Losing A Shoe In A Dream
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The tall thin building stood black against the deep blue sky, and the long black shadows of the huge trees in the yard reached to its roof and looked like long arms that reached out to touch the sky. The white picket fence that ran along the edge of the yard had been well maintained, and the gate was open to allow a horse and wagon through.
All this was familiar to me, and I looked at the building with some disappointment. It looked unoccupied. A large red barn stood near it, and I wondered if anyone lived in it. No lights shone through the windows, and as I approached, I saw a man standing behind the bar in the saloon.
“Excuse me,” I said to him. “I’m looking for a Mr. Henry Smythe.”
“He’s not here,” the bartender said. “He might be in the back.”
“I was told he would be here.”
“He’s not. It’s his brother who owns this place and runs it. He’s not here either.”
“I came because I’m looking for someone,” I said to him. “I’m sure you know who it is.”
“It’s his brother,” he said again. “You’re looking for Henry Smythe.”
The bartender didn’t seem to understand why I needed to find his brother, but I didn’t seem to understand why he didn’t.
“But I came here because I was told that’s where my brother was,” I said to him. “You can’t tell me where he is?”
The bartender looked at me as if he didn’t understand what I was talking about. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said. “I need to find my brother.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Mrs. Thurston,” I said, “and my brother is Henry Smythe.”
The bartender looked at me as if he didn’t understand what I was talking about, but before he could ask me again who I was looking for, another man entered the saloon. He wore a tight-fitting blue shirt and a black vest, and his broad shoulders seemed to fill up the room.
A hat was pushed slightly forward on his head, and his eyes seemed to peer from every direction as if he was always watching over our shoulders. The man nodded toward me as if he recognized me, and then he looked at the bartender, who nodded toward the door of the saloon.
“Come with me,” he said to me as he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the door. “We’ll go upstairs.”
As we stepped into a narrow hall with a wooden banister leading up to a second floor, I saw several doors lined the walls with stairs leading up each one of them.
To my right was an open doorway that led to a parlor with a wide staircase at its far end that looked like it led up to a third-floor hallway or maybe a fourth-floor hallway, as the landings seemed too far away to reach from the staircase.
A large window let in a shaft of light into the room and seemed to cut off any other light from entering until we stepped out into an open area with windows all around us that opened into a wide hallway that extended back into a building.
As we stepped out into this hall, I glanced toward the open doorway leading back into the parlor and saw two men in gray suits with gloves on their hands talking to each other in low voices as they watched us with suspicious eyes.
“Where are we?” I asked the man who had pulled me out of the saloon.
“This is our town, Mrs. Thurston,” he said, “and this is our hotel.” He took me by the hand and led me back into the main part of the building where a series of stairs led up to another floor. “We have rooms on all three floors,” he said as we climbed the stairs to a room at the very top of the building.
The room was small, but it was clean, and it had three windows that let in shafts of light that fell across the floor and gave it some warmth. There was only one bed in the room, but there were hooks on the wall next to it where we hung our hats and coats when we entered.
He showed me to a chair in front of a small table where we sat down across from each other. “You’re welcome here,” he said, “but you can’t stay here unless you pay for your room.”
“I don’t have any money,” I said. “My husband left me with nothing.”
He looked at me as if he didn’t understand what I was talking about. “Your husband left you with nothing?” he asked. “What happened?”
“My husband died,” I said quietly as my heart felt like it was being crushed inside my chest, “and I’ve come here looking for him.”
The sad look on his face made me feel sad as well. He looked like he didn’t understand what I was saying, but even if he did understand what I was talking about, I realized there was nothing he could do because there were no such things as ghosts here and this place had been abandoned four years ago.
“You can stay here tonight,” he said to me as he picked up a piece of paper and began writing on it without looking at me, “but you’ll have to pay for your room tomorrow.” He handed me the paper before turning his attention back toward his writing without looking at me again.
“I’ll pay for my room tomorrow,” I promised him, “but I need to know where my brother is.”
“I can’t tell you where your brother is,” he said as he handed me a key chain made of leather with a small key attached to it, “but you can drop by anytime and ask for Alton.” He handed me a piece of paper with his name written on it and then pointed down at my shoes before pointing back toward the door of the hotel.
“You can leave your shoes here,” he said, “and then you can leave your coat with us so we can hang it on this rack with all the other coats when we’re not using them.”
“Thank you,” I said as I stood up and thanked him for his help before walking out onto the street again by myself. My feet were sore from walking all day, but even through my pain, my mind seemed to feel numb from the day’s events and my thoughts were preoccupied with Henry’s whereabouts and whether or not I would ever find him.
***
As I waited for W. J. Thurston to return to his place of business in the middle of town, I looked around at everything that surrounded us: tall buildings that seemed taller than any buildings in Chicago; dusty streets that stretched out in front of us with horses trotting along each side of us; and people everywhere who seemed to be on their way somewhere else.
I was tired of walking around and didn’t know how far out of town we had come or how long it would take to get back to the train station. Maybe I should have borrowed one of these horses and ridden into town like W. J. Thurston suggested because it would have been faster than walking, but my feet were already so sore that I didn’t think I could ride a horse.
My mind was desperately trying to find a way to get home when a man stepped out from behind a building and walked up to me. “Hello there,” he said as he smiled at me. “Are you looking for something?”
“I’m looking for Henry Thurston,” I said quietly as his smile faded away from his face after hearing my name.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know any Thurston.”
I looked around at all the people milling about, but no one seemed like they were an older brother or an older brother who might be lost like I was. “Where did you see him last?” I asked him.
“I saw him just last week in Chicago,” he said as he pointed straight ahead toward the center of town where there was a large square that contained a number of buildings and a large blacksmith shop that made me think of my brother because I remembered how much Henry liked to watch the blacksmiths work.
“He was working in a restaurant,” he informed me, “and you’re not supposed to go into restaurants.”
“Are you a blacksmith?” I asked him as I looked back at him.
“No,” he said, “I’m not a blacksmith. Why are you asking me that?”
“My brother works in a restaurant,” I said to him, “but he’s not supposed to be working in a restaurant.”
“Then what are you doing here?” he asked as his eyes seemed to be focused on something behind me.
“I’m visiting my brother,” I said as I turned around and looked into the distance, “but when I came here and saw all the horses, I thought maybe Henry might be riding one of those horses.” It was a foolish thought because if that were true, then I would have seen him by now when I was walking around by myself.
“You’re here visiting your brother?” he asked me curiously. “How long have you been here?”
“I have no idea,” I replied as my heart sank after realizing how much time had passed since Henry left Chicago for this small town in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like we had been traveling forever and I doubted that we were still in Illinois by now because we had been in Ohio for so long.
“Would you like to visit with me awhile?” he asked me as he took my hand in his and pulled me away from the street and toward a building that was close to the square and then opened the door for me before letting me walk inside. “I’m currently working for a hotel here in town,” he said as he closed the door behind us, “and when I’m not working here, I’m working for W. J. Thurston.”
He led me down a long hallway that continued into another hallway filled with doors and then up a flight of stairs to the second floor until we reached his room where he opened the door for me.
“I hope you don’t mind if I ask where your brother is from,” he said as he took off his hat and then sat on his bed while extending his hand toward me, “because if you’re from Chicago, then you’re from Chicago.”
“I’m not from Chicago,” I said, “and my brother is from here.”
“Then where did you come from?” he wondered as he sat back on his bed.
“I came from New York,” I told him honestly, “but we were traveling through Chicago when we came here.”
“New York?” he exclaimed as he sat up straight and put his hat back on his head before asking, “Do you have any money?”
“I have some money, but not enough to pay you for taking me to my brother,” I said to him as I sat down on his bed, “but maybe if you tell me what you want me to do—”
He waved his hand at me to stop talking. “No need to ask what I want you to do,” he said, “because you’re hired.”
***
Henry Thurston’s brother wasn’t working at the restaurant anymore and he wasn’t working in a restaurant as an employee or a cook or even as a waiter. He was working in the hotel as an employee. He was working in the hotel! My mind was full of thoughts as I sat there staring at Henry’s brother. “Why is your brother working here?” I asked him as I looked up at him.
“My brother is an accountant,” he told me, “but when my brother quit working for the hotel and started working in a restaurant instead, he decided to get rid of all his accounting books because he wanted to work in a hotel instead.”
“What was your brother doing before he quit working for the hotel?” I asked him curiously.
“My brother was running away from home,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders, “because we had some sort of disagreement.” He didn’t seem like he cared one way or another about my brother and that bothered me because it made me think that Henry might not care about me either if it weren’t for some sort of disagreement.
“Where is your brother now?” I asked him after watching him for a moment.
“He’s gone back home,” Henry’s brother answered with a shrug of his shoulders, “but even if he wasn’t gone now, we would probably never see each other again because we don’t like each other very much.”
“Who is your father?” I asked him curiously.
“My father died before I was born,” he said as he headed toward the door and then opened it for me before leading me outside and down the street to where we could be alone again, “so why are you asking me all these questions?”
“I’m not asking you any questions,” I told him as we walked down the street together, “and my name is not ‘Miss,'” I told him, “it’s Alaina.”
I didn’t know why I was doing this but I couldn’t stop myself from asking questions. The more questions I asked him, the more curious I became about Henry Thurston’s family and why his brother didn’t like him very much.
***
When we reached a small building that housed the general store, Henry’s brother led me inside and hopped on one of the two wooden stools that were placed on either side of the general store counter. “I’m sorry I had to leave you here alone with that woman,” he apologized as he ran his hand over his head, “but I had to run an errand for Mr. Thurston.”
I looked down at my hands and then at my feet as I tried to think of something to say to him as I began to feel very uncomfortable sitting there with his brother who was uncomfortably close to me. “You’re very nice and polite,” I said to him, “but I’m sorry I have nothing for you to buy.”
“There’s nothing here for you to buy either,” he told me as he stared at me, “because we don’t have any money.”
I held up my hands in front of me and said, “It’s okay. I don’t need money.” He looked at me with surprise and then covered his hand with his hat before saying, “I’ll go back to work now,” and then walked toward the door where we had just come from.
I stood up and followed him. “Wait!” I called out after him. He stopped and turned around, and I nodded toward the door to the general store. “Tell Mr. Thurston that Alaina wants to speak with him.”
“What about?” he asked me as he turned around again and headed back toward the door.
“Tell him that I want to talk to him about something important,” I told him as I stepped into the store after him, “something very important.”
***
Henry Thurston’s brother didn’t want to tell Mr. Thurston that Alaina wanted to talk to him about something important. He wanted to tell Mr. Thurston that Alaina wanted to buy something from the general store and that her life wasn’t very pleasant, but it was important that she tell Mr. Thurston that she wanted to talk to him about something important.
When Mr. Thurston finally agreed to see her, it was almost too late because Alaina was already sitting on one of the stools on the other side of the counter from where he stood behind the counter and stared at her. What did Alaina want to talk about?
“I want to ask you something very important,” she told Mr. Thurston as she looked at me with a concerned look on her face, “and I don’t want you or your brother to tell me what I should do.”
“How can we tell?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously, “because no matter what you ask us, we won’t be able to tell you what you should do.”
“You could tell me what your mother thinks about this,” Alaina suggested as she looked at me with a questioning look on her face, “because the last time my mother saw my father, she told him she didn’t want him going back home because he killed someone.”
“What did your father do?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously as he looked at her strangely. “Was he in jail?”
“No,” Alaina told him as she shook her head, “he wasn’t in jail because he didn’t kill anyone. He killed a man who was trying to kill my mother,” she explained as she looked at me with a troubled look on her face, “and then when my father went home, my mother told him that she didn’t want him going back home because he killed someone.”
“How did your father kill this man?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously.
“My father used to be a gunfighter,” Alaina told him as she stared at him with a troubled look on her face, “and when a man tried to kill my mother again, he killed him.”
“What was this man’s name?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously.
“His name was Jim Patterson,” Alaina said as she looked at me with a troubled look on her face, “and when my father killed Patterson, my mother told my father that he had killed someone for the first time in his life.”
“What happened after your father killed Patterson?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously.
“My father told me not to tell anyone what he had done,” Alaina explained as she looked at me with a troubled look on her face, “but once again, a man tried to kill my mother and this time my father saved her life.”
“Who was this man?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously.
“His name was Frank Creek,” she told him as she looked at me with a troubled look on her face, “and when my father shot Creek, then he shot Frank Creek’s brother in the head.”
“That sounds like a very painful way to die,” Mr. Thurston said in a solemn voice as he stared at me with a very troubled look on his face, “and it also sounds like your father was in a very good position for a gunfight.”
“Yes,” Alaina said as she shook her head slowly from side to side, “it was a very painful way to die.”
“Why were you in this gunfight?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously.
“Because Frank Creek’s brother had just tried to kill me,” Alaina said as she shook her head slowly from side to side, “and when Frank Creek’s brother took off his hat and waved it at me before shooting at me, then I kicked his hat out of the way and shot down his brother before Frank Creek’s brother could shoot me.”
“Did you shoot Frank Creek in the back?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously. “Because if you did, then I think I’d feel sorry for him.”
“Yes,” Alaina said as she shook her head slowly from side to side, “I shot Frank Creek in the back because he tried to shoot me down.”
“How did your father know that one of his men had tried to shoot you down?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously. “Because if anything happened to you, then we would have been in quite a bit of trouble.”
“My father knew because he saw the hat fall out of the hat rack over there,” Alaina said as she pointed at the hat rack in the corner of the room, “and when my father saw it fall out of the hat rack, he knew it was his man who was trying to kill me.”
“How did your father know that one of his men was trying to hurt you?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously as he stared at her with a very troubled look on his face. “Why didn’t he just turn around and shoot him?”
“Because my father didn’t want a gunfight with any of his men,” Alaina explained as she looked at me with a troubled look on her face, “because it would cause problems.”
“What kind of problems would it cause?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously.
“If one of his men were killed in a gunfight, then the other men would have taken off their hats and waved them around and my father would have known who was trying to kill him,” Alaina answered, “and if it was one of his own men who tried to kill him, then my father wouldn’t have fired a shot because he didn’t want any problems.”
“What kind of problems did your father have with his men?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously as he looked at her with a worried expression on his face. “Were they drinking too much whiskey and causing trouble?”
“No,” Alaina told him as she shook her head slowly from side to side, “my father always thought that if they were drinking too much whiskey then they would drive their horses too hard and end up killing themselves or someone else.”
“What kind of jobs did your father have for these men?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously. “These men must be very good at their jobs if they can drive a horse so hard that it ends up killing itself.”
“My father had them run at least three miles every day,” Alaina said as she shook her head slowly from side to side, “and they never rested their horses on a job unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“How did your father feel about their jobs?” Mr. Thurston asked her curiously. “Were they good jobs or bad jobs?”
“They were very good jobs,” Alaina told him as she shook her head slowly from side to side, “because my father always told me before I started working for him that if I ever quit working for him then I would end up walking seven miles home.”
She paused for a moment and then said, “Or else he would just shoot me down.”
The End