Journey to Yesterday

by Madeline Baker

  She took a sip, gasped as the liquid burned a path down her throat. “It’s whiskey!”

  “Drink it,” he said. “All of it.”

  She coughed, then drained the glass, grateful for the warmth that engulfed her.

  “It was so real,” she said. “So real.”

  Clark smiled sympathetically as he sat down at the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Bodie has its share of ghost stories. Some of the workers have claimed to see lights going on and off in some of the buildings…”

  “I did,” Shaye said, her voice rising with nervous excitement. “I saw lights tonight. In the schoolhouse.”

  “Really? My roommate swears he heard piano music coming from the old Sawdust Corner Saloon last year, but no one I know has ever seen anything.”

  “I heard music, too, coming from the church.”

  Clark shook his head. “One of the park employees was living in the old Mendocini house a while back. He was having lasagna for dinner one night, disappointed because he hadn’t had any garlic. He said all of a sudden his eyes began to water and he started sneezing. He went outside for some fresh air, and when he went back inside, the whole house reeked of fresh-cut garlic.”

  Shaye grinned, amused in spite of herself. “I’ve never believed in ghosts.”

  “Until now?”

  She couldn’t say it out loud. If she admitted it, it would make it true somehow. “I think I’d better get ready for bed.”

  Clark nodded. “Sleep in, if you want. I don’t have to go in until ten tomorrow, so I’ll probably sleep late. If you get up before I do, help yourself to something to eat. There’s coffee in the cupboard.”

  “Thank you.” She pointed to the diary on the table. “Is it all right if I finish reading that before I go to bed?”

  “Sure.”

  Picking up her overnight bag and the book, Shaye followed Clark down a narrow hall into a small square bedroom furnished with a double bed and a chest of drawers. There was a pair of well-worn sneakers in the corner; a Dodger baseball jacket hung from an old-fashioned brass hook on the back of the door.

  “There’s an extra blanket on the shelf in the closet if you get cold.” Clark lifted his hand in a gesture that took in the whole room. “Make yourself at home. There’s plenty of hot water if you want to take a shower.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If I don’t see you in the morning, it was nice spending the evening with you.”

  “Thank you. I enjoyed spending the evening with you, too. Goodnight, Clark.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Shaye closed the door behind him. With a sigh, she dropped her overnight case on the bed, popped the lid and took out her nightshirt and toothbrush. She felt a little self-conscious about taking a shower in the house of a man she had just met, but a hot shower was just what she needed to relax her.

  She showered quickly, slipped into her nightshirt, brushed her teeth, and hurried back to her room. Closing the door, she picked up the diary and slipped into bed.

  She turned the pages carefully, skimming over the entries, pausing to read whenever she saw Alejandro Valverde’s name. As the days went by, he was mentioned more and more frequently. Strangely, they were never intimate, yet Daisy’s feelings for him were obviously very deep. He continued to visit the Velvet Rose saloon and give her money, and in a short time, Daisy had saved enough to quit.

  The entry for May 5th read: I can’t believe it. Rio and I are partners.

  Our new saloon will open next week. We’re going to call it the Bodie Belle. Instead of being one of the girls, I will be the hostess. It’s like a dream come true. The only men I’ll have to share my bed with will be those of my Own choosing, and I won’t have to charge them. Best of all, I’ll get to see Alejandro every night. I love him so much. I wonder if he knows. I wish he felt the same…

  The new saloon appeared to be a success. Of course, in a town of ten thousand, that was no surprise. Daisy talked of having money for the first time in her life, of ordering clothes from New York City and Paris, of trying to become a lady so Alejandro would notice her.

  She had drawn flowers around the border of the page dated June 3rd. Today is my nineteenth birthday. The girls made me a cake. Celeste gave me some perfumed soap. It smells divine. Bethie gave me a silk kimono. But, best of all is the gold locket from Rio . Maybe he does care.

  Nineteen, Shaye thought, and already a seasoned prostitute. She tried to imagine such a life, tried to imagine what it would have been like to work in a smoky saloon, to sell her body to any man who had the price. She remembered reading about some of the whores in one of the books she had bought. One, named Eleanor Dumont, had lived in Bodie. According to the book, she had been a pretty young French girl with a flare for gambling. Female gamblers had been rare in those days, and the men had been fascinated by her. She had spent twenty years following gold strikes from Idaho to South Dakota. When her luck was bad, she turned to prostitution. As she grew older, Dumont was dubbed Madame Moustache due to a thin line of dark hair above her upper lip. In 1879, Dumont was residing in Bodie. In September of that year, she borrowed three hundred dollars, which she lost gambling. Leaving town on foot, she went out into the desert and swallowed poison. She was buried in the outcast cemetery in an unmarked grave.

  There were others: French Joe, Nellie Monroe, Emma Goldsmith. And Lottie Johl, who had once been a whore, but gained respectability with her painting, and by marrying the local butcher.

  Shaye glanced at her watch. It was after midnight. One more entry, she thought, one more page. But she couldn’t stop reading.

  In July, Daisy bought a house, and for the next month, most of the entries were about the house and the fun she had furnishing it.

  But, mostly, Daisy wrote about Alejandro. It reminded Shaye of her own first schoolgirl crush, of the diary she had kept, when every entry was about Steve Adams and how cute he was. Shaye had written practically every word he had said to her, what he wore to school, how jealous she was when he ate lunch with Sherri Bensal. Daisy had recorded the same kinds of things about Alejandro, and Shaye realized that for all Daisy’s “experience” with men, she was very naïve and very innocent.

  In early August, jealousy reared its ugly head. Alejandro hired a new girl to work in the saloon. An entry dated October 8th read: I hate her! Why doesn’t he look at me the way he looks at Maddy Brown?

  Shaye sighed as she read on. Every entry was tinged with jealousy. Some of the pages were tear-stained, the words blurred and illegible.

  She read on, unable to stop. There were fights and harsh words through a long cold winter. It culminated in mid-December. The entry for the fifteenth was stained with tears: Rio told me today that he sold his half of the Belle to Dade McCrory. I can’t believe he would do such a thing without discussing it with me first. He said he doesn’t like owning a saloon, that it involves too much responsibility. He said he talked to Rojas over at the Queen of Bodie, and he’s going to start dealing there tomorrow night. Well, he can just take Maddy Brown with him, because tomorrow she’ll be out of a job! Maybe I’m being too hasty. If I keep Maddy here, maybe he’ll come back to see her…

  The next few pages were tear-stained, filled with the pain and heartache that only the very young can feel.

  The entry for January 1, 1880, read: A New Year. I wonder what it will hold for me.

  The entry for January 31 was only four words that conveyed a world of sadness: Will winter never end?

  Shaye quickly read the succeeding entries, which talked about Daisy’s new partner. As Clark had said, Daisy wrote that she was certain McCrory was skimming the profits. In February, she started drinking with the customers, something she had apparently never done before. By March, she had graduated to whiskey. In April, she was taking men to her bed again, sometimes for money, sometimes for “love”. In May and June, there were more references to McCrory.

  It was in June that she found the nerve to confront McCrory. The entry for the se
venth read: “He can deny it all he likes, but I know he is Stealing money from the cash drawer. We have more customers than ever and should be making a bigger profit. Dade said it was my fault, that I was drinking up our profits. The Bastard. I told him if it didn’t stop, I was going to ask Rio for help.”

  June 20. I went to see Rio this morning. I wore my new dress. I didn’t have anything to drink last night. I was very nervous about seeing him again, but he was very Kind and Gentlemanly. I told him that I was sure Dade is cheating me, and he said he would have a talk with Dade. He said he was sorry things hadn’t worked out better with Dade, and that he would take care of everything. And then he told me how pretty I looked, and I threw myself in his arms and told him I loved him. I begged him to come back to the saloon, to give me another chance. He smiled down at me, not with love, but with Pity in his eyes. How could I have done such a thing? I have never been so mortified in my Life.

  There were several other entries. She mentioned a new shipment of crystal glasses from New York City, a letter from her sister informing her that her mother had died.

  The entry for thirtieth took Shaye completely by surprise. I can’t believe it! Dade asked me to Marry him! He went down on his knee and declared he loved me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I told him I couldn’t marry him, that I didn’t love him. He told me I was a fool, that Rio would never marry a girl like me, and stormed out of the house.

  And then, abruptly, the entries stopped. The last one, dated July 4, 1880, read: I can’t stop loving him, but I know he will never love me. I don’t want to go on living without him…

  With a sigh, Shaye closed the diary and put in on the table beside the bed, then turned out the light. She couldn’t think of any reason why Valverde would have killed Daisy. McCrory seemed to be the only one with a motive.

  Slipping under the covers, she closed her eyes. Love, she thought. Was there really such a thing? And did it ever last?

  Chapter Four

  It was a typical Old West saloon, as big as a barn. The bar was to the left of the swinging doors, and ran the length of the building. The obligatory picture of a nude hung over the bar. The woman in this one was plump, with long red-gold hair that fell over her ample breasts. Across the room from the bar there was a short-order restaurant with a long counter and a number of stools. The rest of the room was filled with gambling tables. Most of them seemed to be faro games. Grim-faced dealers sat behind the tables. She stared at the stacks of gold and silver piled on the tables. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth, she thought, or maybe thousands.

  Miners in faded red shirts, canvas pants, and high black boots rubbed shoulders with dapper gamblers clad in white linen shirts, silk cravats, and black city suits. The smell of cigar smoke, unwashed bodies, and cheap perfume mingled with the scent of bacon and onions.

  She moved slowly through the crowd, and then she saw him. He was sitting at a poker table with four other men, his expression bland, his eyes narrowed as he opened a fresh deck, shuffled the cards, and dealt a hand. She couldn’t draw her gaze from his face. His skin was innately dark. His hair was thick and black and fell past his shoulders. He had a proud nose, a firm jaw, straight black brows. His lips were full, sensual. He grinned at something one of the men said, and she saw the hint of a dimple in his cheek.

  A woman walked over to the table, her hips swaying in bold invitation as she came to stand behind him. She laid a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that managed to be both casual and possessive as she bent over to whisper something in his ear, revealing a generous expanse of powdered flesh.

  He laughed and waved the woman away. And then he looked up, and his gaze met hers. There was a flicker of recognition, of disbelief. He spoke to one of the men, then laid his cards face down on the table. Rising, he walked toward her, a predatory gleam in his dark, dark eyes.

  Her heart began to pound with fear, trepidation, excitement…

  “Shaye, if you’re awake, breakfast is almost ready.”

  The soft spoken words woke her with a start. She closed her eyes, wanting to go back to the dream, but it was gone.

  With a sigh, she sat up. “Thanks, Clark, I’ll be right out.”

  She dressed quickly in a pair of white shorts and a black Jekyll and Hyde tee shirt, brushed her teeth, stuffed her dirty clothes in her overnight bag, made the bed, then went into the kitchen. A glance out the window showed it was going to be a beautiful day.

  “Morning,” Clark said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  She didn’t usually eat breakfast, but today she was starving. “I am. Anything I can do to help?”

  He shook his head. “Want some coffee?”

  “Please.”

  She sat down, thinking how nice it was to have a man wait on her. Josh wouldn’t have thought of fixing her breakfast any more than he would have thought of making the bed. She had always wondered why making the bed was her job. After all, he had slept in it, too. She pushed his memory from her mind. It was over and done. She was never going to give a man the power to hurt her again.

  “Hey?”

  She looked up. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  He laughed softly. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  “What?” She looked down at the plate in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Where were you this time? Back in the past again?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But this time it was my past.”

  He grunted softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  Suddenly, she did want to talk about it. “Are you married?”

  “Not any more.”

  “Divorced?”

  Clark nodded. “Three years.”

  “Me, too. I guess no one stays married anymore. Why did you get divorced?”

  “No reason. Lots of reasons. Heck, I don’t know. We got along fine until we got married, and then it was just one fight after another. We split up for awhile and found out we were both happier that way, so…” He shook his head. “I guess some people just can’t live together.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What about you?”

  “I was away on an assignment. I came home early, and found him in bed with a friend of mine.”

  “That’s rough.”

  She shrugged, as if it wasn’t important. “It was my own fault. I should have seen it coming. He hated my job. He wanted me to quit. He thought I should stay home and be a housewife, like his mother.”

  Clark sat back, his expression thoughtful. “No, I can’t picture you doing that.”

  “I couldn’t either.”

  “So, you divorced him?”

  She nodded. “He married her a week after the divorce was final. They had a baby six months later.”

  “Are you sorry you left him?”

  “No!” She stared down at the eggs, now cold, on her plate. She wasn’t sorry she had left Josh. She could never stay with a man who had been unfaithful to her. And contrary to what had Josh believed, she did want a home and a family. But they had both been young. She hadn’t wanted to get pregnant until she could stay home with the baby, and she hadn’t been ready to quit her job. It was fun, exciting work, and she loved it. Maybe she had loved it too much. Maybe she hadn’t loved Josh enough. “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe it was my fault.”

  “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that it takes two to make a marriage,” he remarked.

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you want me to warm those eggs up for you?”

  “No, thank you. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

  “The least I can do is warm up your coffee.” He stood up and got the coffee pot.

  It was nice to be waited on, Shaye thought, nice to have a man who thought of her needs, too, instead of just his own. She drank her coffee, accepted a refill.

  “I guess you’ll be leaving today,” Clark said.

>   She nodded. “I’m on my way to Plumas Pines.”

  “Pretty place,” he said. “My folks used to take me there in the summer. I haven’t been there in years. Good fishing, as I recall.”

  “The best,” she said with a sigh. “I should probably be on my way.”

  He nodded, but neither of them moved.

  Shaye looked out the window. “Maybe I’ll spend another day here,” she remarked. Maybe she really would write that book. The longer she stayed here, the more fascinated she was by the town, by the story of Alejandro Valverde.

  “Well, I’ve got to get going.” Rising, Clark carried his plate to the sink and rinsed it off. “If you decide to stay another day, you’re welcome to stay here. I’ll be at the museum the rest of the day. If you decide to go, try to stop by before you leave.”

  “I will.”

  “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe trip.”

  “Thank you. Now that I know where you live, maybe I’ll send you a postcard.”

  “I’d like that. Lock up when you leave, will you? And don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll do them later.”

  Shaye stood up. “Thanks for everything, Clark.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They stood a few feet apart, not quite friends, but no longer strangers.

  “Well,” Clark said, “I’d better go.” He closed the distance between them, started to take her hand, and then gave her a quick hug instead. “Maybe you’ll stop by on your way home.”

  “Maybe. Thanks again, for everything.”

  He nodded, then grabbed his hat and left the house.

  Shaye stared after him. She thought about Clark as she filled the sink with hot water and washed their few dishes. He was a nice man. If she’d had time, and if he lived closer to Los Angeles, she might have liked to get to know him better, she thought, and then shook her head. No way. She didn’t need another man in her life. At least not now.

  She dried the dishes and put them away, grabbed her overnight bag and her backpack, and left the house, being careful to lock the door.