Lost Shoes In A Dream
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I was in a large room where the floor had been sanded and varnished. The room held a bed, two chairs with high backs, and shelves on either side of the door with a few books neatly arranged upon them. There were also a number of framed photographs hung against the wall to my left
. To my right was an archway that led into another room containing more shelves but no other furniture or pictures. One of these shelves was empty except for one pair of shoes and some clothes hanging from pegs. I knew at once who owned those clothes. They belonged to me. But the person wearing them wasn’t me.
It was Susan! That’s when the fear came. I couldn’t believe what she had done—dared to steal her father’s shoes. She must have thought it was the right thing to do, yet it could never be so. It was wrong; very wrong. And now I wanted nothing more than to return his property—his stolen property. So much for being a detective.
A man appeared in the doorway leading into the next room. He looked like someone I’d seen before although I hadn’t recognized him until he spoke. “Susan!”
“No,” came her muffled reply, still hidden behind the closed door.
My heart beat faster and I felt dizzy. Why was this happening? What did Susan plan to do now? Had she already run away again? Or was she planning to come back and face the consequences of stealing his things? Would she admit to having done such a horrible act or would she simply deny everything?
The man called out louder, “Susan—are you there?”
Then he stepped into the next room, calling again, “Susan. Don’t ignore me.”
I moved toward the open doorway hoping to hear some sound of distress coming from within but only silence met my ears. Instead, I heard voices talking about how long I should remain with her.
That’s when I realized I was dreaming. How had I come here? My mind flashed back over all that I remembered of yesterday’s events. The meeting at the boardinghouse where I discovered Susan was a thief; the argument with Mary and the two men.
Then I remembered how I had searched for her after the meeting but she was nowhere to be found. I went to the stable and then home thinking maybe we’d gotten lost on the way; but no, I’d returned by myself. No matter which road I took, I ended up here in this dream-like place.
But what was the real meaning of this dream? Was it merely a warning of what might happen if I didn’t find Susan? Or did I mean something more to Susan than just a stranger who was supposed to stay with her until she returned to her father?
Maybe she planned to use me as some sort of witness against her. I shivered and tried to shake off the feeling that I’d somehow brought this on myself. Yet I’d done no such thing. I was only trying to help her.
“What are they doing?” I asked aloud, unable to hold back any longer. The voices outside the room ceased immediately.
The man in the next room said, “They’re going to keep me here awhile so they can question me.” His voice was low and deep.
“Don’t let them know where you live or they’ll follow you,” came the woman’s voice. I recognized it instantly. It belonged to Susan’s mother—the coldhearted woman who wouldn’t allow her daughter to have a friend. I knew at once why Susan hated her so much: she made her feel ashamed of herself for being born into such a worthless family.
The man spoke again, “You won’t let anyone get near you.”
“No. Not as long as I live. Now go inside and take care of your wife, Willard.”
He laughed bitterly. “We’ll see about that.”
“How dare you!” the woman cried out. “How could you talk that way?”
This seemed strange to me. Did they argue like this often? But the more I listened, the more confused I became. Why would Willard be in trouble now? Was it because he was so angry at Susan? I wondered, had she really stolen his things? If not, then why had he been so upset?
Then I realized I was in danger, too. This woman was probably a vicious murderer, the sort who would harm the people she loved most if they angered her. I needed to get out of here before I got hurt—or killed. I turned around and ran through the archway and then out the front door of the house into the yard before the guards stopped me.
A loud crack filled the air and one guard yelled, “Hold her, boys!” They grabbed me by my arms and pulled me to a halt. A second guard aimed a rifle directly between my eyes. I gasped in horror but couldn’t stop breathing. The other guard cocked his gun.
“Let go of her!” the man with the rifle demanded. “She’s mine.”
I twisted and kicked as hard as I could, knocking him backward. He dropped his gun and fell to the ground.
The woman shouted, “No! You don’t want to shoot her, Willard.”
Another shot rang out and a bullet grazed my shoulder. The pain caused me to jerk forward; one of the guards caught me by my shirt collar, lifted me from the ground, and threw me to the side. Another shot cracked in the air. I lay stunned while blood soaked my shirt. The wound burned and tingled but thankfully didn’t cause me any real damage.
“Get them both,” the woman ordered.
Two men approached, each carrying a weapon. One was armed with a knife, and another had a gun. Both held them behind their backs. Then the woman walked toward me. Before she could reach me, the man with the knife lunged forward and sliced at my neck.
I screamed and kicked in the air, trying to protect myself as I rolled back and forth across the grass. But he wasn’t finished yet; his knife cut deeper down the center of my chest. When his blade came free from my flesh, I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and unable to scream anymore.
The two guards stood over me in silence, watching with cruel gazes as I bled onto the lawn. Finally, one of them knelt beside me and said, “That should make you think twice before you ever come out of hiding, Missy.”
I stared up at him without blinking, unable to move or speak. My vision blurred and soon all I saw were bright white lights flashing in my mind, blinding me. All sound vanished. Everything became darkness.
***
The morning sun rose quickly, bringing light into the room and warming me from the chill I still felt in my bones. For some reason, I woke up early, even though it was almost time for breakfast. I sat up in bed and rubbed my face. I must have fallen asleep last night. How did that happen? After what happened to me at Willard’s place, I never imagined I’d sleep peacefully anywhere else.
I took a closer look at my wounds. No stitches remained; the bullet holes had already closed themselves up. That surprised me but didn’t really bother me. At least the cuts on my neck and shoulder hadn’t hurt that badly.
I reached for my hair; it seemed unusually long now. When had that happened? I thought to ask myself as I shook my head vigorously and then combed my fingers through my long locks. I had grown tired of having my hair pulled every day, so I cut it off.
What a mistake that turned out to be. It was so short now that it barely covered my ears. It would have been better if it had just stayed long enough to braid or tie in a ponytail.
What time is it anyway? I glanced at my watch, wondering where we were. The sun hadn’t yet risen high in the sky but dawn was only a few moments away. The light filtering into the room from the curtains seemed dim and weak.
Had I slept here all night? It would explain why I was so sore. My muscles ached like never before. But the bruises had already faded, leaving me with no sign of how I’d been injured.
It wasn’t until I moved that I discovered my wristband had disappeared. The metal band, which I used for identification when traveling to the West, had been torn from my wrist. I had put it on to help hide my identity during our trip west, but someone took it off when they carried me from Willard’s house.
Why would anyone do such a thing? There had to be some sort of logic behind it, something that made sense, but none came to me. Was the woman’s motive simple theft or something more sinister? Did she know I was a federal marshal? I hoped not. She must have seen me wearing that band when she arrived at Willard’s.
“Hey there, Missy. Wake up and get up,” one of the guards called from beyond the door. “Time for breakfast.”
“I’m up,” I replied.
After I bathed and dressed, I went downstairs to join the others for breakfast. I noticed a few women sitting near the front of the dining hall, staring at me as I passed by. The men who had escorted me to the basement earlier were also seated near the windows.
I knew this because one of them gave me a quick wink. As I neared the table, several people stopped eating and looked at me curiously. Most of the guards kept quiet about last night’s events but one man spoke up and said, “Well, that didn’t go as planned.” He sounded bitter that his mission had failed.
“Why?” I asked, curious why they couldn’t find the fugitive instead of me.
“You’re lucky the woman didn’t kill you,” he answered.
“I don’t know what happened between her and Mr. Willard but she was obviously protecting you, which means you weren’t supposed to die yesterday. Maybe the fugitive isn’t after your life.”
Several of the men exchanged glances.
“Didn’t you hear us shoot at her?” another guard asked. “We shot at her.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t aimed toward her.”
A third man added, “But if it was, she should have dropped dead from the bullet.”
The conversation grew louder; everyone seemed to be speaking over each other. I didn’t want to cause any trouble and decided to change the subject. “How did things turn out with Mr. Willard?” I asked in an attempt to redirect the men. “Was he all right?”
The men fell silent again, giving me a strange look. They appeared to be waiting for someone else to answer the question. A young boy, maybe eight years old, ran into the room carrying a tray full of food for me. He placed the plate in front of me and then hurried out.
The smell of coffee hit my nose first, followed by fried eggs, biscuits, gravy, and bacon. I was starving after sleeping so poorly last night, and I devoured everything on my plate. I was too hungry to worry about calories anymore.
When I finished breakfast, the men cleared their throats, looking nervous to speak in front of me. Finally, one said, “You’ll have to excuse us but we have much business to attend to today. We’re moving to another location. You can stay here at the house or go wherever you like.”
I thanked him for his kindness and said, “If you could arrange for transport to town, I’d appreciate it. Then I’ll leave.”
They left soon after, leaving me alone in the dining hall with two guards to keep me company. After they closed the heavy wooden door behind them, I picked up a newspaper and began reading it. It was only six pages long and had no mention of any recent news about the fugitives.
The headlines read, “Marshal Killed in Wyoming,” and “Woman Arrested for Stealing Gold.” I tossed the paper back on the table and wondered how much the story about me differed from reality.
The article described how a woman named Lizzie Borden had been charged with murder for killing her father, stepmother, and neighbor girl. Her crime was attributed to her desire to get her inheritance early or perhaps a desire for revenge against her family.
The story ended by saying, “She has confessed to the murders but refused to tell why she killed those people. The jury will now decide her fate.” I wondered if the woman in the basement really cared about me. Or had she killed me simply because I got in the way of her escape?
The thought troubled me and I returned to my bedroom to ponder these questions. I sat in the window seat and turned on the light, hoping that sunlight would help calm my thoughts. I pulled open the small drawer under my bed and found the gun I had hidden there.
I removed the cylinder, put the barrel through my belt loops, and cocked it. I stared at the dark brown metal and tried not to imagine that it could kill a man with just one shot.
I had to ask myself: Was I prepared to use it? Would I ever pull that trigger if the need arose? I didn’t think so. But I felt better knowing that it was there.
It was almost noon when I stepped outside to check the horses before riding to town. The men were gone so I assumed they were in the process of moving. The horses stood calmly near the barn and looked up at me as I approached.
I checked both stalls, relieved that nothing had been taken during the night. It was obvious that the horses knew they weren’t supposed to stray far from the farm.
I saddled both mounts and made sure I had plenty of water in the saddlebags. I had planned to ride alone but changed my mind when I saw the two guards watching me from the yard’s edge. Instead, I led my horses out of the stable and headed down the hill toward the valley road where the stage line traveled.
I hoped there would be a stage today; otherwise, I wouldn’t have a choice but to walk. The distance was only fifteen miles but I figured that even walking might be faster than waiting around for a stage.
After about ten minutes on the road, a pair of gray mares came trotting up behind me. They seemed to recognize me and followed me for several more hundred yards until one of the guards rode up beside me.
“Where are you going, Miss?” he called out. His tone sounded accusatory; he must have known I wasn’t supposed to ride the horses. “Didn’t you hear? No one rides on horseback anymore. And certainly not women.”
He spoke slowly so he could repeat himself over and over without having to say anything different. The other man was astride a black gelding who kept pace with mine on the road.
“Yes,” I replied, “but I’ve ridden since I was five, and these are very gentle animals.”
As usual, the guard didn’t reply, merely nodded and went back to his gelding, allowing us to pass. The mares stayed close by as we continued along the road. It was late afternoon when I spotted two riders approaching from ahead, coming from the direction of the marshal’s office.
The men wore wide-brimmed hats and white shirts. One held a rifle across his chest and the other carried a pistol in his right hand. Both wore bandoliers of ammunition strapped over their chests.
“Miss?” said the one who rode in front.
I stopped my horse and turned around to look at him. He appeared older than the other guards, maybe thirty or forty, though he didn’t seem to belong to either the Marshal Service or the Texas Rangers. I wondered if he worked for one of the townsfolk or perhaps some rancher or cattleman. He wore a gray mustache under his nose and a short-cut black hairstyle.
“Why do you want to know?” I asked.
His brows rose. “Are you talking to me, miss? We don’t stop to chat with ladies unless someone asks us a question.”
I frowned at the remark but didn’t respond. A few minutes later, we reached an intersection of two roads. The guards stopped the horses and dismounted. One of them took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “What’s your business here, ma’am? You’re riding too fast for anyone to talk to you.”
“My business is none of yours.” I pulled on the reins of my horse to turn her away from him. As soon as she moved, he grabbed my rein in midair, stopping her instantly.
I looked at him and then quickly glanced at the other man, trying to figure out what to do next.
“Don’t try that again,” he warned, pointing his gun at my head. “You’ll never see daylight again.”
For a moment, I hesitated and thought about what the marshal had told me. I was in deep trouble. If this man caught me, I’d be sent back to Chicago in shackles. And I had no doubt he meant exactly that. But I couldn’t help thinking about the other guards.
Did they know how dangerous it was for a woman to ride a horse on the roads alone? Or were they just playing dumb because they liked the danger? Either way, neither man looked happy about being left behind.
If only the sheriff’s wife hadn’t seen me, maybe I could have gotten away with it. Maybe I could have talked to the marshal after all. I knew he would tell me it was a mistake. That I was innocent. But now it was too late for regrets. I decided to play dumb and hope my bluff would work. “How much farther is it to town?” I asked. “I can’t remember exactly how far from our ranch house.”
The man laughed aloud. “Not a chance you could find your way into town if you tried.”
I sighed in resignation and dropped the reins on my mount’s neck before taking off my hat and shaking out the sweat that had collected there. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To protect the roads, make sure everyone stays off them?” I asked. “But I’m still confused as to why I should care about any of it.”
His eyes narrowed. “We got word last night that one of your friends made it to the marshal’s office in Fort Worth. What happened next, I guess you already know.”
“And where are you headed?”
“Nowhere important,” he answered, “just on my way home.” He pointed at the road behind us and continued, “You should get back to your ranch.”
“Why, sir?”
“Because I don’t think you really want to meet this fellow in person.”
The End