His windows were now back up but the air conditioning of his six-year old SUV was really cranking hard to fight off the heat of the afternoon sun and he knew that driving slow didn’t help cool his engine. Maybe I’ll give her a rest, he thought as he stopped in the middle of the street, killed the air, opened all the windows and then shut off the engine. The only noise he now heard was the ticking of the hot engine as it cooled off ever so slightly. The slightest hint of a breeze was enough to send dozens of tumbleweed plants rolling along the flat, dried surface of the main street, creating small sandstorms behind them.
Edward reached behind him and from the back seat grabbed a six-gun, belt and holster and stepped out of his car. He strapped the belt on and checked that the pistol was loaded, reached in and took his hat from the passenger’s seat and put it on before he slowly walked the main street. Rattlesnakes don’t like being disturbed, he thought as he rested his hand on his pistol.
“One building,” he said to himself as he looked at the saloon with a sign hanging slightly askew that said in faded lettering, THE DUSTOFF TAVERN. The four large windows were boarded over and as he stepped onto the wooden slatted sidewalk, it immediately cracked and split beneath his one hundred and eighty pounds. His high leather boots prevented his ankle from getting cut and he said as he pulled his foot out of the hole, “Thank you, Katey for getting me these boots and if I get this commission I’ll buy you a wardrobe that’ll knock the women folk of Bransville out.”
After inspecting the deep scratch the wooden slat left in his boot, he stepped more gingerly on the sidewalk. At the tavern he hesitated as he tried the locked doors and thought, No reason to break anything, it’s the commission I want not a fine for breaking company property.
He stood outside the tavern and rubbing his hands said as he looked at the next few stores, “Well, maybe just one more.” He stepped out into the street and walked passed two boarded stores, Giddon’s Home Supplies and a general store. He pushed back his hat and grinned as he stood with his hands on his hips as he stood in front of a stone building with a slightly collapsed roof: the Sheriffs Office and jail.
“Got to try this one,” he said as he stepped over the sidewalk’s broken wooden plank. Once again he gently tried the door latch and happily heard a click as the wooden door opened slightly. He pushed gently and after a few more pushes, each one harder than the last, Edward slipped through the small opening. It was the debris from the roof that had jammed the door but the worst of it was against the back wall. Looking around he saw two cells separated by a stonewall and both cells had the typical iron-bar cell doors. There was a short, wooden bench or bed in each of the small cells.
“Two cells,” he said as he spotted a key ring hanging from a wall-mounted peg next to an old wooden desk. “Got to try this,” he said to no one as he took the keys and tried both cells. The first cell door opened with a squeak and a jerk and stopped as some loose stones fell down while the other opened easily. Once again he did what he would have done as a teenager and after brushing off the old wooden bench or bed he laid down on it. Grinning, he sat up and ran to the iron cell gate and shouted at the empty desk,
“Sheriff! Lemme outta here! I’m innocent I tell ya!” He got an embarrassing kick out of that and involuntarily looked around as he said to himself before leaving, “Hey, whatever happens in Rattlesnake Haven, stays in Rattlesnake Haven.”
The Real Estate man checked his watch and knew it was time to leave. Back at the car he removed his hat and pistol then opened the programming section of the GPS and added the coordinates that showed up as his ‘Latest Destination’ and entered Rattlesnake Haven next to it. Finally he pressed the ‘Home’ button on the GPS and watched as it gave him a route to take back to Bransville. After starting the car, and no longer having to find a spot on an old map, he relaxed, opened the small cooler and then opened a Coke and took a long swig. Cranking up the air, he put on his satellite radio and caught the end of Gene Autry singing ‘Back In The Saddle Again.” Ed grinned and put it in gear as he let the modern day electronic GPS unit take him home.
Halfway back to Route 95 he called Jim.
“Hey, Edward,” Jim said, how’d it go, buddy?”
“Pretty good, Jim. In fact your great granddaddy did a good job with his pencil. Of cause the roads are gone and I had to drive real slow, but I found her.”
The excitement in Jim’s voice came through the speaker. “Tell me, how was it? Was she washed out completely? Do you think a million-five sounds good?”
Ed shrugged his shoulders as he answered truthfully, “I think you could ask for one and three-quarters million.”
After a moment of silence, Jim said, “Phew! Boy, hey, did you get any vids?”
“Yep! I felt like an old cowpoke going down the middle of Main Street shooting out both sides of the car.”
“Wow! Are you coming in now? I’ll wait.”
“Naw, I promised Katey I’d be home for supper an’ as it is, I’m still driving around cactuses and gonna be late. But I’ll be in bright and early tomorrow. Okay?”
The disappointment in Jim’s voice came through the speaker as his boss answered, “Guess so, partner. Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. And, thanks again, Edward. You got some time comin’ to ya.”
And commission, too, Edward thought as he let the cool air wash over him. He had to drive slow as the GPS didn’t know a pothole from a six-foot chasm. No sense in staying out here all night because I got too relaxed, he thought as the rays of the setting sun filled his rear-view mirror. He grinned and was pleasantly surprised at not being in a rush to go home and have a cold one. Not this time, he thought, this was a great day! I haven’t had a rewarding day like this since I sold the Kelly’s place when I first started working for Jim. He stepped back on his thought and reconsidered it. Oh, I don’t mean that I’ll skip my few cold beers, I just mean that instead of trying to forget the day’s work, I’m gonna enjoy going over the videos. I forgot how cool it was to explore an old ghost town. Yeah, it was a great day and it was good to feel like a kid again…not to mention the commission.
2
The New York Buyer
One month before, and the reason for Edward’s trek to find the lost ghost town, Bob McKillop sat at his laptop computer and looked out the window into the wet December night. The rain splattered against the pane and he watched as the drops distorted the lights of Brooklyn by elongating them as they slid down and collected on the windowsill of his apartment. He looked down from his second floor perch and saw the many, variously colored umbrellas passing one another. He grinned and thought, it’s looks like some sort of a video game from up here. The umbrellas seem to have a mind of their own and move out of the way of another oncoming umbrella, always just in time to avoid a collision. He looked at his reflection in the window and thought that the darkness added some color to his rather pale complexion and made his brown eyes and hair look black.
“Hey,” he said to the reflection, “can you add three inches to my right leg so I can constantly be six-feet tall rather than six-feet, then five-feet, nine inches and then six-feet again and then five-feet, nine inches.” He grinned as he thought, It’s no use, I’m losing this battle. His cell phone alarm chirped and he shook his head as he clicked it off and thought, I promised some of the guys that I’d make the Christmas party and I better before I have no friends at all.
Grabbing his cane from the back of his chair he went to a small closet took out a dark blue suit and dressed. He wanted to go to the party as much as he said he didn’t and, as usual, was torn with making a decision. He mentally tossed a coin and made it land in his favor then slipped a black turtle neck sweater and his shoes on. Grabbing an overcoat out of the same closet, he donned it and locked the two door locks behind him.
The Christmas party in a local tavern and he was leaning against the bar when Tommy Wallace, a co-worker and friend came over and said, “Hey Bob. What’s Santa bringing you this year?”
“I t
hink I’m getting another bucket of coal in my stocking,” he said with a grin. “What about you, Tommy?”
His friend shrugged, pushed his glasses back from the tip of his nose and waved the bartender over, as he answered, “No idea. My girl lost her job and is short of cash.” He put two fingers up as the bartender leaned forward to hear him over the bar chatter. “Two Bud Lights, Denny.” He then turned and with a grin said, “Maybe I can share some of your coal?”
The bartender placed two glasses of beer with white foam sliding down the sides of the mugs on the wooden bar in front of them. Tommy pointed to a ten-dollar bill and the man took it as both continued their conversation while they watched with one eye for him to return with the change. Only when he did, did they both get back to where they left off.
“So, are you going to visit your mom?” asked Tommy as he hefted his mug for a toast.
“Cheers, said Bob as they touched glasses.
“Cheers to you, buddy.”
Bob took a long pull of his drink and said, “To answer your question, no. My mom’s too busy playing tennis in Florida.”
“Well,” quipped his friend with the usual answer to someone who is going to be alone for the holiday, “if you want, just come on over and watch Santa come down our rain gutter with us, buddy.”
Bob grinned, “Naw…you two relax alone. I’ll be alright.”
“Hey,” said Tommy changing the subject and wiping some beer from his ever present, well trimmed, five-day-old whiskers which contrasted with his well-shaven head, “I just remembered there’s a special on the History Channel tomorrow night all about ghost towns out west. I know you’re into those kinds of things and I’m glad I remembered it.”
“Saw them all,” said Bob grinning.
“Ever been to one?” Tommy shouted into his ear as a group of people walked by calling out for drinks.
Bob looked far off for a moment then shouted his answer back, “No. Never.”
“So, what’s stopping you?”
A grin and shrug came from Bob as he revealed a little of his secret, “Nothing! That’s the problem; there is nothing to stop me from visiting one. It’s stupid of me, but just knowing that I can go, makes me put it off. Weird, huh?”
Now it was Tommy’s turn to grin and shrug. “I don’t know if it’s weird, but it’s silly. I know you love those ghost town things and if I were you I’d have been to all of them by now.” A pretty girl smiled across the bar and Tommy said with a grin, “Got to run, Bobby Boy. See you later…oh, and wish me luck, buddy.”
Bob shook his head and grinned as his friend headed towards the other side of the bar. “Good luck, Tommy,” he shouted after him.
The next night Bob sat in front of his large, flat TV watching the History Channel’s marathon on ghost towns. It was as he had said to Tommy; he had seen them all, however, he loved when he discovered something new or when the narrator made a mistake.
At one point the narrator was interviewing a National Park Ranger and asked if there were any ghost towns for sale and he answered; “About four or five as well as I can remember.”
Bob perked up, ghost towns for sale? Boy! Learn something new every day. He raised his coffee mug to the empty room and said, “Thanks, Tommy.”
With the program running in the background he looked through his extensive collection of books on the subject. He never really put it in words but he loved the thought of walking through an old ghost town and began reading all he could about them when he was a little boy.
He picked up an old, coffee table book whose brown leather cover was cracked with age, the title, Ghost Town’s of the Old West, said it all. He pushed the coffee mug and newspaper to one side of the glass coffee table and opened the book. He loved the black and white grainy photos and spent hours going over them with a magnifying glass. They showed the people who lived in the towns doing what they did in their every day life. There were sheriffs and their deputies all decked out with their shotguns and pistols, farmers, cattlemen, bar owners, sheepherders with their sheep walking down the middle of a dusty street and mothers with their babies. All of the men wore wide brimmed hats and the women wore wide sunhats to help fight off the blazing sun.
Bob smiled as he thought; I need to set up a trip. I really do.
Three days later he got his monthly phone call from his mother. He saw the Caller ID state that it was a call from Tampa, Florida and thought about letting it go to message. However his conscience got the better of him and he picked it up.
“Hello, mother, happy holidays.”
“Oh, Bobby Boy, you knew it was me! I wanted to surprise you sweetie. Happy holidays and happy belated birthday! Twenty-four! My how the time flies.”
He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat, “Thanks, mom. So, how’s it going in Florida?”
“Ohh, you would love it here, Bobby. It’s warm everyday and it just rains for a little bit, but never snows. Did you know that, sweetie?”
He feigned ignorance, “No, I didn’t. Good for you. How’s Carmine?”
There was a pause before she corrected him, “Oh, you mean, your dad? He’s fine and says to say hello. Are you going to come and visit us soon?”
Bob sagged at the thought as he remembered how he would catch her new boyfriend watching him in the mirror as he tried not to limp in front of people. “I-I’m pretty busy, mom. Can’t you come up here and visit? Aunt Maryellen lives five blocks away and I know she’d love to see you.”
“Well, I’ll just have to see, sweetie. Now, tell me, how’s your leg doing? Are you still in therapy or whatever that program was?”
He cringed and shook his head. “Mom, my leg is as good as it’s ever gonna be. I limp now and will limp if I ever see you again.”
“Do you still get that awful dream?”
Despite a slight chill in his apartment he felt a sweat breaking out. “Please mom, I want to forget about that. Can’t we talk about something else?”
Her voice suddenly went into a fast whisper, “Honey, I’m sending you something in the mail. It’s a Registered Letter so you have to sign for it. Do you understand me, sweetie?”
“Mom, is it a secret or something? How come you’re whispering?”
“Oh,” she said, back in her normal tone of voice, “your father is fine and he sends his greetings. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetie, I have to go now, Merry Christmas.”
Bob hung up the phone, went to the refrigerator and took out a can of Budweiser beer, popped the top and finished half of it before he got to his chair in front of the open book. Wonder if you folks had such a hard life, he thought looking at a family dressed in their Sunday-Best as they posed for a photo that someone one hundred-plus years later would be looking at. He ended the night watching the marathon until he fell asleep on his couch.
The first week of January was icy cold and a bundled up Bob came home and checking his mailbox, found a note from the Post Office informing him that he needed to come down and sign for a Registered Letter. He left work early the next day and went to the Post Office, signed for the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. He did a small food shop and after putting the groceries away, saw the letter sticking out of the pocket and tossed it on the kitchen table and poured himself a cup of cold coffee.
My mother’s mysterious letter, he thought, placing the coffee mug in the microwave and setting the timer for sixty-seconds. As the electric motor hummed, he stared at the unopened letter and pondered, wonder what it is? Divorce maybe? Is she telling me that I’m going to be a brother? Yuch! Please, no! Maybe she’s coming back to New York? Well Bob, why not just stop this silly thinking and open it? He answered himself, Because your coffee isn’t ready yet, dopey, that’s why.
A beep told him two things: his coffee was ready and he was out of excuses to not open the letter. Not so, he thought as he went to the refrigerator, took out the container of Vanilla Soy Milk and poured some in his beverage. And now a scoop of make-believe sugar and put some Splenda in it.
He stirred the drink, sat at the table, took a sip, shrugged his shoulders and opened the envelope.
That double folded, eight and one-half inch by eleven-inch sheet of paper changed his life.
In contrast to the weather of New York, Jim Bensen and Edward Pushkin stood in the hot, basking sun of Rattlesnake Haven, Nevada. This time they brought the company’s Cadillac Escalade that was only driven by Jim and Edward wondered if he should feel special because the boss had let him drive them out to the desolate place. He went up the same rise he had driven up the first time and grinned as he watched Jim from the corner of his eye as he slowly started down towards the unseen town. As the SUV went down the rise, the huge front-end slowly lowered and the town of Rattlesnake Haven replaced the blue sky. Jim took off his dark glasses and his eyes matched his mouth as both opened wide at his first look of the ghost town that had been in his family for over one hundred years, but never seen.
“Stop!” he shouted and Edward jammed the brakes on causing the car to slide along a bit on the loose sand.
Looking out the widow, Edward asked, “W-What’s wrong, Jim?”
Jim slowly shook his head and muttered, “Nothing. It’s just that I’m the first Bensen to see this property in over one century. It-it sort of looks beautiful from here, doesn’t it?”
Edward had to agree as he felt the same way about the town that was hidden for so long. “Yes, it really is.” He turned towards his boss and went on excitedly, “But just you wait until you get into the middle of town, Jim. It’s like looking at a picture book.”
“Let’s go,” quipped his boss placing his glasses back on and grabbing the leather overhead grip as he anticipated the bumpy ride ahead.
It took another twenty minutes for the undulating SUV to reach the wooden signpost at the end of town and Jim had Edward stop and take a picture of him next to it before continuing on to the main street.
Romance in a Ghost Town Page 2
