Family of the Fox Page 12

  I had briefly considered wearing the green gown from Allen, but I knew that I didn't dare. For one, it would in no way fit into the accepted fashions of the nineteenth century. And if Dad asked where it came from... No, it was better that the garment remain stuffed into the back of my closet along with the emerald necklace.

  Instead, I wore a long, blue dress. It made me feel beautiful, like I belonged in this time period. Yet as I trudged along, I could see why women wore mostly pants nowadays. The sheer weight of the frock’s fabric pulled on my shoulders, and the bottom hem was getting dirty from scraping on the ground. Then I hit a puddle and water wicked up the material. It was pretty disgusting.

  The world around me appeared as if I'd walked into the middle of a low-budget western. Ramshackle stores and buildings dotted the area. The streets were stinky and muddy, and the people were equally ungroomed. Evidently, the movies were an extremely cleaned-up version of reality.

  Dad had brought us to Central City, Colorado – although Colorado wasn't actually a state yet because we were in 1867. My father rattled off the year as if he were telling me his birth date or when the next lunar eclipse would be. Yup, it's 1867, and we were roaming around a city in which every living soul was very dead in my own time. The idea was mind-blowing.

  The town was still building up, but Dad felt it was relatively safe compared to other frontier locations he'd visited. He warned me right away that this wasn't a little game. We weren't having fun at a theme park or a movie set. This was a real place with real people whose lives were not to be toyed with. This was the present for the people that strode by, and they knew of no other.

  “And let me warn you that, yes, everything smells,” Dad pointed out with a twinkle in his eye.

  We passed through a particularly odoriferous area, perhaps due to a nearby outhouse. Holding my nose against the rancid stench, I choked out, “How do you deal with it?”

  “You just get used to it. It's a time traveler thing. After a while, you really don't think about it.”

  I studied him in awe, gingerly releasing my fingers from my nose. “Dad, you do realize this is amazing, right?” I tried not to breathe too deeply. The stink was easier to deal with that way.

  “A teenager said her father is amazing?” He grinned. “Am I allowed to agree?”

  “I'll consider it.”

  Dad ruffled my hair. “You do that.”

  We continued on, and I grew serious. I thought about Grandpa Brian's comments about my father's past, and my curiosity was piqued. I needed to hear more.

  “Dad, who actually knows about you?”

  He played with his watch chain, and then glanced at the clock face. “I guess I should figure out what time it is here. Time travel doesn't affect a watch. It's just a machine.” He plopped the shiny object back in his pocket.

  “So who knows about me? Very few people. Obviously we have to keep things secret. Way back before you were born, a German government agent tried to out us. It was a tough time.”

  “I'll bet,” I said. I'd never heard anything about that part of my parents' lives, either.

  “But that's why we didn't tell you guys. If you didn't 'manifest’ with abilities, it was safer and better you didn't know they existed. That's how your mother and I were both raised as well.”

  “But it's not fair. Plus, I'm still confused with that plant-growing thing. Did I actually make plants grow?”

  He stopped and took my hands. “You sure did. You're your mother's daughter. And you might be capable of far more.”

  My father’s fabled green eyes held me in their grip.

  “Whatever,” was all that I managed to toss back.

  “Whatever? Corinne, do you see this?” He held his arm out, indicating the street around him. Horse-drawn carriages trundled down the mucky road, and we were nearing a saloon. “You are standing over one-hundred and fifty years in the past. This is not 'whatever'.”

  My face fell, and he put his arm around me as we resumed our pace. “Again, I have to say, I'm so thrilled to finally get to share this with you. I've dreamed of traveling with your mother and you kids all together. We always talk about the three of you when we travel. Last year we spent a week in Hawaii in...what was it...1931? We missed you and we felt so guilty–”

  “Wait, you travel without us?” The whole idea shocked me. I was in school, and my parents might have been in Ancient China, for all I was aware.

  Casting his eyes to the dusty ground, Dad uttered, “Of course we travel.”

  “But I don't remember you doing it.”

  “Traveling to the past takes you out of the present, so it takes no time in the present. We return to the exact minute we left, and you guys have no idea we were gone. Even if it's for ten years.”

  My parents could have been gone for decades, and I would never have an inkling that they'd left. However, they would age, wouldn't they? Were they older than they appeared, like Uncle Jonas?

  I had no answer to that. Instead, I simply observed this era that my eyes were never meant to see. People walked by who looked like gunslingers, and a busty woman ambled past Dad, batting her eyes.

  “Hello, stranger,” she crooned at him, swishing her gaudy ruffled skirt.

  He gently edged her aside. “Please, Miss, allow my daughter and me by.”

  “Your daughter? Well, I'll be!” But she continued on, and I marveled at my father's calm demeanor and ability to blend in.

  “You talk like them too?”

  “Well, I spent enough time in the 1800s to learn speech patterns and manners to a degree. You have to fit in when you travel. Don't stand out.”

  We found a hotel, which Dad called a boardinghouse. But by now I was so amped up, I couldn't imagine sleeping.

  “I'm not tired anymore,” I announced.

  “Hey!” Dad got really irritated. “That's the whole reason I brought you here! So you could get some rest!”

  “But I want to see everything! I mean, how many chances do people get to go back in time, Dad?”

  “Well, I get all I want,” he smirked in that Julian-Greene-way of his.

  “Dad!”

  “And you'll get plenty too if you first get some sleep!”

  He approached the lady at the desk. Removing his hat and bowing slightly, he trilled, “Good day, Madam. I'd like a room for my daughter and myself.”

  The woman eyed him with distrust, then seemed to decide that I was young enough to be his child. I figured the matching green eyes and dark hair probably helped us there. “Please give us your best room. Money is no object.” My father jingled some coins in his pocket. He and Mom apparently had a treasure trove of currency from all over time. And of course, if they were desperate, she could quietly conjure some up, I imagined. I felt a twinge of guilt that I had pushed Dad into taking me back without Mom. It would have been more fun if she were with us. I missed her already.

  “From out of town, are you?” the desk lady asked, fetching the keys. I wondered what gave us away? My dress? Dad's finery?

  “Room Four has a bed and a cot, which I assume you'll be needing.”

  “Yes, thank you. Perfect.” Dad placed a generous quantity of coins in her hand, and her eyes bugged out.

  “For your help,” he told her.

  Then he reached his arm out to me. “Shall we?”

  “We shall!” I took his arm, and we were off to Room Four.

  ROOM FOUR WAS NOT FIVE-star quality, but it was reasonably clean, and apparently that was a big positive here. As I grudgingly climbed onto the bed, Dad advised me, “Be careful with the linens. Check for bed bugs, roaches, you name it. Scorpions...”

  “Scorpions?” I echoed, alarmed.

  But the rough, yellowed cotton sheets proved surprisingly fresh and unsoiled. With a large yawn, I lay back and stretched out.

  “Sleep. I'll go walk around.”

  “Now?” I bounced right back up. “I'd rather come with you and sleep later.” I didn't want to miss a thing, now that I w
as here.

  “Corinne, we just talked about this.” Dad flipped his watch around on the chain, and then deposited it back in his pocket. “As much as I want you to join me, you need rest. Once you finish school, we'll have plenty of time to travel, and then we can go through all of history and back. I solemnly swear.” He delivered that roguish smile that had probably toppled my mother in their younger days.

  “Be careful out there, Dad,” I warned. Looking so dapper probably made him an easy target.

  “I've been doing this a long time. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself.” He straightened his jacket and walked toward the door. “Besides,” he turned back to me, “that's what emergency teleportation is for.” He grinned and strode out.

  DESPITE THE SCRATCHY sheets and awful smells, I fell deeply asleep. Images of dragons and cougars filled my head, and I was dreaming of Allen, how beautiful he was in animal form.

  “Miss! Miss!” There was an insistent banging at the door, and I was about to yell at my mother for interrupting my nap.

  “Miss, your pa!”

  My pa? I opened my eyes onto the 1800s hotel room and inhaled, delighted. I really was back in time with my father...

  “Please, wake up!”

  Awkwardly, I tossed my dress over my head. Struggling to adjust it, I opened the door to view the desk lady and a gruff-looking man with a sheriff's badge on his lapel. Without a word, the man grabbed my hand and pulled me into the front sitting room, the woman scurrying behind us.

  “This your old man?”

  Old man? There, splayed out rather ignominiously on the couch, lay Dr. Julian Greene, bruised, bloody, and unconscious. “Is he breathing?” I screeched, rushing to him and placing my hand on his waistcoat.

  Although I detected a slight up and down movement of his chest, I stepped back in horror. He looked as if he'd been in a fight, and I noticed his watch was missing. When I checked his pockets, they were empty. He'd been robbed.

  “What...what happened?” I stammered.

  “Mabel Farneston found him lying behind the bank. She heard some kind of scuffle, and when she went out to see what was going on, a bunch of ruffians ran off, leaving him all bloody on the floor.” He tugged at Dad's sleeve. “Your pa rich?” he queried with interest.

  I had no answer. I found it obnoxious that he could even bring that up that at a time like this.

  “Can you take him into my room?” I requested instead, trying to hold my voice in check. All it took to bring down a time traveler, apparently, was a bunch of “ruffians” – no matter how powerful said traveler was. What happened to the “emergency teleportation” that Dad had quipped about?

  The strong man scooped my father up onto his shoulder and the lady escorted us into our room. “Can you find out who did this?” I demanded a bit too forcefully.

  The sheriff gazed at me incredulously. “Doubtful, Miss. Reckon it's the local thugs.” Then he simply left, and the woman went off to get some bandages.

  I watched after them, open-mouthed. I guess events like this hap-pened all the time here.

  At first, I was angry that these “thugs” would most likely not be brought to justice. Yet as I hovered over my father, I began to tremble as another, far greater fear took hold. Slowly it dawned on me that, if he did not wake up, I would be stuck here forever. I would never live long enough to see my friends and loved ones again.

  “Dad!” I shook him, sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Dad, please wake up! You have to get us out of here!”

  He didn’t respond, and I could see he had a very nasty head wound. I started to cry, dampening my father's garments with tears. “Oh, God! I need Mom, or Matthew...or Daniel, or Uncle Jonas!” I brushed the tears off, feeling bad for getting my injured father all wet.

  A knock at the door signaled the desk lady's return. She carried a basin of water, some thin rags, and a jar of something brown.

  “We’re fresh out of soap. Sorry, love. But here’s some of my poultice. Makes the wound heal and keeps the bandages on.” She placed the jar and the water on top of the dresser and tossed the rags down on the bed. “Your pa okay?”

  “He'll be fine,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

  She nodded. “Gotta get the bread cooking!” She clapped her hands together, and left me on my own.

  “Yes, because bread is more important than my father,” I spat after her. But of course, even if we were in my own era, what could she have done?

  “Mom, I wish you were here...” I bent over my father again, swiping away the dark bangs that always fell into his face. “Dad, please wake up. We're stuck here without you.” But there was no hint that he heard, and, quivering violently, I began to clean and dress his wounds. I used the mysterious “poultice” to stick the rags on as bandages, trying not to let the substance touch Dad’s open cuts in case it contained something poisonous.

  I wished I'd brought along a bar of soap.

  AS NIGHT FELL, OUR situation seemed even more hopeless. Was Dad in a coma? We were in the 1800s, for God’s sake. There would be nearly no medical help here, especially in a frontier town.

  I threw myself on top of my father, shaking him vigorously in my despondent, panicked state. “Please, Dad! Please wake up!”

  I could hardly see now, so I lit a candle that sat conveniently on a corner table. In the dull, flickering light, I could almost imagine the bruising around Dad's bandages looking better, but I knew it was wishful thinking.

  I'd never see Allen again.

  Oh, what was I doing? How could I even think of him, with my father stretched out on what could possibly be his death bed?

  But deep inside me, something ached for those blue eyes...

  The sobs wrenched out. I held my beloved father, daring anyone to take him from me. I'd save him! I would! I'd take care of him if he stayed this way. I'd give up anything as long as he was okay – even Allen, if I absolutely had to...

  But the hours went on, and the candle waned. Nearly delirious with fear, I still clasped Dad as if my life depended on it. Because it did.

  “Mom,” I called into the strange half-light of dawn. “Oh, God, Mom, we need help! I need to get him back to you!”

  Yet I knew Mom could never hear me yelling through the years

  stacked between us. I was trapped in a prison far worse than any jail cell, and I cried myself to sleep, my head on my father's cold arm.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I woke up ravenous and achy from the twisted position I’d fallen asleep in. My father appeared just as if we were at home and he had innocently fallen asleep on the couch. His face was slightly contorted, however, and I could only hope that he wasn't in pain.

  I checked out his bandages, but they seemed to be intact and dry, so I left them in place. I had cleaned his wounds as best as I could with the water, but with no soap or antibiotic ointments, what if my efforts hadn’t been enough?

  And why wasn't he waking up? If he had a concussion or something even worse, there was nothing I could do. Maybe I should try to get a doctor?

  I laughed bitterly to myself, considering my father was a doctor. He would probably laugh too if I had a physician from this era treat him.

  “Dad,” I squeezed his arm, “please wake up. Please. I can't be stuck here.”

  I was so tired and cried out, that his lack of response hardly fazed me. I sat there for a time, staring at him, then at the wall, and then back at him again. I could see everything that made up Julian Greene in his face; the laugh lines that showcased his humor, and the tucked-upward lips that highlighted his sharp tongue. I discerned maybe a touch of arrogance residing there too, which probably had something to do with the fact that he was a master of time itself.

  The idea tickled me, and I felt warm pride for the man who was so much more than I'd ever imagined.

  My stomach growled, jarring me from my thoughts, and I cursed. How was I to get anything to eat here? I had no money! I jumped up, my feelings shifting to rage. “Dad! How could you
just be so...careless! You went off alone like that! It was stupid! Now I'm stuck here!”

  Maybe it was careless, but what else would a time traveler do when he visited other times? He roamed around and explored. I couldn't fault him for that.

  Sighing, I crumpled back down into the chair. “You should never have listened to me, Dad. You shouldn't have taken me here.” My parents had always been careful not to play favorites. Yet deep down, I suspected my father had always wanted to spoil me silly, but my mother held him back. After all, I was his only child. He loved Daniel and Matthew as if they were his own children, even though he disliked their father. But he was so proud of me, and now that I knew how extraordinary he was, I think he was enjoying showing it off.

  My stomach gurgled again. I had to act.

  “I wish I'd had another future-dream last night,” I muttered. “Then I'd know if Dad was going to get better.”

  Resolutely, I stood up and walked across the room. Removing my clothes, I washed myself as best as I could with the basin full of cold water. I don't think it helped much. Then I realized I had no deodorant. Dad would probably tell me not to worry about that, but I didn't want to smell bad – no matter what year it was.

  When I came out of the room, the woman at the desk looked at me with pity. “How's your pa?” she inquired.

  “Still not awake...I mean, not conscious yet.” My stomach made its discomfort known, and I rubbed it with embarrassment. “Sorry. Can I have some water?”

  “Pump's out back,” the woman answered. “You know, you ought to fetch Doc Vervain.”

  Doc Vervain. Great. The name sounded like something from a 1950s monster movie.

  “He can help your pa. You sound like you're hungry, child.”

  I cast my eyes down in shame. “I have no money to pay for food. They stole all my father's stuff. Even his watch.” The watch part honestly irked me the most. Someone had the audacity to steal a time traveler's timepiece. That bothered me.