The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

Trish rode beside Quinn into the yard of a cabin as the sun set in the west. "Are you sure your brother won't mind an unexpected house guest?"

  "Cain't very well leave ya in the cold, now can I? Ya might fall in another gulley or drown or end up in a worse pinch." He reined up and dismounted.

  "Thank you." Trish lowered her voice and dismounted. Her still damp jeans cut and pinched in the most delicate of places. She tried not to visibly wince. "I'm not sure how I would have gotten away--"

  "Told you, ya ain't never to mention last evenin' again. It never happened." He wrapped both horse's reins around the small hitching rail. "Lucinda and Albert both share the same views on hospitality. Play yar cards right and ya'll have a friend in Lucinda."

  "Give me a hot bath and a soft bed and you'll have a friend for life," Trish exclaimed, trying not to sound wimpy.

  Quinn responded with a chuckle and opened the door without knocking. Trish remained at the door, not willing to intrude. She listened as family greeted one another; apparently, his barging into their cabin unannounced was commonplace.

  "Well, where is this damsel in distress that you've brought to our door?" a feminine voice asked. "Surely you didn't -- Oh Quinn, bring her inside."

  A young woman, a good three inches shorter than Trish and about her age, pushed past Quinn. Trish noted the dingy blue print of her long dress, its skirt full and the apron that appeared clean but not really white. The woman reached for Trish with a welcoming embrace. "Come in, come in. Have you had anything to eat, honey?"

  Trish shook her head, allowing herself to be towed inside.

  "Doesn't surprise me. Quinn's always getting here hungry. I'm convinced he doesn't know how to cook on the trail. Where did he find you anyway, honey?" The woman turned to Quinn, hitting him gently on the arm. "Wash up, then you can eat." She continued to lead Trish to the hand pump.

  Quinn joined them at the pump, removing his hat and hanging it on a peg. "I'll get it for ya."

  Trish stepped to the side and hung her hat beside Quinn's while he pumped the water. Once her hands were clean, though icy cold from the water, the woman handed her a towel of sorts.

  "Are you gonna introduce us, Quinn?" The deep bass voice surprised Trish. She'd seen the man as she entered, his arms bare, showing bulging muscles, his chest thicker than Quinn's. His hair, though dark, was several shades lighter than Quinn's and his strong facial features appeared softer. Could the two really be brothers? "Miss, the name's Albert and this here little woman is my wife, Lucinda."

  "Um--" She turned to him, still drying her hands, and smiled.

  "She don't remember much," Quinn interjected. "Decided on the trail to call 'er Trish."

  "Trish," Lucinda seemed surprised. She evaluated Trish from head to toe before continuing in her soft Tennessee drawl. "Well, it suits you, honey. I'm assuming you remembered that name. Quinn's met a lot of women but I don't remember him mentioning a Trish." She placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder, guiding him to a chair.

  Quinn started to argue but instead satisfied himself with the food she served him.

  "Honey, I reckon this is a mean place to lose your memory. Don't fret it for now. Let's get a good hot meal in you. Then we can get some of that trail washed off. Albert, since I'm frying another steak, do you want more?"

  "This is fine. Feed our guest and yourself. The biscuits are still warm." He held the plate toward Trish.

  Trish ate hungrily, appreciating every bite.

  "Well, best be headed on home." Quinn excused himself while retrieving his hat. "Ya gonna put her horse up fer the night? Ya might wanna put yer stock in. That wolf pack howled last night through the pass."

  "What about yer stock?" Albert asked the question as he stood from the table. Quinn was out the door with Albert close at his heels before he answered in a masculine rumble Trish couldn't decipher.

  Trish sopped up the thick gravy on her plate with her last bite of the sweet biscuit. "Thank you, Lucinda. I don't know when I've eaten as well."

  "Nonsense," Lucinda waved the compliment aside. "Come honey, let's get you cleaned up and see if we can find you some clean clothes."

  "A hot bath sounds really nice right about now."

  A gentle snicker escaped Lucinda's lips as she lifted a lantern from its place on a side table. "A hot bath isn't what I can give you here, honey. Now Zelda has a tub. I'll introduce you to her tomorrow. Maybe she'll let you use it."

  Lucinda led the way to the cabin's third room on the main floor. A quilt covered the far wall. A tall-backed, ornate wooden chair stood against another wall. An armoire filled the corner. A washstand filled the emptiness on the other side. Lucinda set the lantern on a wooden crate next to the ornate chair.

  "Sit, honey." Lucinda indicated the wrought iron stool at the foot of the bed. A finely crafted quilt, neatly folded on top served as a cushion for the stool.

  "You get out of those clothes and wrap up in this blanket while I heat some water, honey." She handed Trish a light quilt made of previously worn fabrics. The pieces were small and the design exquisite. Lucinda left the room, shutting the door behind her, Trish peeled off her filthy clothes.

  Lucinda returned, carrying a bucket of hot steaming water, and poured it into the basin on the washstand. She dropped a grapefruit-sized sponge into the steaming water.

  "While you bathe, I'll get another bucket for the dirty water, honey." Lucinda left the bedroom as Trish began her sponge bath, her thoughts dragging across Lucinda's constant use of "honey." It reminded Trish of a college roommate that constantly used the word, "sugar" in almost every sentence. For months, Trish had bit her tongue and Suzanne continued using the endearment until Suzanne's holiday dinner party during which a guest exploded with, "I am certainly not your 'sugar'." Suzanne had sat absolutely still, shocked by the outburst. At last, she had very politely excused herself and gone to her room. Trish had filled the role of hostess for the duration of the party. After that evening, Suzanne had not used the endearment as frequently and Trish had come to appreciate Suzanne's not so subtle habit of her Louisiana upbringing.

  Lucinda returned with an empty bucket, emptied the dirty water into it and refilled the basin with clean water. "Here, honey, I'll rinse your clothes out while you finish your bath."

  Trish felt a guilty smile twinge her lips when she got water on the floor. Lucinda seemed not to notice.

  Trish watched for Lucinda's reactions to her modern clothing articles out of the corner of her eye. Lucinda appeared unaffected until she dangled Trish's muddy green bra and matching panties above the bucket of used bath water. Trish held her breath, waiting for the inevitable.

  "Why, honey, where are your camisole and bloomers? I-- no wonder you dress in trousers like a man. Don't you have any proper clothing? These will never do." Lucinda sighed, shaking her head. She withdrew a clean flannel nightgown from the armoire, holding it up to Trish.

  Trish considered the worn flannel, doing her best not to appear ungrateful, and said nothing.

  "For now, let's put you in this nightdress, honey. It's warm, even if it is a little short on you. I'll wash your--" Trish thought Lucida might call her modern underwear "rags" and held her breath. "Things better tomorrow. In the meantime, we'll have to find you some more appropriate clothes to wear. I wonder if Penelope would have something. I think she's more your size, honey."

  Lucinda seemed to flit about the room like a bee searching for the sweetest flower. She paused at the washbasin to test the water temperature with her finger. Then at the armoire to close the door, and across the room rinsing Trish's clothes out in the used bath water before wringing them out.

  Lucinda spoke softly, moving closer and handing a quilt to Trish. "Here's a clean quilt to wrap around you, honey. You look tuckered out. The chamber pot is there if you need it." Lucinda pointed at the large enamel-coated pot tucked under the tall ornate chair. "Come out when you feel ready. The privy's out back. Of course, you'd need some more appropriate clothes to make the trip
across the yard so for now… Just come on out when you're done, honey."

  A chamber pot! And a privy? Was this really part of her adventure? Oh Grammy, I want a refund!

  Her mind raced across a cacophony of thoughts. Trish had manufactured the story of her amnesia and now she must tread carefully. Her full name was Patricia Larsen. Even in 2015 she was single, married to her quest to become a prosecuting attorney. At thirty she had no plans for marriage and lived at home for her mother's benefit more than for her own. Until yesterday, time travel had been a series of wonderful stories. Grammy Patricia had often told her that a cover story was paramount to any adventure. Trish had ignored the counsel and now found herself backpedaling. Now she definitely needed one.

  What had she told Quinn? Only that she couldn't remember and that 'Trish' sounded familiar. So far, so good. She'd unexpectedly, but luckily, brought Yedi with her. What else had she brought with her? The saddle and tack. Hopefully, they hadn't changed much in the past century. Her clothing. Could such daily and seemingly inconsequential items trigger a paradox? That might prove tricky. She mentally scrambled. Which jeans did I wear? Hopefully not a pair that would draw a lot of attention. Could Lucinda be trusted to keep quiet?

  Wait a minute, what did Grammy say? Something about how the talisman seemed to have its own agenda. How could an inanimate object and one so small as the talisman have an agenda? Grammy had also assured Trish that no matter how hard she may try, as the traveler, she had no more control of where the talisman would place her except choosing to travel forward or back in time. Did the possibility of a paradox matter to the talisman? She recited the chanting promise "…Alter times misstep in wide open spaces…" The talisman intends for me to alter the past? The ability to breathe drained from her body, taking with it all of her strength.

  Trish had no way of knowing how much time passed while she struggled to compose herself. This was no longer an adventure but a mission. One in which she had no way of knowing what she was supposed to do. How could one succeed under these conditions? It was like going to court without studying the briefs or interviewing the witnesses. Blind man's bluff, that’s what it was.

  She took her time returning to join Lucinda in the main room. Lucinda sat near a lantern, her fingers busy with needlework as she hummed what Trish believed to be a church hymn.

  "Pity you don't have a dress with you, honey." Lucinda spoke in her soft Tennessee drawl, sifting through each word. "We can most likely get a dress from Penelope when we visit tomorrow. Or do you have a few things tucked in your saddlebags, honey?"

  "No, I don't have a dress." Trish shrugged, omitting her lack of saddlebags as well. How could she do this without preparation? "I'm not sure I even own a dress."

  "That's a pity, honey. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

  Trish's head spun. "Um, not really, 'Trish' feels real familiar, but maybe that's because I've heard it and thought it for a day or so now."

  "I guess that would be a little like my marrying Albert, honey. I'm still getting used to answering to Mrs. Jackson."

  Trish didn't respond immediately, biting her lip instead of airing her distaste for Lucinda's constant use of 'honey'. She needed to change the focus of their conversation. "So you haven't been Mrs. Jackson for very long?"

  "Going on a year now, honey." Lucinda seemed to glow. "I love being Albert's wife. He is so kind and gentle. I wasn't sure he would be at first."

  "You didn't know that before you married him?" Trish asked incredulously.

  "How much do you know after just a day or two? I met Albert when he came to Salt Lake City to get things for the smithy." Lucinda got a faraway look in her eyes. "He seemed bigger than life. He stood toe to toe with Mr. Claybourne, towering over him, his shoulders obviously wider and stronger. Mr. Claybourne wanted more for the supplies and Albert would have none of Claybourne's high-priced shenanigans. Albert was the only man I saw stand up to Claybourne. And I worked for him at his store for a good year or more."

  "You married him because he stood up to your employer? That doesn't sound like a reason that I'd get married for."

  Lucinda smiled. "Marriage to Albert sounded a whole lot better than where I was. And when he asked, I just couldn't refuse."

  It would take a lot more than just a simple request for Trish to consent to marriage. The guy she married would have to prove that he loved her in so many ways. "I’ve never given marriage much thought, maybe someday, but not now."

  "That will come someday, honey. Tomorrow we'll stop at the mercantile, then go on down to the saloon to visit Zelda. Guess Quinn mentioned her. He's pretty tight-lipped when it comes to her, even if he sees her a lot. I'm thinking the day will come that they will marry, too. Then again, maybe not. I'm sure if it's a hot bath you're wantin, she'll help you get one."

  Quinn and Zelda? Trish wasn't sure she wanted to find out just what kind of woman Quinn liked. She stuffed the hint of jealous interest down. She had no right to entertain thoughts of a relationship here. Besides, Quinn obviously didn't find her the least bit attractive… or interesting. Even if he proved himself willing to keep her secret. He couldn't be all bad, even if he had killed a man. It had been in defending her honor.

 

  Chapter 9