by Bess McBride
“No?” Sarah replied.
Both women appeared to be in their fifties, with gray hair twisted into buns that peeped out from under their hats. Tanned, lined skin crinkled around matching pale-blue eyes.
“What is wrong?” one asked. “Are you ill? Lost? Did you just get off the train?”
Sarah nodded. She wanted to get up, to ask for their help, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She seemed to have no strength.
“Which is it? Ill or lost?” The other woman spoke, a little more sharply than her companion. One of the women was plump, the other smaller and wiry, but their eyes suggested they were sisters.
“Both?” Sarah replied. “I’m sorry. I would stand, but I’m not sure I know how.”
“Don’t know how?” the sharper one repeated. “What nonsense. Come, girl. How can we help you if we do not know what is wrong?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Sarah said. “I’m fine.”
“Ignore my sister,” the nice one said. “Her bedside manner is atrocious. We were just going inside to have some tea. I think you could use some. Would you like to join us?”
Sarah looked over her shoulder at the still-closed door.
“He kicked me out. I don’t think I’m welcome. But a cup of tea sounds great about now.”
“Jeremiah ‘kicked’ you out? What on earth does that mean?” the sharp-tongued one asked. “I’m sure he’s kicked out a cowboy or two, but he would never throw a woman out on the street. Unless you were–”
“Agnes Williams! How could you? I am sure she was doing no such thing!”
“What’s that?” Sarah asked. “I probably was. He said I was trying to break his window. I was, but that’s when I was trapped.” She continued mumbling. “As you can see, I’m not trapped now.”
“Trapped?” Agnes repeated. “Breaking a window? Was there a fire? Why else would one break a window?”
“Come, my dear,” the plump woman said. “Come inside and have some tea with us. What is your name?”
“Sarah Chilton.”
“My name is Faith Williams, and this is my sister, Agnes. We live here in Benson in a boardinghouse just down the street. I do wish you would join us for tea. I am more than happy to pay. You look as if you have fallen on hard times.”
Not for the first time, Sarah remembered that she didn’t have any money. She had no phone, no identification, no credit cards, nothing. But did she really need those things? Wouldn’t this aberration pass soon? Maybe she had hit her head on the floor and was just unconscious.
She tried to push herself to her feet but failed and plunked down again on her rear.
“Come, Agnes. Grab one arm, and I’ll take the other.” Faith walked around and slipped an arm under Sarah’s armpit. Together, the sisters pulled her to a standing position. Just as Sarah straightened her legs, the door opened, and she fell backward into the doorway, into the same arms that had caught her before. In another life, another world, another realm of consciousness, she might have enjoyed the strong feel of Jeremiah’s arms, but at that moment, she wondered if he was going to catapult her back out the door. Anything was possible in the current dream world.
“Not you again,” he ground out.
Chapter Two
“Jeremiah Stone!” Faith cried out in a scolding voice. “I could not believe it when Miss Chilton said you threw her out, but you did, didn’t you?” The older woman efficiently pulled Sarah out of Jeremiah’s arms.
Feeling a bit like a puppet, Sarah swayed, confused and hyperventilating as her brain refused to cooperate and focus. To her surprise, it was Agnes who wrapped a steadying arm around her waist as the women faced Jeremiah.
“Forgive me, ladies, but this young...woman attempted to vandalize my hotel. I cannot allow that. What made you bring her inside?”
“Because she is in need, Jeremiah,” Faith said. “Where is your charity?” Before Jeremiah could answer, Faith continued. “Miss Chilton is confused. She told us that she felt trapped when she tried to break your window. We don’t know yet how or why she felt trapped, but I have no doubt that she did. Agnes and I wish to have some tea, and we would like her to join us. I will personally guarantee that she will break no windows while we sip our tea. Would that be a satisfactory to you?”
Jeremiah hardened his mouth. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if the man ever smiled.
“I leave her in your charge,” he said in an exasperated tone. “Please take her with you when you depart though.”
He turned and strode off toward a door at the end of the counter. A young man Sarah hadn’t noticed before watched them from the counter. His well-groomed sandy hair mirrored the mustache that twitched as he smiled at the group. He, at least, did not seem to be holding a grudge about windows. He wore a conservative dark suit that could possibly have passed for modern except for the high-stand collar and thin-necked tie with wide ends tucked into his shirt.
“Good morning, Eric,” Faith called out.
“Good morning, Miss Williams,” Eric said in a warm voice.
Sarah liked him already. His smile was friendly, his voice pleasant. As different from his boss as night and day—she preferred the day version. To top it off, Eric gave her a personal nod. Crystal-blue eyes added to his charm.
Faith linked her arm with Sarah’s and led her across the lobby and through a door into a delightful dining room decorated in rich red-patterned wallpaper, gilt-edged paintings, bronze light fixtures, chandelier and round tables with ivory tablecloths. They appeared to be the only guests, and Sarah had no idea what time it was.
“We always come early in the day for tea, even before lunchtime, so we have the place to ourselves,” Faith said.
A tall, slender woman dressed in gray with an apron covering her skirt approached with a tray.
“Nancy! Thank you so much,” Faith said as Nancy put a tray down on a table. The threesome appeared to be in a routine as to table selection and when to bring the tea. “This is Miss Chilton, and she is joining us for tea. Could you bring another cup?”
Nancy, her mousey gray-streaked blonde hair pulled severely back from a narrow face, raised an eyebrow. Remarkably beautiful blue eyes regarded Sarah, looking her up and down.
“Certainly,” she replied, though her skeptical expression belied her agreeable words.
Faith seemed to ignore Nancy’s attitude as she left, but Agnes didn’t. “Well, I guess we know what Nancy thinks.”
Faith pulled out a chair and pressed Sarah down into it before she too sat down, seemingly untroubled. Agnes took another seat.
“She probably disapproves of Sarah’s masculine clothing. It is very ranch-like, isn’t it? Do you live on a ranch?”
“No, I live in a condo in Richmond, Virginia. Well, a small town called Lakeside, to be exact.”
“A condo?”
“Condominium,” Sarah clarified. Of course. In her unconscious state, the historical characters she was dreaming up wouldn’t know what a condo was.
“I have never heard of that town, but then again I have never been to Virginia.”
“It’s sort of a suburb?”
“A suburb?”
Sarah accepted the cup of tea and saucer that Faith poured from an elegant white porcelain set.
“Sugar? Cream?”
Sarah shook her head. “Suburb?” she repeated again. “I suppose it stands for suburban? I don’t really know. It’s more of a bedroom community.”
“I have never heard of a bedroom community, have you, Agnes? What is that?”
“A town where people mostly live but commute to larger cities?” The sense of unreality grew stronger with each passing question. The tea was delicious though.
“Oh! How interesting. I do not believe we have such a thing here. Of course, Agnes and I have taken the train to Tucson to go shopping. Do you think Benson could be called a bedroom community?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t really know how far Tucson is.”
“Forty-five minutes by tr
ain.”
“Maybe,” Sarah said.
“All this talk of bedroom communities,” Agnes grumbled. “If you do not ranch or farm, Sarah, then why are you wearing trousers? It really will not do.”
“I can see that,” Sarah said wryly.
Nancy returned with another teacup and saucer, and Faith served herself. Nancy arched her eyebrow again but said nothing before she disappeared back through a door that must have led to a kitchen.
The door leading to the lobby opened, and a middle-aged man and woman entered.
“The Cratchets,” Agnes grumbled, checking a watch pinned to her jacket. “They are early...and we are late.”
“We shall greet them pleasantly,” Faith said, smiling and nodding at the couple.
Agnes ignored her sister’s instructions and turned her back on the newcomers.
“Agnesssss,” Faith chided.
“Let’s just finish our tea and leave,” Agnes said.
Sarah wondered what the problem was, but she was generally too confused to ask about much of anything. If she was unconscious, what did it matter? When—and if—she awakened, the strange hallucinations would all disappear. Unless she was in a coma. That would be bad.
“Not at all. I intend to take my time,” Faith said, “and I am sure Sarah would like to enjoy her tea as well. I do wonder why Nancy hasn’t brought our cookies yet.”
“Cookies?” Sarah alerted. Her stomach growled, and the gnawing feeling felt all too real.
“Are you hungry, dear?” Faith asked, laying a solicitous hand on Sarah’s arm. “Of course you are. Yes, Nancy makes lovely cookies, and she usually brings some with our tea. Oh, here she comes now. Maybe they were still in the oven.”
Nancy approached them with a porcelain plate of what looked like oatmeal cookies.
“Oatmeal!” Sarah exclaimed. “My favorite!”
Nancy’s normally pale cheeks took on a pink tinge, and her lips moved, almost as if she wanted to smile but didn’t know how. “I am pleased to hear it,” she said.
Sarah bit into one, self-consciously aware that Nancy lingered to watch. Thankfully, they were as delicious as the homemade oatmeal cookies that Sarah’s mother had made. Sarah wondered if Nancy used a similar recipe.
“They taste just like my mother’s cookies,” Sarah said, munching away.
“Oh, goodness!” Nancy said, brushing her hands on her apron.
“Well done, Nancy!” Faith said, nibbling on her cookie. “They are particularly good today.”
Nancy’s cheeks reddened even further, and she nodded and turned away to speak to the Cratchets, who had seated themselves.
Sarah noticed that Agnes didn’t touch the cookies. Faith provided the answer to Sarah’s unspoken question.
“You cannot have sugar cookies every day, Agnes. Do try the oatmeal.”
“Never,” Agnes said, sipping her tea. “I cannot stand them.”
“Heathen,” Faith said with an untroubled smile.
Sarah saw Jeremiah enter the dining room, and she stiffened and dropped her cookie on the red-carpeted floor. She scrambled out of her chair to fetch it, but Jeremiah reached her side, and pulling a handkerchief from his vest, he picked it up.
“I hope it was not your intent to eat from the floor.”
Sarah’s face flamed. “Maybe!” she snapped. “They are really good cookies.”
“Jeremiah,” Faith reproached. “Do not be unkind.”
“That was not my intent,” he said, looking not at all chastened.
Sarah had decided that she didn’t like him, and she wondered whom in her real life he was supposed to represent—whom her subconscious had substituted him for, as dreams often did.
“I am sure that Nancy has more cookies in the kitchen,” he said.
“I’m full, thanks.” Sarah resumed her seat. What she really wanted to do was stomp out of the dining room and straight out of the hotel, but she wasn’t quite sure where she would go. So she folded her hands in her lap and sat still.
He nodded and moved on, raising a hand in greeting to the other couple before making his way to the kitchen with the offending remnants of her cookie.
“Whatever is the matter with that boy?” Agnes grumbled. “He’s behaving atrociously!”
“Well, to be fair, apparently I was trying to break his window,” Sarah said.
“You could not have known what you were doing,” Faith said. “Have you been feverish recently? Ill? Not quite yourself?”
“You could say that,” Sarah mumbled. “No fever, but I’m not quite myself.”
“Now that you have refreshed yourself, perhaps we could ask you a few questions?” Faith asked.
Sarah nodded.
“You said you got off the train? Were you coming to Benson? If so, why? Do you have family here?”
Sarah shook her head. “I was going to Los Angeles. I was just taking a train trip to get away.”
“Just taking a train trip?” Agnes repeated.
“Yes, I wanted a short vacation, but I didn’t want to do the driving, so to speak.”
“Do what driving, dear? Do you mean a wagon?” Faith asked
“No,” Sarah said. “A car.”
“A railcar?”
“Ummm, no,” Sarah said.
Faith shook her head, prepared to give up that particular question.
“I feel I must ask you a difficult question, but do you have means? I don’t see a purse. Perhaps you’ve stowed your funds on your person?”
At that moment, Jeremiah emerged from the kitchen, followed by Nancy with a tray of tea or coffee for the Cratchets. Jeremiah looked in Sarah’s direction and met her eyes before joining Nancy at the Cratchets’ tableside.
Sarah shook her head.
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me, dear!” Faith said. “Why aren’t you on the train? Why did you enter the hotel?”
Sarah chewed on her lower lip and looked down at her hands in her lap. She supposed it wouldn’t matter if she told the women the truth, that she was probably hallucinating. Maybe they would turn out to be her nurses, and she had just dressed them in historical costume for unknown reasons. She took a deep breath.
“Okay, I’ll tell you what happened. I got off the train to stretch my legs. Not that train,” she said, nodding in the direction of the train station, “but a modern passenger train. Anyway, I crossed the street and saw this old rundown hotel that was for sale. The door was open, and I went in. It didn’t look like it had been used in years. The place was empty without furniture, and the lobby was covered in dust and filled with cobwebs. One of the windows was cracked.”
“What is the girl talking about?” Agnes muttered, staring at her.
“Hush, Agnes. This is quite fascinating. Go on, dear,” Faith said kindly. She looked not at all astonished but as if she was humoring Sarah. That was fine.
Across the room, Jeremiah turned to look at her. Sarah thought she had kept her voice low, and she decided that he couldn’t hear her.
“I saw the train leaving, and I tried to leave, but the door stuck. I couldn’t open it, not for the life of me. So I tried to break the window with my elbow, the one that was already cracked. I swore I would pay the owner for the damage if only I could get back on the train. I don’t know what happened. I missed the window somehow. I fell, and then Jeremiah over there caught me...trying to break his window. And that’s the story.”
Faith eyed her with interest, but Agnes looked horrified. Sarah thought she might as well make things worse, at least as far as Agnes was concerned.
“I should add that I think I might be unconscious or in a coma or something, because I’m hallucinating. You all aren’t really here, and I have no idea why I’m in some kind of historical setting. This isn’t 2020, is it?”
“2020?” Agnes repeated. “Is that an address?”
Sarah noted that Jeremiah had stilled and stared at her. Had he heard her?
“Not an address
,” Sarah clarified. “2020, the year.”
Chapter Three
Even cheerful Faith’s eyebrows rose at that. Agnes’s jaw hung open.
“Oh, no, dear,” Faith said. “The year is 1890, but I am sure you know that.”
Nancy returned to the kitchen, and Sarah slumped in her chair as Jeremiah turned toward her table.
“I’m not surprised,” Sarah said. “I thought at first I was seeing some sort of film set, but I’m not surprised. This will pass.”
“What will pass, Miss Chilton?” Jeremiah asked, coming to stand by the table. He scanned their faces as if assessing them.
“I think I hit my head, and I’m unconscious. I hope I wake up.”
Jeremiah shook his head while Agnes snorted. Faith patted Sarah’s clasped hands.
“You seem very much awake to me,” Jeremiah said. “I could not help but overhear your conversation. What a farfetched tale! Why would you tell these kindhearted ladies such a story? They have been very nice to you, much nicer than I thought they should.”
“Jeremiah!” Faith said. “What has come over you? I have never known you to be so unkind!”
Jeremiah kept an eye on Sarah. Who could he resemble? She didn’t know any men as mean as he was.
“I do not know who this woman is, but she seems very suspicious,” he said, lowering his voice and directing his words to the sisters. “I thought to allow you ladies to indulge yourselves in trying to help her, but I believe she is manipulating you. I think she must be a grifter of some sort.”
Faith gasped and said something in protest. Agnes snorted again, though Sarah couldn’t tell if she disputed Jeremiah’s assessment or agreed. As for herself, she contemplated getting angry but surveyed her situation. She wasn’t still sitting on the street, after all. So grifter or not, Jeremiah had let her back in for a cup of tea, albeit at Faith’s insistence. She opted to let the slur go and merely stared at him.
“You do not deny this?” Jeremiah asked.
“I’d really rather you didn’t tower over me,” Sarah said. “It’s kind of intimidating in a bullying sort of way.”
Jeremiah’s face reddened.
“Oh dear,” Faith murmured. “She is not wrong, Jeremiah. Do you wish to sit?”