She submerged one last time, hoping to remove the last traces of soap. Her hair was as clean as it was going to get, so she stood, and with water drizzling down her face, grabbed the towel hanging nearby.
“Crap!” She hadn’t remembered to bring clean clothing.
Taylor wrapped herself in the towel, opened the door and started to dash across the hall. To her surprise, Frank leaned against the wall next to her door. He held a clean towel and his change of clothes. “Jes’ waitin’ my turn.”
“Uh... excuse me,” she said, her cheeks burning. She ran inside, closed the door, leaned against it, and took a deep breath.
Dumb, dumb, dumb. Taylor, if you don’t want to get yourself into a compromising position again, you’d better plan a little better.
She shook her head to dispel the images of Frank undressing for his bath and searched the armoire. She’d grown tired of wearing the same dress but in a different print and looked for something else. What she wouldn’t give for her jeans and a t-shirt.
She stopped sifting through hangers and tilted her head to listen. From across the hall, she heard Frank, and giggled at his slightly off-key baritone voice. Did he realize how loudly he sang? His serenade lasted only a short time before she heard a door close and footsteps padding across the landing.
Taylor winkled her nose at the thought that he’d bathed in her leftover water but turned her attention back to Mariah’s armoire. There wasn’t much variety, but Taylor finally decided on a burgundy skirt and a grey linen blouse rather than a dress. She elected to forgo the uncomfortable petticoats. If Frank’s jeans fit her, she would have asked to borrow a pair. She chuckled at the imagined look on his face. His darling Mariah in something as outrageous as jeans?
Her stomach growled. It had been hours since she ate. Frank had finished his bath. She hoped he’d started dinner.
* * * *
Taylor took a final bite of fried potatoes and licked grease from her lips. She pushed away her empty plate. Surely, her stomach would object later, as she always steered clear of fatty foods, but right now she felt satisfied. “That was delicious. Thank you.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled.
Frank rubbed his stomach. “Yep, it sure hit the spot. Dishes can wait till mornin’. I’m about ready to turn in. You?”
Recalling last night, she stiffened. “I-I think I’ll sit on the porch and enjoy the evening air for a bit. If you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” His eyes widened. “Why should I mind? Go ahead, enjoy yourself. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He left her sitting at the table and disappeared up the stairs. Her gaze fell to the dirty plates and utensils. Okay, Taylor, he cooked, you can clean.
She went out to the pump and returned with a filled bucket, but too lazy to heat the water, she washed the dishes in cold, dried and put them away. On her way back outside, she hung the damp dishtowel on the hook next to the door.
The melodic chirping of crickets filled the night, but stilled when the door slammed. The sudden silence sent a shiver through her and made her want to retreat back inside. The lantern light shining through the kitchen window provided enough illumination to calm her, and she sat and pulled her feet up under her. Leaning on her elbow, she gazed up at the stars and wondered about David. Where are you tonight? Do you miss me?
She heaved a sigh. Was he even real or someone she created in her injured mind? Her own mind questioned the things she’d argued so strongly with Frank.
Across the yard, the light in the bunkhouse faded to dark. The crickets began their serenade once again. Taylor’s thoughts drifted to her previous night. Her skin warmed as she vividly relived Frank’s caresses. The image only served to stir up guilt. With a shake of her head, she attempted to clear her mind, but it didn’t help. Her attraction for him grew with each passing minute and it scared her.
She stood, walked to the railing, plucked a honeysuckle blossom and held it to her nose. Conflicted thoughts about her true identity buzzed through her mind.
Oh, Frank. Why are things still so hazy? If I am Mariah, why can’t I remember how much I love you? And why is David the one who seems to own my heart?
Taylor let the petals fall from her hand and went back inside. Carrying the lantern, she quietly ascended the stairs. She paused, with her hand on the doorknob, and tried one last time to sort things out. Perhaps, when she woke... Oh give it up, Taylor! Nothing is going to change. Maybe you should just accept the fact you are Mariah Cassidy.
Chapter Twenty
Denver, Colorado—2002
Mariah sat in the darkened theater, eyes fixed on the large screen. She tried to follow the movie, Insomnia, David had selected as their evening’s entertainment. He seemed excited because someone named Al Pacino had the starring role. As she watched in awe, loud gunfire reverberated throughout the theater. She jumped.
Al Pacino, peering through a heavy fog, realized someone had shot his partner. Bathed in the emotion of the moment, a tear slipped down Mariah’s cheek, and she brushed it away, wondering why she cried for people she didn’t even know. She reached into her bucket of buttered popcorn, tossed a handful into her mouth and followed it with a big drink of soda. Her eyes never left the screen until it went dark and the lights came up.
Mariah blinked several times to adjust to the sudden change. Everyone around them rose to leave, but David stretched his hands over his head, arched his back and yawned. He glanced over her. “So, what’d you think?”
“I’m not sure. I know you explained movies to me in the car, but this seemed so real, I cried.”
“Then I guess it was a good show. It’s supposed to make you feel what the characters feel.”
He stood. “I’m beat, are you ready to go?”
Mariah wiped the greasy sheen from her fingers. “I’m ready.” She finished the popcorn then slurped down the last of her soda. David took the empty containers from her and led her down the darkened hallway into the lobby.
On the quiet ride home, her thoughts turned to Frank. What would he have thought about the movie? About everything?
Oh Frank, I miss you so. What are you doing right now? Do you miss me?
Before she realized they were home, David pulled into the garage and pushed the button to close the door. Still amazed by all the wondrous gadgets, she wondered how he could believe she had forgotten so many things. Her life, as she recalled, was very real and she remembered every aspect it. It didn’t include any of these amazing contraptions like dishwashers, machines that opened doors, and a magic box that held a never-ending supply of little blocks of ice.
Always the gentleman, David hurried around to open her door. Taking her hand, he helped her out of the car. “I hope you had a good time tonight, Taylor. I know I did.”
Mariah stood on her tiptoes and placed a perfunctory kiss on his cheek. How many times did she have to remind him who she was? “Mariah had a very nice time, David. Thank you. The movie was quite entertaining.”
He followed quickly on her heels as she entered the house. “The evening doesn’t have to end here, you know? It’s still early.”
She turned to see him adjusting his pants. “What do you mean?” Trepidation quivered her voice as she eyed a noticeable bulge.
“I need to hold you, to make love to you. I know I promised I wouldn’t rush you, but haven’t I waited long enough?”
“I’m very tired, David.”
A look of disappointment crept into his eyes. She almost wanted to apologize.
* * * *
While getting undressed for bed, Mariah’s stomach began to cramp. Had she eaten too much popcorn? Knowing she couldn’t yet sleep, she put her robe on and went to join David. He lay stretched out in his recliner watching TV. She started to take her usual place on the couch, but the pains worsened. She excused herself to go to the bathroom.
She lowered her pants and sat on the toilet. Blood spotted her underwear. She rolled her eyes. Oh, my gosh, I’ve started my monthly. Why now, oh Lord?
I wonder where the rags are kept. Until she found them, she folded some toilet tissue and placed it in her panties.
With the uncomfortable paper between her legs, she waddled back into the den and stood between David and the TV. Her cheeks turned to fire. “I’ve…I’ve started my monthly time. I can’t remember where we keep the rags.”
“Rags?” He kicked his recliner into a sitting position, one brow peaked.
She stared at the floor. “Yes, you know, the ones f-for this time of the month.”
He rose and went into the bathroom. She followed and watched while he knelt and searched under the sink. He pulled out a box, and handed it to her. “Here, I think this is what you need. Honestly, Taylor, have you forgotten everything? And where in the world did that reference to rags come from?”
“It’s all I’ve ever used.” She scanned the label on the carton. “Super absorbent Tampax?” She sighed, pulled one from the box and stared at it while rolling the cylindrical tube in her hand.. She looked at him and shrugged. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
David’s jaw tensed. “They’re tampons. Don’t tell me you don’t even remember how to use them?”
“I have no idea. I can’t even guess from looking at one.”
David took the tampon and pulled it apart. “It’s not like I know from experience, but you put the whole thing inside you. This part comes out.” He held up the outer shell in one hand and a strange piece of cotton with a string attached in the other. “You leave this part inside to absorb the…blo…flow. You know it isn’t easy to teach someone something I know nothing about.” A flush crept up his neck and colored his cheeks.
She pondered his directions and winkled her nose. The thought of inserting something inside herself repulsed her. “I think I prefer to use a rag, if you don’t mind.”
David snatched the box from her and shoved the tampon back inside. He stooped down to search again. “Aha, I think I found something you can use.”
He handed her another box.
“Wings?” She took the box and read the label. Reaching inside, she pulled out a cotton pad and turned it over in her hand to examine it. “This does look a little more like what I had in mind.” She held it up. “But what are these things on the side for?”
He expelled an exasperated breath. “I’m not sure.” He grabbed the box and read the directions. “It says you fold them around the sides of your underwear to give you greater protection.” He handed them back to her. “These are things I prefer not to know.”
“And things I’d prefer not to discuss.” Her cheeks flamed again. She’d never discussed such personal things with Frank—never considered it. She meekly thanked David for his help, placed her hand in the middle of his back and pushed him out the door.
Mariah leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, clutching the box of strange pads. Tears burned the back of her eyes. How could she have forgotten so much? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make sense of anything at the moment.
Chapter Twenty-one
Colorado Territory—1872
Sleep eluded Taylor. She tossed and turned while thoughts of David filled her mind. The image of his face seemed so real. If she really was Mariah Cassidy, then why did she remember every detail about him? The tattoo on his left shoulder, his firm behind, the way he kissed and caressed her—everything was vividly etched in her mind. She couldn’t be wrong.
Frank seemed a kind and decent man, but he wasn’t David. Before she drifted off, she prayed, as she had so many times of late. Oh God, please tell me David is real and I’m not imagining him.
It seemed she had just fallen asleep when she heard a ruckus outside the window. She pushed the curtain aside and peered out to see several wagons in the yard. Each carried two or three women. Watching as Frank helped each of them down, she counted eight in all. She had no idea who they were or why they came. A niggling fear ate at her. What if they were there to see her? She wasn’t even dressed yet.
Taylor jumped up and hurriedly filled the wash bowl with water. After pushing the red locks away from her face, she surveyed bloodshot eyes. She wet a washcloth and held it against them for a moment, hoping the coolness would fade the redness.
Someone rapped on her door. “Mariah, are you awake?” Frank called out.
“I’m up, but I’m not dressed.” She hurried to grab her wrapper in case he came in.
“Well, get dressed. You have guests.”
“Oh shit, they are here to see me!” she mumbled.
“Did you say something?”
“I’ll be right down. You can come in if you’d like.” She quickly pulled her robe closed and raked fingers through her tangled hair. She wanted to plunge her head into the bowl of water and drown herself. She didn’t even the correct answers to Frank’s questions and now she had a new bunch of strangers waiting to grill her.
He entered with huge smile on his face, seeming way too cheerful for so early in the morning. “It’s the Ladies’ Angelical Society. They’ve come to pay a visit to see if they can help out while you recover.”
“Ladies what kind of society? I don’t even know what that means. And recover? I am recovered... well almost.” She plopped down on the bed and crossed her arms.
“Mariah, don’t getting’ your nose out of joint, and stop actin’ like a child. They’re your friends. You need to get dressed and come downstairs to the parlor.”
The parlor? Thank goodness I dusted in there.
What did one say to strange women who apparently thought they knew her? She felt like a child being forced to take a bite of a dreaded vegetable. She felt Frank’s impatience.
“Oh, all right!” she snapped. “Tell them I’ll be right down.”
Frank winked and left the room. She crossed to the armoire and selected a flowered print dress, pulled it on, then smoothed the skirt. Her gaze rested on the ridiculous selection of shoes in the closet. She certainly didn’t want to suffer the pain and agony of the high button ones. And she thought high-heels were torture.
She slipped her feet into the only pair of low tops there. “No one can see my feet anyhow,” she mumbled.
Even those were stiff and uncomfortable. Mariah certainly had no fashion sense or eye for comfort. In fact, her whole closet was a fashion disaster. Taylor snapped her fingers. “See, another clue I’m not Frank’s wife. I hate her clothes and her shoes.
She stood before the mirror, yanked a brush through her disheveled hair, then pulled it back and tied it with a ribbon that complimented her dress. She paused for a moment and stared at her image. Why couldn’t she believe it was her face she saw? It wasn’t an ugly one, but one makeup could work wonders on.
She pinched her cheeks until they turned red, copying what she’d once seen in a western movie. The rosy color faded almost immediately, and with a sigh, she turned from the mirror and peered down at her dowdy attire. “Well, this is as good as it gets.”
Pausing for a moment, she grasped the railing at the top of the stairs. God, help me say the right thing. The last thing I need is anyone else thinking I’ve lost my mind. She descended, feeling as though she’d been sentenced to the gallows instead of having tea with Mariah’s friends.
She took a deep breath before walking into the parlor, and the moment she appeared, the women converged on her, asking a million questions. As each one hugged her, she tried not to stiffen. She reminded herself to act like she knew them, but wondered how when she didn’t even know their names.
Frank entered and put his arm around her shoulders. “Ladies, ladies,” he spoke over the chatter. “Give my wife a little breathin’ space. She’s had a bad bump on her head and you’ll have to excuse her if she doesn’t remember everything. The doc says it’ll take some time, but her memory’ll come back.”
Taylor released a pent up breath and smiled. God bless Frank for being home and not out on the range. He looked at her and winked. “How about if I go put on a kettle of water so you ladies can have some tea?”
* * * *
Taylor bid the women goodbye and thanked them for coming. Clare, Francis, Maggie, LewAnn, Sarah, Opal, Minnette and Sassy each waited her turn for Frank’s help to get back into the wagons. Taylor felt a little annoyed at the way some of them brazenly flirted with him, but then reminded herself he wasn’t her husband. Why did she care?
Once they were all aboard, they called out their good-byes and headed their wagons toward the gate. Taylor stood on the porch and waved until she lost sight of them in swirling dust. Exhausted, she plopped down in her wicker chair. “Oh my lord. That was tiring.”
Frank laughed and took a seat next to her. “Yep, I can imagine. All that hen cluckin’ wore me out just listening.”
She smiled. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. I don’t think I could have managed an explanation.”
“Glad I could help.”
“Well, your help is still needed.”
“For what?”
“Sassy forced me to promise we’d come to town for the next church social.”
Frank eyes sparkled. “Really? That’ll be great. When?”
“Next Sunday.” Dread sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach. The last time she’d gone to church was when she married David. She imagined people in hell putting on coats for the upcoming freeze.
Chapter Twenty-two
Denver, Colorado—2003
Mariah was almost asleep when the bedroom door opened. Frozen with fear, she lay perfectly still and listened to footsteps coming closer. She considered screaming. Instead, she waited, with breath halted, afraid to roll over and look.
The side of the bed sagged with the weight of another’s body. The fragrance of David’s after-shave wafted past her nose. She relaxed, knowing it was only him and not one of the intruders she’d heard about on the evening news. The world had turned into a much uglier place than she recalled.
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