Angus was entranced by the dog. He dropped to one knee and stroked Klaus’s ears, murmuring to him and putting his nose close to the dog's muzzle.
“Watch him, Angus, he bites." Hannah was alarmed, because Klaus was anything but a friendly dog, but to her amazement, the temperamental animal licked the boy’s hands and face and generally acted delighted to meet him.
“He’s a good doggie. Ya think I could maybe take him fer a walk sometime?"
Daisy shook her head. "Oh, I doubt he’d go with you, dear. He's very attached to me."
With a final caress for the dog, Angus left, and in silence the three women quickly stripped the bed and remade it. They were all too tired for conversation.
Hannah spread the rough cotton sheet and heavy quilt over the lumpy pallet, and each of the women washed at the handbasin and got into her nightclothes.
Klaus had sullenly settled on the carpet beside the bed when Daisy insisted, but Hannah suspected it was only a matter of time before he’d be sleeping where he always did, on the bed at Daisy’s feet.
"Oooo, I’m beat. And I hope that dog realizes he’s not sleeping on the bed." Elvira turned the lamp wick down, and darkness was total and complete once the soft light was extinguished.
Hannah had opened the tiny window, and a cool breeze blew over her and freshened the air, punctuated with the rushing sound of the nearby creek and the splashing and creaking of waterwheels. There were muted men’s voices from the saloon downstairs, the sound of a man singing.
Why weren’t there any cars? Televisions? Radios?
"Night, Mom. Night, Elvira.” They murmured sleepy responses, and within moments Hannah heard their breathing change to the rhythms of sleep. Elvira snorted and rolled over, then settled into a steady, deep-throated snore.
Hannah had to smile when she heard Klaus leap up on the bed and, with a protracted groan of pure pleasure, settle himself at Daisy’s feet.
Hannah drew the quilt up to her neck and curled herself into a ball. She pondered the events of the day and worried like Klaus with a bone over the things she couldn’t make sense of, like this town that everyone insisted was Barkerville, and the calendar on the wall with its incongruous date, and Logan McGraw.
Was he an actor, as Elvira thought? Hannah doubted it. He was too authentic, too real to be anything but what he seemed.
1868.
Her brain struggled for explanations and came up empty. At last, weariness overcame her, and she gave up trying to figure anything out. Tomorrow would bring answers, she promised herself. She heard doors open and close along the hall, but there was surprisingly little noise from the other rooms. At last she slept.
And woke what seemed only moments later to the sound of birds chirping, dogs barking, the low, faraway rumble of men’s voices, and the seemingly constant sound of the water wheels she’d heard in her dreams all night long.
The other two women were already up. Daisy was in her bra and panties, washing in the basin, and Elvira, still in her long pink flannel nightgown, was making the bed.
“Morning,” Hannah mumbled, sitting up and yawning. "What time is it?”
“Past eight." Elvira plumped the pillows and smoothed the quilt with more force than seemed necessary. “There’s dog hairs all over this bed. And Hannah, I do envy someone who can sleep in the morning ... I'm awake at the crack of dawn myself. But I always maintain you get more done that way. Not that I got much sleep last night on this lumpy mattress. And with my bladder, climbing up and down those stairs to use the toilet is just ridiculous."
It wasn’t the cheeriest of morning greetings. Hannah thought of poor Gordon, faced with this sort of grumping first thing every day. She looked from Elvira to her mother, wondering if Daisy, too, was out of sorts.
“Morning, dear." Daisy sounded all right. She was drying her face and arms and using deodorant and then spritzing on cologne from her travel case. “This slop bucket is getting full. Where do you suppose we’re supposed to empty it?" She might sound more cheerful than Elvira, but Hannah noted the nervous tremor in her voice.
"You aren’t meant to fill the basin to the brim that way, Daisy,” Elvira snapped. “You have to conserve water when it doesn’t come out of a tap. Leave the bucket. Surely there’s some sort of maid service in this joint.”
Daisy turned to Hannah. “We tried not to wake you, dear. Are you stiff from sleeping on that pallet?” She bent over her suitcase to get her clothes, and Hannah felt shock ripple through her. In the bright morning light, Daisy’s body was skeletal, little more than skin stretched over delicate bone. The sight was disturbing. Daisy seemed so very fragile.
Hannah suddenly felt panicky. What if her mother should get sick on this trip? Wherever they were, it felt a long way from modern-day Victoria and medical services.
"Hannah?” Daisy turned and looked at her. “Did you hear me, dear? I asked you how you slept."
"Not too bad." Hannah yawned and untangled her sleep shirt. She struggled to her feet, peering out the window. It was a glorious day, sunny with blue skies. She found she was looking down into the small, tidy backyard of the Nugget. There was a patch of grass and a collection of rough log sheds. Beyond the yard was the swiftly flowing creek. As she watched, Angus came through a back gate carrying two large buckets of water.
To Hannah’s surprise, Klaus was trotting along at his side. They disappeared into the lower part of the building.
“Klaus is out there with Angus?" Hannah had never known the dog to take to a stranger.
"He had to pee, your mother wasn’t dressed, and there were any number of men clattering up and down the stairs," Elvira snapped. "So the dog went out with Angus. That boy brought us up a single pitcher of warmish water. He says the men in the other rooms only get a pitcher morning and night, and that it’ll be noon before there’s enough hot water for a bath, if you can believe that." She went on, "I must say, this is really roughing it, which is why I never went camping with Gordon. And I'd kill for a cup of good hot coffee right this moment. I can’t be expected to start the day without coffee. I asked Angus to bring some up, but he’s slow-witted. I'm not sure he even understood. Shall I wash next, or will you, Hannah?"
"Go ahead. I'm not really awake yet.” Elvira's bad temper was depressing first thing in the morning. Hannah found her duffel bag and extracted her hairbrush. She dragged it through her hair, wondering how long it would take Elvira to give her a headache.
Daisy was putting on blue slacks and a button-front blouse, and now she sounded out of sorts too. “That's unkind of you, Elvira, talking that way about Angus. Klaus has certainly taken to him, and Klaus is an excellent judge of character."
Elvira snorted. "The day I'd rely on an animal to make my judgments for me, I'd have to be soft in the head."
Daisy’s head came up and her lips trembled. Hannah felt like lying down on her thin pallet, pulling the quilt over her head, and howling with frustration. She hated wrangling first thing in the morning. She hated being here with these two. She wanted to be home, in her own little apartment, with her radio playing soft FM music, unlimited hot water pouring over her from her shower, and the pleasing prospect ahead of her of a challenging day spent at her job. And good strong coffee dripping through her machine. She had to admit that Elvira had a point about the lack of coffee.
“I’m done. You'd better use what little's left of this water, Hannah, before it gets any colder." Elvira dried herself briskly and shoved her legs into black slacks, pulling on an oversized white shirt as if it was a mortal enemy.
“Why don’t you two go on down and locate the restaurant Mr. McGraw mentioned?" Hannah suggested. "I’ll come as soon as I’m ready."
"Logan. He distinctly said his name was Logan, and that’s what I intend to call him. But you can suit yourself, of course.” Elvira shouldered her huge handbag and stalked to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned. "Daisy, are you coming or not?"
It seemed pure luxury to have them finally shut the doo
r behind them. With a sigh of relief, Hannah shucked off her cotton sleep-shirt and refilled the basin with an inch of warm water and an icy dipperful from the bucket, scrubbing sleep from her eyes and shivering as she sponged the rest of herself with the rough washcloth. It was a laborious way to have a mini-bath, but when she was done, she felt much better.
A glance in the mirror told her that the lump on her forehead had gone down a little overnight. She formed her long, heavy hair into a single braid and put on fresh underwear, clean jeans, and a thin, loose black cotton T-shirt. If it got really hot later, she decided, she’d change to shorts; she’d brought two pair along.
She used a dash of mascara and some lip gloss and shoved her bare feet into her sandals, still damp from the river. She’d have to pay a necessary visit to the outhouse and then find Wake-Up Jake’s and get some coffee.
She’d studiously avoided even looking at the calendar, and she refused to glance at it now as she grabbed her handbag and made her way out the door. Even so, the year was emblazoned on her mind's eye in indelible ink, and she had to quell a spurt of panic.
The air in the corridor smelled bad, of cigar smoke, stale beer, and male sweat. The doors to the other rooms were all closed. She wrinkled her nose, trotted down the stairs, turned left, and found a door that led to a large, deserted, and dilapidated kitchen. It, too, was empty. It was long and narrow, with two windows, a back door, and another that she discovered led to a lean-to shed.
The outhouse was clean enough, but it left a great deal to be desired as far as toilets went, and tissue consisted of old torn-up newspapers. She studiously avoided looking at the date on any of them before she hurried back into the house and scrubbed her hands at the basin by the door. Then she made her way to the front of the building, glancing into the pub as she passed.
Logan McGraw was there, hair tied back in a clump on his neck, white shirt rolled to the elbows and open at the throat. His bare forearms were corded with muscle and covered in a dark mat of hair. All the chairs were up on the tables, and with wide, graceful sweeps of his arms, he was spreading fresh sawdust from a bucket onto the clean-swept wooden floor. He was whistling a cheerful tune, and for a moment Hannah stood and frankly admired him.
The man was even better looking than she remembered.
He turned and caught sight of her. "Morning, Miss Gilmore.” It didn’t seem necessary to be quite so formal, Hannah decided. He had come to their rescue last night, and she was grateful.
"My name’s Hannah. Good morning— ummm, Logan."
His white teeth flashed behind his mustache. “I trust you slept well, Hannah?” His deep voice seemed to linger over the syllables of her name, turning what had always seemed to her ordinary and unattractive into something exotic. She returned his smile. After Elvira, it was a pleasure to meet someone who wasn't cranky.
“I slept really well, thanks. In fact, I slept late, Mom and Elvira have already gone to that cafe you suggested for breakfast. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"I’d be pleased to escort you." He rolled down his shirtsleeves, fastened the buttons at his neck, and lifted a dark suit jacket from the coat-tree near the door. He slipped his arms into it, settling it on his broad shoulders and donning a Stetson.
"I'll be at Wake-Up Jake’s if you need me, Sam," he called to a man stacking glasses behind the bar.
Hannah stopped at the door for a moment, her heart beginning to hammer as she looked apprehensively up and down the street. Her eyes were dazzled at first by the bright sunlight, and she was hoping against hope that this morning all the confusion of the night before would disappear, that it would be obvious that the town was a clever tourist trap or the movie set Elvira had thought it to be. But as she walked along the crooked boardwalk, she knew it wasn’t so, and her heart sank. Everywhere she looked were indications that the twentieth century had somehow bypassed this town ... or hadn’t yet arrived?
She walked along beside Logan, trying frantically to find an explanation for what was patently impossible. What she was looking at was quite simply a bustling mining center straight out of the last century. There were men everywhere, just as there’d been the evening before. The narrow roadway in front of the Nugget was dusty, busy, and smelly. There seemed to be animal droppings of one sort or another every few feet.
Logan moved in front of her to shield her from the worst of the dust as a team of horses passed, pulling a wagon loaded with lumber. Several rough-looking men openly stared at her as they hurried along the street pushing some sort of barrow with an assortment of buckets and spades piled on it.
A man ambling past on horseback gave her a half bow and swept his western hat off in a courtly gesture. Across the street, in the open doorway of a building whose hand-lettered sign read BLACKSMITH, a heavily muscled man in a leather apron fanned an open fire and then thrust a piece of iron into the blaze. From the door of a bakery came the enticing odor of fresh bread, but it seemed that every second establishment was a saloon, and even at this early hour, men were gathered inside, their voices loud and boisterous.
And then a short, round woman stepped out from the doorway of the Post Office, coming towards them, a handbag tucked under her arm. She wore a dark green dress that reached her ankles and covered her wrists. Her hair was swept up and a hat was perched on top of its intricate rolls.
After so many men, Hannah wanted to run over and embrace her. Instead, she waved a hand and smiled. "Hi. Good morning.”
The woman's shocked gaze raked over Hannah, head to foot and back again, and then, with a lift of her chin she turned away. She hurried down the steps, picked up her skirts, and crossed the street.
Hannah stood and stared after her, shocked and hurt at the blatant snub.
"Who ... who is that?"
“Mrs. Heatherington." Logan's voice was carefully noncommittal. “The bootmaker's wife."
For some reason, the woman’s dress and her unfriendly manner held a harsh reality that broke down the last shred of denial Hannah could muster. She no longer had any doubts that she was in Barkerville. Against all reason, she also knew now that the date Logan had supplied the night before was accurate.
It was July 8th, 1868. She had to stop and lean against the side of the nearest wooden building, because she felt nauseated and very, very dizzy.
Yesterday’s Gold: Chapter Seven
"Hannah? Are you feeling ill?" Logan took her arm, his forehead creased in a frown.
She couldn’t answer, because for the first time in her life, she thought she was going to faint. She forced herself to draw in deep breaths, and slowly the sick sensation in her middle disappeared, but her mind went over and over the situation like a mouse in a maze.
How could this have happened? Time travel was a fantasy, a device used by science-fiction writers and moviemakers, but certainly not something that happened to ordinary people like her, or her mother, or Elvira.
“Are you all right?" He’d slid an arm around her waist and was supporting her.
“Yes. That is, I... I think so.” She drew in a shaky, shallow breath that hurt her chest. "Yes, I’m—I’ll be fine in a moment. It's—it's just—"
But she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t explain, because she didn't understand any of it herself. No wonder he'd looked at her last night as if she belonged in an institution. Had she suddenly gone mad? Was this whole thing happening only in her mind, while her body was in a locked ward?
The strong male arm at her waist didn’t feel like an illusion. Shaky but no longer dizzy, she thanked him and drew away.
“Wake-Up Jake’s is not far, just along here." His eyes stayed on her, and he walked close beside her. Together they climbed up and down the series of uneven platforms that constituted a sidewalk. All the buildings were built on log posts three or four feet above the ground, but each building was a different height from its neighbor, and so was the boardwalk in front of it.
Stunned and bewildered, Hannah stumbled twice, and Logan caught her, steadyin
g her when she might have fallen. She was conscious of him close beside her and grateful for his support. "Careful, you can break an ankle on this infernal boardwalk,” he cautioned. "It’s most treacherous at night. There’s been more than one broken leg." He grinned, obviously trying to cheer her. “However, the accidents were related more to whiskey than the sidewalk.”
Maybe she could get through this if she concentrated only on the present moment.
“Why... why is it so uneven?” She didn't care, but it was something to focus on.
“Each merchant is responsible for the portion in front of his establishment."
“And why are the buildings all above the street this way?"
"To protect them from the spring flooding of William’s Creek. Freshet was nearly over when I arrived this spring, but I’m told the water runs like a small river down this street during run-off."
Hannah could feel the glances she attracted from every pair of male eyes in the vicinity.
"Why are there so many men and so few women?"
Logan gave her a curious glance. “Barkerville is a gold rush town. Until the Cariboo Road was built three years ago, the trail in here was too strenuous for all but the hardiest women. Even now, females are few, and in great demand. Any unattached woman can pick and choose among suitors."
“Is that why everyone’s staring at me this way? And why did that woman act the way she did?"
He hesitated. “I do believe it has something to do with the manner in which you're dressed.” He seemed to be trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s your—uh, your britches that are attracting all the attention, Hannah."
"My jeans?" She thought of the way Mrs. Heatherington was dressed and realized he was probably right. Women in this time and place didn’t wear jeans. Had she packed any dresses? She couldn’t remember.
On the verge of hysteria, she thought that she really should have brought along the book of etiquette Brad’s mother had given her. It probably explained exactly what to do in predicaments like this. The whole thing must have its funny side, but she couldn’t even smile. In fact, she felt a lot like crying.
Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle Page 44