A Portal for Your Thoughts

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  Steve glanced down at the ground to see what had hit him. It was an acorn. Typical. He retrieved the nut from the ground and stretched up to gently place the acorn back on the branch the squirrel was perched on. He held it in place while the squirrel hesitantly inched forward. It grabbed the nut and darted away, running down the trunk, across the ground, and disappearing into a dark hole nestled in the roots of a nearby tree.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” Steve muttered as he absentmindedly rubbed his welt a final time. “I dare you to come out here and –”

  An ear-splitting crack shattered the peaceful tranquility of the forest. Squirrels scampered back to their nests. Flocks of birds took to the sky. Within moments a deathly silence had fallen over the forest. Steve nervously looked about. It had sounded like gunfire!

  A second blast ripped through the air, followed shortly thereafter by a third and then a fourth. Intent on discovering what was making the noise, Steve took off northwest. Using skills one could only acquire by watching way too many action movies, Steve darted from rock to bush to tree in an attempt to mask his approach. He drew up short. He could hear voices! That could only be good, right?

  Steve crept to the base of a massive pine tree and quietly peered around the trunk. Six men were there, two of which were astride horses that were nervously chomping their bridles. He was about ready to hail the strangers when their attire caught his eye and he hesitated. Steve blinked a few times as he stared at the strangers’ clothes.

  All six men were wearing blue button down coats that had four pleats running each side from the shoulders all the way down past their waists and partially covering their light blue trousers. A single white stripe ran from hip to presumably ankle, but he was unable to tell as the cuffs of the pants were tucked into black calf-high boots. Adorning the blue coats were five gold buttons, all polished to a mirror-like shine. Wide brim slouch campaign hats, worn by all of them, completed the picture. The two men on horseback also wore dark blue double breasted overcoats with five pairs of buttons running down the front of it.

  Steve stared in shock at the scene before him. Had he stumbled onto a reenactment of some sort? Why did it look like those men just came from the battlefields of the Civil War? Something didn’t add up here.

  One man cuffed another on the back of his neck, causing his hat to go flying off his head.

  “You still use that thing? Get with the times. No one uses black powder rifles any more. It’s messy, loud, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

  Once the fallen hat was retrieved, and sitting back on the man’s head, he turned to glare at his companion.

  “I prefer ‘em. It’s the traditional way to hunt. The only way, if you ask me.”

  “Well, I ain’t. It’s a good thing you hit it ‘cause you damn near spooked everything else away.”

  One of the men on horseback guided his mount up to the two men, cleared his throat, and dismounted.

  “Just tie the deer over my horse so we can get out of here. We’re overdue and I don’t want to be late. You follow?”

  The rest of the men snapped to attention. The man who had lost his hat saluted.

  “Yessir!”

  The men finally parted and Steve saw that they had indeed killed a deer. Did people typically hunt in a getup like that? Something about this whole situation didn’t sit well with him. Something was wrong. There had to be something he was missing here.

  Once the deer had been tied across the back of the horse, the men silently left, walking off in the direction that he was originally planning on heading. Following from a discreet distance, Steve watched the men marching in front of the horses in a tight 2 by 2 formation, while the owner of the horse carrying the deer – an officer? – guided his mount by the reins. The other mounted rider was motionless and sat stiff as a board on his horse’s saddle.

  Chatter was kept to a minimum. Only the occasional command by the remaining mounted rider could be heard as the men marched in silence. After an hour of walking they crested the hill they had been traveling up and began angling east. Anxious to not lose sight of his escorts, Steve hurried to the top of the hill and paused to catch his breath. There they were, still marching in step, even if they had to navigate around obstacles in their path like the cluster of trees that were rapidly approaching.

  The rider barked out an order and the company instantly executed a flawless left turn, marched about ten steps, turned to the right, marched another ten steps and then made another right turn, and then finally a sharp left turn to put them back on the same course as they had been on before. Steve nodded with admiration. He had been a member of band class in school and had marched in several parades. None of their turns had looked as sharp and clean as those did. Someone clearly took pride in making his men look as professional as possible.

  “Sherman’s not that far away,” the rider suddenly announced. “I will go on ahead. I expect you there in no less than fifteen minutes. Is that understood, lieutenant?”

  Steve surreptitiously moved closer so he could better hear the conversation.

  The man guiding his horse nodded. “Yes sir!”

  “Good. See to it that you’re not late.”

  Once the rider had galloped off the men let out a collective gasp of relief. The men all relaxed their postures and allowed themselves to fall out of step together. One of the men rose up on the tips of his toes to peek over the nearby shrubs to verify that the rider was indeed gone.

  “Who in their right minds insist that we march together on the way back from a hunt? It’s preposterous!”

  Another man chuckled.

  “Not only that, but a successful hunt. Winter’ll be here in the next month. Game is not as plentiful. Lieutenant Hall should have been pleased.”

  The man guiding the horse spoke up. “He was pleased. You don’t know him as well as I.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it,” another man grumbled.

  The group broke ranks and started walking together as one would expect a group of friends would do: laughing, chatting, and slapping each other on the back. Gone was the military precision marching. Gone was the feeling of unease. Steve smiled. Clearly the men didn’t think too highly of their commanding officer.

  Commanding officer. That meant that these were, in fact, real soldiers. What were they doing wearing those uniforms? Had he really been dropped in some type of alternate reality? They were talking in English so they had to be somewhere on Earth.

  No, Steve thought as he shook his head; speaking English didn’t mean this was Earth. When he and Sarah had first arrived on Lentari they were startled to learn that the people there spoke English, too, although it had been referred to as simply speaking ‘human’ at the time, as crazy as that had sounded. No, there were no guarantees he was on Earth. Actually, there was no way he could be back home as no one from his world wore getups like that. However, they did look like authentic American military uniforms. Perhaps he should start leaning towards the alternate reality theory?

  Exactly fifteen minutes later Steve rounded a bend and came to an abrupt halt. The soldiers had disappeared from view but he had heard a slew of new voices. Had they arrived at wherever they were going? Steve ducked into the nearby trees and cautiously peeked around the corner. Sure enough he could see the group of soldiers with the dead deer chatting with more soldiers under a large white canvas tent. Many more of the same tents were lined up neatly side by side along the left of the road. Visible in the distance was a large two story structure that had numerous windows and columns. Smaller wooden buildings lay off to the right. Out in front, guarded by four men, was a large white sign that stretched from one side of the road to the other. Written across the sign in big black letters was ‘Fort Sherman’.

  Fort Sherman? Where was that? What was a fort that looked like it belonged on a movie set doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

  Steve only had time for a quick look when he shifted his weight to his left leg and took a step b
ack. The twig he landed on snapped loudly and drew the attention of several guards. Steve cursed silently and slipped deeper into the forest. Three guards explored the area, looking for any signs of intruders, but no traces were found.

  Steve hurried through the forest, intent on trying to get as far away as possible from the strange fort. Where was he, anyway? Why did the soldiers all dress in period clothing? Either he’d have to subscribe to the alternate reality theory or else he would have to believe that he stumbled upon a group of die-hard history buffs.

  Steve exited the forest nearly a half mile away just as the sun was setting for the night. He had seen several lights appear in the distance and automatically headed in that direction. He figured it had to be a town of some sort as the farther away he walked from the soldiers the more lights appeared in front of him.

  A light breeze began blowing. With it came the unmistakeable scent of water. Was it the same as he had smelled before? Steve didn’t know and at this point, he didn’t care. He had to find some type of place to stay for the night because he was clearly going to be here a while. If he was stuck here in this land then how was he going to survive? He wasn’t a hunter and he could barely fish. There had to be something here that he could do to be useful.

  Steve angrily shook his head. He refused to think any farther on the subject. Life without Sarah wasn’t an option. Whatever predicament he had found himself in would have to be solved. He had to find his wife. Failure was not an option.

  A row of buildings came into view. The first thing Steve noticed was the set of railroad tracks running down the middle of the street. It reminded him of Main Street, Disneyland, and he briefly wondered why someone would put buildings so close to the track. It never occurred to him that the city had trolleys running continuously during daylight hours. Curious, Steve knelt down and knocked on the rails a few times with his knuckles. The metal chimed softly in response. He glanced up at the row of buildings on either side of the tracks. They were, Steve noted with dismay, in less than pristine condition and instantly reminded him of a ghost town, although there was nothing abandoned about this place.

  People were milling about on the street. Horses were tied to hitching posts in front of what could only be described as saloons. Somewhere in the distance Steve could hear someone playing an energetic little ditty on a piano.

  As he slowly walked down the street, taking care to not walk on the rails or tread on any piles of horse manure, Steve noticed that no one was even bothering to look in his direction. He briefly considered igniting a hand to see how people would react but a quick check of several of the seedy looking men leaning up against a couple of nearby buildings confirmed the presence of armed weapons. In fact, just about every male he passed, save for the band of small boys playing a game of tag in the street, seemed to have a gun on their hip. A few of the nicer dressed gentlemen tipped their top hats in his direction as he passed by. Steve turned to stare back at two men who had just passed him. Top hats? Another man approached.

  “Umm, how’s it goin’?” Steve offered, as he passed the man who was wearing a maroon corduroy jacket. The stranger had tipped his black bowler hat at him, which propmpted Steve to offer a greeting.

  The man turned to regard him. After a moment of silence he held out his right hand.

  “You look lost, mate. I am Cecil Cook. Can I be of assistance?”

  Steve hesitantly shook the friendly man’s hand.

  “Steve Miller. Can you tell me where I am?”

  “Gadzooks, my dear fellow. You don’t know where you are?”

  “Of course I do,” Steve hastily corrected. “I mean, I got turned around. I was looking for a place to stay. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “There are three hotels in town, friend. As far as I am aware, none have any vacancies, what with the mining boom that has hit our fair city. No doubt that’s why you are here?”

  Steve wisely nodded. “Right. That’s me. I’m going to be panning for gold.”

  Cecil scoffed loudly. “There’s no gold in these parts. Now silver, on the other hand, that’s what we’re here to find.”

  “Right. That’s what I meant.”

  “Of course you did. So you’ll need a place to stay.”

  “Ummm, yeah. Can you recommend a place?”

  Cecil turned and pointed farther down the road.

  “Continue on Burke here for another quarter mile. You’ll find a number of houses on your right. The last I heard the home owners there are willing to rent their rooms at a fair price. I assume you have money.”

  “Ummm…”

  Cecil sighed. “You really didn’t think this through, did you?”

  “You have no idea,” Steve muttered under his breath.

  “Here’s what we’ll do.” Cecil turned and pointed off to the south. “Forget what I just said. Continue past those houses until you reach the next street. Turn right. Continue on for another ten minutes or so and you will find another row of houses. One will be painted blue. Find that house and check in with my wife, AnnaBelle. She’ll see to it you have a place to sleep.”

  Steve was amazed. Yet again here was someone he didn’t know that was offering to let him stay in their house and all within a span of a few minutes. Perhaps he was in Lentari after all! The people from his world certainly didn’t act that way.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” Steve asked, genuinely bewildered. “You don’t even know me.”

  Cecil clapped him on his right shoulder and turned to go on his way.

  “Because, my good man; your face reminds me of a trusted friend. Go now before it is too dark to see.”

  “I will.” Steve thrust out his hand. “You have my thanks.”

  Cecil shook it.

  “Think nothing of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe there’s a poker table that needs an extra player.”

  Steve watched as Cecil pushed his way through the swinging doors of the closest building. He shook his head. If he didn’t know any better he’d say that he had somehow landed in the Old West.

  Following Cecil’s instructions led him to a row of identical box-like houses. Some had been painted different colors, but most were a shade of off-white. He had approached the only blue house he could see and introduced himself to AnnaBelle, the lady of the house. Happy and lively, the lady was more than willing to open her home to honor her husband’s wishes.

  After giving Steve a tour of the small house AnnaBelle walked with him back to her humble kitchen and leaned up against the sink with a hand pump right next to it.

  “So, where are you from? What country?”

  Taken aback, Steve blinked a few times and gazed at the woman that was slightly younger than he was. He had noticed callouses on her hands the moment he shook her hand. This was a woman, Steve decided, who knew what it meant to work. A quick glance around the simple kitchen revealed everything was clean; everything was stowed in its proper place.

  “I’m from the same country as you are,” Steve assured her.

  “You are? Are you sure? I have never seen clothes like that before.”

  Steve glanced down at his dark green tunic and khaki trousers. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “No one wears things like that around here,” AnnaBelle patiently explained. “Much can be gleaned by observing what a person wears.”

  Steve smiled. “What do my clothes tell you about me?”

  AnnaBelle pushed herself away from the sink and smiled. She slowly walked up to Steve and studied him. She quietly murmured to herself as she walked around him. After a few minutes had passed she put her hands on her hips and faced him.

  “I have it.”

  Steve crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “You’re a professor.”

  Steve’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I’m a what? A professor? Nope, sorry. Not even close.”

  “Hmmm.” The lady of the house did another pass around Stev
e. “A banker, like my Cecil?”

  “Nope.”

  “Jeweler?”

  “No.”

  “Ah! I have it now. You’re a preacher.”

  “Say what? No, I’m not.”

  “Very well. Tell me what you do.”

  Steve hesitated. What should he tell her? He was willing to bet all the silver that was apparently buried in them thar hills that she wouldn’t know what a computer tech was.

  “Er, would you believe a miner?”

  AnnaBelle crossed her arms over her chest.

  “No.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “You don’t have any callouses on your hands. Mining is hard work. Even a blind man could tell you don’t work the earth.”

  Steve looked down at his hands. “I have callouses.”

  AnnaBelle held out a hand. “Let me see.”

  Steve reluctantly held out his right hand. AnnaBelle took his hand and pulled it up close to her.

  “Pah. I have callouses on the soles of my feet that are thicker than these. A miner you are not.”

  “Fine. You win. I’m not a miner.”

  AnnaBelle stared at him as she waited for an answer.

  “You’ve never heard of my profession, trust me. The only thing I’ll say is that I’m here to look for my wife.”

  “Your wife? Is she missing?”

  “Yes. She, uh, disappeared earlier today and I came here looking for her.”

  “I know everyone in town. I have heard of no one else arriving by coach or train today.”

  “Damn,” Steve swore softly. “Are you sure? This would have been a few hours ago.”

  “The 5:15 from Wallace only had supplies, no passengers. The 3:30 coach from Harriston carried three passengers but they all were gentlemen.”

  “Then the honest answer is I don’t know what I’m going to –”