by April Hill
"Thank you, Edward," I snapped. "I feel better, already."
When we got to the top of the ravine, I looked around quickly, disheartened to see that whatever century we had arrived in, we were certainly not in England.
"It looks like Africa!" I cried miserably. "Or..."
Edward was already inspecting the vegetation in which we had landed. "Abigail darling, you think everything looks like Africa. No, unless I am badly misjudging the terrain and vegetation, I believe that we have landed somewhere in North America. I recognized these particular bushes immediately. Their proper botanical classification escapes me at the moment, but I believe the indigenous population calls them tumbleweeds. I read about them as a child. I believe that we have come down in the American desert, I think. A mountainous, high desert."
"Desert?" I cried.
"Don't worry, darling," he smiled. "I see a town over here. Look. Off to the right, there? Perhaps we can acquire the proper tools with which to repair the machine. We will need two heavy shovels, two pry bars and a hammer, of course, to straighten the runners. A drill, I think, and several metal files to finish the work, and..."
"So, even though we were on the wrong continent, perhaps we are in the right year?" I interrupted.
Edward did several mysterious calculations on a scrap of paper. 1876 A.D. It seemed we had missed by something more than thirty years. At least, I suggested wanly, we were getting nearer the correct date. Edward looked at me as though I had said something quite dim.
"Close is not good enough, Abigail. I thought you understood that!"
"Please do not get surly with me, Edward. It is not my miscalculations that have put us, once again, in a hostile and unfamiliar place where, as I understand it, we are in some danger of being attacked and scalped by marauding Indians or shot through by unprincipled cow thieves."
Edward conceded the point, grudgingly.
We covered the machine as best we could with heaps of the plants Edward had called tumbleweeds, and then began walking up a badly rutted road toward what appeared to be a village. In the interest of decency, Edward gave me his jacket, which reached almost to my knees, but still left me looking like a very peculiar elf.
The village was a good deal farther than it appeared, and by the time we arrived, it was nearly dark. Still, as we looked about, we realized that the place was much larger than we had thought, and a good deal busier. Raucous music seemed to blare from every doorway, and rough-looking men came and went from brightly lit establishments with upper balconies. On these balconies, gaily and very scantily clad ladies sat upon the railings, or leaned over to shout greetings to the men below. It was a very festive place, and we seemed to have arrived during a celebration of some kind. Edward left me hidden behind a stack of boxes in a darkened alleyway and went off to find out where we were.
It seemed a very long time before Edward returned, and he didn't look pleased. He had barely begun to tell me what he had learned when we heard what sounded like fireworks. People began to run here and there in every direction as three men came down the street, waving weapons, shooting wildly into the air, and shouting the most bizarre obscenities imaginable.
Suddenly, another man–extremely tall and slender and quite obviously annoyed–burst through the set of swinging doors and stepped out onto the porch of one of the dining establishments.
"All right now, boys," the tall man roared. "That'll be about enough of that! Ya'll throw down your guns and get yourselves face down in the street, 'less yer fixin' to get your damn balls blown off! It's all the same to me, one way or the next, but you're holdin' up my game, and I don't take kindly to that."
The three men stopped in the middle of the street, and exchanged looks. "C'mon, there, Bill." the first man called out. "You know we was jest funnin'."
"Well, now it's time to quit your funnin' and get on outa' here," the tall man replied. "You got just ten seconds, and I'm gonna start shootin' off a few pricks. I reckon you're not lookin' to be first. Are you, Ned?"
The fellow named Ned raised his hands in the air very quickly, but even from where I stood, I could see that neither he nor his two companions had thrown down their guns, as requested. "Quit yer kiddin', Bill," the first man called, obviously nervous. "I was jest…" Without warning, the second man yanked a gun swiftly out of his holster, and a split second later, the third man did the same.
The street seemed to explode with fire and noise and smoke, and Edward dragged me behind a barrel just as what I took to be bullets tore into the shop behind us, shattering the large display window. Edward threw his body over mine and shoved my head down onto the wooden walkway as shards of broken glass rained down on us. For several moments, there was silence, and then, from the street, the sound of whimpering. I shoved Edward's hands away and raised my head to look out at the street.
Men numbers two and three lay flat on their backs in the street, their hands splayed out in the dust above their heads. They appeared to be dead. Ned, the first man, was writhing in the dust, screaming and holding the crotch of his trousers with both bloody hands. The tall man simply returned his still smoking guns to their holsters, turned and went back inside.
"This place seems extremely inhospitable, Edward," I whispered. "I think we should find another, don't you?"
"From what I know of this area, and this time, darling, there may be no other towns within possibly hundreds of miles. I only wish we had something of value to pawn or sell. I assume they have such establishments here."
"What about your watch?" I asked. "It's gold."
"My watch did not make the trip from the future, I'm afraid," Edward sighed. "I appear to have lost it during our escape from the Drollums."
I looked down at my wedding ring with sadness. "We have our wedding rings. As terrible as that might be, if the need is..."
Edward flushed. "I had hoped not to have to confess this, darling, but our rings are… Well, I was rather short of funds before our marriage, and… the fact is, neither of our rings is of sufficient gold content to…"
I looked at the slender band on my finger. "Well, that would account, I suppose, for the greenish tinge I have noticed on my ring finger. You might have told me, though. All this time I have been thinking it was caused by a lapse in available hygiene in our current difficult circumstances."
"I shall buy you the finest ring in London upon our return," Edward promised, kissing me very gently.
"Perhaps we could find employment," I suggested.
"Dressed as you are?" Edward asked. I looked down at myself, and had to agree. I looked around at the shops immediately behind us. One of the shops had sustained a broken window in the shootout, and you will imagine my delight in discovering that the glass littered display window stocked was with a wide variety of lady's apparel. At the very center of the display in fact, stood a wire dress dummy outfitted in a rustic looking dress of brown and white gingham. Not precisely the height of fashion, and very much too large, but it would be better than looking like a lizard.
"No, Abby," Edward said sternly, when I suggested that no one would miss just a few items. "We are not about to burglarize an establishment in a town where the law is permitted to shoot the offender in the testicles!" It was precisely at that moment that he looked into the interior of the store and changed his mind. There were tools of every description.
"A hardware store," Edward cried, crawling into the window to improve his view into the empty shop. "Or perhaps what is called here a general mercantile. Abby, with any luck, we can find everything we need to repair the machine, right here." Edward disappeared inside. I looked about to see if anyone was watching and climbed into the window after him. I found Edward at the rear of the dark store, rummaging through an assortment of tools.
"What have you found?" I whispered. Edward held up several large items I didn't recognize, but with which he seemed inordinately please.
"A winch, Abby," he said excitedly, which I assumed did not mean a bawdily dressed young woman. I lo
oked at the device skeptically, as well as the other heavy tools he was pulling from the walls and shelves and stacking at his feet.
"Edward," I said with alarm. "We can't possibly carry all of these things back to where we left the machine."
Edward looked again at his collection. "We shall have to obtain a wagon."
"From whom?"
He thought for a moment. "We shall borrow one and return it when we are finished."
"You mean steal it," I said.
"I said borrow and I meant borrow," Edward said firmly. "Merely because we are currently in dire straits, I see no reason to beginning stealing things."
"I can't think of a better reason," I remarked reasonably. "And if you are going to steal– excuse me–borrow all these tools, I am going to borrow that horrid dress in the window and whatever else I need."
Edward shook his head. "The tools are necessary. The dress is not," he said.
"Perhaps not for those of us who are not dressed as reptiles," I said smugly. I marched across the store and removed the brown dress from the window. It had apparently been there for some time, and was faded and covered with dust. "I am sure there are other, more becoming dresses in here, somewhere," I said. "But I shall not be greedy. I will take only this one and some undergarments, if I can find them. And shoes, of course."
"Abigail," Edward complained. "We do not have time for a shopping expedition!"
I ignored him, searched through the shop's limited merchandise in the dark and assembled a complete change of clothes, which I quickly exchanged for my lizard suit.
Five minutes later, we strolled out onto the street, looking for an unattended wagon with an attached horse.
"There," said Edward finally. "A livery stable. Everything we need, in one place. Wait here, darling, and keep a careful watch. Should you see anyone coming, whistle as loudly as you can." With that, Edward darted away into the shadows, before I could explain to him that I had no idea how to whistle.
I had been watching for several minutes and was on the verge of joining Edward inside when several men came out of a nearby building and walked toward the livery stable. I slipped behind a small shed and did my best to whistle with no result. I tried again and made a small wheezing noise, but still no whistle. Finally, I grabbed a rock and threw it with all my might at the side of the stable. The rock struck a tin tub that hung there with a noise that would wake the dead. The men barely glanced up and continued walking. One of them reached for the latch and opened the stable door. I covered my mouth and tried not to cry out.
A few minutes later, I saw Edward come out of the stable. Unfortunately, he wasn't alone, but in the company of two large, burly-looking men, both of whom held Edward by one of his arms.
I followed as closely as I could without being seen, and watched from around a corner as the two men bundled poor Edward down the street to a low, freestanding structure I assumed to be the jail. For a long while, nothing happened, and then the two men came out again without Edward and walked away down the street. Terrified and shaking, I made my way around the perimeter of the building and peeked in each of the windows. Finally, at the very back, I came to a window that was open, but well secured with iron bars. I stood on tiptoe and looked over the sill. Edward was alone, seated on a low cot, his head in his hands.
"Edward," I whispered. He looked up, seeming vastly relieved to see me.
"Abby," he cried. "They didn't find you."
"Oh, Edward! What are we to do?" I sobbed. "How are we to get you out of here?"
"Please stop crying, Abby. They tell me that there will be a judge here two days from now. I hadn't yet stolen anything when I was apprehended, so I believe the only charge will be trespassing. There will be a large fine and maybe a day or two in jail, but I won't be hanged, at least. Had I found and stolen a horse, I might well have been."
"Fine," I wept. "But, we have no money, Edward! None!"
We talked for some minutes, and finally, I left poor Edward alone and went forth to find employment.
You will perhaps not be surprised to find that there was no employment for a gentlewoman in this rough town. The next morning, having slept beneath a box in an alleyway all night, I inquired at all of the shops, except the one from which I had stolen my dreadful dress, but I had no luck. After that, I asked at the two shabby restaurants, also with no result. Late in the afternoon with no other businesses available to me, I endured the uncouth stares and crude comments from a large crowd of rough looking men, and approached one of the many saloons. This one bore the simple but rather nondescriptive name of No. 10. I was hoping to find work washing dishes and glassware, perhaps, or even cleaning, but I was turned away there, as well. Decent women were apparently not in great demand as employees in this town, which I had now learned was called Deadwood.
Tired, and feeling weak with hunger, I asked the man at the bar if I might have a glass of water. He was kind enough to give it to me, and with glass in hand, I sat down on a chair at the back of the noisy room to rest for a moment.
Sitting at a table very near me was a man who appeared to either asleep or under the influence of strong sprits. His hat was tipped down over his eyes, and the chair in which he sat was propped against the wall balanced precariously on its back two legs. A most peculiar way to nap, I thought, but then, this was a very peculiar place. The man's arms were crossed over his chest, and he was snoring quite loudly, his large handlebar mustache rising and falling with each snore. He had long hair to his shoulders, wore a red satin brocade vest, a wide, tooled leather belt with two holsters and a woman's garter on his arm–an altogether very colorful looking character. But the most interesting thing about him was the bulging wallet protruded from his hip pocket, not twelve inches from where I sat.
Once, when I was eight, I stole a wooden box of marbles from a shop near Uncle Herbert's home. I was not a very good thief and was caught in the act and dragged home by the shop's proprietor. Needless to say, I was switched soundly on my bottom, thighs and legs by Aunt Jane, and sent to bed with a stinging bottom and no supper. The following day, when Uncle Herbert returned from Cambridge, he sat me down and delivered a very stern lecture about how he could not, would not abide a common thief in his house. (I was left with the curious impression, however, that he wouldn't have minded my crime so much had I proven to be an uncommonly good thief.) Afterward, I endured a second, much more unpleasant spanking, upended across Uncle Herbert's knee with a large wooden hairbrush.
At sixteen, I attempted my second theft and helped myself to Uncle Herbert's wallet, which he had left unattended on the dresser at precisely the moment I felt in need of a new spring hat. Again, I was caught, and this theft, being my second offense, was dealt with a good deal more harshly. I was ordered to pull down my drawers, bend over the end of the sofa to take (without audible complaint) exactly thirty very hard swats with Uncle Herbert's razor strop across my glowing posteriors. When I was unable to stop my yelps, he added another twenty strokes as penalty for my lack of courage under fire, as it were. I never stole another thing–until now.
The theft seemed easily accomplished, of course. I would simply lift the wallet gently from the gentleman's hip pocket using two fingers, slip the item down my bodice, and leave. With all the noise and confusion in the room, who would notice?
Pretending to watch the crowd, I looked straight ahead and reached across the short space that separated me from that prize that would save poor Edward. I felt not the slightest twinge of guilt. This man had obviously come by his money by gambling or some other rank dishonesty. The table was littered with playing cards, empty beer glasses and cigar butts.
I removed the wallet with ease, paused for only a second and dropped it down the neck of the ugly brown dress. Then, glancing around quickly, I stood up, placed my glass on the table and started for the door.
"I'm obliged to ask you to stop right where you are, little lady," a deep voice said. "Seems you've helped yourself to somethin' that's not yours."
/> I froze. There was no question of simply walking on. His was the sort of voice that could not be ignored.
"Are you speaking to me?" I asked, turning back to look at him with pretended shock.
"I am. You just lifted my wallet and stuck it down your dress. If you'd care to argue the point, of course, we can always just strip you down to the altogether and have us a good look. I reckon none of these boys here would mind, would you boys?"
The suggestion was met with a roar of approval.
"I assure you," I said haughtily, trying to maintain my composure. "You are mistaken, sir."
The man stood up and shook his head. "And I assure, you, little lady, that if I was to dump you upside down and give you a good shake, about four hundred dollars and a good buffalo hide wallet would tumble outta' your bosom."
Raucous laughter broke out around the room. I closed my eyes and fished out the man's wallet. "I confess, sir," I sighed. "I honestly don't know what came over me."
"Maybe just a real strong hankerin' for four hundred dishonest dollars, maybe?" he suggested. He took the wallet and thrust it back into his hip pocket.
With no avenue of escape in sight, I tried again to wiggle out of what was becoming a very disagreeable situation. "Please, sir. I have never done anything like this before and can only beg your forgiveness. My story is long, complicated, and desperate, I promise you, or I would never have attempted such a terrible thing."
The man smiled. "Well now, it's just about always that way, now, ain't it? Long, complicated, and desperate. I'm real sure you had your reasons, but the way I see it, you just stole a whole lot of money off me, and anybody who knows me'll tell you that that's just about the only thing that'll get my dander up–that and callin' me a liar or a cheat, of course. But of all the folks who've tried that, there's nary a one who lived to tell the tale. So, I reckon you could say that what you tried was closer to the second worst thing you could have done."
