He found it hard to keep his mouth shut, to keep from putting in a word now and then. It must be something to be a part of Lynne’s family.
The house grew quiet around them now as her father and brother settled in their rooms and she sat very still, watching him, but not speaking for fear of being overheard. It would be very hard, he supposed, for her to explain why she was sitting alone in a room talking to someone who wasn’t there.
He broke the silence. “Lynne, Loy and Lana?” he asked, grinning at her. “What’s with that?”
She sighed, than whispered back. “Isn’t it just too cute for words. I guess David is lucky he’s not Lyle, but Dad wanted to name his only son for his grandfather. Granddad was his rock in a sea of troubles when he was growing up. And Lana is really Alanna, of course, but nobody ever remembers that.”
“I like your family.”
“They’re ok.” She sat very still while he moved over to sit next to her. “I’m sorry they broke in on us here.”
“They’re worried about you.”
“They don’t have a right to be,” she said angrily. “They sent me here.”
That crooked grin came to his face and she felt an urge to brush the hair back from his forehead. “You still haven’t told me what you did to get sent into exile.”
“We have other things to talk about,” she responded with all the dignity she could muster.
“Let’s see.” He tilted his head to one side as he considered. “Too many traffic tickets? You’re a speed demon.”
Considering how he’d gotten injured, this was hardly funny. She shook her head.
“Broke curfew too many times?”
“I’m twenty four years old and I can stay out as late as I like. Though Mom does say that any considerate member of the family keeps others informed so they don’t have to worry. And since she and Dad have to abide by that, I don’t mind much.”
He nodded solemnly. “Shoplifting, jaywalking, refusing to do the dishes?”
“I’m not going to tell you so you might as well quit guessing.” She stared at him for a long moment. “Moss, where have you been? Have you been with Maud all this time when I’ve so wanted to see you?”
The minute the words were out of her mouth she felt horribly guilty. She couldn’t be jealous of his friendship with a woman in her seventies who had been dead for a long time now.
He shook his head. “I wasn’t anywhere that I know of. I gather I’ve been gone for a while?”
“Two weeks and three days since I’ve seen you. And you don’t have any memories of that time at all?”
“Afraid not.” He smiled tenderly in her direction. “But I’m here now.”
“And I’m so glad.” In her absorption she had forgotten to whisper and so was doubly startled when she heard her brother’s voice from out in the hall.
“Lynne, you all right?” he asked worriedly.
Drat! She hadn’t even remembered that she and Moss weren’t alone in the house. “I’m fine, David,” she answered.
He came in, wearing pajamas and slippers, his hair tousled as though he’d been tossing and turning as he tried to sleep. David had always been a night owl.
“Thought I heard voices,” he said, coming over to sit between her and Moss. Moss moved over a little to give him room.
“Must have been talking to myself,” she said. “A habit I’ve developed since I’ve been out here alone.”
“But I heard a man’s voice.” He looked around as though to find that other person.
Lynne kept her silence, only raising her eyebrows questioningly as though to say where is this man. But inwardly she was startled. David was looking right at Moss and not seeing him. But he seemed to have heard his voice.
Chapter Ten
This time Moss felt himself began to move. Mentally he dug in his feet and tried to stay right where he was at Lynne’s side. He listened to David’s confession that he’d heard a male voice but didn’t share Lynne’s dismay. He was too worried that he was leaving her after only such a short visit.
He wanted to protest to the universe or whoever was in charge that with time running out, he deserved more than this sliver of hours with the woman he loved.
His objections made no difference. He felt a kind of whirring around him and then once more stood on solid ground. He recognized the slope of the ground, the red hills to his north and the spreading view of rolling grasslands to the south and west. He was back at the ranch, but there was no house, no corrals or outbuildings, and no sign that domestic animals grazed this waist-high grass. The big pond was gone too, though in the distance he saw the distant sparkle where the river wound through the hills.
He wasn’t alone. A covered wagon that looked much like those he’d seen in western movies rested just about where the ranch house had been. A man in well-worn pants, shirt, boots and big hat was carrying water to two winded looking horses while a woman in her middle years was stirring a pot over a small fire. Two small children, looking pale and exhausted, hovered nearby.
At first they didn’t see him. Then the woman, glancing up, gave a little cry and the man turned to see what had alarmed her. In seconds he’d reached inside the wagon, bringing out a rifle which he directed straight at Moss.
“This claim is ours,” he said fiercely, his bearded face full of fury. Moss didn’t doubt for a minute that he would shoot him down without hesitation. This was a desperate man, fighting for his home and family.
Moss raised his hands slowly so there would be no suspicion that he was about to reach for a gun. He knew he must look very strange to these people with his hair cut prison short, his pale closely shaven face, and off the rack jeans and shirt. He wasn’t even wearing boots, the footwear of choice for frontier men, but had on running shoes.
“I’m no threat,” he said. “I’m not here looking for land.” He couldn’t help wondering if, considering his unique status, he could be killed by gunshot. It was not something he was eager to test.
He discovered at this moment that he was anxious to stay alive and it was all because of Lynne. He wanted them to have years and years of life together.
He tried to put together what he was seeing here. The man had talked of claims. Most likely he was peering through one of those thin walls Maud had mentioned and he’d stepped over into a very significant day in the history of this area.
The land had been taken from the Native Americans who had been given individual property instead of the vast shared acres that had once been theirs and the extra land was now opened for white settlement. He had no idea of the year when this had happened here, but knew the various land runs and lotteries had occurred in the late 1800s or possibly very early 1900s. So from when he’d left Lynne in the living room talking to her brother, he’d traveled back through many decades.
And he was facing a very threatened new land owner. He remembered from his years as a history student reading that these confrontations had often led to violence.
“I’m not taking part in the land rush. I don’t want your land.”
“Then why else would you be here?” the man queried fiercely. The smaller of the two children began to cry softly, the thin sound trailing out over the lonely hills. He wondered why anyone in their right mind would bring little children to this wild, dangerous country.
He grasped for an explanation that would keep them from wanting to shoot him. For some reason, he could only remember the Remington images of the west that his parents had taken him to see when he was about fourteen; horses, buffalo, Native Americans and settlers captured in bronze for all time.
“I’m an artist,” he said hastily. “Out here to capture this historic settlement for posterity.”
“What’s posterity?” the woman spoke aloud for the first time.
“Means our children and their children,” her husband told her. “For the future.”
“An artist,” the woman breathed the word almost reverentially.
“If you’re an artist,
where are your paints and such?” the man, more distrustful, questioned.
“Will you paint my picture,” the older child, a little girl, asked. “I will sit very still.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her. She had dirt smeared across her face and her hair was tangled from the wind. She was a plain little thing, but hopelessly endearing.
He addressed himself to her. “I’m afraid I left my paints and other supplies behind this time. I just strolled out to scout the territory. Another day I’ll start my actual painting.”
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Surely he could have come up with a better story than this. “I’m afraid I’m lost,” he concluded rather helplessly.
The man lowered his rifle. Something about this pathetic story had convinced him that the man in front of him was no danger to him or his family.
“Reckon you’re a tenderfoot?”
Relieved, Moss nodded. “Very tender,” he said.
“Reckon you’d better sit down and have some bacon and beans with us,” the woman said, bending once again to her fire.
Instead of obeying, he busied himself with helping with the camp chores. He and the little boy, who looked to be no more than three or four, went toward the river to gather fallen wood for the fire.
“I didn’t cry,” the little boy said as they got out of earshot of the camp.
“Of course not,” Moss agreed. “But it would be okay even if you did.”
“Papa says big boys don’t cry.”
Moss decided it was best not to present an opposition opinion, even though he thought this an unhealthy approach to emotion for what was still a very small child.
“My name’s Benny,” the boy said, striding along at Moss’s side. He tugged at the hat that looked a smaller version of his father. “Mama and Papa are the Hursts and sister is Mollie.”
“My name is Moss Caldecott.”
“That’s a funny name.”
“I suppose,” Moss agreed, “and so you and your parents and sister have come out west to build a new home.”
“Not my mom and pop,” little Benny corrected. “Mama and Papa are my grandma and grandpa. My Mom and Pop died and Papa said we needed a new start in a new place. So we came out here and Papa got to talking with the guard and he said it wouldn’t hurt none if we just slipped across the line tonight instead of waiting ‘til tomorrow. Mama said it weren’t right, but Papa said after all we’ve been through we deserved a break. He said it was for the good of the children. That’s us. Me and Mollie.”
Moss nodded, trying to take in the meaning of this flow of words from his talkative little companion. But it wasn’t until they had picked up armloads of dried wood and were headed back to the camp, that he put it all together.
They were sooners! Mama and Papa and the two young Hurst family members had been allowed by a friendly guard, who doubtless felt sorry for the little family trying to compete with younger, stronger and better equipped families, and had allowed them to get a head start on the run so that they could choose the land they wanted without obstacle. No doubt when the settlers came rushing in, Papa Hurst would pound his stake in the ground and begin the process that would leave the little family in possession of a good piece of land.
He could only hope for the best for them. He knew well enough from what Maud had said that her family had bought the claim from the original settlers so this little family, for one reason or another, would not be here for long. He just prayed it wasn’t tragedy that sent them away.
He let little Benny’s chatter trail away in the wind as they approached the camp and wondered why he was here. Maud liked to believe there was a reason for things, that life had lessons to teach, but as far as Moss could see this was pointless and useless rambling, time stolen from him and the woman he loved.
Back at camp he helped with the chores until Mama Hurst and little Mollie called them to supper. The beans and bacon served with corn cakes cooked in an iron skillet over the fire tasted like the finest food, though he tried to eat sparingly, knowing these folks might have less than enough for themselves.
Afterwards he helped to clean up and prepared to go, but Mama Hurst, casting a defying look at her spouse, handed him a quilt and a blanket and told him to bed down under the wagon. Since he had no idea where to go and what to do when he got there, he obeyed, wondering when he would be swept away from this unexpected visit.
He could hear Papa’s snores from overhead in the wagon where he slept with his little family, but somehow the sound was soothing.
Well, he’d wanted open spaces and freedom and there sure was a lot of that to go around out here. He could see a sky full of stars from where he lay under the edge of the wagon and the air was fresh and pure, uncontaminated by anything other than the wood smoke lingering after their fire had gone out.
His ideas of the settlement of the Territory were sketchy at best. All he could picture was an image he’d seen once of a long line of people in wagons, buggies, on horseback and even on bikes, waiting for the gun to fire that would let them run to claim the possibility of land and homes of their own.
Frankly most of his sympathy had gone to the Native Americans driven from the lands they’d cherished for generations, but tonight he had a view of another population driven as scum from the shores of Europe and Asia, without hope in those ancient places, frozen in place in class systems that gave them absolutely no opportunity to improve their situation or that of their children. They’d come here seeking survival and hope for a better future only to be crowded as dregs into the worst parts of the cities. No wonder the Hursts were willing to risk their lives to try to gain something better for little Benny and his sister.
It was a tragedy no more of their making than it had been for the first to dwell here, and yet they had been set at conflict against each other by politicians and policy makers and learned, through fear, to hate each other.
Some people would just say it was survival of the fittest and that these changes were inevitable that were taking America into an urban, heavily populated future so different from the ages old thoughtful usage of the land by the native peoples.
Well, it had happened. He couldn’t help that, wasn’t sure if he would if he could. But tonight he lay alone feeling the depth of their sorrow and for the first time appreciating the courage of both settlers and natives.
Finally he slept and dreamed of Lynne.
Chapter Eleven
Lynne was up and clothed and tiptoeing out of the house before either her dad or brother began to stir. Today she’d dressed the opposite of the way she’d been clad for her last hospital visit. That time she’d been in suit and high heels, today she wore faded and torn jeans, a mega-sized knit shirt and boots. She resolved to buy a Texas style Stetson next time she went to town.
The drive into Elk City was a long one and if she sometimes thought she was out in the hills alone, she was disabused of that notion as she drove, encountering trucks and pickups galore, most of them headed for the oil fields, though not a few were concerned with the areas’ extensive wind farms. This wasn’t just ranch country, it was energy country as well, and many of the ranchers had held on to their family lands because of the money coming in from oil, gas, or wind.
She stopped on the edge of town to get coffee and a sweet roll, eating and drinking as she drove through town to the hospital. In her pony tail and blue jeans, she knew well enough that she’d dropped several years from her apparent age and hoped no one would recognize her as the Mrs. Hallam who had last paid a visit here.
Brushing crumbs from her shirt, she downed the last of her coffee for courage and climbed out of her car to walk toward the front door, where automatic doors swung aside to allow her to enter. The hospital was only a half dozen years old and was more new and shiny than most city hospitals. The volunteer at the reception desk gave her a hurried smile as she went past without stopping, but didn’t show any sign of recognition.
She headed straight toward the elevators and soon stood outside
the critical care unit. This was the hard part. If Moss was only in a regular room, she could slip in to see him easily enough, but this place was carefully watched and monitored.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to enter with a middle-aged man and woman who were talking about visiting ‘Dad,’ she entered without being particularly noticed and when they passed Moss’s quarters simply went in the door instead and began to breathe easier as she looked down at his damaged body and the face obscured by a ventilator.
“Moss,” she whispered, bending close because she wanted him to hear her without attracting the attention of the nurses, “It’s me, Lynne. I managed to sneak in, but I don’t know how long I’ll get away with it. I just wanted you to know I’m here and doing everything I can to keep you safe.”
She managed only a few words of comfort before the administrator himself walked in. He didn’t immediately recognize her and started to apologize for the intrusion on her visit, then he looked more closely and his face turned red.
“You will leave immediately, Miss Hallam,” he yelled, “Or I will be forced to call security.”
Two nurses raced into the room, summoned by the sound of his voice, and even though he was her boss, the older one frowned fiercely. “This patient is in critical condition,” she said with strong disapproval.
Under her frowning gaze, Lynne was escorted from the tiny room, daring to call back over her shoulder, “See you later, Moss.”
“No, you won’t,” the administrator said grimly.
“I only want to visit. I intend no harm to him,” she protested, tears standing in her eyes.
“If you come again, Miss Hallam, I will call the police. We have been exceedingly tolerant with you so far, but will not allow you to disturb our patient or intrude on his privacy.”
There was no use in arguing that Moss wanted her there. Nobody would believe her. He left her outside, supposedly headed toward her car. Instead she circled the building, going in through a side door. She knew better than to attempt an immediate entrance so she went instead to the cafeteria where she obtained a second cup of coffee and a small plate of melon and berries and seated herself at a table next to one occupied by a group of senior volunteers.
The Ghost and Miss Hallam: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series Book 1) Page 9