by Ami Diane
Ella’s stomach tightened. Had he heard they’d been poking around the substation and talked with the lineman?
“Sure, I like a good chat,” she said. “I just finished a good book. It’s about this—” She stopped when she caught the look on his face.
He stroked his mustache, seeming to mull his words over. “I need your help.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. It sounded like you asked for my help.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he nodded his head.
“Those words must’ve hurt.”
He smacked his mouth. “And tasted bitter. But that could’ve been the coffee. Anyway, our visitors won’t seem to leave, and I can’t get them to understand. They get the gist of what I’m asking, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry. Short of waving my gun at them—which I’m about to try—I don’t know what else to do.”
She let out a breath. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I did some digging around.”
She gave him the Cliff Notes version of her research then jumped to the passthrough to deliver a plate of food before hurrying back.
The sheriff’s face appeared to sag, and his mustache drooped. Ella poured herself a cup of coffee and dumped in cream.
She picked up their thread of conversation. “We can’t just let them leave to a life of certain hardship and slavery.”
“You don’t know that this particular group will face that. Maybe they will be able to flee.” He let out a long breath and leaned in. The stony facade fell from his eyes. “Sometimes, the hardest part about living here is knowing the future and sitting back to let history take its course. I don’t like it. Not one bit. But if we start playing God…” He shook his head, leaned back, and the mask fell into place again. “Who are we to decide their fate? Stranding them in another time and place could be just as cruel.
“Also, and more importantly, it’s against our town bylaws to reveal our secret until a person’s already stranded. Shortly after I got here, there was a town meeting where the professor and Will explained the possible consequences of leaking our secret to those who only passed through and didn’t remain in Keystone. They’re not real sure what’ll happen exactly, but it would be disastrous. They have to go, Miss Barton.”
Ella studied her cup, wanting to argue, wanting to scream at him and tell him he was wrong. Maybe Keystone had been cursed with jumping to prevent certain parts of history. Maybe they could change the course of the world.
She swallowed a lump in her throat, and the gravity of that course of action sank in. They would be playing God, and not only that, but what if their tampering resulted in making the future worse? Their altering of history could set off a chain reaction, events woven together in an unforeseen way, that resulted in World War III or the zombie apocalypse for all she knew.
She hated what she was considering. She hated that Chapman might be right. But most of all, she hated what she was about to say.
“I have an idea to get rid of them. But it’s mean.”
“More mean than them getting stranded here?”
“Considering their future, yes. But if it means keeping history intact, then no.”
“More mean than me threatening them with my gun?”
“Good point. It’s close, though.”
One of the customers over Chapman’s shoulder waved to get her attention.
“I have to get back to work,” she said.
“Can you meet me at the camp after your shift?”
“Yes.” She remembered Stan’s suspicious meter reading. If she couldn’t look into it further, maybe Chapman could. “But before you go, there’s something I wanted to mention—” The waving customer became more insistent. Ella shot the woman a tired smile. “I guess it can wait until this afternoon. Three work for you?”
“Works fine.” He stood, his hair nearly brushing the low ceiling of the railcar. “I appreciate the help, Miss Barton.”
Ella nodded, her conscious weighing heavily on her for what she was about to do.
CHAPTER 24
ELLA ran up the stairs and burst into her room, breathing heavily and scaring Fluffy. She had five minutes to run back change out of her work uniform and make it to the park.
Her jeans felt snug and dug into her hips as she fought to zip them up. She glanced at the feline sprawled in a ray of sunshine on her bed, a relief from the near-constant snow.
“I see you judging me. It’s Wink’s baking.”
Maybe she could fit a hike in later. She didn’t trust her balance running in snow.
Part of the reason she’d taken up the hobby the previous year was to combat climbing blood pressure. The fact that she could eat an extra cookie or two here and there was an added bonus.
She let the back door slam shut as she slid across the terrace then leaped over the two steps to the ground. She slid the zipper of her jacket to her chin and pulled her beanie down over her ears.
Ella cut across the lawns and hit the trail that skirted the lake. The sheriff’s appaloosa was already at the encampment, tied off to a tree. The horse eyed her warily. Ella ran a hand down its mane and before searching out Chapman.
Rounding a wagon, she found most of the inhabitants of the camp huddled around several fires with pots of bubbling liquid and roasting pigs. Ella spotted the sheriff seated on a log near one of the larger fires. He made wild gestures at the old man Ella had communicated with before, the one she deemed Spokesman of the Caravan.
“I see you started without me.” She settled beside Chapman and nodded at the old man. He shifted, and she could practically hear his bones creaking.
Beside him, a young mother nursed her baby. All were wrapped in heavy layers of cloaks. Ella’s heart went out to them—to the whole caravan, and the dread she’d been feeling since her chat with the sheriff intensified.
“What’s he saying?” Chapman asked.
“How should I know?”
Chapman rounded on her.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You ever get your blood pressure checked? I bet it’s higher than Mt. Everest.” Ella turned her attention to the spokesman. She understood about thirty percent of what he was saying, but her Marwari was rusty and her vocabulary limited.
“Miss Barton?” Chapman breathed out heavily.
“He’s saying, ‘Something something snow. Something stay something bathroom.’ Wait, no. Not bathroom. Castle maybe?” She snapped her fingers. “Shelter. And I believe there was mention of food in there. I think he’s asking to stay.”
The sheriff sighed. “Tell him, I’m sorry, but it just ain’t possible.”
When she relayed the information the old man, he frowned. He spoke only four words.
Our children will die.
Ella’s eyes darted to the baby beside him. With a tight voice, she repeated what he’d said to Chapman.
“And we will die if they stay. We don’t have the resources to keep them, and we can’t strand them in another time. Miss Barton, we went over this.”
“What about canned foods?”
“Running low. We can scrape something together to send off with them, dip into the town’s food pantry, but that’s the best we can do.”
“Maybe we can ask—”
“You’re forgetting the longer they stay, the higher the risk of them getting stranded here.” Some of the edge left his voice. “You said you had an idea to get them out of here.”
She swallowed, nodding slowly. “Maybe if we were just honest, gave them the choice, not all would choose to stay. Then, we could help those who do.”
He rotated on the log to face her. “We’re not having this conversation again. It’s against the bylaws. Only those who stay can know. Even if we had the resources to take ‘em all in, who knows what effect it would have to keep such a big lot here.”
While she and the sheriff had been talking, the Spokesman watched them with an intense gaze.
Chapman wasn’t finished. “Imagine if we tell a whole grou
p of people, years before this town was even founded, what would happen to us? Where you’re from, was time travel known about?”
She shook her head. “Only in books and movies.”
“Then it proves my point. We’ve been careful. The Romani must go. And they must leave without knowing that Keystone is a town out of time.”
She studied his cold blue eyes, full of an emotion she couldn’t read.
With a heavy heart, she twisted her head to the old man and spoke first in Marwari then in Romanian. Her voice sounded strange and far away voice. “Our scouts have spotted some Mongols heading this way—” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. She looked at the fear in the old man’s eyes. At the mother. At the baby who’s children would most likely become slaves. She couldn’t do it.
Chapman fidgeted beside her.
Ella cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I was mistaken. But here is dangerous. More dangerous than where you come from. Danger comes for you if you stay here. Danger comes for you if you stay in these lands.” She swept a hand over the distant hills of what would become Romania. “Your children’s children will suffer if you remain. If you sail East and South, across the sea, you may be safe.”
Then, to add urgency to her words and light a fire under their feet, she added, “Also, if you do not leave soon, this man will hurt you with a weapon of fire that can kill in a breath.”
The old man stared at her so long she was sure she’d failed in her discourse. Then, quite suddenly, he hobbled to his feet and shouted to those around the other campfires. What followed was a chorus of shouting back and forth, most of which Ella couldn’t follow.
Then, slowly, the camp came alive. The Romani rose to their feet, most of them mumbling as they put out fires and began the task of packing up their camp.
Ella was nearly knocked backwards as a large woman bumped into her with a kettle. Chapman’s strong grip on her shoulder steadied her as they stood, watching the chaos around them.
“Not sure what you said to ‘em,” Chapman drawled, “but it sure got ‘em moving.”
Ella didn’t say anything. She was sure this decision would keep her up at night for weeks, wondering if she’d done the right thing. She experienced enough of life to know that there wasn’t always an honorable choice, and she had to settle for the least damaging.
Both she and Chapman helped pack. Ella worked on cooling their cookware with snow while Chapman put out their fires. Then, he mounted his horse, saying, “I’ll be back,” before galloping away.
She waved. “Yeah, don’t worry. I got this. I’ll just help them all by myself.” He’d already ridden out of earshot.
Twenty minutes later, with the camp nearly packed up, Sheriff Chapman returned with a red pickup following him.
“Howdy, partner,” she greeted him.
He blinked at her.
Ella cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming back. You can help put—oh, wait. They’re all packed up now. Good timing.”
Chapman dismounted. “Good. Will they have room for this?” He waved a hand at the pickup.
“You’re giving them a truck? Doesn’t exactly blend in in 1243, but talk about sending them back in style. Imagine the looks on their friends faces—”
“Not the truck,” he cut in, his mustache bristling. “Come see.” He motioned for the Romani spokesman to come too.
Dropping the tailgate, Chapman revealed several jars of canned food, nuts, beans, and rice.
“Oh, you meant food. Yeah, that makes more sense.” Joking aside, Ella felt the urge to hug the sheriff. So, she did.
He shuffled uncomfortably and patted her back with a stiff hand before she pulled away.
It took some linguistic gymnastics for her to convey to the spokesman that the food was for them to take. It wasn’t until Chapman began packing some of the jars into a wagon that he caught on.
The old man’s eyes glistened, and he thanked them both so many times that she stopped interpreting it. They spent the next several minutes hurriedly dividing the goods amongst the caravan. Then, Ella hopped into the passenger side of the pickup while Chapman rode his steed and escorted the moving caravan to the north end of town.
The sun had disappeared again, and the sky was a bleak gray, threatening more snowfall.
As they rode through town, faces peeked out through windows, watching the parade march past. Passersby waved a farewell to the visitors.
Ella watched the town shrink in the side mirror. The driver beside her was silent. He chewed what looked to be a hand carved toothpick and seemed as lost in his own thoughts as she was.
As they passed Twin Hills, she tried to imagine what the peaks would look like with turbines covering them.
The roofs of the greenhouses were clear of snow, part of it melting off and part of it being cleared by a couple of workers with ladders and shovels. She wondered how much electricity was required to keep them warm during the cold snap they were experiencing.
When they reached the edge of town, Chapman and the pickup pulled off to the shoulder, letting the caravan pass. Ella waved a farewell to the old man, who gave her a toothy grin.
“They were good guests,” she commented to the pickup driver. They had certainly livened up the potluck.
“I live on Lake Drive. They set my backyard on fire trying to cook one of their chickens.”
“Oh.” Ella fidgeted with her sweatshirt. “Too bad we don’t have a fire department, huh?”
CHAPTER 25
THE town felt eerily empty when she climbed out of the pickup in front of the inn. After thanking the driver, she waited for Chapman to dismount his horse before she approached.
His head swiveled in search of something. It became clear a second later that he’d been looking for a hitching post when he tied the reigns to a lamppost.
She ran a hand over the horse’s mane, and his—or possibly her—baleful eyes blinked at Ella.
Chapman thanked her again for the help. She shrugged, still wrestling with the guilt of what she’d done.
Since he seemed to be in a more affable, less Oscar the Grouch mood, she asked him a question that had been on her mind. “Did you ever find out whose skeleton we found?”
Chapman ran a hand down his leathered cheek. “All Pauline was able to determine was it was a male, mid to late thirties, and they’d suffered from polio.”
Ella looked at him in surprise. Polio? In a town pre-polio vaccine, that didn’t narrow the list of identity much.
“That what you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked.
She tore her attention away from the horse, and it snorted at the absence of touch. “Huh? Oh, right. It’s nothing, probably. But I thought you should know.”
He waited for her to continue, and it struck her that was a quality she appreciated about him. With the exception of kicking someone out of town, he was never in a hurry.
“Stan was the second highest consumer of power, over double what the average house in Keystone uses.”
He frowned, rubbing a hand along his jaw again. “Do I even want to know how you came about this information?”
She shook her head.
“Hm, well, thanks for telling me.” He stared at the sky a moment. “I’m not sure how that fits in.”
“You could go to his house and see why.”
“Probably could. But that’s not your concern.”
She bit the inside of her lip. Just when she thought they were getting along. It wasn’t like she was kidding herself, thinking she was a detective or something. And it’s not like she was going to ask to go with him.
“Not my concern because I’m a female? Because women can’t help with investigations?” The words surprised herself as much as him.
“Your gender’s got nothing to do with it. I want you to stay out of my investigation because you don’t have a badge. Don’t presume you know anything about me just ‘cause you know where I’m from. I’ll have you know, I had my daughter holding a gun before she was five. Could sho
ot the tick off a deer, she could.”
“You had a daughter?”
A cloud of pain crossed over his face. He untied his horse and hopped into the saddle.
“Just leave the investigating to me before you get yourself killed.” Flicking the reigns, he galloped away.
Ella dropped her head in frustration. Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? Why did she assume the worst about people?
Dragging herself through the inn’s doorway, she wondered if she should just let it all go. Let Chapman investigate the murders. Accept that the town traveled and she might never return home. It seemed to be how everyone else in Keystone operated. Why not her?
She wandered through the mansion’s first floor, not wanting to go up to her room. She found herself in the library and dropped to a chair, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. It was dome shaped, full of glass window panes that let daylight pour in. Currently, the sky was gray, casting a light that matched her mood over the walls of books.
Ella spent the next several minutes sulking and trying to get into the book she’d picked off a shelf. She kept coming back to Stan’s murder.
She knew she was overstepping her bounds. But part of her felt responsible because she’d found the body, and the other part of her felt invested because she’d solved Kayline’s murder.
But it was more than that. If she were being completely honest, she wasn’t overly confident that Sheriff Chapman could solve it. Her reasoning mostly due to the fact that he was an old law dog from the wild west, a time with little investigating and lots of shooting.
Ella let out a loud sigh. Even she had her own biases. She should learn to have more faith in others’ abilities.
“I need a hobby,” she muttered.
With her thesis research on hold—possibly permanently—Ella wondered if that wasn’t another factor driving her to investigate Stan’s murder.
Rolling around in her chair, she set aside the book. Now was the best time to get that walk she needed before the clouds overhead followed through on their threat of snow.
Stepping off the terrace, she walked down the decline towards the lake. The crisp air bit at her cheeks, and not for the first time since arriving in Keystone did she miss her gym.
