by Keta Diablo
The outlaws rode out as men rushed from the bunkhouse and started pumping water to fill buckets. One or two pulled up their bandanas and dashed inside to release the few stabled horses as the flames licked the sky, brightening the color of night and making stars invisible. But saving the barn proved impossible.
Gus sidled over to Colby. "Guess we’ve lost it, boss. Sorry ’bout that."
"Gus." Colby put a hand on his foreman’s arm. "Right now, that might be the least of my worries. They’ve got the horses out; we can always rebuild."
Lizzie stared up at the orange and red glow of the burning timbers, points of flames reaching for the sky. She thought it looked as if Beelzebub himself should be rising up out of that inferno. She listened to the frightened nickers of the horses being led to pasture, and the shouts of the cowboys as they tried in vain to stop the fire. But her main concern was elsewhere. "I wonder if I’ll be able to get home. If Dudley was right, and it’s the mirror not the barn...."
* * *
Sheriff Bisto had a face like a pecan nut, Lizzie thought. Pitted from, probably, the small pox or something of that nature, and brown as any nutshell from being in the sun. Had he lived in 2016, she believed, he would be undergoing skin cancer treatments for sure. As it was, he was wrinkled like an elephant with skin like boot leather. But she kept these thoughts to herself as she sat in the corner without moving, as she had promised, and kept herself ‘under wraps.’
"Oh, one of them ‘Hole-in-the-Wall’ gangs, huh? We know there are several up there—but can’t get into the damn place. Tried a few times, but it’s so well situated they can see us coming miles off. Start shooting before we can get anywhere near. Got supplies, a livery—right little town, it is. Cassidy, Sundance, ‘Kid Curry’ Logan—a whole string of them outlaws. Different gangs all working together it seems. But they think they left some stolen money here, huh?"
Colby hooked his thumbs in his waistband and stared at the sheriff. "That’s what they told me, Sheriff. They wanted gold that’d been left here years ago, before the Johnson County War had intervened and upset us all. My wife died when they came after it then."
Sheriff Bisto gazed at the floor and shook his head in sorrow. "Yeah. I remember that, Gates. Awful thing for you, awful thing. Well. I cain’t say as we’ll find them now or be of any help. Just good to know you weren’t hurt this time."
"What is he, a jackass?" Lizzie piped up from the corner. "Tell him to go the hell after those men!"
Colby ignored her. "I guess there’re a lot of reasons why you want those men, huh, Sheriff?"
"A lot," the older man affirmed.
"Well. You let me know if and when you catch them. For now, I’ll keep men on guard ’cause I sure as hell don’t know anything ’bout the gold."
"Good idea." Sheriff Bisto patted Colby on the shoulder. "As for your marriage, well...." He shook his head, his lips tight together in a straight line. "Guess the court will see to declaring it null and void. That’s something, I must say. Bigamy. Never encountered that in all my years, but there it is. Bigamy. And a dang woman, too." He made his way toward the door. "You be thankful you got off with your life, Gates. They are bad men. Surprised you didn’t take a shot at least."
Colby pulled something from his shirt pocket and held it out to the sheriff.
"What’s this then?" the lawman asked.
"An eagle. A ten-dollar piece. Had it in my pocket all along, and the bullet just bounced off it." Colby gave the sheriff a big smile. "Guess you could call it my lucky gold piece."
Sheriff Bisto took the coin, studying the peculiar dent in the middle, before he handed it back. "Well, I’ll be. If that ain’t the dangdest thing I ever did see. You’re right, though, about one thing." He narrowed his eyes and looked straight at Colby. "That is one helluva lucky gold piece. Worth more than ten dollars in my book any old day!"
Chapter Twelve
"It’s not finished, is it?" Lizzie’s face told Colby everything. Her mouth was pointing south at the corners, and her eyes were without their normal glint.
"What do you mean?" He leaned against the kitchen worktop, turning a hot cup of coffee in his hands. The knowledge Lizzie wanted to return to her life in 2016 as a real person mixed hurt with understanding, love with loss.
"Dudley, our friend Mr. Worksop, said I had unfinished business, and I wouldn’t go back until I had accomplished what I had come for. So there must be something more for me to do. I figure it must have to do with the man responsible for my death, the man who yelled, ‘Mrs. Gates,’ and tried to kidnap me."
Colby looked into his cup before posing, "What if you never find him? Would that be so bad?"
"Colby." Lizzie moved from the kitchen chair where she’d been perched and released the cup from Colby’s hands. She placed it on the side and entwined her fingers around his neck. Their gazes locked. "You know I love you. You must. But to spend eternity here as a ghost without...without a normal life, unseen by anyone but you, unheard, with no real point to my existence. Is that what you would want for me?"
Colby took her hands and held them between his own. He lifted each one in turn to kiss them. "I simply cannot imagine life again without you. I know you have to go; I know it would be selfish of me to try to stop that—if I could, which I doubt. It’s just—a little bit longer, perhaps? Is that so bad?"
"No." She gave him an impish grin. "Certainly the nights here are worth staying for."
"They are, are they?" Colby lowered his face to hers, planting teasing kisses to each side of her mouth before capturing her lips with a deep hunger. His tongue made its way to taste her sweetness, going deep as if he could capture her soul, but it was his being that was captured. He felt that kiss with his whole body, felt a love he believed would last beyond this lifetime. If only....
A sharp rap at the door tore the lovers apart and was followed by Gus sticking his head in.
"Sorry to bother you, boss. But you sure as hell will wanna see this!"
* * *
Outside, where the barn once stood, now lay smoldering ashes, smoke still rising in a couple of places. Boards, charred black and lying in haphazard piles, made crazy paths for the men to walk through; they raised and heaped them up, onto a wagon, if they were cool and safe, to be cleared away. But over in the far corner stood a group of Colby’s cowboys, shaking their heads, laughing a bit, chattering as if it were some strange tea party. Smiling, they broke up as Gus led Colby over, followed unseen by Lizzie.
All eyes were on Colby as Gus pointed at what had been the floor.
There, uncovered by the fire-burnt boards, lay a safety deposit box stamped ‘Bank of North Dakota.’
"The gold! The dang gold they came after. Well, I’ll be...."
"Looks like it," Gus agreed. "Now what?"
Colby’s men all stood waiting to see what his answer would be: keep it or return it.
"Now I return it to the rightful owners, of course, Gus. What else?"
"Of course, what else?" Lizzie muttered behind him. "Well, let’s hope there’s a reward at least."
Gus echoed her. "Well, you might well get a reward. Ought to, I’d say."
Colby looked his foreman in the eye and shook his head in agreement. "Let’s hope so. I’ll live better once this is out of here, that’s for sure. And if there is a reward, it’ll be shared out among us. After all, you men found it."
"Is that the corner where I first appeared?" Lizzie asked once they were out of earshot so Colby could answer. "It’s difficult to figure it out now, and it seems so long ago." She stood watching with Colby as two men lifted the strong box onto a second wagon bed, ready to go to town.
"That’s where you appeared."
She could hear the solemnity in his voice, the quiet regret she would soon leave.
"I think I still have to find the man responsible for my death, though," she tried to cheer him. "At least, according to good ol’ Duds’ theory of unfinished business. And I have no idea where to start with that. When
are you going to take the gold to town?"
"I’ll leave it for tomorrow. Better give the men a hand here with the barn wood for today so we can make a start on rebuilding. If that bank has waited five years for this gold, they can wait another day."
He stripped off his shirt and went to join his men, hoisting board after board onto a wagon to be taken away, shoveling ashes to make sure none were still live, combing through the rubble to see if there was anything worth keeping, making a heap of bent nails. Lizzie watched, leaning against the house, her gaze hardly leaving Colby. His muscles flexed every so often as he stood, shovel in hand, before digging down again. The lines of his body were taut, drawn deep under his chest and across his hard stomach. His voice was mellow, warm, as he gave out one or two instructions, and every so often he would look her way and give that small, sad smile. He must know the end is near, she thought; he must know.
As dusk came, she sauntered back into the house and started to get some things ready for dinner. Colby was not far behind, kissing her once more as he reached up for his whiskey.
"Guess you can use that, huh?" she allowed him.
"Guess I can." He stood with his shirt half open, the gold coin still in his pocket, and took a swig of his whiskey. "Want a sip?"
"Naw. I’m a wine drinker actually."
"Wine? Well, I’m afraid there’s not much of that around here. What else? What is 2016 really like?"
So she told him. She told him about cell phones and eBooks and television and modern cars. She told him about airplanes and fast trains and a trip to New York City she’d once taken with her parents. She spoke of the crowds of people, immigrants, still making their way into the United States, and the wars that had been fought, and modern medicine and drugs, both legal and illegal. And Colby listened, sipping at his bottle, curled with her in bed, feeling her loss before it was time.
"Phew!" he said at last. "Think I better pay a visit to the necessity and then we can...sleep."
Lizzie roared with laughter. "The ‘necessity’? Is that what you call the outhouse? The ‘necessity’?"
"Well," said Colby standing and looking down at her amused. "Isn’t it? A necessity?"
"Guess it is, guess it is."
Lizzie lay contented yet melancholic, watching her husband stumble his way out the door. ‘Necessity,’ she laughed to herself.
She struggled to stay awake, drifting in and out of sleep, the smell of Colby’s body embedded in the sheets, his outdoor, masculine odor of horses and leather tinged by the smoke of the fire. Somewhere, deep in her unconsciousness, voices reached her, a commotion, shouts, and shots. Struggling to wake herself, to pull herself back from the twilit world she’d been inhabiting, she leaned up on one elbow, listening.
They’re back, she realized as her head cleared. They’re back! And Colby’s outside without a gun!
Chapter Thirteen
Lizzie yanked the rifle down from the wall and sprinted out the door. Her gaze traveled to the outhouse, a few feet away, down to the bunkhouse in the distance, and then to the nightriders. This time there were four horsemen, all masked, and she was sure from their size Maude/Sylvie wasn’t among them. Men. All tough, hard-bitten outlaw men.
She shouted for Colby. "Are you all right? Stomp so I know where you are."
Colby stomped hard. The other side of the outhouse.
The riders had started to spread out to surround the house as Lizzie made her way to give Colby the rifle. He put his finger up to his mouth to remind her he would be heard if he spoke, and she nodded in return. And then, one of the horsemen came around the back of the house toward them.
Without thinking, Lizzie dashed toward the horse, arms flailing, an unnerving and unnatural sound filling the air.
The horse reared, and the outlaw tried to turn it in a circle to gain control. But the animal was spooked now, panicking, the whites of its eyes huge in the dark as it whickered its fear. Rearing up as the outlaw held the reins tighter, the horse pawed the air before setting down for a moment and then rearing back up in one fast, fluid motion, throwing its rider to the ground. It bolted into the night.
The downed man struggled to pull his gun but Colby was quicker. The click of the rifle foretold the shot, which rang out leaving the man silent and still.
One of the other riders started to come toward Colby, but again Lizzie raised her arms and again the horse panicked. This time the horseman turned his beast and, with the remaining two, hightailed it away into the dark.
The ranch hands were at last arriving from the bunkhouse, their guns drawn.
"All done," Colby said, going to see the man he’d killed. He turned him over with the toe of his boot.
"Who’s that, boss?" Gus asked, holstering his weapon.
Colby’s glance met Lizzie’s across the body. Neither smiled.
"The man responsible for my wife’s death," Colby answered, "that’s who."
* * *
In the morning, the body was loaded, with the gold, onto the wagon for the trip to town. Colby ached with fear that when he came back she wouldn’t be there, Lizzie would have gone back to her life in 2016, and he would once more be alone. Reluctant to say good-bye to her, he procrastinated with this and that until he could no longer think of anything else to stop him from going.
"That body’s going to stink like hell if you don’t leave soon," she asserted when he came back in.
"Do you think he’ll be a ghost, too? Haunt my house?"
"Doubt it. I don’t think it works that way. Don’t think he has unfinished business."
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in, stretching to find his lips. As she did so, he pulled her closer, tight against him, captured her lips as he ran his hands over her back, through her long hair, and back down to her buttocks, trying almost to take permanent possession of her body.
"You’ll be gone when I return, won’t you?"
"I make no promises," she responded, trying to make a joke. "Here today, gone tomorrow," she added lightly.
"Tomorrow?" He grabbed at one more day, just one more day. "Will you?"
She pulled away, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, and he could see her eyes beginning to glisten, this time not with laughter but with tears.
"I...Should I stay and see you go? Do we know for sure it’s through the mirror?"
Lizzie shrugged. "I’m assuming so, Colby. If not, I guess you’ll come home and find me still hanging around the joint."
"Nothing would please me more."
"I know, but—"
"Yah." He rubbed his temples as if trying to think of something, one more thing that would hold her, but there was nothing. "I think you should take the lucky gold coin, the eagle. Take something to remember me by."
"Oh, my darling, I won’t have any trouble remembering you...."
"You don’t know. You didn’t remember all this when you first arrived. And you won’t have a Dudley Worksop to help you next time. Take the coin, Lizzie."
"I have the cheval mirror, remember? That will be mine in 2016."
Colby took a breath, then sauntered to the door and reached for his hat off the peg. "So this is good-bye?"
But she was already gone.
"Lizzie?" he called, panicking. "Lizzie?"
In the bedroom, by the mirror, lay his shirt and the cut down jeans he had given her. The belt that had been used to hoist them up around her tiny waist was nowhere to be seen.
"Lizzie!" he shouted, shaking the mirror. "Oh, lord, Elizabeth! Lizzie!"
* * *
"Lizzie! Lizzie, please say something sweetheart. Lizzie Adams, are you with us?" Anita Beechwood tried one more time to tap Lizzie awake. "I know you’re in there somewhere. Lizzie? The medics are on their way, sweetie, but I’d be so happy if you would just open your eyes!"
From what seemed as if she were at the other side of a long tunnel, Lizzie was aware of someone calling her, drumming on her—and it wasn’t Colby. Colby was gone, she had left Colby and wa
lked through the mirror, its consistency turning quicksilver like mercury, swallowing her up. And now, she could hear this other voice, a long way away, but with something familiar about it. She blinked. And blinked again.
The apartment buzzer went off and she was aware of footsteps going to the intercom, a wait, and then a mumbled conversation in the next room. Words reached her through a fog: ‘unconscious,’ ‘boyfriend,’ ‘moaning,’ ‘friend.’
She felt a mask being put over her face, the smell of it, the cold intake of oxygen, people raising her arm, taking her pulse, an oxygen counter on her finger, a blood pressure monitor on her arm, and finally a hand pulling back her eyelids as she tried to open them herself. And then, there was a whole kafuffle of being lifted onto a stretcher and somehow bumping her way down the stairs and into the back of what she presumed was an ambulance.
Two days later by her reckoning, she was sitting up in a hospital bed, a curtain by the side drawn against the moans and groans of her roommate. Quiet sobs could be heard, and she wondered if that person on the other side of the curtain was slipping into the next life, and whether she or he would become a ghost.
The tray table across her legs held nothing that could possibly appeal to her in this life or the next—or the last. A lukewarm, reheated chicken leg lay unappetizingly amongst mashed potatoes she figured would be able to chink Colby’s barn.
Colby. Where was he? Colby, Colby, Colby.
Neetie—Anita Beechwood—pranced into the room, a ‘spring in her step’ being too tame a description of how she entered. Lizzie figured the sprightliness was due to the fact she was the one in the bed, not Neetie.
"Sweetie! So good to see you sitting up and eating. I was soooo worried!"
Lizzie mustered a smile. "Sorry. Jason...well he—"
"I know all about Jason. He phoned me—he thought he’d killed you so he took his things and left, just having the decency to phone me before departing. Let’s hope it’s for good. Never did like that bastard."