by Sarah Dreher
She wondered what day it was. Counted. She’d arrived on Monday, the 13th. Had spent the 14th trying, unsuccessfully, to get out of here. Had spent another day prowling around town hoping to pick up clues or gossip and chalking up the world’s most complete collection of dirty looks for her trouble. Today must be Thursday, the 16th.
Three days overdue in Topeka. They’d all be frantic now, back home. Marylou knew her itinerary. They’d probably call the State Police, wouldn’t they?
Of course they would. And if the police wouldn’t help, Gwen and Marylou and Aunt Hermione would come themselves. Any time now, someone would show up looking for her. They’d find her car, wherever she’d parked the car. And from there Tabor would be the natural place to look.
That made her feel better. If she couldn’t get away from this end, at least somebody would be taking action on the other. She sort of hoped they wouldn’t come until she could get to the bottom of the fires.
Great! Two days ago you were frantic to leave. Now you want to hang around and solve mysteries.
Must have read too many Nancy Drews as a kid.
Humming, she started back up the creek bed.
She almost missed the dugout. Cut into the side of the bank above the high water level, it was no more than a single room, the only light coming from a narrow doorway covered by a torn and ragged blanket, so thick with dust it blended with the ground.
Stoner peered inside. A bundle of blankets lay on the dirt floor near a rusting wood stove. The table and single chair were old and worn and cracked. She lifted the chair. It was light as a feather, all the life long ago drawn out of the wood. A tin plate, spoon, and cup lay neatly on the table, looking as if the owner had left suddenly, or expected to return.
She wondered who had taken refuge here. It must have been a long time ago, whoever it was. A trapper, maybe, using the dugout as a shelter from the weather as he made the rounds of his traps. Or an outlaw, hiding from the posse. Or just a loner, a wanderer. A college dropout, hiking across the country to “find himself ”.
No, they probably didn’t have college dropouts back then.
Maybe a gold miner stopping over on his way to Colorado.
A cowboy looking for lost calves.
Or an arsonist, hiding the tools of his or her trade.
She put the plate down.
Dropping to her knees, she crawled across the floor, looking for signs of an underground cache.
Nothing.
She examined the walls, and the seams where the walls met the floor.
If the dirt had been moved, it had been replaced with considerable skill. The same was true outside. She walked up and down the creek bed, peering behind rocks and boulders and under water-scoured driftwood.
No luck. The place was clean.
The sky was beginning to go gray. An occasional snowflake touched her hair. Better get back to Blue Mary’s, just in case the Indian women were right.
She scrambled to the top of the creek bank and squinted into the distance. She could barely make out Blue Mary’s house, a pebble in the midst of the prairie. Smoke rose from the chimney.
She started toward it at a trot.
By the time she got back to the cabin, the snow had begun falling in earnest.
Stoner caught herself smiling. Nobody could come looking for her now. They’d have to wait until the storm let up.
It shocked her to realize she was a little bit glad.
Chapter Six
The snow came from everywhere and nowhere. A white glare that swirled and drifted and blew blinding curtains across the countryside. The landscape was transformed. Where valleys used to be, there were hills of white. Fence posts buried in snow became out-buildings, out-buildings turned into barns as the drifting pellets of ice widened the edges and obliterated the shapes of things.
The wind raged, cutting through heavy wool clothing like an icy knife. Farm animals turned their tails against the blasts, heads down, waiting out the storm in misery. To walk through the snow was to walk through a tunnel where north and south, east and west, even up and down were lost in the polarized light and shifting wind.
As night wore on, the wind rose, the volume of snow increased. Furious, it attacked the cottage. Like a ghost bent on revenge, it pounded against the walls and roof, and searched between the boards with hungry, endlessly-patting fingers.
Stoner tossed another slab of wood into the stove, and turned back to help Blue Mary stuff chinks and cracks with torn rags.
“Are you sure you’re warm enough, dear?” Blue Mary asked.
“I’m fine,” Stoner said, and hoped Blue Mary wouldn’t notice how her teeth chattered. She could use another blanket, but there were no more in evidence, and she didn’t want to run the risk of depriving the older woman of needed warmth.
“Don’t be coy with me, Stoner. I know you’re not as accustomed to the cold as we are out here. Generations of central heating have taken their toll.”
“Really, I’ll be fine.”
“You probably should have kept your coat.”
Stoner shook her head. “She needed it more than I do.” She tried to imagine what it was like, out there on the prairie, with no shelter but banks and brush piles and drafty tepees.
“At least drink some more of that tea. If you catch your death of pneumonia, Hermione will never forgive me.”
“She’ll never forgive me for not calling, and driving her crazy with worry,” Stoner said as she poured the tea.
Blue Mary wedged a bit of red flannel into the window frame and looked over her handiwork with a satisfied expression. “I’m sure she’d understand. Besides, time isn’t passing the same there as it is here.”
“That’s nice,” Stoner muttered, and hoped that wasn’t true. Because if it was, no one would be looking for her. And if no one was looking for her...
Blue Mary took the cup of tea Stoner had poured for her and sat at the table. “When you get back to your own time, you’ll pick up right where you were when you became side-tracked.”
“Good thing I’d pulled off the road. I’d sure hate to be dropped back into a car going seventy-five miles an hour.”
“You know, dear,” said Blue Mary, “I think it’s very healthy, the adjustment you’re making.”
“Adjustment?”
“To being here.”
Stoner raked her hand through her hair. Adjustment? Maybe. She still believed the whole thing was crazy. But, under the circumstances—the circumstances being that she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how to get out...”I didn’t have a choice.”
“Now, Stoner, we’ve plowed this field before.” Blue Mary went to the warming oven above the stove and pulled out a cast iron pan of corn muffins. She slipped them onto a plate and passed the plate across the table. “I’m sorry these are so dull. We’re dependent on fresh fruits, you know. And this time of year the choices are limited.”
Stoner broke open a muffin and inhaled its firm sweetness. “Does it always snow so early here?”
“Never. In all my years here, this is the first time. It’s usually December, at least. Most often Christmas.”
The wind had worked itself into a state over being denied access to the house. It hurled rock-like snow pellets at the window. It ripped the smoke from the chimney, making the fire leap up in angry red flares.
Stoner pulled herself closer to the table and huddled over her tea cup. “How long have you lived here?”
The older woman thought about it. “More than thirty years. I came out here from New York State in—it must have been the mid- forties. Goodness, how time flies.”
“I suppose you’ve seen a lot of changes.”
“Around Tabor, yes. Of course there was no such thing as Tabor when I first arrived. Just a bend in the river, Indians, buffalo, and cattle herds passing through.”
Stoner sipped her tea. “What made you decide to stay?”
“It just felt right. As if I belonged here.” She smiled. “You must know
the feeling. You go somewhere you’ve never gone before, as far as you know, and something about it just says ‘home’.”
“Yes,” Stoner said. “I felt that in the Tetons.”
“Did you, dear?” Blue Mary looked at her sympathetically. “How sad you don’t feel you can just go there and live.”
“Yes, it is.”
Blue Mary broke a muffin in two. “Well, perhaps someday you will. If not in this lifetime, than in another.”
“Yeah,” Stoner said noncommittally. “You never know.” She finished off one muffin and reached for another. “What do you do? For a living?”
“Whatever seems to be needed. My small garden produces some vegetables and herbs. There’s always a call for a good midwife, and ... forgive my pride, but I do believe I’m among the most capable. Some fortune telling. A bit of healing. A little teaching. Not in the conventional sense, of course. But, if someone shows an interest in things beyond the obvious, well, I do take pleasure in passing along what I know.” She laughed in a delighted way. “I suppose that’s what’s earned me my reputation as a witch.”
“That and the fortune telling, I’d guess. Do you read palms?”
“A little. I’m most comfortable with the Tarot, but I seldom get an opportunity to use it. People are very superstitious, you know. It frightens them.”
“I see.”
“So I try to make it look as if I’m picking up impressions from the things they say, or out of the air. They’re more comfortable with that. Most of the townsfolk wouldn’t admit it publicly, but I believe I’ve been consulted by someone from every family in Tabor.” She blushed. “Not that I’m trying to brag, mind you. But I must confess I’m proud of that. It shows a certain… acceptance, don’t you know?”
Stoner smiled. “Yes, I know.”
“Well, not every family, to be perfectly honest. Speak the truth and shame the Devil, as they say. But most.”
“I’ll bet the Reverend Henry Parnell will give you a wide berth.”
Blue Mary cocked her head on one side. “No, I have had my dealings with the Parnell's. Caroline had some female trouble a while ago...” She caught herself. “Oh, dear, it’s probably unethical of me to talk like this.”
“I don’t know.” Stoner sipped her tea. “Who am I going to gossip to? I’m not even from this time.”
Blue Mary laughed. “Astute, as always. Still, I suppose it matters in a Karmic sense.”
“Everything,” said Stoner, “matters in a Karmic sense.”
“Actually, I’ve known Caroline since she was a child. She was always very high-strung. And righteous. The most righteous child I’ve ever seen. Not at all like the rest of her family.” She sighed. “I suppose she had some terribly upsetting experiences in a past life, don’t you imagine?”
“I...” Stoner began.
“I forget,” Blue Mary cut in. “You don’t believe in past lives.”
“Yeah, I do. A little. I think.”
Blue Mary smiled. “Hardly enough faith to found a church on, dear.” She stirred her tea aimlessly. “I’d rather hoped being married to the Reverend would ease her soul. Give her a nice outlet for all that righteousness. But it hasn’t seemed to help. I’m afraid righteousness just feeds on righteousness.” She thought for a moment. “To tell you the truth, she seems like a very unhappy person since the Reverend came into her life. But perhaps I’m judging too quickly. They’ve only been married just short of a year.”
“None of those women struck me as a barrel of fun,” Stoner said.
“No,” Blue Mary said thoughtfully, “I don’t suppose they are. It’s a difficult life for a woman, out here. Nothing but hard work and not much respect.” She took a sip of tea. “Still and all, I sometimes wonder why adversity softens some people, but makes others hard as nails.”
“I sometimes wonder that myself.”
“There was gossip at first, that it was her money that attracted him.” The woman smiled. “Not a fortune by your Twentieth Century standards, of course, but she does own the property they live on, and there is some income. If it weren’t for Carolyn’s inheritance, Tabor wouldn’t be able to afford a preacher.”
“A mixed blessing,” Stoner muttered.
Blue Mary howled with laughter. “It certainly is.”
Something landed on the roof in a short series of thumps. It sounded like falling tree branches. But there were no trees near the house. Except for the few that grew near the creek there were none for sixty miles.
She looked questioningly at Blue Mary.
“Wolves,” the older woman said.
“Wolves?”
They seemed to be chasing each other from one end of the house to the other.
“The storm drives them close. Looking for shelter, I suppose. Or food.” She smiled reassuringly at the look of disbelief and apprehension on Stoner’s face. “They’re quite harmless. They’ll find the shed in a minute. And as soon as the storm ends, they’ll move along.”
Snow was sticking to the windows now, packing against the house, obliterating even the view of the dark and angry sky. Stoner glanced around uneasily. “This is some storm.”
Blue Mary nodded. “Our weather is always violent. Heat, cold, drought, floods. Never a dull moment.”
“Boston weather’s dull.”
“Is it?”
“Damp and miserable all winter. In summer the humidity chokes you. Things tend to rot in Boston.”
“You don’t care much for cities, do you?” Blue Mary asked.
“Not much. They always seem like somewhere to be until you find a place to live.”
“Ah.”
“Of course, I don’t know if I’d be comfortable out here, either.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Blue Mary said. “And after what you did to Joseph Hayes the other day, I don’t think you’d be exactly welcome.”
Stoner grinned sheepishly.
“Dorothy and the girls stopped by while you were out walking. They were going for a little drive.” She saw the look of eagerness in Stoner’s face and placed a calming hand on her wrist. “In their wagon, Stoner. They don’t have an automobile.”
“Oh.”
“You know, dear, I try very hard not to tell others what to do. After all, we’re each on our own path, aren’t we? But, if you don’t mind a teeny bit of advice...”
“Sure.”
“I’d be careful of how I dealt with Mr. Hayes. He’s been known to be very nasty. And you’re a stranger in town, after all.”
Stoner smiled. “No problem. If he gets rough with me, I’ll threaten to die, which will mean I won’t be around in 1989 to come back here so he can rough me up. Then everything that’s going to happen in his lifetime won’t be able to happen. That ought to put the fear of God into him.”
Blue Mary threw back her head and laughed. “Very good. But I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Rats.”
“But, seriously, Stoner. Do handle Joseph with kid gloves.”
Stoner frowned. “He’s a thoroughly unpleasant individual. I don’t know how he stays in business.”
“Maybe you didn’t notice,” said Blue Mary. “His is the only business of its kind in town.”
She wasn’t about to let that go. “Then shop out of town.”
“There’s not a town within fifty miles of Tabor.”
“What about Fort Morgan?”
“That’s an Army Fort, not a store. They wouldn’t have what we needed.”
“Well, the railroad, then.”
“Merely a track, Stoner.” Blue Mary smiled. “It must be difficult, with your life experiences, to understand the complete isolation of this time and place.”
“But what Hayes did to Billy... Why do people put up with that? How can he get away with it?”
“I’m afraid there are all too many who share his viewpoint,” Blue Mary said sadly. “As for the rest... Well, you see, out here everyone serves a function. Joseph’s is to su
pply what’s needed—in a material sense. If he decided to pick up and leave, what would the rest of them do?”
“I know what I’d do,” Stoner said heatedly. “I’d start a delivery service. Once a week I’d take my wagon to the next town—no matter how far it is—and bring back whatever supplies are wanted. Put him out of business.”
“The round trip would take you a week,” Blue Mary pointed out.
“I don’t care.”
The older woman smiled. “There’s that Stoner stubbornness again.” She leaned across the table and squeezed Stoner’s hand affectionately. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
“Thank you.”
Blue Mary got up and poured them another cup of tea.
“Do you think this is such a good idea?” Stoner asked. “There’s a blizzard between us and the outhouse.” She glanced up at the roof. “Not to mention the wolves.”
“Just use the thunder mug,” Blue Mary said. “It’s in the corner of the loft.”
Goody! A new addition to the list of horrors. She groaned.
Blue Mary patted her hand. “I’m sorry, dear. If I’d known how difficult this would be for you, I’d have tried to talk you out of it.”
Stoner ran her hand through her hair. “Mary, what am I doing here?”
“Doing what you do best,” Blue Mary said. “It’s so like you, Stoner, to go where you’re needed.”
“Why am I needed here?”
“I don’t know,” Blue Mary said. “I should know, of course. But sometimes I have trouble remembering the future.”
“Yeah,” Stoner muttered, “I have the same problem. Should have written myself a note.”
“It has to do with Tabor. More than the fires. The fires are only the surface.” The older woman frowned. “Something’s not right in Tabor.” She seemed to listen to an inner voice. “I can feel it. Smell it. Have you ever smelled evil, dear?”
Stoner shook her head.
“Most people think it would smell like some noxious substance. Fire and brimstone, I suppose, from their Sunday School training. Or excrement. But it’s actually quite an innocuous odor. Rather like tin.”
“That’s nice,” Stoner said.