by Janet Leigh
As we came to the end of the lane, it opened, revealing the Hawkinses’ homestead. The house was a two-story white frame house with green trim the color of the surrounding pine trees. The huge wraparound porch had several rocking chairs, and a big old hound dog slouched in front of the door. He raised his head up to check us out, then gave a sort of “ruff.” Obviously deciding that getting up was too much trouble, he flopped back down on his belly and rested his head on the porch. That was the extent of his guard-dog duty.
A tall, skinny man was coming down the two steps leading up to the porch. He seemed to be the owner and looked very pleased to see this Pancho Villa. Mr. Villa dismounted to shake hands with the man. He spoke in Spanish, and the man looked at us and something was said again in Spanish, and they all laughed. The man went back into the house, and we got off our horses. Moments later the man returned and spoke in English, telling Villa there would not be a problem with the cleanup.
Gertie moved closer to me. “This house looks very familiar.”
“Do you think you have been here before?” I asked.
“I don’t think so, but I have that kind of déjà vu feeling.”
Mr. Villa spoke with his thick Spanish accent. “This is Slim Hawkins; his wife will take you around back to wash. If you do not wish for Paco to watch, then I suggest you do not attempt to leave.”
Paco gave me a little shove and led us around to the back of the house. A heavyset woman came out with a basket of ripe tomatoes. She wore a floral housedress that hung down to her ankles. A white apron was tied around her plump waist, and she had her dark-brown hair pulled up on the top of her head in a bun.
“Now I’m really having that feeling like I have seen these people somewhere,” Gertie said.
“Maybe they look like someone you know,” I responded.
“Mmm, both of them?” she asked with a finger pressed to her lips. “Maybe.”
“Howdy, girls, my name’s Opal Hawkins. You can call me Mrs. Opal. Slim said you were in need of a tomater bath. Pee-yew! Y’all sure do stink. That ole skunk must ‘ave got you good.”
“Nice to meet you, and yes, it did,” I said.
“Follow me this way.” She motioned for us to come along and balanced the basket on her hip as she waddled away from the house toward a small shed.
When we were out of earshot from Paco, I asked Mrs. Hawkins, “What do you know about this Pancho Villa dude?”
Opal looked at us kinda funny. Then she scrunched up her mouth like someone who was carefully choosing her words. “He’s a hero to his people, not someone you’d wanna cross. He’ll kill whoever gets in his way. Women, children, it don’t matter.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to be killed. I didn’t want to stink like skunk. My priorities were in order.
“He’s always been good to us on accounta he does business with my son.”
“What kind of business?” I asked hesitantly.
“Oh, we’re mule traders,” she said proudly. “Mr. Villa uses the mules for hauling his, um, cargo. My son, Johnny, is on his way with the next shipment of mules. My Johnny raises the best jackasses in the entire state of Texas. That’s why Mr. Villa trades with us.”
“I remember reading about Pancho Villa,” Gertie said. “He cut the soles off people’s feet.”
“You can read?” Mrs. Opal asked. “Must be why he wants ya. He don’t read much.”
We were standing in front of a square wooden building with a pointed tin roof. “OK, girls, get in that bathhouse and take off yer clothes.”
The shed turned out to be a bathroom of sorts. There was a big metal washtub with a number three on the side in the middle of the room and an outhouse in the other half. She started mashing the tomatoes with a big metal hoe.
“You gals get on in the tub.”
I looked at Gertie, and then we both looked at the small metal tub in front of us. I think the last time I had taken a bath with a friend I was five years old.
Gertie shrugged. “Mrs. Opal, Jen wants to go first.” She sounded like a first grader.
“No matter to me, first one in gets the fresh water,” Mrs. Opal said, pounding the tomatoes to a pulp. Gertie started ripping her clothes off, but the laces on the grandma boots hung her up, and I got undressed first. I stepped into the tub as Mrs. Opal instructed. The tub was too small to lie down in, so I sat in the bottom and hugged my knees to my chest. Mrs. Opal poured the squashed tomatoes over my head, followed by a bucket of cold water.
After I screamed out loud from the shock of possible frostbite, she said, “Sorry ‘bout that. Can’t get the smell out with the warm water, and no time for heatin’ now anyhow.” She handed me a bar of soap that actually smelled good.
“I make my soap outta lavender ‘cause it smells so good and it calms your nerves,” she said.
Sign me up for anything that would calm nerves. I was contemplating the state of my nerves and wondering if I should just eat the soap when Mrs. Opal dumped more freezing water in my direction. I guess I should have told Mrs. Opal she had invented the first spa, but I didn’t see any sign of a masseuse, so I just washed with the tomatoes and lavender. When I got out, I didn’t smell as bad. I stood with a towel wrapped around me as she repeated the process with Gertie. Mrs. Opal reached into her basket and gave us some clothes to wear.
“These belonged to my girls before they took the fever.”
Gertie and I looked at each other and then at the neatly stacked clothes. Lord, I hoped my vaccinations held up in time travel. I didn’t want the fever.
After we were washed, our hair was brushed and braided. Mrs. Opal insisted all the young girls were wearing their hair “plaited” like the French women.
“You have the most beautiful hair,” she told me. “How lucky to have so many different colors.”
I wasn’t actually so lucky. It was ninety dollars worth of highlights by Blaine, but I didn’t think Mrs. Opal would understand. Lucky for me girls were required to wear bonnets. I tugged the hat over my freshly braided hair and felt about four years old. At least it disguised my hair. If the brigands turned up, I would fit right in. Hopefully…
While Mrs. Opal finished braiding Gertie’s hair, I stepped outside to check for a way out of the place. Paco was leaning against the wall to the washroom, guarding the door. He licked his lips. I shivered and ran back inside.
The house had an attached sleeping porch at the back that extended all the way across the width of the house. A long wooden table ran almost the entire length of the room. When we returned to the house, the men were sitting at the long table, being served food by several young Mexican women. Everyone turned and looked at us as we entered, and I swear they sniffed the air and wrinkled their little brown noses. They ignored the new aroma and continued to eat, so I guess we weren’t too offensive.
Mrs. Opal wanted us to come in the kitchen and help ourselves to some food. I must admit this was better than the canned food from the night before. There were scrambled eggs, pork sausage, pancakes, and homemade biscuits and gravy. Mrs. Opal was summoned back into the dining room, so to speak, and left Gertie and me standing with plates in our hands and drool forming in our mouths.
“I think I have died and gone to heaven,” Gertie said. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had gravy?”
“Why has it been so long?” I asked, helping myself to a generous scoop of scrambled eggs.
“Do you know how many points gravy is? I don’t even think it’s in my diet book.”
“Won’t this gravy mess up your diet?” I was sure this food was made with real butter and whole milk. I doubt 2 percent had been invented, judging by the number of Mrs. Opal’s chins.
“This is time-travel gravy. I bet I could eat whatever I want and then when we poof back to the twenty-first century, I’ll be the same size as before.”
I really hoped she was right and we were going to poof back. I was hoping it would be soon. One day had already transpired, and I didn’t want to find out
what happened if we were here for more than three days. The way Caiyan had avoided explaining the uncomfortable feeling you got when you exceeded the moon’s waning cycle was disturbing.
Where was Caiyan? Surely he knew we were gone by now. Gertie and I ate in silence. She was savoring every moment of her gravy, and I was trying to figure out an escape plan. Crap, I hate planning. When I was younger, my mom planned everything. I just went along for the ride, not a care in the world. She told us where we were going, and we went, happy to be there. Now it was up to me, SuperJen, to get Gertie and myself out of this mess. My mantra from childhood began to play in my head but was disrupted by a commotion outside. The men remaining at the table went out to see what was up. I saw all the men leave the porch and proceed around the side of the house. Except for Paco, who kept one wandering eye on us at all time. I was sure if we got away, Paco would be next in line at the firing squad.
Gertie finished her Grand Slam breakfast, and we went outside to see what was happening. As we passed the living room, Pancho Villa was going over what looked like a map with some of his men.
Gertie and I stepped out on the front porch. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins were hugging a skinny kid who had just gotten off a skinny horse. He looked like he was in his early twenties. Mrs. Opal motioned us to come over.
“This is our son, Johnny,” she said, her chest puffing up proudly. “Johnny, this is Jennifer and Gertrude from up north.” I was amazed how the words “up north” were enough information for these people. They didn’t need specifics. They just didn’t give a hoot. If you weren’t from this part of Texas, you were from “up north.” We exchanged hellos, and Mrs. Opal told us Johnny was on a big mule drive. He was bringing down mules for Pancho Villa to buy. Apparently Johnny lived “up north” in Fort Worth, a city located in northcentral Texas close to Dallas, and by the way she said it, you would have thought he lived in Alaska. He had ridden ahead to get the corral ready for the mules. The Hawkinses took Johnny inside to talk with Mr. Villa.
Paco watched us from the porch. He was getting to be a real annoyance. How were we going to escape if we were watched twenty-four/seven? I was tired after being sprayed by a skunk, becoming a hostage, and eating a full breakfast; I needed some sleep. Maybe if I could just get a little shut-eye, I could figure out a way to find my key and get back to my vessel.
“I think that Johnny is kinda cute,” Gertie said.
“I thought you said Brodie was kinda cute.”
“Well, he is, but they ditched us, and there’s nothin’ I hate worse than a man who don’t stay around. My momma went through three husbands before she found one who would stay, and he ain’t been around that long yet.”
“I doubt they would really leave us in 1915. If Caiyan had known who I was in Scotland, he would never have left me.”
“To see it is to believe it,” she said, flipping her braids over her shoulder.
Johnny came out of the house drinking a glass of sweet tea.
“Sure is hot today,” he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
Gertie nodded in agreement, then batted her lashes at him.
I rolled my eyes and silently asked the Lord to give me patience.
“Are y’all planning on going to Mexico with Mr. Villa?” he asked.
“No,” I responded firmly. “We are definitely not going to Mexico.”
“That’s too bad; I’m riding as far as the border. I sure would enjoy your company,” he said, his face turning a little red.
“Well, we might go to Mexico,” Gertie replied.
“No!” I said loudly. “We are not going!”
Johnny shrugged and started to walk off. “I need to get started on the corral; the mules should be here by dusk.”
“Why don’t I come help you?” Gertie tagged along after him.
Johnny turned to look at Gertie. “That would be mighty fine, Miss Gertie.”
Gertie gave me a sly grin. Oh brother, I’m exhausted, and Gertie is chasing around after the mule boy. I returned to the house and asked Mrs. Opal if there was a room I could use to rest.
The Hawkinses’ house was very tidy. Mrs. Opal called the front room, where Pancho Villa had taken court, the parlor. It looked like a living room to me, with a brown floral couch and two matching floral chairs. There was a yellow afghan folded and neatly lying across the back of the sofa. A cherry coffee table stood in front of the sofa, and a matching side table split the two chairs. An old kerosene lamp sat on the side table, and I had a feeling of déjà vu. I shook off the chill that crept up my spine and reminded myself there was no way I had ever been to the Hawkinses’ house.
To the right was a staircase that went straight up to the second floor. The kitchen was across the back of the house, and there was a bedroom off the kitchen. Mrs. Opal took me upstairs, where two bedrooms split off the landing. The wood floors creaked below our feet as we entered the room to the left. I took off the bonnet I was wearing and laid it on the dressing table. I loved the furniture. I would consider them antiques, but Mrs. Opal told me the furniture was delivered last week.
The bed was double sized and white wrought iron, centered in the room. It was a gift from Johnny, so when he came to visit, there would be a comfortable bed for him to sleep in, Mrs. Opal was explaining as I tried to hide a yawn. She told me she would wake me to help with supper and left the room. The bed looked lumpy and was quite a ways off the floor. I guessed Johnny wouldn’t mind if I stretched out on it for just a few minutes. I climbed up and fell into the softest mattress. It engulfed my medium-sized frame. There was a crazy quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and I reached down and dragged it over my tired body. The warm breeze coasted in through the open windows and gently caressed me to sleep.
I was dreaming of Caiyan. Pancho Villa had a firing squad lined up, and Caiyan was one of the men he had positioned against a wall to be executed. Just as the order was given to fire, I threw myself in front of the bullet. I woke up with a start, a scream stuck in my throat and my hands clutching the blanket around my chest. Of all the stupid dreams, why would I risk my life to save a rat bastard rat who left me alone, again? Maybe he was trying to find me, my subconscious argued. Jeez, now I’m having an argument in my head. Maybe the longer you stayed in the past, the crazier you became.
Shaking off the conflict in my mind, I heard voices in the front parlor, which was directly below the bedroom I was resting in. The conversation floated up through the floorboards.
Pancho Villa was talking to someone. “I do not trust the gringos.”
“Johnny said they came highly recommended,” said Mr. Hawkins’s voice. “I assure you the cargo will be with the mules.”
“If anything goes wrong, I will kill your entire family.”
“But, Mr. Villa, we have done nothing but help you since you have traded with our Johnny,” Mr. Hawkins pleaded.
I had a sick feeling in my stomach. We needed to get my key and get out of here.
“After my mules and my weapons are safely loaded on the train, I will give them their precious package. It is not even gold; I do not see the value they place on it. However, your President Wilson has cut off all my other trade routes, so it leaves me no choice but to deal with the gringos. We will load the mules tonight after my men have been fed. I will deal only with the youngest male.”
“But, Mr. Villa, Mortas is the leader; I am sure he will want to get the payment himself,” explained Mr. Hawkins.
“No!” Pancho Villa insisted firmly. “Only the boy, or the deal is off.”
“They will be staying at the inn in town. I am sure Mortas will wait there for his payment.”
“See that he does,” Villa replied.
“What about the girls?” Mr. Hawkins asked. “My wife has taken a liking to them and is concerned for their safety.”
“I will take them to Mexico as a reward for my men. They have worked hard this trip, and although I do not prefer the white women, my men would enjoy them.”
�
��But, Mr. Villa—” Mr. Hawkins started but was cut off midsentence.
“That is all, Mr. Hawkins.”
Geesh, I am going to be some smelly Villista’s sex slave. I felt a pain in my stomach and wished Caiyan would appear and get us out of here. My knees were shaking, and a bead of sweat trickled down my back. I didn’t want to move for fear they would hear me.
“Tonight we will have good food and drink before you leave for Mexico,” Mr. Hawkins said, obviously trying to appease the outlaw.
“Bueno. I need to check on my men.”
I heard the two men get up and leave the room.
I slowly climbed down from the feather bed. The floor creaked as I grabbed my bonnet and went outside to fetch Gertie.
I found her coming out of the barn with straw stuck in her hair.
“What have you been doing?” I demanded more than asked.
“Well, me and Johnny got a little caught up in the barn,” she stammered.
“Gertie, please tell me you didn’t do the nasty with him. For God’s sake, he is from 1915. Caiyan said we have to be very careful what we do so we don’t mess up anything in the future.”
“Who are you, the sex police?” Gertie asked crossly. “For your information, Miss Nosy, I did not get to have sex with him. He’s so skittish—I doubt he’s ever been with a woman. Besides, Mr. Hawkins came lookin’ for him, and he had to duck out. All I got was a short kiss. Not even any tongue.”
“Thank goodness.” I sighed with relief.
“You’re probably right. Sex with me would be life changing.” She laughed.
Opal came out of the house in a fit of excitement. “We are going to have a hoedown at our place tonight, and I’m gonna need your help to get everything ready.” Mrs. Opal didn’t seem nervous at all. In fact, she acted like my mom when she was expecting company. My radar was telling me Mrs. Opal was being kept in the dark about the real cargo. She started listing off all the things she needed Gertie and me to do.
“No problem,” I replied. Maybe a chance for us to escape would present itself.
“Can you gals cook?” Mrs. Opal asked.