Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  “I plan to, but if he’s the one responsible for the fire on December 22, wouldn’t it be better to get him to leave town?”

  “Of course. But if he’s the owner of the pistol you’ve been worrying about, I don’t want to give him any more reason to use it on us.”

  “That’s right—the pistol. Since you don’t have it, and the Rutledges don’t have it, Shorty must have it We can’t let him leave town until we get it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Drake said, frowning. “There’s something I don’t understand. I thought you said I would be killed in a fire.”

  “That’s what the article said—you read it.”

  “Then why would the pistol be so important? Why would it be so significant to your task that it would send you back in time?”

  She’d wondered about that, too. “Maybe a bullet ignites the fuse, or sets something on fire somehow. How would I know?” she asked, perturbed by questions she couldn’t answer. “I’m not an arsonist. But I bet Shorty knows at least a hundred ways to start a fire with a gun.”

  “No doubt,” Drake murmured.

  “So, you’ll help me?”

  Drake looked startled. “Help you what?”

  “Help me get the pistol from Shorty.”

  His answer was a brief and uncompromising, “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s dangerous.”

  “And the threat of your death isn’t?” she asked incredulously.

  “We’re not talking about my death here,” he reminded her. “We’re talking about your desire for a pistol which may or may not exist.”

  “Oh, it exists all right. Esme said so.”

  “Did she also say it belonged to Callahan?”

  “No, but who else could it belong to? He’s the arsonist. He’s the one who wants you dead.”

  “I see your point, but it’s still dangerous.”

  “Then I’ll do it by myself,” she declared.

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” he said, sounding alarmed.

  She raised her chin a notch. “All right, then I’ll get Rupert to help me.”

  “You would involve that poor young man in yet another of your wild schemes?”

  “It’s not wild, and yes, if you won’t help me search Shorty’s room, I’ll have to find someone else. I know I can trust Rupert.”

  Drake regarded her thoughtfully. “Is it that important to you to regain this pistol?”

  “Of course it is.” Jeez, didn’t he remember anything she’d said? “I can’t go home without it.”

  “And it’s important that you return home?”

  Again, she said, “Of course. What would keep me here?”

  It was a very broad hint, almost a plea, for him to ask her to stay. But either he didn’t pick up on it . . . or he didn’t want to.

  “I see,” he said carefully. “Then, if it is that important to you, I’ll help you find the gun.”

  Gina barely restrained herself from throwing her arms around his neck. “Great! It’ll be just great. You’ll see.”

  Before Drake could change his mind, Gina gathered up Scruffy and cornered the mesmerist early the next day to remind him of his promise. Reluctantly, he agreed to go down to Hope Springs with her.

  Gina decided she would be too conspicuous in her uniform, so she put on the pretty green dress and covered it with a warm cloak. The chill December wind cut right through her, and she was glad of the shelter when they took the train spur down the few miles to the town. She didn’t want to discuss their plans with passengers all around them, so she kept silent until they got off in Hope Springs and she was able to pull Drake aside.

  “What do you have planned?” he asked warily.

  “I’m not sure yet.” Her only “plan” was to make it up as she went along. “First, we need to find his room. You heard Chief Garrett—Shorty is staying at Mrs. Zimmerman’s boardinghouse. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “And once we’re there, how do you propose to find Callahan’s room?”

  “I’ll just ask Mrs. Zimmerman.”

  “You think she’ll tell you?”

  “Sure, why not? I’ll tell her I’m Shorty’s sister.”

  “And I?”

  “You’ll be my brother.”

  His eyebrow rose. “That would also make me Callahan’s brother. You think she’ll believe that?”

  She glanced up at Drake, almost a foot taller than Shorty. “Well, maybe not,” she conceded.

  “Let’s make it simple,” Drake said. “We’ll just tell her I’m your husband . . . if she asks.”

  “All right,” Gina said with an odd look at him. She wasn’t quite sure how to take that, but decided it didn’t mean anything. He was just trying to be logical and efficient.

  It was odd seeing the town from the perspective of the past after seeing it as it had changed in the future. Things were a little skewed, not quite the same, but not all that different either. It was disconcerting.

  And she didn’t remember seeing the boardinghouse in the future, so they obtained directions from the stationmaster. It was on one of the main streets, so they strolled casually in that direction, but the effect was spoiled when they had to huddle against the wind. Fearing poor Scruffy might be blown away, she carried him under her cloak.

  As they neared the boardinghouse, Drake pulled her into a doorway, his shoulders hunched against the cold. “It’s early yet. He might still be inside.”

  Darn, he was right. She hadn’t thought about that. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for him to come out, then. If we don’t freeze to death first.”

  Drake glanced around at their meager shelter. “This won’t do. Come, let’s wait in the mercantile.” The mercantile lay across the street from the boardinghouse and had a display window in front that they could peer through, so it was a good idea. And, as they entered the store, blessed warmth surrounded them, courtesy of the prominent potbellied stove.

  The storekeeper nodded politely and didn’t even blink at the presence of a dog in his store. Gratefully, Gina loosened her cloak and put Scruffy down to heel. They spent a few minutes warming themselves at the stove and surreptitiously keeping an eye on the boardinghouse through the window, but she knew they had to move soon or the storekeeper would get suspicious.

  “Let’s pretend we’re shopping and take turns keeping an eye on the window,” she murmured.

  Drake nodded and they both moved to different parts of the store to browse through the merchandise. After fifteen minutes or so, Gina felt guilty for not buying anything, so she picked up a few odds and ends—some stationery for Esme, some sweet-smelling soap and hair ribbons for Bridget, and a pocketknife for Rupert.

  Though the guy worked hard to send money home to his family, he rarely bought anything for himself. Besides, it was nearing Christmas and though she didn’t plan to be here for the holiday, she wanted to do a little something for the people who had been so kind to her in this time. What else could she do with her earnings, anyway?

  Another fifteen minutes passed and she glanced up to see Drake at the counter. Apparently, he had picked up a few guilt items as well, for he was paying for them now. He caught her eye and gave her a significant glance.

  Finally—he must have seen Shorty leave. She approached the counter. “Is it time to go now?”

  “Yes, I think I’ve found everything I need. How about you?”

  “Me, too,” Gina said and paid for her merchandise, barely able to restrain her eagerness. Finally, she was going to find the pistol that would take her back to her own time.

  As they left the store with her quaint paper-wrapped parcel, she whispered, “I take it you saw him leave.”

  “Yes,” Drake whispered back. “He headed up the street at a brisk pace. I don’t think he’ll be back soon.”

  When Drake lingered in the doorway, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Perhaps it would be better to wait a few minutes. It might seem suspicious if we arriv
e too soon after Callahan’s departure.”

  He had a point. Sighing, she said, “Okay,” and gave a longing look back at the warm store as she wrapped her cloak more securely around her. “Do we just stand here, then?”

  “Well, since we have a few minutes . . .” Drake dug around in his own parcel and pulled out a small box. He handed it to her, saying, “This is for you.”

  “You bought something for me?” Touched, Gina could do nothing but stare down at the box. What did this mean?

  He shrugged. “I know you don’t plan on being here much longer, so I thought I’d give you a little something to remember me by. Go ahead, open it,” he urged.

  She opened the box to see an exquisite etched silver heart suspended from a silver bow. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed as she touched it with trembling fingers.

  “It’s a brooch,” he said. “And a locket.”

  “A locket?” She opened it to find it empty. “What do people of this time keep in their lockets?”

  He shrugged, seeming embarrassed. “Small photographs, miniature paintings, small mementos, a lock of hair. . . .”

  She smiled up at him, immeasurably touched by his sweet gesture. “Then may I have a lock of your hair?” There was no time to arrange for a photo, and it would be something tangible she could take with her—something of his.

  He seemed both pleased and embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he said, “Of course. I’ll, er, give you one when we get back to the hotel.”

  All of a sudden, she didn’t feel the wind anymore. Instead, she was intensely aware of Drake’s closeness. His gaze locked with hers, and she swayed toward him, hoping for a kiss. Hmm, a hot tub wouldn’t go amiss right now, either.

  Scruffy whined at her feet, breaking the spell. Sighing, Gina handed her parcel to Drake and picked up the shivering little dog. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, rubbing him briskly. “You’re the one with a fur coat—you should be warm.”

  Drake merely smiled and said, “Perhaps we can try Mrs. Zimmerman’s now.”

  Gina nodded and they crossed the street and knocked on the door. A large, sturdy-looking woman came to the door. “Yes? May I help you?” There was only the faint trace of a German accent lingering in her speech.

  “Yes,” Gina said eagerly. “I’m looking for my brother, Shorty Callahan. Is he here, please?”

  “No, he left,” the woman replied brusquely.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  The woman’s tone was uncompromising and not at all encouraging, but Gina produced her best smile. “May I wait for him, then?”

  “It’s very cold out here,” Drake interjected, “and we’ve come a long way to visit er, Shorty.”

  Gina grinned to herself as she realized they didn’t even know his real first name. Hopefully, the landlady wouldn’t know him by anything else either.

  “All right,” the woman said grudgingly and frowned down at Scruffy. “But the dog must behave.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Gina assured her. “He’s a perfect gentleman.”

  Mrs. Zimmerman looked dubious but opened the door wider to let them in. “All right. You wait in the parlor.”

  The parlor? That wouldn’t do at all. Gina’s mind raced as she tried to find a plausible reason for them to wait in Shorty’s room. As they entered the immaculately clean house and neared the parlor, she heard voices coming from it. Good—just the excuse she needed.

  “Oh dear,” she exclaimed. When Mrs. Zimmerman turned to her with a questioning look, Gina shrank away from the other guests. Placing her hand on her brow, she swayed and said, “The noise. I don’t think I can bear it.”

  Luckily, Drake caught her cue and moved forward to support her supposed faintness, patting her hand with an anxious expression. It would have been rather nice if she didn’t know it was all an act.

  “We’ve come a long way,” he explained. “And it was a very trying trip for my wife. Perhaps you have somewhere quiet where we can wait?”

  The woman scowled, and looked around as if hunting for a suitable place, but Drake added, “Her brother’s room, perhaps? If she could just lie down for a half hour or so, I’m sure she’d feel much better.”

  “Oh yes, please,” Gina said in a weak voice as she tried to look suitably limp and faint.

  “All right,” Mrs. Zimmerman said. “You wait upstairs. I take you.”

  She led the way up the stairs as Drake solicitously helped Gina up after her. Once the woman left them alone, Gina dropped the die-away airs and Drake released her, unfortunately removing his warmth as well.

  “Are you quite certain you’ve never been on the stage?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Look who’s talking—I’ve never seen someone pick up on a cue so fast in my life.”

  He grinned and gestured at the room. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  She opened the door just wide enough for Scruffy to see out and put him on guard. Then she and Drake methodically searched the whole room, trying not to unduly disturb anything. Mrs. Zimmerman must have whisked in here right after Shorty left, for the bed was freshly made and the room was spotless—she doubted Shorty would have kept it that way.

  They looked everywhere they could think of, even a few places she doubted anyone else would have thought of, but no pistol.

  Finally, Gina collapsed on the bed in frustration. “It’s not here.”

  Drake nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  “But where could it be?” Gina wailed. “He must have hidden it somewhere else—or he has it on him.”

  “There is another possibility,” Drake suggested.

  “What?”

  “Perhaps he hasn’t acquired it yet.”

  Gina’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t even think about that. That must be it. Now what do we do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Drake said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Except . . .”

  “What?”

  “May I have a piece of that paper you just purchased?”

  “Sure.” She rummaged through the package and handed him one. “What are you going to do with it?”

  Drake sat at the small desk and used the pen Mrs. Zimmerman had so thoughtfully provided. “I’ll leave him a note.”

  “You’re not going to tell him we were here, are you?”

  “No, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out once Mrs. Zimmerman describes us.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” With that white streak in his hair, Drake was very distinctive, and how many women walked around with a small black dog? Yes, Shorty would know they’d been there.

  “I just want to give him something else to think about,” Drake said and blew on the ink just as Scruffy let out a sharp bark.

  “Someone’s coming,” Gina hissed.

  Quickly, she cast herself down on the bed and held her hand dramatically to her brow as Drake sat next to her and patted her hand solicitously. She peered around him and was glad to see it was only Mrs. Zimmerman at the door.

  “You stay here all day?” she asked, scowling.

  “No, I think not,” Drake answered. “My wife is feeling much better now, so we’ll just find a hotel room and come back later.”

  The landlady nodded. “Good.”

  He folded the paper and left it on the desk. “I’ve just left a note for her brother to let him know where we’ll be staying.” Helping Gina to her feet, he said, “We won’t impose upon you any longer, but we do thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Yes,” Gina said with a weak smile. “I feel much better now. Thank you so much.”

  The woman nodded grudgingly, and they made their way out the door, Scruffy following. Mrs. Zimmerman locked the door behind them.

  Then, once they were outside and she was able to drop the act, Gina asked, “What did you put in that note, anyway?”

  Drake grinned. “Nothing much. From what I’ve heard, the ma
n seems to equate mesmerism with spiritualism, and he’s afraid I have occult powers. So, I just told him that I had a warning from his mother not to start any more fires or he would be doomed forever.”

  Gina’s eyes widened in admiration. “Good idea—he seemed afraid of his mother.”

  “I also suggested it might be best if he left town for good. That way he won’t be able to set any fires.”

  “Another great idea,” Gina said in admiration, then frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really,” she said. “But if he leaves, how am I ever going to find the pistol that will take me home?”

  Chapter 18

  Drake looked up from his desk to see Gina at the door.

  “We have a few minutes before Annabelle’s session,” she said. “Can we talk?”

  “Of course.”

  She entered with that stubborn look he knew so well. “Well, another week has slipped away from us.”

  “Yes, I know.” Another week closer to his predicted death. Had she imagined he could forget?

  “How can you be so complacent?”

  “I’m not,” he answered calmly. On the contrary, he found it necessary to continuously fight off any stirrings of fear and despair. But his overriding determination to save Annabelle Rutledge gave him the strength to do just that.

  “Don’t you realize you’re going to die in two weeks?”

  Yes, he believed that implicitly now. “If I must, I must. But I can’t call myself a man if I leave without taking Charlotte with me.”

  “Annabelle.”

  “What?”

  “You mean Annabelle,” Gina said gently.

  He felt himself flush. “Of course.”

  Her face softened. “I understand this situation seems like it’s your sister all over again, but Charlotte is dead. You can’t bring her back.”

  “No, but I can save Mrs. Rutledge from meeting the same fate.”

  “Not if both of you are killed in two weeks.”

  “I know that,” he said as patiently as he could, despite the fact that they’d had endless variations on this conversation since they’d met. “I shall just have to convince her to leave soon. I’ve been working up to it, and I think she may finally be ready.” Lord knew he had worked hard enough to get her to this point. And this morning, finally, he had received the means to convince her.