Blackfeather
24 Laramie City
“SUNSET. What an awful time to arrive in a frontier town. We have luggage and cargo. We cannot simply hide in the hotel.”
I don’t suppose you made a reservation.
“Demon Ramie! My friend. I am thankful for your company.” We heard a gunshot from across what passed for a street and down a hundred yards.
“Don’t let it startle you, ladies. Sometimes the boys get a little wound up at night when they get into town. Nothing like it used to be.” We looked at the speaker and found a short man with a beard and slouched hat jammed down on his head. “How about if I take you to which ever bawdy house you are headed to. I would happily be your first customer.”
“I beg your pardon. We will be going to no bawdy houses and will not require your assistance. We will take a room at a hotel,” Theresa said. I looked up and down the street.
We’d better stay here at the station hotel. I don’t think anything else is safe. What year is it?
“Twelfth May 1870. We are in Laramie City. We need to get off the street.”
No kidding. Hustle the girls into the station. There’s a hotel entrance from inside.
“Where is your husband then, girl?” the short man pressed on.
Knife? Gun?
“Boot and bag. You drive.” I took control of Miranda’s body and stepped between shorty and Theresa. My hand slipped into the bag and found the comforting grip of the Colt.
“If you wish to earn a nickel, I will pay you to carry our baggage into the station,” I said in a growl. Miranda is a lot shorter than me, but she was still tall enough to look him in the eye.
“A nickel to carry the little satchels of the fine ladies?” he mocked, looking at the bags we carried.
“Not these. Those.” I gestured behind us where a stevedore was still piling our dozen trunks on the platform. The man’s eyes got round and he turned and stomped away. “Now inside, both of you,” I commanded. “This is not a safe place.” Katie jerked around and looked at me.
“Yes, Husband Ramie,” she whispered. She took Theresa’s hand and led her into the station and to the hotel desk. I let Theresa talk her way into a hotel room, fending off the initial response that this was not a whorehouse and there were no rentals except to travelers. Theresa simply talked over the clerk and told him we would need our dozen trunks and the three crates in the freight secured for the night so that we could move them to JB Mercantile in the morning.
“It’s closed,” the clerk said. “Good old Johnny got hisself shot tupping old man Arnold’s missus. Soldiers boarded up the store.”
“It will be open tomorrow,” Theresa said. “I own it. Good old Johnny was my father and got exactly what he deserved. There will be no more arguments, boy. Give us our key and see to the luggage.”
The desk clerk was so taken aback by Theresa’s imperious tone that he immediately provided the key and called a porter to take care of the trunks, promising they would be placed under lock and key. I promised that I would inspect them after dinner. We went to our room on the other side of the building.
“The food smells good,” Katie said as we passed through the dining area.
“We can come back for dinner once we have seen our room. I want to check on just how secure our freight is,” I said. Theresa unlocked the door and we went in. As soon as the door closed behind us, Katie flung her arms around my neck and kissed me thoroughly. I could tell Miranda enjoyed the affection as much as I did.
“Do you two need your own room?” Theresa snapped. “If you bounce the bed all night, I shall be cross.”
“Sister, we will be quiet,” I laughed. “I think.” Katie did not release my hand.
“Why does everyone think we are whores?” Theresa complained.
“In this town, women are married, too young to marry, or working on their backs,” I said. “We picked a fine time to arrive in this hell-hole. It won’t be civilized for another five years.”
“You know a lot about it all of a sudden.”
“I’ve been studying, Theresa,” I said. I removed my sister’s shawl and petted her hair, “Let us not argue. We have journeyed far and are tired. And if Katie’s stomach is any indication, we are hungry, as well.” Katie’s stomach was grumbling loudly. That broke the tension and we laughed. “Let us go back to the dining room and eat,” I said. “Then I must check on our freight.”
“Miranda, you are not going off on your own, are you?” Theresa asked. “I am sorry I have been snappish, but I am frightened. Please be careful.”
“Thank you, dear sister. Food first, and then we will see what happens.”
In 1870, the Thompson House hotel and train station was the only dependable dining room in Laramie. Certainly, food and drink were available in every establishment along Front Street, but ladies did not enter there unless they were working. We had a slice of roast, a potato, and drinking water. As we ate, I rummaged in Miranda’s memories, soaking up all she’d done in the past six months and their correspondence with the circuit judge in Cheyenne and the captain at Fort Sanders, who had ordered the mercantile secured. Miranda had liquidated the entire homestead in a box stock in Omaha and packed everything that could be shipped with them to Laramie. Another shipment would arrive next week.
We saw only two other women in the dining hall, both with husbands and children. No wonder we stuck out like a sore thumb. I wished Jason had been able to meet us at the station. Our letters had been loving, but he was patrolling the tracks into Utah as workers erected telegraph lines and secured fuel and water stations.
When we had finished our dinner, the girls returned to our room and I approached the chief porter.
“I would like to inspect where you have stored our freight,” I said. He nodded and got to his feet. I felt like every eye was on me as I left the safety of the station.
“Always got to store things when the night train arrives,” he said. “Nobody wants to travel at night.” We got to a rickety building at the end of the platform and he unlocked the padlock. I could see two of our trunks in the dim light through the door.
“And all our trunks and crates are in there?”
“Go in and check if you like,” he said.
Right. Who wants to go in the spooky cellar first to see if there’s anyone waiting for us? As if I hadn’t seen any teen slasher movies.
“Lock it,” I said. “If it is not all there when we collect it in the morning, I will know who to find.” I was answered by a groan and turned to find the porter slumping to the ground as a black-gloved hand clamped down over my mouth. He wrapped an arm around me, trapping both my arms. I couldn’t reach either my gun or my knife.
“Be silent and it will only hurt a little,” the man growled at me. “Cry out and I will make it hurt for a long time.” Miranda was screaming terror in my head and I tried to silence her so I could think. I could scarcely breathe in the corset she was wrapped in with his arms pulling me to him. He gave me a shove into the storehouse. I fell and turned to see him silhouetted against the opening of the door. I was scrambling to get to my gun when a shadow sprang from beside me, taking substance as I heard a wolf’s growl. The stranger fell back as the wolf sank teeth into his throat. A total of only seconds passed from the opening of the lock to the dull thud as the dark man’s body hit the dirt.
The porter groaned and I moved toward the open door. The wolf leapt the tracks and turned to look at me, gore dripping from his jowl. Then he was gone. Once I was certain the porter was coming around, I hurried back to the hotel.
A wolf had saved me. My throat burned.
“Was that your demon spirit form?” Miranda whispered in my mind.
That was a fucking wolf!
I’d abandoned control of Miranda’s body a step from the door and she’d stumbled against it, adrenalin still coursing through our veins. I hated wolves. Why had this one come to my rescue? And it wasn’t the first time. I remembered the wolf killing and leaving a deer the first time I hunted in Miranda’s body. I’d seen it out the corner of my eye pacing our wagon. What did it want from me, and why was it apparently a friend of Miranda’s and an enemy in my own time?
“Friend Ramie, please stay with me. I am as frightened as you.”
I know, Miranda. I am worried that the body I left in my own time is still vulnerable. I thought I saw a wolf when the raven called me to you. I still function in my own time when I travel to you, but I am not as alert.
“You will do well, Ramie. I know you will. Now let us greet our sisters. Katie was so excited to see you. She knows when you arrive as well as I do. Will you not give her pleasure tonight?”
I do not wish to simply use your body for the pleasure it can offer me.
“But your pleasure is my pleasure. Truly, Ramie. Katie needs you.”
Miranda and I both needed Katie, as well, after our encounter with the wolf. Theresa slept on her side of the bed, or pretended to, while Katie and I ravished each other. I could not get enough of her juices on my tongue and actually passed out from her ministrations to my pussy. Poor Theresa.
“Husband Ramie, I love you,” Katie whispered in my ear.
“As I love you, Katie. And do not think that it is only me.”
“I know Miranda also loves me, but there is something special when you are here. Will it always be like that?”
“In my experience, people can seldom say with certainty what will always be. Will people always ride horses and drive wagons down the streets of Laramie? Will the streets always be made of mud? Will women always be looked upon as whores first? This very area is a center of change. Do you know that women here in Laramie vote and sit on juries?”
“The things you say are strange, but they sent a thrill up my spine.”
“Where?” I whispered. “Here?” I licked her spine from her butt to her neck.
“Yes. Yes. I will believe you husband. I will love you and…”
“And Jason?” I asked.
“He looks upon me kindly and has touched my hand.”
“I think there will come a day when he touches much more of you than that. Will you share faithfully with Miranda?”
“Always, my love.”
The street was lively when we ventured out in the morning. A crowd was on the platform and our porter was at the center of it.
“He hit me and knocked me out cold,” the porter told the fascinated crowd. “Then the lady turned into a spirit and tore his throat out right before my eyes. And with the blood dripping from her maw, she turned her baleful gaze upon me.”
“Oh dear,” I said. “This is not good.” I stepped into the crowd and looked squarely at the porter. He fell to his knees.
“There she is, returned to take my soul as well! Mercy!”
“Foolish man!” I snapped. “What drunkenness is this? If I find you did not safely keep my baggage last night, I will demand your soul of the judge.”
“I saw you! You changed your shape to a fierce dragon and ripped out his throat with your talons!”
“You old drunk! How could you see such a thing if you were knocked out cold? Whose throat was ripped out?”
“Simon Quince,” one of the crowd said. “Old Tom here says he brought you out here and Simon attacked you. Then you turned into a beast and tore out his throat.”
“I told this fool to relock the room and then returned to the hotel,” I said. “But I confess that if I had been attacked. I would have been more direct in defending myself.” I pulled my revolver from my bag and held it steadily in my hand as I cocked it. Old Tom passed out. There was a fair amount of laughter. I almost felt sorry for the porter. Almost. “Nonetheless, if someone got his throat ripped out, we should mount a search for curs and half-wolves. If it attacked one man, it might attack any of us.”
There was a noisy assent and someone mentioned seeing a coyote slinking along the tracks not a quarter of a mile from the station. There was an immediate movement to organize a search for strays and the crowd dispersed.
“Very well done,” a voice said behind me. I still had the gun in my hand and turned to find a .45 pointing at my gut. “You can safety that and put it away now,” the man said.
“And you are?” I asked.
“I am what passes for law in this territory. Nathaniel Boswell.”
“Ah. Sheriff Boswell. Word of your vigilance precedes you.” Late in 1868, Laramie had been so lawless that gangs roamed the streets taking whatever they desired. Boswell led a committee of vigilantes to drive out the scoundrels and then hung four of them. At that time, he was the top scoundrel left and was appointed sheriff of the newly formed Albany County.
“Something had to be done,” he said obliquely.
“And exactly what did you do about the murder of my father, Jonathan Bell?” Theresa demanded, stepping to the fore.
“Miss Bell. Judge Jones sent me a message that you were imminently to arrive. Welcome to Laramie City,” Boswell said. “As to your father’s demise, there was little we could do to Jacob Arnold as he found the man buried to the hilt in his wife. Completely justifiable. There were many men unhappy with Jacob because he killed Annie Arnold as well. She was one of the few in town who did not charge for her favors.”
“Well, we need transport of our goods to the store and a laborer to remove the boards,” Theresa said. “Good riddance to my father. He was a foul man. But I want that store open by noon.” The sheriff motioned to a couple of men and before long a buckboard had arrived to transport our goods to the store just three blocks away. Boswell turned to me again.
“Miss? Did you say you are Miss Bell’s sister?”
“Stepsister, Sheriff. The other is our assistant, as close as a sister. I am Miranda Lewis.”
“Miss Lewis, then. We are a rough-hewn city of nearly a thousand souls in the newly created Wyoming Territory. The law of might makes right is often the only law that is followed. You should know, though,” he looked pointedly at my bag, “I have no qualms about hanging a woman, if she is found to be a murderer.”
“Thank you for that enlightenment, Sheriff. Should I encounter such a woman, I will pass on your warning.”
We slaved the rest of the morning, directing the men sent to help us in moving boxes and unboarding the windows. We chased them out with two bits each at noon and set about restoring order ourselves. The chimes on the door rang and we looked up to see Shorty, our first contact in Laramie, come through the door.
“Do you have tobacco?” he demanded as he came through the door. “Kuster says he has none for me.”
“We are a dry-goods store, not a tobacconist,” Theresa announced. Shorty looked up recognizing the three women in front of him for the first time.
“Well, damn. Begging your pardon ma’am.” He pulled his hat off a greasy head. He looked around quickly. Most things were still in disarray, but his eyes fell at once on a harmonica. “How much for that mouth organ?” he asked. He looked at it almost hungrily.
“One nickel,” Theresa said. “And it must have the shield of the United States of America on it. We do not accept Confederate coins, no matter what they are made of.” Shorty dug in his pocket and pulled out an assortment of odd bits, finally coming up with a nickel. He squinted at it to make sure it had the shield then held it out to Theresa. She took the coin, looked at it and smiled.
“Would you like me to wrap it for you, sir?” she asked, reaching for the harmonica. He held out his hand and she gave it to him.
“No.” He ran his lips over the harp and blew the notes. He grinned at Theresa. “I always wanted one of these.”
“Well, I am glad you found it here. After all, it turns out you were our first customer.” He shrugged his shoulders and blew into the mouthpiece again.
“Ladies,” he said. “If I may be of service, please feel free to call upon me.” He started blowing and sucking on the mouth organ as he left the shop. We looked at each other and burst out in giggles.
“We may have sealed our fate in Laramie if he inflicts that wretched noise on the city,” Katie laughed.
Why did I never hear Theresa’s last name before?
“I do not know. Is it important, Ramie?”
When she said ‘Jonathan Bell’ my mind short-circuited.
“What?”
I became very confused. It was as bad as a wolf protecting me.
“Why is this so important, Friend Ramie?”
Bell is my surname.
I lay in bed, holding Katie in my arms as Theresa hugged herself to us. I had been unable to make myself still enough in the midst of our labor and first customers, or during our lovemaking with Katie, to probe Miranda’s mind. It was all there. Her mother, Dolly Lewis, married Jonathan Bell. His daughter was Theresa Ranae Bell. My great-great-great-great-grandmother. I was still battling within myself. My mind was overloaded and I could not think.
Perhaps this was why I was here—why Miranda was here. To protect my ancestor Theresa.
Miranda was quizzical but let me try to unscramble my thoughts. We heard a scratching at the windowsill and in silent consent, crawled from between the two younger girls and opened the sash. The raven hopped in and looked at us.
Keep yourself armed, Miranda. Laramie is a harsh place. If at all possible, get a small gun for Katie and Theresa that they can hide on their persons. I think I am going now. Please remember that I love you.
“And I love you, Friend Ramie.”
Awkawkawkawk!
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