by Ford, Lizzy
“Josie?” The slightly hoarse voice of the tall, bearded man drew my attention away from the scowling lawman. “It’s really you!”
There was no sternness in the man’s face. His age was hard to judge. His hair was pure white and the wrinkles around his eyes deep, but his eyes youthful and blue. I didn’t think he was over fifty, though the hard living west of the Mississippi had aged him much faster. His face lit up like it was the best day of his life.
“Hi, Father,” I said awkwardly with a glance at Nell. I had never said those words in my life.
Nell was crying and smiling.
Did I curtsey? Bow? Grovel? I resisted the urge to fidget, once again feeling like I had entered someone else’s dream.
To my surprise, the elderly man swept me up in a tight hug. Combined with my corset, I was rendered momentarily unable to breathe and fought to keep from pushing him away. His slender form was gaunt, nothing but skin and bones beneath the pressed suit. He smelled of pipe smoke and sweat.
“You look like your mother.” Tears shone in his eyes, and he kissed my forehead, taking my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I murmured. His look was not something I would ever forget. The pure, selfless joy of a parent over his child, aimed at me. That had never happened. For a moment, my amusement at this world, and the sense it wasn’t real, trembled.
I was pleased that Carter dropped me off somewhere safe. But I couldn’t help thinking why here? Where my departure was going to break the hearts of two good people who truly believed me to be someone I wasn’t? I was going to save so many lives. Maybe hurting two people shouldn’t matter, but it did.
John’s smile grew even wider, and part of my heart melted. He was truly happy to see me. He saw no difference between his real daughter and me, and I was suddenly envious of how much he loved his Josie. I had rarely experienced a major holiday where I didn’t think about my parents and certainly missed them.
His features were so happy, his eyes shining. His joy was contagious, and I yearned for it to be real and directed at me. The kind man before me made me wish I had known my father, who died when I was two.
“It’s um, good to be home,” I added more softly, touched by his emotion, even if it was misdirected. “I wore your favorite dress.”
“Matches your eyes.”
I forced a smile, guilt drifting through me.
“I was thanking the sheriff who returned you to me,” John said, moving away to face the two men near him and the Native Americans behind them.
Stoic and stone-faced, the lawmen appeared hard to read. A Native American in his early thirties stood a short distance away, as unfriendly as the lawmen, while his teenage companion was a couple feet back holding the reins of four horses.
“Ma’am, I’d like to speak to you about your whereabouts the past year,” the sheriff said.
My gaze fell to the man who had rescued me – and stuck. Tall, lean, with the striking green eyes, rugged features, high cheekbones, a strong jaw and a face almost as dark as the natives’, he was closer to my age than John’s. His clothing was worn, dusty and stitched in multiple places, his boots scuffed and the star-shaped sheriff’s badge on his chest like something I had seen out of a western movie.
His eyes, however, were pinned to me as if he already knew my story was bogus. Carter had vaguely warned me about the others I might encounter without defining who they were.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose in mild alarm at the fear I had been figured out on day one. I wasn’t certain what to say, not with the rugged cowboy and his green gaze distracting me. The sense I had gotten last night, that he was hiding something about how he knew to find me in the crater, returned.
It’s not possible, though.
“When she is rested, Sheriff,” my faux-father said. “You will not upset my daughter so soon after her return.”
“Of course not, Mr. John,” the sheriff said. “The Indians convey their congratulations at having your daughter returned.”
“They did what the sheriff wasn’t able to,” John said to me. “They found you when I thought you were gone forever.”
“Amazing,” I agreed. “Thank you all.” This I directed at the Indians hanging back behind the sheriff.
Suddenly, everyone was looking at me hard.
“Why, Josie. Wherever did you learn Indian?” John asked.
My brow furrowed.
“She did not know our tongue last night,” the older Native American said with a frown.
“Not here,” the sheriff replied to the restless native. “You must consult with the shaman over what you found.”
“What you found?” I asked, puzzled. “Me?”
“You really understand us.” The sheriff’s features appeared even more severe.
Shit. It all sounds like English to me. I clamped my mouth shut, suspecting by their uneasy looks that I wasn’t supposed to know Native American but kind of grateful one of the microchips in my brain was working.
“We are done here,” the sheriff said. “I expect to see you in town soon to talk, ma’am.”
It didn’t sound like the conversation was going to be a good one. My rescuer wasn’t pleased about seeing me healthy and on my feet despite pulling me out of the crater and giving me a coat. The lawmen tipped their hats to my faux-father and turned away.
“Wait!” I called, eyes on the Native American. “Can you tell me where you found me? Just the direction. That’s it.”
The native exchanged a look with the sheriff.
“West,” he said at last.
I sensed I had managed to piss him off somehow and watched them go to their horses.
“What did you say, my daughter?” John asked.
“Just uh … thanked them,” I replied. “You cannot understand them?”
He chuckled. “You always did regale me with jests.” He started towards the house. “We have much to discuss, Josie!”
I watched the men who found me ride away towards the west. It was possible that the sheriff was suspicious and shuttered towards everyone. The pioneers had a rough life, from what I recalled. They had no driver’s licenses or biometric identification systems here, either. It wasn’t like he was able to run my fingerprints to verify I was their Josie.
Maybe this was his issue: the sudden reappearance of John’s daughter was suspicious.
I hope that’s it. That there were more people in the past that didn’t belong, time travelers like me, was an idea that seemed likely to blow my mind.
I trailed John inside and into his study. Unable to move past his expression at seeing me, or the guilt it caused, I felt like I had to tell the kindly man that I wasn’t really his daughter. His emotion was too pure, his heart too good for me to lie to him. After all, once I found Taylor Hansen and Running Bear, I was leaving. My heart was kind of squishy. I didn’t like hurting people.
John was seated in the sitting area, and I made an effort to prepare what I was going to tell him.
However, my first challenge was making it to the low, low settee across from him without cutting off my air supply. I struggled to sit without pitching over or asphyxiating.
“It is very fortunate you returned this week, my daughter,” John started. His voice was warm. One of the house servants lit his pipe for him. “Your timing is perfect.”
I watched the servant, uncomfortable about an era that included slaves and servants. Settling on the settee, I waited, uncertain why now mattered and too curious to hijack the conversation. If he noticed the awkward way I sat, leaning to one side to breathe decently, he said nothing.
John waved the servant away, and the two of us were left in quiet. He puffed on his pipe. When he didn’t expand on his declaration, I decided to speak.
“I need to tell you something,” I started.
“I imagine you have much to say about where you’ve been,” he replied, smiling. “Much I don’t want to know. I am simply grateful you’re back. This week is special.”
“Rea
lly? Why?”
“It is the week I was to revise my will. But I’ve sent word that I no longer need to do so. All my property and goods will go to you, as planned, rather than your cousin, Philip.”
“Oh.” What does this have to do with anything? He was gazing at me expectantly. “But, I mean, you have many good years of health left, so I think maybe Philip might be a good choice, especially since I … um, am young.” My words sounded forced and awkward to my own ears. Heat crept up my neck.
“True and you are an unmarried female. We are not in England any longer, and I fear a woman with no husband will not be taken seriously in her inheritance here,” he agreed. “I’ve taken care of it as much as possible, though. It would behoove you to find a husband before I go, young lady, and it would make your father happy.”
My mouth dropped open. Nothing came out, so I closed it, amazed I had just been told to find a man so I wasn’t disinherited.
Not that it mattered, but I was beginning to understand the need for a feminist movement better than I ever had in any class I took.
None of this will be real in a couple of weeks, I reminded myself. Another thought surfaced, one I realized was probably important. Whatever I did here, the real-Josie might have to live with when she returned. So maybe being able to claim an inheritance was a good thing.
“But, on this, I will not press you this time,” John continued. His look at me was tender, loving, like a doting father who truly didn’t know a stranger sat before him. “If you choose to marry soon, so be it. If you do not, so be it. I am grateful to have you as my daughter.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “About my return. I –”
“I am dying, Josie.”
I shut up once more, staring at him. He was thin, yes, but he didn’t look ill.
“The doctor said I’d be gone in a week.”
As much as I didn’t want to connect with people who had been dead for two hundred years, I found myself plunged into a moral dilemma. If Carter put me here for a mini-vacay, then he had to know the real Josie was going to be gone just as long. If John died during the time period …
Which was worse? Letting him believe I was his daughter for a few days? Or revealing the truth and knowing he might never know peace of mind about his daughter, if she didn’t return before he passed?
Not exactly the vacation I had hoped for. My heart gave me one answer, my mind a conflicting one.
“What was it you wanted to tell me, my dear?” John asked, blue eyes settling on me.
Before I spoke, I knew my heart had won out. “I’m just glad to be home,” I replied. “I am sorry I can’t remember much of anything.”
“The doctor said you might never. Said you likely got hurt a year ago and wandered off, never knowing who you were, until you were found by our savage neighbors.”
I had never met the doctor, but I liked him as much as I did Nell. Both were trying to comfort a dying old man.
“They were kind to you?” he asked.
“Yes, very.”
“I feared they would not honor our agreement.” John reached forward to pinch a small amount of loose tobacco and place it in his pipe. “There have been many skirmishes of late. We are fortunate that the sheriff is here.”
“He’s … interesting,” I murmured, not yet convinced he didn’t know something he shouldn’t about me. He’s not someone I’d want to cross either. The men of this place were much harder and unfriendlier than I was accustomed to, but I guessed it was warranted in an untamed frontier.
“He’s half-Indian, raised by the natives. It’s why he can keep the peace here, unlike other places.” John sighed. “The frontier was not so dangerous when we moved here.”
I listened, unusually interested in the sheriff born of two worlds. In my time, it made him intriguing. Here, in a world where war was inevitable, I guessed it made him useful – and probably universally ostracized.
“The Indians are dangerous?” I asked.
“They are but one danger out here. Outlaws, robbers, cheats. The red men have been just to me. I have a history of dealing with them fairly, in granting their people refuge during the Great Storms that befell the plains twenty years ago. Their chief wants peace. He never forgets a kindness, and we share grazing lands for our cattle and sheep. But I fear, with the restlessness on the plains, my generation will be the last that knows peace.”
I listened, too aware of how the story ended and uncertain what to say. John was right, but I hoped to change things.
He rested his head back against the chair in which he sat as if needing a breather. I pitied him. He was dressed in a black suit, his beard trimmed and his knobby fingers displaying some of his wealth in the form of gold rings laden with large gems. He was a classy man through and through, and I loved the idea he and the Native Americans next door worked together on the rugged plains.
A grandfather clock decorated with brass fixtures and inlaid with mother of pearl ticked away the seconds near the entrance of the study. Not wanting to disturb the ill old man, I rose with effort and went to the shelves of books that would be worth a small fortune in my time. Brass, wood and other antiques were used as bookends or decoration: multiple intrinsic clocks, old military weapons and swords, a shadow box with medals indicating John had served some sort of military service, an elaborate clay pipe collection displayed in velvet boxes, ivory carvings, portraits in varying sizes of men and women, and several photographs of his wife and daughter.
I studied one. John appeared very different – robust, strong, dark haired and bright eyed – though the photo wasn’t that old. The girl I recognized as the real Josie appeared in her mid-teens.
Okay. I’ve got no brothers or sisters. His wife appeared in earlier photos of the family but none from when Josie was about ten onward, which I took to mean my pretend-mother was dead. It disappointed me more than it should have to know the real Josie didn’t have a mother, either. We had something more in common than looks.
John stirred. I returned to my settee and managed to sit as he opened his eyes once more.
“Forgive me,” he apologized. “I grow weaker daily.”
“No worries, Father,” I murmured. “Nell warned me about taxing you.”
“It is a true shame. I find you again only to be leaving you alone.”
I like him so much. Genuine and sweet, John cared about me – or rather, who he thought I was – the way I had always hoped my real father would have, had he survived. How awful was it not only to lose my father young but to know real-Josie’s father was going to pass away before my eyes, too? He was a good man, and I had a soft spot for good people.
“Your cousin Philip will likely come tomorrow,” he continued. “You must be certain to rest. It is rare when you two meet that you do not end up squabbling like the children you once were.”
I smiled. “I feel well, Father. Aside from a headache, that is.”
“Good. Then I need rest.” He rose with effort and stood, appearing paler than when we sat down.
What was wrong with him? In an era where the medicine was barbaric at best, I felt sadder for him. “I hope you’re not in pain, Father.”
“There is no pain that can compete with the joy of seeing you here, my dear.” His features glowed with happiness. “You looked a little peaked.”
Because I can’t breathe in this thing! I offered a small smile, affected by his concern, especially when his own life was so short. Something about him touched me, as if we were meant to meet or were somehow connected. I couldn’t shake the sense that he was familiar, along with Carter, even though it was impossible.
“Thank you, Father,” I said. “I think I need fresh air.”
“Nell will accompany you wherever you go.” There was firmness in his tone. “I will not lose you again, and later today, we will take supper together, like we did every night before you left.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Very well then. Go for some air, and I will rest.”
I hefted myself to my feet without losing my breath and left the study. The scent of his pipe smoke clung to me.
I made my way through the house to the stairwell and up, padding back to my room. Unable to understand why Carter put me here of all places, if the men I sought weren’t close, I was trying hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together of what was going on here, like where the real Josie went and what happened if she suddenly came back.
Grateful to find Nell not present in my room, I stretched back and unfastened the ties on my bodice then dug around to get to the corset. Once I had loosened the straps, I drew my first deep breath in an hour.
“Oh, thank god!” I muttered. Part of my headache eased immediately. My ribs felt bruised, and I stretched over my head to make sure nothing had fallen asleep.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out.
Language skills kick in yet? Carter had written.
Pleased to hear from him, I perched on the edge of my bed to respond. Yep. What’s the other one? A history chip? Oh, BTW – what happened to the real Josie Jackson who belongs here?
He took his time with his response. I crossed to a pitcher of water and thick glass, pouring myself a drink.
The sheep outside the window caught my eye again. They were perfectly huggable, though I didn’t think I would be able to bend over to pet them let alone hug them in the silly gown. Sipping water, I sat near the window. John had sheep, cattle, horses, goats, pigs and chickens. Having lived my entire life in crowded southern California, I viewed the rolling hills and animals that belonged to him with barely contained excitement. Surely during my time here, I’d have a chance to explore the prairies, meet every animal, and learn more about this era than possible in history classes!
At the buzz of my phone, I looked down.
Great! The other is an empathic memory chip. Said the text from Carter.
Do I feel in color or something? I wrote to him, perplexed.