Back to Tomorrow

by Back To Tomorrow(Lit)

  She realized belatedly that the man expected an answer. "I believe the stage ran me down. The horses had been frightened by a close lightning bolt and stampeded. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  The man shook his head, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Funny, I didn't hear any commotion and the clouds we had earlier all blew off to the east. If the team got spooked and stampeded, I think someone would have been yelling."

  "I don't know." Emily already pursued another thought, one that both intrigued and horrified her. "Would, well, could you tell me the date?"

  "It's May 15," he replied.

  She sucked in a breath. "And the year?"

  "The year?" Zach looked at her sharply. "Why, eighteen eighty nine, of course."

  At his matter-of-fact statement, Emily's blood froze. Oh my God, I think it's time I woke up! She raised a shaky hand to touch her throbbing brow.

  He leaned down toward her, frowning even more. "What's wrong, have you lost your memory? Do you know who and where you are?"

  Did she know who she was? She had to search a moment, but found an answer that seemed correct. "My name is Emily, Emily Dennison and I think I'm in Tombstone-Tombstone, Arizona?"

  "Well, you've got that much right, anyway. Yes, we're in Tombstone, Arizona Territory. I assume you just arrived, so where are you from, Miss Dennison?"

  Emily felt a bit like the mouse, blocked from its hole by a cunning but lazy cat. Yet her head ached too much for her to offer any real resistance. Partial truth was easier than concocting a story.

  "I live in New England. Green Vale, New Hampshire. Right now, I'm visiting a friend at Fort Huachuca. She's married to an Army officer stationed there."

  He nodded. "I see." His thoughtful expression and somewhat distant tone indicated he was not satisfied with her explanation. Well, damn it all, she wasn't either! The intensity of his regard made Emily want to squirm, although she didn't dare.

  "When I found you," he continued, "you were very strangely attired-in denim trousers like the miners wear. Were you trying to disguise yourself as a youth or something? I hope you weren't up to some nefarious activity, because ladies simply do not wear trousers. Not in Philadelphia nor even Tombstone, and I am quite sure not in New England either."

  Emily's thoughts scurried in frantic circles like frightened chickens. Clearly this man was alert, curious and not easily put off. Just how much could she explain without appearing to be a raving lunatic? Somehow, perhaps by the intensity of her wishes, she seemed to have been transported from 2000 to 1889. No, it couldn't be possible. She was going to wake up momentarily and find it all a dream, but if she didn't...she simply could not deal with that possibility just yet.

  Sometimes, Emily concluded, the best answer to a question was another question. At least it gave her further time to think. "If I might be so bold as to inquire, what is your name and where are you from?"

  "My name is Zachary Tremaine. Home is Philadelphia, but I'm here on a family matter and I plan to spend some time observing and writing about the west."

  At the mention of his name, a tangle of vague memories settled into place. The journal, her odd glimpse of a room in which this man had appeared, a room much like this one, in fact, and more recently, her fruitless search around town for some mention of Zachary Tremaine.

  "I was doing some research myself," Emily admitted. "But it's hard to think with this horrible headache. It's throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Have you an aspirin, anything I could take for the pain?"

  "I'll have to ask Mrs. Cashman. Someone said she'd been a nurse during the war, but I doubt she keeps anything like a pharmacy. I can inquire, though. Maybe some laudanum..." Zachary stood and headed for the door, disappearing through the opening.

  Waiting for him to return, Emily drifted off to sleep. When she awoke, the dark haired woman-Zach had called her Mrs. Cashman-again sat beside Emily's bed. Mrs. Cashman? Surely not the Nellie Cashman of whom Emily had read just a short while ago. No, it couldn't be.

  The room was dimly lit by the flickering lamp, and only darkness showed through the curtain. Emily's headache had subsided to a dull sensation of pressure. Her throat and mouth felt parched. She couldn't recall being thirstier. Her thick, dry tongue would barely shape the necessary words. "Could I please have a drink of water?"

  Mrs. Cashman jumped at the sound of Emily's voice. "Oh my, I think I drifted off for a moment. I'm sorry. Of course you may have some water, dear. Young Mr. Tremaine said you'd told him your name was Emily. That's a lovely name."

  Standing, Mrs. Cashman filled a glass from the pitcher on the chest of drawers and returned to the bed. She slipped an arm under Emily's shoulders, lifting her enough that she could drink. The water tasted wonderful. Emily drained the glass.

  Emily settled back on a mound of fluffy pillows. It took some talking, but she finally persuaded her hostess that she didn't need constant attention. Long after Mrs. Cashman left, Emily lay awake, searching for a way to confirm whether or not she had actually fallen back into an earlier century.

  She felt more curiosity than fear, mainly because she still didn't really believe it. As often as she had wished time travel were a reality, she could not accept that the phenomenon had happened to her. Either she was dreaming, or she really had been injured and was being temporarily housed in a re-creation of a nineteenth century hostel. Given the theme park atmosphere of modern-day Tombstone, perhaps that notion was not totally far fetched.

  ~*~

  Unable to drift off to sleep, Zach found his thoughts turning to the strange young woman who slept two doors down the hall. Emily. The nag of curiosity would not allow his attention to drift elsewhere. Everything about her intrigued him. Even her speech sounded odd, the way she used some words and the inflection she gave others. He'd met New Englanders, and except for Bostonians, they didn't sound much different from the Philadelphia folks.

  If she really was staying at Fort Huachuca, how had she gotten to Tombstone? He'd seen the stage arrive that morning and she had definitely not been among its passengers. And there was no stage in the afternoon, at the time she'd been found on the street. She'd evaded his question about her clothing, too. Most of his questions, in fact.

  Although he could not neglect his effort to rescue Mary Ann, this young stranger presented him with a mystery he was determined to solve. Intuition told him hers was a story worth exploring.

  In a peculiar way, she was pretty, fine featured and elfin in appearance, her golden-red hair worn short and curling around her pert face. Though hardly larger than a child of twelve, her strange garments had revealed an enticing feminine shape, perfectly proportioned in every detail.

  She might not be a lady, dressing as she did, but she was definitely a woman and one with whom he'd like to become acquainted, if for no reason other than to learn her story, whatever that might be. Another Tombstone character-even if she claimed New Hampshire as home.

  Wakeful with his excitement, Zach got out of bed, lit the lamp and drew his journal out of the drawer of the little desk. Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he began to write about the day's events. It had, after all, been quite an eventful day. He wrote quickly, the nib scratching gently on the paper.

  He paused, staring unseeing at the faded wallpaper before him. Having finally seen both Mary Ann and Joker Jake, he was even more determined to free his sister from the gambler's hold. Obviously, Mary Ann stayed with Jake only because of fear and shame, not from any affection or even loyalty. He could sense she was scared almost to death.

  Poor Mary Ann. His lips drew into a hard, narrow line, just thinking of her sad case. As for Jake, he could not find one single redeeming trait about the man. Perhaps there was one, somewhere, but it was certainly well hidden!

  Writing failed to provide the solace it normally gave. Zach laid the pen down beside his journal and rose to pace across to the window. Even at this late hour, twelve thirty according to his watch, Tombstone was neither dark nor quiet. The saloons hummed w
ith activity, miners and cowboys staggering in and out. An occasional gunshot pierced the night. Riders moved up and down the street, and now and then a shout or a scream echoed along the boardwalk.

  Again, his thoughts turned to Emily Dennison. The more he considered her appearance and the little she'd said, the surer he was that she protected a secret. A secret he would pursue until he uncovered it.

  In his three-month search for Mary Ann's whereabouts, he had learned a great deal about extracting information from both willing and unwilling sources. Playing detective, one had to be a bit of an actor at times, enacting a variety of roles to put people at ease or in fear of concealing what they knew.

  Threatening, cajoling, daring and sympathizing-he'd tried them all. Which technique would work with Emily remained to be seen, but merely spending the time with her to employ them was tempting enough of itself. Uncovering her secret would simply be the frosting on the cake!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  May 9, 1889

  Tombstone, Arizona Territory

  Emily felt much better when she awoke. Sunlight streamed in through the window, but at an angle that told her the day was still young. Sitting up, she discovered she wore a voluminous flannel nightgown. When she slid her feet to the floor and stood, the room blurred and whirled for a moment. She clutched a bedpost until everything settled into comfortable stability.

  Before she could make her way to the window for a look beyond, a sound turned her attention to the door. A young Mexican girl stood there, a tray in her hands. If anything, she was even smaller than Emily's five foot three.

  "Buenos dias, Senorita," the girl said. "Here is your breakfast. Mrs. Cashman will be up to see you in a few minutes as soon as the boarders settle down to eat."

  Although the girl spoke with a strong Spanish accent, Emily understood every word. "Good morning to you, too. I'm Emily; what's your name?"

  "Me llamo Angelina...er, that is what they call me."

  "Can you sit down a minute and talk, Angelina, or must you go back to work?"

  The girl smiled. "Un momento-I can sit un momento. Mrs. Cashman would want me to be sure you feel like eating, after your accident."

  When Emily smiled, Angelina smiled back, her ebony eyes sparkling as if they shared a secret. Emily sat back on the bed, letting Angelina put the tray on her knees. The delicious aroma of coffee drifted up from a delicate china cup. A plump brown biscuit sat on a matching saucer along with a pat of butter and a generous spoonful of jam.

  Angelina edged over to perch on the chair Nellie and Zach had used the previous night.

  Emily drew a deep breath, letting the rich coffee odor penetrate. "Mmmm-this smells delicious, really yummy. I believe I do feel like eating!"

  Angelina watched Emily eat, a slightly anxious expression on her thin brown face. "What is 'yummy'?"

  Emily smiled inwardly. Whoops, too new a word. "It means good, tasty."

  Angelina nodded. "Yummy. I like, I remember that." She sat quietly while Emily ate, as if mulling over the new word.

  "You will need clothing," she said, suddenly, as Emily dabbed up the last bit of jam with the final scrap of biscuit. "I know the garments of Mrs. Cashman will not fit. She is very short but more wide than are we. Would it offend you to wear something of mine?"

  Emily glanced down ruefully at the voluminous nightgown, which hit her well above the ankles. "You're right. Mrs. Cashman's dresses would be a bit short. No, Angelina, I'd be very grateful if you'd lend me something to wear. I don't guess my other clothes are appropriate..."

  Angelina shook her head vehemently. "Oh no, ladies do not wear the pantalones. I will get garments for you now and bring you warm water to wash. My room, it is just down the hall." Jumping to her feet, she scampered from the room.

  A few minutes later, she was back with a chemise, a ruffled white blouse and a brightly striped skirt over her arm. She carried a pitcher full of steaming water.

  "I regret I do not have a corset to lend you," Angelina said as she emptied the pitcher into the basin on the chest. She glanced down ruefully at her own slender form, breasts barely noticeable under the loose blouse she wore. She shrugged. "I no need such things to contain me."

  "That's all right," Emily replied. "I have my own bra to use for now, my own corset, I mean. I may have to wash it every day, but I can manage. You're very kind, Angelina. I appreciate it more than I can say."

  After Angelina left with the empty breakfast dishes, Emily washed and dressed. The clothes the girl had brought fit well enough, almost as if they had been made for her. There was only a small mirror hanging on the wall above the chest, so she couldn't really see how she looked, but the overall effect seemed becoming. She tried to tame her tangled hair, but found her head was still too sensitive to tolerate much combing.

  Before she could leave the room to search for her hostess, Nellie appeared at the door. "I see you're looking much more pert this morning, Emily. That's good. Apparently the bump on your head is causing no long term ill effects."

  "No, I felt a bit dizzy for a minute when I first got out of bed, but everything is all right now. Thank you for the delicious breakfast. I'm going to have to make arrangements for the use of this room and all your care. I believe you rent rooms?"

  "That I do, but I couldn't be so inhospitable as to charge you for a night when you were clearly in no shape to take care of yourself, dear. But if you want to stay a while, we can work something out." Nellie smiled, her expression matching the gentle warmth of her voice.

  No wonder they called her "The Angel of Tombstone," Emily mused, recalling a section in one of the books she had scanned.

  "I see Angelina lent you some clothes," Nellie continued. "I would have been glad to do so, but I'm afraid it would take major alteration to make one of my dresses fit you. I was once a bit more slender, but always very short. Time has worked its damage on me, I fear."

  Emily laughed. "Yes, Angelina and I are almost the same size so this works just fine. Don't think me ungrateful," she added hastily. "I truly appreciate all you've done for me."

  Nellie laughed. "I understand, dear. We must make do with what we have, mustn't we?"

  Emily started to reply, then paused, looking down at her feet. The ludicrous image of her athletic shoes beneath the flounced skirt slammed home the reality of her situation. Her throat closed, rendering speech impossible, as her heart leaped into overdrive, starting her head to pounding again.

  "Rest today, dear, and don't overdo. You did have a concussion, I'm sure, and that should not be taken lightly." Nellie patted her shoulder and bustled out, leaving Emily with her tangled thoughts.

  If this really is 1889 and I'm here, what am I going to do for a living? What if I can't get back to the present? She gnawed her lip, fighting panic. She sank onto the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. How could she even hint at her plight without appearing to be totally insane?

  Her situation loomed even larger, becoming a staggering problem. For one thing, Carol's car was parked in the Tombstone of 2000, and she'd be worried sick. Emily had little money with her, and no credentials to verify her schooling and library experience. Not that there'd be much use for those skills in nineteenth century Tombstone. Things she did have, like her New Hampshire driver's license and Master Card would have even less meaning.

  For all her study and fantasizing, what did she really know about how to live in the nineteenth century? The obvious answer was next-to-nothing. A slight whimper escaped her lips. I want to go home! But matters were not going to be resolved that simply.

  ~*~

  Her first priority, Emily decided the next morning, was to find a way to earn her living in this new environment. She'd learned from Angelina that Nellie could use a second person to serve as a chambermaid and help with the meals. Armed with that knowledge, she followed Angelina's directions to locate the cubby Nellie used as an office, a sort of second pantry off the kitchen.

  Nellie was there, bent over a book of accounts
. She muttered to herself as she jotted figures in their columns and did the requisite arithmetic.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Cashman. May I discuss something with you?"

  Nellie jumped, her pen scratching across the paper to leave a jagged black streak. She spun around to face Emily.

  "Oh my, you gave me such a start! I must really have been deep in my work."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted-well, Angelina said you could use another person's help and since I'm not sure what other work might be available, I was wondering if I could apply for the job?" Emily watched her hostess with keen attention, trying to see how her request would be received.

  Nellie snatched a handkerchief from her apron pocket and tried to small avail to blot the mark on her book. "Drat," she muttered. "So clumsy of me. You wouldn't happen to be good with sums, would you? I so hate this chore but it's necessary if one is going to be in business."

  "I took some bookkeeping in school," Emily admitted. "Though not my favorite task, I can do well enough." Especially as long as my solar calculator functions, she said to herself. The tiny device still rested in her fanny pack, which she'd left in a dresser drawer, out of harm's way. The black nylon looked decidedly out of place with her present costume.

  Emily felt much more at home in jeans and a t-shirt, but of course that would not do here. She tugged at the neckline of her borrowed blouse, which had a distressing tendency to slide off first one shoulder and then the other. How did Angelina manage?

  Nellie huffed out a long sigh. "Well, if you could help a bit on that, I'd be eternally in your debt. And yes, we do need another pair of hands at times. Are you sure you feel up to it, though? You took quite a knock to be laid out cold for well over an hour. I wouldn't want you to do too much too quickly."