Romance in a Ghost Town Read online

  The New Yorker kept to his planned schedule and after Skyping Anne each night, he Skyped Tommy Wallace then read for an hour by oil lamp and turned in early as his day started at sunrise each day.

  Every time he visited Bransville, Bob returned with a large block of ice, put it in the cool, dark cellar of the icehouse and covered it with straw as they had done in the past. He went on Google and looked up, ‘old fashioned kitchen sink, water pumps and wells’ and got the water pumps working in the few houses that had a working well. He was grateful that he had inadvertently chosen a house with one that was fixable and thought as he pumped cool water into his tin sink, Boy, wait until Anne see this. No more having to lug a five-gallon tin can of water from the car to the house.

  As he did all of this, his beagle strolled along with him always sniffing around and it paid off as one night while going up to the outhouse, the dog’s outstanding sense of smell saved him. Bob was halfway to the outhouse when Samson stopped short and his tail and the hair on his back stood straight up as he growled and showed his teeth. Bob pointed his light in the direction the beagle was pointing and caught the light’s reflection off the eyes of a rattlesnake, coiled and looking back at the dog.

  “Samson,” he said quietly, “come boy. Let’s go home.” He stepped back and dutifully the dog followed. That night Bob used the back up system under his bed and cooked Samson a pork chop as a reward.

  One of Bob’s favorite things to do was to update the map of Rattlesnake Haven. He had begun the map when he first came to town and added the revisions as they needed it. It was drawn in pencil and after many changes and additions Bob saw the circle he had drawn for the cemetery and thought, This is stupid! I’ve been here for a chunk of time and never once went to the cemetery. He shook his head, Well today that changes! I’m going out there and see it…after all it is part of Rattlesnake Haven.

  Putting Samson in the SUV, he drove out behind the line of houses and spotted it for the first time. He parked and let the pup out as he strapped his gun on. Bob put his hat on and slowly approached the hallowed grounds. An old iron railing with a small gate at the entrance surrounded the plots and trying the gate, he found it surprisingly well preserved. Above it was an ornate arch with an angel with outspread arms and wings sitting on top. It was so quiet that even Samson stood close to his master’s side as Bob removed his hat and entered the burial grounds.

  There were over fifty headstones and the sand blowing gently against them over the years obliterated most of the words etched into the soft stone. Feeling that he was the first to view this place in over one hundred years, he nodded and said to himself, “I’m going to make sure that the fence is painted and the grounds swept clean.”

  Knowing that cactus grew wild in this harsh environment, he looked around and found what he wanted: two small cacti growing about fifty feet away from the gate and, using his cane, he dug them up and gently placed them in a hole on either side of the gate.

  “Not flowers or trees,” he said, “but it’s something to decorate the area at least.”

  Lastly, he placed a yellow flower from the last batch he had brought to town from Bransville into a notch in the gate as he left. The heat of the sun beating down on his head gave him the excuse to leave the grounds.

  On his next trip to Bransville, he purchased a gallon of white paint and a few brushes. One week later he stood with his hands on his hips as sweat trickled down his back as he admired his handy-work. “Nothing spruces up a cemetery like a fresh coat of paint,” he said to Samson.

  11

  The Storm

  It was on a Friday evening in October that he did his nightly visit with Anne via the Skype telecommunications program. It had gotten dark early as clouds gathered on the horizon and Bob lit the oil lamps as well as the fireplace. Samson was curled up in his favorite easy chair and as the wind picked up a bit, he looked up and tried to perk up his floppy ears at the strange sound of wind coming down the streets of Rattlesnake Haven.

  Following what was now the routine, Bob started up the generator and tested his laptop before dialing Anne’s number at the set time. She didn’t answer and after ten rings he hung up and dialed up Tommy Wallace. They chatted for twenty minutes before his friend got another phone call and they signed off. Bob waited another half hour before trying Anne again and this time after a few rings she picked up.

  “Hi, cowgirl,” he said with a warm smile.

  “Hey there, cowboy. How are you?” she replied with a smile of her own.

  Bob noticed that she was still dressed instead of her usual nightclothes. “I’m doing fine. Just another three and one half months until January third, but who’s counting?”

  “I am, that’s who. I hope you are too.”

  He nodded, “I am. Believe me, I am. Did you get home late tonight? I’m not hounding you I just want to know if I’m interrupting your dinner or something.”

  “No. We had a business dinner that ran late and I haven’t had time to change yet. I wanted to leave to get your Skype, but those people can really milk it when there are free drinks involved.”

  “Yeah, I know what you…“

  Bob’s smile dropped as he was interrupted by the appearance of the weatherman leaving the room behind Anne and walking towards the laptop. He was dressed in his underpants and seeing Bob’s face on the screen, smiled and said, “Hey, honey! Isn’t that the guy that Jim sold that ghost town to?”

  A look of shock came across Anne’s face as she suddenly realized what had happened and she turned and screamed, “Tom! Get the hell back into that room, right away!”

  The weatherman smiled and waved at Bob as he did a little dance back to the room he had left and said over his shoulder, “I’ll be waiting for you, honey. Don’t be long.”

  She turned back and seeing the look on Bob’s face, said, “I-It’s not what you think. He’s…“

  “I-It’s okay. I have to hang up now anyway. I-I think there’s a storm coming.” He cut the line and sat in the darkening room. He could hear the blood pounding through his head with every beat of his heart. The wind picked up and Samson, hearing sounds he never heard before, jumped up onto Bob’s lap and licked at the hand covering his master’s eyes as the Skype rang over and over until Bob shut the program down.

  The next few days were a blur as Bob immersed himself in his work and storm clouds gathered at the horizon. Around lunchtime he powered up the generator and just for kicks, turned on the Skype program. He was surprised to see a call coming in from Ed Pushkin. Bob accepted it and his friend’s face appeared onscreen with surprise and apprehension all over it.

  “Hey, partner,” Ed said with concern in his voice, “thought I’d take a shot an’ see if by any chance you were online and low and behold, here ya are! Tell me, do ya see any clouds to the west of you?”

  “Yeah, Ed. I’ve been watching them for a few days now. What’s up?”

  “The weatherman’s saying that rain’s coming this way and I wanted to give you a head’s up.”

  Bob shrugged and said, “Weathermen always seem to bring bad luck.”

  Not sure what he meant, Edward said, “Well, this guy is saying what a few others are saying: looks like a biggy headin’ this way.”

  “How much can I expect?”

  “Well, partner, we usually only get around three inches a year so maybe an inch. Can’t tell. I heard that it once rained for an entire day back in ’54 or ’55. My daddy told me that the kids all ran around in their gym shorts playing in it. Anyway, it’s so unusual that even the weather guys up in Carson City are reporting it.”

  “Boy,” answered Bob with a grin, “That’s the one thing I never brought out here: an umbrella.”

  “Shucks, that’s why we wear them big ol’ cowboy hats, partner. They keep the sun as well as the rain off us. You take care buddy. I know that you’re due back in town next week so we’ll see ya then. Just keep your pants high an’ that ol’ beagle of yours out of them puddles.”

&nbs
p; That afternoon, just after six when Bob was usually at his darkest moment, he powered up the generator to get the latest on the weather. Immediately Skype notified him that he had a call request from Anne Dallas and he did as he had done for the past few days: killed the program…and dug deeper into his depression. He chastised himself, thinking, well, if you’re going to shut it off, why put it on in the first place? He answered his own question: I guess I just like to know that she is trying to call me. That’s all.

  As a precaution, Bob rolled the generator into the living room so it wouldn’t get wet, even though it was advertised as waterproofed.

  At ten o’clock that night, the wind’s howling through his bedroom’s open window woke him from his deep sleep. Samson slept at the foot of his bed and he leaped up next to him as the wind sent sand and tumbleweed along with sheets of rain against the side of the house and through the open window. Bob reached for his oil lamp just as a flash of lightning lit the room in stark black and white. Samson yelped and tried to get under him. Bob got the lamp and lit it, took his cane from the bedpost and went to the open window. The curtains were almost horizontal to the floor with the powerful wind and he almost slipped on the wet wooden floor as he grasped and finally closed the window. With a slight shiver, he made his way out of the upstairs bedroom and down into the living room.

  The windows were all closed as a precaution against any desert critters entering, but the fire was low and he placed another log on it. If I can’t sleep, I might as well get comfortable, he thought as he pulled his terry cloth robe tightly around him and took the coffee pot off the warm stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. The sound of puppy paws on the wooden floor told him that Samson was next to him with every step he took and Bob gave him a reassuring pat every chance he got. He lit another oil lamp and intrigued by the freak storm, put his boots on and carefully stepped out on the porch followed by the slightly reluctant pup.

  The wind almost blew the door off its hinges and he quickly closed it behind him as both him and his dog stood out of the wind and watched the wet tumbleweed fly by. Flashes of lightning showed that more than one of the out houses were blown over and he hoped his would be all right. As there were no rain gutters on the porch roof to catch the runoff, the rainwater simply followed the path of least resistance and that seemed to be everywhere. It came off the roof as a waterfall: everywhere at the same time. Wow, thought Bob, it looks like it’s going to pour out the entire three inches that the area usually gets a year, all in one night. He finished his coffee and held out his cup allowing the falling rain to rinse it out before going back in and securing the door behind them.

  Sensing that Bob was going back to the easy chair he was in earlier, Samson shook off any water that was on him, leaped up and after some shifting around, allowed Bob to sit with him and share the space. The fire was roaring now and Bob picked up the book of the west and after five minutes, Samson was asleep. I didn’t know that dogs snored, thought Bob listening to his puppy who seemed content with the world. Ten minutes later the steady tattoo of the rain on the windows put Bob to sleep as well.

  Samson heard the knock on the door first and his hair stood as he growled without leaving his master’s side. Bob heard his dog before hearing the heavy knocking at the door. Coming fully awake, he looked at his watch and as it was only twelve thirty-five, he understood why he was so tired. He grabbed his cane and thought about his six-gun upstairs but shook that thought off.

  “Just Ed checking up on us,” he said to himself and Samson as he got out of his chair. He felt proud of the beagle, as it was he who was at the door first, showing his teeth as he growled, once again his tail and hair stood straight up. Reaching down, Bob petted him saying, “It’s all right, Samson. Just a neighbor.” He mentally crossed his fingers as he threw off the inside latch and opened the door.

  The dancing light from the fireplace showed a man standing on his porch. He was stocky and looked to be about sixty-five or so and wore a wet, white slicker that went from his neck down to his calves. His face was well tanned and the crow’s feet around his light brown eyes said that he was used to being outdoors a lot. His small, round glasses were fogging up because of coming out of the cold and facing into a warm room and his pure white, droopy mustache was the best one Bob had ever seen, both in real life and pictures. On his head was the same type of western style hat that Jim Bensen wore and when he nodded at Bob, the water poured from his brim and ended up as a puddle around his very ornate western style boots.

  “Howdy,” he said as he took his hat off, unleashing a mop of thick, white hair and with a big smile, went on, “Mighty nasty weather, partner.”

  “Uh, yes,” answered Bob somewhat shocked, “mighty nasty.”

  The man said with a slight shiver, “Fireplace looks mighty invitin’.”

  Bob tried to gather himself and mumbled, “Um, sure.” He looked down at the beagle who was staring up at the man, “Where the heck are our manners, Samson?” he asked before looking back at the man and adding, “Come on in and dry off, friend.”

  The man smiled and pushed back his hair as he stepped inside and Bob closed the door on the storm. “Give me your coat and I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “That’d be mighty kind of ya, partner. Black is fine.” He peeled his long coat off and passed it to Bob who hung it on a wooden peg in the wall near the fireplace.

  “Please, sit,” he said pointing to the other easy chair as he went into the kitchen, poured two coffees and returned to see the man sitting with his legs straight out towards the fire.

  “This sure feels nice, friend,” he said as Bob placed a coffee on the small table next to his chair and sat in the other easy chair. The stranger offered his hand and they shook as he said, “Cal, Calvin Sullivan. My friend’s call me Cal.”

  “And I’m Bob McKillop. Bob, to my friends.” They both took a sip of coffee and Bob saw that the stranger was dressed in black jeans and a tan, calfskin shirt complete with frills on the pockets and sleeves. A wide leather belt around his ample waist was secured with a large silver belt buckle and a simple holster held a six-gun and of course his handsome boots.

  “So, Cal, what brings you out here? I mean, it is well off the beaten path and it’s a horrible night to be traveling.”

  Although the flames of the fireplace reflected off Cal’s glasses, Bob could see that his eyes were closed. It took a second before he opened them and said, “Well, Bob, the weather is like a woman. She’s with ya ‘til she decides ta change an’ when she does, ya least expect it and all damnation breaks loose.” He took a sip of his drink and went on as the crow’s feet around his eyes were accentuated as he narrowed his eyes. “As for why, well let me say this, partner. I’m in charge of a busload of people on vacation and we go from ghost town to ghost town to see the sights that our ancestors saw a hundred years back. Well, partner, the storm wrecked damnation with our GPS system and we ended up with a busted axial. I grabbed my slicker, flashlight and Stetson and hoofed it towards Rattlesnake Haven. I was about ta give up when I went up a rise an’ saw a light in the distance. Turned out ta be your light an’ here I am. Now, them folks are countin’ on me ta get them some shelter and here I am sittin’ an’ drinkin’ coffee.” He shook his head and started to stand as he went on, “Best I get back to them.”

  Bob grabbed his cane and stood as he stammered, “A-And do what? Sit in a broken down bus? We can’t do that. Bring them here. How many are there anyway?”

  “A whole bunch. Never fit in this house.” He pulled on his mustache and asked, “Got a barn in town by any chance?”

  “Even better, a Community Hall with lots of benches and two potbellied stoves,” said an excited Bob as he grabbed the diagram of the town. He pointed at the hand drawn map and said, “Here’s the hall. It’s right across the main street. You go get them and I’ll go and start up the stoves so the chill will be gone when they arrive.”

  Cal stood, grabbed Bob’s hand and said with a warm smile as he
pumped it, “Partner, you got yerself a deal. I’ll bring them to the hall an’ come back an’ have another coffee with ya.”

  Bob nodded and said, “I’ll put on some more coffee for the rest of the group.”

  “Never you mind, partner. They come on these tours with backpacks, bedrolls and plenty of hot coffee in their thermos bottles. Just light a lamp so we can find ya in this gloom.”

  After Cal buttoned up and left the house, Bob got his own range coat and Stetson, grabbed a bunch of matches, lit his Coleman lamp, then put Samson in his coat’s large deep pocket and went out into the storm. He walked bent at the waist as the wind was in his face and more than once he almost fell as his cane slipped in the muddy ground. The circle of light that the Coleman lamp provided was dancing all around as the wind tried to rip it from his grip.

  Finally inside the Community Hall, Bob let the pup run through the place sniffing at everything as he took off his soaking wet coat and lit the four oil lamps that were attached to the beams. Next, using the wood stacked years before, he lit up the two potbellied stoves, which instantly started to throw off heat. Glad I tested out all of these chimneys, he thought as he took off his hat and sat on one of the benches close to the stove. Samson sat close to him as the storm raged even more outside.