Spirit Pouch

by Vaterlaus, Stanford

  “Jared?”

  “I can’t find the latch,” I yell. “I’ll pop the trunk as soon …”

  “Get the …” Ty’s voice stops and all I hear is coughing.

  “What?”

  “Keys!” he yells.

  I shift my eyes and peer through the smoke at the steering column. Two keys dangle on a chain. “I got ‘em,” I yell, yanking the key out of the ignition switch. I role out of the car and onto my feet, racing to the rear of the car.

  Flames are licking the paint where the gasoline had been poured, but through the smoke I find the trunk lock. In a blur of motion I stick one key in the lock. It goes in but does not turn. I pull the key out and swap it for the other key. The burning car spits and flames fly upward. I drop the keys. Oh, no! Diving for the keys, I grab them up and slide one of the keys into the lock. I twist the key and to my surprise the trunk lid pops open.

  I shove it upward and grab Ty’s arm, pulling him out of the trunk. We scramble away from the car. I slip and fall, but Ty pulls me up, and we stumble again as we run. Both of us fall to the ground and I hear a deafening roar from behind us. I figure that the fire has found the gas tank causing the car to erupt like a volcano. At the same instant I feel a wave of intense heat blow past as bits of fire fly overhead.

  “You’re on fire,” Ty yells. “Roll over.”

  I roll over twice and Ty throws some dirt on my pants. “That was close,” Ty breathes once the fire on my pants is out.

  “Yeah,” I say looking at the car or what’s left of it. “A few more seconds and both of us …”

  “Are you all right?” Mom lands next to us and she is all over me, holding my face and hugging me then crying. “I thought … I thought … but you are all right?”

  “I’ve got a couple of minor burns, Mom. But I’m okay, really.”

  She cries again, hugging me.

  “Mom. Mom.”

  She stops for a second and looks at me.

  “Mom, this is Ty. Thanks to you he is alive.”

  “Me? I’m not the one diving into burning cars, son.”

  “I know, Mom. But you did drive straight down here. And you drove crazy fast.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Taggart. I think you both saved my life. I could have been toast.”

  I hear sirens and soon a fire truck pulls right up close to where we are sitting. A paramedic unit arrives, too, and checks me over while the firemen spray down the car with foam. The paramedics treat my burns and then check Ty. His shoes, pants, and shirt tail are visibly singed, but Ty managed to escape with no injuries.

  “So, you’ve got some explaining to do, young man,” Mom says as the paramedics finish their exam.

  “Its a really long story, Mom,” I say. “Any chance we can tell you during dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Actually it is Officer Briggs that has some questions,” she says as a police officer walks up.

  “Hello, son,” the officer says. “I need to get your statement.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Franky was totally bewildered and astounded when he saw you get out of your car. He was so flustered that he actually said that you were supposed to be in that trunk with Ty, and how did you get out. Why would he say that, son. Did he put you in that car, too?”

  I want to tell Officer Briggs all about being forced into the trunk at gunpoint, and the ride through the desert, and the gasoline and fire, and choking on the smoke, and how we escaped using the spirit pouch, but no one would believe such a story. I look at the officer, “Well, we were in the school parking lot and …”

  “And he forced both of us into the trunk,” Ty says. I was trying like crazy to pop the trunk latch from the inside. We went over a bump and somehow the trunk opened. I pushed Jared out, but before I could get out too, it slammed shut again. I couldn’t get the trunk open no matter what I did.”

  “No wonder Franky was shocked to see you,” Officer Briggs says, nodding his head. “If he thought you were both in that burning car, and then he sees you drive up with your mother. He must have thought you were a magician.”

  “Or a ghost,” I add. “No wonder he was surprised.”

  “Yes, well, we will call you if we need any more information. It’s very likely that Franky will spend some time in a Juvenile home for this.” Officer Briggs walks away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joseph

  Mom fixes us tacos while Ty calls his dad and asks if he can stay for dinner. Finally Ty hangs up the phone with a smile.

  “So?” I say. “Did you tell him?”

  “No. Dad is not as understanding as your mom. I’ll tell him later when we have more time to talk. Dad says I can stay for dinner, though. He says for me not to stay too late because there is school tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yeah. School,” I say feeling kind of depressed about the idea.

  “You sound so heart broken,” Mom says. “You usually like school.”

  “I know. I just remembered that I have my first geometry test tomorrow.”

  “You will do fine,” Ty reassured me. “We’ve been reviewing geometry for the last month. You can do it in your sleep.”

  “Month?” Mom says, staring at Ty a little longer than normal. “School just started.”

  “Ah … I know,” Ty says. “But it seems like months.”

  Mom is still staring at Ty, but turns abruptly and grabs a bowl of lettuce and some salsa. Placing them on the table, she directs Ty to a chair and I sit in my usual place next to Mom. She asks me to pray and ask for a blessing on the food. I do, and I thank God for our safety. That we were not injured in the burning car and that we were able to return to our home. I ask that God bless our food.

  We all say, “Amen,” and Mom hands Ty the plate of tacos. “Take some and pass them around, will you please?” Mom is staring at Ty again.

  “Mom?” I say.

  Mom ignores me. “Ty,” she says still staring. “You look really familiar. Have we met? Maybe I know your parents.”

  “Ah … yes,” Ty answers. “You definitely know my parents.”

  “Hmm … the Smiths … I’m just not recalling them. Tell me how I would know them.”

  I look at Ty and shrug my shoulders.

  “I … am not supposed to tell anyone,” he starts hesitantly. “But you deserve to know.”

  “Know what?” Mom says, placing a taco onto her plate.

  “My father and I are on the Witness Protection Program,” Ty says, pausing to let that sink in.

  “Did you witness a murder, or something?” Mom asks.

  Ty laughs. “No. My father works for the government and his life was threatened, so we changed our names and moved to a new city. My father’s name used to be David S. Taggart.”

  Mom’s face turns white and she drops her taco onto her plate. “Joseph?” she says almost in a whisper. “Are you Joseph?” her voice chokes up.

  Ty nods his head and smiles. “Yes, Mom.”

  Mom practically flies over to Ty, grabbing his face between her hands, then pulls him toward her into a fantastic bear hug. “I missed you so much,” she cries. I see tears sliding off her cheeks into Ty’s hair. “We thought you were dead,” she sniffs and cries some more.

  “I’m sorry, … Mom,” Ty says. “They would have killed us if they knew we were alive. They still might, so you can’t tell anyone that we are here. And I still have to be Ty Smith, not Joseph Taggart.”

  Mom nods her head and wipes away a tear. “But I know you are alive,” she says, “and you can come over here … a lot.”

  “I would like that,” Ty says. “I will have to call you Mrs. Taggart when we are in public, though.”

  “I can live with that,” Mom says pulling her tear soaked hair out of her eyes. “Now, tell me the long story about the burning car.”

  “Well,” I say, making eye contact with Ty for a split second. “It’s kind of hard to accept. Even I did not believe it for a while.”

  “Try me,” Mom says, laugh
ing.

  “Okay. You know that spirit pouch that you gave me a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it works.”

  For the next couple of hours we talk about Dogtown Colorado, Henry, Elizabeth and William. I tell about working in the brickyard and having to walk to work with no shoes.

  “I wondered how your socks got so worn out over night,” Mom says.

  We talk about being forced into the trunk of the car and escaping death using the spirit pouch. Ty helps tell about Denver and the jail and our trek to the Big Laramie Stage Station and how Joseph dies in route. We all cry for a few minutes. We finish by telling her about the Sioux Indian massacre and how we end up being sentenced to death by fire.

  “I didn’t think I would ever see Jared again,” Ty says. “Jared told me to tell Mom that he loves her. The truth is, if Jared had not escaped, too, we would both be dead. I had the spirit pouch. How did you escape?”

  “Medicine Eagle fished it out of the fire and handed it to me. It was so hot that it burned my hand,” I say rubbing the red spots on my palm. “I put the friendship bracelet into it. Then I asked to return fifteen minutes earlier than we left.”

  “That was cutting it pretty close, don’t you think?” Ty says in a miffed tone.

  “In hind sight, I guess so,” I admit.

  “Thanks for saving my life,” Ty smiles.

  “You do know that no one will ever believe this story, don’t you?” Mom says. “I mean … I’m struggling to believe it, myself.”

  “I will,” I say retrieving the bumblebee taw from my pocket and showing it to her. “This is a present from Joseph Cottle to me. As long as I have this, I will remember.”

  We finish dinner and together we wash the dishes. “Thank you for dinner, Mom,” Ty says smiling.

  “You are welcome anytime,” she says.

  “It’s getting late, so I’ve got to go,” Ty says. He walks out the door and we head off to bed.

  Epilogue

  This morning seems normal enough. Mom is fixing eggs and toast for breakfast. I am getting ready for school. But that is the problem. A normal morning for me would be waking up before sunrise between two blankets and some canvas. I would check the cattle or gather firewood. Sometimes we would pack up the wagons if it was a travel day. So, as normal as this Friday morning is, to me it is weird. Besides all that, my book bag is missing. It has my geometry book in it. Last time I saw it, it was in the parking lot of the school. Ty and I both set our bags down right before Franky took us hostage in the trunk of the car. That seems so long ago, but actually it was just yesterday evening.

  I arrive at Ol’ Mrs. Harris’ English Literature class about five minutes before the starting bell and take my seat. Ty comes in right behind me.

  “I lost my books,” he says panting. “I didn’t even realize it until I got home last night. My father drove me over to the school parking lot, but they were gone.” Ty stops talking and stares across the room.

  I turn to see Jennifer Lawton, a Laurel in our ward, walk up to my desk and plop down two book bags. “Are you guys okay?” she asks. “It was my car Franky stole. When it was gone from where I parked it, I called the police. That’s when I heard the whole story. I found both of your bags right there by my parking spot.”

  “I’m sorry about your car,” I say. “I’m sure God was watching over us, because we are both okay. Thanks for picking up our bags.”

  “No problem,” she says. “Well, I’ll let my friends know that you are okay. They are all worried about you.”

  Jennifer leaves and in a hushed whisper Ty says, “When I woke up this morning our adventure in 1866 seemed far away, like in a dream. Tell me it was real.”

  I pull the taw from my pocket and show it to Ty. “It was not a dream,” I say. “It is real.”

  Thanks to Ty, I pass my geometry test with flying colors. I decide that I can actually learn geometry.

  On Tuesday Sarah Hansen gets her birthday letter from Ty, postmarked October 1867 from Salt Lake City. She doesn’t believe for a moment that the letter was actually mailed in 1867, but she likes the clever delivery through Wells Fargo. Lyn says that Sarah loves the letter and is impressed by Ty’s new attitude. I notice that Ty no longer wears earrings or has a chain on his belt. Ty says that he has a date with Sarah scheduled for this coming Friday.

  Ty invites me to his house and the missionaries teach him lessons about the Church. On his last lesson Ty says that he wants to be baptized. I cry a little because I am so happy, but I blink hard to make the tears go away.

  Ty doesn’t talk to me about our adventure any more and I think that he is forgetting that it is real.

  Today I am sitting on the front row, dressed in white, staring at the baptismal font while I ponder the recent events of my life. I can never deny that God has greatly blessed me. Ty is sitting next to me and is also dressed in white. He is tapping his leg nervously. Mom and Dad are here, too, although contrary to every child’s dream, they have not chosen to be married again. Even so, I have a dad and Ty has a mom and that makes us both happy.

  The Bishop of our ward stands up and is about to begin the baptismal service for Samuel T. Smith when Ty leans over to me, “I sure miss Joseph Cottle. I wish he could be here.”

  I pull the taw from my pocket. “I’m sure he is,” I say.

  THE END

  Thanks for reading Spirit Pouch.

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  Other titles written by Stanford Vaterlaus are:

  Time Breach: Click HERE to find it on Amazon.

  The Prophet: Click HERE to find it on Amazon.

  Appendix

  Cottle History

  Journal written by William Henry Cottle

  My name is William Henry Cottle. I was born in the town of Dudley in Staffordshire, England, in the year of our Lord, 1852. My father was a collier, or sinker by trade.

  [96] My father stayed in England until I was four years of age and then he sailed for America. In two years, later in 1858, my father sent money to bring Mother and us three children to America, but through my mother’s parents somehow or other, my brother and me were left in England for two years more, when Father sent money to bring my grandfather and grandmother and my brother and me to America.

  We arrived in the fall of the same year about 12 o’clock at night and I tell you it was quite a sight of hugging and kissing going on. for myself, I thought Mother would squeeze me in two.

  We lived in Leavenworth City in the state of Kansas until the war broke out in the spring of 1861.

  My father bought one yoke of cattle and wagon, and one horse and light wagon and we started for Denver City in Colorado. Father had quite a time in crossing the plains. His oxen gave out, and he had to make several trades before we got through. Father stayed in Denver about a year, and then Father moved up to the mines in the city of Blackhawk, and then Father moved to a place called Dogtown, about a mile above Central City. We stayed there two years, Father working in the mines earning good wages. I worked in the brickyard for two summers at two dollars per day.

  In the spring of the year 1866 Father started to buy an outfit to move to Utah with. We had two yoke of cattle, and one horse and light wagon. We had a new stove and towels of all kinds to start with in a new country. Father sold our house and lot for $125 (one hundred and twenty-five dollars), which was worth five hundred dollars, for they thought that he had to sell, and they would not buy only on a big discount. It was sometime in April of 1866 that we left Dogtown and started our Journey for Utah.

  We got as far as Denver when Father took sick and we stayed in Denver about a month. We left Denver about the 25th of May. Nothing very serious transpired until we got to the Big Laramie River, only that we caught up with a big freight train of wagon teams which we used to travel with for company, and my brother, Thomas, drove one of their teams, and Father used to feel very sic
k once in a while on account of drinking bad water. On this particular morning, July 24th, 1866, Father went to the wagon master and asked him if he was going to travel on that day, and the wagon master said that he was going to start early, for it was 17 miles to water. This was at the Big Laramie River, and there was a toll bridge, and Father paid the toll and went over and started ahead, as we used to travel a little ahead of the train to keep out of the dust.

  The wagon master and the toll man got into a dispute about the amount of the toll, so the wagon master would not pay the toll, which was 2 dollars a wagon. So the wagon master forded the river with his train of teams which took him until one o’clock.

  About this time my father had gotten ten miles from the river all alone. When we were six miles from the Little Laramie River we could see the Indians coming to trade with us, and they kept on coming until they got within five hundred yards of us. Then they stopped and held a little council of war for about five minutes. Then they surrounded our wagons and then they commenced to fire on us, and I suppose they shot 500 rounds at us, and then they stopped firing at us. Then one of the Indians spoke to my father saying, “Come out here, Jack, and we will make peace with you.” So Father went out about 75 yards from the wagon and met the Indians, about 8 or 10 in number. So they talked the thing over for quite a while and finally the Indians agreed that if Father would give them all of the sugar and coffee and bacon he had gotten, and one hundred pounds of flour, then they would let us travel on with out hurting us. So Father said that he would do it, so Father turned around to go to the wagon and one of the Indians shot him down like a dog, and then the Indians made a rush for the wagon and then the cattle stampeded. And then one of the Indians shot one of the cattle and it fell dead and broke the wagon tongue. The Indians killed my grandmother and struck my grandfather over the head with the butt of a pistol and he died in six weeks after, through the effects of it.