Time Tantrums

by Ginger Simpson

  “Shall we?”

  Yet another couple entered the church carrying a covered dish. They smiled and waved before disappearing through the door. “Frank,” Taylor whispered, “should we have brought food to share?

  “I reckon we should’ve.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say something? We’re going to be the only freeloaders here.”

  “Free whatters?”

  “Oh, never mind. It’s too late now.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and took another deep breath.

  Frank put his hand in the middle of her back and hurried her inside. Motioning for her to sit in the pew closest to the door, he scooted in next to her. The bench was hard and uncomfortable, and more people crowded into the almost full church. With the doors closed, it didn’t take long before the air turned uncomfortably warm and stale. Taylor felt claustrophobic and struggled to breathe.

  Pastor Amos, as she’d learned his name, walked behind the pulpit and raised his arms. Everyone stood and, with hymnal in hand, began to sing. Taylor fumbled through pages, trying to find the right song, but didn’t recognize the lyrics at all. Frank’s baritone voice crooned pleasantly next to her—his voice a nice mix with those surrounding them. She finally gave up looking and mouthed the words as best she could. When the song ended, everyone sat.

  Like an antsy child, Taylor fidgeted on the hard wooden seat, wishing she was anywhere else. She already dreaded the long ride home, and pictured the monotony.

  “I’m so pleased to see Mariah Cassidy among us today.”

  Taylor snapped to attention as soon as she heard the pastor call out Mariah’s name.

  “Hallelujah!” he proclaimed. “Let’s all welcome her and give thanks to the Lord that she’s back among the flock.”

  All eyes turned to her; Taylor felt her face heat. She managed a crooked smile, much like that of a little girl caught stealing cookies.

  Everyone applauded.

  She straightened in her seat and nodded in appreciation, hoping she hadn’t missed anything important that had been said. Daydreaming was always something she did when she became bored. She forced herself to pay attention for the remainder of the service.

  After a short sermon and a few announcements, the Pastor invited the congregation out onto the walkway between the church and the rectory. Long tables along the wall held a bounty of food, and plates and utensils were ready at the end. On a separate table, a large punch bowl stood filled to capacity with lemonade. Fresh fruit slices floated on top. Frank pointed out a short, stocky woman to Taylor. “That’s Mrs. Amos, the Pastor’s wife.”

  The woman appeared to be less than five feet tall and almost as wide. Despite her ample size, she moved easily from person to person, welcoming each and encouraging all to fill their plates. When she noticed Taylor, Mrs. Amos made a beeline in her direction and warmly embraced her. “Mariah, my sweet. I’m so happy to see you here. We’ve all been praying for your recovery.”

  Taylor tried hard to relax and act naturally. “Thank you, Mrs. Amos. It’s nice to be here. I’m so sorry I didn’t bring a dish to share.”

  Mrs. Amos patted her shoulder. “There, there, my dear, don’t you fret. I heard all about your terrible experience. We wouldn’t expect you to bring something. We’re just glad to have you here with us. Please eat and enjoy.”

  Taylor and Frank filled their plates and took a seat on the rock wall next to the rectory. While munching on the tasty array of food, she watched the children play. Running and giggling, they dodged in and out between the visiting adults, surprisingly unnoticed. Their giggles were contagious and she smiled. Frank intently watched one young boy about the same age as Jacob. Taylor nudged him with her elbow. “I know you must really miss the children. Why don’t you make a trip tomorrow and bring them home? I’m sure they miss you, too.”

  He swallowed a bite of food and flashed a broad smile. “Thanks, I think I will. It isn’t the same without them around. Are you sure you’ll be able to handle the questions they have? You know they don’t understand this any more than we do.”

  She chuckled. “I’m fine with it. I guess you haven’t noticed—I’m starting to mellow a bit.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Denver, Colorado—2003

  David and Mariah walked down the long carpeted hallway leading to Dr. Ramone’s office. Brightly painted pictures hung on both sides of the walls, bringing out matching colors in the plush floor covering. The trip there had been stressful. During the ride, Mariah struggled with how to explain this strange turn of events to the analyst without appearing to be totally crazed.

  “Suite 203. Here we are.” David reached for the doorknob.

  Mariah took a deep breath and entered. A young woman slid open a glass partition. “Hello. May I help you?”

  David approached the counter. “Yes, I’m David Morgan.” Gesturing behind him, he said, “And this … this is Mariah Cassidy. We have an appointment with Dr. Ramone.”

  Hearing her own name was music to Mariah’s ears. Twice now, David had actually used it. She smiled at the woman.

  “We’ve been expecting you. Please, will you and Ms. Cassidy have a seat and I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

  Mariah’s knees wobbled. She had no idea how to begin her story for the doctor, and gladly took a seat. David sat next to her. He leaned on his knees and rubbed his palms together, appearing as anxious as she felt.

  The scratching noise he made seemed increasingly loud in the silence. She reached over and grabbed one of his hands. “David, please relax. You’re making me nervous.”

  He swiped his palms on his pant legs and leaned back. “Sorry, I just don’t know what to expect.”

  “That’s a surprise.”

  David’s head snapped around. “Just exactly what does that mean?”

  “I’m the one locked in this time zone. I’m just saying, you seem to have a better grasp on things than I do.”

  The tenseness seemed to drain from his shoulders. “Let’s not argue about things right now. This hasn’t been easy for either of us. I do concede, it’s probably been harder on you, but it hasn’t been a picnic for me either. Let’s both take a deep breath and try to get through this.”

  The door next to the counter opened and the young lady appeared. “Right this way. Dr. Ramone will see you now.”

  Mariah felt thankful David stood first and helped her up on quivering legs. She really wanted to run in the other direction, but instead followed behind as they were led to the doctor’s office.

  In comparison to the cheery hallway, Dr. Ramone’s office was dark and sedate. A petite woman, looking to be about forty, sat behind a large desk that dwarfed her when she stood. One side of the mahogany surface held neatly stacked folders and the displayed various framed photographs. One of a young girl with hair the color of Callie’s brought a lump to Mariah’s throat. She swallowed hard.

  “Good morning, I’m Doctor Ramone.” The petite woman smiled. “You must be Mr. Morgan and Ms. Cassidy.”

  David nodded. “Yes. It’s very nice to meet you.” He offered his hand.

  Dr. Ramone locked palms with him then motioned toward two large chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  Mariah’s knees threatened to buckle. She smiled at the doctor and dropped into the leather chair next to David. “Thank you.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

  The doctor sat behind her desk and picked up a pen and pad. “Tell me what brings you in today. My notes show that my friend, Dr. Shaw, referred you.”

  “Yes, he treated my... treated Ms. Cassidy after a bad car accident.” David answered.

  He paused for a moment. “Let me see if I can word this so it makes sense.”

  Mariah flashed a pleading look at him. It was a sure thing she didn’t want to try to explain the madness.

  While David pondered his choice of words, Dr. Ramone turned to Mariah. “Ms. Cassidy you were injured in an automobile accident? How badly?”

  �
��D-Dr. Ramone, I-I don’t know how else to present the whole story other than starting from the very beginning.” The words sputtered from David’s mouth and his brow furrowed. “So please bear with me. If it doesn’t make sense to you, then you’ll know exactly how we’ve felt for the past month.”

  * * * *

  The doctor’s eyes widened, but she furiously made notes. When David finished the story, she looked to Mariah and got a validating nod.

  The doctor put her pen aside and leaned back in her chair. “So, let me see if I understand this correctly. Your wife is Taylor Morgan, and she looks just like the person sitting next to you, but the person sitting next to you is not your wife. She is really Mariah Cassidy?”

  “That’s right.” David sat forward in his chair.

  The doctor massaged the bridge of her nose. “You say that Taylor suffered a serious head injury in an auto mishap and when she regained consciousness in the hospital, she claimed to be Mariah Cassidy, not your wife, Taylor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, Mariah.” The doctor looked at her. “You say you are married to Frank Cassidy, live on a ranch, have two children and...” The doctor paused and took a breath while scanning her notes. “Hmmm, and the year you last remember is 1872. Is that right?”

  Mariah wrung her hands. “Yes, that’s exactly what I remember. No one wants to believe I’ve never seen cars, or big buildings like these, or dishwashers, or a television, or...”

  Dr. Ramone stood and paced behind her chair. “Okay, Ms. Cassidy. I believe you, but I’m not sure why I do. What I would like to do to confirm the story is to put you under hypnosis.”

  Mariah stiffened in her chair. “What exactly is that?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s painless. It’s a state of relaxation that allows me to question your inner mind. When it’s over, you’ll probably remember everything we talked about. Are you okay with that?”

  Mariah glanced over at David, seeking guidance.

  His eyes softened and he gave an encouraging nod. “In order to make any sense of this we have to do whatever Dr. Ramone thinks is best. I’ll be right here with you.”

  Mariah looked back at the doctor and shrugged. “Okay.” Using the word felt strange, but she’d heard it so often it had become part of her speech. “I don’t think I have any other choice at this point.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Colorado Territory—1872

  Taylor found the social thoroughly enjoyable. She especially relished the time spent with other women. She compared their relaxed lives to hers as a hustling attorney—that life that seemed a million miles away. Before now, she believed the most important achievements were prestige and money, but living in Mariah Cassidy’s shoes made those things seem a lot less important. She chuckled. She literally lived in Mariah’s shoes, ugly though they were.

  It was after three o’clock when Frank invaded the group of giggling women. “It’s going to take us a while to get home. We’d better get moving if we want to get there before dark.”

  Taylor reluctantly bid farewell to her newfound friends, exchanged hugs and invitations for future visits. She was starting to accept this might be her life from now on. It really wouldn’t be such a bad one if only David was part of it. Frank helped her into the buggy and she adjusted her skirt around her.

  He shook hands with the Pastor and tipped his hat to Mrs. Amos. “Thanks so much for hosting the social. Mariah and I had a great time.”

  Mrs. Amos reached up and patted his hand. “You’re welcome, Frank. I’m just so happy to see that beautiful bride of yours up and around. You know, we miss seeing you and the family in church occasionally.”

  His face reddened. “I know we should come more often, but the trip is such a far piece. We do try to make it once a month. I’m pretty sure God understands. Don’t you?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s pleased whenever you visit,” the Pastor added, backing away from the rig.

  As the Gert trotted away from the church, the Amos’ stood on the walkway and waved goodbye. Taylor waved back through the canopy opening until the couple was no longer in sight. She turned, smoothed her skirt and folded her hands in her lap. “That was really fun. I had a nice time. Thanks for bringing me. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Yep.” He rippled the reins. “Like I said, there are lots of nice folks hereabouts.”

  From beneath the canopy, Taylor eyed the threatening pillars in the sky. She pulled her shawl more snugly around her shoulders. “Those clouds look mighty angry. I thought you said it would take a while for them to move in.” She glanced over to check his reaction.

  “Normally, it does, but these appear to be coming a might faster than normal.” He pushed his hat back and eyed the sky more closely. “I’d say we might get a little wet before we get home.”

  “Shit! I-I mean shoot. I hate being wet and cold, and all I have is this thin shawl.” She screwed her lips frown.

  “Nice to see you’re correctin’ your language. I really appreciate it since I’m planning on fetchin’ the children home. And don’t pout, there’s a blanket and a poncho under the seat, just in case.”

  Taylor smiled. “I wasn’t pouting. I was just... Okay, so maybe I was. But I do hate being wet and cold.”

  “Among so many other things,” he muttered, giving the reins a more urgent snap.

  * * * *

  The wind swirled tiny pieces of dry prairie grass along the ground and hurled them into the buggy. To keep his hat from being blown away, Frank pushed it down over his eyes. From beneath the lowered brim he noticed Taylor pull her shawl over the top of her bonnet.

  His hands firmly on the reins kept Gert trotting along at an even speed—she was much too old to run. The north wind made an eerie sound as it passed through the opening in the back of the canopy. Taylor mumbled to herself, “Dumb idea... hole…put window…very bright…”

  Frank heard only bits and pieces. “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing. Doesn’t matter. I was complaining again. Did I mention I also hate wind?”

  He chuckled, but kept a wary eye on the sky. He wondered where they might seek shelter if it became necessary. There wasn’t much between them and home.

  The force of the wind grew stronger, swaying the buggy from side to side. Gert struggled against the headwind. Frank reached under the seat and grabbed the poncho. “Here, you’d better put this on. It looks like I misjudged the storm’s arrival.”

  Taylor pulled the heavy woven material over her head. “This isn’t exactly the fashion statement I wanted to make.”

  “Well, it’s only you, me and Gert, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You might wanna fetch the blanket and wrap it round your legs.”

  He’d barely finished his sentence before the rain started. Blowing in front the front, it drenched Taylor’s face and soaked the blanket, but at least the poncho afforded some protection. Ahead, Frank spied an outcropping of rocks just high enough to provide some respite from the torrential rain, or so he thought. Despite the canopy, the wind continued to blow rain in from front and side. Water drizzled from the brim of his hat. “Well, this wasn’t a great idea. I hoped to keep you from gettin’ wetter, but I see there’s no reason to sit here. We may as well keep movin’. At least we’ll be getting closer to home.”

  Holding his hat with one hand to secure it from a sudden gust of wind, he snapped the reins with the other. “Giddyap, Gert.”

  * * * *

  Frank reined Gert to a halt next to the porch. “Go ahead and get out. I’ll be in after I dry this old mare off a bit.”

  Taylor threw off the soaked blanket and, wrestling with her drenched skirt, tried to alight. It was as though her legs had developed a second skin. The poncho had provided little protection from the driving rain. Water cascaded from her soaked bonnet and sent little rivers of water snaking down her face. She stood in a puddle on the porch and laughed. “I appreciate the courtesy, but I don’t think walking from the barn would have made much differenc
e.”

  “Well, give me credit for trying to be a gentleman. I’m sorry the ride home was so awful.”

  Leaving a trail of water in her wake, she stepped inside the house, stopping on the braided rug inside the door. She hugged herself.

  Oh thank goodness. To be warm again.

  She stripped herself of her wet garments where she stood then carefully carried them across the kitchen floor, and put them in the laundry tub. Grabbing a towel, she bent over and let her wet tresses hang free while trying to remove the excess moisture. “The only thing worse then red hair is wet, red hair,” she mumbled.

  “Ahem,” Frank announced from the back door. “You do know I’m in the house? I have to admit I like the view.”

  His voice startled her. The chemise she wore left very little to the imagination and her position obviously displayed far too much. She quickly straightened and wrapped herself in the towel. Her cheeks heated.

  “Well, I do now. Please take your wet stuff off before you cross the floor. Remember, I just mopped.” Listening to herself speak, she wondered when her personality changed to fit her new face.

  He stepped out of his boots, stripped off his blue jeans and shirt and stood in his long johns. “What do I do with my wet clothes, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Put them here in the wash tub—and be careful where you drip.” She tried not to laugh at him.

  He tiptoed across the floor. “My, my, haven’t we changed. I can imagine what you would have told me to do with them a couple of weeks ago.”

  “I told you I’m mellowing. I figure I can’t explain what’s happened and I can’t control where I am, but I can try to keep my sanity. There could be worse places to be.”