna spared a glance for the man stretched out next to the wagon. From what little experience she’d had with him, vile and disgusting seemed a pretty apt description. As she turned back to the journal, Brianna couldn’t help wondering how Anna had managed to throw the fear of God, or more truthfully, the fear of Lucas Daniels into him.
I feel like such a fool! All this time I’ve been comforted by the thought that Lucas Daniels wanted a wife and a companion. Now I find none of that is true. Lucas didn’t send for a wife, Seth did. More precisely, Seth and the other rider named Billy decided Lucas needed a wife and answered Mr. Smyth’s advertisement on his behalf. Lucas doesn’t even know I’m coming!
Seth admitted it all tonight. I was furious with him. I’ve traveled all this way for nothing. I can’t bear the thought of going back, or what Aunt Grace will say. Seth says he will reach Split Rock station before I do and will have time to prepare Lucas for my arrival. I can’t imagine how he’s going to break the news to Lucas. I certainly didn’t take it very well. In fact, I lost my temper with him and was quite scathing.
After I calmed down a bit, Seth explained he and Billy didn’t mean me any harm, they just hadn’t really thought the scheme through. They did it because they can’t stand Lucas’s cooking, of all things. As stationmaster, it is his responsibility to cook for everyone who is stationed there. It seems Lucas is an inventor and often gets distracted when he’s supposed to be fixing a meal. If the food isn’t burned, it’s half raw.
According to Seth, Lucas is devoted to his tinkering and his horses. Since he doesn’t appear to care overly much for the domestic side of life, perhaps I can make myself useful and convince him to let me stay, if not as his wife then as a cook.
At least Seth has promised to speak to Bart Kelly, the driver who attacked me. He seems to think the knowledge that I’m married to Lucas Daniels will be enough to keep the horrible man on his best behavior. What sort of man is Lucas Daniels anyway?
The journal continued on for several more pages in a similar vein. Brianna felt like crying as Anna’s hopes and dreams crumbled. Finally, she closed the book and gazed off across the prairie.
The air was sweltering, and the ground beneath her uncomfortably rocky. If this was a dream, it was the most intense of her life, but the only other explanation, that she’d traveled through time, was impossible. And yet, she couldn’t dismiss the notion. The cloud that had pulled them in and the azure mist that swallowed the balloon were like nothing she had ever even heard of. A time portal of some sort? It was probably too little oxygen.
The entire hallucination was the result of Tom’s revelations about Lucas and Anna Daniels, nothing more. Still, if it were all her imagination, why wasn’t Lucas a balloonist instead of an inventor? He sounded like some kind of nineteenth-century computer nerd.
A groan from Bart Kelly brought Brianna from her musings.
“Water...” he croaked.
“There isn’t much,” she said, rising to her feet and walking to the overturned water barrel. She scooped up half a cup and returned to the wounded man.
“Better drink it slowly,” she cautioned. “You could be in shock from your wound.”
He slurped the water greedily then collapsed back on the ground. “Funny looking togs yer wearin’ there.”
Brianna glanced down at her Balloon Rally T-shirt, sneakers and blue jeans. “Where I come from everybody dresses this way.”
“Reckon I’d like a place where the women folk run around in their underwear.”
Underwear! Well, maybe to a man who was used to seeing women covered from neck to ankle it did look that way. “I was just getting ready to change clothes when you called me.”
<
br /> He looked disappointed. “You was?”
“Yes, and now that you’ve had your drink I’ll go finish the job.”
Brianna walked sedately around the side of the wagon to the trunk and opened the lid. Anna’s mirror lay face down near the top, and Brianna picked it up, almost afraid to look. It was a relief to see the same face she stared at every morning when she was brushing her teeth.
Why didn’t Bart Kelly realize she was a different person? Maybe because she wasn’t. If this was a dream... Brianna sagged in relief. Of course it was.
Brianna touched the dress that lay at the top of the trunk. But why did it all feel so incredibly real? Was she hovering near death in an intensive care ward somewhere? Maybe she was already dead. Accounts of people who had died on the operating table then were brought back, always mentioned incredibly realistic dreams. A shiver ran down her spine. Suddenly, time travel didn’t seem quite so bad.
If she really had gone back in time somehow, what had happened to Anna? Was she in the future? The way back, if one existed, was from here. Her first priority better be to convince Lucas Daniels to let her stay. With a sigh, Brianna pulled out the long dress. It was bound to be hot and uncomfortable.
After casting a quick glance to make sure Bart Kelly couldn’t see her, Brianna stripped down to her underwear then slipped the dress over her head. The skirt cleared the ground by a good inch and was a little baggy on her. Still, though she and Anna were not built the same, they were fairly close to the same size. Brianna was buttoning the long row of buttons up the front of the dress when she heard someone call Anna’s name.
“Mrs. Daniels, where are you?”
A lone rider was coming toward them leading a team of horses that appeared to be pulling some sort of two-wheeled vehicle. As he drew nearer, Brianna recognized the Pony Express rider that had passed them earlier. Brianna took a deep breath. This was where her masquerade would begin.
“I see you made it back, Seth.”
“Yup.” He pulled to a stop and glanced down. “Bart Kelly isn’t dead, is he?”
A Window in Time Page 2