Vestige of Legacy

by Sara Blackard

  Orlando gaped at her, the reins slipping through his fingers. She grabbed them and placed them back in his hands. He closed his mouth and blinked several times before the shock wore off.

  “It can fly that high and stay there?” he asked when his brain started working again.

  Samara giggled. “Yeah, they actually get that high within ten minutes or so and can go even higher, but they don’t. I think the military flies higher, but commercial planes with hundreds of people on them stay lower for safety reasons. Of course, the smaller planes fly lower. Their engines aren’t as big.”

  “Hundreds of people? They’re big enough to hold hundreds of people and they stay floating in the air? How is this possible?” Orlando hoped at some point he’d stop sounding like an idiot.

  “Well, domestic flights typically have about two hundred and fifty passengers, though the international flights that go to Europe and Asia hold three hundred and fifty or so. I honestly don’t understand how it all works. The engineering and science is beyond me, but I’m glad they’ve figured it out. Getting from Philly to Cali in one day makes life much more enjoyable.”

  “I… I just can’t fathom that,” Orlando stuttered, not progressing very well in sounding intelligent.

  “You really don’t know anything about this do you? You are as white as toothpaste.” Samara placed her hand on his cheek.

  “Hunter and I mostly talked about other things like medical and weaponry advancements. Then when winter started drawing close and I knew Hunter could take care of my sisters without me, I moved to our cabin we use for trapping. The other cabin was just too small for all of us. It’s a few days ride away, so I haven’t been back much to see them.” Orlando shook his head. “I knew people flew in contraptions, I guess I didn’t realize the extent of it. It’s baffling really.”

  Samara stared at him in thought. Her eyes held a sadness he wished he could erase. Then, as if she’d gathered her thoughts, her demeanor shifted to resolution.

  “This is real. I’ve traveled back in time, haven’t I?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Samara sighed. “I’d still like to see Glenwood Springs if you don’t mind. I need to see it for myself.”

  “I don’t mind taking you there, Samara, if that’s what you need to know that I’m not lying.”

  “Why? Why me?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know God must have a plan for you, something only you could do, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Maybe he wanted to save you, keep you from Harry. I also know that I’ll help you in whatever way I can. I’m not going to make you go through this alone.” Orlando solidified his declaration he’d already made in his heart.

  “God’s only plan for me is pain. He’s never saved me from anything. I’ve had to do that myself.” Samara’s body stiffened, then drooped.

  Orlando knew well enough to leave that comment alone for now. Samara’s past seemed riddled with hurt and struggle. He wanted to know every detail so he could help heal those wounds that festered and kept her from God, who she knew but had rejected. He prayed God would give him wisdom in when to pick at and flush the wounds and when to let them be.

  “I interrupted your earlier explanation of what convinced you it’s the past. Would you mind continuing? I promise I won’t, how do you put it, ‘freak out’ on you again.” Orlando hoped to get her to continue talking

  “Well, on top of the jet streams, the sky appears bluer, maybe from a lack of pollution. Then there’s that pack of wolves. Wolves were killed off at the beginning of the 1900s. There hasn’t been a pack of wolves since. It’s kind of become an issue since some people want to reintroduce them into the environment. But the thing that clinched it for me is the trees. They’re all green. There’re no spruce beetle areas anywhere.” Samara pointed to the trees.

  “What’s a spruce beetle?”

  “It’s this bug that infects the forest and kills the trees. There are entire sections of forest covering Colorado that are brown and dying. It’s worse in wilderness sections because the government doesn’t allow the forest cleaned of dead trees and brush, and with forest fires suppressed, there’s no cleaning up being done naturally.”

  “Well, that’s just stupid. Everyone knows as dangerous as fires are, they keep the forest healthy. You just have to stay out of the way until they’re done. You might lose everything, but in the long run it’s better for everyone,” Orlando countered.

  “Yeah, well, the powers that be decided a long time ago that suppressing fires as quickly as possible was safer than letting them burn and possibly killing people and destroying homes. I watched this fascinating documentary on PBS called Fire Wars about the history of forest fire maintenance. In theory it’s a good plan, but it’s created forests so thick with overgrowth that fires now have so much fuel, they burn out of control. I don’t know much about it all, but maybe if the forests had been able to take care of themselves, the spruce beetle wouldn’t have taken over as much of the forest as it has. Of course, that’s just a theory, but I’d take forests that look like this over the ones of my time any day.”

  “I guess I can understand wanting to protect people and their property. From what Hunter told us, the West fairly explodes with people, which seems crazy.” Orlando shook his head again, noticing that Samara’s shoulders had drooped farther and her eyelids appeared as heavy as a two-ton bear. “Why don’t you lean back and try to sleep? You look about done in.”

  Samara hesitantly sat back against him, her breath skirting across his neck. “I believe I’m going to take a nap. I’m beat, and I think my mind needs a break.”

  He saw a definite benefit to riding double this way. The muscles in his arm would recover, and even if they didn’t, she leaned on his left arm, so he could still shoot and write.

  “Go ahead. I won’t let you fall,” Orlando replied.

  “We’ll see,” she mumbled.

  How could two little words challenge Orlando and invigorate him at the same time? It was baffling, but he knew he’d do anything to earn her trust. He pulled her close and enjoyed the scenery he appreciated more after talking to her while he took her the rest of the way home.

  Samara inhaled, the mix of sweet meadow grass and musky leather revving up her system like she’d just stepped into a Krispy Kreme. Her body hummed in anticipation with the scents alone. Then her support moved and her body’s humming ramped up to full blown sugar high, complete with an extra shot of caffeine.

  Orlando cleared his throat and adjusted her again. She sat up from where she’d snuggled into his neck in her sleep and looked into his face. He gave her a small, lopsided smile, and she melted like a donut fresh off the conveyor belt, all sticky and sweet.

  What in the world was wrong with her? She groaned at her ridiculousness and turned forward. She needed to remember that she wasn’t a donut melting in an instant. She was a prickly pear cactus, sharp and spiky. The cactus had kept her alive when life had taken bite after bite out of her. Sure, it kept people away, but if life had taught her one thing, it was that people would leave her. Her parents had proved that. Jeremy, her ex-fiancé, had proved that.

  Samara thought about the time she’d let the soft, juicy flesh within her sharp exterior surface. She remembered when she’d let herself relax, figuring she’d found her sanctuary in the Institute, a place full of sappy musicians, solid walls, and reliable meals. The cactus blossomed when Jeremy Steese had dripped sweet words and soft touches her way. Soon fragrant flowers overshadowed the spikes as their relationship had progressed, and he’d proposed. Of course it was later, after he’d sliced open her flesh and devoured anything soft left, that she realized he’d only been using her to progress his own career. She hadn’t been enough to keep him there.

  That’s when Samara had comprehended the essence of herself, the intrinsic fact that she wasn’t worth sticking around for. She should’ve realized it when her parents chose God over her as missionaries in the Philippines, when her foster parents chose their mo
nthly payments over her, when her so-called friends on the streets chose ease over her. She figured she was dense, but she finally got it. She wasn’t going to let some handsome mountain man’s promises or the fact she appeared stuck in a Jeremiah Johnson nightmare let her forget again. The place and year didn’t change the simple fact that she would always be a prickly pear, not a Krispy Kreme. She was still too much effort for an insufficient reward.

  “We’re almost there.” Orlando’s deep voice vibrated in her ear. “Just through these trees and you’ll see the Grand River and Roaring Fork where they connect. The Yampah springs are at the base of the mountain, but I’d rather not go down there.”

  “Why?”

  Orlando chuckled. “My family and the Utes have been friends for years, since my grandparents settled here. If we go down there, it might be days before I’m able to leave with all the visiting they’ll want to do. While I don’t mind coming over here so you can see, I really do need to get back to the homestead.”

  “Why?” Samara wanted to smack herself for sounding like a broken record.

  “Well, my sheep will need tending, and the garden can’t go too many days without watering, especially in this kind of heat.”

  Huh, he didn’t strike her as the shepherd-type. That picture seemed too tame for him, too mild. Though she supposed David from the Bible did fight off lions. If her memory of those stories were correct, David wasn’t a mild guy either.

  Loco stepped out of the mesquite and sage to a cliff that overlooked a beautiful scene far below. Samara sucked in a sharp breath, her skin tingling uncomfortably. This was the valley she’d explored so often through the summer with the red cliffs and two rivers converging at the base of the mountains. The valley that stretched south was the same Roaring Fork valley she’d sketched over and over again in her pad that sat on the table next to her bed back in 2019.

  Where the thriving city of Glenwood Springs should be sprawling in all directions, a group of teepees sat along the river below. No gondola carried people up and down the mountain to visit the fairy caverns. No interstate ran alongside the river with vehicles rushing by. The silence was so complete Samara could hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

  “Are you alright?” Orlando’s soft question eased the tension that threatened to squeeze her heart to a stop.

  She nodded, sucking in a deep breath and forcing her heart to slow. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Orlando had told her Glenwood Springs didn’t exist anymore… or yet. But she guessed her heart hadn’t truly accepted the fact that she had been transported back in time like some sci-fi movie.

  “Huh, I wonder what’s going on over there.” Orlando drew her attention away from the absence of all she knew to where he pointed at thin threads of smoke curling towards the sky. “Let’s go check it out.”

  Samara suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to check things out. Even though she had spent almost as much time exploring the local history museums as she did drawing the beautiful landscapes, she didn’t want to truly understand the world she found herself in, at least not with a hands-on understanding. A world full of rugged miners and rogue Utes. A world where women spent their time baking, cleaning, and raising families. She didn’t know any of that stuff, relying on take out and frozen dinners.

  “O-okay.” Samara’s voice stuttered.

  “It’ll be alright. We’ll just check it out, then head for the homestead.” Orlando’s pat on her shoulder pricked her pride.

  As they rode toward the smoke, Samara’s gaze kept veering over the edge of the cliff. The change in the valley kicked her brain into high gear. What would the rest of the world look like? Her wondering stopped short as they approached a rough looking log cabin sitting close to the cliff. Samara gaped at the small cabin barely taller than a man, the logs chopped unevenly and mud slapped haphazardly between the wood. A hand-painted sign tacked above the door read ‘Fort Defiance.’

  Orlando dismounted, then lifted Samara down from Loco’s back, his eyes scanning the area. He petted Zeus’s head and whispered something in the dog’s ear. Orlando’s rigid shoulders caused Samara’s already tense nerves to go on high alert.

  “Stay out here with Zeus.” Orlando turned his attention to her, his stare intense. “I don’t want him trying to jump down, and if you stay here with him, he won’t get so anxious.”

  Samara thought the explanation was flimsy at best, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. “Alright. Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t.” Orlando motioned with his hand to Zeus and strolled into the cabin.

  Samara rubbed Zeus’s ear as she scrutinized the area. Maybe she should leave? She could follow the river and head north where the valley would eventually lead her to where the town of Meeker would be. She remembered there had been an Indian agency there. They’d probably be able to help her. She glanced at Loco. Would she be able to handle the big horse? Would Orlando press charges for horse stealing? Didn’t they hang people for that?

  “Well, look what we’ve got here, boys.” The gritty voice and raucous laughter raced up her legs like she’d stepped in a spider’s nest.

  Zeus growled low, his hair rising on the back of his head. Samara turned around slowly to the group of men emerging from the mesquite. The four of them snickered and leered at her from beneath dirty hats smashed upon matted hair that hung ragged around their shoulders. This was not the welcoming party to the nineteenth century she wanted.

  Chapter 6

  Orlando ducked his head into the small cabin through the open door, not really knowing what to expect. It took a lot of nerve to build atop the cliff on land owned by the Utes. The cabin was set up as a shop of sorts with some supplies on shelves. A man stood bent over the counter surveying a map. Orlando cleared his throat, and the man looked up.

  A smile stretched across his face as he strode around the counter with his hand outstretched. “Welcome to Fort Defiance! John Landis, at your service.”

  “Orlando Thomas.” Orlando met John’s hand.

  John’s eyes sprang wide open and his hand stopped mid-shake. “The Orlando Thomas?”

  “Yep.” Orlando attempted to release John’s hand.

  “Well, land sakes, it’s an honor to meet you.” John pumped Orlando’s hand up and down some more.

  The low growl of Zeus reached Orlando’s ear a second before rowdy laughter. Dread pooled into his gut. He shouldn’t have left Samara outside alone. He pulled his hand from John’s and raced out the door.

  If the scene before him didn’t burn him with anger, he’d chuckle at how adorable Samara looked. His clothes hanging from her tiny frame may have hidden her feminine body, but it did nothing to disguise her breathtaking looks or wild auburn curls. A rough-looking group of prospectors were closing in around her, backing her into Loco’s side and blocking her escape. Her expression was a wall of strength, though her hands shook where they were clenched at her side. Orlando suppressed the urge to draw his revolvers and teach these men a lesson they wouldn’t forget.

  “Is there a problem here?” Orlando’s voice came out hard and menacing.

  “No problem, no problem at all.” The biggest man, who seemed to be the leader, smiled stupidly. “We are just welcoming this little lady to Fort Defiance. Glad to finally have some decent entertainment, if you know what I mean.”

  The man winked at Orlando, causing Orlando’s blood to boil. Samara wasn’t some harlot in a brothel. Orlando’s hands fisted.

  “You boys better back up and head out.” Orlando clenched his teeth.

  “What’s it to you? This your woman, mister?” A scrawny fellow that had more bones than muscle sneered.

  “This here is Orlando Thomas, boys. If I were you, I’d do as he says,” John said from behind Orlando.

  The men had mixed expressions of fear and awe as they stumbled back from Samara, tripping over each other as they did. Samara’s head snapped to Orlando, her auburn eyebrows winging up her forehead.

  “Sor— sorry Mr.
Thomas, sir. We didn’t realize she was yours,” the scrawny one stammered, his hands wringing together. Orlando’s eyes narrowed.

  Samara’s shocked gasp drew Orlando’s gaze. Her hands were on her hips and her mouth fell open. The men ignored her as they stared at Orlando with wide eyes.

  The leader stepped forward, and to Orlando’s horror, bowed slightly. “We’re the Raffertys, sir, cousins from Ohio. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  “Is it true you scaled Pike’s Highest Peak with nothing but your bare hands and a canteen?” The scrawny one’s face morphed from concern to excitement.

  “Or what about the time you were surrounded by Utes, and when your guns jammed, you fought your way out with your wits and bare hands?” another hollered.

  “Oh— tell us about when the grizz attacked you and when the beast knocked your knife out of your hand, you wrestled it to the ground and choked it with your bare hands. That’s my favorite.” The man’s voice sounded breathless with excitement.

  Samara peered at Orlando, one eye cocking up in question. She smirked, glancing deliberately at his hands still clenched at his side and back up to his face. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

  “Is this how you normally treat women?” Orlando’s question muted the men’s expressions of excitement to confusion.

  They looked among each other, shaking their heads until the scrawny one elbowed the leader who stepped forward. “We were just having some fun, Mr. Thomas. We meant no disrespect. It’s been a mighty long time since we’ve had sight of someone so purty.”

  Orlando took a menacing step forward, his eyes narrowing on the lot of them. “If I ever hear of you boys accosting another woman in these mountains, I will personally hunt you down and teach you a lesson.”