Chapter Text
“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, I told him, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”
– Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books
It was high summer, and for the first time in her adult life, Kate Russell was at loose ends. Oh, she had things to do and places to be—her neatly-packed carpet bag could attest to that, but when she looked to the future all she could see were endless hot days stretching out before her, alleviated only by the coming of winter and, if she was lucky, of a spring after that. It all looked so bleak. And empty. Insurmountably empty.
What was she going to do?
There was no answer to that question. Not now. Not for a while, probably. So, as she so often did, Kate determinedly focused on the task at hand. This moment, the one she inhabited right now, could be counted upon; the future was too uncertain, and giving it any great thought would surely drive her mad.
It had only been a week and it already had, really.
Glancing at her phone, she consulted her packing list one last time, muttering to herself as she ran through it all.
“Two pairs stockings, two cotton nightgowns, one shawl, pocket watch…” her voice faded as she ran through the list again.
“That’s everything,” she declared to no one in particular. The motel room, after all, was empty.
With a quick toss of her phone in the general direction of the bed, Kate began toeing off her sandals, hands rummaging in her bag for whatever looked most breathable. Her fingers ran across nubbly linen, soft wool, fine starched cotton, searching out what she wanted more by feel than by sight.
Several minutes later, as she was slowly working her way into her costume, the phone rang. Kate paused, glancing at the screen, before yanking tightly on the laces of her corset and tying the loose ends in a neat bow.
“Hi Carly,” she answered, sitting down on the side of the bed and eyeing her leather work boots.
“So, how’s my baby sister doing?”
Kate shoved her right foot into her boot, balanced the phone against her shoulder, and started in on the laces.
“Fine.”
“Uh huh.”
“Really, Carly. I’m fine.”
“Of course. That’s why you’re running away to the desert. Because you’re fine.”
It wasn’t running away if the plans had already been made.
“What do you want me to say? That I’m devastated? Fine. I’m devastated. Happy now?”
On the other end of the line, Carly sighed. Bedsprings creaked as her sister flopped back onto her own bed, hundreds (or was it thousands, now?) of miles away. The sound made Kate’s heart ache: it was the sound of childhood, of two sisters staring at the ceiling and sharing secrets.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’ll find another job. You’re smart, you work hard. I know you’ll find something.”
“Yeah. Just not like…” Kate viciously slammed her other foot into its boot. “Not like…”
“Yeah.”
“Can we talk about something else? Please?”
“Okay.”
The two sisters were quiet for several long moments, each grasping for words, desperate to make the other feel better about anything at all. It had all been so much simpler when they were kids, back when boys or makeup or the latest pop song on the radio were all it took to capture their attention.
“So,” Carly started, “remind me about this whole desert cowboy thing.”
Carly needed no reminders, they both knew that. Kate loved her for it.
“Well for starters, it has nothing to do with cowboys.”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s a living history museum, not a dude ranch.”
“Yeah. A living history museum. That just so happens to be in an Arizona ghost town. Please tell me you’re going to meet a hot man dressed as a cowboy and make sweet sweet love under the stars.”
Kate gave a startled laugh.
“I sincerely doubt it.” She paused, considered the logistics, and continued: “sounds unsanitary.”
“Killjoy.” Carly laughed. “So, what exactly are you doing there anyway? Is it the same kinda gig you have up here?”
“Sort of. Just…different.”
Kate had spent the past thirteen summers pretending to be Mrs. Clare Thompson, 1836 housewife and farmer at Pioneer Village just south of Beaver Creek, Pennsylvania. Volunteers were slim on the ground, so there’d never been a Mr. Thompson, but Mrs. Thompson had spent many long hours happily educating children and adults alike about life on the ever-expanding Frontier. It had been a dream come true to land that gig—unpaid as it was—as a college student. She’d been going to Pioneer Village since she was a child herself, and every time she laced up her corset, adjusted her little white cap, and tied on her finest linen apron, Kate felt like her dream had been realized.
This was the first summer she wouldn’t be going back, and while her temporary absence had been planned ages ago, Kate found herself longing for the familiarity of well-established routines. As excited as she’d been about a new opportunity out west, there were moments she nearly regretted it, wishing instead that nothing had changed and her life would continue to roll merrily along as it ever had. But nothing was the same. Not really. Perhaps it would be good for her, she thought, to get a change of scenery. To just…get away from it all for a few weeks.
“How so?” Carly asked.
Kate did her best to stop wool-gathering.
“Well. I’m keeping the name Clare Thompson, but now I’m Widow Thompson, camp cook at Old Sonora. And chief material culture historian. And academic advisor. Sort of. Until my grad students can find someone else.”
“Oh no. I didn’t even think of them. Poor things.”
Kate sighed and flopped back onto the bed.
“We’re talking about it again.”
“Oops.” Carly giggled, the way she always did when she’d stepped on someone’s toes and didn’t know what to say. “So, what year is it this time?”
Happy for a return to a safer topic, Kate replied “1899. Hollywood is in its infancy. Electric lights are spreading across the country. The curtain is finally closing on the Old West. And ready or not, the whole world is slowly marching towards its first global war.”
“You said you’re in charge of the volunteers, right? And they’re paying you this time? Not like Pioneer whatever.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting paid. And I’m helping train the volunteers, but I’m not in charge in charge. That’s Tom. I’m helping them learn everything they need to know about the clothes, the food, that kind of thing. Getting them all up to speed on historic interpreting.”
“Gotcha,” Carly replied, with the same degree of enthusiasm she usually reserved for the finance section of the New York Times.
“I know, not very exciting.”
“But you’re excited. And that’s great!” She paused again, and Kate could hear her sister gently tapping her front teeth together. “You are excited, right?”
If she’d been asked that question just last week, the answer would have been yes. The kind of yes that was shouted from rooftops and sung from on high. But that was before. Before the University went and slashed the History department, cutting every lecturer and professor that hadn’t made tenure in a desperate attempt to keep the struggling department afloat. Only three years into her role as a professor, Kate had found herself packing up her tiny office and promising her two graduate students that she’d do everything in her power to make sure this didn’t impact their studies.
All three of them had known, standing awkwardly in that empty office as Kate hoisted a cardboard box onto her hip—heavy with the weight of her entire academic career—that her graduate students wouldn’t be staying either. They’d be given the summer, maybe all of fall semester if they were lucky, to find another institution to take them. And then that would be that.
They’d asked what she was going to do, in that way that young people did, with the certainty that she’d move onto bigger and better things. Kate wasn’t so certain. Landing a tenure-track position (in her home town no less) the first time had been a lightning strike, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in a field oversaturated with hard-working talent. Now? Well. Kate thought it best to avoid thinking about it too much right now. Give it too much thought, and she’d start worrying about how to pay the bills, about moving, about finding another job that was almost certainly going to be a downgrade from what she’d had.
And looming at the end of that awful, bitter week had been the trip to Old Sonora: a unique opportunity for her to get her grad students out into the world, into living history—a chance for three history geeks to do something new, something fun. To help build something from scratch. Neither graduate student had ever done living history reenactment, and Kate was an old pro, happy to pass down her wealth of knowledge—be it where to buy a good comfortable corset (definitely not Amazon) or whether they could still wear their glasses (definitely yes, because no one was going to be held liable for them wandering around trying to echolocate like bats). But now the responsibility hung around her neck like a millstone, pulling her down down down until she worried it might drown her.
“Of course I’m excited. I mean. I will be. Once I get there. It’s just been a lot lately, you know?”
“Yeah, I bet.”
In the ensuing silence, Kate glanced at the clock. Could she? Should she?
“Well, I’d love to keep chatting with you, but I’ve really got to get going.”
They both knew the truth, but it was easier this way, Kate thought.
“Okay. Drive safe, and let me know when you get there!”
“Will do.”
“Love you, sis.”
Kate closed her eyes. Just for a moment.
“Love you, too.”
And with that, it was just her and the motel room again. Her bag was packed, her corset adjusted, her phone (mostly) charged. There was nothing keeping her here and every reason to get on the road.
Standing before the mirror, Kate finished getting dressed, pinning her high starched collar with a brooch, wiggling it a little to get it to sit just right. With her hair braided back and her face free of makeup, she looked passably 1899, she thought. A bit old-fashioned for the times, but Widow Thompson wouldn’t have had the money to keep up with the latest trends.
A pity Widow Thompson also wouldn’t have worn, nor probably approved of, lipstick. Or mascara. Her pale face looked lifeless without them.
Kate scrunched up her nose, jammed her straw hat on her head, and laughed.
Her world might be going to shit, but outside the world kept turning, and if she could just laugh at herself enough, she could keep turning with it.
The final drive from her motel in Phoenix to Old Sonora had looked so short on her map. But two hours into it, and with a predicted two still to go, she wished she’d waited until she was closer to the camp to get dressed. Outside, the heat shimmered above the pavement, beckoning travelers with false promises of rain. Inside, despite the air conditioning turned to high, the rental car remained stuffy and uncomfortable. Sweat rolled down her neck, soaking into her cotton underpinnings and pooling at the small of her back. Her hair was beginning to escape its braid, little strands sticking to her neck and face. Her lower back loudly reminded her that corsets and bucket seats didn’t mix, and every breath in felt like an injustice as it pressed against the front of her ribs.
Kate double-checked the air conditioning, found for the fourth time in the last ten minutes that it wouldn’t go any higher, and decided that if she couldn’t crank up the air, she could at least crank up the music.
There was something about music, Kate decided: its ability to instantly inject you with thoughts and feelings you wanted, needed, didn’t know you needed. With the most honest smile she’d had in days, she grinned wider and rolled down the windows, letting the wind whip away every thought except how wonderful it felt to live in this moment. After a quick glance to make sure no other cars were on the highway, she stuck her hand out the window, letting it glide through the air, buffeted by the winds of change, of excitement.
She tossed her head back and laughed, secure in that moment that everything was going to be okay.
Which was why she didn’t see the buck standing in the middle of the road until it was far, far too late.
The first thought Kate had upon waking up was “shit.”
The first coherent thought was “fuck it’s cold.”
Someone laughed.
“It sure is.”
Bending down above her, pistol held loosely in one hand, was a woman she’d definitely never seen before. Her blonde hair was braided tightly, her brown eyes wary but kind. She was squinting as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind about something.
The woman sighed, deflating a little, and shoved the pistol into its holster. “What are doin’ out here? You’re gonna freeze to death.”
Kate pushed herself up onto her elbows, trying to get her bearings.
All around her was white. The snow, the frost on the windows of the rough-hewn wood cabin, the white blanket of clouds in the sky, the peaks of not-so-distant mountains. And here she was, like a little tropical bird with her grass green skirt and her blue and gold carpet bag, its contents strewn across the snow like so many molted feathers. She even left bloody little prints behind wherever she placed her hands.
How did she get here? It felt too real to be a dream, too wild to be anything but. Her mind felt fuzzy, like her thoughts had grown mold, like she’d stayed up all night and her brain had taken one last long thought and decided ‘fuck this I’m out’ and would only be coaxed back into her skull if she drank enough coffee or finally got some sleep.
Above her, the woman frowned.
“We best get you inside” she said, kneeling down to start shoving Kate’s things back in her bag, fingers running across the lace Kate had so painstakingly stitched to the cuffs of one of her shirts before pushing it deeper into the bag.
Startled into action, Kate launched herself upright and began shoving hair behind her ears, desperate to smooth out what felt like a disaster. When the other woman gave her the oddest look, she scooped up the remains of her belongings: one of her books, a cheap fountain pen, and an extra pair of glasses.
“Where am I?” she asked. The question left her feeling oddly vulnerable, like she’d opened up her soul and let this stranger peek around inside.
“My ranch. A little outside Colter.”
“I don’t. I don’t. Know where that is.”
Her brows drew low over her eyes. With a huff, she stood, slinging Kate’s bag over her shoulder.
“You a bandit?” she asked.
“What? No.”
“Didn’t think so. Come on, let’s get you inside. You’re gonna freeze out here.”
Kate could do nothing but agree. The cold was beginning to seep into her bones, and while she thought she could wiggle her toes, she couldn’t feel them.
The woman stopped, one step on the porch. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Kate.”
“Well Kate. I’m Sadie. Sadie Adler.”