A Portal for Your Thoughts

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  AnnaBelle let out a shriek of dismay. Her eyes had alighted on a small bottle of tiny white pills sitting obtrusively on the counter.

  “Is everything alright?” Steve asked, alarmed. Had he done something to upset her? AnnaBelle and Cecil seemed to be nice people. The last thing he wanted right now was to cause either of them duress.

  AnnaBelle snatched up the tiny glass bottle and held it out for Steve to see.

  “Cecil’s medicine! He has a heart condition and I don’t want him to be unprepared in case he has a flare up.”

  Steve held out a hand. “I know which casino he went in. I can give it to him.”

  AnnaBelle looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes. “What’s a casino?”

  “Oh, um, it’s another name for a saloon.”

  The bottle was thrust into his hand.

  “Please get this to him as quickly as possible. I will feel much better once he has it.”

  Steve nodded and pocketed the pills. “Got it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, Steve. Your generosity just paid for your first night here.”

  Steve nodded appreciatively and exited the small house. It was very dark outside. What little light there was came from the curtained windows of the houses lining the street. Steve looked up. The moon has just risen over the mountains in the northeast and was beginning its trek across the sky. Thanks to the full moon Steve had enough light to find his way back into town, which was bustling with activity.

  Two people exited an establishment on his right, each carrying a bottle of liquor with one hand and had the other wrapped around their companion so they wouldn’t tip over. Each was singing at the top of their lungs. Too bad it wasn’t the same song, Steve mused. He scowled. Each was wearing a gun belt.

  “Right. Moving on.”

  Retracing his steps back the way he had originally come, Steve found the bustling saloon and pushed his way into its interior. Both doors swung back into place with a noisy clacking sound. A small part of him was afraid that the entire place would go deathly quiet and everyone would turn to stare at him.

  As far as he could tell, not one person bothered to look up. An upright piano was against the far corner closest to the roaring fireplace and the furthest end of the long wooden counter served as a bar. Small wooden tables were everywhere. Four, five, and sometimes six people were crowded around the tables laughing, drinking, smoking, and having a good time. Three serving girls moved with grace and ease through the jostling patrons as they served drinks and food. More than once he saw a female derrier get pinched as a way of thanks. And, as expected, the patron got a slap in the face in return, much to the delight of his companions.

  Catching sight of Cecil sitting uncomfortably close to five other people around a tiny wooden table, Steve reached into his pocket and withdrew the bottle. He tapped Cecil on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around.

  “You never, ever interrupt a man when he’s playing poker, friend,” one grizzled man dangerously said without even bothering to look up.

  Cecil waved his hand. “It’s okay. I know him. Steve, it’s good to see you again. Did you find the house?”

  “I did, yes. I’m repaying part of that debt. Here. Your wife said you forgot to take these.”

  Steve held out the tiny bottle of white pills. Several men that were sitting around the table snickered loudly. Cedric forced a smile.

  “Ah. My nitro glycerin pills. I had hoped I made it out of the house before she noticed.”

  “Don’t screw around with your heart, pal,” Steve warned him.

  Cecil smiled. “Easy for you to say, friend. You don’t have to take the accursed things. They taste horrible.”

  Steve gave a friendly smile to the rest of the players; it wasn’t returned. “Sorry to interrupt you guys. I’ll, uh, let you get back to your game now.”

  Steve turned around and bumped into one of the serving girls, threatening to tip over the large tray of filled mugs she was holding. Steve caught the tray before any of the drinks could tumble to the ground.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

  Steve trailed off. He was looking into Sarah’s surprised eyes.

  Chapter 4 – A Temporal Twist

  Steve stared in shock at the sight before him. Wearing a frilly purple off-the-shoulder gown that one would expect to find on a dancing barmaid from the turn of the century, with her hair pulled up high and styled so that it fell evenly across her head, and sporting a dark purple ribbon tied around her neck, was Sarah. Noticing that she was also several inches higher than he was used to, Steve looked down to see shiny black leather shoes with two inch heels. She was even wearing fish net tights!

  Sarah continued to stare at him as though she was looking at a ghost.

  “What are you doing in that outfit?” Steve asked with a bewildered look on his face. He noticed that her tray was starting to tremble. “Here, let’s put that down. How did you –”

  He was cut off as Sarah threw herself into his arms and started sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. Ummm, are you okay?”

  “Where have you been?” Sarah managed to get out between sobs. “I thought I would never see you again!”

  Before Steve could respond, two men that were each the size of small locomotives, packing revolvers on each hip and wearing twin ammo belts crisscrossing their chests, appeared out of the shadows and stared menacingly at him. Steve paled.

  “Alrighty then, we need to get you out of here. This party is about to turn ugly.”

  Sarah turned to see what he was scowling at. Hastily wiping her eyes she waved at the two men and then returned her attention to Steve, who was staring in shock at the two brutes who, having been dismissed, were shuffling back to the bar.

  “How did you do that? They each looked like they could spit nails.”

  Sarah took several deep breaths and focused her hazel eyes back onto his blue ones. Her eyes began to water once more. She gripped him by the shoulders and gave him a fierce shake.

  “Where have you been? What took you so long?”

  Finding himself on the unwelcome side of an interrogation, Steve began backpedalling.

  “Hey, I ended up following some soldiers here. They were a little slow, okay? You know me. My sense of direction isn’t the greatest. Cut me a little slack, huh?”

  “Cut you a little slack? I’ve been worried sick for so long now that I’m sure I gave myself an ulcer.”

  “I got here just as quick as I could,” Steve said in an attempt to defend himself. “Besides, how did you get that outfit? And what are you doing serving drinks in a saloon? What am I missing here?”

  A small elderly woman wearing a dress similar to Sarah’s, but was instead a mix of several shades of brown, approached the two of them and laid a friendly hand on Sarah’s shoulder. A dark brown Victorian hat that had several fluffy white feathers sticking out at odd angles was perched askew on the newcomer’s head. To Steve it looked as though she had walked into a bird’s nest and without realizing it was now wearing it as a hat.

  “Sarah, dear, is everything okay?”

  Sarah patted the matronly lady’s hand.

  “Everything is fine, Mrs. Jones.”

  Steve cleared his throat. Sarah smiled.

  “Mrs. Jones, this is my husband, Steve. Steve, this is Mrs. Rosamund Jones, wife of Gerald Jones. They own this tavern we’re in, the Silver Spike Saloon.”

  Rosamund Jones, who would’ve topped 5’ if she was wearing three inch heels, smiled with relief.

  “Ah! Your prince has come at last! I am so happy for you, dear. We should get you two off the floor. Follow me.”

  The tiny woman spun on her heel and led them towards the long curved countertop that served as the saloon’s bar. Steve briefly wondered how Rosamund Jones managed to see over the counter but held his tongue as the answer was revealed just as soon as they saw what was behind the bar: boxes. Small wooden boxes were stra
tegically placed three feet apart so that the diminunitive tavern owner could see her customers from behind the counter.

  Rosamund swept her foot across the wooden floor to push a threadbare gray rug out of the way. Even though it didn’t look as though it revealed anything, Rosamund stepped on one floorboard in particular and then grasped the end that had risen slightly off the ground. Reaching inside the dark opening in the floor she yanked her hand back out just as a hidden trapdoor swung noiselessly downward. A steep staircase was revealed.

  “Down there. Be quick about it.”

  Steve leaned over the dark opening and frowned.

  “Why in the world would I want to go down there? What exactly are we hiding from?”

  “What you want to talk about must be done so privately,” Rosamund told them in a hushed tone. She looked at Steve and her eyes softened. “She isn’t from around here. I know that. You clearly know that. Other people know it, too. Questions have been asked; questions for which I don’t have answers for.”

  Sarah stared at the small woman with an indignant expression on her face.

  “What questions?”

  Rosamund pointed into the darkness. She handed Steve a lit oil lamp and took one for herself. After the three of them had descended the ten or so steps into the darkness Rosamund adjusted the flaming wicks of both oil lamps. The room brightened considerably. Steve looked around. It was no more than ten feet square with several chairs and a tiny table against one wall and an old couch and even smaller table against the opposite wall. Rosamund set the lamp down on one of the two wood tables, walked over to the wall closest to the stairs, and flicked a switch. A single bulb illuminated. Rosamund then climbed up onto the couch. She motioned for Steve to swing the trapdoor shut. As soon as he did so, she folded her hands primly in her lap and looked at both husband and wife expectantly. Steve and Sarah settled hesitantly into the two easy chairs. Fanning away the clouds of dust that had risen up Sarah caught Rosamund’s eyes and held them firmly in place. Mrs. Jones sighed.

  “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to alarm you, dear.”

  “What is going on?” Steve demanded. “How do the two of you know each other?”

  Sarah laid a hand on her husband while simultaneously frowning at Rosamund.

  “Mrs. Jones took me in when I couldn’t find you. She knew I needed help and didn’t have anywhere to go. I’ve been helping out around here as a way to say thanks while I waited for you to show up.”

  Steve stared at Mrs. Jones for a few moments before looking over at his wife.

  “Why would she need to take you in? We’ve been separated for less than a day. That’s no reason to panic.”

  Sarah gave him an incredulous look.

  “Steve, I’ve been waiting for you here for over six months!”

  “What?” Steve sputtered. “Six months? That’s not possible!”

  “How long did you wait before you followed me through?” Sarah asked. “I thought for certain that you would follow me straight in.”

  “I did follow you straight in,” Steve clarified with a frown. “I went through about twenty, maybe twenty five seconds after you did.”

  That drew Sarah up short.

  “So you weren’t kidding when you said you literally saw me earlier today?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Steve retorted. “You know I did.”

  “But for me it was months ago.”

  “That explains the outfit,” Steve murmured.

  “Where are you two from?” Rosamund asked. “I know you’re not from around these parts.”

  “Actually, we are,” Sarah contradicted.

  “We are?” Steve asked. “You’re saying this is Idaho? Whereabouts in the state did we get dropped?”

  “Well, this territory is known as Idaho,” Rosamund clarified. “We haven’t become a state yet.”

  “Territory?” Steve repeated as he turned to Sarah. “Territory? Did she just say – “

  “This is Coeur d’Alene,” Sarah confirmed. “It’s just not the Coeur d’Alene we’re familiar with.”

  Steve grimaced. “What’s the date?”

  Sarah took a deep breath.

  “This may come as a shock, honey, so just – “

  “Sarah, what is the date?”

  “It’s still September.”

  “Would you care to be a little more specific? What’s the year?”

  “1884.”

  Steve’s eyes shot open. He alternated his gaze between Sarah and Rosamund.

  “1884? This is 1884? How the hell did that happen?”

  Sarah quickly glanced at Mrs. Jones and then back at her husband. Rosamund smiled and made herself comfortable on the sofa.

  “Don’t mind me, dear. Do go on.”

  Sarah patted the elderly woman’s hand. “I’m not sure how much you can handle, Mrs. Jones. If we were to explain where we’re from it might freak you out.”

  “Freak? Are you calling me a freak?”

  “Heavens, no, Mrs. Jones. Umm, what I meant to say was that I don’t want to alarm you.”

  “Oh. I have given birth to ten children, dear. I made the journey all the way from New York in a covered wagon. There isn’t anything you can say that would surprise me.”

  “Just tell me one thing, Mrs. Jones,” Sarah began. “What questions were you talking about before? Have the people been asking about me?”

  “They know you’re not from around here,” Rosamund told her. “A pretty young thing like you showing up in this town without a husband is an invitation for trouble. Almost immediately I had to start fending off matrimonial advances from just about every male around here. If they see you now, with Steve here, they’re likely to try and do him harm.”

  Steve scowled. “I’d like to see them try.”

  “These aren’t arrows we’re talking about,” Sarah reminded him as she frowned at her husband, “but bullets. You cannot incinerate bullets.”

  “Incinerate arrows?” Rosamund said, with a laugh. “One day I hope to hear all about who you two really are.”

  “Mrs. Jones, you’ve been so kind to me. Let me repay the favor by not having you hear what’s about to be said. It would cause you undue stress and you don’t deserve that. Besides, I need you to cover for me upstairs, okay?”

  The feathers on Rosamund’s hat bobbed up and down as she nodded.

  “Very well, dear. If you need me I will be upstairs.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” Steve told her. “I am indebted to you for taking care of Sarah for me. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll be sure to collect, dear,” Mrs. Jones assured him with a wink.

  After she disappeared up the steep stairs, and the trapdoor was firmly back in place, Steve turned to his wife once more.

  “Okay, spill. How is it we’ve gone back in time? And is it safe to say that you can’t teleport through time?”

  “If I could,” Sarah told him, “then I would have joined you long ago. I tried. Trust me, I tried. I cannot picture anywhere I want to go. The only thing I can figure is that it’s because those places just don’t exist yet.”

  “Yes they do,” Steve argued. “Our home is a place and it damn-well exists.”

  “Yes, it does,” Sarah patiently explained, “but not here. My visions show me where I’m teleporting, right? Since the manor as we know it doesn’t exist yet then I cannot picture it.”

  “Oh. That sucks.”

  Sarah was incredulous. “Is that all you can say? ‘That sucks’? We are stuck here, do you realize that? We do not have a way to return home!”

  “What about that portal? Can’t we just use that to get back?”

  Sarah clamped her mouth shut and gave herself a few moments to compose her thoughts.

  “There are several things wrong with that. First, the portal keeps jumping around. If we could somehow catch that portal or else figure out where it’ll be next then we might have a chance. As it is, there is no predicting where it’ll be next,
or when. Speaking of when, that brings me to my next point. If we were to somehow get to a point where we could use the portal, how do we know we would even be dropped back off at the correct time?”

  Steve cursed silently to himself as the ramifications of their predicament began to settle in.

  “The portal took us back in time over a hundred years,” Sarah continued. “Who’s to say that it wouldn’t throw us several hundred years into the future? No, that portal needs to be considered off limits.”

  “You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?” Steve asked.

  “I’ve lain awake for nights thinking about how to get home,” Sarah confessed.

  “What have you come up with?”

  Sarah sighed and slid her hand down her face. She looked at him and didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t have any idea how to return home, do you?”

  “I’ve only come up with one solution.”

  Steve sat up straight and leaned forward.

  “Yes?”

  “I use my own jhorun and figure out what is blocking me.”

  “I assume you’ve been trying?”

  “Every waking moment,” Sarah admitted.

  “Have you made any progress?”

  Sarah’s gaze fell to the floor and stayed there. Steve felt the blood drain from his face. Sarah didn’t have a clue how to get home and that was after six months of trying. Steve reached out a hand and laid it on his wife’s.

  “We’ve been through worse. We’ll figure this out.” Steve sat back in his chair and gave a little cough as some of the dust flying through the air tickled his throat. “Fort Sherman. I should have known when I saw that sign.”

  “You saw that big white sign and you still didn’t know where you were? Honey, we drive past that sign every time we go to the Cook Book Nook. How is it you didn’t remember seeing it before?”

  Steve let out an exasperated breath. “I ended up following what I now know was a bunch of Civil War era soldiers on their way back from a hunting trip. There were no roads, no houses, and no signs of anything that I recognized. When they finally did make it to the fort the only thing I was focusing on was not being discovered.”

  “Were you?” Sarah asked.