Smiling again, I had one arm around Roger’s waist, one hanging onto Charlie, life was good. Roger let Joe take his own path to Martha’s house, making his way through the woods on a morning nothing short of glorious. The larch needles glowed in the slanting rays of sun. Joe’s hooves crunched the fallen maple and spotted service berry leaves in a lovely fall rhythm. I was mentally working on what plausible lie I could come up with next. Martha thought I’d been separated from my father on a scouting trip, Roger thought I was on a holiday, and they were about to meet. Uh oh. Better come up with something quick, not sure I could ad lib an appropriate story that would mesh. Unfortunately, the slow-paced, early morning horseback ride with a handsome man kept distracting me from dealing with reality. The immediate reality was fine with me. This is the stuff my dreams were made of! Charlie was having a great time. He was snuggled into Roger’s lap riding on that saddle like he was born to it. We’d packed a picnic of bread and canned fish so the dream would last until after lunch anyway.

Then the reality of going back would have to take priority. I needed to be alone in the house to try to get home to my own time, so I’d have to pay attention for an opportunity. Sadly, Roger had to start asking more questions.

“How did you say you know the Petersons?”

“I only know Martha, and not very well, she was just helping me out, a friend of a friend sort of thing.” I tried not to stumble over my impromptu lie.

“And how much longer are you staying?”

“I really have to leave this afternoon. I don’t want to but I have to get back. I’d consider staying here if I had more time to consider my options.” This felt good, not a lie at all. I wished I could give Roger more details.

“Do you think you could write stories to go with your marvelous sketches? I could hire you to work at the paper. A woman reporter would be great for the paper, expand the kinds of stories we run, boost circulation! And it just so happens I have a room to rent over the newspaper office. One of the railroad bosses was transferred last month and I’ve yet to rent it out. Roger tried turning in the saddle to smile at me. “Any options I haven’t covered? I’m trying to help you out, and I would like to get to know you, Ms. Burke, but this is a business proposition that I believe would be good for both of us. What do you think?”

I was momentarily speechless. I breathed in the cool autumn air, trying to think clearly. There was no logic to this whole situation. I didn’t know if there was a right or wrong answer, any decision could only be based on a situation that wasn’t possible in the first place!

“I think I’m overwhelmed.” I finally replied. At that moment we broke out of the trees onto a path paralleling the railroad tracks. It bordered a small lake, mirror like and pristine. I caught my breath when I realized this was “my” lake, the lake I camped on when visiting the old homestead. Even in my own time this little jewel had been left almost untouched. The level was a bit higher but there was still the marsh on the south side, where I watched hopefully every camping trip for moose. And today a huge bull moose, his muzzle dripping into the tall marsh grass where he grazed, lifted his enormous head to see what creature had just stepped out of the trees. Roger brought Joe to a halt.

“Overwhelmed by this spot or by my offer?” I could tell Roger was smiling, and that he, too, was enjoying the scene before us.

“Let’s go over there.” He said. “There’s a nice flat shady spot we can stop for a few minutes and talk.” Roger nudged Joe in the direction he had pointed, there where in my time was my camping spot. I was almost in tears, I wasn’t sure the emotion was remembering all the good times spent here or realizing I was about to enjoy new good times, about to have a picnic in my regular spot but 90 plus years in the past. This is where Julie would come looking for me if I couldn’t get home. I wanted to talk her so badly, to tell her what was happening. I wanted her to tell me what to do. Assuming I even had any choices?

“I’ve been here before.” I told Roger. We were settled on a blanket just up from the water’s edge, lingering over our picnic. Charlie had played all he wanted, explored his usual places, splashed his feet in the cool water, and was now sacked out, using my ankles for a pillow. “I came here with my dad once, he liked this spot, too. He’s the one who taught me to love the woods, the quiet places away from the cities. We had some good times.”

“Where are your folks now?”

“It’s just me now, me and Charlie. It has been for a while, I’m used to it.” I gave Roger a reassuring smile, knowing the next comment, judging by the concern on his face.

The moose had wandered back into the woods. I knew it was time for us to get going too. We were quiet as we cleaned up our picnic. I wanted to think that Roger was sorry to have our visit end, too. It was only going to be fifteen minutes or so until we reached the Peterson’s. What then? My stomach was filled with a whole rabble of butterflies doing their best to make me sick. One last time I wrapped my arms around Roger. I knew I had to go home, if nothing else to wrap things up back in my time and maybe try to come back. But chances were I’d never see Roger or the Peterson’s again, so I’d just wing it when they all met and not worry about it. We stepped out of the trees along the creek, walking along the tracks until we saw the Peterson’s house. My homestead, all brand new and whole. I could hardly wait to tell Julie.

When Roger helped me down off Joe I held tight onto Charlie. We stood in awkward silence, knowing this was goodbye. I kept glancing at the cabin’s door, expecting to see Martha or her husband but no one came out.

“Looks like no one’s home. Do you think they’re out searching for you?”

“No, probably just went to town. I’m sorry you won’t get to meet them.” I lied. Half my battle was won. The other half was tearing myself away from this man, this time, and going home.

“I don’t want Charlie running off, hold on.” The front door opened right up, I put Charlie inside and told him I’d be right back.

“I’ve had a wonderful time since meeting you. Thank you for all your hospitality. And I’m sorry about your car.” I held out my hand to Roger, having no clue what the protocol was for 1919. Instead of shaking my hand he took it and gently kissed it. I almost giggled. Men didn’t do that in my time, a shame, it was very gallant! He didn’t let my hand go either.

“I can’t say when I’ve had a more enjoyable time myself, despite the car mishap. I was very happy to be of service and would be again if you’d give me a chance. ” He bowed ever so slightly and seemed reluctant to let go of my hand. He stepped close for the briefest moment and gently kissed my cheek. The butterflies were multiplying and it was suddenly very warm.

Just before Roger disappeared into the trees he turned and tipped his hat and gave me that magical smile. I was sure I’d never forget that face. I watched those trees for ten minutes after they’d swallowed him up. How could I even be sure it had all been real now?

And so, nothing to distract me from reality – it was now or never. I looked around and saw no one. I walked all around the house, and there where I had stepped just yesterday afternoon into the rubble of an old cabin there was a solid wall, fresh timber and solid chinking. There were also no iris and I smiled as I dug the little sack of bulbs out of the deep pocket of my skirt. Martha’s skirt. Time to change and get ready to go. I let myself in the front door, feeling guilty for intruding once again. Charlie danced around wondering what our next adventure was going to be. Upstairs in the little front bedroom I was sorry to change out of the pretty skirt and blouse. Off came the L.L. Bean boots so I could change back into 2013 jeans and a flannel shirt. I was near tears again.

I carefully went back to the kitchen. Still no one was around. I couldn’t help but poke around just a bit, admiring the new old stuff. There was a stack of enamelware, pretty white plates with green rims, stacked on a sideboard. There was the graniteware teapot sitting on the stove. The stove was warm and there was a roughly woven basket full of fist-sized chunks of wood ready at its feet. There were a few potatoes and carrots washed up in a basin, and Martha’s apron hung on a hook under a little wooden shelf by the front door. There was an Arcade coffee grinder hanging on the wall next to the window where one day Martha would look out and enjoy the blooming iris. I fished out the pencil she’d lent me and wrote a little thank you note right on the brown sack. No way I could thank her enough for helping me.

I opened the door to the cellar and Charlie ran right down. Movies all made it sound like speed was necessary to time travel. Should I throw myself down the stairs? Run, jump, what? I went carefully. Charlie had run down the stairs and he was still there. So were all the pretty jars and a very intact ceiling. I pounded the ceiling, each wall, jumped up and down on the floor. First it was a test, to see if one was a portal, then it became frustration. The feeling that came over me can only be described as a chill running down my spine. I sat down on the bottom step, trying to think clearly. Charlie panted at me in the dim light, wanting to know what was next. I shivered hard and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stay calm and focused. There was nothing else to do at the moment besides go upstairs and start dinner. I wasn’t going anywhere.

I had a chance to visit “my” homestead last week, the inspiration for “Gone Missing.” I had a few days off and decided I needed some time traveling relaxation. So once again, I sat in the warm sun and pondered those iris. They’re still there, under that window, covered now with debris from a dead larch but okay. Nothing has changed in that little pocket of woods keeping the secrets of those few old buildings, except for lots more trees. I couldn’t see the big field from the house anymore. I couldn’t see the river or the tracks but a train blasted by while I was there and no question how close the tracks are. Were there more trains going by when she lived there or fewer? Did she hear them go by when she was planting those iris. Did the gritty smoke float down over her garden? So much to wonder about.

My friend Phyllis gave me a rose start from the homestead property that adjoins hers. There’s nothing left of the old homestead but a couple of fruit trees and a fence line draped with these lovely yellow roses. They were probably planted there 100 years ago on the hill above town. This year my little start bloomed profusely, growing happily where I planted it so I could see it from the house for a little time traveling speculation on a daily basis. A farmer’s wife planted those roses. Did she plant them as a reward when they’d finished planting their orchard? Did she get a start as a gift from a friend? What was town like then?

While running the dogs one day, me and my friend, Suzanne, came upon several stands of yellow roses and lilacs that had spread and suckered along the edges of a broad field. The area is part of a fish and wildlife preserve now with several ponds full of ducks and cattails, but no sign of any buildings. Was it hard for the woman who planted those bushes to leave them behind one day? Did her house burn down? Does she still have family nearby? I think she’d be pleased to know her flowering shrubs are still thriving out there in the valley and visited by girls walking their dogs who admire them. And, of course, I brought a little start of each home to preserve her legacy – more for me to enjoy and speculate on going backwards into time.

We wished for warm, we got hot! We weed and water and wait for the barest of breezes. Summer also brings butterflies and volunteer poppies in the driveway and a pool to cool our tootsies. (Sara has no clue what the ball is for). We take it all with gratitude 🙂

Roger hopped out and took my hand as I came down the steps, then held the door open while I stepped up into his car. Charlie, not so much the gentleman, shoved past Roger and hopped up in my lap, ready to go. I gave Charlie a squeeze and we grinned at each other. I looked up and down the street, again at the general store and the train station, trying to imprint the images in my mind so I’d never forget. As Roger settled in the driver’s seat I finally noticed his marvelous car.
“I’m not familiar with cars, what is this?” I knew men loved to be asked about their cars.
“It’s a Willys touring car. It’s been the perfect car for me, room to take a few people, getting me farther and faster than Joe. Joe’s my horse.” Roger explained, giving me his dazzling smile. “I still ride him when I can for local stories, but now I don’t use up a whole day riding into Crimson Falls for a quick interview or to visit my folks over in Hillside. And I’m building a house just outside of town, it’s been helpful for hauling smaller supplies.” We headed south down Main Street toward the road pointing west out of town, giving me a different view from following the tracks like I had coming into town. I was grinning ear to ear.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Roger was studying me, glancing at the road enough to keep us on track. “Where did you say you’re from? I studied Roger back. There were a lot of things I wanted to tell him, a lot of things I wanted to ask. I wanted to tell him I was a journalist too, that I lived very close by in a part of the same valley that didn’t even exist yet. How I could explain myself without dreaming up more whopper lies?
“From down south.” Was all I could think of. “I like it here, and since I’m on my own I was thinking of looking for work here.” I turned back to watch the woods and hills, knowing I’d left the door wide open for more questions. It wasn’t going to take us long to get to Martha’s and I hated the thought of this day ending. I cuddled Charlie close, wondering what I should do. My best friend, Julie, was not a phone call away and I needed her input. What would she say? What would I want her to say? She’d be giggling like a teenager, asking me what did I have to go back for that was so important? To go with my gut, to stay if I wanted. I wondered if I could go home and then come back?
“I’m building my house just down that road.” He pointed with his chin as we passed a double-rutted road through a broad meadow backed up to trees against the hills. “I’ll be raising appaloosas once I get settled, one of my tribal friends is keeping a dozen pony’s for me already, waiting for me to get set up. Won’t be long now…” Before Roger could finish his sentence he slammed on the brakes and all I could see was a blur of trees and sky, clutching Charlie and bracing as best I could with me feet as we did a screeching swerve. Even going 35 mph it was scary and jarring. When we finally skidded to a stop I watched as the butt end of a lucky grizzly disappeared into the tall roadside grass. I let go of Charlie for just a moment, laying a hand on Roger’s shoulder. In the same moment Charlie was out of the car, disappearing into the same roadside grass.
“Are you okay?” Roger’s hand was on my shoulder now, a look of worry and relief both.
“Yes, I’m fine, but I have to get Charlie.” I was out of the car before Roger could protest. I called for Charlie to come, but I knew it was useless. What could I bribe him with that was more fun that bear chasing? Before I took off the direction Charlie and the bear had gone I looked back to see poor Roger, torn between surveying the damage to his car, sideways with a broken axle in the middle of the road, and going after my foolish dog.
“You stay with the car. Don’t go anywhere.” Roger had me by the shoulders, looking determined, taking charge. “I’ll go get Charlie and be right back. That bear will be long gone and Charlie will be glad to come back.” Roger flashed a reassuring smile and waded off through the grass. Every minute or so I could hear him hollering for Charlie, each call fainter than the last, until finally I heard nothing but the soft breath of a breeze in the grass. The sun would be setting before long. It was getting chilly.
I sat in the broken car for a while, then sat down on the side of the road for a few minutes. The immediate concern was crowding out my internal conversation about the bigger picture. I didn’t know what I’d do without Charlie and probably couldn’t go back home without him. A dog might not alter the course of history but it would change mine. I was working myself into a good cry when a truck full of railroad workers drove up. Before I could even finish telling them our story, the part about Roger going after Charlie, the six men had muscled the rear end of Roger’s car out of the middle of road.
“We have room, ma’am. Will give you a ride back to town. It’s getting late, you can’t stay out here.”
“I’ll be fine, really. My friend will be back any second with my dog. He’d be worried if I was gone. We’ll catch a ride when he gets back. You saved the day though, by moving his car out of the way. Big strong men.” The men shuffled around like they were lost, interested in their feet all of a sudden, all of them speechless, wearing shy smiles. “Go ahead, really, I’ll be fine. Get home for dinner.” As a whole they were back in their truck, two of them waving to me as they drove away. Then I want back to waiting.
The sun was setting, intensifying the gold of the larches, when I thought I heard barking coming across the meadow. I was on my feet in an instant, straining to hear. What I saw was a man on a horse with a dog on his lap! Roger and my Charlie. Charlie barked again when he saw me and, of course, I ran out to meet them. Roger handed Charlie down. Roger waited patiently while I hugged and cooed over Charlie. Then I saw that Roger was a mess! His shirt was torn at the shoulder and his face was scratched!
“My hero.” I smiled and he smiled and he gave me his hand. With Charlie snuggled back into Roger’s lap, I bunched up my skirt and climbed up on Joe, barely fitting on the back of the saddle. Roger turned Joe back to the woods. I circled my arms around Roger’s waist – he didn’t seem to mind a bit.
“My house is just through here.” As we made our way through the grassy field and into the trees, the sun setting on our backs, Roger told me his side of the story.
“I figured if I took the time to go get Joe it wouldn’t take me long me to find Charlie. And it didn’t. Charlie didn’t want to come with me though. The bear was long gone but Charlie thought he was still hot on that bear’s trail, making big circles back and forth over the same prints. He made me chase him across two streams and then on my hands and knees through deadfall before I could catch him. And he didn’t like getting up on Joe much but once he understood the game he acted like he’d been riding horses his whole life.” Roger chuckled, making it sound like it had been a fun adventure.
I could just reach up and give Charlie a good head tussle. Through the deepening shade we came into a clearing with a frame house, a barn, and a large corral.
“Looks like the bear visited here, too, shuffled through some canned goods I have stashed, didn’t hurt anything. Was glad to see my front door is still in one piece. He was a big boy from the prints he left.”
Roger stopped Joe by the corral and I eased off. Roger handed down Charlie.
“Is Martha going to be worried about you?” I could see Roger’s concerned face in the last of the dusky light.
“Maybe a little.”
“I’m sorry I can’t get you out there tonight. I have a few things here for when I stay all weekend working on the house. I can make it comfortable for you, warm, give you some privacy. It will be okay.”
“Of course it will. We’ll be fine. What kind of canned food do you have?”
So in the chilly dark house Roger started a fire while I fished through a box of camping supplies. I opened three cans of pork and beans, one for each of us. Charlie fell asleep as soon as he’d licked up the last bite of his, his tired chin propped up on the warm hearth. With his face brushed orange from the dancing fire, Roger told me his dream to raise horses, how he saved to buy his property and planned his house.
“I’m not done with the newspaper yet. No reason I can’t keep it for years while I grow my herd. And enjoy what happens in all that time in between.” Roger was studying me again and I knew the questions were finally coming. So I told him the reasons I’d come north years ago, not having to make up anything. I wanted distance between me and the big city, I wanted quiet and snow and something better, which I couldn’t quite define yet but knew I was closer than I had been.
I don’t remember the end of our conversation. I must have fallen asleep and slept straight through the night. I woke up next to a freshly stoked fire and Charlie tucked beside me on a thick blanket folded on the floor. I didn’t want to move for fear of shattering what might be a delicious dream. By the time Charlie and I stepped through the front door into the crisp fall morning, filtered rays of sunlight were streaking thru the trees. Roger was just getting off Joe, a string of three fat trout tied on the saddle.
The morning brightened even more with Roger’s smile. “I caught breakfast, I’ll get it ready. While we’re riding out to the Peterson’s you can tell me where you got those boots.” Roger disappeared into the barn. I looked down at Charlie.
“So now what do you think? Yeh, I know, you’d like fish every morning for breakfast, wouldn’t you? He was wearing his contented doggie smile.
“That’s what I figured. Yep, I like it here too.” No movie I’d ever seen would have a happier ending.

I won’t be taking a vacation this year, not one out of town anyway. Lucky for me I love being home and I can take memory trips just by looking out the window. I know there are always pictures and mementos, but my souvenirs are living in my yard. I visited Arizona today while watering my big tooth maple, a tree native to Oak Creek Canyon just north of Sedona where I have spent hours of heavenly hiking below the cool, red cliffs and overhanging maples that guard the creek there. Even remembering the nursery where I bought it in Prescott conjures memories of fun times I spent there!

Then I fertilized my red geraniums out front – they take me to Grandmother’s house! Her geraniums BLOOMED – mine show some red flowers but they’re small and sad compared to hers but the memories are good! Somehow in Phoenix she always had the most amazing flowers!

I have crimson columbine flowering in pots right now – I discovered this dainty beauty while camping in the Sierras and they’ve been one of my favorites ever since. They have delicate nodding heads and grow where fairies must play in the cool shade of the under forest! I’ve only seen them in the wild one other time, so having them in my yard is a real treat.

There are sun flowers sprouting in my veggie garden – those seeds were given to me by my mom’s best friend, Darlene, for my birthday several years ago down in Scottsdale. She has since lost her battle with cancer but her goodness and generosity are perpetuated in those seeds and the seeds they produce and on and on. It was a birthday I won’t forget – she prepared a delightful afternoon snack for Mom and me on vintage linens set out on the patio overlooking her amazing garden. And soon I’ll have her sunflowers to take me there again!

Next to the sunflowers sprouts I have one precious hyacinth bean vine, the only one I had sprout of all my seeds, and my babying is paying off in the multiple purple curls of flowers. Each one will produce a deep purple bean pod so I’ll have more seeds for next year. Mom introduced me to this mad climber on our fall trip to New England two years ago. The vines were showing off in the botanical garden in Stockbridge, Massachusetts where we discovered all sorts of northeastern trees and flowers that were new to both of us. It was a lovely cool respite on our harried week-long tour, and I’m happy to travel back there repeatedly when I tend my purple wonder.

I won’t bore you with more vacation pictures, I mean plants, but I’ll bet you have a few vacation stories you could share – just by looking out your window!

I missed out on a family trip to Disneyland last week – it’s far, far away, and lots of bucks and time needed to get there. Yep, I missed out on Space Mountain, Star Wars, and dinner in Downtown Disney. It was painful 🙂 So I did the next best thing – I visited the National Bison Range. Established in 1908, the bison range consists of 350 to 500 bison, thanks to the foresight of those who knew the value of saving this American icon from extinction. It’s a pleasant drive just forty or so miles south of here, and it just happens to be the most gorgeous time of the year here (well, except for that first heavy snowfall). The balsamroot, larkspur, and paintbrush were riotous. The mountains were totally showing off, and the animals played their roles to my complete satisfaction, all unstaged and spontaneous. The scenery was not painted, the colors were authentic, and the meadowlark songs that played across the hills at every stop I made were au naturel. Though I didn’t get close enough for a photo, I was fortunate this time to see a black bear, a two-tone bear actually who had a fat honey-colored body with black legs. His mother must have been proud. And nothing else needs said – pictures are worth a thousand words – –

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.”
~ Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator

There went Charlie, happy to ride off with a group of strangers. Broke a mother’s heart.

The helpful railroad worker offered more. “We’ll be heading back to town ourselves shortly, we’d be glad to take ya.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind. I’m just going to run back to the house and I’ll be right back.”

I hurried up Martha’s porch and she opened the door before I could knock.

“What is it now?” She asked, her tone less suspicious and more helpful.

“Do you have any paper, and a pencil I could borrow? I promise I’ll return the pencil. Any scrap of paper would be fine. Just to sketch Charlie real quick, in case I can’t find him right off.”

She disappeared from the doorway. I was starting to get nervous. I couldn’t go home without Charlie, wasn’t sure I could even get home without Charlie. In movies they always made it clear you couldn’t alter history. Gosh, what a time to be thinking about movies. I was scared for Charlie and getting a little scared for myself. I should be trying to get home instead having to hunt for my dog, but going to town did sound fun, my curiosity was killing me.

Martha appeared with a pencil and a few square pieces of what looked like butcher paper.

“Thanks so much, Martha, this will work fine.” I sat right down and went to work, keeping on eye on the workers so I wouldn’t miss my ride. Within just a few minutes I had a good likeness of Charlie sketched out, complete with the funny little tufts of hair around his mouth and wild eyebrows framed by floppy ears.

“That’s a very good likeness, Miss Sally. Looks just like him! Looks like you’d best be going.”

“Thanks, Martha, I’ll get back as soon as I can.” I tucked pencil and paper into a deep pocket of my skirt, hoping she didn’t mind if I borrowed them for longer, and ran down the steps to where the men were loading into another truck. One of the workers gallantly helped me into the front seat and then climbed in the back with the other men. I waved to Martha as we pulled away, and I tucked my skirt as best I could around my hiking boots.

* * * * * * *

I was grateful to Charlie for making me chase him into town. What a site! I had read about the history of Pinetop and even recognized some of the store fronts from my own time. The road wasn’t paved, of course, and there were more trees right in town, some big stumps in between some of the buildings, and wooden board walks instead of cement sidewalks. I loved it! Climbing out of the truck near the train station, I thanked the men profusely for my ride into town. They all tipped their hats and wished me luck finding my dog. There was no sign of the truck Charlie had ridden in so I gathered up the long skirt and picked a direction, deciding to start with the west side of the street and show his picture around. There was an awesome general store with tin and enamelware on display out front, along with sacks of feed, flour, and fence material. Then I passed the bank and millinery shop – something sadly lost to my time and here I was looking at an authentic one! Next there was a bank. I showed Charlie’s pictures to several passers by and they all shook their heads no, they all wished me luck. Just as I was about to go into the newspaper office a train pulled into town, blowing its whistles – a good, old-time steam train, spewing smoke and ash and sounding marvelous! I found a quaint wooden bench and pulled out the pieces of paper Martha had given me. I sketched for probably thirty minutes, first the train and the station, then the scene across the street, people coming and going, the false-front buildings, then I guiltily remembered Charlie. Getting up in a hurry I plowed right into a handsome gentleman who I’m guessing was standing a little too close, perhaps looking over my shoulder. We both sputtered apologies.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am. I was admiring your sketches and should have introduced myself. Roger Dawson, at your service.”

I held my hand out to a man who looked like a young Richard Crenna with a mustache. I love Richard Crenna.

“And I’m Sally Burke. I’m really looking for my dog but I got sidetracked, so much to see here!”

“I agree, but I’m a newspaper man, I make my living by paying attention and seeing everything. You’re very talented, I can see that. Do you ever sell your work?”

“That’s very kind, thank you. No, I just do it for fun. There are a lot of artists more talented than I.”

“Not around here. I could use your sketches in my paper, times when a sketch says more than a photograph. And I’ll give you $2 for that one of the street scene.” He fished two coins out of his pocket and traded two silver dollars for my sketch. I was speechless. “That’s so you know I’m serious.” I wish I could have sketched Roger’s smile to take home with me. I never wanted to forget it.

“Well, again, that’s very nice, but I’m just passing through. I need to find my dog and get going.

“And what does your dog look like?”

I showed him Charlie’s picture and felt the tug of worry, I had to find my bud.

“You are VERY talented. Your sketch looks exactly like that dog right over there.”

I looked to see Charlie on the opposite boardwalk, trotting along like he was on a mission. Perhaps it was unladylike for the time but I hollered his name and he looked over his shoulder right at me. I think his pace actually picked up and he ducked into the open door of a place called the Steel Rail Café.

“Thanks again, Mr. Dawson, it was a pleasure, I really must be going.”

“And you, Ms. Burke, a genuine pleasure. You will let me know if you change your mind.”

I gave that handsome man my best smile and hurried across the road. I would have loved to have lingered in Mr. Dawson’s company, maybe over coffee in the café, where I found another scene right out of a movie. I glanced around for Charlie while waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A waitress rushed by me balancing two china cups and a teapot on a wooden tray.

“I’m looking for my dog, I saw him come in here.”

“A shaggy little thing, not far off the floor? I gave him a chunk of meat and sent him out the back door. Can’t have no dogs in here, cute or not. You can go on through.” She motioned with her head and I made my way through to the back door, past a kitchen I would have died for, cooper pots and new enamelware everywhere. No time for gawking. Sure enough, just out the back door in a dusty alley, Charlie was smacking his lips. I think he was hoping for more handouts.

“Okay, Buster, done touring around? Did you worry about me at all? Or worry about getting home?”

Charlie didn’t answer but seemed resigned to come with me. I found my way out of the alley, Charlie following dutifully. Then I realized I had no way to get back to Martha’s. I headed over to the general store, hoping the shop owner might know how I could get a ride. I didn’t know if $2 was enough to hire someone. Trying not to waste time shopping, in a place I couldn’t buy anything if I wanted to, but wanting to poke around and see everything, I went up the wooden steps and was about to go through the shop door when I stopped so suddenly Charlie actually walked into the back of my legs. There in a big bushel basket were iris bulbs, just dumped in, marked 10 for 35 cents. I thought of the lovely iris out at Martha’s and wondered if she bought them here. Or maybe she hadn’t yet??? The man inside was very nice, and before asking for a ride I asked about the iris.

“They’re right out of my wife’s garden, miss, there are creams and yellows, maybe a little orange. They multiple quite nicely, make a lovely display.”

“That’s very interesting, I’ll take ten please. And could you tell me, is there someone I can hire to take me west of town, there’s a woman out there, lives along the tracks with her husband. Is $1.65 enough to get me there?”

“Ah yes, the Petersons. You could get a ride out in the morning with the workers, if you’re not offended by my suggestion. I’m sure they are all gentlemen…”

“It sounds like I can be of service after all.” The voice sounded too good to be true. There was Mr. Dawson, and he was offering me a ride. Of course I smiled my consent.

“That’s very kind, Mr. Dawson, and your timing is perfect. I’m going to get a little bag of iris to thank my new friend, Martha, and I’ll be ready when you are.”

“I will fetch my car and be back momentarily.” Mr. Dawson tipped his hat and excused himself. I thanked the store owner and he gave me a little bag for my iris.

Out on the front step I chose ten fat iris bulbs and sat down with Charlie to wait. Such a lovely day, a scary day, my brain was overwhelmed. I looked down at Charlie and he had that contented doggie grin on his face again. He’d had a good day too and had to be worn out. I took that goofy face in my hands and told him how much I loved him, how glad I was I found him. And in another one of those weird, unbelievable moments, of which this day had been full, I’d swear I heard Charlie say something. So I asked him.

“Did you say something?”

“Do we have to go home, mom? I like it here!” We watched Dr. Dawson pull up in his car. “So do I.” I smiled. “So do I!”

to be continued….

The woman and I stared at each other, both of us speechless. Charlie ran over and jumped on her, his little dusty paws leaving faint prints on her apron.
“Hey, little fella. Where did you come from?” After a quick tussle of Charlie’s ears she eyed me again, justifiably with a look of fear.

“Sorry Charlie jumped on you, he knows better, he just gets excited sometimes. We didn’t mean to startle you. I’m pretty surprised to be here myself.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide as I gave my apology.

“You’re, you’re a woman? A girl?”

With no time to think I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Gosh, thanks, haven’t had anyone question that for a long time.” I smiled but she didn’t. “I guess I’m not exactly dressed like a girl. I’m not sure what to tell you.” There I stood in my old jeans, roughed up L. L. Bean hiking boots, made just for women but not exactly feminine, dad’s old blue plaid flannel shirt, and a baseball cap that had “Go wild in the Mountains” printed on it. “Rather than try to explain maybe you could help me. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Before the poor woman could answer men’s voices and the stomp of boots came up on the porch, clearly about to enter the house.

“You get back down there and stay until I call you.” The woman ordered. She was smoothing her apron and nervously watching the front door as I started down the stairs.

“Charlie, get over here.” I hissed my command but he ignored me, his tail wagging furiously in anticipation of new friends coming through the door. I went downstairs and waited. I pondered a dozen things while I waited in that cellar, everything from the fact that time portals really existed, to how pretty all the canning jars were lined up on the walls down there, to thinking I needed more obedience lessons for my dog. It must have been on hour before I was summoned back upstairs.

“Now you explain yourself immediately or I’ll have one of those men take you to the sheriff in town.” She had a wet dish rag in her hand and waved it at me like it was a weapon.

“I, uh, was, um…” I looked around the cabin, desperately trying to think of a plausible story. I should have been concocting something while I waited downstairs instead of thinking what a good story I’d have to tell when I got home.

“I was out scouting elk with my father and we got separated. I’m lost actually. It’s just me and papa, out in the hills trying to get by, I guess I don’t always dress very pretty.” I looked down at my outfit, trying to look apologetic.

“And you were trying to steal food from the cellar, were you?”

“No, ma’am, I assure I was not. I just fell into the cellar, I don’t know how I got there.” I was getting really getting hungry though. Leftovers from the meal she just served the men were in a big pot on the stove and smelled wonderful. I was hoping if I sounded pathetic she’d feed me. “Hey, where’s Charlie?”

“He went out with the men. Sit on down, I’ve still got enough stew to feed you and then you have to be going. But you’re going to get yourself in trouble wearing those clothes. We’ll have to think about what to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.” I hadn’t called anybody ma’am in probably twenty years but it seemed the most natural thing. I pulled out a chair and sat down. I surveyed the cabin, amazed at the newness of the woodwork, the pretty yellow checked curtains in the intact window, a few antique-style pieces of furniture that looked almost brand new. I could still picture in my mind the tree growing smack in the middle of this room like it had been just over an hour ago.

“My name is Sally. I’d be very grateful for any help, ma’am.”

“We’ll see what we can do then you can go find Charlie. And my name is Martha.”

I watched as my benefactor served up a stew thick with carrots and chunks of meat. She couldn’t have been much older than me. She wore a floor-length, red print dress, the sleeves pushed up for work, the collar buttoned almost all the way to her throat with a tiny rim of faded lace around the edge. Her apron was starched and white with a few faint stains where she wiped her hands and two dog paw prints. It covered most of her skirt and bodice. She was pleasantly plump with a touch of sadness, perhaps resignation, in her face. Her hair was a knotted up braid on the back of her head, dark with a few strands of gray. She was right out of a movie.

“My husband bought this house from the railroad when they were finished building the line through here and we make our living, such as it is, from a bit of farming and providing meals for the train and lumber bosses. I ain’t no beanery queen, mind you. I wanted to be closer to town, but…My husband is out hunting now, too. Maybe he’ll come across your pa.” She finished washing up lunch dishes, wiped off the worn wooden table, and took my bowl before I had to time to scoop up the last of the delicious gravy. “I have some things that don’t fit me no more, should do you fine to go look for your dog and then you can be on your way.”

Within an hour I stood on that woman’s porch in a long calico skirt, lots of little blue and purple flowers on a yellow background, and a faded cream-colored lace blouse. And my hiking boots. I’d braided my hair into a pony tail and accepted the muslin scarf Martha offered. I looked back before stepping into the unknown. Martha stood watching me for a moment, shaking her head, hands on her hips, then went back inside.

* * * * * * * *

As I’d guessed, the river was visible just across the tracks. There was hardly a tree for acres on either side of the tracks, just a couple of large ponderosas near the house, perhaps to provide shade from the late summer heat. I could see larches on the distant hills with the same gold of early autumn I’d seen 95 years into the future when I got here. Whoa. I looked east, half expecting to see my truck parked along the edge of the dirt road that paralleled the tracks but there was nothing beneath a stand of young cottonwoods swaying in the breeze. I had no time for exploring or sightseeing, though, I had to find Charlie and figure out what to do. There were clusters of men working up and down a section of track, shoveling and hammering. The first group I approached stopped what they were doing and watched me come their way, clearly wondering what I could be wanting.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my dog. A little guy, floppy ears, grey and white and black, kinda scruffy looking. Have you seen him?”

At first none of the men said anything, they just stared at me. Finally one of them jabbed another with his elbow, and the jabbed one finally answered.

“Yes, ma’am. I think that might be the little fella right there.”

I turned to see where he was pointing, and there was Charlie, crowded in with a bunch of men in the back of an old, I mean new, pickup truck that was pulling away. He was giving me his contented doggie smile.

Part One

It was one of those exquisite fall days, starting out crisp and warm by noon, a day for an adventure. Charlie watched as I rooted around in the basement. He danced around my legs – he knew exactly how we would spend the day. The sun was throwing its first shadows across the driveway by the time I had packed lunch and we climbed into the cab of my old red Toyota. Dew was smoking off the shed and the first breeze puffed the dust when we startled a squirrel by the woodpile. I carefully moved my morning’s second cup of coffee from one hand to the other, trying not to slosh it all over. Charlie climbed through my feet and hopped up on the seat – he was ready. I sipped my coffee, enjoying the warming blow of engine heat, and wiped a clear spot on the windshield. I made a tight u-turn in the driveway and off we went, leaving a swirl of leaves that followed behind wishing us a good time.
We drove in comfortable silence, savoring the autumn scenery and anticipating the day. Charlie gave me his contented doggy smile and turned back to watch out the window. The colors across the hills graduated from shades of green to yellow gold. Larches high up on the hill were already turning. When I could see the lake off to the south I slowed the truck. Our turn off the highway was almost automatic. We come here a lot. It’s a bumpy mile or so, past a small community and a section of barbed wire fence not fencing anything anymore, down a rutted road. The creek is low now and dry grass rustles along the banks, cattail puffs float silently on the slow-moving water. Charlie headed off to chase grouse, the same ones he’s probably flushed a dozen times. I grabbed our basket and blanket and headed west through the trees, finding our path to the cabin hidden in the overgrowth of summer’s end.
I stumbled on the old Montana homestead by a lucky happenstance. I was trying to find a lake someone had told me about and I got lost. After turning around at the end of a dirt road I happened to glimpse the corner of a roof line beyond a row of young firs. Charlie and I poked around and found an old path, disguised with knee-high grass and weeds. The first thing we came to was an old barn. Charlie pounced on the grasshoppers that rattled out of our path. There were torn screens and coils of wire lying underfoot. A section of the barn’s roof had fallen in, leaving the entrance blocked with ribbons of lumber angling down from the loft. Remnants of other outbuildings were scattered across a wide, golden field. There was the shell of an old car, nothing left but a crumpled, rusted chassis. Pieces of equipment lay hiding in the grass – unrecognizable. Had it been a farm? A base camp for railroad workers? As we neared the main house, we found rusted buckets, broken boards, and the hinged part of an old gate. There was a small building just off the main house with most of the roof still intact, though thin and rotting with the sun shining zebra stripes through it onto the floor. Maybe this had been storage, maybe with a root cellar. The house itself was hard to picture whole. It had been two floors, the roof now resting at a slant on the ground floor, burying the porch on the south in a tangle of rotted boards. The staircase was still there, a twisted skeleton, gray and broken, reaching past remnants of the west wall to the sky. The north wall had leaned over and split, logs holding strong at one end, splayed out on the ground at the other, like fingers braced against a fall. Young firs and pines struggled up through the rubble along the east wall, and a huge larch was growing right in the middle of the house. Just one window frame remained intact. The river would have been visible when the house was new. I knew some woman had enjoyed the view because right outside this window was a bed of iris. Not wild blue iris, but creamy whites ones and bright yellows with bronzy-orange tongues. I tried to imagine her in the kitchen, going about her daily routine, maybe checking to see if the iris had bloomed yet some long ago spring. I admit I’ve dug a few of these iris and taken them home where they’ve multiplied and put on a lovely display each spring.
This day, before I’d even gotten the blanket down and our picnic set out, Charlie was in the ruins of the house. Did he come when I called? No! bad dog! I’ve never gone past the broken down walls into the house with its floor of debris, old shingles, and who knows what hidden dangers. Charlie was intent on something under a broken board, and I thought I could reach him by not actually stepping into the house. Okay, just one step and I had him! Then came the crash.
When the dust settled and I’d cleared my lungs with a good cough, I could see I’d fallen through the floor and into a cellar or some sort. Strange, it looked almost new, like it hadn’t been disturbed for a hundred years. Before my eyes even had a chance to adjust to the dimly lit space I heard sounds overhead. I hoped no more floor was going to crash down on us. There were intact stairs along the west wall so I carefully climbed up, testing each step before putting weight on it. Charlie bounded right up the stairs and out an open doorway. When I got to the top I thought maybe I’d hit my head or maybe had taken a nap before lunch and was dreaming. I stepped into a old-fashioned looking kitchen, complete with things I’d seen in antique stores, an old coffee grinder much like the one had sitting in my kitchen, a lovely old table with new-looking pieces of enamelware set out like company was expected. The human brain is quite amazing. Though everything in mine denied what was happening, in just nanoseconds I knew exactly what was going on. I had fallen into another time….

Whew, blows is putting it mildly! It happens every year and I try not to whine about it but it’s hard! 🙂 We get lovely rain showers and then the wind comes along and sucks away all that nice moisture, but the grass is turning green anyway, and little wadded up knots of leaves on the serviceberry bushes seem moments away from bursting open. Tiny sprouting bulbs and wild flowers shudder in the wind and I wonder every year how they can stand the constant onslaught.
Fresh leaves on the trees are unfurling into a biting wind chill – they must wonder if winter is really over!

Luckily I finished most of my burning and spring yard cleaning before the winds came, including collecting all the puffs of polyester filling scattered around the dog yard – remnants of shredded Christmas dog toys that had been buried under numerous snow falls. Neighbors would certainly wonder what those were if they saw them blowing across their yard. With all the raking and burning, the only contribution made by the dogs was their sweet company, though sometimes a little grumbly at having to be tied up out in the wind. Notice Coop’s winter coat – he’ll be shaved into his summer coat next week, he’ll look totally different.

In the meantime, we’ll batten down the hatches and hang onto our hats, keep the fire stoked and look forward to those first soft warm days being blown our way!