by Mary May
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m as clumsy as a new born calf! I done spilt my milk!” Mrs. McCarthy jumps up, toddling to the cabinet for a dishtowel. I take the opportunity while her back is turned to spit the milk back into my glass.
“Oh, it’s no bother now, Jesse Lee, I shoulda never given you such a small dainty glass. I know it ain’t easy to hold with your big man hands.” Mrs. McCarthy goes back into the kitchen to get Jesse a manlier cup to use, and while she is gone I whisper my thanks to Jesse for coming to my rescue.
“No problem. My little brother can’t stand cow’s milk either, so your expression was real familiar.”
“What expression? Why do I get the feeling I missed something?”
Jesse and I both bust out laughing at the lost look on Eli’s face. Shaking my head, I tell him it wasn’t anything important. Mrs. McCarthy comes back in with two glasses. One that is large for a “manly” hand and one that is much smaller.
“Here we go, Jesse. That should please your big old hands and this might be more to your liking, Cher dear.”
She hands me the smaller glass with a small smile and a wink. “Come now, you don’t really think that you get to be my age without learning a thing or two, do you?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t like milk but I thought I could hide my reaction,” I admit.
Mrs. McCarthy smiles again, her entire face wrinkling up. “Oh, your reaction isn’t what caught my attention, dear; it was Jesse Lee’s. I’ve seen that boy tip toe through a field of rattlesnakes without makin’ a one rattle. I knew there was no way he knocked over his cup.” Sharing a look over the rim of my cup with Jesse made me feel sad and happy at the same time. It was the first time he had looked at me with something other than suspicion or anger. He looked at me with softness…like my Jesse.
After dinner I offer to help Mrs. McCarthy with the dishes, but she shoos me out by waving a dishtowel at me. “I surely appreciate the offer, young Cher, but you’re the guest and I won’t be having it told that the guests are made to clean the dishes! You go out on the porch and visit with the menfolk, now you hear me?” I walk out to the porch that is dimly lit by the candle sitting on the small table next to the rocking chair. Jesse is sitting in it but gets up, offering it to me. I smile my thanks as he sits on the steps with Eli. They continue talking about the plans for the next morning while I rock in the chair, listening to them with one ear and the soft calling of a whippoorwill with the other.
The next morning, we eat a breakfast of thick porridge with molasses and black coffee. I don’t like coffee either, most especially without a healthy dose of cream and sugar, but I refuse to insult the kind lady again, so I drink it with a straight face. After loading our “luggage” into the wagon once more, we wave goodbye to Mrs. McCarthy, who waves back with the same dishtowel she chased me out of the kitchen with the night before.
The stagecoach office is only a couple of blocks away, so we arrive with plenty of time to spare. Jesse hands Eli the tickets and a couple of dollars. Eli tries to argue with him about the money. “You need at least that much on you to buy a meal or something to drink. No one travels without a little money in his pocket.” Unable to argue with that line of reasoning, Eli accepts. “I’m going to leave now. The stage will most likely beat me back into town.” He climbs back into the wagon and clucks softly at the horses, pulling away from the station.
I sit down on a bench with our luggage by my feet. I feel nervous being out in the open for the first time. What if I do or say something to blow our cover?
Sensing my nervousness, Eli sits down beside me. “It’s ok if you’re nervous. You are a young girl traveling for the first time.”
I frown at him until I realize that is my cover story. “Oh! Well, that works. So what is the rest of our story? I’m sure that you and Jesse have it all worked out.”
“We are Sonny and Cher Bono, from the town of Cedar Cove fifty miles north from here. Our parents have died and we are traveling south to go live with our uncle in Silver Springs.” After he stops, I look at him, waiting for the rest of the story. “What?” he asks.
“Is that it? Is that all of our cover story? Our parents died and we are going to go live with an uncle? What if they ask what happened? Did they die of an illness or an accident? Is the uncle on our mother’s or our father’s side? What is the uncle’s name? We need to do better than that, Eli. People by nature are nosy.”
He leans back against the bench, looking at me with surprise. “You’re right. It does have a few holes. Ok, since the parents died at the same time, I think an accident would be more believable than an illness. Let’s say a wagon overturned with them. As far as whose side the uncle is on, just pick one so we both tell the same story. I think we should keep some details vague. Remember, we don’t want anyone to really check out anything on us. We offer no details unless asked and then as little as possible.”
I nod in agreement. Reaching over, he takes my hand, wrapping his long warm fingers over mine. “Good job, though, on catching all the holes. We might have ended up in a very awkward position.”
I look at our hands intertwined. His hand is tan with lean fingers that nearly wrap around my entire hand. Mine looks pale and pudgy in comparison. I pull mine away before he notices, tucking it under my leg. “Thanks, glad to know I’m good for something,” I mumble.
“Shelby, I haven’t had a chance to tell you just how well you have dealt with the whole Jesse, Martha, and Robert mess. I don’t know how you held it together as long as you did.”
Giving him a small smile, I shake my head. “I don’t know that I did hold it together, to be honest. I was more or less surviving each new disaster as it struck. I would say I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but I can’t imagine being here alone.”
Eli gives me a quick wink. “Hey, look at it this way. It’s one heck of an adventure!” Then he sobers. “Seriously, I’m glad I’m with you. I would hate to think of you out here alone, too.”
The station attendant finally arrives for work and within minutes has taken our tickets and told us that the stage is due any minute. I see a cloud of dust coming from across the open field and soon our stage is stopping in front of the platform. I study the horses that pull our stage. They are all close to the same build and height. Lean and muscular, they make Noble look downright chubby. It dawns on me that the horses of the 1800’s were not “pets.” They were living, breathing machines for the most part, doing the hard work that enabled the world to move forward. Tossing their heads, they chafe at their bits and stomp the ground repeatedly, clearly anxious to be on their way. Eli hands the driver our luggage, which he tosses on top of the stage coach and then straps it down before he helps me up into the stage. The interior is small with worn upholstered seats that have seen better days. The windows over the doors are open, although they could be closed in a way, by rolling down the leather curtains. I am grateful that we are the only passengers getting on right now. It saves us from having to speak with people and test out our story just yet. I feel the stage lean slightly to the one side and hear a loud snap of the whip cracking over the horses’ backs. My head is jerked hard against the cushioned wall behind me as the eager horses leap into a hard run.
We make it into town nearly two hours later. I have never been so grateful to get out of something in all my life! A stagecoach is an instrument of torture! My entire body hurts from trying to stay in the seat on the rough roads and my jaws hurt from keeping my teeth clenched so I wouldn’t accidently bite my tongue off. I groan as Eli helps me down from the stage. He catches our bag that the driver tosses down and then the stage races off. I look around the town that I have been dying to explore. Eli sees my hopeful expression and finally relents, saying we can go look around. The buildings are all made of wood, as is the sidewalk that runs down the length of the town on each side of main street. Horses and mules of all shapes and sizes are tied to hitching posts outside of the different businesses. Not that there are many. I can see
maybe half a dozen from where we stand. I step into the Mercantile and my nose is filled with the smell of ground coffee, leather, and feed. Tables and shelves hold common household items. Some I recognize but most are totally foreign to me. Bolts of cloth are on display and a couple of women are stroking the fabric, discussing dress patterns as they hold babies on their hips. I smile as they look up at us, but they don’t return my smile. They look from me to Eli then cast their eyes downward. I look up at Eli and he shrugs slightly, so we continue on. The Mercantile is basically a grocery store/hardware store. It has everything from food to fabric to tools like hoes, shovels and axes. The clerk who is working finally finishes up with the gentleman who is buying a bag of beans. He turns to us with a smile.
“Good afternoon. Can I help you find anything? If you don’t see it, I may have it in the back.”
I step back and let Eli take the lead like a good little 1800’s era girl should do. “Hello, we just arrived on the stage and was wondering if there was anywhere in town that has rooms for rent?”
The clerk scratches his head as he thinks about Eli’s question. “No, I can’t say that we do. We don’t have a hotel or any such as that. However, you might be able to stay a night or two out at the Mitchell place. They have a real big house just outside of town and have been known to put people up for a few days.”
I try to get Eli’s attention to let him know there is no way I am staying with Robert, but he won’t look at me. “How would I get in touch with the Mitchells?”
The clerk smiles as the bells hanging over the front door chime, indicating the door has opened. “Right there is Mr. Mitchell. It must be your lucky day!”
I swear I feel the blood freeze up in my veins as I try to prepare myself for looking upon a living, breathing Robert Mitchell. The store clerk makes the introductions a lot faster than I would have liked, given the circumstances. But I paste on a smile and turn around as the clerk tells Mr. Mitchell our situation.
Living Robert looks nothing, and I mean nothing, like he did as a crazed, insane ghost. His black cowboy hat is shoved to the back of his head and he is smiling at us in a friendly manner. I try to see something of the monster that has nearly strangled the life out me but I can’t see it.
“Howdy! Ya’ll would surely be welcome up at the house. We have plenty of room. Why don’t I just load your things into the back of the wagon for you?”
Eli and I look at one another in shock as he grabs the bag at our feet. “You sure do pack mighty light, ma’am.” He smiles at me as he holds open the door. “It’s a good thing I was coming to town for supplies because I’m in the wagon. Otherwise, I would need to go back home and fetch it.” We load up in the wagon, me sitting in the seat next to Robert and Eli riding in the back on sacks of feed.
Robert chats with us the entire trip. He points out this and that. He makes comments about every farm and house we pass. What truly strikes me as odd is he has only nice things to say about people. Farmer Jones had a nice batch of piglets born last week, or Mrs. Canfield makes the best apple pies. Every residence receives a nice comment or compliment. I keep looking back over my shoulder at Eli and he looks as confused as I am. Of course, he only knows what he has been told about Robert. He hasn’t seen firsthand just how evil the man truly is, and I don’t think that evil started after his death. It takes someone with no heart to hang an innocent young man.
As we approach the Mitchell place, I feel my heart start to pound in nervous expectation of seeing my house again. How I am supposed to pull this off with no one thinking I’m Planters Nuts crazy is beyond me. Finally, we crest a small hill and my house comes into view. It seems so weird to see it in all its former glory. I don’t know who decided to paint it red or when that happened, because it is a creamy white color at this point in time. As we circle the wide front porch, a woman with dark hair streaked with gray comes out the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Bruce Dale, who’s that with ya?”
“It’s some folks new to town, Mama. They don’t have no place to stay for the night, so I told them they could stay here.”
I look hard at the man sitting beside me with wide eyes as it dawns on me. “Wait a minute -- you’re Bruce Mitchell? You’re not Robert Mitchell?”
“No, young lady, that would be me. Bruce is my twin brother.” I quickly turn toward the voice that has just spoken and look straight into the face of the real Robert Mitchell!
There is no mistaking it this time because, dead or alive, I would recognize those cold blue eyes and slight sneer anywhere. I don’t know how I ever thought the man beside me could be Robert!
I hesitate long enough when he holds out his hand to help me down that he frowns at me. Quickly I slip my hand into his then step back a few steps once I’m on the ground, putting some distance between us. I stare back and forth between Bruce and Robert. They are twins, sure enough, but their personalities actually change the way they look. Bruce appears younger by at least two years and his blue eyes are warm with laugh lines at the corners. He is fast with a smile and seems to be a really nice guy. They are total polar opposites. I glance over at Eli, who gives me a look that I’m sure mirrors my own.
Robert has a twin…who knew?
We follow their mother into the house that is beautifully furnished. Dark walnut paneling is on the walls and the hardwood plank flooring is buffed to a high gloss. Mrs. Mitchell is walking ahead of us talking about putting fresh linens on the beds upstairs when she turns and asks if we are married.
“Oh, no, ma’am, this is my sister Cher Bono, and my name is Sonny. We truly appreciate you allowing us to stay in your home. It’s very kind of you.”
Luckily Eli answered for us. I’m still in shock with facing Robert and then finding out he has a twin. Not to mention being back in my house, that’s not really my house. It’s crazy…I think maybe I’m going crazy. That would actually explain most, if not all, of this whole thing. What if I was still in my own time and having some crazy dream or perhaps I sustained a head injury when Robert’s ghost strangled me. Maybe it’s P.T.G.D…Post-Traumatic-Ghost-Disorder…I certainly have been under enough ghostly stress lately to qualify. You may think that something like time travel would be so cool. They make it seem that way in the movies. But it’s not. It’s sooo not!
I stop my inner musings when I realize that the room has gone totally silent. I blink myself back to the present, which is actually the past, to find everyone staring at me with various expressions. Eli looks concerned, as does Bruce; however, Robert and his mother look suspicious.
“I’m sorry…I was lost in thought. Did I miss something?”
Eli puts his hand on my shoulder. “Kind of. Robert just asked where you knew him from to mistake Bruce for him.” Oh, crap! Thinking fast, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, which isn’t much.
“Oh, I ummm…” I trail off, looking at Eli for help when Bruce does it.
“Robbie, I’m sure that Mr. Peppercorn down at the Mercantile mentioned you when they asked for a place to stay.” Robert or ahem…Robbie looked at me.
“Is that what happened?” I nod my head, too relieved to do much else. I am not entirely convinced that Robert buys that, but he leavesit alone
.
CHAPTER 8
Mrs. Mitchell leads us up the stairs and shows us our rooms. I’m actually relieved to see that we are being put in the section of the house that isn’t there in my time. I’m pretty sure that my “Roll with the punches attitude” is nearing its breaking point. I’m very nearly to the “Roll up in the fetal position and drool” stage. The room is facing the back of the house, however, and I look out the window. There is a barn, but it isn’t my barn. The scenery is similar yet very different at the same time. The dead tree, as Josie named it, is there, and a large thick branch about fifteen feet up grows straight out from the trunk, a perfect hanging spot. I feel the bile rise up to the back of my throat at the thought of what will take place there in less than two weeks if we don’t stop
it. A bunch of crazy thoughts run through my mind of what we can do to save Jesse, from cutting down the tree to hiding him away somewhere until after his death date. But I know none of those ideas can guarantee Jesse won’t hang. They may only postpone it. I have to find a way to totally take it out of the equation, and I know to do that I have to change Robert Mitchell.
A short while later I hear a light tapping on my door. I open it, expecting to see Eli, but it’s Bruce giving me a low lazy smile. “Howdy again, Miss Cher. Ma asked me to come fetch you down for a bite to eat.” I couldn’t help but smile back at him. Bruce is a veritable ray of sunshine compared to Robert. I can’t believe these two are even related, much less twin brothers.
“Okay, I’ll be right down, Bruce, thank you.” He tips his hat, giving me another smile before turning and walking away. No, that isn’t quite right… didn’t walk…he sauntered. I have never had a reason to use that word before because no one in my time walks like that. My eyes follow him down the hall until he makes a corner and disappears.
“You know, ogling just might be a hanging offense during this time. You may want to be careful.”
Eli’s voice right behind me has me spinning around and turning beet red at the same time. I scowl at him. “Oh, for the love of Pete! I wasn’t not ogling…I was watching…there is a huge difference!”
Eli reaches around to pull my door closed behind me, putting his face in very near proximity to mine. “I do think she protests too much.”
I don’t even bother with a reply. I walk down the hallway trying to get my red face under control before running into anyone else.
We enter the dining area to find everyone seated and already piling food onto his or her plate. It is certainly a much different table than the one we sat down to last night, where Mrs. McCarthy had everyone wait and then we said grace before the meal. Even though I just met Mrs. Mitchell, I have a suspicion grace will not be said at this table, and when Robert starts eating I know I am right. I want to ask where Mr. Mitchell, Robert and Bruce’s father, is but I worry that would be rude, so I just eat my meal in silence. I occasionally catch Eli’s eye and I can see questions burning in his mind as well.
