Above the Bridge (12 page)

“Maybe the lady needs a whiskey,” he said, tossing the words down the bar to the bartender.  Paige began to shake her head, suddenly wishing that she hadn’t had the nerve to come in.  She pulled up straight, hugging her arms close to her sides, as if this would somehow give her protection.  Cyrus moved a little closer and leaned one arm on the bar, his other hand reaching out to touch Paige’s hair.

“Leave the lady alone, Cyrus,” a voice stated firmly from behind him.  Cyrus turned to find Jeremiah facing him squarely, clearly meaning business.

“She’s not bothering anyone,” Jeremiah said, continuing to stare Cyrus squarely in the face.

“Well, the way I see it, she don’t belong in here if she ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” Cyrus said, lifting his shoulders and raising his eyebrows, as if to demonstrate that this was an obvious fact.  “This ain’t no place for ladies.  I figure she must want some kinda trouble if she came in here.”

Jeremiah took another step toward Cyrus.  “Well, you figure wrong.  It’s none of your business why she chooses to come in here or not come in here.  Now you back away now, Cyrus.  I mean it.”

Cyrus looked back and forth between Jeremiah and Paige, who stood motionless by the bar, watching the two men. He considered the situation and Jeremiah’s insinuations, and decided it wasn’t worth taking a chance.  He tipped his hat to Paige, just as if he’d never stepped away from his proper manners, turned around and walked across the room and out the door, leaving it to swing behind him.

Paige looked over at Jeremiah and whispered a thank you, still a little shaken by the incident.

“It’s no bother,” Jeremiah said, regarding her with curiosity before lowering his voice to match her whisper.  “But he’s got a point, ma’am.  As he said, this ain’t no place for a lady.”

“I guess you’re right,” Paige agreed, taking the cue to leave before more potential trouble could rise up.  “I think I’ll just go now.  Thank you again.”

Jeremiah tipped his hat and went back to his place at the end of the bar, turning his head back only once to watch Paige as she walked out the door.

The road was quiet as she stepped through the swinging saloon doors and out onto the porch.  It appeared that Zeke had loaded up most of his spilled goods on his wagon and moved on.  Only a few loose potatoes remained scattered around the road.  Fearing a lecture back at The Clubhouse if she returned after taking an unexpected break, she headed off down the dusty road, toward a few structures on the outskirts of the newly-forming town.

On what might be considered a side street, there were a few other buildings with tall, western-style false front exteriors, as well as others not much larger than sheds. One appeared to be a blacksmith’s shop, while another seemed to provide building supplies and machinery.  Others offered various services to the growing community, from taxidermy to dental treatments.  Paige winced, imagining what a trip to the latter might entail. In the distance, a church rose up, sturdy red brick giving it a stance of permanence.

Paige paused in front of one building front that had a large piece of machinery in the window.  Putting her hand to her forehead, she pressed her face up against the window, attempting to see inside.  It appeared to be a printing press, large and clunky, not at all like the sleek machines of modern times.  Of course, Paige realized that, to the people she had just met, these were modern times.  This particular printing press was likely considered a marvel to this community.

Stepping back, she looked up at the letters painted across the front of the small building.  “Jackson’s Hole Courier,” it announced, triggering a memory from the research that Paige had been doing.  Indeed, the valley had been called Jackson’s Hole before the name was simplified.

She tried the door, finding it locked, and then scouted around on the ground, where her eyes came to rest on a small paper caught underneath the side of an old barrel.  She reached down and gently pulled the paper loose, straightening it out and turning it right side up, so that she could see the print.

Her heart felt a faint flutter when she saw that the date at the top of the page was Sept. 27, 1909.  It matched the scenes that had played out in front of her, but the whole scenario still seemed impossible.  Though she recalled her step through the glowing arch, the reach for the skeleton key and the instant change of surroundings when she stood back up, it just wasn’t feasible.

She scanned the front of the paper and noted several small articles.  One announced building plans for new structures around town.  Another recounted a dispute over a homesteading tract along the river.  Yet another gave information on navigating the pass.  Paige could hardly imagine what a trip over Teton Pass would be like in 1909.  It was difficult enough getting over the pass in current times, considering the steep grade and often slippery road conditions.

On the second page of the four page publication, Paige’s eyes fell on an intriguing article.  An expedition had worked its way up along the river, stopping at numerous points to pan for gold.  Though it reported that only traces had been found, it seemed to imply that perhaps there was more to the story than the members of the expedition were telling.  Realizing it could be pure speculation on the editor’s part, or even an attempt to entertain the paper’s readership, Paige wasn’t sure it could be taken seriously.  Still, it seemed to fit in with her growing suspicion that gold had something to do with the mysterious activity she had come across, both in the past and the present.  Or was that the future, she wondered, considering where she seemed to be standing at the moment?

Paige read carefully through the article, which told of a difficult trip, rough camping conditions, a few scares with wildlife who didn’t appreciate their calm territory being disrupted and a list of names of the men in the expedition.  Somehow she was not surprised to find both Cyrus and Jeremiah’s names in that list.  The account stated that no significant amount of gold had been found, yet also commented that a few of the men weren’t talking about the trip, asserting that they didn’t have much to say.  Paige couldn’t help but wonder if some weren’t talking because there wasn’t much of anything to report, while others weren’t talking for other reasons.

She skimmed through the rest of the paper, which consisted of a variety of notices. Some indicated claims filed for homesteading sites, while another advertised new merchandise at Deloney’s Store.  One small article listed supplies expected to arrive in town the following week, already en route from Denver.  There was an account of an unexpected meeting with a few members of the Shoshone tribe, though no problems had resulted from the encounter.  Small tidbits about people around town also followed, resembling a modern-day gossip column.

Paige clutched the newspaper and looked around her dress for some place to hide it.  There didn’t seem to be any pockets and the corset didn’t allow so much as air inside, so there certainly wasn’t room for paper.  Finally, Paige folded it into a small rectangle, pressed it as flat as possible, and stuck it into her left boot, where it rested just below the edge that boasted the black tassels.  She could feel the paper scratch against her leg as she walked, but it wouldn’t be noticeable from the outside.

Hearing the sound of horse hooves against the ground, Paige turned to see a wagon passing by.  There were four passengers riding on benches above the turning wheels and a driver seated on a slightly higher level in front, his hands holding reins attached to two horses.  The driver nodded a hello to Paige, continuing on down the road, eventually pulling into a barn of sorts.  It wasn’t as large as the barns that Paige had seen in the Midwest, but it was large enough for the wagon and entourage to pull inside.

Paige followed, approaching the building and peering in from outside.  She found an open space with a high ceiling, a few rays of light pouring through the wood beams and resting against a hay-covered floor.  Several horse stalls lined one side of the building.  Two wagons, including the one she had seen pass by, were parked against the other side of the building’s interior.  As the passengers finished stepping out of the wagon, the driver folded up a step ladder that was attached to the side.  Securing it with a short length of rope, he turned to the front of the barn, at which point he noticed Paige.

“Are you lookin’ for a ride somewhere, little lady?” the man said, brushing a few pieces of hay off his sleeves.  He wore a derby type hat in a dark brown shade which seemed to match perfectly with his thick mustache.  He was short, at least shorter than Paige was herself, and had a business-like demeanor.

Paige considered the question, in view of the fact she wasn’t even sure how she had arrived where she was.  It was a little hard to decide, all things considered, how she could explain where she really wanted to go.  A journey of one hundred miles might be a stretch, but one hundred years would certainly be out of the question. 

Surely this short but agreeable man would need some type of directions, Paige thought, considering her options. The possibilities included returning to either the dance hall activities in The Clubhouse or the clearly anti-female territory of Tuttle’s Saloon.  Or she could take the risk of ending up somewhere different, which didn’t seem any worse of a choice than the others at this point.  With this in mind, she looked around and then back to the driver, telling him that she would, indeed, like a ride.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, then,” the man said, introducing himself as Chester.  “I’ll just hitch up my smaller wagon and be right there.”  He disappeared out a back door, leaving Paige to look around a little more.

Old pieces of farm equipment hung on the barn’s interior walls and a stack of metal buckets leaned against a side door.  A black crow flew in through the front of the barn, circled around a couple of the wood beams, continuing its path of flight down and out through the back door.  As it flew out, Chester returned, motioning to Paige that her ride was ready.  She followed him out the back, where a small wagon stood ready, hitched up to a brown quarter horse of sturdy build.

“Just climb on up here,” Chester said, pointing to a step ladder similar to the one she had seen attached to the larger wagon inside.  He reached a hand out to help her step up, which she accepted, climbing the steps awkwardly in the cumbersome dress and taking a seat on a bench inside the wagon.     

“Where to, ma’am?”  Chester asked as they pulled around the barn and approached the road.

Paige thought for minute, and then gave the only answer she could.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.  “I think I’d like to see a little of the countryside.  Just go ahead and drive a little ways out of town.”  She paused a minute before adding, “Somewhere that you like, Chester.  That will be just fine.”

Chester gave her a puzzled look, clearly used to people asking for rides when they had somewhere specific they needed to go.  But he turned the wagon out onto the road anyway, heading south, away from the town, along a dusty stretch.  To the left, an impressive mountain of evergreen trees soared skyward, looking very much like the landscape Paige recognized from present times.  To the right stood the familiar, small butte that she also recalled, with rolling slopes and a brown covering of low brush.

As they came to the end of the butte, Chester turned to his right and continued on, circling around and eventually taking a narrow road up the west side.  It was a bumpy ride and Paige grasped the wagon’s side panel more than once for support as she was jolted by the uneven surface of the dirt road.  But, at the end, the view paid off.  Pulling the wagon to the edge, he brought the horse to a halt.  From this vantage point, Paige and Chester looked down on the town together.  The outline of the town’s beginning was clear, a layout of crossing roads, with buildings scattered along the dusty streets, most separated by empty lots.  Behind the town, the mountain that would later be called Snow King stretched across like a backdrop.

“This is my favorite place.”  Chester said quietly.  “This is where I come to do my thinkin’.”  He sat still, looking out peacefully at the town.

“I can see why,” Paige agreed, taking in the wide open land that surrounded the few buildings below.

“It’s building up fast now, this little town.  Got our own telephone system, the Jackson Valley Telephone Company,” Chester added with pride.

“So, you have a telephone?” Paige asked, genuinely excited for him.

Chester threw back his head and let out a laugh the size of the valley itself.

“What in the world would I need one of them modern contraptions for?” He shook his head with amusement.  “Everybody knows where to find me.”  He glanced around, debating other tidbits of information worthy of a little boasting.

“Do most people live here in town?”  Paige asked nonchalantly, already knowing the answer, but wanting Chester to get a chance to brag a little more.

“No, ma’am,” he replied quickly.  “This whole valley’s fillin’ up with homesteaders.  Why, just last year the president of these United States opened up a whole lotta land north of here, up for grabs.  Folks started filing claims right quick.  Now ranches are springin’ up so fast the elk can barely find food these days, all their grazing areas blocked off with buck-rail fences.”

 “I worry about them animals,” he continued.  “We got a whole lotta dead elk up there in the valley, seein’ as they can’t find enough to eat.  Some folks in town are workin’ on a petition to send to the government, askin’ them to set aside an area for the elk to feed.  I hope they get it.”