by Kit Morgan
“Jeff, stop staring – it’s not polite,” Belle said.
“Your mother’s right,” said Mr. Cooke. “What is it?”
“Parthena and Sam are done helping Mr. Mulligan,” Jeff said, his eyes darting between his parents and Lorelei.
Her cheeks grew hot under his perusal. She’d always liked cowboys – they were sturdy, tough and romantic. It was one of the reasons she loved watching Westerns. It was also why she’d wanted her time at the MacDonalds’ party to be special, but this was getting a little too special.
“Jefferson,” Belle said, voice laced with warning.
Jefferson – what a nice name. Lorelei watched him twist his hat in his hands a few more times. His eyes met hers, flicked to the other end of the bed and widened. He tilted his head from one side to the other, then stared at her. Her forehead crinkled with confusion. “What?”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but those are the strangest shoes I’ve ever seen.”
“What?” She looked at her feet. “They’re just Chuck Taylors.”
“Who’s Chuck Taylor?” Mr. Cooke said. “A friend of yours?”
“Um, no. I don’t know why they’re called that. I used to wear them to school.”
“They make shoes just for schooling?” the young cowboy asked.
Lorelei stared at Jefferson. He looked like his father Colin, tall and with the same hazel eyes, though his hair was a little darker and he wasn’t as broad. He still had a teenager’s gangliness.
Then something he said before hit. Mulligan’s … the bar & grill? Her stomach did a funny flip – did he live in Clear Creek? She’d never seen him before. His clothes were well used, not new-looking like those at the party last night. They looked like he wore them every day. Did he get them at Dunnigan’s? They sold a little Western wear, mainly for the tourists.
The doctor, Drake, was still holding her hand. His clothes looked worn too, as did Mr. Cooke’s. The only outfit that looked new was Belle’s dress. But she had said she’d just made it.
“Are you all right?” the doctor asked.
She opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. “Um, not really.” Something wasn’t right. Had Jeff the cowboy just come from Mulligan’s? They must be in town, then, not that … other place. But why had the MacDonalds left her with strangers? What was going on? “I … I just want to go home,” she whined, tearing up.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Belle said. “We’ll take you home with us. You really shouldn’t be alone.” She looked at the doctor, worried.
Drake smiled at Lorelei and squeezed her hand. “I believe you’ve had a shock.” He looked at the others. “I wish the MacDonalds had left us more information. Did they give any specifics?”
“No, other than to look after her for them,” Mr. Cooke said. “I must say, it all happened rather fast. They met us here in town, led us to Amon Cotter’s place, the one he built just past the tree line, and … that was that. Gone.”
Doc Drake sighed. “They must have had some sort of emergency. Still, it’s odd.”
“They’re odd, if you ask me,” Jefferson said.
“Jeff, mind your manners,” Mr. Cooke scolded.
He sighed and looked at Lorelei. “Hello, ma’am.”
She smiled cautiously. “Hiya.”
“Bowen, is there anything we can do for our young guest that you haven’t … already done?” Mr. Cooke inquired.
The doctor shook his head. “Let her rest, keep her warm, feed her. And be patient. It’s best after someone’s had a shock.”
“Wait a minute,” Lorelei struggled to sit up through a wave of dizziness. “I haven’t had a shock – I had some bad cheese, that’s all. It must have given me food poisoning. I’m fine, really. But will someone tell me where I am?”
Each of them gave her a funny look. “You fainted,” Belle said in protest. “Colin and Jeff had to carry you in here.”
She stared at the Cooke men and swallowed hard. She hated being a bother to anyone, so the thought they’d had to hoist her up and haul her in here was embarrassing. “I’m sorry I fainted. I don’t usually do that. But you brought me to some Wild West park, then claimed it was Clear Creek … are you sure you’re not a cult?”
“You must be disoriented.” Belle took her other hand. “Let’s get you home now.” She turned to her son. “Fetch your brother and sister.”
Jefferson nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave Lorelei’s.
“Jeff, do as your mother says,” Mr. Cooke ordered.
His son nodded, spun on his heel and left, his boots clomping into the distance.
“Now I want you to go home with Colin, Belle and their children,” the doctor told her. “Rest up, eat right and you’ll be back to normal in no time. Don’t be afraid. You’re in good hands.”
His voice was gentle, soothing. She couldn’t help but nod in return. But things still weren’t adding up. She needed to find out where she really was, and how to get from here to home, no matter how nice everyone was acting.
Belle stood and offered her a hand. “Come along. I’m sure Parthena has a few peppermint sticks by now. I’ll have her share one with you.”
Her stomach growled. “Candy? Well, all right.”
“Oh dear, perhaps some jerky instead?” her husband suggested.
Lorelei made a face. Was he kidding? “Can’t we just stop by a Wendy’s?”
Belle ignored that and gave Lorelei’s hand a gentle tug. She took the hint and swung her legs off the side of the bed. No fast food in Wildwestville, apparently.
“Steady now,” the doctor warned. “Wait for any dizziness to pass.”
She nodded. Her stomach just felt empty, not the nausea she expected. She stood slowly, carefully, clutching Belle’s hand the entire time.
“There now.” Mr. Cooke took her elbow. “Let’s get you settled. The children should’ve loaded themselves up by now.”
They steered her out of the room, through an ancient kitchen complete with cookstove, and into the hall. There was a staircase there, a living room on the left and a dining room on the right, both furnished with antiques.
A blond woman sitting on a Victorian-looking couch – a settee? – set some sewing aside. “Is she all right?”
“She’ll be fine, Elsie,” Mr. Cooke said.
“She don’t look fine, Colin.” An old lady pushed herself out of a rocking chair, came over and looked her up and down. “That’s some dress, young lady.” She smiled. “Call me Grandma.”
Lorelei’s eyebrows rose. She glanced at the Cookes.
“We all do,” Mr. Cooke said. “Everyone in town.”
She smiled at the old woman. “Grandma.”
Grandma shook her head in annoyance. “She ain’t right. Something’s wrong.”
You can say that again, Lorelei thought.
“Grandma, you needn’t worry,” Doc Drake said as he joined them. “Physically she’s fine, just a little woozy.”
“Case of the vapors?”
“Not exactly,” Drake said as he rubbed his chin with a hand. “But I trust Dallan and Shona.”
“Hmm,” Grandma mused. “Well, if’n they say she’s fine, she must be.” She smiled at Lorelei again. “Welcome to Clear Creek, child.”
Lorelei shuddered as she looked at the front door, then the windows in the parlor. But she couldn’t see what was outside through the lace curtains.
Before she knew it, she was at the front door. Mr. Cooke opened it, his hand still on her elbow, and ushered her outside. She looked around and, yeah, she was still in Wildwestville, just as she’d seen before she fainted. Was it a movie set? A place for Western re-enactments? Or some Amish-type cult that rejected modern technology? She remembered reading in one of Mr. Jensen’s travel magazines about a place in the Carolinas that didn’t allow cars, only horses.
But how did she not know about a place like this in Oregon? And why did they keep insisting it was Clear Creek?
She let them lead her off the porch and across the street
toward their buckboard. Jefferson was leaning against it, and a girl and boy who both looked about twelve sat in the back. All three looked like Colin and Belle. Okay, so that must be Parthena and … Sam or Stan or something.
She took inventory as she settled in the wagon bed. She could see fine, hear fine. Her mind wasn’t as foggy as before. But what was this place? “Is this town for actors?”
Belle smiled. “You’ll find no actors here. Not until Christmas Eve, that is.”
“What’s Christmas Eve?”
“A most auspicious event,” Mr. Cooke said as he snapped the reins and the horses began moving. “The town Christmas play. I’m Joseph this year.”
“We don’t know that,” Belle said. “Annie isn’t done giving out parts.”
“Harrison got to be Joseph last year, Paddy the year before, Bran the year before that. It has to be my turn by now. It’s a very coveted role,” he added with a wink to Lorelei.
Lorelei, though, was too busy looking around at the buildings the buckboard was passing to notice. “Mr. Cooke? When was this place built? And why is it here?” She smiled at him. “It’s remarkable. What is it used for?”
His face froze, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. Belle looked much the same.
“I mean I know the MacDonalds were working on their cabin and stuff. Judging from some of the people at the party last night, they must have serious investors. Did they build this place?”
They continued to stare at her, their faces a blank. “Build it?” Belle said.
“Yes. And how did they build it? Did they use refurbished wood on everything?” She glanced around. “The buildings look like they’ve been here a while.”
“They have,” Mr. Cooke said. “Some of them almost thirty years.”
Lorelei returned the same blank stare. “I was thinking they looked older than that.”
Belle shook her head. “We can talk about that later. We’ll turn around and get you something to eat from the mercantile. Maybe Paddy has some dried apples. He’s helping to mind the store while the Dunnigans are away.”
Lorelei’s face fell. “The who?”
“The Dunnigans, they own it,” Belle said. “Don’t you remember me telling you I’m their niece?”
She glanced between them, then looked at the building they’d pulled away from. The sign was different than the one over the store she knew – newer looking, as if it had been painted recently. But the building front was the same as the Dunnigan’s Mercantile she knew. And the house behind it similar to the one behind Dunnigan’s in Old Town, but it was bare wood instead of painted lilac with white trim. Mrs. Randall owned that shop, selling various gift items, incense, crystals and the like. Mr. Jensen called it “the hippie store.”
She took another look down the street. There were no power lines, no satellite dishes, but if you added them and replaced the horses and wagons with cars, it would look a lot like Old Town Clear Creek. She reached into the pocket of her cloak for her cell phone.
It was gone. “Hey!”
“Are you all right?” Belle asked with concern as the wagon stopped. “Should I fetch Doc Drake?”
“I … I don’t need a doctor.” Without thinking she climbed down from the buckboard and walked toward the mercantile. Jeff and the kids were watching her, but she ignored them as she headed up the porch steps and inside.
A tiny bell over the door rang, announcing her arrival.
Lorelei glanced around the store as her chest grew tight. It wasn’t as cluttered with gift items and knickknacks as the Dunnigan’s she knew, but the built-in shelves and some of the bins were the same. She turned and looked at the windows. Those were similar too. But the ones in her store were double-paned; these were single.
“Well, good morning. How can I help ye, young lady?”
She turned around and looked into a familiar pair of eyes. She knew this man, but from where? He looked like he was in his late sixties. “Sir, can you tell me where I am?” She had no idea why she asked that – it was a stupid question. She should know where she was, but she didn’t.
“Colin?” he said in an Irish brogue. “Mind introducing me?”
He reminded her of … no. She took a breath and backed up a step.
“Paddy, this is Lorelei Carson,” Mr. Cooke said. He must have come in while she was looking around. “She’s going to be staying with us for … well, a while. Probably not long. She’s a friend of the MacDonalds.”
“Ah, aye.” The Irishman smiled at her. “Welcome to Clear Creek.”
She stared at him as her mind raced. She knew him, knew him. But she didn’t. “Okay, nice try. But I’ve lived in Clear Creek for six years, and … this isn’t it.” She waved around herself nervously.
The old man looked confused. “Ah, lass, I think ye’re mistaken. This is Clear Creek – I should know, I helped found it.”
“Wha?”
Colin cleared his throat. “Lorelei Carson, this is Patrick Mulligan. I mentioned he played Joseph in the town play two years ago.”
The picture over the bookcase in her apartment! Mulligan?! Lorelei could barely breathe.
“Oh, ye poor sweet lass. Ye’ve gone white as a sheet.”
“Oh, dear,” Mr. Cooke said. “I knew we shouldn’t have moved her yet.”
“Colin, you’re not helping,” said Belle. “Lorelei, are you ill again?”
She couldn’t speak as her eyes fixed on the Irishman. He was younger than the man in the picture, a little thinner too, but it was him. She knew it. But how …?
The bell over the door rang and she heard Jeff behind her. “What’s taking so long? Parthena’s liable to chew Sam’s leg off, and she’s not the only one. I’m famished.”
Lorelei’s voice was a numb mumble. “This is Clear Creek?”
“Of course,” Colin replied.
“When … is this?”
Lorelei didn’t get an immediate answer. Instead she heard Belle yell, “Oh, she’s going down again!”
Chapter Eight
“Father, she’s awake!”
Lorelei blinked a few times, then blinked some more. Something kept getting in her eyes, but she didn’t know what.
“Here.” A male voice.
She tried opening her eyes again and blinked the wetness away. Was she crying? She saw a hat over her face and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, it was still there. “Wha?” came out weakly, but at least she could talk.
“Sorry,” said the same voice, and the hat disappeared.
It was snowing. She pulled her arm from beneath the quilt thrown over her and wiped her face. It was hard to see with big fluffy flakes coming down in her eyes. She tried to sit up, felt her head swim, and stopped.
“Jefferson, give her some water.” She knew it was Colin Cooke without checking. She’d grown accustomed to his English accent. Did Jeff have an accent? She couldn’t remember.
“Here, drink this.” Jeff unscrewed the top of the canteen.
No, he didn’t have much of one. She took it, not caring how odd it looked, and took a long cool drink. “Where are we?”
“Heading home.” He stared at her.
She stared back. He was a handsome boy – correction, young man – with nice eyes, light hazel. Not quite the same color as his father’s, but close. “Thank you. Now for the next question: when are we?”
“Um,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. “Mother? Should I answer that?”
A giggle sounded to her right. She forgot they had company. His younger sister watched them with mischievous eyes. She had golden blonde hair like her mother, blue eyes and a funny name – Pantheon or something. Too many unfamiliar people and sensations were boggling her mind – and underneath them all, the big unfamiliar: where she was. Or, if the sinking feeling she had was correct, when.
Lorelei handed the canteen back to Jeff. He took it, replaced the cap then set it to the side. “Do you feel all right?”
“No. No, I do not feel all right. I feel woo
zy. I feel disoriented. Someone slipped me a mickey yesterday, and now I’m in a place that’s Clear Creek but not Clear Creek and no one will tell me what’s going on and if I see the MacDonalds again I am going to rip them both a new one for doing this to me!” She took a second to catch her breath. “No offense to any of you, but this is very annoying, and I want to go home – my real home, not anyone else’s – and to my Dunnigan’s Mercantile, not the one with people from hundred-year-old pictures behind the counter.”
There was a long pause as she fumed, everyone staring at her. She hated that she’d just thrown such a tantrum in front of these people, but by golly, she thought she’d earned a good blow-up.
Then Jeff spoke up. “Rip them both a new what?”
Lorelei looked at him in shock. Then she started laughing and couldn’t stop. She felt like she was going crazy, but the laughter felt good – especially when everyone else joined in. She remembered something a private eye said in a book she’d once read: “If logic takes me to a place in the Twilight Zone, I go there anyway.” That got her laughing even harder, because she doubted Rod Serling could have topped this one. Finally, she was forced to stop due to lack of oxygen, and she wheezed a bit before sitting up against a crate in the wagon bed. But strange as it seemed, she felt a lot better now. Her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. No one was lying to her. Her situation was literally impossible – or, rather, she would have thought it was a day ago – but at least now she had a good guess as to what her situation was. She extended a hand to Jeff. “Lorelei Carson.”
Jeff bowed his head to her. “Jefferson Wilfred Cooke, at your service.”
“Don’t you have a middle name?” the girl asked Lorelei.
“Yes. Ingrid.” She locked eyes with Jeff. “I don’t like it very much so please, don’t use it.”
“Ingrid?” he repeated, as if trying it out. “I like it.”
“My name’s Parthena,” the girl said. “My middle name is Opal.” She tossed her head at her brother at the back of the buckboard. “His middle name is Harrison.”
“And his first name is … Sam?” She was still considering that this might be some elaborate joke by the MacDonalds, but no. Too expensive a joke to waste on a nobody girl from the back end of Oregon. She needed to ask the one question that would – hopefully – confirm what she was thinking.
