Dream Of Echoes

by Karen C. Webb

  I cooked my steaks and started the soup for her, checking on her every few minutes. I watched her as I cooked and tended the fire, eager for any slight movement from her. Her fever was still down and the red rash looked a little less ugly, but she still hadn’t moved or stirred. Her face still had a ghostly pallor that scared me more than the feverish red I’d seen for days. I watched her while I ate and while I stripped out of my wet clothes, changing into the other set of her husband’s clothes, which she had washed and dried and folded for me before she became ill. I ate as an automaton. I knew I needed the nourishment, but I didn’t taste the food. I racked my brain, searching desperately for any home remedies my mother had used, but I came up empty. Getting that fever down was what I knew had to be done, and I seemed to have accomplished that. But her pale, unconscious state was well outside my expertise. She needs a hospital, was the only thing I could come up with.

  I talked to God some more before I curled up in front of the fire. I don’t think I had said a prayer since I was a kid, but they were all coming back to me now. In this age of killing and sickness and death, I begged God to spare her life. She had never regained consciousness and I could think of nothing else I could do.

  Finally, exhaustion took its toll on me and I lay down. I slept fitfully on the hard stone floor, a couple of hours at a time, checking on Kate every time I woke. Her skin felt cool to my touch and her breathing was slow and even, but she had still never awakened. I was sick with worry for her and still racking my brain for anything I could do to help her.

  I woke up again, cold and stiff on the stone floor with a pale streak of light shining through the window. When I sat up, I was staring right into Kate’s ice-blue, beautiful eyes. They looked clear and her skin felt cooler to the touch when I went over to her and put my hand on her forehead. I brushed the blond hair away from her face and ran my fingertips softly across her skin.

  “You’re feeling better?”

  “Yes. Much.” Her voice was still weak, but at least she’d regained consciousness.

  “Can you eat?”

  She nodded and I went to the fire, building it up to reheat her soup. She didn’t eat a lot, but I did get some soup and cold water into her. The rash looked less red and angry today and her eyes seemed brighter and more alert. I was pretty sure that sitting in that icy water with her had done the trick to finally break her fever.

  I had a talk with The Big Guy again while I cooked, thanking him for sparing this special, tiny woman who had stolen my heart.

  After she had eaten and fell asleep, I set off on the hunt again, carrying the rifle and both knives. I even brought the powder and ramrod, trying to cover all my bases to get us more meat. I was afraid to leave her, but we only had a little of the fish left after that bastard of a raccoon stole part of it. We had to have more meat to get through the harsh winter ahead of us. I headed upriver this time, back toward the mission, keeping my loaded gun at half cock. I chewed on some of the deer jerky I had made as I walked. Not bad, a little tough maybe, but not bad. I had only gone maybe a half mile, my new moccasins helping me move quietly through the woods, when I surprised a deer drinking from the river. I pulled the hammer back and brought the rifle up as he took off away from me. I took a quick aim and fired at the ass of the fleeing deer. I saw it drop and I ran after it before it could get away. It was down when I got to it and I grabbed the big Bowie and quickly slit its throat, then went about the job of field dressing it. It looked like the ball had gone right through his ass and into his gut. I had brought the rope this time and I was busy tying it around the deer’s antlers when I got the creepy feeling of being watched. I looked up the hill to see two big grey wolves staring right back at me. Their lupine heads were lowered, their tales wagging slowly, almost ominously. When I looked behind me, two more were circling to come up behind me. I didn’t know if it was me or my kill they were after, but I quickly unstrapped the small knife from my leg and picked up the rifle to reload it. I watched them creeping closer as I poured in the powder and wadding and dropped in the ball. I grabbed the ramrod and started ramming it down when one of the wolves up on the hill leaped toward me. I brought the rifle up quickly, pulling the hammer all the way back in one swift motion and fired with the ramrod still sticking out of the barrel. The wolf was still in the air when the ball hit it, knocking it to the ground with the ramrod sticking straight up out of its side. It was a totally bizarre sight, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it as I saw from the corner of my eye, one of the wolves behind me was on the move. I could hear it growling as it moved toward me. I picked up the Bowie and threw it as I spun, catching the first wolf attacking from behind me right in his chest. He yelped and went down with that big knife sticking out of his chest and lay still. Now I was down to one small knife and a wolf on each side of me. I stood sideways over my deer, where I could keep an eye on both of them at the same time. The one on my right hadn’t advanced after I shot his buddy, but the one on my left was creeping closer, a low growl coming from his throat, his head lowered and big teeth bared. I gauged the distance and, as it approached stealthily, I flipped the small knife in my hand, so that I was holding it by the blade. When that wolf jumped, I released the knife. It twirled through the air and looked like it was going to miss and, if I had been a second slower or the wolf a second faster, it would have. As the wolf rose into the air, the knife sunk deep into his belly. He yowled and dropped to the ground, where he tried to crawl away, a low whine coming from him. I looked back at the wolf on my right. It kind of danced and whined on top of the hill, but it hadn’t moved any closer, so I ran and pulled the Bowie from the chest of the dead wolf and stabbed it into the neck of the one crawling away. I put an end to his pain as I slit his throat and I watched as his life force drained across the ground around him, painting the dirt a sticky red. I retrieved the small knife from his belly and wiped it on his fur, leaving red streaks across the grey coat. When I looked back up the hill, the remaining wolf was gone.

  Chapter 22

  Kate got better and better over the next few days and I fed her all the fresh deer and vegetables I could get her to eat. Her color was returning along with her appetite and the red rash faded a little more every day. I made her stay in bed as much as possible; the fever had weakened her and when she tried to do too much, her face turned white and I thought she was going to pass out.

  “Good food and rest, Kate,” I reminded her every day. “That’s the only way to get better.”

  “Yes John, I know,” she said every time as she ignored me and stubbornly went about her cleaning and cooking.

  I set about smoking more venison and tanning another hide. My skills were improving with making jerky and I stored the finished pieces in the coolest part of the shed. Now that Kate was feeling better, I brought the remainder of my smoked salmon and some camas bulbs inside for a nice dinner. I even made a couple biscuits for us and we sat down in front of the fire to eat. Kate had tried to take over cooking, but I had adamantly refused.

  “I’m just not used to seeing a man waiting on a woman this way,” she said.

  “Well, get used to it. You still have to get your strength back and until then, you will be treated like a princess.”

  Kate smiled at that, her blue eyes sparkling. It was almost like a candlelight dinner as the firelight danced across her eyes. Even in her pale, unwell state, I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

  I told her the tales of my adventures with the wolves and how I had pinned the rabbit to the log.

  “You’re becoming quite the woodsmen, John Baker,” she said.

  “Mountain Man. That’s what we called them back in my time. The men from this time who lived off the land and trapped beaver. They wore buckskin clothes and had grizzly beards.”

  “You’re getting some of that yourself.” She reached out and ran her hand across my scruffy face.

  “Yeah, guess you’ll have to help me take care of that later,” I said, staring into tho
se beautiful eyes.

  “Thank you for taking care of me, John Baker.”

  I reached over and ran my fingers through her hair lovingly as I described how I sat in the river with her, watching her icy blue eyes sparkle as I talked.

  Finally, I stood up and held my hand out to her. “Would you care to dance?”

  She put her tiny hand in mind and I pulled her to her feet. “I don’t really know how,” she said, kind of nervously.

  “Just follow my lead,” I told her as I put my arm around her waist and pulled her close. I hummed a tune as I led her in a slow dance and then even sang some of it as she caught on to the steps.

  “This is nice,” she whispered into my neck as we moved together around the cabin. “You’re a good dancer.”

  “You can thank my mother,” I whispered back. “She was determined her rowdy boys would have some social skills.” I showed her how to waltz and fox trot and even to Tango, which she really enjoyed. Then I pulled her close again and we slow danced around the small room. I sang softly in her ear as we moved together. I sang an old love song from my high school days and finished by dipping her backward in front of the fire. Her girlish laughter filled the room—and my heart.

  We danced until we were exhausted and then made love slowly and passionately in front of the fire. I thanked God again before I fell asleep for sending me back through time to be with this beautiful, amazing woman. And for saving her; from what I felt sure, was death from the measles.

  Chapter 23

  Kate listened intently to John’s story of carrying her to the river and sitting with her in the water. She felt sure she wouldn’t be here now if not for him. Then as he pulled her close and sang softly in her ear as they danced around the room, she felt her heart swell with love for him. He was so tender and romantic, she actually felt cold chills run down her spine. Never in her life had she known such a man as this. He was more than she could have ever dreamed of. He was virile and tough and fighting off wolves one minute, and twirling her around the room the next. He was masculine, yet so romantic. He had an impish gleam in his green eyes and she found his shaggy, unkempt hair adorable. In this world or his, she didn’t care which anymore, she only knew she didn’t want to live without him.

  Chapter 24

  My watch had the date on it and if it was correct, it was almost Christmas. I cut down a small fir and we decorated it as best we could, hanging jerky and Camas bulbs from it. It was comical, but these were precious items here, where our next meal could depend on what we could kill. I used my second deer skin and made her a pair of moccasins. That was the best I could do for a gift for her. But thanks to my improving skills, they did come out softer and prettier than mine. And a whole lot smaller. Honestly, I’ve seen children with larger feet. She was such a petite, beautiful little pixie girl.

  She gave me a thin rawhide strip on which she had tied a cross from her mother’s jewelry box. I kissed her neck and made her giggle while she was tying it around my neck. We sang Christmas Carols and I taught her some of the newer ones. She knew some of the old ones already, Silent night and Rudolph the red-nosed Reindeer. But some of the stuff she’d never heard, like Rocking around the Christmas Tree. I danced with her and sang it as I twirled her around the room. She loved those newer ones that she’d never heard and I taught her every one I could remember. She learned quickly and we sang them together as we danced around the cabin and sat by the fire.

  “Merry Christmas,” I whispered into her ear as I held her by the fire after we had exchanged gifts.

  “Merry Christmas, John Baker,” she whispered back as a tiny tear slid from her eye. It may have been simple and homemade, but it was a joyful Christmas in our secluded little cabin, locked away from the rest of the world.

  I went hunting again the week after Christmas. The weather was getting colder and colder and we’d even had a little snow. I was afraid we were going to run out of food and I wouldn’t be able to find any more.

  And I was right. I didn’t see anything as I wandered errantly mile after mile through the woods. It was as if the cold and snow had driven every living creature into hiding.

  I tried my fish trap again and finally caught one big salmon after two days of trying. We still had a little of the deer left and most of the jerky I’d made, but I hoarded it away. I was too worried about the dead of winter still to come.

  As we moved into the New Year, a cold snap came upon us and we spent a few days inside by the fire. A heavy fog had moved in and froze with the low temperatures and the world outside turned to ice. Tree limbs bent low to the ground under the ice and occasionally, we could even hear a crack in the forest, as a limb gave way and snapped off under the icy weight. Every surface had a coating of ice, every limb of every tree, every blade of grass was frozen stiff. The moisture from the fog had frozen our world, turning it into a crystalized fantasyland.

  I went back on the hunt after a few days, even though the cold weather held. I didn’t have gloves or a heavy overcoat, but I was watching our meager food supplies dwindling, and frankly, I was worried. There didn’t seem to be any animals moving in the cold and ice and, every day, my search felt a little more desperate. I crunched through the woods across the ice, wearing the oversize boots again, at least until the ice melted. I walked for miles in each direction, my bare hands hurting from the cold, but finding no animals moving in this frozen world. I tried my fish trap again, my hands turning red from the icy water, but to no avail.

  Kate on the other hand, had such a happy-go-lucky attitude, she seemed completely unconcerned. “You’ll find something, John Baker,” she said every day when I came back empty-handed and dejected.

  We rationed the rest of the deer and made soups out of it to make it last. Kate would only add two potatoes and a little meat so the soup was really lacking on ingredients, but it was better than nothing.

  I finally caught a salmon just as the deer was running out. I smoked it in the fireplace and we had enough to get by for a few days if we were careful, but I continued the hunt every day. I hunted in the morning and fished in the afternoon, having no luck with either.

  Finally, one day as I set out to hunt, I took the musket and headed downriver. I ranged further than I had before, determined to not return again empty-handed. The cold spell was still on us and the sky was low and gray and heavy. I was cold and hungry, but damn determined.

  As I moved through the trees along the river, I heard a splash and saw the movement of an animal jumping into the water. I moved slowly toward it and I stopped behind a tree when I saw a beaver dam in the river. There was a gravelly island in the middle of the river and the beaver had built his home between the island and the river bank nearest me. I knew he must have jumped in and swam underneath the dam when he heard me coming. I sat down behind the tree and balanced the gun on my knee with the barrel poking past the tree toward the dam. I sat absolutely still in that uncomfortable position for what seemed like hours, until finally I heard a small splash just out of my sight on the bank. I held my breath and didn’t move and sure enough, the beaver came waddling up the bank toward me. I let my breath out slowly as I squeezed the trigger and saw the beaver drop. I ran to it and picked it up by the tail. “Sorry Mr. Beaver, but we gotta eat too,” I said as I headed back, my stomach growling as I thought about the hot meal we’d have tonight.

  The meat from the beaver was a little tough and had a really wild, gamy taste to it. Kate turned it into a stew with a couple of potatoes. I can’t say it was the best stew I ever had, but neither of us complained. We stretched the stew out over several days, eating small bowls with each meal.

  With our appetites sated, Kate asked if I could show her more dance moves. I sang to her as I twirled her around the cabin, whatever songs came to mind, she loved them all. I held her close as we slow danced; I showed her moves I had learned in clubs with previous girls. I waltzed with her until we were both exhausted. Her eyes glittered as we collapsed by the fire. “It’s so much fun, John.
Thank you for teaching me.”

  I stood up and bowed deeply to her. “It’s been my pleasure, my lady.”

  She laughed at my antics and rested her head on my chest as I stretched out on the floor. I had my hand resting on her flat stomach and she picked it up and held it in both her hands as we lay there. She seemed to be examining one finger at a time and I closed my eyes, enjoying her light touch as she went from finger to finger.

  “Your hands have grown work-hardened and calloused,” she said as she rubbed her small fingers across my palm.

  “Hmm,” I groaned for an answer, enjoying her touch too much to break the spell. Her small hands worked their way up my arm to my shoulders, massaging, caressing with her fingertips. As they reached my chest, I grabbed her arms and pulled her down on top of me, kissing her long and deeply. The taste of her mouth caused me to groan again and I ran my hands down her back, wrapping them around her tiny waist. I could see the fire in her eyes as she sat up and pulled the pale blue dress off over her head.