by Judi Lind
She broke off at the bewildered look on his face. She was going too fast and giving him too much unbelievable detail.
Deliberately slowing the pace of her narrative, she continued. “Anyway, I was touring the old Balbriggan Mine when a rotted timber gave way and I fell into an old shaft.”
“Which is where I found you,” he blurted, as if relieved that she’d finally said something he could relate to.
“That’s right. But somehow during that fall, I’d...I’d traveled through time. And don’t tell me that’s impossible,” she warned when he started to shake his head. “I’m the living proof that it is!”
“If you say so.”
Vera knew she wasn’t getting through to him but she plunged on anyway. He’d insisted upon the truth, and now he could just sit there and hear it.
“All my life I’ve been told that I bear an uncanny resemblance to Verity. I was even named after her. So when I came to in Verity’s world, you mistook me for her.”
“You are Verity,” he stated bluntly.
“No, I’m not!” Vera rose from the bed and crossed the room to kneel in front of him on the dirt floor. “Look at me, Jericho, truly look. I don’t have as much Indian blood in my veins as Verity, don’t you see it? My eyes are lighter, my hair has a bit more curl. My cheekbones aren’t as great as hers. I’m almost ten years older than the woman you know. Don’t you see the differences?”
He stared intently into her face, taking her chin in his hands, turning her head one way and then another. “I’m trying to make sense out of what you’re telling me. And, truth is, you do look different than when I was talking to you in the kitchen the other night. But, Vera, traveling through time? Do you honestly expect me to believe that? You’re tired and weary from worrying about the outcome of your trial, that’s why you look a bit older.”
And why you’re so confused, lay unspoken in the air between them.
Tossing her head in frustration, she stalked to the bed and opened her backpack. She pulled her driver’s license and credit cards out of her wallet and carried them back to Jericho. “Look. Read this. It says right here that my name is Vera Elaine McBride. It gives my date of birth and my address. Read it!”
Jericho took the plasticized cards from her and flicked them with his fingernail. “What’re these things made of?”
“Plastic. It hasn’t been invented yet in your time.”
“Uh-huh.” He scanned the writing on her license and squinted closely at the photograph. Holding it before the flickering firelight, he moved the card back and forth. Vera realized he’d just noticed the holographic image that prevented the license from being altered.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked at last. “And what’re these other things?”
“Credit cards. Mostly maxed out.”
He shrugged. “You’re talking Latin again.”
Perching on the edge of the wobbly table, she squarely faced him. “In my time people don’t use cash much for major purchases. Or even small ones. The store or bank issues you one of these cards so you can buy merchandise and pay for it later. A little at a time if you like.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension. “Like running a tab at the bar or the general store.”
“That’s exactly right! Except this is all done by computer and—”
“What’s a computer?”
“It’s a machine that holds as much information as an entire library.”
“Hmmmph. That’s something. What are some other things in your...your place you live.”
Excited now that he finally seemed to be listening, and maybe even believing, Vera launched into a dramatic telling of life in San Francisco. She talked about the cable cars, about the hilly streets, the tourists, BART, the culturally diverse population, about the crowded airport and rush hour traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge.
Jericho shook his head. “I heard where Henry Ford invented one of those motor cars you’re talking about, but I’m not quite sure I understand how those big machines full of people get off the ground to fly through the air.”
Vera realized she’d once more gone too deeply into her explanation. “Let me show you something else.”
She ran across the cabin and retrieved her canister of pepper spray. “Women and police officers carry this stuff. I can’t show you what it does, but if I pressed this nozzle, it would spray you with a blinding mixture of chemicals and hot pepper juice.”
Jericho jumped to his feet and threw the cards onto the table beside her. “What kind of weak-minded fool do you take me for? Did you think I’ve never been out of this town in my life? Never seen a perfume atomizer? I don’t know where you got all this stuff, but I’ve seen magic shows and tricksters hawking their wares before.”
“No! It’s no trick, Jericho. Please, you have to believe me.”
“All I believe is that I was wrong about you all along. I don’t know what kind of swindle you’re trying to put over on me, but it isn’t going to work.”
He grabbed his hat and stalked outside into the cold winter night.
Chapter Fourteen
Jericho stomped the ground, wrapping his arms across his chest to ward off the evil cold. He wished he’d had the good sense to grab his coat when he’d stormed out of the cabin or the good sense to buy a pint of whiskey in Prescott.
But, most of all, he wished he’d had the good sense not to get involved with that devilish woman in the first place.
He’d known her for a long time and he’d never taken her for a liar or a cheat, but what else explained those phony, ridiculous credentials she was carrying?
No more stops, he decided. They’d ride all night if they had to, but the sooner he got her back to Jerome and they cleared up this mess—even if it turned out she was guilty of Rafe’s murder—the sooner he could get her back to the Apaches. His debt to Min-e-wah would be repaid in full and he’d finally be shed of Verity and her craziness.
And good riddance.
He was damned lucky he’d discovered her lunacy and her duplicity before it was too late.
But something growled deep inside that it was already too late. He’d already crossed some invisible line that made him susceptible to Vera despite her obvious chicanery.
For the life of him, though, Jericho couldn’t figure out what she hoped to gain by her preposterous tale.
Unless... unless it was true.
Could she really have made up all those incredible tales? Vessels that carried hundreds of people flying through the air faster than the swiftest eagle. Cities where people lived in huge buildings holding thousands of residents who made their way through these cities by underground trains. Incredible. Unbelievable.
Still...
An icy wind swept through the clearing, cutting through his thin shirt and chilling him to the bone and slapping him back to reality. What had he been thinking? Of course she’d made up those preposterous tales.
Gritting his teeth, Jericho set his jaw and stalked back into the cabin.
THE RIDE BACK TO JEROME was tense but uneventful. Except for basic necessities, they didn’t exchange a word. Even those essential utterances were cold and barely civil.
It was after dark by the time they reached the outskirts of town. Once again, Jericho led them down the narrow alley that ran behind the Copper Penny. Feeling like a hapless catfish being reeled in to its sad fate, Vera once more followed him up the back stairs of the building to his rooms.
He’d stubbornly refused to take half of the narrow bed the previous evening, choosing instead to sleep on the floor in front of the fire. Vera knew he must be exhausted. He was still angry at what he perceived to be her fraudulent story; his teeth were clenched so tightly his jaws must be sore. The tension radiating from his stiff shoulders was almost palpable.
In an attempt to soothe the charged atmosphere, she said quietly, “I think you should take the bedroom tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
“No. I’ve got to go downstairs. I still have a busines
s to run and I have some errands to attend to first thing in the morning. You take the bedroom so I won’t have to be concerned about disturbing you.”
What disturbed her was the coldly formal tone he now took whenever he was forced to address her directly. Even though she intellectually understood his reasons for withdrawing, she felt as if a vital life-sustaining force had been taken from her. She wanted the old good-natured Jericho back.
“All right,” she answered at length, not wanting to provoke another argument.
“What would you like me to bring up for dinner?” he asked.
He might hate her guts but his genteel manner demanded he not abandon his duties as her host. That icy ability to withdraw so completely, while still treating her with great courtesy, hurt worse than if he’d stomped his feet and shouted. At least she could have shouted back. There was no way to combat indifference.
“Nothing. I’m not hungry.” The churning in her stomach wouldn’t allow for food. All she wanted was a good night’s sleep so she could tackle the assayer in the morning. Once the truth of Rafe’s death was disclosed, she was going to pour her energies into finding her way back to the future.
“As you wish.” Jericho inclined his head slightly. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
He closed the door softly behind him.
She resisted a sudden urge to plant her foot on his backside and help him down the hallway.
Feeling hurt and disgruntled by his unfair refusal to even consider the possibility that she might be telling the truth, Vera stalked into the bedroom, shedding her dirty clothing as she walked. Jericho’s frosty emotional distance was harder to endure than his occasional displays of temper.
She understood his bewilderment and sense of betrayal but there was nothing she could say or do to alleviate his distrust and disbelief.
Nor could she alleviate the wrenching sense of loss she felt since he’d turned away from her.
If he’d truly cared about her, he would trust her. Believe her. No matter how preposterous her story might sound at first.
Not bothering to find a clean nightshirt, Vera flopped naked onto the bed and pulled the comforter up under her chin. In seconds she fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed of her cat Squiggles, who was chasing a snake down a mine shaft.
In her dream, Squiggles morphed into Jericho who grinned at her like the Cheshire cat from Alice’s Wonderland. “Liar, liar,” he hissed at her before darting off down the rabbit hole.
SUNLIGHT WAS STREAMING through the filmy curtains when Vera was awakened by pounding on the bedroom door.
She struggled to sit up and realized with a start that she was nude. She yanked the linen sheet over her bosom just as the bedroom door opened wide.
“Yoo-hoo! Miz LaFleur, you awake in here?” Susannah Sweet’s bright red head peeked around the door. “Oh, good, you’re up. Mr. Jackson sent me up with a breakfast tray for you. You need to eat up ’cause ole Gus is going to be filling the tub so’s you can have a bath. Mr. Jackson says you need one.”
Fme, Vera grumped to herself. Now he was hinting that she smelled. Actually, she thought as she adjusted the covers, a faint twang of horsy aroma was clinging to her skin. She refused to entertain the notion that Jericho was just being thoughtful, though.
Susannah set the heavily loaded breakfast tray on the bedside table. Chattering incessantly, she revealed how Mr. Jackson was in some kind of mood this morning. “I’m telling you, he near about bit the heads off half the people he talked to this morning. Actin’ meaner ’n a snake, he is.”
Susannah paused and gave Vera a frankly assessing gaze. “Acts like a man in love iffen you ask me.”
Vera laughed out loud. “If you’re referring to me. you couldn’t be further from the truth. The only thing Jericho would love about me is to see me gone.”
“Maybe so. But even as riled as he is, he made sure that you were tended to. Breakfast, bath water, even sent Sally over to the mercantile to fetch you some clean street clothes. She should be back any time.”
Vera was surprised he’d revealed her presence to any of his employees. As if reading her mind, Susannah quickly reassured her. “He told us he’d see us in hell iffen either of us let slip that you was here.”
Uncovering the bountiful breakfast tray, the redhead set it on the bed beside Vera and sashayed back to the door. “You kin think what you want, Miz LaFleur, but Mr. Jackson sets great store by you. Most of us wouldn’t take it kindly iffen you was to betray his esteem.”
With that, the saloon waitress disappeared out the door.
An hour later, feeling greatly replenished by the food, hot bath and fresh clothing. Vera pulled the hood of her new brown velvet bonnet over her face. She stood in front of the mirror and straightened the lilac-sprigged muslin dress. Satisfied that the bonnet successfully shaded her features from casual view, she slipped out Jericho’s door and down the back staircase.
A few moments later, she stood in front of the office of J. P. Gilmore, Assayer. According to the gold-leafed sign painted on the frosted window, he would open his doors for business at eleven o’clock.
She didn’t wait long before a dapper man in a gray-striped business suit and bowler hat clattered down the wooden sidewalk in her direction. When he drew abreast of her, he tipped his hat “Madam, are you waiting for me? My apologies.”
Clearly unaccustomed to dealing with women in his trade, J. P. Gilmore kept giving her curious glances as he ushered her into the dim interior.
“Please, madam, have a seat while I draw the shades.”
Vera settled into a wooden armchair and watched the slightly built man flutter around the small space. He yanked open the shades on both windows, feather dusted the ledge in front of his cubicle and finally, took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. Turning to face her, he smiled brightly.
“Now, my good woman, how can I be of assistance?”
Clearly, J. P. Gilmore was open for business.
While she’d been soaking in the tin bathtub, Vera had concocted a cover story of sorts. Smiling effusively at the rattled man, she dabbed her cheek with a lacy hanky she’d found in Jericho’s bureau.
“Mr. Gilmore, is it?”
“Yes, madam, and you are...?”
“Oh! I’m sorry. Silly me, I plumb forgot myself.” Falling into her chosen role, Vera had to suppress a smile at the honey-dripping Southern accent that flowed easily from her lips. She raised a gloved hand and allowed the assayer to touch it before pulling it demurely back to her lap. “My name is...EtheL Ethel Wilson. Perhaps you knew my dear departed brother. Rafe?”
“Oh my,” J. P. Gilmore blanched. “My dear lady, I am so sorry at your loss. Why I had no idea Mr. Wilson had family outside Jerome, much less a sister of such obvious fine breeding. May I welcome you to our town and offer any assistance you might require?”
“Surely,” she murmured. What she was going to need was a barf bag if he didn’t lighten up on the genteel charm.
“Mr. Gilmore—”
“Please, call me J.P. We’re very informal out here in the Wild West.” He scurried behind his desk and dragged his chair across the room, placing it directly in front of her so their knees were almost touching.
“All right, J.P. Anyway, I understand that my brother was involved in a...business venture that you might have some information about.”
“Oh, me. I don’t believe I can...you see, I guarantee my customers complete confidence. If I were to...reveal details about their discoveries, claim jumping and all manner of violence might commence. A man in my position has to be very circumspect.”
Dabbing her eyes with the hanky one more time for good measure, she reached across the short distance and patted his knee. The small man shivered visibly and coughed as a bright pink tinge lit his pale cheeks.
“Mr. Gilmore, J.P. I certainly appreciate your reticence to betray a confidence. Indeed I applaud your circumcision—er, circumspection. But, you see, my dear brother borro
wed a sum of money from me to fund his enterprise. And he promised me that my investment would be completely protected. Unfortunately, he died before he could complete the necessary paperwork.”
“Oh, my dear, Miss—Is it Miss, by the way?”
“Missus.” Seeing the crestfallen look on his face, she quickly added, “I’m a widow, you see. That’s why it was necessary for me to ascertain that this investment was sound.” Vera sniffled loudly. “I loaned my brother almost every penny my sainted husband left to me.”
J.P. leaned forward and tentatively patted her arm. “Oh, you poor lady. To lose your husband and your brother at such a young age. How distressful. And, of course, I completely understand your need to, er, untangle your brother’s business affairs. Now, how can I help you?”
“Rafe didn’t want to...clutter my head with details, you understand, but I understand his business venture involved some sort of mining? Copper, perhaps.”
Gilmore shook his head, his thin hair flapping with the motion. “No, not copper. Mr. Wilson did come in with an ore sample some months ago—a very nice chunk of ore with a vein of nearly pure silver. Quite a find.”
Silver! Verity’s journal had mentioned silver.
Certain that she was on the right trail at last, Vera played out her hand. Clutching the hanky to her bosom, she exhaled, watching J. P. Gilmore’s eyes widen at the spectacle. “My gracious, silver, you say. Did my brother happen to mention where this vein of silver might be located?”
“What?” Gilmore reluctantly lifted his gaze from her chest “No. No, he didn’t. In fact, it would have been quite foolish of him to divulge that kind of information until he’d completed all the formalities of acquisition. And, of course, he didn’t do that before his death or you would have been informed. As principle investor.”
Smiling widely to cover her disappointment, she fingered her hanky. “I see. Well you’ve been most helpful, J.P.”
She stood up and fluffed her skirts, trying to think of any more information she might be able to elicit from the randy assayer.