Time Tantrums (22 page)

He sighed. “What do you think is going to happen? Is this fate for us? Who would have guessed that a simple trip to town would cause such a change? By the way, you never told me what you remembered before you woke up here.”

Taylor rubbed the back of her neck. “All I remember is leaving home to go to work. I was doing the same thing I do every morning: take the interstate a few miles, get off, get into stop-and-go traffic,
get pissed—oops
, sorry! The next thing I recall is the signal light turning green and that’s about it. I woke up in the bed upstairs.”

“You just conjured up at least twenty questions for me: interstate, traffic, signal. But if things are meant to stay this way, you’ll have a lot of time to school me.”

Taylor sat up straight. “How about the day you went to town? I know you said you were in a wagon and the horses got scared. Was anything out of the ordinary other than the accident?”

Frank cupped his chin. “I remember cradling your... her head in my lap, washing away the blood and begging for a response. She never said a word.”

“Did—”

“Wait!”
 
He held up a finger. “There
was
something strange.
Lightning.
One bolt of lightning.”

“Why is that strange?”

He snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. It was unusual because there were no clouds in the sky. I remember thinking the air felt strange, but the sky was clear. When I called Mariah’s name, a single bolt of lightning struck the dirt not too far away from where we were.”

Taylor stretched. “Well, I don’t have any idea how that could cause something like this, but I do know I’m tired. We’ve talked for hours. Would you think me rude if I went to bed?”

“No, not at all.
I’m tuckered, too. This has been a full day, and it’s late. You know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said about bringing the children home. I’ve decided I’m gonna wait just a little longer. I think you and I still have some talkin’ to do and decisions to make.”

She covered a yawn with the back of her hand before answering. “Whatever you think is best. I just thought you might really miss them.”

“I do, but I can wait a bit. I’d like to have their mother back when they come home.”

Taylor moved toward the stairs. “I pray that will happen, really I do. Good night, Frank. I enjoyed today. I’ll see you in the morning... but not too early.”

He picked up the lantern and followed her upstairs. “Go ahead and sleep as long as you want, but I have to get up early. The boys and I have to ride out to the north pasture and get started branding the new cattle.”

As she opened her bedroom door, she turned and grinned at him. “Okay, Pa, Little Joe and I will be a ridin’ out to help ya.”

Frank shook his head then started to close his door, but peered around it. “Good night, strange lady. Sleep well.”

* * * *

Taylor tossed and turned, lost in a bad dream. “David, David,” she called out. In her mind she stumbled around in a heavy fog, unable to see, unable to hear and reached out for the safety of her husband’s arms.

Oh, David, my love, I can’t find you. Where are you? I’m here waiting. Call my name so I know where you are.

Just as she glimpsed his face and saw the joy radiating from his eyes, the dream ended. Her breath came in gasps as she sat straight up in bed. “It was so real. I saw him.”

Glancing around the moonlit room, she made out the same familiar surroundings: a wash basin, an antique mirror. It was only a dream. Still stuck in 1872, in Mariah’s body, she wondered why the Lord punished her.

She lay back down and pulled the quilt up under her chin.

I’m not giving up. I’m going to get home somehow. I swear I am!

* * * *

Across the hall, Frank thought he heard Taylor call out. He listened closely but all was quiet. As tired as he was, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Did the lightning have something to do with the mysterious happenings? He clasped his hands behind his head and stared into the darkness. Sometime before morning, he drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Taylor opened her eyes. Memories of the dream flooded back and seemed so real. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. Why couldn’t she have awakened in her own bed?
 
Rather than try to answer the same question she’d asked herself over and over, she decided to get up and do something constructive… whatever that might be.

Pushing the covers aside, she rose and walked to the mirror. She studied Mariah’s face and frowned. “If you had to have red hair,” she grumbled, “why didn’t you at least live in a time when they had mascara for God’s sake? I look pale and washed out.”
 
As she listened to herself rant, she started to laugh. “Now I’ve really lost it. I actually am beginning to think this is my face.”

What if this becomes the face you have to live with forever?

 
She pushed the thought from her mind and added more water to the wash bowl. Cupping her hands, she bent over and lavished her face with water. She repeated the process and tried to wake up, then searched blindly for the towel and found it. Static crackled as the cloth passed over her skin—her hair stuck to it. Suddenly, Frank’s words from last night flashed through her mind.

Lightning!

A cold chill ran up her spine. She had to find Frank. Throwing on a wrapper, she ran down the stairs. While searching the kitchen and parlor, she remembered he had gone to brand cattle. She stamped her foot. “Damn! I need to talk to you. Come home.”

The clock in the parlor chimed for the half-hour. She looked around the corner to see it was six-thirty.

She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot Frank had left simmering—something he always did. She pulled her wrapper tighter and tied the sash, and after opening the back door, she stepped onto the porch. The earthy smells of the ranch greeted her, the aroma of fresh hay and honeysuckle co-mingled with dust and barnyard odors. Lost in thought, she walked to the railing and gazed at the variegated colors of the morning sky. She considered the advantages of the Rocking C:
 
peace and quiet, no horns, no sirens, no traffic. A pain stabbed at her heart. No David.

* * * *

After dressing and tidying up her bedroom, Taylor poured a second cup of coffee and went back outside to sit on the porch and wait for Frank to return. She needed to confirm her suspicion about lightning.

 
Her coffee, bitter from sitting, no longer tasted good and her stomach rumbled from hunger. She went back into the house to find something to eat, but after searching the pantry, came up empty-handed. How she missed munching on junk food like potato chips and cookies. She recalled Frank’s comments about having to do all the cooking. She cupped her chin.

Hmm, maybe I’ll surprise Mr. Cassidy with a hot lunch when he comes home.

Taylor tied an apron around her waist and picked through the pantry until she found preserved vegetables in a jar and some dried meat. She picked out two big potatoes and a large onion from the bin beneath the shelves, and with arms full, carried them to the table and laid them out before her. She had meat, vegetables, potatoes and an onion. What could she do with them?
 
Make a stew?

 
Can I make a stew? Sure, you can make a stew, Taylor!

She opened the heavy oven door to find a pot, but instead found nothing. Then she remembered seeing one or two hanging on the back pantry wall. Finding one the right size, she brought it back to the table. Now she needed a knife. Where would she find one sharp enough?
 
She looked around. “No drawers?
 
Now stupid is that?
 
Back to the pantry I go.”

 
So this is where you keep things when you don’t have drawers.

She stood for a moment to think of what else she might need. Nothing came to mind so she took her knife back to the table. She stood back with hands on her hips and prioritized her tasks. “Okay, knife to peel potatoes, onion and cut up meat. I need to open the jar. Hmm, I can do that. Then I’m going to mix everything together, and put them on to cook. Easy!”

Starting to peel the potatoes, Taylor realized she wasn’t accustomed to using a knife. On the rare occasion she peeled anything, she used an actual potato peeler. She struggled to keep her thumb out of the way of the sharp blade, and although it took quite a while to finish, she managed. Pondering its odd composition, she attacked the onion. She’d never like onions and avoided them. Now she knew why. Layers… they were nothing but layers. When she finished the onion was much small than when she started and she could barely see to dice up the meat.

She wiped her eyes. “Damn, no wonder these give people bad breath.”

With everything cut into bite-sized pieces, Taylor picked up the jar of preserved vegetables and surveyed the contents and mumbled, “What the heck is in here? I see tomatoes, but what are those green chunks?” She decided to use it regardless. “What difference does it make? I’m sure they’re only vegetables, and after all, this is a stew.”

She tried with all her might to open the jar, wishing for hot water to run over the top to loosen it, but instead, scurried back to the pantry and looked for something to help.

No can opener to pry with, no rubber sticky jar opener thing. Let’s see. Hmm, when my mom couldn’t open something, she pounded on it with a knife handle. I’ll try that.

Luckily her mom’s solution worked. She removed the lid and added the contents of the jar to the other ingredients, then added a dash of pepper and salt for taste. Carrying the full pot to the stove, she set the heavy container on a burner then realized she didn’t know how to light it.

Using a towel, she lifted the coffeepot off the back burner. Carefully peaking underneath, she saw the remaining embers of burning wood.

Aha! Add wood, light and cook

She looked around the side of the stove and found a box filled with small pieces of wood and kindling. After lifting the burner, she added pieces to the tray, struck a match and started a fire.

Pleased with herself, she put the cover on the kettle then wiped the counter clean. She dried her hands on her apron then reached around and untied it, and hung it back on its hook. She stood back for a moment and reflected on her success.

“Let’s see, lunch is cooking so what do I do now?
 
Take in a matinee?
 
Watch a soap opera?”
  

She compared Mariah’s kitchen to her own and laughed. If only she’d gone to school to become an engineer instead of an attorney, she could make tons of money inventing things she knew already existed.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Mariah walked with David down the familiar hallway to Dr. Ramone’s office. They arrived on time and were ushered in by the same cheery receptionist who’d previously greeted them. Dr. Ramone wasn’t in the office yet, so Mariah and David instinctively sat in the same places they had before. Mariah folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “I wonder what’s going to happen today.”

David checked his wristwatch.
“Nothing unless the doctor gets here.
She’s late.”

No sooner had he finished the sentence than Dr. Ramone hustled through the door, still buttoning her white lab coat.

“Sorry. I got held up in traffic.”
 
She sounded breathless. “Let’s get started, shall we? Mariah, please take your place on the couch?” Dr. Ramone sat and took a moment to flip through her notes.

Mariah reclined on the sofa, both hands clasped across her stomach, hoping to quell the nervous feeling churning there.

Dr.
Ramone,
poised with pen in hand. “Mariah, you’re going to feel yourself relaxing.” She spoke in soft, dulcet tones. “I want you to listen to my voice and follow my instructions. Breathe deeply—in, out, in, out. Feel limpness drifting upward from your toes, spreading throughout your body. When I count to three, I want you to close your eyes. Feel them getting heavy… heavy… heavy.
One, two, three.”

Mariah sensed her body reacting to the doctor’s voice like candle wax melting in the summer sun. Her chest rose and fell with each gentle breath, but try as she might, her eyes refused to open.

“Ready, Mariah. Now, we’re traveling back in time. Going back to where we left off. See the years rolling back... back... back. We’ve stopped. It’s 1872 and you’re on your way to town with your husband and children. Can you see your family?”