How Dreams Could Hurt


How Dreams Could Hurt


How Dreams Could Hurt

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The next morning, I awoke to the sound of a horse’s whinny. It was followed by another and then yet more until it seemed like every single one in town had joined together for early-morning chorus practice.

The noise made me cringe as my eyes opened; even if they were outside our window, that didn’t mean there weren’t other rooms nearby where someone could be sleeping peacefully or at least trying to sleep quietly.

My heart sank when I realized how loud the horses’ hooves sounded on the hard ground compared with the soft carpeting inside this house. If we stayed here much longer, I’d have no peace whatsoever—and neither would anyone else who lived near us.

And what about Mrs. Burdette? She might not mind living beside a stable but she sure wouldn’t want her family disturbed all night long either. That meant we needed to move again soon so I could get some rest before going back into work mode tomorrow afternoon. But first things first…

“What time is it?” I asked Mary after sitting up in bed. “I’m afraid you’re right,” she said sadly while looking out the window toward the stables across from ours. We both knew exactly why those animals were making such racket: their owners wanted them exercised well ahead of dawn because most ranchers started working around sunrise.

While that wasn’t unusual, it did make getting any sleep difficult unless we used earplugs. Fortunately, we hadn’t forgotten to pack them along with everything else last night since we planned to stay only two nights.

Now that we were staying longer than expected, however, we couldn’t afford to forget anything important. Not now that I’d lost my job. What kind of life would I lead without money coming in regularly? How many times would Mr. Burdette fire me over something he considered trivial? Or worse, how often would I quit rather than endure his abuse anymore?

Mary looked down at her hands folded neatly atop the coverlet. Her fingers moved slightly against each other, almost as though she were playing some sort of game with herself. Once again I wondered whether she really understood just how serious losing her father’s ranch was for everyone involved.

Even if we managed to find some way to save it through selling off land, it still wouldn’t put food on the table or pay bills already owed. Nor would it help keep the mortgage paid so Mary and I could live somewhere decent instead of having to share a tiny room like these women.

Neither option was good enough for me. No matter what happened between us, I refused to let Mary suffer needlessly.

“It must be close to six o’clock.”

“Then I guess we should go downstairs and see what Mrs. Burdette has waiting for us today,” I said hopefully. Despite being tired, I felt excited too. Maybe we’d finally learn which direction we needed to take in order to reach our destination.

More importantly, maybe we’d also discover something useful about the man who hired us or perhaps even about him personally. He certainly acted like a wealthy businessman despite the fact that he wore cowboy boots, jeans, and flannel shirts.

None of his clothes cost more than $5 apiece. Yet somehow he always appeared clean and neat regardless of how dirty his clothing became during the day. His brown hair never fell flat or greasy. In addition, he rode a fine horse everywhere he went.

Perhaps the reason he chose to wear old clothes was simply that he preferred wearing comfortable ones instead of expensive suits. After all, what woman would ever fall for a rich guy whose wardrobe consisted mostly of cotton pants and worn-out shoes?

“You know…” Mary began slowly, “we haven’t been able to ask her very much about Mr. Burdette himself.”

“Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t seem interested in talking about him. Most likely, she thinks it won’t do us any good anyway. All we can say for certain is that she knows nothing about his past except that he bought the ranch years ago and hasn’t sold any part of it.

As far as we’ve learned, he owns several ranches throughout Colorado and Wyoming. At least that’s true for the three closest to Denver and Cheyenne.”

“Do you think she’ll tell us anything new once we meet her husband?”

“Maybe. Of course, we don’t even know if he will talk to us at all. For all we know, he may be one of those men who prefer to avoid people altogether.”

That possibility worried me. “If that turns out to be the case, then we might end up spending weeks searching for clues to his whereabouts. Meanwhile, our clients are growing impatient and wondering why they bothered hiring us in the first place. They deserve better service than that!”

Mary nodded solemnly. She seemed troubled by this thought. So did I. But neither of us had an answer. It didn’t matter how hard I tried; I couldn’t come up with a solution either. If we ended up asking every person living within fifty miles where Mr. Burdette lived, we probably still wouldn’t have found him.

The best thing to do was get back into town and start canvassing the entire area. That meant leaving here sooner rather than later. And yet…

“We shouldn’t rush things,” I told myself aloud. “No matter how frustrated we feel, we should try to wait before acting rashly. There’s no telling when we might stumble upon information that would prove invaluable. Besides, there’s another problem. You remember how upset Mr. Burdette got yesterday morning after learning that we weren’t married?”

She sighed heavily. “Yes, but—”

“He seems to believe that we’re lovers. Which means he may suspect something else entirely.”

Her eyes widened. “What makes you think so?”

I hesitated briefly. Then I decided to speak my mind. “Mr. Burdette isn’t the type of man who takes kindly to anyone knowing he’s gay. Not only does he dislike sharing personal details about himself, but he also dislikes others speculating about them as well. We both saw firsthand how angry he was last night. Now imagine what he might do if he learns that we actually slept together.”

The look on Mary’s face chilled me. I hadn’t realized until now just how dangerous our situation truly was. No wonder he kept such a low profile. What kind of man could afford to hire two women without revealing his sexual preference?

One of us alone wasn’t enough to attract attention from nosy neighbors and curious lawmen. The two of us were quite different. Our presence would surely draw unwanted scrutiny. A single word from Mr. Burdette might cause someone to report us to the police. Or worse, it might make other ranchers decide to turn us over to the authorities themselves!

“How long do you suppose we have left?” Mary asked quietly.

“At least ten days,” I replied. “But let’s hope that time passes quickly. Otherwise, our lives may become extremely complicated.”

***

When we returned upstairs, Mrs. Burdette met us at the door. Her expression remained unchanged since the previous evening. Neither she nor her husband looked happy to see us again. Their faces betrayed their displeasure at having company while they ate dinner.

Still, although I sensed some tension between us, neither of them made any effort to stop us. In fact, they acted like everything was normal. Maybe they really believed that we were merely friends visiting each other. After all, they’d never seen us interact or converse with one another. Therefore, they assumed that we knew nothing more than that.

After supper, we sat down beside Mr. Burdette on the porch. He stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to our presence. His wife stood behind him, watching us closely. When we finally spoke, she turned toward us.

“Did you find what you needed?” she demanded.

“Not exactly.” I glanced around nervously. “Actually, we came across something unexpected—something that worries us greatly.”

Mrs. Burdette frowned. “And what might that be?”

“It has to do with your husband. Do you mind if we discuss it privately?”

For a moment, she appeared confused. Then her features cleared and she gave us permission to enter the house. Once inside, we took seats near the fireplace. While Mary poured us tea, I explained what we learned during our visit to the ranch.

As soon as I finished talking, I expected her to ask questions. Instead, however, she simply listened intently. Afterward, she said little except that she hoped we would return tomorrow.

Neither of us liked the idea of returning here twice in less than twenty-four hours. However, we felt compelled to follow through with our promise. At least, we wanted to give ourselves the opportunity to learn more about Mr. Burdette’s background before making a decision regarding his future employment status.

As for me, I wished we could leave right away. For several reasons, including the possibility of being reported to the sheriff, it would be wise not to linger too long. Yet even though we planned to depart early, I dreaded saying goodnight to Mr. Burdette. Somehow, I doubted that he would welcome us back anytime soon.

While waiting for Mary to finish dressing, I paced restlessly in front of the fire. With every step, I became increasingly nervous. My heart pounded against my ribs, causing me to gasp loudly. The sound echoed off the walls. It seemed louder than usual because I couldn’t hear anything outside. That meant that no one had yet arrived home. If we waited much longer, we might miss our chance altogether.

Mary called out from the bedroom. “Are you ready?”

“Almost.” I hurried into the room and pulled on my coat. “Just need to grab this.”

My fingers fumbled with the buttons. Suddenly I remembered why we didn’t wear these things often: They were hard work. But by the time I managed to get dressed, Mary already had hers on. She wore a black dress instead of gray, but otherwise, there weren’t many differences between ours.

Both dresses featured a high neckline; short sleeves with three small ruffles at the wrist; an empire waist; and full skirts. And both outfits ended above the knee.

We tied our hair up under hats that matched those worn by the women in town. To complete the disguise, we added dark glasses to hide our eyes and painted our lips red. We also donned gloves so that we wouldn’t accidentally touch each other when exchanging words.

I followed Mary downstairs. Outside, I paused briefly to look over the fence. Although it wasn’t very tall, it still provided enough privacy to prevent anyone from seeing us unless they happened to glance directly below. From where we stood, we could clearly make out the silhouettes of horses grazing nearby.

A few moments later, Mary joined me. Together, we walked down the street until we reached the main road.

The night air was cool. Even though the sky was clear, stars glittered brightly overhead. There was only one problem: No moon shone tonight. Without its light, the darkness enveloped us completely.

Fortunately, the streets were well-lit. Street lamps lined the sidewalks, casting shadows onto the pavement. Lights burned within most houses. Most likely, people stayed indoors after sundown. Only a handful of men loitered along the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes or drinking whiskey from paper bags.

One man carried two bottles wrapped in brown butcher’s cloths. Another held a bottle of wine while another drank from a flask. All four looked like they belonged in jail rather than walking the streets.

Ahead lay the railroad tracks. Beyond them, a cluster of buildings rose higher than any others in town. Each structure consisted of multiple stories. Some housed saloons, restaurants, gambling halls, and theaters.

Others contained large shops stocked with everything from boots to saddles. What surprised me was how close together all the structures were situated. In fact, some businesses shared the same building. On occasion, we passed a group of laughing men who sat huddled beneath a roofless porch.

After crossing the tracks, we turned toward the center of town. Traffic moved slowly past us. Horses whinnied, dogs barked, and children shouted. Men cursed loudly as their mules stumbled. Women gossiped among themselves. Children ran ahead of us, chasing cats and playing tag.

At last, we approached the first shop on Main Street, which sold clothing. Its sign read: JAMES BROWN’S CLOTHING STORE. As we neared the door, I noticed the name James Brown. He must have been related to Mr. Burdette.

This explained why we hadn’t seen him during our visit yesterday. Perhaps he worked in the store. Or maybe he owned it. Either way, it made sense that someone named James would run such a business.

When we entered the establishment, the bell tinkled. An older woman wearing a white smock greeted us inside. Her face appeared wrinkly and her hair thinning. She smiled warmly, revealing teeth stained yellow from tobacco smoke. “Good evening,” she said in a friendly tone. “How can I help you?”

Without answering, I went straight to the counter and placed my hat and coat beside mine. Then I asked, “Do you sell guns here? Unloaded ones, preferably.”

She nodded. “Yes sir. You’ll find what you’re looking for upstairs. Please follow me.”

For a moment, I thought about asking if we could see the merchandise before buying. However, I decided against doing so because we might not be able to afford anything anyway. Instead, I took Mary’s arm and led her up the stairs.

The noise level increased dramatically once we stepped outside the store. People talked louder, laughed more boisterously, and sang songs. Music played somewhere near the back of the store. It sounded like a piano accompanied by drums.

As soon as we arrived at the top floor, I stopped dead in my tracks. My mouth dropped open. Where did they come from? Why now? How long had they waited? These questions raced through my mind. Yet no answers came. Just then, a young boy darted into view. His cheeks were flushed pink from running around too much. When his mother called him away, he left behind a trail of footprints on the carpet.

“What are you staring at?” Mary whispered harshly. “You know perfectly well why we’re here!”

I rubbed my forehead. For a second, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. We’d never expected to encounter this many people. If there weren’t already so many customers waiting in line, I wouldn’t even bother coming today.

But since we didn’t want to waste time searching elsewhere, we needed to buy something—and quickly. So far, none of the weapons seemed appealing. They all looked similar except for the type of gun and caliber. That meant I probably shouldn’t pick one based solely on appearance.

Mary nudged my shoulder. “Come on! Let’s get moving.”

We followed the lady downstairs again. A few minutes later, we reached the front of the line. Once we paid for the weapon, we headed out the door. Before leaving, I glanced over my shoulder. At least twenty other people stood nearby, waiting their turn.

Many wore hats, coats, or scarves pulled low across their faces. Not everyone bought firearms. Other items included knives, revolvers, swords, pistols, rifles, shotguns, and ammunition.

***

Back home in Virginia City, Montana Territory, we found ourselves surrounded by wide-open spaces. There wasn’t any traffic congestion, nor did anyone ever honk a car horn. And while most towns boasted one church, ours had four.

Our house also faced an unpaved road that connected to nowhere else but the train station. No wonder we rarely encountered strangers. Now, after traveling nearly five thousand miles westward, I felt lost. Unsure where to go next. Unprepared for the sights and sounds. Most disconcerting of all was the realization that I didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

The following morning, we walked down the street with our purchases under our arms. After passing the bank, we crossed the tracks and continued south along Main Street. In less than ten minutes, we passed several shops, including a livery stable, two saloons, and a barbershop.

All three establishments advertised goods and services. One boasted the latest fashions; another offered haircuts, shaves, and hot baths. Both promised cleanliness.

Just beyond those businesses lay a row of houses. Some were small and plain, others large and ornate. Each contained its own unique features. From the outside, some resembled log cabins, whereas others reminded me of mansions. Others still bore the look of homes built hundreds of years ago.

On the opposite side of the street, we spotted a group of men standing on the corner. Their clothes suggested they belonged to the same gang as the night before. Two of them held horses tied to hitching posts. Another man sat atop a horse, holding onto a rope attached to a wagon. He waved us toward him when we approached.

“Hello,” said the driver. “Are you new in town? Or maybe just visiting?”

He spoke softly, yet his voice carried easily. Like it always did. With each word, I grew more intrigued. What made him different from every other person I met? Did he have a secret? Was he hiding something? As usual, I wanted to ask him a million questions. To learn everything possible about him. Unfortunately, I knew better than to do so.

Instead, I asked how long he planned to stay in the area.

“A couple weeks. Maybe longer.”

That surprised me. Even though I hadn’t been here very long myself, I assumed most travelers stayed only until business concluded. Then they moved on. This man obviously intended to remain awhile. Perhaps he would tell me what brought him to the territory.

“Where are you heading?” I asked instead of answering his question. Although he appeared friendly enough, I doubted we shared common interests. It might be best not to mention our connection. The fewer people who knew, the safer we both could become.

His smile widened. “Why don’t you ride up front? You can see exactly where we’re going.”

For the first time, I noticed the red bandanna wrapped around his head. Since he wore a hat, I figured it must protect him against the sun. Nevertheless, I thought nothing of it at the moment. Instead, I climbed aboard and took a seat beside him.

Mary rode behind us. She kept her eyes straight ahead. Neither she nor I talked during the entire trip. Nor did either of us make eye contact. While riding the stagecoach, I often felt uncomfortable talking to strangers. Especially if I suspected someone was trying to gather information. Fortunately, neither of these men gave off such vibes.

As we neared the outskirts of town, I saw a sign advertising a hotel called the Golden Goose. On top of the building, six golden geese flapped their wings in unison. For a second, I wondered why the name of this establishment sounded familiar. But then I realized I’d never heard of it. Still, I couldn’t help wondering whether there was a reason for naming it thusly.

When we arrived, I jumped down from the coach and helped Mary disembark. We thanked the driver and watched him drive away. When I turned back to face the hotel, I froze. Directly across the street loomed a tall structure that looked like no other place I’d seen before—or since.

A few steps led to a wooden door covered with ivy vines. Above the doorway, a plaque read: THE GOLDEN GOOSE HOTEL.

Mary nudged my arm. “Come inside. Let’s find out what kind of accommodations await us.”

I followed her through the entrance and into the lobby. Immediately upon entering, I smelled wood smoke. Not surprising considering the fireplace burned brightly. Alongside the hearth stood a white marble statue depicting Jesus Christ hanging on the cross. Three gold candlesticks rested near it, illuminating the room with warm light.

We found ourselves in an open space filled with tables and chairs. At one end of the floor, a counter ran parallel to the wall. Behind the desk, a young woman sat reading a newspaper while sipping coffee. Her hair fell halfway down her back. She glanced up briefly, but quickly returned to her paper.

After returning to the main hall, we stopped by the stairs leading upstairs. They seemed too narrow for anyone over five feet four inches. Yet somehow, I managed to climb them without incident. Once again, I marveled at the fact that I had grown accustomed to traveling alone.

And now, I believed I could travel anywhere. No matter the distance or obstacles. If necessary, I would walk all day and sleep under the stars. In short order, I learned to adapt.

The hallway above offered three rooms. One was occupied; two remained vacant. Both bedrooms were furnished much like mine. That is, except for the lack of windows. The walls surrounding each bedroom consisted entirely of glass panes. From the outside, passersby could look directly into the chamber. Obviously, privacy wasn’t an issue.

In addition, the ceilings in both chambers rose high overhead. Each also featured a large bedroom complete with a feather mattress. There was even a small table next to the window. All furnishings matched. So far, I liked what I saw.

“Which room should I take?” I asked.

She pointed toward the left-hand corner. “This way.”

Not wanting to waste any time, I headed for the right side. As soon as I stepped onto the landing, I paused. Something about the layout bothered me. Too many doors opened inward. Why wouldn’t the builders have used the same design throughout? Wasn’t symmetry important when constructing a house?

Before I could ask Mary, she caught up with me. “What do you think?”

“It looks fine,” I said, although I didn’t know why I answered so readily. After all, I was still feeling uneasy.

While walking past the third bedroom, we passed another set of double doors. This time, they swung outward instead of upward. To our surprise, a man dressed in black appeared. He grinned broadly. His teeth glistened beneath his mustache. Then he held out a hand. “Welcome to the Golden Goose Hotel!”

The End

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