A Captive in Time

by Sarah Dreher

  Caroline Parnell let the curtain drop and drew back into the shadows.

  “What’s with her?” Stoner said. “First she comes out and yells at us, then she hides from us.”

  Billy stopped the mule and tossed Stoner the reins. “I think I know the problem.”

  She swung over the side of the wagon and went to the door and knocked. “Miz Parnell.”

  Silence.

  Billy waited, then knocked again. “Miz Parnell!”

  More silence.

  Billy stepped back from the door. “Miz Parnell,” she hollered through cupped hands, “your husband already paid us. So don’t stop whatever you’re doin’ and I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

  The upstairs curtains opened. “That’s fine, Billy,” Caroline Parnell called through the glass. “I’ll tell the Reverend you did a good job.”

  Billy touched her fingertips to her hat. “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.” She got back into the wagon and took the reins.

  “That was a nice thing to do,” Stoner said.

  “Hell.” Billy turned the mule toward town. “I know the Old Booger keeps her on short rations.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You watch next time those ladies go shopping in town. When they come out of the Emporium, she’ll be the only one without a package.”

  Stoner touched her arm. “Well, it was a nice thing to do, anyway, considering how they treat you.”

  Billy shrugged. “Doesn’t do much good to keep adding mean to mean, I guess. That never accomplished anything.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  They returned to Dot’s Gulch to find Dot in a frenzy of mops and brooms and buckets. The saloon looked as if a tornado had swept through it. Tables were overturned. Chairs upended. Lolly was frantically polishing brass, while Cherry dusted liquor bottles.

  “My God,” Stoner said. “What happened?”

  Dot wiped the perspiration from her face with her apron. “Guests.”

  The place smelled of kerosene. “Did someone try to burn you out?”

  “What?” Dot said.

  Billy giggled.

  “Somebody dumped kerosene in here,” Stoner said.

  “Coal oil’s what we use for cleaning,” Billy said.

  “Oh.” She took a moment to allow herself to feel appropriately ignorant.

  “Billy,” Dot said brusquely, “stop standing around and get that fire going in the stove. We have to wash all the bed linens. And the girls’ clothes.”

  “I knew this was going to be a terrible day,” Billy muttered, and stomped off toward the kitchen.

  “And your stuff, too,” Dot called after her. “You have to look decent by tomorrow night.”

  Stoner took a cloth and set to work polishing the top of the bar. “Seems like you’re going to a lot of trouble for a bunch of cowboys.”

  “Cowboys!” Dot’s eyebrows shot up. “Great God help us, I forgot all about the cowboys!”

  “Let’s close the place,” Lolly grunted. She spat on the cuspidor and scrubbed at it with a piece of chamois. “If I have to look at one more cowboy, I swear I’ll gag.”

  “If it’s not for the cowboys,” Stoner said, scrubbing furiously at a glass ring, “what’s all the fuss about? You’re having company?”

  “Not just company,” Cherry said. “Important company. The worst kind.”

  “I invited them months ago,” Dot said as she wrung out a cloth and began scrubbing the floor. “I’d completely forgotten about it. Didn’t even know they were speaking here. ‘If you’re ever in Tabor,’ I said. Meant what I said, but I never thought...”

  “There have been notices at the Emporium for a week,” Cherry said. “It didn’t occur to me they’d be staying here.”

  “Of course it didn’t,” Lolly said. “You don’t expect to find ladies like that in a whore house.”

  “I told you,” Dot said, “as long as those women are under this roof, it isn’t a whore house, it’s a hotel.”

  “Excuse me,” Stoner said as she finished with the bar and started on the shelves, “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Dot put her mop down. “Colorado’s going to become a state in a few years. We want her to come in with votes for women. So these ladies are going around the territory making speeches, trying to do for us what they almost managed over in Kansas.”

  Stoner felt a tingle of excitement in her fingertips. “Suffragists!”

  Dot nodded. “Well, last summer, in a moment of enthusiasm, I invited them to stay here at the Gulch if they were ever in Tabor. ’Course, I didn’t call it the Gulch, just said ‘my place’.”

  “Wait a minute,” Stoner said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You have Suffragists staying here?”

  “That’s right,” Cherry said. “On their way to Denver.” She began to gather up the stained and ragged tablecloths and dump them into a basket. “Which Dot would have realized if she ever read the notices posted just inside the door to the Emporium, which she doesn’t, choosing to remain ignorant.”

  Dot muttered under her breath.

  Lolly rolled her eyes. “And now we have to pay for your lies.”

  Dot dug into her apron pocket and took out a crumpled letter and handed it to Stoner.

  She smoothed it out. The letter was written in a flowing, ornate script.

  Topeka, Kansas

  10 OcTobyr, 1871

  Dear Mrs. Gillette,

  On behalf of Mrs. Tenney, Mother Armstrong, and myself, I thank

  you for your very kind invitation. We would be delighted to partake of

  your hospitality on the occasion of our visit to Tabor. We expect to arrive

  in Tabor on Saturday, November 25. As Mrs. Stone and her husband, Dr.

  Blackwell, will be accompanying us, we will require one additional bedroom,

  for a total of three (Mrs. Tenney and I are accustomed to sharing a room).

  We look forward to meeting you and the citizens of your fine town. Our

  cause is just. We shall prevail.

  Cordially,

  Clarina Nichols

  Stoner looked again at the arrival date. November 25. Today must be Thanksgiving. She wondered why no one seemed to be celebrating.

  “So,” Cherry went on, “the first we hear about these fancy guests is when the stage arrives from Denver bringing the letter.” She backed into the swinging doors to the kitchen and pushed them open. “Which went the long way around because some idiot in Topeka put it on the train instead of handing it to a west-bound stage driver with the newspapers and mail as any sensible person would have done.”

  The doors whooshed shut behind her.

  Stoner dug into her pocket for her lucky Susan B. Anthony silver dollar.

  “Look.” She shoved the coin at Dot.

  Dot studied it. “Susan B. Anthony?”

  “That’s right. You know who she is, don’t you?”

  “Well, of course I do,” Dot said. “I’m not ignorant.” She peered at it. “1979? Why does it say 1979?”

  “That’s when it was minted. Will be minted.” Here we go again. “It’s commemorative.”

  “That certainly explains it,” Dot said with a laugh, and handed it back to her. “You must be a real admirer.”

  “I am.” She gripped the edge of the bar, hardly daring to hope. “The Mrs. Stone in the letter… is that by any chance...” She took a deep breath. “...Lucy B. Stone?”

  “That’s right,” Dot said as she turned back to her mopping. “Mrs. Lucy Stone. Kept her maiden name, you know. Jesus God, this place is a mess.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Stoner said excitedly. “I’m actually going to meet Lucy B. Stone.”

  Dot glanced up. “You will if you don’t arouse yourself into a heart attack.”

  “I was named for her!”

  Lolly put her chamois down. “Lucy B. Stone?”

  “That’s right. That’s my real name, Lucy B. Stoner McTavish.�
��

  “Golly, then you must know her.”

  “Well, not really.”

  “Your family knows her?”

  Stoner shook her head.

  “I don’t get it,” Lolly said. “How come you were named for someone your family doesn’t know?”

  “She was a great woman.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Dot said. “But when you were born she was probably still a girl.”

  “When I was born, she’d been dead for years.”

  Dot sighed and shook her head. “Whatever you say, honey.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Friday morning was clear and warm.

  The back door to the Chinese laundry stood ajar, oozing steam. May tapped gently and waited. From inside she could hear the chatter of voices. She listened for a moment, enjoying the familiar rhythms, then knocked again, louder. A man’s face appeared. He wore the traditional work clothes, his head covered with a tight-fitting cap. When he saw her, he registered surprise briefly, but quickly assumed the blank, non-committal look she had seen so often in her countrymen here.

  “Excuse me,” May said. “I’m looking for Kwan Lu.”

  The man turned to the room behind him and spoke quickly and in an undertone. He returned to the door and stood aside, gesturing her in.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows after a day in the sunlight. She knew she looked terrible. Her dress and hair and suitcase were thick with dust. Her shoes were caked with mud.

  “I’m sorry for my appearance,” she said. “I’ve come a long way to see Kwan Lu.”

  Over the smell of soap and steam, she caught the pungent odor of cooking. An aroma from home, unlike the thick, greasy smell of the kitchens she had smelled along the way. She had to smile.

  A shadow materialized into the shape of a thick-set, middle-aged woman. The woman rose from a straight-backed chair. “I am Kwan Lu.”

  “You sent me a letter.” May dug in her purse and pulled it out. “You said you have information for me. I’ve come to speak with you about that.”

  “What information?” the man asked.

  “This is woman’s business,” the older woman said.

  The man made a gesture of disinterest and went to the store out front.

  “How many times,” Kwan Lu said with a laugh, “have we used the man’s arrogance to our own advantage?”

  May nodded, relieved to finally be in the presence of someone who spoke woman’s language.

  “Please sit down,” said the other woman. “We will have tea, and then talk.”

  They sipped tea from cups so fine the light shone through, and talked of trivial things. Of life here and in San Francisco. Of how May’s mother had been brought over by her father, just as Lu had been by Peter (he called himself Peter Kwan, wanting to be American). Of how their employers had tried to forbid it, but the men saved their money secretly to pay for the trip. Of how the Kwans had escaped from the railroad gang, slipping away in the night, hiding out for weeks, living on scraps of food smuggled to them by the men who stayed with the railroad. Their long migration east from Nebraska, afraid to stop until they reached the safety of remote, isolated Tabor. Of China and relatives, and possible connections.

  At last Lu, nibbling on a cookie, sat back in her chair and said, “So.”

  “The man is here?” May asked.

  “If this is the man you’re looking for.”

  “He killed my father,” May said. “The night was dark and cold. My father had been drinking...” She didn’t know why she said this. It was irrelevant, and yet she always linked her father with the smell of alcohol. “The man must have leapt on him from behind, and strangled him. He has to be avenged.”

  Lu nodded.

  “We didn’t know where to look. He could have gone anywhere. Finally I decided to speak with some of my cousins who work on the railroad. They might hear a rumor. I asked them to spread the word that we were looking for this man. I knew, if he was still anywhere around, sooner or later we’d hear something.”

  “And so you did.”

  “In your letter,” May said, “you say you’re certain this is the man. May I ask, how are you certain?”

  “Two autumns ago, when the railroad bed north of here was being built, a group of our countrymen camped near here. Naturally, we went out to see what could be done to make them comfortable. They told us of a man who had travelled with them from San Francisco to Kansas—a white man—who bragged of killing a Chinese in the way you described.” Lu shook her head. “This man knew he could throw his words around that way and no one would threaten his life. It was his way of asserting his superiority. He knew he’d never be punished for killing a Chinese, but if one of our people raised a hand against him...”

  “I know,” May Chang said. “But he was wrong.”

  Kwan Lu gave her a frightened look. “Do you really believe you can bring this man to justice?”

  “I do.”

  “The courts will never convict a white man on the word of a Chinese woman.”

  “He’s already been tried and convicted,” May said. “In my heart.”

  The older woman sat silently for a moment, digesting what May had said. “I see,” she said at last. “This is a very dangerous thing you’re doing.”

  “No,” said May. “What he did was a very dangerous thing. What makes you say he’s here now?”

  “He was pointed out to me then,” Lu said. “I saw him again 18 months ago when he came to Tabor. He had changed his appearance, but it’s the same man. When I heard you were looking...”

  “Thank you for your help,” May said. Now that she was so close, she wanted to get it over with. She was rapidly losing her taste for violence in this violent land. She stood to go. “And for the tea. If you’ll tell me how to find him, from now on we’ll forget we ever had this conversation. You mustn’t get in trouble over this.”

  Kwan Lu rose and put a hand on her shoulder. “I really have to warn you. The man has made himself a respected member of the community. The people of Tabor won’t sit back and let you harm him without reprisals.”

  “I’ll get away quickly. I can ride like the wind.”

  “Where is your horse?”

  “I’ll have to rent one.”

  “How? Will you stride into the livery stable and demand service? You’re Chinese, May, and a woman. They won’t let you rent even a broken down wagon and a half-dead mule. And you’ll be noticed.” Lu shook her head. “I don’t think you can do it.”

  May sank back into her chair. To come all this way... She had to finish what she came to do. It was a matter of honor. Brothers would have taken care of it, of course, but she had no brothers. But to die? Was that the price she’d have to pay?

  “Perhaps,” Lu said thoughtfully, sensing her despair and determination, “I know a white woman who would rent a horse for you.”

  May looked up. “Who?”

  “Go to the saloon, to the back door, and speak to the owner, Mrs. Gillette. Mention my name. She’ll help you. We’ve done each other favors from time to time.” She smiled. “The outcasts in this place are good at helping one another.”

  “She’ll wonder why I don’t get the horse myself.”

  “She only has to look at you. She won’t wonder. Or, if she does, she won’t ask.”

  May straightened the folds in her skirt. “I’m grateful for your help.”

  Kwan Lu brushed her thanks aside. “You’ll stay here until you’ve done what you came for, of course?”

  “I can’t involve you in this.”

  “Listen to me,” Lu said. “You have to stay out of sight. This isn’t San Francisco. Strangers are noticed and discussed. Where would you sleep? In the brothel? The stable? Besides, I’d welcome the sight of another Chinese woman’s face.”

  May smiled. She understood loneliness. “For one night only. I think I should get away as soon as possible, before they begin to wonder.”

  “Good.”

 
“Now, tell me how to find the man.”

  “It’ll be easy,” Lu said. “He’s the town preacher.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Cullum Johnson arrived in mid-afternoon the next day, just as Billy pulled the wagon to a halt in the alley beside the saloon.

  Billy gave the stranger a casual glance. Then looked again, sharply. The color drained from her face.

  “What is it?” Stoner asked.

  Billy threw the reins into Stoner’s hands, jumped down from the wagon, and ran toward the back, pulling her gun from its holster as she ran.

  “Billy!”

  She tied the wagon to the hitching post and started after her.

  “Whoa, there,” Dot called from the back door.

  Stoner whoa-ed.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Torn, she looked after Billy. “There’s something wrong,” she said.

  “Adolescent trouble,” Dot insisted as Billy set something on a fence post at the far end of the corral. “He’ll work it out getting off a few rounds.” She pulled Stoner toward the kitchen. “I need to talk to you.”

  A Chinese woman sat by the stove, erect in a bent wood chair, hands folded primly in her lap.

  “This is May Chang. From San Francisco. She needs a favor from you,” Dot said.

  From me? “Okay.”

  “Can you go down to the livery stable and rent a horse for tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Stoner said. “But why me?”

  “You’re a stranger. Everything you do is strange. They’ll gossip, but they won’t ask questions.”

  They will if they see me ride, Stoner thought. She could hear Billy out back, firing shot after shot after...” Do I have to ride it?”

  Dot looked at her. “Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t ride well.” The truth is, I’m terrified of horses. And the one time I did ride, had to ride, did nothing to relieve my anxiety.

  “All you have to do is get it here,” Dot said. “Think you can look as if you ride?”

  “I guess so. What time?”

  “Sunset,” May said.

  “Any particular type of horse?”

  “A fast one.”

  My favorite kind. Fast and mean. Wonderful.