A Tumble Through Time

by Hutton, Callie

  An immense sadness washed over Anna as she drove from the nursing home grounds. I’m so alone in this world. Tears rolled down her face as she drove aimlessly around the town. Finally pulling herself together, she checked into another nondescript motel, dumped her belongings on the floor, and flopped onto the bed. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

  The next morning, dressed in the same jeans and a yellow halter top, Anna sipped from the lid of a cardboard coffee cup, and after taking a quick turn out of the motel parking lot, directed her car toward the highway. She glanced at a Native American store at the entrance to Route 83. For some inexplicable reason, she pulled into the parking lot as if a magnet drew her, and killed the motor.

  She chided herself for this indulgence, since she needed to return to Tulsa, but something about the place called to her. Well, she would just make it a quick stop. As she exited the car, she once again ran through the list of things she needed to get done before her reinstatement hearing in three weeks. In that bit of time, she had to find an apartment and furnish it, since she’d sold everything before her wedding.

  Wedding, hah. I hope Sarah and Robbie are happy with each other. NOT.

  She also had the nasty task of contacting the snake so she could get her things back from his place. If she was wise, she’d leave her revolver at home. Her service piece had been returned when she’d left the department, but she always kept a gun on her, handy to have when dealing with some of the lowlifes in her job.

  The soft tinkle of a tiny bell greeted her as she entered the store. She gawked like a tourist. The place was amazing. Shelves were packed with trinkets, wooden carvings of warriors and Madonna-like women. Colorful paintings of scenery, and portraits of stern looking men, their faces brown and deep-lined, took up one entire wall.

  To her left, an old-fashioned wooden counter held bowls and dishes of jewelry, earrings and bangle bracelets. She took in a deep breath and savored the scent of incense. The aged planks under her feet creaked as she slowly moved up the aisle, almost as if she’d entered a church, or shrine of some sort. Light shone through a window, catching a prism, casting tiny spots of light over a rack of soft-looking suede shirts and long, gaily-printed skirts.

  Somewhere from the back of the room, a haunting melody played and coaxed her forward. Anna felt as though she’d stepped into a magical world. A place where there were no troubles, no anxiety, no disappointments. An older Native American woman, with two long gray braids resting on her shoulders, sat on a metal folding chair at the back of the store, weaving strips of colorful cloth. It appeared she was working on a rug. She looked up at Anna, nodded, and gave her a gap-toothed smile. Anna grinned back.

  “Can I help you with something today, lady? Or are you just looking around?”

  Her melodious voice wafted through the air, adding to Anna’s sense of inner peace, the first time she’d felt that way since her discovery at Sarah’s apartment. She scowled as all the anger came flooding back. Why is it I’m more angry than heartbroken?

  The old woman tsked and shook her head. “No bad thoughts here, lady. Come, sit with me and rest for a while.”

  Despite knowing she should be on her way, Anna found herself lured to this woman, so she took the chair next to her.

  “I see this is not a good day for you,” the woman stated as her fingers worked in and out.

  To Anna’s ultimate mortification, a slow trickle of tears started, the drops landing onto her jeans like the beginning of a spring storm, leaving tiny dark circles. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she covered her face with her hands as her body shook with sobs. All the hurt and humiliation of losing her job, her fiancé, and her last relative in the world crashed down on her like a perfect emotional storm. The woman hummed softly and continued to weave her rug while Anna cried for all she’d lost.

  After several minutes she took a few deep breaths, then wiped her cheeks with the back of her shaky hands and glanced sheepishly at the woman. “I’m very sorry. I don’t usually lose control like that. But it’s been a difficult few weeks.”

  The woman nodded and continued with her work. “Do you search for the wrong things, Anna Devlin? Is that why you are so unhappy?”

  Anna’s head snapped up. “How . . . how do you know my name?”

  The old woman never looked up from her work. “I know much about you, lady.”

  A shiver raced down Anna’s spine, and the skin on her arms broke out into goose bumps. She should get up and run for her life. The woman was crazy.

  “No, Anna. I am not crazy.”

  Oh, my God. She’s also a mind reader. Anna moved to get up, but the woman stopped her with a brown, wrinkled hand. “You search for inner peace. Your heart aches with memories of abandonment. You long to be loved, respected, and cared for.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Anna snapped.

  The older woman’s eyes met hers for the first time. Black like lumps of coal, but warm and compassionate. “You look for the wrong things, and in the wrong places. Has that brought you happiness?”

  Anna’s shoulders slumped. “I keep messing things up.” Her head jerked up. “No. I don’t keep messing things up. People keep disappointing me. Correction. Men keep disappointing me. First my bastard of a father, then my partner, and now my ex- fiancé.”

  The woman tucked her hands in her lap and watched her, her obsidian eyes almost reaching into Anna’s soul. “They did not disappoint you. You looked to them to make you whole. You need to search within. You must feel the respect and love inside yourself before you can expect it from others.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The old woman stood, and Anna noticed for the first time the tattoo of a multi-colored star on the wrinkled skin of her neck.

  “Come. I will show you where you can begin your journey to peace.” She shuffled along. Anna jumped up from the seat and followed her into the sunshine. They walked around the adobe building until they came to an area in the back, where acres of land stretched before them. The hum of traffic from the highway and a jet roaring overhead broke the early morning silence and stillness of the prairie.

  The woman pointed to a small rise. “Go to the other side of the hill. There you will find the chair of peace. Sit in it for a while. Perhaps you will find your answers.”

  This is nuts. Either she belongs with Tia Rosa at the happy farm, or I do for staying here and listening to this.

  The woman placed her hand firmly on Anna’s lower back. “Let your questions disappear. Take a rest. Breathe the air. See what your inner voice tells you.” She nodded toward the hill. “Go, lady.”

  What would be the harm? She’d go over the hill, check out this ‘peace chair,’ sit there for a while and be on her way. Anna walked a few steps, then turned to the woman. She was gone. Strange.

  Dust billowed under her sandals as she trudged up the hill. Despite it being early morning, the beating sun on her head created trickles of sweat to roll down her face. The back of her calves pulled and her breath came in gasps. Am I that much out of shape? Better hit the gym once I’m settled.

  “Oh!” The word burst forth from her lips. She raised her hand to shield her eyes and take in the beauty before her. A delightful oasis sat smack in the middle of the prairie. A sense of tranquility swallowed her up at the sight of lush green grass, two small flowering trees, and a beautiful marble chair. The old Indian woman knew what she was talking about.

  On closer inspection, the chair had to have been carved from one huge chunk of marble, as no seams were visible. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface. The high back and armrests could have easily accommodated a giant of a man.

  The marble felt cool to her hand, not yet having absorbed heat from the sun. Anna rested in the chair, leaning back against its coolness, inhaling the sweet smell of flowers floating on the air. Yes, definitely a place for peaceful reflection.

  Her mind wandered. Truth be told, it had been a good thing she’d caught Robbie and Sarah. What a nightmare mar
riage to that philanderer would have been. She took in another deep breath. Yes, one day she would find a man who respected her as an independent woman, but would love and cherish her. Unlike her father. What she’d been chasing after, a man who would not desert her, physically or emotionally. She inhaled once more. Robbie had proven not to be that person.

  Would she ever find such a man? She closed her eyes at the satisfaction of another fathomless breath of flower-scented air. She tilted her face up toward the sun, the warmth enveloping her, freeing her mind.

  Anna’s eyelids flickered as she yawned and stretched. Goodness, she must’ve fallen asleep. She grinned. This was truly the peace chair. Her sleep had been deep and refreshing. Maybe she could ask the old woman where to buy a chair like this one. She chuckled, and feeling better and more in accord with herself than she had in ages, headed back to the adobe store.

  Her mind occupied with plans for an apartment search, she hadn’t noticed the absence of the squat adobe building until she’d walked almost a half mile. She looked around, her brows furrowed. She must’ve walked in the wrong direction when she left the oasis. Shrugging, she turned and headed back to the crest of the hill.

  And gasped.

  The oasis was no longer there. She spun around, making herself dizzy, her heart pounding in her chest. For miles in every direction the only thing stretched before her was prairie. No adobe store, no parking lot with her familiar blue car sitting there, no entrance to Highway 83 to Tulsa, no peaceful oasis. She pinched herself. Nope, not dreaming.

  What the hell?

  Chapter Two

  Denton, Kansas 1870

  Marshal Wesley Shannon tugged the wooden jailhouse door closed and headed to the café for his noon meal. The stagecoach was due to arrive in another half hour, carrying a large deposit from the Colorado gold mines, and he intended to meet it. So far he’d managed to keep the town mostly crime free, and planned for it to stay that way. It had been the main reason he’d taken this job. Low stress.

  The aroma of ham and cabbage reached him before he was halfway across the street, nudging him to move quicker. His stomach rumbled as he took a seat near the window and peered out at the street. The warmth of the crowded restaurant added to the gathering heat of the early summer day.

  “Hey, marshal, when ya gonna come courtin’ my girl?” Pete Martin slapped him on the back, almost causing Wes’s mouthful of food to fly across the table.

  Wes wiped his mouth and nodded in the huge man’s direction. “One of these days, Pete. Still settling into the job, you know.”

  “You’ve been here for months now. Time to get yourself a wife and have a kid or two. Ya ain’t gettin’ no younger, ya know.”

  Wes flinched. “Soon.”

  After gripping his shoulder in a painful vise meant to show manly friendship, Pete wandered toward the door, stopping a few times to slap other unsuspecting diners on the back.

  A fine sheen of sweat broke out on Wes’s face, having nothing to do with the heat of the room. Courting. Something he wouldn’t be able to do. Ever. And Pete’s sweet daughter, Laura, deserved more than him anyway, even if she had caught his eye. He’d noticed the petite blonde glancing in his direction a few times over her hymnal in church. She deserved a real man, not a broken one. He sighed and finished his lunch.

  As he stood and examined his bill, the familiar feeling of isolation washed over him. This was the best place he’d landed in since the war had ended, and this time he intended to stay. Time to push the torturous memories to the back of his mind, maybe give the lovely Laura Martin a chance.

  Wes had no sooner stepped off the boardwalk when the Wells Fargo Stage barreled down the dusty street, the driver whipping the horses into a frenzy even though he would stop in a matter of less than a mile. He spewed a stream of tobacco juice over the side, barely missing Wes’s foot.

  “Dammit, Slug, slow down before you run someone over.”

  The driver grinned and shouted, “Got a package here for ya, marshal.”

  Wes watched a cloud of dust rise from the stagecoach wheels as it continued on, and frowned. A package? Aside from the deposit for the bank, he wasn’t expecting anything. He shrugged and strode to catch up.

  Slug jumped from the bench and yanked the door open. An older woman huffed and glared at the driver as she climbed from the coach, rearranging her hat. “The Wells Fargo people will hear about your driving, sir.”

  Slug nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Since drivers were difficult to hang onto, Wes doubted any complaints about Slug would have an effect on him.

  Two men followed her, brushing dust from their coat sleeves. When no one else exited, Wes glanced at Slug. The driver motioned with his head toward the inside of the coach. Wes peered into the darkness. It appeared someone huddled in the corner, making no effort to leave.

  “There’s yore package, marshal.” Wes almost lost his footing as Slug slapped him on the back. Didn’t anyone in this town know how to speak to someone without causing bodily harm?

  “Come on out, now, honey. The marshal here will take good care of ya.” Slug turned from where he spoke to the reluctant passenger and winked at Wes. “Wait till ya see this one.”

  “No! I want to go back to the Indian store.” A very feminine−and angry−voice came from within the darkness.

  Slug gestured toward the coach. “She’s all yores, marshal. I gotta get this deposit to the bank.” Giving a slight salute, he gripped two canvas bags from the floor of the upper bench.

  “Now, wait just a minute here.” Wes caught Slug’s shoulder. “Who is this woman, and why is she my problem?”

  “Found her wandering around out there.” He waved in the direction he’d come from. “Doesn’t seem to know what she wants, or even where she’s at.”

  Wes cleared his throat, then stuck his head back in the coach. In the dim light from where the window shade let in a bit of sunlight, his eyes focused on a young woman, her arms folded over her chest. She had sun-darkened skin, deep brown eyes, and was dressed−oh my Lord−in men’s trousers with no more than a yellow scrap of material around her breasts. Breasts, Wes noticed, that were full, and peeking out between her crossed arms. His mouth dried up and he whipped his head around. “Who is she?”

  Slug shifted his wad of tobacco. “Don’t know. Like I said, I found her wandering.”

  Wes tried again. “Miss, can I get you to step out, please?”

  After several seconds, a deep sigh came from within the coach, and the young woman slid over on the seat, stepped down, then blinked furiously at the bright sunlight. She had a pouch over her shoulder that she hugged securely to her side.

  Now that she stood in daylight, Wes had a hard time keeping his gaze from drifting toward her breasts. A twitch in his pants, signaling the resurgence of feelings kept buried for five long years startled him, and drew his scrutiny to the woman’s face. She glared at him like a defiant child, her lips pursed. Her dark hair had been pulled back in some type of a braid, and the scattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose gave her a look of youth and innocence. Except no innocent woman would dress so scandalously. Was she one of Miss Ethel’s new girls?

  Wes took a deep breath to quell his racing heart. “What’s your name, honey?”

  The woman gasped. “‘Honey?’ Don’t call me that. What’s the matter with you? I’ve had enough condescension from law enforcement males. I should file charges with your superior.”

  Slug and Wes stared at each other, eyebrows raised.

  Wes tugged on his hat. “I apologize, miss. I meant no disrespect. Can you please tell me your name?”

  “It’s Anna Devlin.”

  He smiled to think she looked like an Anna. “Now, where is it you’re headed?”

  “Home.”

  “And where is home, little lady?” Slug chimed in.

  “I don’t friggin’ believe this!” Anna slammed her fists on her hips, and the pouch she’d clung to slid down her arm. She rested it at her feet, t
hen poked Wes in his chest with a very hard index finger. “I don’t know how y’all get away with this, but believe me when I tell you someone is going to hear about the way you two talk to women.”

  “Whadda I say?” Slug spat more tobacco juice, wiping his chin with an open palm. Anna wrinkled her cute little nose and threw her hands up as if invoking the heavens.

  Slug scratched his head, then picked up her pouch. “Miss, I’ll just move this to the side, so’s I can be on my way.”

  She winced as she tugged the pouch from him, hugging it to her chest. “Be careful with this, mister. It’s a Coach.”

  Again Wes and Slug stared at each other.

  “Um, no, miss. What you just came out of is the coach.” Wes wiped the sweat from his forehead, and cast her a glance. This was by far the strangest conversation he’d ever had, and he needed to get his libido under control and away from her disturbing presence. If she was indeed intended for Miss Ethel’s Bordello, he would be tempted to break his cardinal rule and make a visit. Real soon.

  “Whatever. I’m going to see if I can find a phone, since last week I smashed my cell in a fit.”

  Wes clutched her arm as she moved to walk around him. “No, wait a minute there, Miss Devlin.”

  Anna raised her eyebrows, and looked down her nose at him. A remarkable feat, since he had a good foot on her.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t walk around town dressed like that.” Wes’s face flushed, and he coughed, looking toward Slug.

  Anna stood dumbfounded, staring at the man. First the Indian store disappeared, then this old codger scared the hell out of her when he’d almost run her over with what looked like a stagecoach from an old John Wayne movie. The smelly weird woman in the coach had tsked all the way to town, mumbling about harlots. Now this hunk of a marshal talked to her like he’d never heard of political correctness.