West (History Interrupted Book 1) (7 page)

Maybe this was his issue: the sudden reappearance of John’s daughter was suspicious.

I hope that’s it.
That there were more people in the past that didn’t belong, time travelers like me, was an idea that seemed likely to blow my mind.

I trailed John inside and into his study. Unable to move past his expression at seeing me, or the guilt it caused, I felt like I had to tell the kindly man that I wasn’t really his daughter. His emotion was too pure, his heart too good for me to lie to him. After all, once I found Taylor Hansen and Running Bear, I was leaving. My heart was kind of squishy. I didn’t like hurting people.

John was seated in the sitting area, and I made an effort to prepare what I was going to tell him.

However, my first challenge was making it to the low, low settee across from him without cutting off my air supply. I struggled to sit without pitching over or asphyxiating.

“It is very fortunate you returned this week, my daughter,” John started. His voice was warm. One of the house servants lit his pipe for him. “Your timing is perfect.”

I watched the servant, uncomfortable about an era that included slaves and servants. Settling on the settee, I waited, uncertain why now mattered and too curious to hijack the conversation. If he noticed the awkward way I sat, leaning to one side to breathe decently, he said nothing. 

John waved the servant away, and the two of us were left in quiet. He puffed on his pipe. When he didn’t expand on his declaration, I decided to speak.

“I need to tell you something,” I started.

“I imagine you have much to say about where you’ve been,” he replied, smiling. “Much I don’t want to know. I am simply grateful you’re back. This week is special.”

“Really? Why?”

“It is the week I was to revise my will. But I’ve sent word that I no longer need to do so. All my property and goods will go to you, as planned, rather than your cousin, Philip.”

“Oh.”
What does this have to do with anything?
He was gazing at me expectantly. “But, I mean, you have many good years of health left, so I think maybe Philip might be a good choice, especially since I … um, am young.” My words sounded forced and awkward to my own ears. Heat crept up my neck.

“True and you are an unmarried female. We are not in England any longer, and I fear a woman with no husband will not be taken seriously in her inheritance here,” he agreed. “I’ve taken care of it as much as possible, though. It would behoove you to find a husband before I go, young lady, and it would make your father happy.”

My mouth dropped open. Nothing came out, so I closed it, amazed I had just been told to find a man so I wasn’t disinherited.

Not that it mattered, but I was beginning to understand the need for a feminist movement better than I ever had in any class I took.

None of this will be real in a couple of weeks,
I reminded myself. Another thought surfaced, one I realized was probably important. Whatever I did here, the real-Josie might have to live with when she returned. So maybe being able to claim an inheritance was a good thing.

“But, on this, I will not press you this time,” John continued. His look at me was tender, loving, like a doting father who truly didn’t know a stranger sat before him. “If you choose to marry soon, so be it. If you do not, so be it. I am grateful to have you as my daughter.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. “About my return. I –”

“I am dying, Josie.”

I shut up once more, staring at him. He was thin, yes, but he didn’t look ill.

“The doctor said I’d be gone in a week.”

As much as I didn’t want to connect with people who had been dead for two hundred years, I found myself plunged into a moral dilemma. If Carter put me here for a mini-vacay, then he had to know the real Josie was going to be gone just as long. If John died during the time period …

Which was worse? Letting him believe I was his daughter for a few days? Or revealing the truth and knowing he might never know peace of mind about his daughter, if she didn’t return before he passed?

Not exactly the vacation I had hoped for.
My heart gave me one answer, my mind a conflicting one.

“What was it you wanted to tell me, my dear?” John asked, blue eyes settling on me.

Before I spoke, I knew my heart had won out. “I’m just glad to be home,” I replied. “I am sorry I can’t remember much of anything.”

“The doctor said you might never. Said you likely got hurt a year ago and wandered off, never knowing who you were, until you were found by our savage neighbors.”

I had never met the doctor, but I liked him as much as I did Nell. Both were trying to comfort a dying old man.

“They were kind to you?” he asked.

“Yes, very.”

“I feared they would not honor our agreement.” John reached forward to pinch a small amount of loose tobacco and place it in his pipe. “There have been many skirmishes of late. We are fortunate that the sheriff is here.”

“He’s … interesting,” I murmured, not yet convinced he didn’t know something he shouldn’t about me.
He’s not someone I’d want to cross either.
The men of this place were much harder and unfriendlier than I was accustomed to, but I guessed it was warranted in an untamed frontier.

“He’s half-Indian, raised by the natives. It’s why he can keep the peace here, unlike other places.” John sighed. “The frontier was not so dangerous when we moved here.”

I listened, unusually interested in the sheriff born of two worlds. In my time, it made him intriguing. Here, in a world where war was inevitable, I guessed it made him useful – and probably universally ostracized.

“The Indians are dangerous?” I asked.

“They are but one danger out here. Outlaws, robbers, cheats. The red men have been just to me. I have a history of dealing with them fairly, in granting their people refuge during the Great Storms that befell the plains twenty years ago. Their chief wants peace. He never forgets a kindness, and we share grazing lands for our cattle and sheep. But I fear, with the restlessness on the plains, my generation will be the last that knows peace.”

I listened, too aware of how the story ended and uncertain what to say. John was right, but I hoped to change things.

He rested his head back against the chair in which he sat as if needing a breather. I pitied him. He was dressed in a black suit, his beard trimmed and his knobby fingers displaying some of his wealth in the form of gold rings laden with large gems. He was a classy man through and through, and I loved the idea he and the Native Americans next door worked together on the rugged plains.

A grandfather clock decorated with brass fixtures and inlaid with mother of pearl ticked away the seconds near the entrance of the study. Not wanting to disturb the ill old man, I rose with effort and went to the shelves of books that would be worth a small fortune in my time. Brass, wood and other antiques were used as bookends or decoration: multiple intrinsic clocks, old military weapons and swords, a shadow box with medals indicating John had served some sort of military service, an elaborate clay pipe collection displayed in velvet boxes, ivory carvings, portraits in varying sizes of men and women, and several photographs of his wife and daughter.

I studied one. John appeared very different – robust, strong, dark haired and bright eyed – though the photo wasn’t that old. The girl I recognized as the real Josie appeared in her mid-teens.

Okay. I’ve got no brothers or sisters.
His wife appeared in earlier photos of the family but none from when Josie was about ten onward, which I took to mean my pretend-mother was dead. It disappointed me more than it should have to know the real Josie didn’t have a mother, either. We had something more in common than looks.

John stirred. I returned to my settee and managed to sit as he opened his eyes once more.

“Forgive me,” he apologized. “I grow weaker daily.”

“No worries, Father,” I murmured. “Nell warned me about taxing you.”

“It is a true shame. I find you again only to be leaving you alone.”

I like him so much.
Genuine and sweet, John cared about me – or rather, who he thought I was – the way I had always hoped my real father would have, had he survived. How awful was it not only to lose my father young but to know real-Josie’s father was going to pass away before my eyes, too? He was a good man, and I had a soft spot for good people.

“Your cousin Philip will likely come tomorrow,” he continued. “You must be certain to rest. It is rare when you two meet that you do not end up squabbling like the children you once were.”

I smiled. “I feel well, Father. Aside from a headache, that is.”

“Good. Then I need rest.” He rose with effort and stood, appearing paler than when we sat down.

What was wrong with him? In an era where the medicine was barbaric at best, I felt sadder for him. “I hope you’re not in pain, Father.”

“There is no pain that can compete with the joy of seeing you here, my dear.” His features glowed with happiness. “You looked a little peaked.”

Because I can’t breathe in this thing!
I offered a small smile, affected by his concern, especially when his own life was so short. Something about him touched me, as if we were meant to meet or were somehow connected. I couldn’t shake the sense that he was familiar, along with Carter, even though it was impossible.

“Thank you, Father,” I said. “I think I need fresh air.”

“Nell will accompany you wherever you go.” There was firmness in his tone. “I will not lose you again, and later today, we will take supper together, like we did every night before you left.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Very well then. Go for some air, and I will rest.”

I hefted myself to my feet without losing my breath and left the study. The scent of his pipe smoke clung to me.

I made my way through the house to the stairwell and up, padding back to my room. Unable to understand why Carter put me here of all places, if the men I sought weren’t close, I was trying hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together of what was going on here, like where the real Josie went and what happened if she suddenly came back.

Grateful to find Nell not present in my room, I stretched back and unfastened the ties on my bodice then dug around to get to the corset. Once I had loosened the straps, I drew my first deep breath in an hour.

“Oh, thank god!” I muttered. Part of my headache eased immediately. My ribs felt bruised, and I stretched over my head to make sure nothing had fallen asleep.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out.

Language skills kick in yet?
Carter had written.

Pleased to hear from him, I perched on the edge of my bed to respond.
Yep. What’s the other one? A history chip? Oh, BTW – what happened to the real Josie Jackson who belongs here?

He took his time with his response. I crossed to a pitcher of water and thick glass, pouring myself a drink.

The sheep outside the window caught my eye again. They were perfectly huggable, though I didn’t think I would be able to bend over to pet them let alone hug them in the silly gown. Sipping water, I sat near the window. John had sheep, cattle, horses, goats, pigs and chickens. Having lived my entire life in crowded southern California, I viewed the rolling hills and animals that belonged to him with barely contained excitement. Surely during my time here, I’d have a chance to explore the prairies, meet every animal, and learn more about this era than possible in history classes!

At the buzz of my phone, I looked down.

Great! The other is an empathic memory chip.
Said the text from Carter.

Do I feel in color or something?
I wrote to him, perplexed.

His response was a smiley face, followed by a more detailed explanation.

It’s hard to explain, but you’ll know when it kicks in. Your logic chip will process the historical records and feed that to the chip that enhances your emotional quotient. It’ll help you interpret a course of action based on historically enhanced intuition.

“Sure. Why not.” So he planted three chips in my brain, not two.
Not a fan of involuntary brain surgery. I know why I needed them but … yikes. Next time, tell me up front???
I responded. Rereading it, I typed him a second note about possible side effects of them doing brain surgery on me.

I’m sorry, Josie. I should’ve been more upfront,
was his fast answer.
There might be some side effects, but they’ve been tested enough that I don’t think any of them are negative. A couple of the chips’ functions are in the developmental stage – the empathic memory chip in particular was thought to be theoretically impossible, but I did it!

There was a part of me that wanted to ask how they had tested these brain chips enough to know there were no side effects. I hesitated to ask. Every once in a while, I sensed something … dark without understanding its source. As if knowing what I thought, Carter sent another note.

Trust me, Josie. I wouldn’t put them in your head if they were dangerous to you.

Somewhat appeased, I reread his explanation about the empathic memory chip. It made no sense to me, but I guessed I’d find out when it kicked in. I messaged him once more about the real Josie.

“Miss Josie?” Nell’s call was muffled by the closed door.

Shoving what she referred to as the devil’s box into my pocket, I straightened my dress hastily and smoothed it out. The door opened.

“Your father said you wanted air.” Nell held a parasol in one hand. She wore a dark hat and gloves. “Did you wish to go to town?”

I had completely forgotten about the town I saw last night.
I bounced to my feet, ecstatic at the idea of seeing a real life Wild West town and hopeful of finding at least one of the men I sought. “Yes! What an awesome adventure!”

“You always did love town.” An odd expression crossed Nell’s face. It was no singular emotion but rather, a complete lack of anything. She went blank for a moment, glassy-eyed and frozen.