A DISTANT ECHO, PART FIVE: WESTERN TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE

by Bobby Hutchinson

  This year, everything was different.

  The festivities had begun early in December with a sleigh ride organized by Smiley Williams for all the men on his crew and their families. That was followed in quick succession by parties and dances and community potluck suppers, as well as a snowy expedition one afternoon with Lars and Isabella and the children to cut and bring home Christmas trees.

  Sundays all during December had been filled with friends dropping by or invitations to visit, and both Joe Petsuko and Augusto Rossi had been adamant that Tom and the Ralstons join their families for Christmas dinner. But Zelda had gracefully refused, explaining that she’d already promised Isabella they’d come next door and celebrate the holiday with her and Lars and the children.

  The Zalcos were also invited, and Leona spent Christmas Eve day in the Ralstons’ kitchen with Zelda, cutting out and decorating gingerbread men for Eddy and Pearl, baking pumpkin pies and cooking a huge ham as their contribution to the meal the following day.

  Eli and the men had been warned they were expected to help, but it turned out there were simply too many bodies in one small, overheated room.

  Zelda sent Tom out for buckets of coal, and when Eli and Jackson had suffered their way through an enormous stack of dirty dishes, she relented and ordered them all out of the kitchen.

  Within three minutes, Eli was out the door, going skating with his friends.

  “Are you sure we can’t help, ladies?” It was pitifully obvious that Jackson was praying Zelda wouldn’t change her mind and decide she needed them after all.

  “Go!” she snapped.

  The three men let out relieved sighs and all but raced into the parlor with a bottle of Augusto’s best red wine and a deck of cards, insisting they were going to teach Virgil to play poker. In a short while, male guffaws and pipe smoke were floating down the hallway.

  “Thank goodness.” Zelda sighed with relief. “Tom and Jackson are just too large to have under underfoot, and it’s impossible to have a conversation with you with those men around. Now, let’s have a cup of tea before we do anything else, and you can tell me exactly what it’s like, being in a delicate condition. Sit down here and put your feet up on this box. Do you have any idea when the baby is due?” She was proud of herself for maintaining a cheerful façade.

  “May. I went to see Dr. Malcolmson, and he said the second or third week in May.” Their eyes met. Many times over the past weeks, they’d discussed the Slide that Tom and Jackson insisted was inevitable. Zelda had told Leona about Tom’s invitation and Virgil’s refusal.

  “At least the baby will still be safely inside me for the trip,” Leona said now.

  Zelda managed a laugh. “You make it sound like you’re planning nothing more than a buggy trip to Lethbridge.”

  Leona laughed too. “That’s because I truly don’t believe there’s much chance of this absurd scheme working, but if Jackson wants to try, I’m going where he goes. We’re going,” she corrected, patting the bulge under her apron. “I do wish you’d consider coming up there with us that night, Zel, just in case it does work. Think of the adventure.”

  Zelda kept her eyes on her teacup. “I couldn’t leave Dad. It might be different if he was feeling well, but his cough gets worse by the week. And there’s Eli.”

  Leona made an exasperated sound. “I do wish Tom would come to his senses and just stay here with you then.”

  How often had she wished that herself?

  “He can’t,” Zelda said, and changed the subject before the agony under her cheerful façade broke through. “Besides, I plan to do whatever I can to get as many people as possible out of town that night, out of the way of the Slide. Tom and I have already tried to warn people of what’s going to happen, but they don’t believe us. Tom patiently explained the whole thing to Joe and Augusto and the others, to absolutely no avail.”

  Leona grimaced. “I know. It seems no one will listen. Ever since Jackson told me about it, I’ve been trying to convince everyone I talk to, the miners, the saloon girls, that the mountain’s going to topple over in April. They all laugh and say I’ve been listening to too many Indian stories, or else they look at me as though I’m some kind of witch.” Leona shivered. “Let’s not think of it just now. Let’s think of Christmas instead.”

  Zelda agreed wholeheartedly. “You’ve still not told me what if feels like, having a child growing inside of you.”

  “It’s the strangest thing. He moved for the first time just last week. Oh Zelda, it was thrilling, like a tiny bird, fluttering around in there, and suddenly I realized there’s a real and separate person, growing inside of me. I’m not ill in the morning any longer, which is a blessing, but my middle’s expanding. One can’t help but think about the birth itself.” She shuddered.

  “Something the size of a fully grown baby is going to pinch coming out. Common sense tells one that, at least.” She added, “I don’t have anyone to ask questions. When I asked about labor, Dr. Malcolmson patted me on the head as if I was an idiot and mumbled about nature taking its course. Nature is all well and good, but I want details. I want to know exactly what to expect, even though I know full well it won’t be pleasant.”

  “Why not ask Isabella? Her English is much improved, and she’s been through it twice herself.”

  Leona considered the suggestion. “She seems very shy. She might be shocked into having the vapors if I ask the things I need answers to.”

  Zelda shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’ve become close friends, and Isabella’s actually very practical.”

  Zelda thought of a recent conversation she’d had with her neighbor concerning birth control. Isabella had hemmed and hawed, blushed crimson, and finally blurted out that she didn’t want to become pregnant, and she knew that Zelda had handed out leaflets at women’s meetings on the subject. Zelda had given the other woman the pamphlets and several of her own sponges, as well as an address where she could mail order more.

  “Is there any news of her husband?” Leona knew that Isabella and Lars had been trying to locate Nestor Vandusen so Isabella could get a divorce and marry Lars.

  Zelda shook her head. “Not a trace. I’ve helped her write queries for the eastern papers, and the North West Mounted are still trying to locate him, but there hasn’t been a single response.”

  “That’s such a shame, because she and Lars are obviously in love. He’s wonderful with the children, but, of course, I suppose everyone’s gossiping about them living in the same house alone together.”

  “Let them gossip,” Zeld said vehemently. “No one bothered to say anything when Nestor was beating her senseless four times a week.”

  “Except you, my dear Zelda.” Leona gave her a fond smile. “Jackson told me how he first met you, how you ended up in jail because you petitioned against Hugo Bateman for selling spirits to Vandusen.” Leona looked at Zelda with open admiration in her eyes. “You’re the most honest, compassionate woman I’ve ever met, and the bravest. I know Isabella thinks so, and all the saloon girls sing your praises to the skies.”

  “I’ll be sure to use them as character referrals the next time Corporal Allan throws me in jail,” Zelda said wryly, but she was deeply touched by Leona’s words. They were balm, however slight, to the terrible hurt of knowing that Tom didn’t love her enough to want her with him for a lifetime. If he did, he wouldn’t want to leave.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  This Christmas Day was the best Tom ever had.

  Not that there was much to compare it with, he thought as everyone was squeezed at last around the laden table in Isabella’s kitchen the following afternoon.

  Until today, Christmas had never been a cause for much celebration in his life. But seated at this table, surrounded by his friends, he understood for the first time what the day ought to represent – friendship, laughter, celebration – the exchange of small, inexpensive gifts whose real value was in the love they illustrated.

  The kitchen was unbelievably crowded.


  Lars had built sturdy benches to extend the seating, and although there wasn’t room for so much as an elbow between bodies, no one minded at all.

  “Tom, you vill ask the blessing, please?” Isabella’s unexpected request took him by surprise, and for a panicked moment, Tom couldn’t think of anything to say.

  He looked around the crowded table for inspiration. Virgil smiled encouragement, his thin face and faded blue eyes stamped with the now-familiar gray tautness that brought a twinge of anxiety to Tom. Virgil’s cough had grown worse in the past weeks.

  Next to Virgil was Eddy, his healthy little boy’s face flushed, he eyes glowing with the excitement of the day. He clutched the replica of a flashy ‘90s sports care that Tom had whittled and painted a dashing red.

  Leona was next, her golden hair piled high, her rounded belly lending an earthy note to her beauty. Jackson, seated beside his wife, winked at Tom, delighted at his discomfiture.

  Eli’s coppery hair was slicked down flat, and his bony wrists protruded from the cuffs of his shirt. He’d grown a good three inches in the past months. He was almost as tall as Tom, although his body hadn’t filled out to match the new found height. He’d been unusually quiet all day, and Tom wondered what was troubling him. He’d have to have a talk with him soon.

  Beside Eli was Zelda, and Tom’s eyes lingered on her face. She was looking up at him expectantly, smiling her wide smile, her brown eyes soft, telegraphing her love.

  His family. These people had become his family during the months he’d spent there, so far removed from the place and time he’d called home.

  Tom had to clear his throat before he could manage the simple grace. “Thank you for good friends, good food, and a fine Christmas,” he said, and everyone joined in the amen.

  “And may the New Year bring peace and happiness to all,” Virgil added, lifting his cup in a toast.

  Jackson’s eyes skittered to meet Tom’s, and in the look they exchanged was the awful knowledge of the coming Slide. This very house would be gone, along with the others along Alberta Avenue, during that April night now only four months away.

  And if their plans succeeded, they’d be gone as well that night--Jackson, Leona, himself.

  Desolation swept over Tom, and he turned his head to look at Zelda, spooning the food into sleepy little Pearl’s mouth, laughing at something Isabella had just said, her face radiating life and spirit and energy.

  He couldn’t leave her.

  He couldn’t stay with her.

  “Tom, you still gonna try and get back to that place you came from, when the end of April comes?”

  It was a cold, sunny morning in mid-March, and Tom and Eli had gotten up at the crack of dawn to climb to a nearby lake, so high in the mountains that it was still frozen over. They cut holes in the mushy ice and did their best to catch enough fish for Sunday dinner the following day.

  “Yeah, I am, Eli.”

  “Dad said you wanted us to try and come along, him and me and Zelda.”

  Tom’s breath made a cloud of frost around him. “Yeah, I did. Still do, matter of fact. But your dad doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “I want to come, Tom.”

  Tom checked the line that disappeared into the hole in the ice. One end was tied to his hand, and it didn’t need checking; he’d know in an instant if a fish took the hook. Eli’s words had taken him by surprise, and he needed a moment to think. “You’d be leaving your family behind, Eli. Your dad won’t come, and Zelda won’t either, without Virgil. If the plan works, chances are good you’d never see them again.”

  “I want to go anyways.” Eli’s face was stubborn. “I want to see all the things you’ve told me about, the cars and planes and those video things, and rollerblades and laptops and rock groups. Besides, you told me you left home when you were fifteen, and you never saw your family again.”

  Obviously, Tom decided, he’d talked far too much. “The circumstances were different with me, Eli. I didn’t come from a family like yours, one where people care about each other.”

  “Huh.” Eli yanked up his line hand over hand, his mittens stiff with ice, his movements jerky. “If Zelda really cared about me, she wouldn’t try and make me do what she wants all the time.”

  Tom noticed that Eli’s voice, which only a few months before had tended to wander from bass to soprano in the space of one sentence, was now even and deep. He’d started shaving after Christmas, and his face was now that of a young man instead of a boy. The peevishness of boyhood was also gone, replaced by a quiet steadiness, but along with it there was anger.

  “If she really cared, she’d listen when I tell her how much I hate school, and that I don’t want to go to that sissy college she’s got picked out back East. But I can’t seem to make her hear me.”

  “You know she cares, Eli. She wants the best for you, that’s all it is.” Tom knew his words were ineffectual at best. “If you don’t want to go to college, then what do you want to do? D’you still want to work in the mines, or what? Have you thought about it?”

  “I’ve been underground a few times. Smiley took me so I could see what it was like, and I guess it’s not where I want to work.” He hesitated, then said, “I think I’d like to be a Mounted Policeman.” His voice was tentative. “I’ve thought about it, and I figure I’d like that a lot.”

  Tom was surprised, but when he considered it, he understood. The North West Mounted, in this early period, embodied adventure and romance. If he were Eli’s age, he’d probably opt for a career as a mounted soldier , too.

  “Have you told Zelda?”

  Eli shrugged. “I tried. She won’t hear of it, not unless I go to college first.” His voice was scornful. “As if a fellow needs college to be one of the North West Mounted. I’ll be seventeen next October. I’ve talked to Constable Liard, and he told me I can start right here in Frank if I want, taking care of the horses and running errands. Then I can be a trumpeter and stable boy at one of the forts, and when I’m eighteen I’d get to be a subconstable, and I could work up from there. Zel had a conniption fit when I mentioned it. I told her if I went away I’d send my wages home and everything, to help out, but she said if I tried it, she’d make them send me back. She could too, until I’m eighteen. Constable Liard said I’d need a signature before they’d take me on, and I don’t think Dad would agree unless Zelda did. So the only thing left to do is go with you.”

  Tom knew he was standing on thin ice in more ways than one.

  “Eli, you know that Zelda would never agree to letting you come with me, not in a million years.”

  Eli darted a quick look at Tom’s face, and when he caught his eye, looked away again, concentrating on the fishing line. “I didn’t actually plan on telling her.”

  Tom struggled to keep his tone mild, his voice even. “That would be a cruel thing to do, not just to Zelda, but to your father as well.”

  “Dad would understand.” But the words were less certain. “I think he would, anyhow. Before he got sick, he used to stand up for me with Zel. He used to tell her to let me make up my own mind about things. But now, he seems too tired to argue with her. He’s not strong anymore, not like he used to be.”

  A terrible sense of helplessness welled in Tom at the thought of Virgil. The older man was very sick again, confined to his bed, coughing endlessly in spite of the bottles of foul-smelling medicine the doctor dropped off regularly. He’d finally told the boss at the mine that he wouldn’t be coming back.

  “Is my dad going to die, Tom?” Eli’s voice was quiet, but there was a tremor in it. “He never gets over that cough, and he seems to just get weaker and weaker all the time. It’s all he can do to get out of bed to go to the outhouse some days.”

  Tom’s heart sank. He’d been expecting and dreading the questions, and none of the answers he’d mentally prepared seemed right now that Eli had asked it.

  “We all die at some point, Eli. Nobody knows for sure when. Your dad’s got a strong body, and he�
�s a fighter.”

  But no one could fight long when their lungs were destroyed.

  “If we could get him to the future, could the doctors there maybe help him?” There was a stark appeal in Eli’s voice, and again, it was a question Tom had asked himself countless times. The answer was never conclusive.

  “They might be able to. The can do lots of things that they can’t do now, even lung transplants. But people still die, Eli, then or now. I just couldn’t say for sure.”

  There was silence for a long time. The afternoon was swiftly fading into early twilight. A pale blue mist settled over the lake, and dark snow clouds began to gather over the top of Turtle Mountain.

  Tom squinted up at them and pulled his line free of the water. “It’s time we packed it in and went home, kid. Looks like it might be going to storm, and we got four fish. Not bad for a day’s work.”

  They were halfway home when Eli spoke again. “I wanna tell you something, Tom, but I gotta be sure you won’t tell Zelda.”

  Being Eli’s confidant wasn’t easy. Tom sighed and promised.

  “I quit school, Tom. I haven’t gone more’n a couple days a week since Christmas, and for two weeks now not at all.”

  Tom tried not to show how concerned he was at that revelation. “Where’ve you been spending your time?”

  Eli shrugged. “Around. With some guys I know. We built this cabin in the bush over by the river. And I’ve been working extra at the picking tables whenever I can.”

  Tom knew hours of idle time for a teenager could spell big trouble. “How come Zelda hasn’t found out you’re not in school?”

  “Our teacher for the advanced class, Mr. Beebe, left at Christmas and didn’t come back. His dad was ailing or something. The new teacher doesn’t care who’s in class and who’s not.” Eli sneered. “He’s corned half the time. He doesn’t even take attendance. That’s why I need to come along with you and Jackson, Tom. There’s nothin’ for me to do in this place.” He drew a ragged breath. “Please say I can come.”