by Romilly West
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Beautiful Dreamer
Guitar Traveler
About Romilly
Double Shot
Two Time Travel Western Short Stories
by Romilly West
Beautiful Dreamer
Guitar Traveler
Copyright
Copyright 2018 Romilly West
Cover Design by Romilly West
Photo from iStockPhoto
Double Shot features two Old West short stories with time travel elements. In Beautiful Dreamer, Kendra, an old-fashioned girl in a modern, digital world, discovers, through a magical music box, a connection with a mysterious young man and a lifelong dream. In Guitar Traveler, Lucy, a talented, ambitious woman living in the Old West, experiences, through music, hints of a far-future life that give her the courage to cut loose and fulfill her destiny.
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Author’s Note
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
Acknowledgments
First of all, thanks to my readers. You're the reason I do what I do. Thanks to my husband for always believing in me. And I’d like to thank my family and friends who have been supportive of my efforts throughout the years.
Contact
[email protected]
Beautiful Dreamer
Kendra needed to get to bed, but instead, she opened another plastic storage container to see what it held. She and Brian had so much stuff packed away from previous moves, yet here they were, preparing for another. Except Kendra didn't want to move anywhere with Brian. Not anymore. No matter where they lived, they would never be right for each other. Brian knew it as well as Kendra, but he didn't want to admit it. Their wrongness for each other would implicate Brian in a mistake, and to Brian's mind, he never made mistakes.
Their current apartment was in St. Sebastian, the town in southwest Missouri where Kendra had grown up. Brain had taken a job at the nearby Army base as a consultant. It had felt great to be living back here, but now, Brian had quit his job and wanted to uproot them yet again. He kept trying to fill a bottomless hole in his heart. He bought endless, expensive, high-tech gadgets for himself, which he didn't need or even use, and most of it eventually wound up in boxes just like these. Kendra was sick of it, sick of his selfishness and immaturity. No more moving, no more being uprooted. This time, she would stay right here. Her freelance editing work didn't depend on where she lived. All she needed was an Internet connection. She'd stay here in St. Sebastian until she reoriented herself and figured out what she wanted—truly wanted—next.
Well, she was kidding herself, wasn't she? Kendra knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to be a romance writer. Historical romances. Men and women on the American frontier, living near the mountains out West or on the open plains, falling in love while overcoming hardships together.
But she was afraid to give herself a chance as a writer. She was afraid she'd fail. Sure, she could get the stories written. She'd already written quite a few. Stories ran through her mind all the time, developed characters and rich settings, whether here in Missouri in the 1800s or perhaps farther out West, in Wyoming or Arizona. She could write the stories all day. But would anyone actually want to read them? That's what made her stomach twist: the idea of pouring her heart and soul into stories that readers would reject. She truly didn't know if she could deal with that, so she kept her stories to herself.
Much of the stuff in the plastic boxes was Brian's and could go along with him when he moved, but there were a few things in the boxes that were hers. Some of this stuff she hadn't seen in three years, not since before she and Brian had married right out of college: a photo album from her childhood, a stuffed dog she'd liked to sleep with as a toddler, and her class ring from high school, tucked into a small, velvet box. She took out the things that were hers and tucked them into a dresser drawer.
In the bottom of the storage container Kendra found a dog-eared cardboard box, about a foot square. It looked familiar. She took it out to examine it more closely. If it was the box she was thinking of, it was filled with Grandma's old pins and jewelry. Mom had given Kendra the box after Grandma died. Kendra didn't open the box at the time; she stored it since she knew she wouldn't want to wear Grandma's old jewelry. Not because it wasn't pretty. But it wasn't young woman jewelry. Then she'd gotten busy and hadn't thought of it again.
Just for fun, she'd look in the box now. It would do her heart good to remember fond times from childhood, with Grandma.
She pulled out the cardboard box, which was taped with clear tape that had partially dried up, so it was easy to pull off. Inside were small boxes that held necklaces, rings, clip-on earrings, and pins. Underneath those, she found wadded-up old newspaper. Something else was packed down in there. She dug under the newspaper, then carefully lifted out a small wooden box with a floral pattern engraved on top. A handle protruded from the side. She lifted the lid and saw a cylinder with notches and a comb-like mechanism.
A music box.
And what's more, it looked familiar. Kendra had seen the music box before. Every summer, as a child, she and her parents had visited Grandma in Tennessee. The summer she turned twelve, she had found the box at Grandma's house. Grandma told her she'd bought it at a rummage sale after an old friend of hers had died. Kendra played the music box by cranking the handle, and she listened to its music. And every single night of that visit, which had lasted a week, she'd had strange—and wonderful—dreams. After the week was up, she'd gone home and left the music box at Grandma's. She'd never seen the music box again.
Until now.
At the sight of the music box, details of her dreams came flooding back, together with memories of the boy she thought she'd forgotten forever.
###
David.
That had been his name.
How had she remembered that, from so long ago? But now, it was as though no time had passed at all since she'd seen him.
At Grandma's house, when she'd found the music box as a kid, she'd taken it with her to bed. Late that night, while everyone was asleep, she had cranked the handle, and the little box had played “Beautiful Dreamer.” When she listened to the music, she'd gone somewhere else. Of course, it had been a dream. What else could it have been? Listening to the music, Kendra dreamed herself into a tiny space. When she pushed open the door, leaving the small space, she'd found herself in the bedroom of a boy about her age. It turned out the tiny space had been his closet.
The boy was sitting at a rough-hewn wooden desk, using the light of an oil lamp to read a thick book. His walnut brown hair was straight and fell in a thick hank over his forehead. His expression, as he read, was serious, but he was the nicest looking boy she'd ever seen. The first time she'd visited him, the boy heard her in the closet, and when she came out, he'd stared at her, his eyes wide. They had both been startled. But they had liked each other from the start. She'd used the music box to visit him every night that week. They'd talked and talked, about his dreams to become a doctor and her dreams to become a famous
writer. She'd liked David better than anybody she'd ever met, but he'd been nothing more than a dream, someone created by her mind. So what did that mean, that she liked a character from her mind better than anyone she knew in real life?
Well, she guessed it meant she was a writer at heart.
When the visit to Grandma's had ended, so had the dreams. But the memory of David stuck around in her mind, even though she hadn't dreamed of him again, at least not the intense, powerful dreams she had at Grandma's. For years, she wished she'd have those dreams again. But over time, the memories had gradually faded.
Now, she turned the handle on the music box. She wanted to hear “Beautiful Dreamer.” She needed happy memories, together with the good feelings they brought out in her, to fortify her for the challenging times ahead.
###
Beautiful dreamer, Kendra sang along in her mind as she turned the handle, making the box play the sweet, tinkly tune. Starlight, dewdrops, and moonlight. Not words she encountered every day, but they made Kendra feel good. Not a lot of people her age would know “Beautiful Dreamer,” but she knew all kinds of old songs, mostly because of Grandma, who'd been a music buff. As a child, at Grandma's, Kendra had listened to old songs on a record player. Many people her age had never even seen a record player.
Sometimes, Kendra thought she had to be a throwback, born into the wrong time, over a century too late. She didn't think too much of the modern world, with its hustle and bustle and all its dramas carried out over the Internet and social media. Sure, she used the Internet to make a living with her editing skills, but that was a practical move to help her live as simple a life as possible, to work for herself without the craziness of a daily commute. And as much as she'd moved around with Brian in three years, an Internet job had helped keep things simple, at least on her end. Grandma had described Kendra as genteel, a word she'd never forgotten. You don't hear the word genteel much today, Grandma had often said. You're a rare and fine girl.
Kendra hoped so. But she didn't feel like she fit in much of anywhere.
She pushed those unpleasant thoughts aside and closed her eyes, all the better to enjoy the sound of the music box. In her mind, she heard the words, and softly, she started singing them along with the music. When she got to the lyric “clouds of sorrow depart,” sudden tears stung her eyes. Yes, she was ready for her clouds of sorrow to depart and to get on track to a happier, better life, one that was truly born of her mind and her heart.
At the end of the song, she stopped turning the handle of the music box, then shifted on the floor, which had gotten harder. She reached down and felt a hard, wooden surface instead of the short carpet in the bedroom.
What?
Her eyes popped open, and she looked around. She wasn't in the bedroom of her and Brian's apartment anymore. She was in a small space. A closet? When she came out, she blinked and looked around, stunned. She was standing in the living room of what looked like an old house, older than Grandma's house. The walls were tongue and groove, and a large mahogany table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by beautifully carved mahogany chairs. A Lazy Susan, with what looked like salt and pepper shakers and a sugar bowl, was positioned at the center of the table, reminding Kendra of the Lazy Susan that Grandma had kept on her kitchen table, though her table had been nowhere near as large or ornate. Velvety drapes at the windows hung to the floor, tied at the center to give a view outside, to the darkness of the night.
How on earth had she gotten here? Oil lamps shone from decorative attachments on the wall near a doorway that led, presumably, to somewhere else in the house, though to where, she couldn't see.
Oil lamps?
She'd been somewhere like this house before. In dreams.
Slowly, Kendra rubbed her trembling hands together, trying to figure out what to do next. Maybe she'd fallen asleep. She had been pretty tired, after all. Last night, she and Brian had argued throughout dinner about the upcoming move, and afterward, she hadn't been able to get to sleep. He'd left early this morning, and she'd worked hard all day, packing and sorting and separating her belongings from his.
At the sound of footsteps coming, she froze. Then came a resonant male voice. “Excuse me, miss, but what were you doing in the closet?”
She whirled around. A tall, well-built man about her age was standing in front of a brown Victorian-style sofa, holding a black bag. Handsome and intense-looking, he had brown hair that fell in a lock across his forehead, and he wore round, black-rimmed spectacles. That serious expression of his, his eyes snapping with intelligence...
David?
Could it be?
But not a kid anymore. Like her, he'd grown up.
She felt her mouth fall open as though it had become unhinged. Close your mouth, she told herself, or he's going to think you're an idiot. The young man was studying her with great curiosity, and she looked down at herself, at her faded blue jeans and old sneakers. By contrast, the young man had a spruced-up look that Grandma would have called dashing. His old-fashioned attire matched the look of this room, this house. He wore dress slacks, a nice shirt, a vest, an old-timey string tie, and he was holding a pocket watch in his hand as though he'd just checked the time before he'd spotted her.
She hadn't seen a pocket watch since Grandma had shown her, years ago, the one that had once belonged to her grandpa.
She rubbed her hand over her eyes, blinked, and fought back the urge to pinch herself. This was a fascinating dream, much like the ones she'd had the summer she was twelve years old. She didn't want to wake up. Not yet.
“Are you part of the family?” the young man asked.
Kendra blinked. “What family?”
“The MacIntosh family. I don't remember Mr. MacIntosh introducing us.”
“I don't know anyone named MacIntosh.”
The curiosity in the young man's eyes ratcheted up higher. “Then what are you doing here, miss? This is the MacIntosh home, and I've just come from treating Ellen, their youngest daughter. She fell off a horse yesterday morning.”
“Oh, no.” That didn't sound good at all.
“Well, it was tough going yesterday. She hit her head, broke a leg, and got bruised up pretty badly. Internal bleeding, too. But she'll be all right. She's doing much better now, and in due time, she'll be just fine. You said you don't know the family?”
Kendra shook her head, then glanced at his black bag. “Are you a doctor?” she asked.
“Well, almost,” he said, an intense note in his voice. “I'm working hard to learn all I can, reading with Dr. Sharp here in town, and I'm saving money to go to St. Louis to study medicine. Then, when Dr. Sharp retires, I want to come back here and be this town's doctor. Medical expertise is greatly needed here.”
“I bet,” Kendra said. What a strange dream this was, in which St. Sebastian had only one older doctor and one young man who was his apprentice. It sounded like St. Sebastian in the late 1800s rather than St. Sebastian in 2015. She remembered the house in which she'd visited David in her dreams years ago. The house where he'd lived with his family had been much more stripped down and simple, but both houses were similar in their Victorian feel, oil lamps and old-fashioned décor. “What's your name?” she asked.
“David. David Rockwell.”
Yes, indeed. Somehow, she'd come back to visit him, at least in a dream. Just as she'd hoped, the music box had spurred something good for her. She stepped closer to David, where the warm light from the oil lamp would shine on her more directly. “I'm Kendra Houser.”
His eyes grew wide with recognition. “The girl from the closet?”
She smiled and nodded. What a wonderful dream this was, dreaming about David again after all these years. He'd grown up right along with her, in the land of her imagination, and he'd grown up so handsome, too. Such magnetism, with those intense, dark eyes and intelligent expression. “That's me.”
“Well, now it makes sense.” He gave her a sweetly crooked and completely disarming smile. “As much as
it makes sense to have lovely ladies wearing unusual clothes appearing in people's closets out of absolutely nowhere.”
Lovely lady. Not exactly a phrase Kendra heard from most guys. Everyone she knew said hot. Or hottie. She said hot from time to time, too, but she'd always felt an affinity for the more old-fashioned expressions. She smiled at David. It was good to see him again, even if this was just a dream.
“It's good to see you, Kendra,” he said. “I never really thought you were real, and I'm still not sure what to think, but I tend to think of you as kind of a miracle. At least, for me. I'll always remember our conversations. You were so enthusiastic about what you wanted to do in your life that I always thought you would take the world by storm with your writing. And you inspired me to do everything I can to turn my dreams of becoming a doctor into reality.”
“You really remember all that?” she asked, amazed but also ashamed of how she had let fear of failure derail her dreams.
“I sure do,” he said, smiling at her. “I wouldn't be here, treating a patient, if I didn't.”
She flushed with pleasure. “I really inspired you that much?”
“Absolutely. I'll never forget it. Every bit of it was magical.” His gaze moved over her, as though he were pleased with what he saw, then he looked into her eyes. “So, are you a famous writer now?”
She frowned and gazed at the floor, feeling like a terrible disappointment, not just to him, but to herself, too. “No. Not even close. I still write, yeah, but I don't send my work out.”
“Why not? Isn't that the only way to get published?”
Not in my day, Kendra thought, considering all the ways to publish work in 2015, including digital self-publishing, which made an author's books available to people all over the world. But looking around at the old-fashioned décor of the house and David's attire, she seriously doubted he could wrap his mind around the idea of the Internet. This dream wouldn't last forever, and she didn't want to waste precious time with David talking about technology. “Well, no matter how I go about it, I have to put myself and my work out there for people to read. And I guess I'm just afraid to do it.”