“Nobody will hit you! I won’t let them,” she said in her fiercest voice. Betsy seemed pleased. She trusted her mother to take care of her.
Cynthia intended to do just that. “Go get dressed. We’ve got to hit the road. We’re late already.”
It was only seven thirty when they left the house, but that was three hours later than she’d planned and this morning the roads were busy with trucks carrying men headed for work at the oil field sites. She’d planned to be out of here long before the morning rush even started.
She headed south to the less traveled roads that would lead her to Texas, going through Elk City, Blair, Altus and then crossing the Red River that divided the two states. By that time Betsy was getting restless and grumpy so they stopped at Happy Doughnuts in the next town for a snack.
“Shouldn’t we be at the airport soon?” the little girl asked as she nibbled at a chocolate covered doughnut and sipped her milk.
Cynthia drank coffee again, feeling that she couldn’t even stuff down the most delectable pastry. “Actually,” she said brightly. “We aren’t going to the airport. We’re taking a long drive to a place down in Texas to spend a few days with some friends.”
Betsy frowned. “Cowboys and horses?” she asked suspiciously.
“Oh, no darling. This isn’t the ranch country of Texas. It’s a little different from that. But you’ll like it. You’ll like my friend. He has a daughter just your age that you can play with.”
Inwardly she was wondering if she’d lost her mind. None of this was real. There wasn’t a town called Lavender or a Dr. Evan Stephens. She couldn’t draw Betsy into her fantasy.
But there had to be someplace they could go other than to court in Santa Barbara.
And if Lavender and Dr. Evan Stephens were proved to exist only as a mirage, then she would make another choice. She and Betsy would find a home in some small Texas town and begin a new life under new identities.
Chapter Nine
Miranda Murphy shouted a warm greeting as he walked into the high school auditorium. “Hi, Doc! Good to see you someplace other than a sick room.”
He grinned acknowledgement of the good natured jibe. Miranda was one of the few people of color who had chosen to live in largely white Lavender. The majority of the residents were descendants of the western European pioneers who had originally settled this part of Texas, hailing back to German, French, English, Scots and Irish ancestors. Miranda and her children were the only members of their race in Lavender and given the old lady’s strong and outspoken character, nobody dared to treat her with the mixture of fear and condescension that still existed even dominated social life elsewhere twenty five plus years after the war between the states. Here Miranda set the standard and woe betide those in disagreement.
It was to his old friend he’d turned to when he was cut off without a replenishment of medical supplies. Now he and his neighbors depended on the herbal and other natural remedies that Miranda Murphy and her selected workers produced.
The Mexican pioneers’ children were represented in slightly larger numbers. A half dozen families lived on the west side of town and kept much to themselves, preserving their native language and ways. They didn’t tolerate any put downs either.
After all, they were like all the rest of Lavender. They had voted to stay here for what they considered a very good reason. They had sacrificed their freedom to leave for the larger good.
The older people of Lavender were proud of that decision, but now, nearly eight years later, a new generation was beginning to come of age. And those young people looked at things differently.
Few residents of the town and surrounding farm area skipped these regular town meetings. Totally independent of the outside world, they discussed and voted on the larger choices of community life. Details would be worked out at weekly council meetings.
Grandpa had been a council leader, but Evan had consistently declined any attempts to bring him up as a candidate for any city office. Grandpa had also never been seen outside his own yard without being dressed in a suit, dark in winter and light colored in summer, complete to stiff collar and a bowler on his head. Evan wore washable trousers and a cotton shirt. He only put on a tie for church on Sunday morning and for funerals. His everyday headgear was straw in summer and a warm cap in winter.
He had greatly respected his grandfather, but had no intention of trying to live up to that formidable example of manhood. He was Evan and he had his own style and he figured members of the Stephens family had filled this town to the brim with their wisdom, such as it was. The people deserved a respite.
Besides they still had his dad. The businessmen of the community like Forrest Stephens were among the few who wore suits and starched collars. Most of the other men were farmers, skilled workers or laborers and they scorned such dressing up, saying a tie would strangle them.
The ladies dressed a little more upscale in spring cottons or muslins in cool light colors, though the older ones tended to stick with darker shades and practical shoes as befitted their dignity.
All clothing now being worn in the town was either saved from the old days or of local manufacturing, much of it handmade by the wearer, though the community did boast of one master tailor and a small clothing factory.
Evan seated himself next to Miranda and glanced around to find that the auditorium, the pride of the town and built back in the before time, was filled to capacity.
Forrest Stephens as council president called the meeting to order. The matters to be considered tonight included fixing a bridge that had washed out down by the river and appointing a new teacher at the grade school since old Miss Haskins had died.
Nobody retired in Lavender unless totally unable to do their jobs and education was entirely on the apprentice system. Often likely students were picked while still in high school and trained to their work over the years, or simply followed in the footsteps of their parents.
In such fashion was Evan expected to school his successor, but so far nobody had seemed to possess the twin characteristics of willingness and ability. Even though the town’s doctor rated high status, everybody knew it was an unforgiving responsibility that ate up most opportunities for personal life. Doc didn’t get much chance to join the boys down at the tavern for a glass of homemade ale and a game of darts.
Evan tried to pay attention as his father chaired the meeting and worked to keep things reasonably in hand. Most meetings got a little hot since folks had strong opinions about how things should be run, but he was tired from his long day and half-asleep as he thought about Cynthia and her problems. He felt helpless to assist her in any way. When he got home, he would write to her. At least he could let her know that he was not indifferent to her dilemma. Oh hell, he cared so much that he ached for her. Just imagine if someone was trying to take Eddie away from him!
At the city of Sherman they left the highways behind and began to explore lesser roads. So many more people lived here and after the weeks she’d spent in Oklahoma, she found the traffic made her weary and irritable. When Betsy mentioned again that it was past time for lunch and she was hungry, she snapped at her daughter that they hadn’t time to stop and eat.
Then she glanced at the car’s clock and noticed it was after two. Betsy hadn’t eaten anything since that snack stop in Vernon and all she’d had was coffee. The flat tire in Wichita Falls and having it replaced had eaten away too much of their time.
“We’ll look for a place to eat in the next town,” she promised. They stopped at Bonham, which Cynthia vaguely remembered was named for one of the heroes of the Texas revolution, and had cheeseburgers and fries at a hometown café.
The grandmotherly waitress took special interest in Betsy, telling her she reminded her of her granddaughter and Betsy returned by saying she and her Mom were on a road trip.
“Where you headed?” the waitress asked, bringing an extra bottle of ketchup to the table to replace the one Betsy had just emptied on her French fries.
Of course Betsy didn’t know the answer and looked questioningly at her mother. Caught by surprise, Cynthia answered honestly. “A little town you’ve probably never heard of called Lavender.”
The waitress’s pleasant face took on a bewildered look. “But honey, you can’t go to Lavender.”
Startled, Cynthia stared at her. “Why not?”
“I grew up over near there.” She shook her head. “A real tragedy. I cried when my mama told me about it. Course it was long before her time and mine too, but a whole town, gone just like that.”
Cynthia was more surprised that the woman had even heard of the place, then that it was gone. She tried to keep her tone light for Betsy’s sake. “What happened?” she asked.
The waitress glanced around as though to make sure no other customer needed her services, but at this time of day the place was virtually empty except for a group of coffee drinkers in the big corner booth. “Done blowed away, the whole town. It was a good sized place too. More than a thousand souls just gone. They never even found their bones. Nowadays when we know more about such things, we figure it was a great big bad level five tornado, the kind that scoops right down into the earth to carry everything away.”
Betsy’s eyes went wide with horror. “The kids too?” she asked in a squeaky voice.
Cynthia reached across to take her small hand. “I’m sure this all happened long ago.”
“Sure did,” the waitress agreed cheerfully. “Back before the turn of the century. The one before this turn,” she was careful to explain. “It was well before 1900.”
Cynthia thought quickly. “I would be interested in visiting the site,” she said. “If you could give us directions.”
“Well, don’t remember exactly. Probably nobody does anymore.” She shook her head dolefully. “They searched and searched but never found so much as a stick or a fingernail. It’s the big local mystery and folks still talk about it. There’s pictures over on the wall, if you’d care to look at them.” She nodded toward the back of the café.
Cynthia no longer had an appetite for her food. Leaving Betsy to finish her lunch, she went to look at the photos. They were faded black and white, but of good quality for the time. She would guess they were taken by a professional photographer.
There were three of them, all of a downtown area crowded with people. She supposed it was some sort of holiday or celebration. Buggies and wagons had been frozen into inaction as they moved down the street. Men on horseback were pictured and the women on the wooden sidewalks were dressed in long skirts that swept the ground and wore either hats or bonnets.
The downtown was built around a square with a tall building in its center, most likely the courthouse.
She stared at the men in the crowd and wondered if Evan was somewhere among them.
She felt a touch on her shoulder and turned to see the waitress’s anxious face. “Hon, if you’re running away from your man, there’s those that will help you. Don’t let him get away with this. You know it might be the little girl next time.”
She’d forgotten about her damaged face. She must look a horror. Touching her swollen cheek, she said, “We’re going to friends. He won’t find us.”
The woman nodded. Before they left the café, Cynthia had in her purse a hand drawn map that would direct her to the general area where the town of Lavender had once stood. She left a twenty dollar tip on the table for a meal that only cost a little over eight dollars.
Betsy slept through that afternoon’s drive and Cynthia found herself growing increasingly frustrated. She followed the directions on the map carefully, but found herself circulating repeatedly through the same country roads without reaching her destination. She kept finding herself next to a winding creek, but no road led past it. It was a dead end.
It was growing dark when her daughter awakened, grumpy and tired.
“I’m having trouble finding Lavender,” she said. “One more try and then we’ll turn back and find a motel for the night.”
Betsy yawned. “That lady said there wasn’t any Lavender,” she protested, “that it blowed away in a storm.”
“There is a Lavender,” Cynthia insisted. “And we’re going to find it, if not tonight then tomorrow.”
She turned on the radio to find some music, hoping her daughter would be entertained for a few more minutes. Betsy didn’t seem particularly interested, which was fortunate because only a little later as they approached the creek again, the music stopped abruptly.
Reaching over to switch to another station, she found the thing was dead. Not even an electronic crackle issued from its inner parts.
She was quickly distracted from radio problems, however, when the engine on the car seemed to choke, coughed a couple of times, then abruptly died. When she tried to restart it, it made only a few feeble attempts, than failed to respond at all.
“What’s wrong?” Betsy asked, her voice full of alarm.
Cynthia eyed the countryside around them. Darkness was beginning to haze the distance and they were who could know how many miles from the nearest town. Hastily she reached for her phone. Somehow she was unsurprised to find it as powerless as the rental car.
She frowned. “Nothing’s wrong, baby,” she said automatically, reaching over to pat her daughter’s hand.
Betsy might be only eight, but she was nobody’s fool. “We’re lost and stranded,” she said without panic. “Guess we’re going to have to walk.”
“Out here in the wilderness with dark coming on. No way.”
“Look at that!” Betsy leaned over to touch her arm, pointing toward the window at her side with her other hand.
Cynthia looked in the direction indicated and caught her breath. At the spot where the creek turned back east where there had been no road before, a narrow ribbon of dirt road ran out of sight into the wooded hills. And driving at a slow pace down that road was a wagon pulled by a team of horses.
She caught her breath. It took a full minute before she could speak. “Betsy darling, I think we’re really close to Lavender and if we don’t hurry we’re going to miss our ride.”
She grabbed her purse and, opening the door, took her daughter’s hand. She didn’t bother to even close the door, but ran with Betsy toward that road.
“Wait for us,” she called. “We need a ride!”
Chapter Ten
It was as though they didn’t exist, as if the sound of their voices didn’t carry. She wondered if the man on the wagon was deaf.
Then they ran past where the creek turned, still calling, and he glanced back, suddenly hearing them. He brought his horses to a halt and just sat there staring at them as though they were some strange new species of human.
He was elderly with a deeply wrinkled, weather-worn face, and a mass of white hair partly covered with a straw hat.
“Ma’am,” he said, touching the edge of his hat.
It was beginning to get really dark. She didn’t want to be caught out here in the country to spend the night. “We seem to be stranded. My car broke down.” She turned to point it out, but it was nowhere in sight. The highway she’d driven in on was gone too. The dirt road ended right at the spot where the creek turned.
“Car?” he said, sounding bewildered. “You came from that way?” He pointed and she nodded.
“Nobody comes from that way. You just meander around and end up right back here.”
Well, she’d done a lot of meandering herself this day so she could hardly argue with that. “We’re headed for Lavender. You wouldn’t be happening to go that way?”
He looked from her to Betsy and then back to her again. “The little one looks tired.”
“Could you give us a ride?”
He frowned. “Ain’t never seen you before. You two are strangers to me.”
She began to grow impatient. She was worn out and Betsy was exhausted. “We’re friends of Dr. Stephens?”
A frown puckered his wrinkled forehead. “Which one? The dead one or the live one?”
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This was more than strange. She began to dislike the idea of going off with this odd little man, but hardly had any choice. Anyway he was probably eighty and shorter than she was. He could hardly overpower her. “Dr. Evan Stephens,” she said.
Suspicion cleared from his face. “Doc would be in town ‘cause its meeting day. That is unless somebody took to getting real sick this afternoon. I wasn’t planning on going myself, but being as how you’re a friend of Doc’s, I reckon I could take you there.”
She drew in a relieved breath. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
He apologized for not getting down to help them into the wagon, blaming his rheumatism, but she thanked him again and told him she would be happy to pay him for the ride.
He shook his head. “Glad to do Doc a service. Owe him for more favors than you can imagine.”
Betsy got the old man into conversation by asking about his horses. The horses were Babe and Jude, her told her, and almost as old as he was, considering horse years. “That’s why they move so slow. “We ain’t up to moving fast no more, not me or the team.”
At the same time she was hearing everything that was said and feeling the warmth of the spring afternoon, Cynthia’s mind was moving ahead. They were going to Lavender. It was a real place and Evan was there.
“What’s your name, little lady?” she heard the man ask.
“Betsy Burden,” she said. “Betsy Catherine Burden. What’s your name?”
“Seth Rogers.” He grinned at her, revealing that several teeth were missing. “I grow vegetables, onions and beans and potatoes for the people in Lavender. That’s what I’ve done my whole life.”
“Do you like growing vegetables?”
“Reckon I do. I like being my own boss and working out under God’s blue sky. The way I figure it I’ve got more than a fair trade from life. I should’ve died years ago.”
Even Betsy was startled by that. “Why? Why should you have died?”
The grin faded and his face settled in solemn lines. “Me, I was one of those who got sick. Most of ‘em died, but Doc, he pulled me through.”
Letters From Another Town: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series Book 2) Page 6