Shadows Through Time

by Madeline Baker

  Glancing down the street, he noted that he wasn’t the only man watching her progress. Several men along the boardwalk stopped whatever they were doing to admire her as she passed by. The thought that other men found her attractive rankled somehow. Admitting that it bothered him rankled still more.

  Turning on his heel, he headed for the nearest saloon. A good game of poker and a glass of whiskey would soon put him to rights again.

  Chapter Three

  Kelsey walked slowly down the boardwalk. She had spent the last two and a half hours looking for the elusive door to Nana Mary’s house but to no avail. She still couldn’t believe she had stepped through a doorway in the twenty-first century and been zapped into the Old West, but there was no denying the proof of her own eyes. It was there, in the Wells Fargo stagecoach pulling up in front of the depot, in the mud that splattered from the wheels of the coach, in the distant ring of a blacksmith’s hammer.

  She wanted to believe she was still dreaming, but, like it or not, she seemed to have landed in the past, for who knew how long. And if that was the case, then she needed to find a job. She needed money, enough to pay for a place to stay, meals and a change of clothes. She glanced down at her pants and t-shirt. She definitely needed something else to wear. Everywhere she went, people stared at her. She wasn’t sure if it was her outfit or the fact that she was the only woman in town wearing pants. Especially hot pink stretch pants.

  For now, it was time to stop looking for a way home and find a job, however menial it might be. With that thought uppermost in her mind, she went into Irma’s Millinery Shop and was politely turned away. She tried Houghton’s Bootery, Osgood’s General Store, Cosgrove’s Mercantile and Aunt Sally’s Boardinghouse. No one wanted to hire her. She didn’t know if it was because of her attire or because she was a stranger in town, but no one was willing to give her a chance.

  Standing in the shade of the newspaper office, she ate the muffin she had saved from breakfast. It took the edge off her hunger but did nothing to ease her thirst.

  Looking around, she crossed the street and entered the Square Deal Saloon. As her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, she noted that there were less than a dozen men inside. Four stood at the long mahogany bar against the back wall. A brass rail stretched the length of the bar, brass spittoons were located in strategic places around the room.

  Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she walked toward the bar. The back wall held several shelves of glasses in various sizes. The requisite painting of a nude reclining on a curved red settee hung above the shelf. She was a buxom beauty with long black hair that fell over her shoulders, barely covering her breasts. She looked a little the worse for wear. There were several small rips in the canvas, no doubts incurred during bar fights. A piano stood silent in one corner. Sawdust covered the raw plank floor. Several poker tables covered with green felt were scattered around the room. Only one was occupied. In addition to the poker tables, she recognized a faro table and a roulette wheel.

  The bartender’s shaggy brown brows rose when he saw her. “You want something?” he asked gruffly.

  “I need a job.”

  “Is that right?” He was as wide as he was tall, with squinty blue eyes, brown hair and a deep cleft in his chin. “What can you do?”

  “Serve drinks?”

  He grunted. “Is that all?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You willin’ to entertain the customers?”

  She frowned. “You mean like singing or dancing?”

  He barked a laugh. “I mean like lifting your skirts in one of the rooms upstairs.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “Definitely not!”

  His gaze moved over her. “You got anything else to wear?”

  “No.”

  He grunted again. “I reckon that outfit might do, at that. Men might get a kick out of seein’ a woman in pink breeches.” He ran a hand over his jaw, then nodded. “You can start today. Four to midnight. You can take your supper whenever you’ve a mind to.”

  “Thank you, Mr…?”

  “Call me Pete.”

  “Thank you, Pete. And you won’t be sorry you hired me, I promise.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She refused to let his lack of enthusiasm discourage her. “Do you think…could I please have a drink of water?”

  “Water!” He shook his head as he filled a glass from a pitcher behind the bar. “Never had anyone ask for just plain water before.”

  She drank it quickly and knew why no one had ever asked for it. It tasted nothing like what she was used to. “I don’t suppose you could pay me in advance?”

  “Not hardly.” He frowned. “You busted?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked thoughtful. “You got a place to stay?”

  “No.”

  “Tell Wexler over to the hotel that I said to put you up. I’ll pay for your room and grub for a week ’til we see how you work out. If I decide to keep you on, you can pay me back out of your first week’s pay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Be back here at four o’clock sharp.”

  “Yes, I will. And thanks again.”

  “Hold on, gal. You got a name?”

  “Kelsey,” she said. “Kelsey St. James.”

  “St. James,” he repeated, his brow furrowing. “Used to have a customer by that name. You any kin?”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt it.”

  Pete shrugged. “Haven’t seen old Joe in a while. Reckon he must have moved on.”

  A sudden chill passed down Kelsey’s spine. Her grandfather’s name was Joe. But she was being foolish. Papa Joe couldn’t be here. Besides, there were probably hundreds of men in the world named Joseph St. James.

  “Thanks, again,” she murmured.

  Nodding, Pete moved down the bar.

  Telling herself that it was all a coincidence, Kelsey left the saloon and turned down the boardwalk toward the hotel. The man at the desk listened to what she had to say, then asked her to sign the guest book.

  “St. James,” he said. “You any kin to Old Joe?”

  That same shiver ran down Kelsey’s spine. “I don’t think so. When was the last time he was here?”

  The clerk scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Must be nigh on to, oh, I don’t know, about nine months ago, I suspect. He was a strange old cuss, likeable though, always telling tall tales.”

  Was it possible? Kelsey wondered. Was it possible that her grandfather had found his way back here, to this time and place? Was that the reason the door had been hidden behind a bookcase? So that no one else stumbled through it and into the past? Oh, but surely if her grandfather had traveled into the past, Nana Mary would have known about it. There was no way her grandfather would ever have been able to keep a secret like that.

  “Miss?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  He dangled a key in front of her face. “Room number nine.”

  “Thank you. Is there someplace where I can get a bath?”

  “The bathing room is at the end of the hall. I’ll send a boy up with some hot water. He’ll knock on your door when it’s ready. Towels are in the cupboard.”

  “Thank you.”

  Going up to her room, Kelsey closed and locked the door. The room was small and square, with a double bed, a dresser that had seen better days and an equally scarred rocking chair. It was similar to the room she had shared with Reese the night before. And no wonder, she thought, only then realizing that this was same hotel. And that not only was her room on the same floor as his, it was right next door.

  She wondered where he was, then told herself it didn’t matter. With a sigh, she moved to the window. How long did it take to heat enough water to fill a bathtub? Moving the curtain aside, she gazed at the street below. It was a scene right out of Gunsmoke. Cowboys rode down the middle of the muddy street. Men and women hurried along the boardwalk, while others stood in the shade, talking. T
he women all wore long dresses and bonnets, some wore gloves and carried parasols. The men wore whipcord trousers, long-sleeved shirts, boots and hats, some wore leather vests. Most of them wore guns. A wagon rumbled past, digging deep furrows in the mud. She imagined those same wheels stirring up a cloud of dun-colored dust when the weather was warm. A couple of boys ran by, laughing and poking at each other. A little girl sat on the edge of the boardwalk across the way playing with a rag doll.

  From her vantage point, Kelsey could see the sheriff’s office, the blacksmith’s shop, the stage coach depot and the Wells Fargo office. A number of small shops were sandwiched in-between, including the saloon where she was now employed. A bar girl, she thought ruefully. Fat lot of good a college education was doing her now!

  She had to find her way back home! If she couldn’t…she wouldn’t think of that. The mere idea of being stuck in this time and place was beyond comprehension.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

  “Bath’s ready, miss,” a young male voice called.

  Opening the door, Kelsey thanked the young man, then made her way down the hall to bathe and wash her hair. She would have liked to wash her clothes, as well, but she didn’t have anything else to wear while they dried. At least she could wash her underwear.

  Oh, but this just gets better and better, she thought as she got her first look at the zinc bathtub.

  “Lord, have mercy,” she murmured, and locked the door.

  * * * * *

  Leaning back in his chair, Reese waited for old man Neff to decide whether to stay in or fold. Reese shook his head. If he had any sense, he would get out of the game himself. Instead of concentrating on his cards, his mind kept wandering toward that fool girl. Time and again he found himself wondering where she was and what she was doing. It was going on four o’clock and unless her circumstances had changed since this morning, she was most likely in need of vittles and a place to stay the night. He didn’t know why he was so worried about her, but for some reason, he didn’t like to think about her wandering around town alone, with nothing to eat and no place to stay the night. If she had no objections, he reckoned he could put her up in his room again.

  He tossed a dollar into the pot. After this hand, he’d go and see if he could find her, he thought, and then chuckled inwardly. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot those bright pink breeches.

  He was about to gather his winnings and push away from the table when the object of his thoughts appeared beside him.

  “Hi,” she said with a bright smile that looked forced, “can I get you anything?”

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Trying to earn my keep. Can I get you a drink?” She glanced at his glass. “Another beer?”

  “Sure, why not.” Scowling, Reese watched her take orders from the other men at the table, then sashay back to the bar. Damn.

  Kelsey and her breeches were the main topic of conversation at the table for the rest of the evening. He blamed her for the fact that he lost more than he won, but how the devil could he concentrate with her sashaying around the room and his companions commenting of her odd-looking duds and the way they fit. After a while, the men started speculating on what the word “PMSing” meant and how she managed to get the words printed on her shirt and after a few more drinks, they started taking bets on what the chances were of getting her upstairs and out of that shirt and those breeches.

  For Reese, that was the last straw. Tossing his cards into the center of the table, he grabbed his hat and stalked out of the saloon.

  He went to the hotel for dinner, determined to avoid the Square Deal for the rest of the night.

  Forty minutes later, he was walking through the saloon’s bat-wing doors. There was a new group of players at his usual table, but the main topic of conversation hadn’t changed.

  Muttering an oath, Reese dropped into a vacant chair. He couldn’t seem to keep from watching Kelsey as she moved around the room, serving drinks, smiling at the customers, occasionally laughing at something one of the men said.

  Behind the bar, Pete Muldoon was looking almighty pleased with himself and who could blame him? His customers polished off their drinks in a swallow or two just so they could get Kelsey back to their tables so they could order another round. At this rate, the whole saloon would be roostered before midnight.

  When Kelsey left the saloon an hour later, Reese threw in his hand and followed her.

  “Hey, Miss…!” What the devil was her name? “Miss St. James, slow down a minute.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice, stood waiting for him to catch up with her. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No, I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right.”

  “You really don’t have to worry about me, you know. I can take care of myself.”

  “I noticed that in the alley the other night.”

  She didn’t like being reminded of that. Thinking of it now made her wonder if she really could take care of herself in this place.

  “So,” he said, “you’re doing all right?”

  “I’m fine, except that my feet are killing me and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.”

  He chuckled. “Guess you’ve never worked in a saloon before.”

  “No.” Nor seen one, at least not one like the Square Deal.

  “Ole Pete put up much of a fight before he hired you?”

  “Not really,” she said, puzzled by the question. “Why?”

  “Kind of surprisin’, seeing you in there. He’s never had any help before.” Reese slapped his thigh. “You’ve sure been good for business.”

  “Well, it’s only temporary, until I can find…until I go home.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “You got a place to stay?”

  “Yes, at the hotel. Pete’s paying for my room and board out of my wages.”

  “So, where you headed now?” He hadn’t meant to ask, told himself he didn’t care, but he couldn’t help feeling responsible for her.

  “Just over to the hotel for a cup of coffee.”

  “You could have had a cup at the saloon.”

  She looked at him in horror. “Are you kidding? Have you tried that stuff Pete calls coffee?”

  “Yea, once,” he said with a wry grin. “Mind if I join you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

  Puzzling over her reply, he fell into step beside her.

  It was near the end of the dinner hour and the dining room was almost empty. There was a new waitress on the floor. Like Caro, she smiled warmly at Reese. Kelsey doubted it was just because he was a big tipper.

  “Evenin’, Reese,” the waitress purred.

  He inclined his head in her direction. “Peggy Jo.”

  “Sukie made an apple pie this afternoon. I saved you a slice.”

  “No, thanks, just coffee.”

  “I’d like a slice of that pie,” Kelsey said. “And coffee.”

  “Sure, honey,” Peggy Jo said. With a last, lingering look at Reese, she left the table.

  Reese leaned back in his chair, his gaze drawn toward the words on Kelsey’s shirt again.

  “What the hell is PMSing?”

  “What?” She glanced down at her shirt and felt her cheeks grow hot. With everything else that had happened, she hadn’t given any thought to the words on her tee shirt. She was pretty sure women in the old west had experienced PMS, too. They just hadn’t called it that. “It’s…” How on earth was she supposed to explain it to a man, especially a man who was a stranger? Men in the twenty-first century had pretty much grown up knowing what it meant. She had never had to explain it to anyone before and she didn’t think she could do it now.

  Peggy Jo’s appearance at their table put an end to their conversation. Kelsey smiled at the waitress, grateful for the reprieve. She had never given much thought to the men and women who provided service in restaurants and hotels and the like. Now that she was one of them,
she would be more appreciative in the future…the future, she thought, and wondered again if she would ever get back where she belonged and what she would do if she didn’t.

  Reese sipped his coffee, his curiosity growing. Whatever PMSing was, she obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

  “You said you were lost,” Reese remarked. “Is anyone looking for you?”

  “I don’t think so.” She took a bite of pie. Surprisingly, it was almost as good as the apple pie her mother made.

  “No husband?” he asked. “No family?”

  “No husband and no family around here.” Of course, that might not be strictly true, she mused, thinking about her grandfather. For all she knew, Papa Joe might be the Old Joe that Pete had mentioned. Wouldn’t it be something if Papa Joe were wandering around here, too, lost and unable to find his way back home?

  She sighed wistfully, thinking about the family she had left behind in another century. Her parents, her sisters, Megan, Amy and Rose and her brothers, Keith and Ryan, not to mention Nana Mary, would all be worried sick when she didn’t call. She took another bite of pie. Her brothers would probably go to Nana Mary’s house looking for her. Her eyes widened at the thought. What if Keith or Ryan walked through that door and ended up here? Good grief, what if her whole family ended up here? She grinned inwardly. At least then she wouldn’t be so alone, but what if her brothers didn’t end up in exactly this time and place? She frowned, wondering again if Nana Mary knew about that damn door.

  “Miss St. James?”

  Drawn back to the present, she looked up. “Did you say something?”

  “You about ready to go?”

  “What? Oh, yes. And please, call me Kelsey.”

  “You sure everything’s all right? You look a little…distracted.”