by Sable Hunter
Reno sat still, absorbing what she’d told him. “So, I guess I don’t go back.”
“I don’t know how much is set in stone.” She sought to pacify him. As much as she wanted him to stay, to see his dismay was disheartening. “Everyone there believed…and anyone who read the journal believed that you’d been killed by the Indians. Your body was never found, but –”
“Because I didn’t die,” he whispered. “I came here.”
She glanced at him. “Like I said, we don’t know if the past can be changed. Maybe you can go back.”
And maybe he couldn’t. Reno rubbed an ache in his chest. He felt so helpless. Completely at the mercy of forces he couldn’t understand. “Maybe.” He knew he had to try. “About my brother. Do you want to know the whole story?”
“You know I do.”
For the next thirty miles, Reno told Journey about his brother. His childhood. About his parents. “What gets me is that I worshiped my father. And I loved Cole. My anger wasn’t at Cole because my old man chose him over me, it was because Silas didn’t want me too. He let his family dictate to him that my mother and I weren’t good enough. He wanted their money more than he wanted us.”
Journey felt so bad for Reno. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Wasted sympathy. Those days are long gone.” This truer than true statement made him laugh wryly. “Clay came into the picture and I love him as dearly as I do Cole. He is a genuinely good man and I don’t know how he turned out so well. His homelife was hell. There might’ve been days my mother and I didn’t have enough to eat, but I was never beat within an inch of my life like Clay. He suffered unmercifully at the hand of his piss poor excuse of a father.” He stopped to take a breath as Journey waited at a red light. “Old Revered Bennett was a holier-than-thou circuit riding preacher. The best days Clay experienced were when his father was off holding week-long revivals at one of the little churches deep in the hills. Believe me, we took advantage of those reprieves. Clay had an uncle on his mother’s side who lived about a mile away. Reverend Bennett wouldn’t let him visit the uncle when he was home, but when he was away, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. The uncle was a widower with a son about our age. We’d visit back and forth with them. The uncle would take us hunting and he loaned me all the books I could ever want to read.” He smiled at the fond memories, but that smile soon faded. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without those three people when my mother died.”
“What happened to her?”
Reno swallowed hard; he didn’t like to talk about it even now. “I’m not sure, really. I mean, I know how she died. Someone shot her. Stray bullet is what most said. She was out tending the garden. I was in the front chopping wood when I heard the crack of the gunfire and the softest exclamation of pain you’ve ever heard. I barely heard her cry out – but the instant I did, I knew what had happened. I took off running around the cabin and through the cornfield. When I got to her, she looked like she was sleeping. The bullet had passed through her heart. She was gone.” He looked at his fingernails for a long moment. “I sent my father a telegram. He didn’t come. But Cole did. He helped me bury our mother. I didn’t see him again until years later, the day he found me at Five Forks.”
“Saul didn’t write about any of this.”
“I didn’t tell him the ugly things.” He shivered, but not from cold. “You can’t imagine what the war was like. What we saw. What we smelled.”
“I’ve just read about it, of course. Nothing to compare with actually living through it.”
“Clay and I were in the same unit. His uncle and cousin were in another. We’d all been caught up in the madness. Swept away on the scarlet tide of war.”
Journey just let him talk. Some of what he said was painful to hear. Especially when he started talking about the things he’d seen in battle. She didn’t ask him to hush, however. Just hearing his voice was worth any discomfort she felt. “I’m glad you survived.”
“Me too. So many didn’t.” He rubbed his thumb on the seam of his woolen trousers. “On the morning of April 1st, 1865, we were marching into the crossroads at Five Forks, Virginia. Out of nowhere, this little drummer boy came running up to me and asked if I was Reno Black. I said I was. He took off and a few minutes later he came back leading Cole. I was shocked to see him.”
“I bet you were.”
“I had no idea he’d enlisted in the Union army and I don’t know how he found me. I didn’t get a chance to ask. Anyway, there we stood. One Yank and one Rebel. Blue and grey. Brother against brother. We had no idea at that point that the war was almost over.”
Journey felt so bad for Reno. She could hear the regret in his voice. “What happened next?”
“I instantly knew why he’d come. I could read it on his face. Our father was dead. He told me that the old man had a heart attack a few weeks before. There was nothing I could do. He was already buried. Cole just wanted to tell me about his death and that a few weeks before he died, he mailed a letter to me in care of Reverend Bennett back in Tennessee. I told Cole that I’d ask about the letter if I ever made it home, then I hugged his neck and…” Reno shrugged and looked out his window. “And that was that. We didn’t talk about anything else other than our wish to get together again once things returned to normal. A few seconds later, he was gone. I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on around me at that moment. I was in too much of a daze and the battle was heating up. Hell, I was just trying to stay alive. I sure didn’t notice who might’ve witnessed our short exchange. It wasn’t until much later I learned Cole had been arrested for treason.”
“Treason, that’s such a serious charge.”
“Yea, you’re right. Someone saw Cole talking to me. He was accused of passing strategic information that resulted in the death of Brigadier General Frederick Winthrop. Apparently, the General was sent to attack a well-defended Confederate position behind a raised parapet made of logs and sand. Several Union attacks had already been fended off and another assault was redundant and foolish. For some reason, his commanding officer sent him on horseback to rally his unit once more. As he rode along the line of defense, he was shot in the left breast, his lung was pierced, and he fell. His men rushed him to cover, but he died a few minutes later. The rifleman who shot him was my friend, Jericho. There was no plan, no inside information, the General rode into the line of fire and Jericho saw an opportunity and took it. Somehow, someone found out Cole had met with me earlier. The erroneous belief cropped up that he’d given us information and fed poor intelligence to his commanding officer.”
Reno’s eyes focused on nothing. He was completely lost in the memory. “Winthrop was an extremely popular General. At only 27, his untimely death warranted a scapegoat in many eyes. The scapegoat they latched onto turned out to be my brother.” Again, he took her hand, seeming to receive strength from the contact. “I can’t fathom who made the accusation. The only thing I can figure out is…there was either a Union spy in our midst, or someone betrayed us for gain.” He balled up his fist and hit his own knee. “I vow I’ll find out the name of that traitor. Right after I track down the drummer boy. I’ll get him to testify that we didn’t discuss Winthrop and Cole never mentioned the Union position or any strategy. If I fail…Cole will be executed. I can’t let that happen.”
“No. You can’t. Did you ever get the letter from your father?”
Reno looked so sad that Journey thought she might cry. “I believe it was about a year after the war was over when Clay finally retrieved it from his father. The old ass didn’t intend to let me have it.”
“What did it say?” She squeezed his hand to show him how much she cared.
“He told me about his regrets. He told me how much he loved my mother and me – and if he could do it all over again that he wouldn’t leave us. All the family money was gone, you see. He’d lost everything when he got mixed up with an abolitionist named John Brown. After Brown failed at Harper’s Ferry, those who had s
upported him were ruined. At least he wasn’t arrested, unlike some of the others. The ordeal probably did bring his heart attack on sooner than it would’ve come - maybe.” Reno twisted his mouth, remorse coming off him in waves. “To make up for abandoning me, he slipped something in the envelope he thought might be valuable someday.”
“Really? What was it?”
“A short letter written by President Lincoln.”
“Are you kidding? How did he get that?” Journey was beyond intrigued. This was huge.
“Father knew the woman who’d received the letter. Her name was Laura Bixby. Lincoln was told she’d lost four sons in the war. The President wrote her a note of sympathy.”
“How did your father end up with the letter?”
“Apparently, Mrs. Bixby was a Confederate sympathizer and didn’t hold Lincoln in very high esteem. She sold it to my father for a few dollars.”
“Well, what did you do with it?” Journey’s mind was racing at the weird story.
“I included the letter with my will to be passed down, just in case it was ever worth anything.”
Journey made a face. “Lincoln is one of the most popular presidents of all time. If it can be authenticated, I’m sure it would be worth a ton of money.”
Reno shrugged. “Knowing I was heading out to find evidence to clear Cole, I updated my will a few weeks ago. I left it to Saul and told him to pass it down to his oldest son.”
“Well, this is the first I’ve heard about the letter. I guess it was lost in time somewhere.” Journey put it out of her mind, the importance of Lincoln’s letter to Mrs. Bixby paled in comparison to Cole’s predicament. Journey understood that Reno would be haunted for the rest of his life if he didn’t do everything in his power to save his brother. “I understand why you need to return to your own time, and I think you should go.”
Reno raised her hands to his lips and kissed it.
A few minutes later – they were home.
* * *
Journey let the dogs out to stretch their legs while Reno saddled his horse. She was determined to hold herself together until he rode out of sight. She didn’t want him to see her cry. She wanted his memories of the time they spent together to be happy ones.
As he came riding out of the barn, she stood still, her hands folded at her waist. Journey wasn’t nearly as composed as she appeared. Her fingernails were digging into her own flesh.
When he drew alongside of her, he dismounted. Her throat felt raw from unshed tears. “Be careful. Please.”
He came close until their bodies were touching. Reno wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “There’s so much I want to say to you, but there’s no time.” Running his hand up her arm, he cupped the side of her neck. “Kiss me, Journey. Give me something to remember you by.”
With a tiny cry, she threw her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe. Joining her mouth to his, Journey kissed him with all the pent-up longing of a lifetime.
He cradled her to his body, returning the kiss with aching tenderness. After endless moments, he framed her face, moving the fraction necessary to break the sweet contact. He didn’t move farther right away, their breaths mingled as he kissed the one stray tear that managed to slip down her cheek unbidden. “Thank you, honey. For everything.”
Journey gripped his arms. “Take care of yourself. Not just today, but forever. And be happy. Find love.”
“Hush.” He couldn’t find the words to return her generosity. “Hush.”
“And…if something happens and you can’t find your way to leave, come back to me. I’ll be here. Waiting. You’ll always have a place with me.”
Reno stole one final hard kiss, then stepped away. Without another word, he mounted Traveler and flicked the reins. This time he didn’t ride through the gate, the big black stallion jumped the fence easily. She ran to the fence, her heart breaking. Through a veil of tears, she watched him until he disappeared. When all she could see was an empty horizon, Journey picked up the two dogs and went inside. She shut the door without locking it and left the porch light on – just in case.
…The sun was still high enough in the sky to give good light. Reno was glad, he wanted to see where he was going. He wanted to look for clues to explain how he’d managed to make his way from one century to another. Around him the cactus and mesquite grew rampant and the great dome of granite lay straight ahead looking the same as always. If he hadn’t experienced this phenomenon for himself, Reno would think he was back in his own time. But now he knew what to look for – what to listen for. Staring into the vast sky, he searched for any movement until he saw the sun glint off something silver flying miles high. A jet airplane. Next, he cocked his head to listen and a few moments later he could distinguish the sound of a car or truck on the highway.
Scrunching his eyes tightly closed, Reno tried to stop the flow of useless thought. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he was walking away from; he couldn’t afford to give in to the pain he was feeling. He was a man with obligations that were more important than his own happiness. If he had no responsibilities other than to himself, Reno would have jumped at the chance to experience everything this new world had to offer. Especially the woman who seemed to care for him unconditionally. But he couldn’t. What had happened to him wasn’t meant to be, it was imperative that he get back to his own time.
Traveler kept up the pace and soon Reno found himself at the entrance to the box canyon. He tried to recreate in his mind how he’d felt when he was last here. What he’d seen. He’d been so intent on leading the men away from the children, he hadn’t taken note of his surroundings. Now, he remained still. Alert. His eyes moving over the walls of rock. First, he rode slowly through the canyon, observing the rock formations and the slabs of granite jutting up from the ground. The farther he went, the narrower the canyon became. When he reached the end, there was simply nowhere else to go. Reno dismounted to get closer, climbing up past boulders and crevices. If he hadn’t escaped through the mysterious opening, there were places where he could’ve found cover to defend himself from Kinsella and his raiders.
But that wasn’t what happened. There had been a passageway. An opening. Big enough for a horse and rider. Yet, only he and Traveler had come through. Why hadn’t the others followed? Climbing higher, he pressed his palms to the wall, testing for any weakness. He found none. Reno repeated this process in several areas, even using the toe of his boot to move rocks aside for closer examination. “Well, Traveler, I just don’t know.” The horse gave an answering whinny. “Maybe we should try a – what did Journey call it? A reenactment.” At the mention of her name from his own lips, he felt his heart tug in a poignant, uncomfortable way. “Dammit.”
Returning to the saddle, he rode out of the canyon and closed his eyes, feeling a faint breeze whisper across his skin. “All right. Let’s do this.” He tugged the reins to turn the horse, allowing his mind to call up the heated emotion of being chased. Bullets being fired at him. The desperation he felt to succeed. “Giddy-up.” He whistled and whipped the reins from one side of the stallion’s flanks to the other. “Go!” Traveler obeyed and took off through the canyon at a fast clip. He stared straight ahead at the wall, willing it to disappear. Mentally demanding that the rock open and allow him to ride through. Aiming straight for the end of the box canyon, he urged Traveler to keep the pace. Closer. Closer. Only seconds before impact, he allowed the horse to follow its instinct and rear up. “Sorry, boy. It was worth a try.” He let the stallion sidestep in place while he stared at the impenetrable granite. “What did I expect? Another miracle?” Lifting his hand, he examined it front and back. Yes, he was real. This world was real. Only time was playing tricks with him.
Unwilling to give up so soon, he dismounted once more to sit on a granite ledge near a patch of grass so Traveler could have a bite to eat if he chose to do so. Reno kept his eyes on the back wall of the box canyon. He didn’t know whether waiting would make a difference, but it was worth a shot.
If anything happened, he’d be here to witness it.
…At the ranch house, Journey felt sick at heart. She kept walking to the window overlooking the park and wondering if Reno was out there somewhere or if he was lost to her forever. With no one there to witness her pain, she gave in to the tears. Not even the comical dogs could get her mind off the hours she’d spent with Reno Black.
As the seconds ticked by, she relived every detail of the time they’d spent together. She recalled every word he’d said. How he’d handled those perverts who’d chased her through the park. How he reacted to the skyscrapers and jets. How he’d looked sitting at the kitchen table dressed only in a towel. All of that had been real, hadn’t it?
She hurried to the bathroom just to stare at herself in the mirror. Could her mind be playing tricks? “Did I spend the day with a man from the past or am I losing it?” When her reflection gave Journey no assurances, she hurried through the house searching for something – anything – that would prove to her he’d really been here. Was there no trace? Nothing? Finally, she came to the guest room where he’d slept. The bed was unmade, the covers thrown back. There was an indention on the pillow where he’d laid his head.
With a gasp of pain, she crawled into the bed and buried her face in the pillow, breathing in his scent. She tried to force her mind to calm down, her body to stop trembling. Journey needed to put this whole thing in perspective. After years of aching for Reno, she’d finally gotten her wish. Magically, he’d come to her; she’d been blessed to spend a few precious hours in his presence. In spite of her dreaming, no part of Journey ever really expected this marvel to come to pass. Time travel was supposed to be impossible. So, how could this happen?
Could it happen again?
Journey tamped down the hope in her heart. She couldn’t expect him to go back and forth from the 19th century like he was a commuter on the subway. No, this was a one-time thing. A wrinkle in time, so to speak. She’d been given a great gift, but only for a brief moment. Part of her wondered if having that small taste of heaven was worth the pain of letting go? Wouldn’t she be better off if she’d never known him? Creating a fantasy world based on entries in an old journal was one thing – but having the hero step out of those pages to rescue her and kiss her within an inch of her life were two completely different things.
