A Captive in Time

by Sarah Dreher

  “Only a little,” Billy said.

  Stoner wanted to sink through the floor. She picked at the beans and bacon. “Big Dot warned me against food like this.”

  Blue Mary smiled. “Told you that story, did she? Did she tell you how she shot the old coot?”

  Stoner nodded.

  “Did she bother to tell you he’d fired on her first?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Well, that’s just like her,” Blue Mary said. “Modest to a fault.”

  Billy was shifting around in an excited kind of way. “Dot shot someone? In cold blood?”

  “Not really,” Blue Mary said. “Her blood was running hot at the time.”

  “Yeah, but he’d fired on her, and she still managed to shoot him? She wasn’t scared?”

  “I’m sure she was scared,” Blue Mary said patiently. “But it didn’t make her inaccurate.”

  “Think she’d teach me how to shoot like that?”

  Blue Mary shook her head. “I really doubt it. You know how she feels about that.”

  Billy pouted and kicked a chair.

  “You know, Billy,” Blue Mary said with a laugh, “you’re beginning to act like a boy.”

  Billy looked up sharply. “I am?”

  “Furniture kicking?” Blue Mary prodded.

  “Aw, heck,” Billy said with a shrug and a grin, “I’ve always been a furniture-kicker.”

  Stoner realized she was grinning, herself. Staring at Billy as if she couldn’t get enough of her. And grinning.

  “What happened to the snow?” she asked quickly.

  “Didn’t you hear the rain?”

  She could remember, but it got all mixed up with her dreams. “I guess I did.”

  “It usually happens that way with the first snow,” Blue Mary explained. “Warm rain comes along and just washes it away.”

  Stoner stirred her beans, and noticed that Billy was watching her, too. “I guess it was foolish of us to go out in the storm like that.”

  “Not in the least,” Blue Mary said. “If you’d left Billy there another twenty-four hours, she wouldn’t have pulled through. She was a very sick young lady.”

  “You saved my life,” Billy said.

  “In more ways than one,” said Blue Mary. “In fact, you seem to have given her a whole new reason to live. I don’t think I’ve seen her looking so well since I’ve known her.”

  Billy jumped up from the table and made a dive for her denim sheep-skin lined jacket. “I better go in town,” she said abruptly. “Promised Dot I’d do some work for her.” She picked up her hat, shoved her hair behind her ears, clamped the hat on her head, and strapped on her gun belt. She was a teen-aged boy again. “You want anything?”

  Blue Mary reached into a crockery jar and drew out a small leather purse. “There’s a list in there for Dot,” she said. “And money. If Dot lets you take the wagon, you can drop those things off. And mind you don’t overdo yourself. You may feel fine now, but you don’t want to relapse.”

  “Sure thing.” The door slammed and Billy was gone.

  Blue Mary looked after her with a cogitative smile. “I can’t tell you how gratifying it is to see Billy so animated. She came here—oh, a little over six months ago, I suppose. She always seemed terribly tense and troubled.”

  “She’s very nice,” Stoner said.

  “And very fond of you, you know.”

  “I like her, too. I even liked her when she was a boy.” She ate a fork full of beans. They were sweet and rich with molasses. “Mary, what’s she going to do?”

  Blue Mary shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “I mean, it’s fine for her to go around pretending to be a boy now. But sooner or later people are going to wonder why she isn’t growing up.”

  The woman poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Stoner at the table. “I expect they will.”

  “Did she really kill her father?”

  “Oh, yes.” She added some sugar to her coffee. “I’ve seen the ‘Wanted’ posters.”

  Stoner looked up, alarmed. “You mean there’s a price on her head?”

  “Not a large one, but enough that someone will take the trouble to track her down one of these days.”

  “What will happen if they catch her?”

  “Probably just what she says—they’ll put her in an asylum.” She sighed. “I don’t know what asylums are like where you come from, but they’re quite dreadful here. The patients are chained to the walls, and starved and beaten. Raped, of course. The guards are neither gentlemen nor bright. If a woman isn’t insane when she goes in, she is within a few months.”

  Stoner put her fork down. “Mary, we can’t let that happen to Billy.”

  “We certainly can’t.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  Blue Mary shook her head. “I’ve wracked my brains, Stoner. She’s safe enough for now. Nobody in Tabor has suspected anything out of the ordinary. It’s not unusual for young men to drift about out here, you know. And they often stay in one place through the winter. But usually they move along come spring. I’m afraid, once the weather warms up, folks are going to begin asking questions.” She sipped her coffee, then looked up brightly. “But perhaps you’ll think of something.”

  “Sometimes, when we can’t think of what to do, Aunt Hermione reads the cards.”

  “Goodness,” Blue Mary said. “I’d completely forgotten.” She got up and went to a box beside her bed. “That’s odd.”

  Stoner went to stand by her. “What’s odd?”

  “They seem to be missing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The older woman dumped the contents of the box onto the bed and searched through the pile. “Gone.”

  “Maybe you put them somewhere else.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” She stared at her belongings for a moment, puzzled. “Maybe it was the Indians,” she said at last. “They often borrow things—they know they’re welcome to, though it wouldn’t stop them if they weren’t. They always bring them back.”

  “What would Indians want with Tarot cards?”

  “I really don’t know,” Blue Mary said.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  The stage coach ground to a stop, mired in mud. May Chang stepped down, holding her skirts high with one hand. It wasn’t dignified, but she was tired of washing the hems of her dress and petticoat every night before she went to sleep. Maybe, if she was careful, she’d have the luxury of merely hanging up her clothes and falling into bed. If she had a bed. She wondered where they’d let her sleep tonight. Denver had been luxurious, the hotel clerk assigning her to a room with barely a glance. But there had been other towns—towns like Rocky Creek, Utah.

  In Rocky Creek, they wouldn’t even let her sleep in the stable, and she’d walked the streets all night, fighting back tears of exhaustion and shame, enduring the lewd whispers, the sneers and taunts of “Chink” and “Slant-eye” and “Yella skin”. Trying not to show her fear, because she knew once they sensed her fear she was lost.

  She’d seen more than one example of what white men could do to a yellow-skinned woman. And to red and brown-skinned women as well. Rape, robbery. Women beaten to death. Women maimed and driven to madness. Women of colored skin brutalized by color-less men.

  She supposed the colorless men also did these things to their colorless women. Sometimes, as she passed a white woman on the street, she noticed the tight skin, the turned-down mouth, the flat-ness of misery and despair in her eyes. She wanted to stop the woman and ask her—not rudely but with concern, sympathetically, as if they were sisters—ask her if it was her man who made her so unhappy. Ask her if there was any way she could help. Ask her what they might do together to bring a little justice into this unjust world.

  May Chang glanced over at her fellow passengers. They stood in a tight little group, closing her out. She had tried to smile at the skinny, frightened-looking blonde girl who got on board with her new husband just outside Wh
eatland. May’s heart had gone out to her right from the start. She wanted to offer her companionship and comfort. But the girl had shot her a look of such animosity it had made her heart shrivel. She didn’t try again.

  When would they learn, these white women? Couldn’t they see it was gender, not color, that defined the enemy?

  The horses strained against their harnesses, sweating and grunting, eyes rolling white and bloodshot with panic and fatigue. The driver lashed them brutally. They only reared in place. The coach rocked from side to side.

  The driver swore and cracked his whip, working himself into a fury.

  He’s going to kill the poor things, May thought. She ran to the coach.

  “Please, sir, let me help.”

  The driver peered down and spat over the side, the spittle dotting her foot. “Git outa here, Goddamn Slant-eye.”

  She forced herself to ignore the insult. “They’re only frightened. I know horses. Back in San Francisco…”

  “You don’t know bullshit,” the driver snarled. He slapped the reins.

  “Sir. They’re not being disobedient. They’re afraid. Let me lead them…”

  He wheeled and struck out at her with the whip, barely missing her shoulder. “I tole ya’ to git outa here.” He brought the whip down across the horses’ backs.

  The horses screamed.

  “Excuse me, sir,” May Chang said quietly. She reached into her cotton string bag and brought out the tiny, pearl-handled gun.

  The driver looked down. His mouth fell open.

  She pointed the gun at his face. “I will lead the horses. It’ll be so much better, don’t you think?”

  He took off his hat, ran his hand through his greasy hair. His hand trembled.

  Like all bullies, May thought, he is a coward.

  “Yeah. Yeah, it might work.”

  Keeping him in her sight, her pistol in his sight, she moved to the horses’ heads and stroked their sweaty necks. When they had calmed, she stepped backward, holding their bridles in one hand, talking softly, using the gentlest tones she knew. The wagon creaked forward a few inches. Then a few inches more. And a few inches more. And then they were on solid ground.

  May climbed up into the driver’s seat. “I think our trip will be more pleasant if I ride here with you, don’t you?”

  He couldn’t take his eyes from the gun. “Yeah.”

  “Would you like to call the others to board now?”

  “Sure. Good idea.” The driver turned to the little knot of passengers. “Let’s load up, folks.” He looked back at May. “I don’t think they seen what happened,” he said in a pleading voice.

  “That’s good,” May said. “Now we have a secret between us. It will make us respect one another, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right,” the man said eagerly. “You got it dead right.”

  She stole a glance at her skirts. They were caked with mud. May sighed.

  The driver signaled the horses forward. “Lady,” he said as they picked up speed, “they ain’t gonna know what to make of you in Tabor.”

  Chapter Eight

  The sheet of paper blew across the street and came to rest around the Sanctified Man’s ankle. He tore it from his foot and crumpled it in his fist. Filth. The town was knee-deep in filth.

  He started to toss it away, but something caught his eye. Scuttling close to the side of a building, out of the wind, he smoothed it out. He frowned as he picked his way through the words. The frown turned to surprise, then laughter as comprehension kicked in.

  All Tabor ladies are invited, it said, to meet with representatives of the American Woman Suffrage Association. Mrs. Lucy Stone will speak, followed by an informal reception and tea. Sunday, November twenty six at Hayes’ Emporium. The witches were gathering.

  God had sent him a message, disguised as trash. Glorious! It was time to set the trap.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Billy came back from town with the wagon, groceries, and a surprise. They could hear the singing long before they reached the house. Blue Mary heard it first. She had been rolling a ball of yarn from a skein Stoner was holding, and jumped up with a little “yip” of delight.

  “It’s Dorothy and the girls!”

  Stoner put the yarn aside and got to her feet. The sudden movement made the room tilt.

  “Mary,” she said, putting out a hand to steady herself. “Do they know Billy’s a...?” But by the time she had reached the door the older woman was flying down the path.

  Okay, she told herself, when in doubt, shut up.

  Lolly burst into the cabin in an explosion of laughter and jangling bracelets and chilly air. She carried a wicker basket with a hinged top, which she waved under Stoner’s nose in a careless and potentially life-threatening way. “Wait ‘til you see what we’ve brought,” she bubbled. She whipped off a linen napkin that covered the contents of the basket. “Turkey! Dried apple pie! Pastries! Cherry’s been in the kitchen all day. It’s as good as Christmas. Where do you want me to put this?”

  “Uh...” Stoner said, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I guess on the table.”

  Lolly began setting things out. “I know you need a decent meal. All you get in this house is healthy stuff. Honestly, Blue Mary’s a doll, but her taste in food...” She grimaced. “I don’t know how you’ve stood it even this long.”

  The odors of the food mingled and swirled around her. The turkey was especially pungent. Strong. Gamey. It made her feel a little sick. “I really didn’t notice,” she said. “I haven’t been too well...”

  “I know. I know.” Lolly broke off a chunk of vicious-looking pastry and pushed it at her. “Try this. It’ll have you up and dancing in no time.”

  Stoner took it in her hand and studied it. It looked like part of a croissant stuffed with chocolate. An odor of cherry liqueur hovered over it. “I don’t know, Lolly. It might be kind of rich.”

  “Of course it’s rich,” Lolly said, popping the rest of the pastry into her own mouth. “That’s why it’s good for you.”

  “I…”

  “It’s being measly with yourself that makes you sick. Trust me.”

  The others had reached the house. “Lolly!” Dot said sharply. “Don’t force things on her. Do you want her to throw up right here and now?” She turned to Stoner and draped an arm around her shoulders. “How ya’ doing, kid?”

  “Better, thanks.”

  Cherry swept into the room with more dignity than Stoner had ever seen anyone manifest. She placed her basket carefully on the table and touched Stoner’s hand. “I’m so glad to see you up and about,” she said formally. She turned back in time to see Lolly begin to raid the basket. “Keep your greedy hands out of that, Miss,” she said, and gave Lolly a gentle slap on the arm.

  “Come on,” Lolly whined. “You told me I could have some.”

  “When everyone has been served.” Cherry rolled her eyes at Stoner. “She has the worst manners of any white woman I’ve ever met. And, believe me, I’ve met white women with terrible manners.”

  “Privilege,” Stoner murmured. “It makes us arrogant.”

  “Yes,” said Cherry. She turned back to the table and began setting out the food. A small turkey and a smaller boiled ham. An assortment of relishes. Grape pie with whole wheat crust. Hazel and hickory nuts.

  “Billy’s giving the horse a little water,” Blue Mary said as she pushed the door shut. “He’ll...” She stressed the ‘he’. “...be right in.”

  “I must admit,” Dot said as she cast a critical eye over the table setting, “I missed the little devil the past week. Still doesn’t look too well, does he?”

  Blue Mary settled herself at the head of the table. “He’ll be out back working with that gun before you know it. He has youth on his side.”

  Lolly was scanning the layout of food, obviously in Heaven. “Just look at this,” she squealed, enraptured.

  “It was very kind of you, Dorothy,” Blue Mary said. “I hardly know what to say.”
/>
  Big Dot shrugged in a half-embarrassed way. “Shucks, we needed an excuse to get out of there. And I know this gal...,” She sat and pulled Stoner down next to her. “can’t get her strength back on the things you subsist on.”

  “I suppose you have a point,” Blue Mary said.

  “Of course she has a point,” Lolly exclaimed as she piled her plate high with ham and sweet potatoes and a deadly looking slice of mince meat pie. “Nobody can live decently on weeds and seeds. It’s bad enough we have to eat Dot’s cooking.”

  “It’s hardly been weeds and seeds,” Stoner said. “Last night it was beans and bacon.”

  Dot raised an eyebrow. “Thought I warned you about that stuff.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Cherry looked at Lolly’s plate with distaste. “You go on eating like that, you’ll get so fat you’ll have to take up a new line of work.”

  “Well I just might do that,” Lolly said, reaching for another turkey leg.

  “And what else could an old whore like you possibly do?” Cherry asked. “Teach school? Take in washing? You lack the education for the first, and the stamina for the second.”

  “There must be other things a woman can do out here,” Stoner said, feeling a little sorry for Lolly.

  “Get married,” Dot said. “That’s about it.”

  “I could always go bad,” Lolly said stubbornly. “Like Belle Starr and Sally Skull and Calamity Jane.”

  Dot glared at her. “You watch what you say about Miss Mary Jane Cannaray. She happens to be a personal friend, and she’s not ‘bad’, just different.”

  Lolly turned to Stoner. “Have you ever noticed how all of Dot’s friends are ‘different’?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Stoner said. “I have.”

  “She happens to be more tolerant than most, that’s all,” Cherry said. She peered at Stoner’s plate. “I worked my fingers to the bone over this food. Aren’t you even going to taste it?”

  Stoner picked up a turkey wing and tried a tentative nibble. It was delicious.

  “Are you married?” Lolly asked her between bites of dried apple pie.