A Captive in Time

by Sarah Dreher

  “How are you doing, Mrs. Gillette?” Cullum asked.

  She brushed the tangled hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Not the best day I’ve ever known, Cull.” She sipped her tea. “What are they saying on the street?”

  He looked at her lovely profile against the window. Like a precious cameo, she was. If there were any fairness in the world, she’d be Queen of the Universe. “A lot of talk.”

  “There’s always talk. Any substance?”

  “Lot of folks pointing the finger at your boy.”

  Dot nodded wearily. “Figures. Can’t be true, though. He was out at Blue Mary’s, courtin’ that gal from back east, when it started.” She took another sip. “Not that that’ll mean a thing to anyone once they’ve got their bile up. They’d as likely hang him as listen to him. Guess it’s time for him to move along.”

  She put her cup down and turned to him. “Cull, I want you to find the boy. Give him this.” She reached into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a roll of bills.

  Johnson blushed and looked at the floor.

  “Well, are you going to take it, or not?”

  He glanced up. “Yes, Ma’am.” He wrapped his huge-feeling hand around the money. It was warm with her warmth. His fingers tingled where he accidentally touched her fingers.

  “Tell him to get as far away from here as he can. Tell him our hearts go with him. Tell him he’s a good kid and we love him.”

  He tucked the money into his shirt pocket. “We have another suspect. The preacher.”

  Dot’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a fact?”

  “It’s possible,” May said.

  “Well, that would improve my morning.”

  He was halfway to the preacher’s house when he came across Billy and the stranger, driving hell-bent for leather toward town. He pulled Toby up tight and approached them at an easy lope. Wouldn’t do to spook the girl now, when he’d just about made up his mind about her.

  He tipped his hat in a genial way, said “Ma’am” to Stoner and “Son” to Billy.

  Billy saw him, turned pale, and started looking for something in the back of the wagon.

  But not before he got a good look at her eyes.

  Yep, they were deep, dark brown, with a tiny scar over the left eyebrow, just like the father had said.

  Durn.

  “I see you’ve been out toward the preacher’s,” he said, starting in conversationally. “How are things over that way?”

  Stoner said to get his attention away from Billy, “There’s been some trouble. Parnell tried to kill us. I think he started the fires. He’s dead. You should probably take a look ... ”

  Well, this was a strange turn of affairs. The money and the questions could wait.

  He tipped his hat again and rode on.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Tabor was quiet this early in the morning. The odor of charred wood and damp ashes hung in the air. Footsteps were loud and sharp on wooden sidewalks.

  Stoner cringed as the sound of the creaking wagon echoed through the town. Something didn’t feel right. She wanted them to keep out of sight. The bounty hunter knew who Billy was. She could tell that by his studied casualness. But why had he let them go?

  Maybe she shouldn’t have told about Parnell. But somebody’d find out soon enough. After all, tomorrow was Sunday. The whole town would notice when he didn’t show up for church services. But Billy could have been far away from here by then.

  On the other hand, so could Caroline Parnell. And then Billy’d be blamed for sure. The only thing that would get them out of this would be for Caroline Parnell to tell the truth.

  Billy fumbled around under the wagon seat until she found the strangely-decorated knife and tucked it into her belt. “Best keep this handy. You never know.”

  “Okay,” Stoner said, “where do we go from here?”

  “To the laundry.”

  “The laundry?”

  “Dot’s a friend of Mrs. Kwan. She’ll know where they are.” She pointed the mule down the alley and parked beside an entrance door.

  Blue Mary peeked her head out, saw who it was, and motioned to them emphatically. “Inside. Quickly.”

  Billy spotted Cherry right off, and ran to embrace her. “I’m so sorry about Lolly.”

  “I know,” Cherry said, wiping her eyes. “I just want to get the son-of-a-bitch that did it.”

  “It was Parnell,” Stoner said. “He tried to kill us.”

  Cherry’s mouth tightened. “Where is he?”

  “Dead.”

  “You do it?”

  “No,” Stoner said. “His wife did.”

  “Humph,” Dot grunted. “Didn’t know she had it in her.”

  Blue Mary came in from tying the mule. “Have you seen Mr. Johnson?”

  “The bounty hunter?” Billy’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, we saw him.”

  “He was supposed to give you something from me,” Dot said.

  “Well, he didn’t.”

  Dot sank slowly into a chair and said, “Damn.”

  “Now, Dorothy,” said Blue Mary. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  “I thought he was about to say something,” Stoner said. “But when we told him about Mrs. Parnell, he took off that way.”

  “He’s looking for you,” Cherry said to Billy.

  Billy sighed. “I figured.”

  “He knows who you are.”

  Dot looked over at them. “Knows who you are?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Billy said. “I’m the reason he’s here. You see...” She took off her hat. “I haven’t been telling you the truth, quite.”

  Stoner couldn’t help herself. “Quite!”

  Billy glared at her.

  “Sorry.”

  “See...” Billy turned to Dot. “I did something, back in Tennessee...”

  “You told me you were from Illinois,” Dot said.

  “Yes, Ma’am. That wasn’t quite the truth.”

  Dot wiped her hand over her face. “All right, tell me the worst of it.”

  “I killed my father. At least, I thought I did. See, he was always beating up on my Ma and me. That and other stuff. Trying to get me in bed with him. Succeeding sometimes.” She glanced quickly at Stoner.

  “I know,” Stoner said softly.

  “And then one time I couldn’t take it any more so I hit him with his whisky jug. I thought he was dead when I ran off, but I guess he wasn’t because he hired Mr. Johnson to find me.”

  Dot wrinkled up her face and sat staring at her hands.

  “I’m really sorry I lied to you,” Billy said. “Lying to you was worse than anything I did back in Tennessee.”

  “Hush,” Dot said. “I’m thinking.” She was silent for a moment. Then her face lit up. “He’s not after you, Billy. He’s looking for a girl.”

  “Dot,” Billy said softly. “I am a girl.”

  Dot stared at her. “Come over here.”

  Hat in hand, Billy went and stood beside her.

  Dot looked hard into her eyes. She fingered her hair, then ran her fingers down the side of Billy’s face. “Soft as a baby’s behind,” she said, and shook her head with amazement. “Kid...”

  “She’s not a kid,” Stoner interrupted. “She’s twenty-five.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing she is,” Dot said fiercely. “Or she’d be over my knee faster than she could whistle.”

  Billy took Dot’s hand. “Please forgive me, Dot. You were the first person who ever treated me decently, and I was afraid to...” A tear slid down the side of her cheek.

  “Oh, hush,” Dot said gruffly, and pulled Billy down onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around her and rocked her gently. “I’m not mad at you, Sweetie. And as for lying to me, well, shoot, it’s a woman’s prerogative to lie about her age, isn’t it?”

  The murmur of angry voices—a lot of angry voices—rose in the distance. Like a far-off flock of geese, but coming nearer.

  Stoner didn’t like the sound of it. S
he slipped into the front of the laundry and peeked through the curtain. A mob was advancing down the street, raising dust, headed their way. About fifty or so, from what she could tell. Men in the front, women to the rear.

  She looked for a possible leader, and thought she found him. Walking backward, shouting to the others.

  Joseph Hayes.

  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t look good. It looked as if they were satisfied they’d found their culprit and were about to take matters into their own hands.

  She’d never seen a real mob before. Just choreographed confrontations between anti-abortion crazies and pro-choice demonstrators. And an occasional milling, boozed-up gang of overgrown adolescents when she accidentally took the T through Kenmore Square just as a Red Sox-Yankees game was getting out.

  This was different. These people didn’t look self-righteous or argumentative. These people felt anonymous, safe, each no more vulnerable than an individual cell in a body. And they were angry, hatred sparking from their eyes. And, most frightening of all, they were focused. They knew where they were going, and who they wanted, and what they’d do when they got her.

  She ran back to the other room. “They’re coming.”

  “Billy!” Blue Mary said sharply. “Take the wagon, stay behind the stores until you reach the end of the alley, then drive to my house. I’ll try to stall them here.”

  “Right,” Billy said. She started for the door.

  Blue Mary grabbed her shirt tail. “Take Stoner with you. When you get there, hide the wagon. Go down in the storm cellar. You know where it is. Keep out of sight.”

  “What about you?”

  “They won’t hurt me,” Blue Mary said.

  Stoner hoped that was true. Right now, nothing felt safe.

  The older woman gave her a shove. “Don’t waste time.”

  They raced through the back door and clambered into the wagon. Billy lifted the reins.

  “Move, God damn you!”

  The old animal set off at an amble.

  She could hear the mob’s individual voices now. “We want the bastard.” “Hang him!”

  “Jesus Christ,” Billy muttered. She brought the reins down hard on the mule’s rump.

  They broke from the shelter of the alley and started across open prairie. Stoner looked back. The mob was clustered around Kwan’s Laundry, milling and shouting. She strained to see, but the dust and glaring sun obscured her vision.

  “I don’t feel right about this,” she said. “What if they need us?”

  “I know,” Billy said, concentrating on her driving. “But Blue Mary knows best. Besides, it’s me they’re after. Probably safer with me out of the way.”

  She supposed so. Still, she felt torn.

  Billy sensed the conflict behind her silence. “Want me to go back?”

  No, that wouldn’t do, either. And she couldn’t go and leave Billy alone. If they did come looking for her at Blue Mary’s—and they were bound to sooner or later—her presence would at least double Billy’s chances.

  Which wasn’t saying very much.

  Oh, God, she thought as the wagon lurched and bounced along the dirt track. Don’t tell me I came all this way to fail.

  “Durn,” Billy said over the rush of air and the clatter of wagon wheels, “I wish I’d held onto my gun.”

  “What for? Your aim’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, but I could sure put a scare into them.”

  She thought she heard breaking glass in the distance, but she couldn’t be sure. She looked behind, trying to penetrate the distance.

  The mob seemed to have increased in size and fury.

  Her stomach was tight and crawling with fear.

  What do we do after we get to Blue Mary’s? Hide, naturally. But for how long?

  Maybe until dark. We could slip out after dark and Billy could get away.

  They rolled over the top of the first hill and started on the down side. She couldn’t see Tabor now. But when they came up the next...

  They were going up again. Any second now they’d see the town.

  Billy should probably go toward Denver. She could get lost in the crowds there.

  Or north, into the wilderness.

  Either way she’ll have to cross the plains, where you can be seen for miles.

  Travel by night. Hide out by day. In river banks and gullies.

  How will she keep warm? What will she eat?

  Blue Mary says I can’t go with her. I have to go back to my own time.

  But how can I let her go off alone?

  Stoner felt a flash of terror. Billy. Alone. In the darkness and cold.

  She’ll never make it.

  Tabor was visible now, but they were too far away to...

  “WHOA!” Billy yelled, and pulled on the reins. The wagon jerked to a halt, nearly tossing Stoner over the side.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Billy, what…?”

  She turned and looked.

  There, in the middle of the road, embracing his rifle, stood The Reverend Henry Parnell.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Well, well,” he said with a smooth grin. “Isn’t this a surprise?” He raised his gun and aimed it at Billy. “Son, I’ll thank you to return my property.”

  “Huh?” Billy said.

  Stoner nudged her. “The knife. Give it to him.”

  “Will not,” Billy said loudly. “Let him come and take it, the old Booger.”

  “For God’s sake,” Stoner mumbled, “keep your voice down.”

  Billy stood up in the wagon. “Old Booger!” She shouted. “You’re nothing but an Old Booger, Parnell.”

  Stoner couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Well, damn it,” Billy said angrily. “I’m sick of people pushing me around.” She faced Parnell. “GET OUT OF MY WAY, YOU UGLY OLD THING!”

  “Billy,” Stoner said firmly, “calm down.”

  Billy turned on her. “I’ve been ordered around by men all my life. I’ll be durned if I’ll be ordered around by this one.”

  Stoner glanced toward the Reverend Henry Parnell, who hadn’t moved. “Look,” she said to Billy, “it’s one thing to get politicized in a nice, safe Consciousness Raising group. It’s something else again when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun.”

  Billy ignored her. “Go on and kill me, Mule Piss.”

  The Minion was afraid. Good.

  The town was ready to spill blood. Hayes had whipped them up into a frenzy of hate and vengeance.

  Poor old Joseph Hayes. He’d been easy to win over. A natural coward, bowing and scraping and drooling over anyone who came along with a few cents to spend. And a wife he couldn’t control. His life had been miserable, until one day Parnell had suggested—subtly, of course—that maybe some of his troubles could be laid at the doorstep of the Suffragists. He’d jumped at the thought like a dog after a fresh bone. And when his wife became one of them...

  Yes, he could count on Hayes to do what he wanted.

  They’d made a good team. Hayes worked in the background and spread gossip, while the Preacher looked as sincere and clean and gentle as a dove.

  They were hungry to hang the Bastard for the burnings. All right. The Demon could be first. While their blood was running hot as molten steel.

  He’d keep the Stranger for himself, for later.

  But first he had to make them touch the Jesus knife.

  Stoner didn’t like the way his eyes glinted. A hard, cold, silvery gleam, like mirrors. Not that she was any expert on the subject, but it sure looked like Psycho time to her.

  “Come on,” Billy said to Parnell. “Fire the damn thing or clear the road.”

  Stoner wondered if it would do any good to hit Billy over the head with a blunt instrument.

  Parnell lifted the gun to his shoulder and pulled back the firing pin.

  “Look, Mr. Parnell,” Stoner said, “I’m sure, if we all sit down and discuss this calmly...”

>   He squeezed the trigger.

  The explosion deafened her, freaked the mule, and gouged a hole in the side of the wagon.

  It also calmed Billy down considerably. “Jeez, Stoner,” she grunted as she struggled with the mule, which was dancing and rearing and pulling against its harness, “I’m sorry.”

  Stoner grabbed the reins from her hands. “Let it go!”

  The mule took off across the prairie. Stoner gripped the wagon seat. “Hang on!”

  Billy hung on.

  The ground peeled away beneath them. The wagon bounced and jolted and seemed about to shatter into splinters. It made all the VistaVision, Cinerama, 3-D movie run-away wagon scenes she’d ever seen look like a quiet evening on a water bed. And this one came complete with sensory enhancement. Her heart pounded in time to the mule’s hooves. Her body slammed against the wagon seat. Thrown to the right, her leg smashed against the wooden side. Every bump threatened to hurl her skyward, out of control. She gritted her teeth hard enough to crack them. She hung onto the wagon seat so hard her hands went numb. Panic turned her insides to a scream.

  Maybe she was screaming.

  Or Billy was screaming.

  Or the mule was screaming.

  Someone was screaming.

  A large rock lay in their path. The mule headed straight for it. If they hit, it’d blow the wagon apart and send them to Mars.

  Stoner tightened her grip.

  Billy tightened hers.

  They glanced at each other in a helpless and farewell kind of way.

  And missed it.

  And hit the one behind it, the one they hadn’t seen.

  Stoner felt herself jolted upward and to the side. Her hand was wrenched from the edge of the wagon seat. She flailed out at the air.

  She was going over.

  Billy grabbed her belt and held it.

  She managed to get a hold on the wagon and hauled herself inside. Her heart threatened to thud itself right out of her chest.

  But at least they’d left Parnell behind.

  The mule tired at last. Slowed to a trot, then a walk, then stopped.

  There was nothing around them but prairie.

  “My God,” Stoner said as she felt for breaks—none—and bruises—hundreds. “If this is your only means of transportation out here, no wonder everyone stays home.”