Carrying a big bouquet of daisies, he strolled down the hall toward the patient’s room. Outside the door a policeman and a nurse he’d seen yesterday stood deep in conversation. They looked up as he approached.
“Excuse me. I’ve come to see how the young lady is doing.”
The nurse took the bouquet of flowers. “She’s resting and is better today, but she has a concussion.” She sniffed the daisies he’d picked up at the florists. “I’ll see to it that she gets these.”
“My name is Tad, by the way.”
She smiled. “I know. You’re the young man who came with the ambulance yesterday. Come back after lunch.” She nodded to the policeman. “This is Detective Ethan. I expect he has some questions for you too.” She turned to leave in search of a vase he suspected.
Questions? What could the man have to ask him? “Detective, I told the policeman who arrived at the river yesterday everything I know.”
“Yes, I’ve read his report, but some things have come up. May we speak in private?”
“Sure. Let’s go outside and have a smoke.”
They settled on a bench outside in the shade of a live oak. Tad pulled a cheroot from a pocket inside his suit coat while Detective Ethan studied him.
“Do you know the young lady?”
“Nope. Never met her before.” He lit his smoke with a match and took a draw of the tobacco. “Did you learn her name, where she’s from?”
“Yes, she’s Birdie Leigh Braxton. The young lady said she lives across the Brazos in a big red brick house built in 1892.”
Tad choked on the smoke he’d swallowed and coughed to clear his gullet. “She must be out of her head, confused on the date. Plus, there are several big houses over there but none of them red brick.”
“Did you know she had a revolver strapped to her thigh?”
His face heated. “How the heck would I know that? Are you accusing me of taking liberties with that young woman?”
The detective chuckled. “Nope, just asking.”
“Pleased to hear it, officer.” He smirked and released a guffaw. “Not to say in different circumstances I might give it a try, but not while a woman is unconscious.”
“Birdie Leigh Braxton. You sure the name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Ethan remained quiet for a moment, Tad supposed to give him time to think, but he could only shake his head. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“Aren’t there some Braxtons on your mother’s side of the family?”
“Sounds familiar, but if she’s a distant relative…” He shrugged. “Anyway, how would you know?”
“I took the liberty of asking around.” He smiled. “Actually, I had my mother do the asking at her weekly ladies’ social. She was very discreet, asked the ladies in general if they knew any Braxtons and your mother’s name came up.”
Thank goodness. His mother wouldn’t take kindly to being the topic of social discussion. “I’m headed home this afternoon and will ask Mother if she knows the young woman.”
“Let me know what you find out.” He reached into his pocket and removed a silver object. “Take a look at this.”
Tad took it and ran his thumb over the smooth metal of the silver star, one worn only by Texas Rangers, but this one hadn’t been formed from a peso. Stamped across the top of the ring surrounding the star was
Department of Public Safety
. Across the bottom was
Texas Rangers.
Inside the star was
Sergeant.
“Turn it over.”
Engraved on the opposite side was
Birdie Leigh Braxton 9-15-2010.
The date must be an error. Why, 2010 was one hundred twenty-two years into the future. “Where did you get this?”
“It was pinned to Miss Braxton’s holster.”
* * *
Nurse Taylor was right. Birdie felt considerably better. Her head still throbbed but not with the nauseating intensity it had before. A grumble from her stomach indicated how much it needed feeding. Rich food odors wafting in from the transom made her mouth water. Thankfully the door swung open and her favorite nurse came in bearing a tray.
She set the food on the bedside table. “I bet you could eat something now, hmm?”
“Something? I could probably eat a horse.” She scooted up in bed while Nurse Taylor arranged the pillows behind her back.
“Don’t overdo and make yourself sick.”
“I won’t.” She took a spoonful of the thick chicken noodle soup and closed her eyes. “Heavenly.” When she was finished, she set the bowl aside and drank some of the cool water.
The door opened and Dr. Franks came in with a clipboard in his hand. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. When Nurse Taylor headed out, he halted her. “I’d like for you to stay.”
The nurse nodded and moved to stand at the foot of the bed.
“How do you feel today, Miss Braxton?”
“My head still hurts some, but not bad. Why hasn’t my aunt arrived to take me home?”
“I’m sorry but we’ve not been able to locate her.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Let me ask you, what day is today?”
“Let’s see, I’ve been here almost a full day. The party aboard the boat was, what, Saturday? So, it is Sunday, right? Or Monday?” Those knockout drinks might have had her sleeping longer than she’d thought.
The doctor and nurse exchanged a glance. “What’s wrong? Isn’t that right?” She shrugged. “I could be a day or two off.”
“It’s not the day we’re worried about Miss Braxton. It’s the date.”
“Oh, June second, maybe the third. Why?”
He sighed deeply and leaned back against his chair. His gaze probed hers. Birdie turned to see Nurse Taylor wringing her hands.
"What is the year, Miss Braxton?"
Was this guy nuts? "2012, of course."
Sorrowfully, he shook his head. "No. No, my dear, it is not."
She studied his clothes. Her gaze moved to Nurse Taylor’s long dress and hairstyle, and the cap on her head. If she wasn’t mistaken, they appeared to have stepped right out of a nineteenth century storybook. And that fit right in with the room’s furnishings. “Okay, I’ll bite. What year is it?”
“It’s 1890.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, right! You’re just going along with this nineteenth century costume party theme, right? But, I have to say you’re taking it to the extreme. The party was over last night.”
“I assure you, Miss Braxton, Nurse Taylor and I are not part of a costume party.” He cleared his throat. “We could not reach your aunt by telephone. The address you gave us doesn’t exist. I fear you’ve suffered some brain anomaly due to the wound to your head or perhaps caused by your near-death experience.”
He rose from the chair. “Nurse Taylor will take you outside for a while. Maybe the fresh air will blow the cobwebs from your head.”
The nurse scurried for the door. “I’ll be right back with a wheeled chair, Miss Braxton.”
Dr. Franks patted her hand. “Everything will come back to you in time. If not, there are treatments that will help. We’ll move you to a sanatorium and they’ll have you back to yourself in no time.”
A sanatorium? They used shock treatments and God only knows what other type of primitive means of torture. She hid her hands under the covers to prevent the doctor from seeing her trembling. God, was this Victorian comedy someone’s idea of a sick joke?
“We’ll put notices in the newspapers and hopefully your aunt will see them and come for you.”
“I’m not going to a sanatorium, Dr. Franks. I’ve read enough to know what goes on in those places.” She couldn’t contain a shudder and gripped handfuls of the bottom sheet to still the shakes.
He wrinkled his brow, obviously dismayed by her negative judgment of their methods.
“Well, perhaps we can work out something else for you. Ah, here’s your carriage.”
Nurse Taylor rolled in the ancient wheelchair, complete with a wicker back, she’d ridden in earlier.
“Enjoy your time outside, Miss Braxton. The water wagon just sprayed down the road so you should be able to enjoy the view without dust blowing in the off the street.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and giggled instead.
Water wagon? What on earth was he talking about?
She couldn’t remember any dirt streets in Waco. They were laying this nineteenth century business on thick.
A wheelchair ramp occupied half of the wide stairwell. Fearing she’d be tossed or run into the wall, Birdie gripped the armrests as Nurse Taylor wheeled her down the slope, but the nurse was a pro and they were soon zooming through the lobby.
No one else was outside on the lawn. Thank goodness, as Birdie felt ridiculous being wheeled out the door in the ancient contraption. In a gown and robe no less. Nurse Taylor parked her under a large oak tree with her back to the massive trunk. Wrought iron benches were strategically placed for visitors to sit with their loved ones. The white frame building sat alone at the edge of a manicured lawn of Bermuda grass or some other similar variety. It wasn’t the St. Augustine she’d grown up with in the yard at Birdie’s Nest. One lone road, sure enough it was white caliche, wound in a circle up to the packed clay walkway.
Hair rose on the back of her neck, butterflies fought in her stomach. She struggled to breathe. A carriage sat out front with a horse. A man stood nearby as if waiting for someone. Her gaze returned to the hospital structure. Two stories high, the windows rose tall on each floor, and a wide porch spanned the front exterior. It was lined with rocking chairs. Hanging baskets added color to the white clapboard.
An older lady bustled out the front door and down the steps. Dressed in dark gray, she unfurled a matching parasol and held it above her head. The man by the carriage pushed away from the bench he leaned against and waited to help her into the buggy. When she was seated in the back, he climbed aboard, clicked the reins and the horse trotted off.
Through the trees, Birdie could see a house here and there, each a great distance from the other. She turned and gazed across the ravine that ran parallel to the road. Buildings rose in the distance, probably two to three miles away so she couldn’t make out much, but the black smoke rising from factories was hard to miss. As was the suspension bridge that spanned the Brazos. Her house was missing across the water though a few buildings dotted the green river bank. Her chest muscles tightened and pinpricks dotted her body as adrenaline rushed through her system.
This was too perfect to be an elaborate act. Dr. Franks, Nurse Taylor, and Detective Ethan weren’t dressed up in Victorian clothes for her benefit, and this building would make any historian proud. And worst of all, Aunt Patty was missing.
This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming and will wake up any minute.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, Miss Braxton?”
Her chin trembled, but she couldn’t seem to still it. She shook her head. “No. I’m ready to go in now.”
“A nice nap will make everything appear better. You’re not alone. I promise.” Nurse Taylor unset the brake on the chair and within a few minutes, was helping Birdie into her bed.
Nap? That’s all she’d done. She needed to think, figure out what was going on here, get well and make plans to escape whatever hell she’d found herself in, but her head pounded. She’d close her eyes for a few minutes and try to make sense of her situation. Nurse Taylor removed one of the pillows so she could lie back, and then smoothed the covers and pulled the sheet up over her breasts. “You have a couple of guests.” She winked. “Gentlemen callers.”
Oh goodie. Probably Carl Samuelson trying to take the heat off himself by attempting to convince her he wasn’t the one who’d tossed her overboard. When she felt better, she’d slap him into cuffs. If she couldn’t gather enough evidence to keep him in jail, she’d find a way to get it. “Show them in.”
Detective Ethan walked in with a tall man dressed in a pinstriped dress suit with a vest. She hid her smirk behind her hand. Darned if his get-up didn’t resemble the clothes worn by Billy the Kid and other outlaws of the late nineteen hundreds. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a gun belt strapped to his hip. But no, he was unarmed. Her eyes traveled from his waist, up to his broad shoulders, and settled on his face. She’d seen him before, but where? Time in the sun had lined the skin around his blue eyes and his mouth. No doubt women found his open grin engaging. And though she worked in law-enforcement and enjoyed many pursuits others considered manly, she was a woman and appreciated a fine looking specimen. She smiled back but kept the expression impersonal.
“Miss Braxton, this is Tad Lockhart. He’s the man who fished you from the Brazos.”
The man fiddled with the hat he held at his waist, smoothing the rim as he turned it round and round. “How are you feeling, ma’am?”
“Much better. Thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t been there, I guess I’d be rotting on the bottom by now.”
“Actually, I can’t take full credit. Two boys fishing on the bank spotted you. One tried to haul you up, but couldn’t. I heard their shouts for help.”
Thank God. She had too much living to do to lose her life right now. “Well, thank goodness you were there.”
Nurse Taylor came in with a beautiful bouquet of daisies. “These are from Mr. Lockhart. Aren’t they lovely?” She set them on the bedside table and then rushed out.
Birdie’s heart thumped a little faster. It’d had been awhile since a man bought her flowers. “They are. Thank you, Mr. Lockhart. How’d you know daisies were my favorite flower?”
He flashed a smile, deepening the dimples in his cheeks of his face. Mighty fine-looking face she might add. “They’re my mother’s favorite also, so I took a chance you’d like them.”
“Well, they do brighten up the room. What a shame they’ll die in a few days. I wonder if I could get an aspirin to put in the water. It helps keep them fresh.”
The two men exchanged confused glances. That’s right. This was 1890, or so they wanted her to believe, and aspirin wasn’t a household item until 1899 when Bayer supplied powders to physicians. Hmm, amazing that she could remember that little tidbit from high school health class. Actually, with each passing minute, she believed their take on the situation more. How she could be in 1890, she didn’t know, but if she were to survive, she had to rethink her theory of a costume party.
Mr. Lockhart coughed. “I understand you’ve not been able to get in touch with your folks, ma’am. I’ll check with my mother. She’s related to some Braxtons. Maybe she can locate someone in your family.” He grinned. “According to her, she knows everyone within three counties.”