Incident At Elder Creek

by Anna Furtado

  Tucker smiled. “Not at all. It’ll be more time for us to get to know each other, wouldn’t you say?” Once it rolled off her tongue, she felt a pang of regret.

  “Exactly what I thought.” Leah giggled.

  Her laughter tickled Tucker as it always did—right down to her core—and in other tantalizing places.

  WHEN TUCKER PULLED into the parking lot of Mitchell’s Steakhouse, she found an empty space next to the side of the building. As she and Leah walked around to the front entrance, Tucker informed her she’d never been there before.

  “The steakhouse?” Leah asked.

  “The steakhouse or to Pine Grove,” Tucker said. “There wasn’t anything here but a bunch of campgrounds when I was a kid. Nothing to bring us all the way out here when we enjoyed the same scenery and camped all we wanted to right around Elder Creek.”

  “Well, I guess it’s grown up a little since then. This place,” Leah gestured toward the doorway they were about to walk through, “has a reputation for great food. I’ve been dying to try it.”

  Tucker held the door open for her and made a sweeping gesture. “Then, let’s get to it, shall we?”

  When Leah laughed at Tucker’s grand wave, Tucker knew she’d done the right thing.

  The restaurant bustled with activity, but there were a few empty tables. Once seated, they perused their menus. Tucker decided on what she wanted and flipped her menu over to the back cover to read a brief history of the Pine Grove area. Its current population of a few thousand inhabitants grew up around several popular campgrounds and mountain hideaway communities. In the summer, vacationers doubled the size of Pine Grove as they came to soak up the serenity and the clean air, “getting back to nature,” so the information said. Fishing, hiking, swimming and biking drew people to Pine Grove. The town started as a settlement for loggers in the early 1800s. It continued to grow as it provided lumber for the mining industry during the gold rush. The men who came here logged farther up the road, but because of their occupation, they dubbed the area Hatchet—.

  Tucker gasped. She met Leah’s eyes. “Wow, look at this,” Tucker said.

  “Look at what?”

  “The back of the menu.” She pointed. “It has the history of this area. This place was once the settlement called Hatchet. It’s the place you mentioned when you told me about the rumors about kids being killed in the mine. You know, the ones which proved not to be true.”

  “And I remember you said you’d heard of Hatchet before, but you didn’t tell me why it was familiar to you. So, how did you know about it?”

  “Well, actually, it’s kind of hard to explain. Like I told you the other day, I’d never heard of it. Well, I did hear of it, but—” She chomped down on her words, exasperated.

  “Well, talk about confusing, Tucker Stevens. What am I supposed to make of what you’re saying? You never heard of Hatchet, but you have, but you—what? Haven’t?” She grinned at Tucker, the teasing tone apparent in her voice.

  Tucker’s cheeks blushed a dark rose. “It—it’s a long story, Leah. Let’s leave it for another time and enjoy our dinner. Okay?”

  “Is it about you?”

  “What?”

  “The long story. Is it about you?”

  “Yes. It’s about me and a little about my mom.”

  “Wonderful. Let’s order dinner. Then you tell me your story.”

  Tucker grimaced. It wasn’t what she planned for the evening.

  The waiter approached. They listened to the specials, ordered, then Leah said, “Okay. Let’s have it. I love a good story.”

  “Really, Leah, it’s old history. Well, most of it is.”

  “Remember me, Tucker? I’m the librarian—and a historian—I love old history. This dinner was for us to get to know each other. I’m all ears.” She raised her hands to the sides of her head and flicked the ears Tucker knew were under her mop of pale limoncello-colored hair.

  As they ate, Tucker slowly overcame her embarrassment about her history.

  “My mom was a single parent who loved me deeply. Sometimes, though, she found it difficult to cope and functioning in the world day-to-day was sometimes impossible. When I was little, all we lived on were peanut butter sandwiches when mom was having her ’bad days,’ as she called them. Once I got a little older, I learned how to cook. Mom was a great cook, so I figured out if I got her to show me how to make some of her recipes on her good days, we’d eat better on her bad ones—at least I would, sometimes it was difficult to get her to eat.”

  Leah said, “That must have been very difficult for you.”

  “Oh, the cooking wasn’t too bad, but when I’d come home from school, I never knew how I’d find her. Some days she’d be fine. She’d wrap her arms around me and tell me she loved me and have me tell her all about my day. I loved those times. On the weekends, we’d go for long walks and pick daisies from a nearby field, stringing them into garlands and wearing them in our hair, laughing and generally being silly, having a good time.

  “The really worrisome times were those days when I’d come home and find her curled up in her bed unable to function because of debilitating depression.

  “In the last twenty years of mom’s life, she finally went on medication. It made all the difference. She evened out. She told me even though there was a bit of a fog around her head all the time, at least she didn’t plunge into the black depression she experienced before the treatment. I was happy for her. I only wished it possible to go back to my early childhood, so she didn’t have to go through such an awful time, and life could have been one long string of good days and no bad ones.”

  They grew quiet, cleaning up the last bits of their meals from their plates. Finally, Leah said, “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Tucker. I appreciate it. It must have been challenging for you growing up and having to be your mom’s caregiver at times.” She held up her hand to stop Tucker’s protest. “I know there were good times, and I’m glad you experienced those. But no kid should have to be a parent’s caretaker when they’re a child.”

  “I loved my mom, Leah. She wasn’t much of a burden. I’m glad she found some help in her later years and didn’t have to struggle so much. It’s too bad her weak heart took her in the end.”

  Leah reached across the table and placed her hand over Tucker’s resting there. “I’m sorry your mom’s gone. I would have liked to have met her.”

  Tucker’s mouth twitched as she tried to suppress a smile. “But if she was still alive, where would you live?”

  When Leah laughed, enjoying the teasing, Tucker felt a now-familiar thrill run down her spine and the heavy burden of her story lifted.

  The waiter returned and they decided to share a dessert. When he left, Tucker said, “All we’ve done is talk about me. I want to hear about you, too. What was your life like before you came to Elder Creek?”

  “Chaos. Turmoil. Always running in several different directions at the same time.”

  Tucker smiled. “I think that’s physically impossible.”

  “Maybe, but it’s what my life felt like. I thought it would be an adventure, living in LA. Living in a big city didn’t generate the kind of excitement I hoped for. I longed for the country, the quiet of the mountains. Being in Elder Creek, in the foothills, is like a dream come true. The pace is so much slower. I have time to think and be. It’s wonderful. In southern California, especially my last few years in LA, I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

  Tucker played with her fork, not wanting to look at Leah. Maybe it was time to be honest. Her breathing increased as she thought about telling Leah she feared she was the one losing her mental grip. If she did tell her, she risked the loss of the budding friendship with Leah, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to take such a risk. If she didn’t, though, they’d be starting their friendship surrounded by an unspoken lie, and any possibility of their relationship evolving into something else would evaporate in a mist of betrayal if the deceit ever came to light.


  “Did I say something wrong? Oh my goodness, I’m sorry Tucker—your mom. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just a figure of speech.”

  Tucker looked into an ocean of blue staring at her across the table and found nothing but concern. Taking a deep breath, she made the decision to tell Leah about her own recent experiences. Leah could decide if she didn’t want anything to do with her afterward. If that’s what happened after she heard her story, Tucker would just learn to get beyond these feelings building for Leah and get on with her life. It was better than prolonging it into some unknown future.

  “It’s nothing to do with my mom. Like I said, that’s all in the past. But what it has to do with is me and—well, I guess it does have to do with my mother, too, but not directly. You see I have always been concerned I would end up like my mom. Battling depression. Not being able to function. Plunging off the edge of a cliff into some unknown darkness over and over again. I haven’t experienced that. Oh, sure, I get down in the dumps sometimes, but I don’t experience the deep, dark hole or feeling like it’s impossible to climb out of it like my mom did.”

  She took a deep breath and told her the rest, “However, I have been having some strange experiences of late and I’m trying to figure out if they mean something or if my mind is playing tricks on me.”

  “What kind of experiences?”

  “Strange ones. Things difficult to explain.” Tucker looked around the restaurant. She didn’t want to tell Leah the rest sitting here surrounded by strangers. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you about it.”

  TUCKER UNLOCKED HER truck and held the passenger door open for Leah. By the time they were halfway back to Portero, the silence surrounding them filled Tucker with dread.

  Leah said, “So, are you going to tell me the rest of your story?”

  “You may not really want to hear it.”

  “Or is it that you don’t want to tell it?”

  Tucker hesitated.

  “Maybe.”

  “Tucker—”

  “I know, I know. It’s just, well, I’m warning you this is going to sound pretty strange.”

  “Stranger than you finding yourself at the door of The Charlie and not knowing what happened.”

  “Afraid so.”

  Tucker could feel Leah staring at her. She finally said, “Then you’d better start from the beginning and get it all out. I’m ready.”

  “But am I sure I’m ready to tell you?”

  Leah’s voice softened as she said, “Just tell me. I promise I won’t pass any judgments.”

  Tucker felt a little of the weight lift from her chest.

  “Okay.” She took in a deep breath. “Here it is. All of it.”

  She saw Leah shift a little under her seat belt, giving her full attention to Tucker.

  “I’ve been having these...episodes...visions...something. I don’t know how to explain it. It feels like I’ve gone back in time or something. Back to Elder Creek during the post-Gold Rush days.”

  “Fascinating,” Leah said.

  “Please, Leah, if you want me to tell you, just let me get it out. Don’t comment, don’t say anything until I’m done. This is difficult enough.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leah nod.

  “Okay, in this...experience...whatever it is, you’re there. Well, not you, but someone who looks like you. Her name is Lily Hart and she works at The Charlie—only they don’t call it that yet.”

  She glanced over at Leah and saw her eyes wide and her lips pulled together, taut and thin, as if she were trying to keep the questions from exiting her mouth.

  “Jackie’s in this—whatever it is I’m experiencing, too. Only her name is Olivia and she runs a kind of restaurant, serving people meals, out of what’s now the bookstore. It’s all kind of crazy.”

  She glanced Leah’s way again. She still held her lips firmly shut.

  “And for some reason, Lily and Olivia don’t like each other, but I don’t know why.”

  When Leah remained silent, Tucker said, “Okay, you can say what’s on your mind now.”

  The weight of worry in Tucker’s chest threatened to make her heart stop beating and the voice within taunted her, telling her she made a crucial error telling Leah about her terrors and her confusing excursions back in time. Most of all, the growing fear of a grave miscalculation in telling Leah about her part in her whole twisted experience into the past made it difficult to breathe. With these details, she would truly think Tucker was experiencing a mental breakdown.

  Finally, Leah broke the silence. “So, am I pretty—back in time?”

  The weight lifted and Tucker took in her first full breath since leaving the restaurant. She gave Leah a sideways glance and smiled. “You’re as beautiful there as you are here.”

  She thought Leah’s cheeks darkened in the nighttime grayness of the truck cab and barely made out Leah’s shy smile.

  “There’s something else, too,” Tucker said. “There’s this bartender. He’s mean and surly and he seems to have it out for me. I can’t figure that one out either.”

  Leah asked, “So, this saloon-keeper. Is he a familiar face, too?”

  “No,” Tucker said. “I don’t know who he is and I can’t place him in this time either. I don’t know anyone who looks like him. As a matter of fact, it’s only you and Jackie that look like someone I know back there—back then.”

  “Interesting,” Leah said.

  Tucker thought about the whole chain of events, exposing herself to Leah. She realized she no longer felt the dread. The weight on her chest didn’t return.

  “Are you okay with all this? I’ll be the first to admit, it’s kind of weird.”

  Leah said, “I think there must be a reason for these kinds of experiences. Even if you don’t know the purpose now, I’m willing to bet it will be revealed in time. We’ll figure it out.”

  Was Leah actually offering to help? Tucker breathed a sigh of relief.

  As they drove back through Portero to Elder Creek, they counted five satellite vans from various television stations, including one from Sacramento and one all the way from San Francisco. Their dishes were tucked in close to the vehicle roofs, not a soul around, everything locked up tight for the night. It made sense. No doubt nothing new materialized to report at this late hour. Most of the TV personnel probably frequented the restaurants and bars in town, crowding out the tourists and the locals. Tucker smiled to herself. Leah chose well to opt for a different place for dinner.

  Leah’s questions floated up in the consciousness of Tucker’s mind and she thought about her last encounter with Lily at Olivia’s during dinner. Her wandering thoughts then pulled her back into breakfast the same morning, and she mulled over the newspaper articles in The Elder Creek Weekly Star. Something didn’t ring true, but identifying the problem proved impossible. Nothing in the folksy local news back in time indicated something might be off, but an uneasy feeling about something in the newspaper niggled at the back of her mind. What was it?

  Then, it hit her.

  “I’ve got it,” Tucker shouted.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leah jerk and knew her outburst caused it.

  “Sorry,” she added. “I just realized something.”

  She told her about breakfast at Olivia’s and reading the local weekly. Then she asked, “Do you know when Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show started?”

  “The early 1880s, I think. I can’t recall the exact year.”

  “I do know the exact year, 1883. The paper I read was dated 1873. How did it contain an advertisement for the Wild West show when it didn’t even start until ten years later?”

  “Are you sure about the date of the paper?”

  “I’m positive. Ever since my first encounter, I wondered about the year. When I finally saw the date on that paper, it surprised me, but I also felt relieved at finding an answer to one of my questions. I wouldn’t forget it. The date clearly read October 15, 1873. As I read it, though, some t
hings didn’t sit right. I thought it threw me because one of the stories told about a Native American massacre, which upset me, but now I’m not so sure that was the only reason I felt like something was off. I think some of the information was just plain wrong and I might have been reacting to the errors subconsciously.”

  “I should be able to get a copy.”

  Tucker looked over in surprise then fixed her attention back to the road.

  “Yes, silly. It’s what I do, remember. I’m a librarian. I subscribe to newspapers.com. If the Star actually did exist, I should be able to pull up the exact paper you saw and we can verify what’s in it.”

  “Wow. How great, Leah.”

  They pulled into Elder Creek and took Yankee Hill Road to Leah’s house. Tucker switched off the ignition and they sat in silence, parked under a sweeping elm tree with golden leaves visible in the moonlight. A gust blew and leaves fluttered onto the hood of the vehicle.

  Tucker said, “I hope I didn’t freak you out with all this, Leah. I know it must sound very strange.”

  Leah looked into Tucker’s eyes. “It must mean something, Tucker. Maybe your subconscious is trying to give you information. You merely have to figure out what it is.”

  Tucker huffed. “The problem is I have no idea how I’m going to do that.”

  “Well, looking at the newspaper might be a start. Since tomorrow’s Saturday, why don’t you come over for breakfast? It will pale in comparison to the meal at Mitchell’s, but I consider myself a decent cook. We can look up the paper online afterward and see what we find.”

  Tucker smiled. “I’d like that Leah. But I have one request for breakfast.”

  “Okay. I said I was a decent cook.” Leah emphasized the word decent. “I didn’t say I did anything terribly fancy or gourmet.”

  “I didn’t mean what you’d cook. I meant what we’d talk about during breakfast. No more about me. I want to hear about your life. Deal?”