Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

“I don’t know.  I don’t know how I got here,” was all I could say, regrettably.

   The couple looked at each other.

   “Well, then, what’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked.

   Okay, that was easier.

   “Sleeping, I was sleeping in my bed,” I answered.

   “In California,” Mrs. Egan added.

   “Yes,” I affirmed.

   “And then?” Sam prodded me.

   “And then I was here,” I feebly explained.

   Sam squirmed in his seat, uncomfortably,   “You don’t recall anything else in between?”

   “No.”

    They just stared at me until I thought to add, “Sir”. 

   “Your family must be looking for you,” Sarah surmised.

   “My family aren’t around.” 

     I left it at that.

   “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said apologetically.

   “There’s no one who might be looking for you?” Sam rephrased.

    I just sat speechless, afraid to expand on much more.

   “No, no one,” I frowned then added, “sir.”

Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

We sat down at the long table: the man at the head, the woman and I opposite one another on benches.

   “My name is Sam Egan.   This is my wife, Sarah.  What is your name?”

 “Renee.”

   They looked at me: obviously not a common name around here.

   “Twining,” I added, as if that would make a difference.

     “Well, Miss Twining, how is it I came to find you lying in the middle of my ranch?”  Mr. Egan asked, rather sarcastically. 

      Sarah frowned at him.

   And then my mind began to spin.  What should I say?  The truth?  Where I was from?  What I thought had happened?  Should I ask if I were dreaming?  Or dead?

   “I don’t know,” I heard myself carefully reply.

   Before I could think of something else to say, Sam blurted out, “Where are you from, Miss?”

   “Agoura Hills, California.” 

   Oops!  Should I have said the state?  By the look on their faces probably not.

   “California?”  Mrs. Egan repeated.

   “Then how did you get all the way to Arizona about a hundred miles from the nearest train depot?” Mr. Egan prodded.

Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

The woman had golden hair tied in a bun and a look of concern on her pretty face.  She looked in her early thirties, at least a few years younger than the man.  

   Then it dawned on me.  I didn’t know his name.  Nor he mine.   He halted his horse just short of the porch.  I grew nervous.  The woman stared at me as the man helped me down.

   As we approached her, I dropped my head. 

  

   “I found her out near the herd,” he told the woman.

  

   “Are you all right, dear?” she asked me, her shock softening.  But she looked me over quizzically.

  

   “Yes, ma’am,” I near squeaked.

  

   “Let’s go inside,” the man said.

   My feet were relieved to climb cooler, wood steps onto their dusty porch.  We walked through the front door that smelt of cedar, I think.

   It was darker inside than I anticipated.   As my eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside, I made out a long, wooden table framed by two benches and Windsor end chairs.

   I heard the ticking of a clock and found it: a cuckoo hanging beside a rugged hutch filled with beautiful, blue and white- patterned China trimmed with red berries (Lingonberries, I’m told).

   A stone fireplace interrupts the house, smack in the center, with two black (horse hair!) chairs and sofa before it.  The house extends beyond the hearth to a kitchen area where I noticed a home-made counter with an iron pump and wall shelves holding can goods and jars of pickled green beans and other vegetables.  Dried red peppers, sage, other herbs and wild flowers, ironware and kitchen utensils hung on the walls.  

   Three open doorways branched off behind the long table. Bedrooms, I presumed.  It was all rather cozy.

Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

I could have buried my face into the base of his neck and the length of his hair.  Instead, I timidly put my arms around his small waist and clenched my arms as he jerked his horse into motion.

     We rode across his dry land, my arms hugging him, breathing him in, completely silent.

     ‘If I am dreaming,’ I thought, ‘I don’t want to wake up.’

   Then a homestead came into view on the flat horizon.   I saw a rancher-style house made of board and batten wood with a smoking, stone chimney and a meager porch supported by crude beams clearly cut out of thin tree trunks.

   A plain, wood barn sat at the distant left with chickens bopping about it freely.   Someone came out of the front door of the house in a long, dark blue skirt covered by a white, waist apron (with eyelet at the bottom – pretty!) and a high collared, prairie blouse.

   ‘He’s married,’ my brain reasoned, ‘Dang.’

Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

     Sitting up I saw dirt ground patched with dry grass as far as the eye could see. I spotted some cows or bulls in the distance.  Definitely not Agoura Hills, California.  This was a more arid and rocky terrain, not the rolling green and yellow hills I was used to, freckled with oak trees and wild flowers.

     Then I took a good look at this man.  His clothes were old (antique old).  And dirty enough.  The material of his soft, dark blue shirt looked thin and just different.  It was tucked in rough, black pants (denim or canvas, I couldn’t be sure).  He wore brown leather suspenders and black, dirt-caked boots.  And his scent! He was close enough to smell it: a mixture of sweat and leather.  I took him in with a deep breath and was fully here.

     Timidly, I reached out to touch his arm.  He was real.  This could not be a dream.  I was completely awake.  I know I was.  He braced me as I got up on legs I began to feel.  I was barefoot on the hot ground.  Stones pricked my burning feet.

     He observed me hopping about as he pulled up a saddled horse as black as night save a white diamond shape on its forehead. I thought I heard him call the horse “Grant”.

   “Better get you on him,” he said.

   He put his hands around the back of my waist and hoisted me up. I fiddled with the one stirrup and clumsily swinging my other leg over Grant’s back.  The man hopped on his saddle in front of me.

   “Hold on to me,” he instructed.

Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

I felt my Bible faced down on my stomach.  That’s right!  I had been reading it when I fell asleep.  Harsh sunlight pried my eyes open and I was immediately blinded but a dark figure blocking the sun.  My vision sharpened and the figure became clear; it was a man crouching over me. 

   He had a rugged, chiseled face with high cheekbones framed by an auburn mustache and beard.  I’d never seen anyone who looked quite like him before.  I was much taken and could scarcely look away.  His eyes were shadowed, though, by a dusty, leather hat with a wide brim.

     He muttered something then said it again.  I heard him clearly the second time.

     “Are you all right?” 

     “I think so.  Where am I?”  I asked.

     “You’re on my ranch.”

     Warily, I pulled myself up to look around. I was still in my night clothes: grey pajama pants and a turquoise, thermal hoodie bought for day wear but destined to become a night shirt. 

Chapter 1 - Where Am I?

I found a slip of blank paper in the nightstand drawer beside my bed and a flat, square pencil.  This is difficult to write with.  I am writing (as best I can) my first diary entry.  Perhaps one day I can get a real diary if I am here for awhile.   But where am I?  Barlow, Arizona, I’m told.  In the year 1877!

     Ok.  I’m either dreaming, dead, or gone crazy.  All I remember is sleeping in my bed and suddenly realizing that I was not lying in my bed anymore but on what felt like hard earth that nicely warmed my back.  I felt intense heat on my face:  a sudden change from the chilled air I was breathing only a moment before.  It was December where I came from and I was snug under my heavy, wool blanket my Granny had made me.  It holds in body heat good.  I WISH I HAD IT HERE!!