“Now I’m sure you’re fooling me, John Baker. Why, we could have been here in just days, instead of six months.”
“No fooling, it’s all true. We also have planes that fly through the air and we’ve sent men to the moon.”
“Why would you do that? Are they still there?” Her face had taken on the childlike wonderment again as she tried to imagine it.
“No, they’re not still there,” I chuckled. “We did it to prove we could and to bring stuff back for scientists to study.”
We walked in silence for a bit as she digested the information. Then she asked me, “What will you do now? Are you going to return to your time?”
“I don’t even know if I can. I’ve been thinking about it and it seems to me, if the time change was the reason for this, then I would have to wait until spring, when the clock moves forward again.”
“What is a time change? I’ve never heard of someone changing time.”
I had a good laugh at that. “I guess you don’t practice the time change, then?”
She only looked more confused so I did my best to explain it.
“I never cared much for it myself,” I told her. “It’s called ‘Daylight Savings Time.’ We move our clocks back one hour in the fall, and ahead an hour in the spring. Fall back in the fall and spring forward in the spring.”
“What on earth for?”
“Hell, I don’t know. It’s supposed to save daylight or something, but I never saw the point, myself.”
“If you go back to your time in the spring, can you take me with you? I want to see the future and these machines you speak of.”
“I don’t know Kate, if it didn’t work, we’d probably both be leaping to our deaths. What if I’m wrong about the time change theory?”
“I’ll take the chance. I’ve always felt like destiny had something more in store for me than being a wife and mother,” she said. “I want to fly like a bird,” she yelled, running down the trail ahead of me, flapping her arms and laughing.
Her high spirits improved my own mood and I temporarily forgot about my sore feet, my aching muscles, and the fact that I may never again see my dear, sweet mother and my two rowdy brothers.
When she had settled down and had once again matched the slow pace of her sore-footed friends, it was my turn to question her.
“Tell me about your journey,” I said as I draped my arm over her shoulder.
Her face hardened as she thought about the arduous trip. “When we started out, we had plenty of everything. My father even bought a milk cow in Kansas. We had fresh milk every day until we lost her crossing a river. She didn’t make it through the strong current and was swept away downriver. We did well traveling along the Platte River, plenty of food for our wagon train and good grazing for our stock. But after fording the South Platte, firewood became scarce and we resorted to using buffalo chips for our fires.”
I remembered a little of that from school. Settlers collecting buffalo pooh to build a fire with. Bet that flavored their food real nice.
“We found a rocking chair someone left behind and I saw my first prairie dog town,” she was saying. She hesitated as we watched a flock of geese overhead, flying south for the winter. “We were near Chimney Rock when we saw our first herd of buffalo. It was really indescribable. First we heard a roar in the distance and we could see a cloud of dust. Then the herd crossed in front of us.” She took a deep breath and sighed as she remembered. “We could see for miles, and as far as the eye could see, the herd went on and on. It brought our wagon train to a halt and we probably sat near to an hour as they crossed. Some of the men on horseback went after them and they killed several. The meat was actually very tasty.”
Now I sighed. I didn’t want to tell her how those huge herds were eventually almost wiped out.
“Go on,” I told her.
“After that, we reached Wyoming territory. We camped for a night by Rock Independence, but it was already mid-July. We should have made it there around Independence Day. There were names and dates of travelers carved into it. My father carved Donovan into it and underneath our name, he carved July, 1847.”
“That’s pretty cool. I’ve heard of Independence rock, but I’ve never had a chance to see it. If I ever make it back to 2010, I’ll have to go there and look for your name.”
“It’s still there?”
“You bet it is. Names and dates, all of it. It’s a historical marker and people go to visit it. The Oregon Trail is marked along the way as well. There are still wagon ruts in the West, carved into the rock from so many wagons. In the future, we haven’t forgotten the strong people like yourself who settled the west.”
“I haven’t done anything,” she said in a small voice, staring at the ground as she walked.
“Anyway, go on with your story,” I prodded.
“We came through South Pass and forded so many creeks and rivers, I lost count. We saw several graves alongside the road and, near a stream, we came upon a man’s skeleton. There was a small hole in the skull. I think the poor man had been robbed and murdered.” She shivered as she remembered it. “Then we camped for a night at Green River. We lost two from our wagon train there. They called it ‘mountain fever.’”
“I’ve never heard of that,” I said.
“It was really a frightful trip. The heat and the dust were unbearable. We were losing our oxen to Alkali water. There was very little grazing and there was dead livestock along the road.” she hesitated as she remembered. “Then my folks took sick.” She stopped and heaved a sigh.
“It’s okay, I know the rest of the story.” I put my arm back around her as we walked along, offering what comfort I could.
“No,” she said, shrugging my arm away and turning to stare up at me. “You don’t. I wasn’t even able to give my parents a decent burial. We buried each of them in an unmarked grave in the middle of the road… Due to the Indians in the area,” she explained at my confused look. “They dig them up to take whatever belongings they have. So we buried them in the road, and then drove the wagons across the graves to conceal them.”
“Good God,” I said softly. Some of the shit these people had dealt with was just unimaginable.
“But then we came to the soda springs,” her voice brightened as she remembered. “There was hot water shooting up out of the rock, and yet the spring had cold, bubbly soda water. I drank so much, I got a stomachache.”
I laughed at her. “It’s funny, the things we take for granted in my time, but you’re so thankful for in your time.”
We grew quiet for a bit, each lost in our own thoughts as we walked along the rough road. I began humming a tune as I walked.
“What’s that?” She asked.
“Oh, just a song.” I hummed a few more bars, then sang some of it for her. It was an oldie that my mother used to sing as she worked around the house.
“That’s beautiful. Sing some more.”
I finished the song, or at least as much as I could remember. Then I handed her the horse’s rein as a thought struck me. I moved ahead of her down the trail and started singing rock songs. I sang and danced around like an idiot while she laughed at me. I did the robot dance and even moonwalked down the trail.
She laughed until tears streamed from her eyes. “I like your future songs,” she laughed merrily. “What’s that dance you did? When you went backwards?”
“It’s called the ‘moonwalk’,” I told her. She handed over the reins and tried it herself, lifting her skirts and sliding her feet awkwardly backwards.
“That’s it, you’re getting it.” I watched her in amazement. She had so much spirit and vitality—moxie—my dad called it. She made me forget about my aching muscles and sore feet. “Our worlds are so far apart,” I told her when she settled down and went back to walking alongside me. “I may as well be from another planet.”
“Maybe I would fit into your world better,” she said and she took my arm as we walked, her small hand tucked just above my elbow.<
br />
“I don’t know about that, it would probably be a little scary for you. Quite a bit has changed in the future.”
“I wouldn’t be scared,” she said emphatically. “I love adventure.”
I let the subject drop for now and pointed down the road. “There’s a wagon up there.”
Chapter 7
There was a wagon in the middle of the road with two mules hitched to it and a grizzled old man sitting beside it. He stood up when he heard us coming. “Hello.” He offered his hand and I shook it. “I’m Jeremiah Harding.”
“I’m John Baker and this is Kate Donovan.”
“I’m sorry if my wagon is blocking the road, the wheel came off the axle. I sure could use a hand fixing it.”
“Sure.” I handed the reins to Kate and circled around the wagon to give him a hand.
“Alright, John. I’m going to lift it and you slide the wheel back on.”
“Okay.” I was a little skeptical. The wagon was piled high and covered with a piece of canvas. It looked like we needed a hi-rise jack for it. Jeremiah crawled under the wagon and put his back against the underside of it. I took the wheel and rolled it over near the axle when I saw what he was going to do. He began slowly standing, using his whole body to lift the wagon. I didn’t believe what I was seeing, but the wagon was slowing rising. He was almost to a standing position, hunched over with the weight of the wagon on his back. I pushed the wheel onto the axle quickly.
“Got it,” I called out. He dropped to his knees and let his breath out in a whoosh. He’d been holding his breath I guess, as he held up the weight of the wagon. It had to weigh as much as a small car.
When we had the wheel repaired, Jeremiah sat down in front of his small fire, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He coughed a couple times, a deep, hacking cough that seemed to rattle his chest.
“Can I offer you kind folks a meal?” He asked.
“Sure,” I answered quickly. I didn’t know about Kate, but I was starving. I was beginning to lose weight on this adventure, eating and working the way these people did. Jeremiah went back to his wagon, lifted the canvas cover, and began pulling out items for cooking.
I helped Kate gather more firewood and we gathered around the fire for coffee and venison. Jeremiah even had potatoes he’d gotten from the Indians to go with it. That deer meat tasted better than the finest restaurant in Seattle.
Kate laughed at me as I ate ravenously. “It’s good to see a man with a healthy appetite,” she said with a gleam in her eyes. “We had so much sickness coming west, no one was eating very well.”
“Where are you two headed?” Jeremiah asked. He was looking at me, but Kate answered before I could.
“Waiilatpu,” she told him. “We were going to the Willamette Valley until we lost all our stock. Now we’re just looking for a place to overwinter.”
Jeremiah gave me an odd look. He probably wasn’t used to having a woman speak up for a man, but since I didn’t know what a Waiilatpu was, I figured I better keep my mouth shut.
“It is getting pretty late in the season to make the Barlow road,” he answered pensively.
“Yes, our wagon train laid by too many days with sickness, we fell further and further behind.”
“Well,” Jeremiah said slowly, “I hear there’s been a lot of sickness at the Whitman Station too.”
Kate nodded. She too, had heard about pioneers coming into the station with illness.
“I tell you what,” Jeremiah drawled, scratching his long beard, “I have a cabin up on the Walla Walla, you folks are welcome to stop in there. It’s not much, but it has everything you should need to get you through the winter.”
Kate was shaking her head emphatically. “Thank you, Mr. Harding, but we really couldn’t impose. I’m told that the Whitman’s have a house built for the immigrants and perhaps we can be of use to them.”
“It’s no imposition, young lady. I’m meeting a party from the Hudson’s Bay Company east of here to unload these furs, then I’m working my way south and east for the winter. I won’t be back through here til spring.”
“Thank you, Jeremiah.” I shook his hand. “We just might take you up on it.”
We helped Jeremiah clean and put away his cooking utensils, then we shook hands and parted company. We were turning northeast to follow the Walla Walla River, while he headed on east along the Oregon Road.
“What’s Waiilatpu?” I asked her when we were walking again.
“It’s the Indian word for the mission. It means, ‘where the rye grass grows,’ I think.”
“Oh, alright.” I tried it out, rolling the word off my tongue. “Waiilatpu.”
We made another fifteen miles or so that day, fueled by Jeremiah’s delicious venison. We made camp in a sandy clearing beside the Walla Walla River. Kate brought out a piece of a net and showed me how to catch fish with it. We dined well that night on trout fried over the fire, with a couple of Camas bulbs to go with it.
I sat back in the sand afterward, pulled off my boots and stuck my toes in the cool, white sand. It felt so good to my aching feet, I leaned back on my elbows as I dug them in deeper. Kate giggled as she watched me.
“I want to try that, too.” She sat down and pulled off her own boots and buried her feet in the sand.
“Oh, it does feel nice,” she giggled some more. “My mother would be appalled.”
“Why?” I asked her as I leaned back on the packsaddle, digging my feet even deeper into the sand. I watched her as she sat in the sand, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze, her bare feet stuck in the sand. She’s even prettier loosened up, I thought. Her blond hair was so heavy and thick, it made her small pixie face look even smaller.
“No bonnet, no shoes, my hair loose. ‘You look like an Indian maiden,’ that’s what she would tell me.”
“That’s not such a bad thing. Some of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen are Native American. There was a Navajo girl down in Arizona one time. She was waitressing at a café I stopped into. She had to be about six feet tall with a slim, perfect figure and long, long legs like a model. And she had that really shiny black hair, damn near down to her waist. Beautiful girl.”
“Really, you don’t mind if my skin turns brown from the sun?” She had moved as she talked and was now sitting beside me, her head on my shoulder and her toes back in the sand.
“Honey, where I come from, girls pay a lot of money to tan their skin.” I put my hand under her chin and turned her face up to look at it. The sun had only put a little color into her small, pale face and added a few more freckles across her nose. I leaned down and kissed her before I realized what I was doing. At first soft and gently, then, as she responded in kind, I kissed her deep and passionately. I broke the kiss finally, pulling away before I lost all control. Both of us were out of breath and I could see her eyes blazing with heat.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before, John Baker. Is that how it’s done in your world?”
“Honestly, little one, that was a new one for me, too. I’ve been around the block a time or two, but you took my breath away.” And with that, I grabbed her and kissed her again, long and deep. I couldn’t get enough of the smell and taste of her. She still had the smell of fresh laundry and autumn air about her. I don’t know how she did it. I figured I had to be getting pretty gamy. I had changed into the only other set of her husband’s clothes she had brought for me and we had both bathed in the icy waters of the Columbia, but it was definitely not the hot shower and shampoo I was used to. She had even showed me how to make my own toothbrush from the branches of willow trees, but a part of me craved the comforts of home. I pulled away again from the passion of her kiss and stared into her shiny, ice-blue eyes.
“I want to stay with you, John Baker,” she whispered as she stared back. “Here, or two thousand and ten, I don’t care which century. My heart feels that we belong together. Providence brought you across time for me.”
Was it true? Was th
is my destiny? As I looked deep into those beautiful blue eyes, I thought maybe it was true. I stood up slowly, lifted her up out of her place in the sand and carried her to my bed.
Chapter 8
I felt like a new man as we strolled along the next morning. I whistled as I walked and Kate tried her best to imitate my whistle. I laughed and put my arm around her as we walked. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to form her lips into a whistle.
“It’s because your lips are made for kissing,” I told her as I pulled her closer and kissed her mouth hard. She wouldn’t be deterred, and she practiced all morning as we walked along, until by our noon break, or nooning, as these folks called it, she was whistling a perfect imitation of my tune.
We were sitting by the fire, having coffee, when I heard a stick break in the brush behind us. The horse’s head came up from his grazing, he pricked his ears toward the sound and snorted. Now, I’m no woodsman, but the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I jumped up and backed away from the fire just as a white man in dirty brown clothes came out of the brush toward me. He was skinny and greasy and grizzled and I don’t think he’d seen a bathtub for quite some time.
Kate had stood up too and she moved toward her horse, where her rifle was still tied on the packsaddle.
“I didn’t mean to scare you folks.” The man held his empty hands out toward us.
Regardless of his words, I had a sense of malevolence as I backed slowly away. I jumped, my heart pounding, when I heard another stick break in the brush behind me. I had backed all the way to the brush and, as I whirled around, I could just see the muzzle of a rifle coming through the brush.
I didn’t even think, I just reacted. I kicked the muzzle up, and then dove through the brush, landing on top of the man holding it. He was as dirty as the other guy and he smelled horrible.
I punched him once on the jaw, but he was quick. He was on his feet before I had a chance to move in on him. The rifle had fallen on the ground between us and I kicked it behind me, then jumped on the guy, pushing him back into the undergrowth.
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