Journey to Yesterday

by Madeline Baker

  “I’m not much of a cook, but I’ll be glad to help, if you like.”

  “Sure.”

  She followed him into the kitchen. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ve got some steaks in the fridge. Think you could fix us a salad while I put the steaks on the grill?”

  “That I can do.”

  * * * * *

  Clark McDonald proved to be an amiable dinner companion. He told her he had been employed at the park for the last four years. The summers were hot, he said, the winters downright frosty, with temperatures as low as thirty and forty degrees below zero, and the wind blowing at up to a hundred miles an hour, but there was something about the place that kept him there year after year. Talk of the present day inevitably led to talk of the past. Clark had done a great deal of research on the town and its people.

  He smiled at her. “Helps to pass the time when the snow’s fifteen or twenty feet deep and the wind’s howling. Sometimes I think I missed my calling. I think I should have been a history teacher. The past really intrigues me, though I’m not sure why.”

  “I never cared much for history in school,” Shaye remarked, “but ghost towns have always fascinated me. Durango, Silverton, Jerome. Oh! And Virginia City in Montana. There’s a candy store there that has the best salt water taffy I’ve ever tasted.” She grinned at him. “I guess I know what you mean about the past, though. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something about walking down the streets of one of those old towns. I don’t know what it is…”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Gives me the feeling of, shoot, I don’t know…”

  “Of connecting to the past?”

  Clark nodded. “I guess that’s it. I’m pretty rootless, at the moment, and being here, I guess it gives me a sense of…” He shrugged. “A sense of where I came from. Hell, I can’t explain it.”

  “You don’t have to. I know what you mean. I did a little reading about the town last night. It must have been pretty wild in its day.”

  “Oh, it was that, all right. Gold was discovered here in 1859, but it was another twenty years before the boom began. In June of 1878 there was a big strike up at the Bodie Mine. Ore was assayed at a thousand dollars a ton. In six weeks, the Bodie Mine shipped a million dollars worth of gold bullion and the rush was on.”

  “That’s amazing,” Shaye exclaimed. “All that wealth buried under those barren brown hills.”

  Clark nodded. “By the end of the year, there were more than six hundred buildings. The winter of ’78 was reported to be one of the worst. There were thousands of people living here then. Housing was poor. Food was scarce. Nothing much to do except hang out at the saloons and get drunk. Men gambled and fought. Hundreds of them died from exposure and disease.

  “In the spring of ’79, gold-hungry men and women were pouring into town as fast as they could get here. Buildings were going up everywhere. Nearly everybody had a claim or stock in one of the mines. The men had money, and they were anxious to spend it.”

  Shaye nodded. It was easy to imagine how it must have been back then. Even now, Bodie was in a remote area. In the 1800’s, the area had been sparsely settled. There had been no government and practically no law, making the town a haven for con men and prostitutes. There had been no modern conveniences. Housing was poor, the climate harsh summer and winter. Only the saloons and gambling dens, the dance halls and cribs, provided warmth and entertainment.

  Once again, she was glad she had not lived back then, when the only lights were coal-oil lamps and candles. How had people managed with no running water, no gas, no electricity, no hospitals, no theaters, no entertainment of any kind suitable for a decent woman except picnics and an occasional dance? They hadn’t even had a church until the late 1800’s. Of course, women had very little spare time in those days, when practically everything had to be done by hand and made from scratch. She would have made a lousy pioneer. She couldn’t sew, hated to cook, couldn’t imagine scrubbing laundry in a tub, or hanging clothes on a line to dry.

  “Well,” Clark said, “I guess I’ve bored you long enough. I’ll get that book.”

  Shaye smiled. Rising, she started to clear the table.

  “Leave it,” Clark said.

  “I don’t mind. Really.”

  “I’ll do them later.” He smiled at her. “You’re a guest, after all.”

  With a shrug, Shaye followed him into the living room. Clark went to a bookcase and took a small, leather-bound book from the second shelf. Opening the book, he pulled out a square white envelope and offered it to her.

  Shaye took a deep breath, knowing, in that moment, that her life was about to change forever, change in ways she could not fathom.

  With a hand that trembled, she opened the envelope and withdrew a small picture. She turned it over, and found herself looking at the face of the man she had seen in the jail, the man she had been searching for in her dream. Alejandro Valverde. It was him. There was no doubt in her mind. None at all.

  “Miss Montgomery?”

  She looked up, her gaze meeting his.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” Clark asked. “The man you saw in the jail.”

  “Oh, yes.” She sat down on a chair near the bookcase. “It’s him.” It was a face she would never forget. She looked at the photograph again. “When was this taken?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But it’s here, in Bodie?”

  “Yes. I think maybe it was taken in front of one of the saloons. See here,” he pointed at the top right corner of the photo. “This looks like the edge of a sign. And this,” his finger moved down a little, “looks like it might be and I and an E. I think he’s standing in front of the Queen of Bodie saloon, maybe the day it opened.”

  Shaye took a deep breath. “I saw him again today.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded.

  Clark sat down on the sofa. “Where did you see him this time?”

  “In the jail again. It only lasted a few moments, but it was so real.”

  “What happened?” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze intent upon her face. “Did he see you? Did he say anything?”

  “It happened so fast. I looked in the window, and suddenly he was there. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at me…” She glanced down at the photograph in her hand, remembering the impact of his gaze meeting hers. “I felt what he was feeling.”

  Clark shook his head. “Amazing,” he murmured. “Simply amazing.” He studied her a moment. “But why you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I tried to contact him again after I saw him that first time, but I never could. I even got a medium out here one night,” he admitted, looking somewhat sheepish. “Nothing.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she gestured at the book in his hand. “Did he write that?”

  “What? Oh, no. It’s a diary, written by the woman he was supposed to have killed.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Of course.”

  Shaye placed the photograph on the end table, face up, as Clark offered her the book.

  “I could use a cup of coffee,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The cover of the diary was brown leather, the pages inside were old and brittle, yellow around the edges. She opened the book carefully, her gaze skimming the first page. Diary of Daisy Joanna Sullivan, commenced this 1st day of January in the year of our Lord, 1879.

  Shaye thumbed through the book, skimming over the entries, until she came to a page dated April 2nd.

  I started work at the Velvet Rose today. It is a much Nicer place than my old crib on Maiden Lane. The girls are friendly and my room is nice, although there is dust everywhere. I can’t believe I’ve been in Bodie almost a Year. I’ve never worked a mining town before. The traffick in the streets is never-ending. Huge wagons arrive carrying freight from the railroad. They are pulled by teams of twenty horses, sometimes mor
e. Ore wagons come down from the mines, and there are wood carts and hay wagons and lumber wagons. Stagecoaches, too. One of the coaches was robbed today.

  April 3rd. I had eight customers today. I love this town. All the men are rich. And generous. And Madame Louisa lets me keep half of what I make. If this Keeps up, I’ll be able to save enough money to go back home.

  April 4th. This town never closes. There isn’t much Law here. The sheriff lives in the County Seat, which is twelve Miles away. Killings are frequent, especially in Chinatown. I guess that is to be expected, since all the men carry guns.

  April 5th. One of the girls who worked at one of the other saloons killed herself last night. Her body was found in a ditch two miles south of town.

  April 6th. I met someone tonight. His name is Alejandro Valverde. He is a gambler, and a good One, too. I took him a drink, and he asked me to stay. I sat beside him for an hour, and he won over a thousand dollars. When he was ready to leave, he gave me a hundred dollars! He said it was because I’d brought him luck.

  April 7th. He came into the Rose again tonight and asked me to sit beside him. For luck, he said. He is a most Handsome man. And Kind. He treats me like I was a lady of quality. He won again tonight, and gave me another hundred dollars.

  “Coffee?”

  Shaye looked up, startled. “Yes, thank you.”

  Clark handed her a mug, then sat down on the sofa. “Lose yourself in the Old West, did you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. How was Daisy killed?”

  “She was shot in the head. They found her body in the bedroom of her house.”

  Shaye took a sip of coffee, her gaze falling on the photo on the table. It was a strong handsome face, but it was his eyes that held her attention. They were vibrant and alive, even in a photograph that had been taken over a hundred years ago. Alejandro Valverde. “You said he swore he was innocent. Weren’t there any other suspects?”

  “Dade McCrory was questioned.”

  “McCrory?”

  “He was Daisy’s partner in a saloon. In her diary, she mentioned that she thought McCrory was stealing from the till. Apparently, they had several fights about it.”

  Shaye nodded. “Go on.”

  “Like I said, McCrory was questioned, but according to an old newspaper article, he had an alibi.” Clark grunted. “Claimed he spent the night with one of the girls at the Rose. And the girl backed him up, swore he was there the whole night.”

  “Why did they think Valverde did it?”

  Clark blew out a deep breath. “He used to carry a hide-out gun. They found it beside her body.”

  “What about fingerprints…oh, I guess they didn’t do that back then, did they?”

  “No. Too bad.”

  “Do you really think he was innocent?”

  “I think he was capable of violence, but not murder.”

  Shaye glanced at her watch. As much as she wanted to stay and hear more, as anxious as she was to read the rest of the diary, it was after nine, and she had a long drive ahead of her. “I’d best be going. Thank you so much for dinner, and everything.”

  “It’s late,” Clark remarked. “Maybe you should spend the night. I hate to think of you bouncing over that road at this time of night.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

  “I’d feel better if you did. My roommate’s on vacation. He won’t be back until next week. You can use his room.”

  “Well…” It was tempting. She looked at her watch again. If she left now, she wouldn’t get to Reno before midnight. Besides, how many tourists had a chance to spend the night in Bodie?

  “I wish you would. It’s a bad road. What if you got a flat? You wouldn’t want to be stuck out there in the middle of the night, would you?”

  He had a point, she thought, but she really needed to be on her way. She was about to refuse when her glance fell on Valverde’s photograph. She didn’t really want to leave, she thought, at least not until she’d read the rest of Daisy’s diary. “I think I will stay. I’ll just run up to my car and get my overnight bag.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She laughed softly. “Of course.”

  Some of Shaye’s confidence waned as she left the house behind. The town was dark, lit only by a full moon and a dark sky filled with glittering stars. She hadn’t realized how far away the Nolan House was from the parking area until she had to walk it in the dark.

  She was a little breathless by the time she reached her car, which was the only one left in the lot. Unlocking the rear hatch, she grabbed her overnight bag which held her cosmetics and toothbrush, pulled a change of clothes, socks, underwear and her nightshirt out of her suitcase and jammed them into the overnight case, then closed and locked the door of the Rover.

  She stood at the top of the path a moment, looking down at the sleeping town, trying to imagine what it would have looked like in its hay day, the streets crowded with wagons and people. A cold chill slid down her spine. In the drifting shadows of the night, it did, indeed, look like a town inhabited by ghosts. Wispy white clouds appeared over the hills, moving slowly across the indigo sky, playing peek-a-boo with the moon.

  “There are no such things as ghosts, Shaye Montgomery,” she muttered. “No matter what you think you’ve seen, there are no such things as ghosts. Or goblins. Or things that go bump in the night.”

  She repeated the words over and over again as she walked down the path and turned right on Green Street. Yet even as she told herself she didn’t believe, she knew in her heart of hearts that what she had seen was real.

  A cool breeze seemed to follow her down the street, stirring small dust devils, carrying the echoes of voices long dead. The childish voice of the Angel of Bodie. The sultry laughter of the ladies of the evening, a slow deep voice that she knew was his.

  She wanted to run, but something slowed her steps.

  She passed the Methodist Church, and the notes of an old hymn seemed to whisper to the wind. She heard the clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer and the whinny of a horse as she passed the old barn; the ca-ching of a cash register as she neared the Boone Store; the faint sound of weeping as she passed the morgue; the ringing of a school bell, the sound of children reciting their lessons as she approached Main Street.

  When she reached the schoolhouse, she glanced in the window, and the inside of the building seemed to light up. She could see two dozen boys and girls sitting at their desks, see the school teacher standing at the head of the classroom, a long pointer in her hand. She stared, transfixed, thinking it looked like a scene out of the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.

  What would she see if she went to the jail?

  The soft summer breeze kissed her cheek as she reversed her direction. She turned right on Main Street, her steps quickening as she made her way through the darkness toward the jail.

  As she passed the Kirkwood Stable, she caught the pungent odor of manure, the sweet scent of hay, and then she was standing in front of the jail, her body trembling, her heart pounding wildly.

  Step by slow step, she moved closer to the iron-barred window. Took a deep breath. Looked inside.

  In the flickering light of an oil lamp, she saw Alejandro Valverde stretched out on a narrow cot. One arm was folded behind his head, his ankles were crossed. A thin plume of smoke rose from the cigarette he held in his left hand. She glanced quickly around the room. There was a square table and two chairs in the opposite corner. A black coat was folded over the back of one of the chairs. She could hear snoring coming from the sheriff’s office adjacent to the jail.

  Valverde took a deep drag on the cigarette. Sitting up, he dropped the butt on the floor, ground it out with his boot heel. He sat there a moment, and then he stood up and began to pace the floor, his long legs carrying him quickly from one side of the room to the other.

  He didn’t look like a ghost at all. He had form and substance. She could s
mell the smoke from his cigarette, hear the sound of his footsteps as he paced the floor, see his shadow move across the wall.

  Shaye watched as though mesmerized. She saw him so clearly. He wore black wool trousers, a white shirt, a black vest embroidered with tiny gold fleur de lis, black boots. The candlelight cast red highlights in his hair, which was long and black with no hint of a wave. His brows were straight, his nose was sharply defined, his jaw was firm and shadowed by the beginnings of a beard.

  And his eyes were brown. A deep, dark brown. She saw them clearly when he came to stare out the window.

  She started to back away, then realized there was nothing to fear. He couldn’t see her. She probably wasn’t really seeing him. It was probably just an illusion, or maybe she was dreaming. Of course, that was it. She wasn’t really here at all. She was asleep back in the Nolan House…

  And then his gaze settled on her face and for one heart-stopping, soul-shattering moment, she would have sworn that Alejandro Valverde was alive, that he was looking at her, seeing her. He was close, so close she could see the tiny lines that fanned out around his eyes, the faint white scar near his hairline. So close.

  Overcome by a sudden, inexplicable need to touch him, she lifted her hand, her heart pounding fiercely as she reached toward him…

  And the moment was gone. The cell was dark and empty, and she was alone save for the sighing of the wind that had suddenly turned brisk and cold.

  Hugging her overnight bag to her chest, she turned and ran down Main Street and didn’t stop running until she reached the Nolan House.

  Clark was standing on the porch. “I was beginning to worry about you, “ he said.

  “Hey, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a…”

  “A ghost? I have.” She moved past him into the house, stood shivering in the middle of the room, her overnight case clutched to her chest.

  Clark shut and locked the door. He pried the bag from her arms, urged her to sit down on the sofa, draped a thick red wool blanket around her shoulders. He left the room for a moment, came back carrying a glass which he thrust into her hand. “Here, drink this.”