by Sarah Dreher
She reached out quickly, pretending to grab at the rocks in mid-air. “Hey, Parnell, you want to see Magic?”
She made a gesture of throwing the stones back…
...and threw down her handful of Blue Mary’s crystals instead.
“Jewels!” someone shouted.
The people closest to her turned their attention to the ground. They fell on their knees in the dirt fighting over polished pebbles.
Parnell was furious. “Don’t listen to her!” he screeched. “It’s a trick!”
He was losing them. Fickle sheep! Stupid creatures, to fall for the Devil’s trick.
He had to get their attention back. “Hang the Bastard!”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a glint of silver.
Ignoring it he faced the crowd. “Count with me! Count down the seconds of the Bastard’s life!”
They were interested again. He had them back.
232
“Ten. Nine. Eight….”
He felt someone staring at him. Hard.
“Seven! Six!”
A slant-eyed woman. Away from the crowd, on the other side of the wagon.
“Five!”
Her face was calm as a rock.
“Four!”
Then he saw the tiny pistol in her hand.
The bullet ripped through his chest and exploded his heart.
The world went red.
Slowly, he fell to the ground, facing his attacker.
Her face seemed to change.
His eyes widened with surprise and terror.
“Father?” the Sanctified Man said.
And died.
The crowd moved back silent, shocked.
May Chang daintily replaced the pistol in her cotton string purse. She turned her back to the wagon facing the crowd. “For my father,” she said clearly, “and the honor of my family.”
“She killed the Preacher,” someone shouted, and the crowd surged forward.
“He killed my father.” May said.
They hesitated unsure. It wouldn’t take them long to find their nerve.
Stoner raced down the roof. She half-climbed, half-fell to the ground.
Her ankle twisted. Pain knifed through her.
To hell with that.
She ran down the alley behind the remains of Dot’s Gulch just as Cullum Johnson reined in his horse.
“I’ll explain later,” she barked, and stripped the rifle from his hands.
The crowd was milling now, uncertain which way to turn.
“Get the Chink! Her gun is empty.” It was Joseph Hayes. “Hang them both.”
They went for May Chang.
Stoner fired into the air.
The crowd froze and let her go.
Stoner jumped up onto the wagon pulling May up behind her.
“Untie her,” she snapped at Hayes.
He hesitated.
Stoner raised the gun. “Do it!”
Hayes took the rope from around Billy’s neck and untied her hands then got down from the wagon.
Billy sat down in the wagon, arms wrapped around herself to hide her naked breasts.
Stoner put one hand on Billy’s head. They weren’t out of it yet, but she had to touch her.
“Excuse me,” May Chang said. She stripped off her shawl and tossed it over Billy’s shoulders.
Billy glanced up at her gratefully.
The sea of bodies was undulating, coming to life again. They were surrounded now, with people whose Preacher had just been killed.
Stoner picked up the reins in one hand. She held the rifle in the other. It was awkward. She wasn’t sure she could do it.
A grumbling went through the crowd.
She tried to move the mule forward.
The crowd held them back.
It was a stalemate.
The grumbling rose to a complaint. Then a grievance.
“Stop them!” Joseph Hayes whined. “Don’t let them get away.”
The crowd closed in tighter.
“Now, jest a damn minute,” Cullum Johnson said. He worked Toby through the mob. In one hand he held a pistol. Another pistol was strapped to his waist. A bandolier of ammunition was slung across his chest.
The crowd fell silent and looked at him curiously.
“Seems to me we’re about to make a serious mistake here,” Cullum said.
Joseph Hayes turned to him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Cullum touched the barrel of his pistol to his hat. “Johnson’s the name, Cullum Johnson. From back Tennessee way.”
Hayes smirked. “Well, Mr. Johnson, I think we can handle our own affairs without any help from outsiders like yourself.”
Someone in the crowd seconded the motion.
“It’s come to my attention,” Cullum said, “that this here town is severely lacking in law and order. So I’ve decided to appoint myself sheriff.”
Hayes chuckled. “And what makes you think we want you?”
“’Course you want me,” Cullum said with an easy grin. “I got more guns than you.” He turned to Stoner. “Leastways I will, when you give back that borrowed weapon.”
“Gladly.” She handed it to him.
Joseph Hayes found his voice at last. “Wait a minute!” he shouted into the crowd. “How do we know we can trust this man?”
The townspeople shifted uneasily. But no one made a move toward him.
On the edge of the crowd Stoner spotted Big Dot, looking about to bust a gut with pride. Dot stepped forward. “Because I say so.”
“Are you willing to take the word of a whore and a bounty hunter?” Hayes said.
“You’re willing enough to take my word the girls are clean, Joseph,” Dot said. “Don’t know why you’d doubt me now.”
It was corny, but it worked. Hayes was silenced for a moment.
Leaderless, the crowd drew back uncertainly, reverting to individual and self-conscious men and women.
“Joseph Hayes!”
Across the street, riding a wave of righteous indignation, marched Arabella Hayes. Hay’s face took on the look of a dog caught trashing the neighbor’s garbage.
“Just what do you think your doing, Joseph?”
He tried to put on a brave face “These people let the China woman kill our Preacher, Arabella. They have to be punished.”
Arabella looked at Parnell’s slumped body, at the last of his blood tricking into the dust. She snorted. “Good riddance, if you ask me. Nothing but a wife-abusing, woman-hating, excuse of a man. Poor Caroline probably dead at his hands too...”
Excuse me, Ma’am,” Cullum said. “She’s not dead, just shot up pretty bad. I left her with that Mary Gal.”
“Woman,” Dot said under her breath, “Show respect.”
“Woman,” Johnson said corrected himself.
“Well Lord, said Arabella Hayes, her voice gruff to hide her pleasure. “Man wasn’t just a no-good, but incompetent on top of it.” She made a shooing gesture toward the crowd. “Now you folks go on home. This isn’t a social gathering. Mr. Johnson has business to take care of here and we should let him do it.”
The crowd shuffled and muttered.
“Good people,” Cullum Johnson addressed them. “I know this presents a genuine confusing situation. But Miz Parnell told me—and you can believe me or not as you see fit—but she told me the Reverend here set those fires. Bragged on it to her, only she was afraid to say, and she’s mighty sorry for that.” He glanced at Arabella Hayes for confirmation.
“Sounds like Caroline to me,” said Arabella. “Scared and sorry. I’ll wager he wasn’t even a real Preacher, either.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Johnson said. “She mentioned that.”
After the people had begun to leave, Cullum turned to May Chang. “Ma’am, from the looks of things I’m going to be settling down here, and my horse Toby don’t take kindly to town life.” He swung down from the saddle. “You’d be doing me a favor if you were to take him off my hands.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Only I suggest you go like the wind, because these folks are going to recover from being comatose any minute, and I really don’t know what they’re going to take it into their minds to do.”
May nodded. “I’ll take good care of him,” she said, and mounted.
“You take care of this gal, now, Toby,” Cullum said, his heart breaking. He patted the animal’s velvet nose. “You was the best horse I ever knew.”
May bent down quickly and touched Cullum’s rough cheek, then turned the horse and took off at a gallop.
Dot slipped up to the wagon. “Don’t mean to give unasked-for advice, but this looks like a good time to take your leave.”
Stoner lifted the reins. “Thanks for everything, Dot. I hope it’ll be okay.”
The woman reached up and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be fine, honey.”
She moved the wagon forward.
“Hold it,” Cullum said. He reached in his shirt pocket and brought out a roll of bills and tossed them to Billy. “There’s a couple hundred in there. Some from Mrs. Gillette, and some left over from what your Pa paid me to bring you back.”
“You’re going to let me go?” Billy asked.
Johnson shrugged. “You might say...” he glanced shyly at Dot, “...I lost interest in bounty hunting.”
“Well, thanks...” Billy said.
Dot took his arm. “You’re one big man, Cull. I’m proud to call you my friend.”
“Mrs. Gillette,” Cullum said, “before the winter’s out, I hope you’ll call me more than friend.”
“I might,” Dot said, looking up into his face with a flirty smile. “I just might.”
He turned back to Billy. “But you best put some distance between yourself and Tabor, sweetheart. Your Pa was one mad and determined gent last time I saw him. Only a matter of time before he sends someone else after you.”
“Pa is still alive?”
“Was last time I saw him. Alive and mad as...”
Billy nodded grimly. She turned to Dot. “You were good to me, Dot. I’m sorry I brought you all this trouble.”
“Trouble,” Dot said gruffly. “Life’s trouble. Probably what we’re put here for. You ever come back this way, look me up.”
“Say goodbye to Cherry for me?”
“I will, honey. She’s just a little torn up right now. You understand.”
“Sure.” She reached down and threw her arms around Dot’s neck. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. If you find yourself up South Dakota way, look up Miss Mary Jane Cannary. She’s an old friend of mine. Talks tough as nails, but she’s got a good heart. And don’t you listen to rumors about her, either.” Dot gave her a quick kiss and turned away to dab at her eyes. “Get out of here before I disgrace myself.”
Billy slipped down into the wagon.
Stoner jiggled the reins. “Thanks again for your help, Dot.” You sure are one formidable gal.
“Your not so bad yourself,” Dot said. “Oughta do something about that temper, though.”
Stoner laughed and clucked to the mule. The wagon moved forward, away from Tabor.
“Where will you go?” Stoner asked after a while.
Billy shrugged. “Just keep moving, I guess.”
“Alone?”
“Looks like.”
“I wish you could come with me.”
“Wish you could stay with me.”
“Maybe,” Stoner said, “we’ll meet again sometime.”
“Maybe.”
She knew neither of them believed it.
The mule, wandering without direction, had brought them close to the spot where they had first met. She recognized the hill, the long slope to the Topeka-Denver trail. The weathered sign.
Something told her this was as far as she could go.
She stopped the mule and sat looking into the distance. It felt as if her heart was being ripped from her chest. “I’ll miss you.”
Billy slipped her hand inside Stoner’s. “I’ll miss you, too.” With her free hand she touched Stoner’s face. “Don’t forget me when you get back home.”
Stoner covered Billy’s hand with her own. “Oh, Billy, I’ll never forget you.” She reached out and ran her fingers across the woman’s lips, felt the softness of her cheek. “I hope you have a good life.”
Billy smiled. “Right about now, I’ll settle for a long one.” She contemplated the horizon. “I’m sorry you never got to meet that woman you were named for.”
Stoner caught her breath. Of course!
She reached into her jeans pocket and brought out her Susan B. Anthony dollar. “Find them,” she said. “Show them this.”
Billy looked it over. “All right.”
“Tell them it’s from the future. Tell them not to give up. Tell them they’ll get the vote. Maybe not in their time, but it’s coming. Tell them I voted for a woman for Vice President...”
“You never,” Billy said.
“I did. Tell them some day there’ll be a National Organization for Women, and demonstrations in Washington for women’s rights, with hundreds of thousands of women there. Tell them there’s a Women’s Revolution coming and it’ll change the world.” She handed Billy the coin. “And tell them a hundred years from now in colleges there will be departments of Women’s Studies, and people will look back at the things they did here and know this was where it all started.”
She handed Billy the reins. “Join up with them, Billy. They’ll take care of you.” She grinned. “And I’m sure they can use a smart woman like you to take care of them.”
Billy looked at her with deep, liquid eyes. “So long, Stoner,” she said, and took her in her arms.
Her kiss was long and sweet and heart-breaking.
Stoner couldn’t watch her leave. She slipped from the wagon and stood staring at the ground. She heard the mule’s hoof beats receding into the distance, strained to catch the last faint vibrations through the earth.
Then it was silent, with only the sound of breeze playing through the dried and broken grass.
She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes and turned north toward the trail.
Blue Mary stood in front of her, holding her knapsack. “Well, dear,” the woman said cheerfully, “I suppose you’ll be leaving us.”
“What happened to you back there? You just disappeared.”
The older woman chuckled. “I did, didn’t I?”
Stoner felt a prickle of annoyance. “If you could do tricks like that, maybe you could have prevented the whole thing.”
“No,” Blue Mary said with a sober shake of her head. “I can’t interfere with what’s meant to happen, only help move it along. And you didn’t need me, really. As usual, you did a fine job on your own.”
“I don’t think I did much but get in the way. It was really Billy’s story, wasn’t it?”
Blue Mary smiled affectionately. “In the play we call Life,” she said, “we can’t always have the starring role. Sometimes we’re just the supporting cast. But he would have killed us all, you know. Dorothy and the girls, Billy, even me. And your old friend Lucy Stone. We needed your help.”
Stoner shrugged. “I guess...”
“And you’ve had an impact on Billy’s life that won’t be realized for years. Everything you do, no matter how small, changes the world forever.”
Right now, she didn’t care about changing the world. She looked down at her hands. “I’m going to miss her, Mary. I don’t think I can bear it.”
Blue Mary took Stoner’s face between her palms. “Stoner, Stoner, haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s not the same.”
“I suppose it’s not.” She gave her a little kiss on the cheek. “It’s a hard thing, living on this plane. I wonder why we’re always so eager to do it.” With a sigh, Blue Mary handed her the knapsack and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “Well, I
have to be going. Have a good trip, and I’ll see you in Boston.” She began to walk away over the hill toward Tabor.
“Wait,” Stoner called. She ran after her.
But when she reached the top of the hill, Blue Mary was gone.
There was a sound behind her. A low, distant rumbling sound. She turned back.
The eighteen-wheeler pulled into the center lane to bypass her car, and barreled its way east on I-70.
Chapter Thirteen
She didn’t know why she was drawn to the hotel. Motels were more her style. Carry your own luggage, in and out with a minimum of fuss or interacting. No elevator rides with strangers, staring at the row of lighted numbers over the door and pretending to meditate on the significance—both social and cultural—of ‘70s protest songs played on Muzak. No wondering if your worn jeans, perfect for long drives, will be met with overt hostility in the lobby. No overpriced restaurants. No cute little handy gift stores offering the Wall Street Journal and the latest make-up-and-fashion rip-off magazines, and camera film at twice the normal price.
Bed, bath, and privacy. A near-by drive-thru restaurant. That was all she needed.
But there was something about the Whitley. It was an old hotel, on a back street in downtown Topeka. She wouldn’t have even found it, except that there had been some kind of accident or power disruption or water main break—one of those mysterious events involving police cars, flashing orange lights, steam, and general unexplained confusion. Whatever it was had caused traffic to be routed past the downtown area through side streets.
So there she was, detoured onto Remington and left to find her own way back to the business district—and she wasn’t sure how she’d gotten into the business district in the first place, except that she’d taken the wrong exit and overshot the motel and fast food strip. It had been dark for hours. She was tired and cranky. Apprehensive. And trapped in some kind of temporal no-woman’s- land, her body in Topeka 1989 and her heart with Billy in 1871.
Even stopping at the nearest hospital Emergency room for a tetanus shot hadn’t brought her to Now—though it had answered that age-old question: do wounds travel forward in time? Not even the familiar haggle over insurance, the familiar endless wait, the feeble attempt to explain the puncture holes on her neck. (She’d gotten them trying to cross a barbed-wire fence, she’d said. The young intern had looked dubious. Probably thought it was from mainlining drugs. She wished she’d told him it was the bite of a Vampire.)