Although she could see no trace of movement in Dorian's hand, the crystal began to revolve slowly, swinging to inscribe a gradually increasing circle above the map. Finally it slowed again and came to a halt over a spot very close to the old mill site of Charleston. The site was marked on the map, just off the modern highway from Sierra Vista to Tombstone.
When she saw that, Emily's heart began to pound until she could hear the blood rushing through her own veins, a drumbeat in her ears. "That's it? That's the place?"
"So the pendulum says," Dorian replied. "Are you familiar with that area?"
Emily nodded. "More or less. I did travel around between Tombstone and Charleston a bit during my stay in 1889. I don't suppose it has changed too terribly much."
"Well, if you can get there on the morning of the eleventh, day after tomorrow, I think there's an excellent chance you can break through the time warp. If you fix your mind firmly on the year and day where you want to go, you should wind up in the right time."
Emily leapt to her feet, joy singing through her. Finally she had a plan, a possible way to return to Zach and avert his tragic death. If it didn't work, she'd...she'd probably keep trying, but she suspected this was her last best chance.
"I don't know how to thank you! I was getting absolutely desperate, and everyone I talked to tended to treat me like a mental case. They acknowledged I was missing for a month, but no one could believe I actually spent that time in the past!"
Dorian smiled. "I wish you the best, Emily, and ask only that you come back and let me know if the method worked-that is if you get back to 2000 after completing your adventure. I only hope it will, and that my assistance will solve your problem. I daresay I am a pushover where love is concerned. If I can actually assist the reuniting of a pair of lovers across the barrier of time, I shall feel my efforts are well rewarded."
Emily smiled back, blinking the film of happy tears from her eyes. "I have no idea what will happen, even if I do get back to 1889, but if possible, I'll come back and tell you the whole tale. Thank you so very much. And if I return, I want to buy some of your wonderful tea."
Dorian patted her shoulder. "Normally, it isn't for sale, but I'll make an exception in your case. I can even give you the recipe so you can blend it for yourself. The herbs are not hard to obtain, but few people mix the varieties or the proportions that I use."
Impulsively, Emily gave the older woman a hug. "You've done so much for me, giving me hope, at least."
Dorian hugged her back. Then she walked with Emily to the door and stood in the doorway as Emily crossed the street.
"Love and light," she called, "and blessed be your endeavors."
~*~
June 9, 1889
After a week of searching, Zach finally had to admit Emily had truly vanished. Only then did he seriously consider the fear she had confessed of being snatched back to her own time. No, that was simply too preposterous. Incredible enough to have-maybe-moved from one century to another once, but to do so a second time was beyond belief.
He couldn't doubt that Emily believed her own story, but then she'd suffered a head injury. Perhaps her wild tale was just a means of explaining away the gaps left by some amnesia. There were the small artifacts she had and the medicine that had saved Mary Ann, which he certainly could not explain away, but all the same, he simply could not believe she was a refugee from the year 2000!
Heartbreaking though it was to accept she might be dead in this time and place, somehow he found that easier to deal with than to believe she yet lived one hundred and eleven years into the future. He could not possibly live to be a hundred and thirty-five. And if there was an afterlife, as he'd learned in church, there was little chance of them being reunited there for close to two centuries!
Pondering on the matter, he found it peculiar that all the search efforts had failed to locate Jake McEuen as well as Emily. For the gambler to disappear at the same time Emily had was too much of a coincidence to ignore. If Jake could be found, surely Emily would be with him or he could be forced to divulge where she was.
Zach resolved to devote every waking moment to finding Jake McEuen. For the most part, he'd be on his own in that effort, since the townsfolk had, of necessity, gone back to their own business, finally giving up on locating Emily.
Financing his needs with a few more poker games, Zach bought the rangy gray so he could ride one horse and rest the other on alternate days. Although he kept his room at Nellie's, he found it hard to sleep in the bed he'd twice shared with Emily. More often than not, he simply camped where night found him and rode back the next day.
Finally, near desperation, he decided to go across the valley to Fort Huachuca. Emily had said she'd been visiting friends there and had somehow ended up in Tombstone. Although he didn't want to believe she might have left without telling him-the main reason he had not gone to the Fort sooner-he finally admitted he could not leave any possibilities unchecked.
The Fort sat on a gently sloping bench at the foot of the Huachuca Mountains. Springs in Garden Canyon provided a reliable source of water and the location commanded an excellent view of the valley and the peak in the Dragoons, which served as a heliograph site.
Using mirrors to flash Morse code signals, troopers could send messages quickly over vast distances. Now that the telegraph was available, the method was seldom used, but could always be resurrected in emergencies if the wires were cut or broken by a storm. Zach contemplated the ingenious nature of humanity to devise such marvels as he crossed the valley on the gray, which he had named Smoky.
He arrived at the Fort in mid-afternoon. Approaching the sentry post beneath a towering cottonwood, he halted Smoky, greeting the trooper.
"I've come to inquire about a young lady who may be visiting here," he explained. "A school chum of hers married an officer and she's out from New England to visit."
The young trooper shook his head. "I wouldn't know about that, sir. You'd better go check with the sergeant major at the headquarters building." The private pointed out a rambling structure at the closer end of the grassy parade field up the canyon from his post.
Zach had to suppress a grin. The young man gave the senior non-commissioned officer's title in tones of respect one might reserve for the Lord Mayer of London or the Queen herself. As far as the youth was concerned, the sergeant major sat on the right hand of God.
He urged Smoky on, halted at the rear of the headquarters building and hitched the gray in the shade of yet another tree. Whether they had been planted or grew naturally, the Fort was blessed with a large number of massive Cottonwood and Sycamore trees that provided welcome shade from the strong summer sun.
Zach walked around to the main entrance of the headquarters building, admiring the tidy appearance of the area. When they were not off on patrol, the troops clearly worked hard to keep everything neat and well groomed.
He wished now that he had mentioned Emily to Major Potter and his wife. At the time, it had not occurred to him, but such an enquiry might have saved him this ride. But he had nothing better to do now, and the trip might provide fodder for more dispatches or future novels, if nothing else.
The sergeant major proved to be a big ruddy-faced man with a rust-hued handlebar moustache. He looked up as Zach entered the office. The expression on his face made Zach expect him to growl a gruff command. When he saw his guest was a civilian, he stood and circled his desk to shake Zach's hand.
"What kin I do for ye, sir?"
His rolling Irish brogue made Zach think of Boston and its many Irish citizens. Zach introduced himself and explained his mission.
The sergeant major shook his head. "Nay, I worked for Major Potter, all right-he was a good commander, stern but fair. Don't know of no Cap'n Hodges, though, nor a Miss Dennison-nary another young lady visitin' recently, either. And here in the headquarters, I don't miss much that goes on. There ain't been a Cap'n Hodges here in two years, that I recollect."
"I see," Zach said. "I may have m
isunderstood the name, but thank you for your help anyway." He turned for the door, only to be stopped by the sergeant major's gruff voice.
"Be a long ride back to Tombstone tonight. Why don't ye stay here till morning, Mr. Tremaine? We can put ye and yer horse up for the night. Me and the rest of the NCOs always enjoy a bit of company."
Zach thought quickly. Nothing awaited him in Tombstone but a lonely bed with too many memories and a hundred other reminders of Emily-and the unbearable fact that she was gone. He agreed, thanking the crusty old sergeant major for the invitation.
Zach ate that night in the troop's mess hall. The fare was hearty and simple, similar to the traditional beans, beef and biscuits favored by the cowboys. The men ate quickly and quietly, surprisingly orderly for a group of young men far from the stern eyes of mothers and their communities.
After the meal, several of the men said they were going to go down to the sutler's just outside the Fort's boundary for a few drinks and a game or two of cards. When a young sergeant about Zach's age invited him to tag along, he decided to go with them.
The sutler's proved to be a big barn of a place, half store and half saloon, about a mile back down one ridge from the Fort. It sported a long bar but one much cruder than that of the Crystal Palace, no mirrors or crystal-just heavy, dull glasses and pewter mugs. At the back of the room, there were several tables set up for gambling.
Seeing a game in progress at one table, Zach halted. Although the man had his back turned to the doorway, there was something very familiar about the black-clad civilian who played with a half dozen troopers. Zach quietly excused himself from Sergeant Hammond's side and crossed the room to a spot where he could see the gambler's face.
He'd found Jake McEuen. Although he itched to go confront the gambler at once, Zach recognized discretion was a wiser approach. Edging closer, he simply watched the game for a while and listened to the conversation. He soon saw the troopers were not happy with the way the game was going.
Finally one of them flung down his cards in disgust. "That's it," he said loudly. "There's no way I can win in this game. Nor can anyone else, it don't look like." He turned to the man on his right. "Billy, have you lost enough of your pay yet?"
"Yeah, reckon I have." The two troopers stood and ambled off to the bar, grumbling to one another.
Two of the four remaining soldiers exchanged a look. One of them spoke. "Mister, I don't know what kind of cards you're dealing, but they sure don't play like the ones I'm used to."
Jake glared at the soldier. "Are you accusing me of cheating?"
"Well now, I didn't say that, did I? But I'd lay a bet you don't lose at solitaire either."
The soldier threw his cards down and left the table, stalking across the floor with his boot heels rapping a defiant tattoo. One of the three remaining players followed him. That left only two, one of whom was clearly drunk. Hardly enough to make a worthwhile game.
It was time to make his move. Zach stepped to McEuen's side and kicked his chair, just hard enough to get his attention. McEuen jumped, tipping the chair over as he leapt his feet. It clattered to the floor, loud as a gunshot in the suddenly quiet room.
"What the hell?" Jake went first pale, then red and back to pale again in the space of a few seconds. "What do you want, Tremaine? You got your sister back. What do you want now?"
"Where is Miss Dennison?"
Jake glared at Zach, flexing his hands as if tempted to swing a fist. "How in the devil would I know? You got her back too. Only because Tug was too dumb to watch her like I told him, but you got her, anyway."
Zach folded his arms across his chest, keeping his right hand well clear of his holster. Although he could see no weapon on Jake, he knew the gambler probably at least had a hideaway derringer in his boot or in a pocket. Not that he was afraid of being shot, but for the moment he was more interested in information than confrontation.
"Somebody grabbed her off the street in Tombstone the day of the big storm. Witnesses said it was a man on a dark horse. Supposedly they went east, but that doesn't mean much. Nobody has seen her or you since that day. So what was I to believe? What have you done with her?"
Jake backed up a step. "I haven't done a thing with her, damn it. I rode over here a couple of weeks ago, just looking for a new challenge, some new players to match wits with. After you play with the same people for weeks on end, it gets too easy."
Zach snorted his disbelief. "Looking for some new pigeons to pluck is more like it. Where are you staying?"
"Right here. Mr. Carvelli has a few rooms upstairs."
Zach pushed his small advantage, advancing as Jake backed away. "And if I go up there and look, will I find Miss Dennison in one of them?"
Jake stopped backing, as if he had just realized what he was doing. He puffed up his chest and hunched his shoulders slightly. "When did Miss Dennison become your business, Tremaine?"
"When she agreed to marry me," Zach replied. Which was not strictly true, but close enough for present purposes. "You both disappeared from Tombstone at the same time-I know you had to have had something to do with it."
"Well, I didn't. You can ask Caravelli." Jake turned to the bartender. "Luigi, did I have a woman with me when I got here the other day?"
The burly man shook his head. "No, you were alone."
"That doesn't prove anything," Zach persisted. "There's those cabins down the road where the laundresses and camp followers live. You could have left Em-Miss Dennison there."
Jake's face went red again. "If that's what you think, go look. Listen, Tremaine, I'm tired of you butting into my business. The next time I see you, you'd better go for your gun. If you don't, I'll go for mine. You've been nothing but trouble to me since the day you rode into Tombstone."
Zach had heard more than enough. He glowered at Jake, refusing to back up an inch. "I don't know where you get the idea I'm trouble to you. You've abused my sister, bullied my landlady, kidnapped my fiancée, and terrorized the whole area in the process but you have the nerve to accuse me of causing you trouble. McEuen, you're nothing but a cheap four-flushing tinhorn. You can't even be honest with your friends. I talked to Bucky Flanagan a few days ago and he had plenty to say."
Jake cursed. "To hell with him. He and Gallager were going to double cross me. I was just trying to keep our share safe until Perez was gone, but they got greedy and lost it all."
"How come you had a share-a share of what, the bank loot?"
Jake realized he'd said too much. "A deal we made, it's none of your business."
"I ought to take you back to Tombstone-you were involved in that robbery and in the beating of Marshal Cooper. Deputy Drake deputized me while we were searching for Miss Dennison. He never took it back, so I still have the authority."
"Hell with this! We can settle it for once and for all. I'm not going to go around looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to interfere with me again. We'll meet south of Charleston along the river and settle matters between us for good. Name your day."
Zach started to reach for his pistol. He was sure he could get the drop on Jake and take him prisoner, take him back to Tombstone and jail. The distinctive sound of a shotgun being cocked halted his action.
Luigi Caravelli came out from behind the bar, an ornate shotgun in his hands. "No trouble in here," he said. "I don't allow no trouble. You boys take-a you fighting outside." Excitement thickened the burly man's Italian accent, but his intent was not hard to understand.
Zach raised his hands clear of his weapon and backed away from Jake. "All right, all right."
As if he had the upper hand, Jake smirked. "Tuesday then, south of Charleston, Tremaine. If you think you can hold your own. I'll be there. If you aren't, then get out of town, 'cause I'll come looking. You can always go back east with your sister and push a pencil instead of a pistol."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Fort Huachuca, Arizona
June 11, 2000
Emily settled behind the wheel of Carol
's little Ford. "If I'm not home by dark, get Tom to drive you down to the Esquivel ranch. You'll need to retrieve your car, 'cause that'll mean Dorian's idea worked and I'm back in 1889 again-or somewhere."
Carol shook her head. From the expression on her face, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "You're certifiable, Em, but I love you anyway. Good luck." She whirled to dash back into the house rather than watch Emily drive away.
This time, instead of going straight to Tombstone, Emily took a side road and ended up at the Esquivel ranch. She'd already talked to them, arranging the day before to rent a horse for the day. When she pulled into the ranch yard, a teenaged girl had the sorrel mare saddled and ready.
Emily stopped, tossing the keys on the seat as she stepped out. She pushed the latch down and closed the door, locking the car. After that, she walked over and took the mare's reins from the girl. "It looks like a pretty day for a ride. I should have your mare back by about three or four."
Much more comfortable with the process than she would have been six weeks earlier, Emily mounted and touched her heels to the mare's sides. "Hasta luego."
"Have a nice ride," the girl called. "We'll see you this afternoon. Look out for the UDAs. They tend to follow the river a lot."
Emily recognized the acronym. She'd heard it often enough since arriving in southern Arizona. UDA meant undocumented alien, one of the many Mexican citizens who thronged across the international border from the south seeking work, support and a more comfortable lifestyle in the United States. Most of them were gentle, common folk, but drug dealers and a few other criminal types hid among the rest. Those were the ones you had to look out for.
The Esquivel family was Hispanic, but long-term residents of the area, with a history going back long before Arizona statehood in 1912. In fact, Emily recalled there had been an Esquivel ranch south of Charleston in 1889.
If she did get back to the past and found herself unable to return, she intended to deliver the mare to the Esquivel ranch of that day since there would be no way to get the sorrel back to the modern-day owners. At least that way she wouldn't feel as if she had stolen a valuable animal.
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