Between Two Worlds (10 page)

“It’s you!” she cried, recognizing the child. His gaze immediately
dropped to the floor. “No need for you to act shy. I’m happy to see you.” She knelt
and stuck out her hand. “My name is Miss Marshall, but you can call me Delaney.
We didn’t get to meet properly yesterday.”

“Hello,” he said, gripping her hand in a man-like shake. “My
name’s Fletcher.”

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. What a coincidence this is.”

He looked up and flashed his toothless grin.

“Did you get your hand checked out by Dr. Whitman? Let me see.”

Fletcher shook his head and opened his palm. “It just got scraped
a little. It’s okay. My ma put some salve on it.”

“Fletch! Come back in here… Oh! Hello. I didn’t know anyone was
out here.” A petite young woman with long hair the color of wheat stepped out
of the bedroom door wearing a robe. She pulled it closer to her body, and two
pink suns rose in her cheeks.

Delaney stood up. “Hi. I’m Delaney Marshall, a new border. I’m
staying in the corner room.” She pointed down the hall.

“I’m pleased to meet you.” The young woman had a sweet southern
accent. “My name is Georgia Brent and this is my son, Fletcher, but I guess you
two have already met.”

Delaney smiled down at the boy. “Yes. For the second time.” When
she could see Georgia didn’t understand, she said, “I sort of saved your son
from getting hit by the runaway freight wagon yesterday morning.”

A combination of surprise, relief and gratitude spread across the
young mother’s face. She threw her arms around Delaney and hugged her tight and
then backed up and said, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you, Miss Marshall.
You saved my little boy’s life. I’d planned on going to town this morning to
find out who it was that rescued him, so I could thank her—you—properly. I’ll
be forever in your debt.” Her eyes began to mist over. “I don’t know what I
would have done if I’d lost Fletch. It’s just him and me.”

Delaney touched her arm. “You don’t owe me a thing. I’m glad I was
there and could help. Where are you and Fletcher from? You have a pretty
accent.”

“We’re originally from Virginia. My husband and I came out west
two years ago.” She placed her hand on top of her son’s head and twirled a
finger through his shiny hair. “Alan was killed when a horse bucked him, about
three months after we arrived.”

“How awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I didn’t know how we were to survive. Then I met
Charlotte, and she took pity on me and Fletch. She offered me a cleaning job
and a home for the two of us.” Georgia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Mrs.
Quinn seems rigid at first, but she’s really a wonderful soul. I hate to think how
I’d be earning a livin’ if it were not for that fine woman.”

Delaney understood what Georgia was referring to. If it hadn’t
been for Charlotte, the pretty southern girl would probably be selling her body
above the saloon along with those other young girls who’d once had fresh faces
and maybe some big dreams.

“Well, I guess I’d better get washed up.” Delaney glanced at her
watch again. Her chest gripped in anticipation at seeing Gabriel again.
“Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes, and I understand it’s important to
be on time. Unfortunately, I overslept last night and missed dinner.”

Georgia smiled. “That’s one thing Charlotte’s a stickler for. She
likes her meals to be served promptly.”

“Do you and Fletcher need to get in here?” Delaney asked, pointing
to the bathroom.

“No. I’ve got a washbasin in my room. I’ll use it this morning.
You go ahead and take your time, and we’ll see you downstairs.”

“I’m goin’ on down, Ma,” Fletch told his mother.

“All right, but don’t get in Charlotte’s way.”

“I won’t.” He took the stairs two at a time, whistling, as if he
didn’t have a care in the world.

~ * ~

When Delaney entered the dining room, she was disappointed to see
Gabriel hadn’t arrived yet. She wondered if he would actually show up, or if
he’d simply been polite by saying he’d join them for breakfast.

“Good morning, Delaney!” Lucinda called. She sat at the oak dining
table, which was large enough to comfortably seat ten people. Fletcher and a
dashing young gentleman were seated on one side of the table, while Lucinda and
another man Delaney suspected was her beau sat on the opposite side. Lucinda
waved her hand, beckoning Delaney to enter and find a place. “Have a seat
anywhere.”

Delaney took the seat next to Fletcher, who beamed up at her.

“Have you and Fletch become reacquainted?” Lucinda asked.

“Yes, we have. What a coincidence to find out he lives here. I’ve
been experiencing a lot of coincidences lately.”

Lucinda tugged on the sleeve of the man to the left of her.
“Delaney, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Mr. Ike Kingston. Ike, this is Miss
Marshall.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” The livery manager wore a plain work
shirt, but Delaney could tell it was clean.  No stains and no loose threads.
His thin hair was receding, his ears were as big as a baby elephant’s, and she
couldn’t help but notice he was missing a left arm, since his plaid shirt was pinned
up where his elbow should have been. Despite his obvious physical
characteristics, he undoubtedly had good hygiene because Lucinda looked happy
as a clam.

“And that nice gentleman next to Fletcher is Mr. Owen Wister,”
Lucinda said. “He’s going to be a famous author someday. He’s here on holiday
from back east.”

The well-dressed man cleared his throat, nodded at Delaney and
said, “The pleasure is mine, Miss Marshall.”

“Same here. What do you write, Mr. Wister?” She looked him over
and guessed him to be in his late twenties, though he seemed to have the
presence of an older man. He wore a tweed jacket over a matching vest, a white
shirt and an ascot tie. His hair was clean, short, and parted down the middle,
and a thick brown moustache covered his upper lip like a wooly worm.

“I write western fiction.”

“You don’t say?” She leaned back in her chair. “How’d you get
interested in the west, if you’re from the east?”

“The roundabout way,” he joked. “When I was younger, I aspired to
a career in music, so I spent two years studying at a Paris conservatory. After
that, I worked briefly in a bank in New York before studying law. I graduated
from Harvard Law School.”

“I’m very impressed. You remind me a lot of my father. You’re a
Type A personality, aren’t you?”

“Beg your pardon?” His moustache twitched.

She silently chastised herself for continuing to use modern slang
and attempted to make up for the slip of the tongue. “What I meant to say was
that you’ve achieved quite a lot, and at such a young age, too. It takes a special
kind of person to set and achieve such high goals. My father’s a high achiever,
too.”

“Oh, well. Thank you.” Mr. Wister slid a questioning look toward
Ike and Lucinda, who sat with broad grins on their faces. “Anyway, I practiced
law in a Philadelphia firm for a time, but was never truly interested in a law
career. I’d spent several summers out here in the west and loved it. My first
trip west was to Wyoming back in 1885 with my good friend, Teddy Roosevelt. We
met at Harvard, and he and I are both outdoorsmen and we’re drawn to the
culture, lore and terrain of that region in particular.”

Delaney tried not to register the shock she felt at the mention of
the Roosevelt name. Could it be the same Teddy Roosevelt? Of course it was
.
She
still found it difficult to wrap her mind around the time travel thing.

It was obvious Mr. Wister enjoyed talking about himself. He
continued, “I’ve always taken pleasure in putting pen to paper, and Teddy’s
writing success only spurred me on to trying my hand at a novel. I’m currently
in the process of writing a story set on the western frontier. I’m calling it
The
Virginian
, and it’s the story of one man’s journey into the untamed
territory of Wyoming, where he’s caught between his love for a woman and his
quest for justice.”

“How exciting!” Her enthusiasm sparked him to continue telling
them about the plot.

“A cowpuncher from Virginia rides into the uncivilized West and
sets out to win the heart of a schoolteacher, but complications arise and he
finds he must defeat the forces of evil while trying to establish order in his
new community.”

“I’m from Virginia,” Fletcher piped up.

“So you are. Did you punch any cows while in Virginia?” Owen
teased.

“No, but my pa punched my uncle in the nose once.”

Everyone laughed.

“This must be so thrilling for you,” Delaney repeated. She’d
flipped past re-runs of
The Virginian
, the old television show, and
she’d also seen the movie version that starred Bill Pullman and Diane Lane, two
of her favorite actors. Wouldn’t Mr. Wister be surprised to learn his work in
progress would someday be considered the first true western fiction novel, and
a television show and more than one movie would be based upon it?

“You say your friend, Teddy, is a writer, too?” She couldn’t
believe she was discussing the hobbies of Theodore Roosevelt, twenty-sixth
President of the United States, with one of his best friends—in 1888.

“Yes. He has three books coming out this year, including one
called,
Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail
. Back in eighty-three he
established two cattle ranches in Dakota Territory. He works, eats, sleeps, and
writes about the outdoors and ranch life.” Wister chuckled.

Delaney shook her head and said, “I remember in history class
reading that President Roosevelt was one of the most popular presidents. He
established five national parks, negotiated for the U.S. to take control of the
Panama Canal, and was the first American to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.”

The table grew quiet.  Four pairs of eyes stared at her.

Owen Wister’s mouth gaped openly. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, realizing she’d opened her mouth
and inserted her foot again. She looked down at the knuckles in her lap and
seriously wanted to crack them.

Wister was an attentive man, apparently with very good hearing.
“Miss Marshall, I thought I heard you refer to my friend Teddy as
President
Roosevelt?
Why would you say that? He served in the New York State Assembly from eighty-two
to eighty-four, but he hasn’t talked about…” His brow creased with puzzlement.

There was a knock on the front door just then, and footsteps treaded
up the hall. When the door squeaked open, Delaney heard Charlotte welcome her
guest into the house.

“Hello, Dr. Whitman. Please come in. Breakfast is about to be
served.”

Thank God for little miracles! Turning away from Owen Wister, Delaney
hoped he’d forget what she’d said and move on to other conversation. When
Gabriel stepped into the dining room, her heart fluttered. He looked straight
at her and smiled one of the most brilliant smiles she’d ever seen.

“Good morning, everyone,” he greeted. He spoke to the group, but
it was clear his eyes were only for her.

“’Morning,” came the collective response.

“Have a seat,” Lucinda offered.

He pulled out the chair closest to him, next to Ike, and nodded at
the one-armed man as he sat down. “Good morning, Miss Marshall. I take it you
slept well. You look refreshed and very pretty in that color.”

“Thank you.” She felt her cheeks start to burn. Warm tingles
coursed through her body again. “I did sleep well. In fact, I slept
too
well.
I completely missed dinner last night and didn’t wake up until a half hour
ago.”

The others chuckled. Gabriel’s eyebrow arched. “Well, you were
tuckered out. You traveled a very long distance yesterday.”

They exchanged subtle glances. “Yes, I did.”

“I hope you’re all hungry,” Charlotte announced, as she stepped
into the room carrying a tray of eggs, sausages, fruit and biscuits to the
table.

Gabriel spied young Fletcher next to Delaney. “You look familiar,
child. What’s your name?”

“Fletcher Brent, sir.”

“Are you…?”

“He is,” said his mother, finishing Gabriel’s sentence as she
entered the dining room. She was dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, but
blessed with a stunning figure and bright smile. She didn’t look much older
than eighteen with her soft hair cascading down her shoulders, but Delaney knew
she had to be in her early twenties if Fletcher was seven.

“My son is the child Miss Marshall saved from the freight wagon yesterday,”
Georgia said.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Gabriel stood and pulled out a chair
for her. Owen and Ike pushed back from the table and stood as well, while
introductions were made.

“Hello, Dr. Whitman. I’m Georgia Brent, Charlotte’s cleaning lady.
My son, Fletch and I live here at the boarding house.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I guess you and Fletcher stay
healthy, since I’ve never seen you in my clinic.”