She shook off that thought and got dressed. Upon pulling on the underwear, she was astonished by how comfortable they were. She examined the item Chase had said was part of her undergarments, turning it this way and that before realizing it pulled over the head. When she put it on, the tightness hurt the bruise. She pulled it gingerly off and decided she’d save that bit of the future for when she was all healed. The pants fit her much more snugly than she was used to, but the shirt hung low over her thighs, giving her a bit of coverage. She had to admit that while the clothes weren’t as modest as she would’ve liked, making her a bit self-conscious, they were incredibly comfortable. The fabric didn’t make her itch like the flour bag cloth they’d used to make most of their shirts from.
She left her clothes in a neat pile on the floor in the corner. Before heading back to the trunk, she flushed the commode, glad something hadn’t changed too much since the last time she’d visited the city, watching in amazement as the contents whirled down the hole when she pushed the button on the top of the porcelain. She shook her head as she walked down the hall, taking her time and examining the photographs on the wall. She wondered if the letters filling the chest would give her clues to the people lining the walls.
Beatrice walked into the big room with the couch. Chase sat reading the letter from Vicky, his face wrinkled in concentration. He glanced up from the letter, a smile on his face melting to a look of appreciation as he peered up and down her body.
“Everything fit?” He cleared his throat.
She shrugged. “The undergarment for up top hurt the bruise from the knife, so I’ll probably just leave it until I heal.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them as the pink tinge returned to Chase’s neck. She bowed her head and shook it, clenching her hands in front of her. He rose from the couch and walked to her. She peeked up at him, his embarrassment replaced by concern.
“Do we need to take you to the doctor?” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“No, I’ll be fine. A week of healing, and I’ll be good as new.”
He led her to where he had sat. “Let me get you a fresh cup of coffee. You go ahead and dig into the chest.”
Beatrice sank into the soft furniture, wondering how something could be so comfortable, yet supporting her at the same time. She reached for the top letter, her hand only slightly steadier than earlier. She wished she could wash away her trepidation as easily as she had cleansed away the grime.
Chapter 5
November 15, 1879
Dear Beatrice, I’m not sure if this letter will find you or if it will end up only for my own sake, a purging of my grief and worry. When we arrived home with a letter from Orlando telling us what had happened, we were shocked. Honestly, now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I’m not sure why we were so unnerved. We all know it is feasible, I just never imagined one of us would end up somewhere else. And why our family? That’s a question I’m reconciling with God. His miracles are a blessing. Hunter is the great gift of my life aside from the gift of salvation, yet God taking you has left a part of my heart gaping. I keep praying that He’ll change my heart, that I’ll see the blessing in your leaving as well. I’m struggling, though, dear sister.
I knew your leaving was inevitable, but I always assumed we’d be able to write and visit. I’m still hoping you decided to leave before winter set in, that I’ll find a letter hiding somewhere where it blew off the table. I kept thinking maybe you and River eloped, but he came by here the other day. We told him what happened, about Hunter and what we assume happened to you. He was heartbroken, Beatrice, and he went off that night to search the area where you disappeared. We are hoping he’ll understand, that he’ll see the truth in our words and evidence.
I’ve rewritten this letter so many times I’m afraid we’ll run short of paper before spring. I so wanted for this to be full of hope, but every time I write it, my heart bleeds upon the paper. Hunter finally told me just to write what my soul needed to say, that you’ll understand. He’s right, of course.
I thought you might want to know what Orlando found where you disappeared. Robert came to him distraught, saying his brother had slipped him. When Robert finally found William, Robert saw evidence of a scuffle but couldn’t find you. Orlando explained that William died inches from where he thinks you disappeared, your knife plunged into the dirt beneath the tree. So, there is my blessing in you leaving, dear Beatrice. Your life was surely saved when God took you. So I’m praising Him in His mercy, and I will attempt to remember that when I feel distraught with grief from missing you.
I know this might be a silly thing to do, but I plan on writing you. I maintain that you’ve gone forward in time. I know it’s ridiculous to believe, but I think if you would have gone backward, you would’ve somehow left us evidence. So I’m acting as if you will get these letters and that they will be an encouragement to you. I love you, Beatrice. Know that I am praying for you and miss you dearly.
Sincerely,
Viola
Beatrice looked up from the letter that she had read through four times, placing it in her lap. Chase sat beside her, quietly reading something on his eye phone. She couldn’t remember when he came back in, but he glanced up and smiled tentatively when he noticed her looking at him.
“You alright?” he asked.
She nodded, reached for the coffee mug on the table in front of her, and took a drink. The lukewarm coffee was evidence of how long she had been immersed in her sister’s letter. She sighed, her sorrow heavy upon her body, weighing her down.
“Viola believed that I went forward in time. She claimed if I would’ve gone backward, I would’ve left some kind of sign for them that I did. That’s the truth. I wouldn’t have wanted them to worry.” She turned the mug around in her hand, the bright turquoise color reminding her of her favorite fishing hole, calming her. “She said as far as Orlando could tell from the sign left from my scuffle with William, William chased me to the tree I ran into before he died, the knife plunged into the ground where I should’ve been.”
She shivered, realizing how close she had come to death. Chase ran his hand across her shoulder. She was a fool to think that she could leave her family. She probably would’ve made it as far as Lincoln, Nebraska before she turned for home, the Wild West show forgotten in the sorrow of missing her family. What was Baby Chase into now? Did he still scream for his ‘Eee’? The new children would never even know her, the only memory the one photo the family had taken years ago.
Beatrice fought the tears that threatened to fall. She refused to cry again today, at least in front of Chase. Her pa had raised tough women not bent on washing their life with tears. She would get through this trial like every other one, shoving her emotions down so she could function rationally. Though she had to admit, that usually made her testy, like the parts of her she buried away were scratching under the surface, threatening to push out. Always pretending to be strong was exhausting.
She peeked at Chase who gently rubbed her shoulders. He hadn’t minded her tears. Even when he thought her loco and his brother’s murderer, he’d pulled her close to comfort her, making sure she was okay. Maybe she wouldn’t have to pretend so much here. Maybe she could let the emotions surface and leave the waspish woman in 1879. She shivered at the prospect of being so vulnerable.
“Are you cold?” Chase’s thumb rubbed the back of her neck, sending chills down her spine for a completely different reason.
“Yeah.” She forced the words through her dry throat, not ready to test the theory of exposing her feelings just yet.
He got up, his eyes intent on hers, probing for the truths she kept hidden. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
She reached for the next letter as he rushed down the hall. She folded Viola’s away and put it off to the side, her hand lingering on her name written across the top. She turned back to the new letter and opened it. An envelope fell from the folds. She picked it up and turned it over.
A gasp escaped as she read Chase’s name marching across in efficient, tight letters. She quickly scanned the letter in her hand. Hunter had written it and wanted her to try and deliver it to his brother. She smiled at the first easy task she could accomplish in this foreign land.
Chase hurried back in, a large shirt of some kind hanging between his hands. He glanced at her and back to the clothing, an expression of worry written across his face as if he questioned if he was doing right. He shrugged and continued to walk over.
“Here, let me help you stand up and we’ll get this on you.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. He stood inches from her, his tall frame towering over hers. He stared down at her, a promise in his eyes she didn’t understand. “This is my college sweatshirt. It’s old and worn, but it’s comfortable. You’re going to swim in it though. Maybe I should try and find something else, maybe something of Vicky’s.”
“No,” she said a bit more forcefully than she meant to. Softening her tone, she continued, “This will be perfect. Thank you … for everything, Chase.”
He gazed into her eyes and nodded. “You’re welcome. Now lift up your hands, and I’ll slip this on. Then I’ll get you some more coffee.”
She chuckled as she lifted her hands. He pulled the enormous thing over her head, like she did for baby Chase back home. The onslaught of memories had words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m not a child, you know. I can take care of myself.”
“You are most definitely not a child.” His voice was strained with something she couldn’t recognize. He brushed her hair from her face that had fallen crazy in front of her eyes. “Sit, I’ll be right back.”
She sat as he moved toward the kitchen. “Oh, I have a letter here for you from Hunter.”
He stopped and turned, his face white in shock. His mouth flapped like a caught trout. He snapped it shut. “For me?”
She nodded. “It was folded in mine.”
She watched as he took a step toward her and stopped. He glanced toward the kitchen and back to her, indecision warring on his face. He held up a finger and raced to the kitchen.
Beatrice smiled as she folded her hands into the too-long sleeves of Chase’s shirt. It smelled like him, like something spicy and exotic. She took a deep breath and curled further into the couch. With the way he put her first before what had to be an intense desire to read what his brother had to say, she might find it easier to stop burying herself than she first thought. She smiled again and reached for Hunter’s letter.
Chase sped around the kitchen making more coffee and nuking the leftover taco fixings he’d made the other night. His mind screamed to forget the coffee and dinner and rip open the letter. Then he’d remember Beatrice and everything she’d been through in the last day, and his desire to read what his brother wrote all but disappeared in the wake of her need, which was crazy. He didn’t do responsible, so why did he push everything else aside to take care of her? Giving her his treasured sweatshirt. Putting his brother on hold when Chase had been going nuts the last year looking for him.
“That’s because she’s here now, and Hunter’s no longer here, lug nut. Get your head in the game, man. Focus,” Chase said to himself as he filled plates with tacos and rice and loaded the tray.
He carried the tray into the living room, noticing how Beatrice’s forehead crinkled and she rubbed her eyes. He set the tray down on the coffee table and peered into her face.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, my head hurts is all. Makes it hard to read.” She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the couch. She looked adorable with his oversized sweatshirt dwarfing her petite form.
“Let me check your eyes, make sure you don’t have a concussion, then you can eat some tacos while I read your letter.” He set the tray down and crouched before her.
She gave him a disgruntled look. He smiled back at her, glad she seemed to have found some spunk. Her gorgeous green eyes sparked with fight and had a sheen of pain.
She rolled them and leaned her head back, closing her lids with a sigh. “What do you need me to do?”
He smiled at her huffy voice. “You’ll just need to lift your head. When I tell you to, open your eyes. I’ll have a light shining in them. I’m looking to see if your pupils dilate properly.”
“If my people’s dilute … what?” she asked in exasperation as she rubbed her forehead. “And I thought living with Hunter was bad.”
He laughed, reaching forward and gently lifting her head to where he wanted it. “Your pupils are the black spot in the middle of your eyes that get larger and smaller to let in light. When the surroundings go from dark to light, your pupils shrink. If they shrink differently, like say one dilates and the other doesn’t, then we are taking your tacos to go and booking it into the clinic.”
Her mouth crinkled in a pout, pulling his attention away from the task at hand. One side quirked, and he wondered if what he said humored or annoyed her. He wondered if her lips were as soft as they looked. He slowly leaned forward, wanting to test if they were smooth as velvet.
“Well, are you going to blind me with your light or not?” The tempting lips asked, jerking him back to reality.
What was he thinking? He had no business even considering kissing her. She just almost got murdered and had been pulled one hundred and fifty years forward. He remembered watching the Terminator. The humans were always out of sorts after the jump through time. He needed to focus on helping her heal and figuring out her new reality, not smooching her inviting lips. That could wait until later.
Chase cleared his throat and placed one hand over her eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket with the other, switching on the flashlight. “Okay, Beatrice, when I remove my hand I want you to open your eyes and try not to blink at the bright light. Ready?”
“I’ve been ready. Not sure what you’ve been doing.”
He smirked. She didn’t want to know what he’d been doing, or almost doing. “Okay. One, two, three.”
He shined the light into her eyes as he removed his hand. Relief rushed through him as both pupils shrank simultaneously. He sagged back on his heels and sighed.
She gazed at him in question. “So, am I going to live?”
“Yeah, at least with that test it looks like your brains weren’t scrambled too badly.” He stood and grabbed a plate. “But if you start to get dizzy or feel nauseous or faint, let me know and we’ll get you checked out.”
“That’s a relief.” She reached for the plate and investigated the contents. She pulled it to her face and sniffed, a surprised smile bouncing on her face. “This smells delicious.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my favorites.”
“You made this?” The question was thick with astonishment.
“Who else would’ve? I’m up here on my own, at least I am now until the men get back from taking the sheep to Utah.” He grabbed the other plate and sat down next to her on the couch. “I don’t like frozen food, so I had to learn to cook or starve.”
He picked up his taco and took a bite, eating half in one bite, the crack of the shell loud in the quiet room. She gingerly raised hers and crunched into it. She stared at the taco and lifted shocked eyes up to him. It was going to be so much fun showing her around if this was the reaction she got from a simple meal of leftovers. He smiled at the prospect.
“This is delightful. The flavors are incredible. Thank you, Chase.” She dug into the remaining food.
He took several more large bites, then put his plate to the side, the anticipation of reading Hunter’s letter finally overriding every other need. “Want me to read your letter now?”
She nodded and handed it to him. He took the delicate paper, his hands shaking worse than when he jumped from the cliff in South America. He closed his eyes, breathed out a slow breath, and prayed for God to calm his soul. His hands stilled, and he opened his eyes.
“Hey Little Sis,
So what have you gotten yourself into now? Viola believes y
ou’re somewhere in the future, so I’m writing you this letter. Hopefully when you’ve landed. there is still family in the area to help you. We plan on passing down your story to our children and grandchildren, so they are prepared when a feisty young woman comes stumbling to their doorstep. If you are reading this, than I guess our mission was a success.”
Chase paused. That was Hunter, always strategic. Every mission completed perfectly to the smallest point. Hunter didn’t do random, which was part of the reason Chase did. He could never live up to Hunter’s shadow. Chase’s courage had always waned at the idea of walking in Hunter’s path. So he’d blazed his own, making sure it was as far from Hunter’s as possible. Chase could hardly plan what he was going to make for dinner the following week, and here Hunter was, formulating how to help Beatrice years before she needed it. Chase peeked over at Beatrice, who stared at him in question. He quirked a small smile and continued reading.
“Whenever you’ve landed, if it’s past the turn of the century, you are going to be in for some surprises. It’ll be a completely different world than what you are used to, Bea, but if anyone can navigate it, it’s you. Remember when we talked about being out of sorts in our own time, being discontent?”
Chase winged his eyebrows up and jerked his gaze to Beatrice.
She shrugged. “I got in a snit about not taking the fight to the family who was pestering us, William’s family in fact. Hunter and I ended up having a conversation about how we loved our family, Hunter loved his job, but we both always felt this discontent, this unsettling in our gut that life wasn’t all it was supposed to be.” She shrugged again. “He understood me, encouraged me to look into options that would get me out of the isolation of the mountains and into exploring the world. He gave me the idea of performing in the Wild West shows. I guess that’s out of the question now, but he gave me hope when all I saw were shadows.”
Vestige of Courage Page 4
