Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Hallmark Entertainment and are used without permission. This story is not for profit and no copyright infringement is intended. The original content of the story is my fault, and I take full responsibility for it. Please do not use any of it (and why would you want to?) without permission.
Author's note: The character of Maria Bennett was created by Darcie Daniels and appears with her permission.
My apologies to Washington Irving.
The afternoon was bright and sunny and a little warm, and Call was tuckered out from keeping an eye on Mosby, the illustrious town proprietor of Curtis Wells. It was a big job, but somebody had to do it. Call yawned and stretched as he slouched on his bench. He was feeling very sleepy, and he pulled his hat down over his face. A few quick winks couldn't hurt.
It seemed like he had only been asleep for a few minutes when he was rudely awakened by a deluge of mud. Damn that Luther! Did he have to drive that stagecoach hell-bent for glory down the street like that? Call looked down at his filthy clothes and shrugged. Then he yawned and stretched and sank a little lower on his bench, intending to get a little more shut-eye.
"OH, Newton!" a familiar voice accosted his ears. "You're finally awake!"
Call squinted up at Maria Bennett, his blood sister and frequent tormentor.
"Oh, Newton, I thought you were never going to wake up. I've been waiting so long!"
Call grimaced. So much for his nap. A man couldn't even get a little shut-eye around here.
"Whaddya want, Maria?"
"I have soo much to tell you, Newton. Where shall I begin?"
Call made the Whoa Nelly sign. "It'll have to wait, Maria. I got me a powerful thirst. And I'm hungry too. I think I missed lunch."
Call rubbed his backside as he rose from his bench and headed to the Ambrosia Club. Damn, he was stiff! He decided right then and there to take Maria up on her offer to upholster his bench.
Maria stamped her foot and frowned as she watched Call amble away from her. Newton could be so contrary sometimes.
As Call shuffled down the boardwalk, he noticed that his spurs weren't clanking as loudly as they usually did. He stopped and leaned over to peer at them. Hmmmm . . . they seemed a bit rusty. Damn Curtis Wells's mud. Oh well.
He had just stepped into the street, when he saw a strange contraption coming straight for him. He jumped back up on the boardwalk as it rattled past, the man inside glaring and cursing a blue streak at him.
"What the hell?" Call stared after it as it continued down the street. What kind of wagon went without any horses in front of it? Call looked both ways before venturing out into the road again; he was still a bit shaken.
Once inside the Ambrosia, he stood and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Mosby himself was serving drinks when Call shuffled up to the bar. "I'll have a whiskey," he announced.
Clay Mosby looked down at him in some surprise. "Why, look what history went and coughed up. If it isn't Newt Call."
"What of it, Mosby?"
"Why, I thought you were never goin' to get up off that bench of yours."
Call frowned. "Ain't none o' your business what I do." Why was everyone suddenly so concerned about how he spent his time?
Call looked closely at the saloon owner. He hadn't noticed that grey hair at his temples before. "Hey, Mosby, you're startin' to show your age."
"Well, Call, take a look in the mirror. You're no spring chicken yourself, you know."
Call glanced at himself in the mirror over the bar. Same old grit and grime, as far as he could tell. His beard did need a trim. He'd just whack it off with his big knife later. He tipped back his shot. "Whatever you say, Mosby."
Call glanced around the barroom. There'd been some changes in the Ambrosia's décor since his last visit. Why, the picture of the dogs playing poker hadn't been over the bar last time, had it? Call had to admit, it was an improvement over that nekkid dame who used to occupy the spot. It wasn't that Call had anything against nekkidness, mind you. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, given the proper time and place. But Mosby, that bastard, couldn't be counted on to know what was proper. After all, he had tried to steal Call's woman.
Call refilled his glass from the bottle Clay had left on the counter. He tossed back his drink, wiped his mouth on a filthy sleeve, and yawned.
"Why, Call, you just had a twenty-year nap. Don't tell me you're sleepy already."
Call snorted. "What're you talkin' about, Mosby? Gettin' senile on me, are ya?"
Clay came out from behind the counter and walked over to the bounty hunter, looking him in the eye. (He had to bend down to do this.) "Why, Call, you don't know. No one's told you, have they?"
"Told me what?" Call asked as he turned away and poured himself another glass of rotgut.
"Why, you're a medical wonder. Doc Cleese says he's never seen a case like yours."
"A case of what -- your watered-down whiskey?" Call smirked at his own joke.
"Your nap started on September 4th 1880 -- exactly twenty years ago today."
"What of it?" Call asked the saloon owner unconcernedly.
Clay went back behind the counter and pulled a calendar off the wall. He dropped it on the counter in front of Call. "Take a look at this, Call; it's September, 1900."
Call glanced briefly at it. "Where'd ya get that, some travelin' sideshow?"
Just then, Amanda walked in. Call looked her up and down. She was getting grey around the temples too. But that wasn't what caught his attention. Her heaving bosoms were heaving a bit nearer the floor than he remembered -- quite a bit nearer. Call wondered how he could have missed the descent. The woman had miles on her. Why, she looked like she'd been rode hard and put away wet!
"What are you staring at?" Amanda arched an eyebrow in his direction.
Call looked away aloofly. "Nothin'." He turned back to his drink.
"I hope you won't be wanting your room at the Dove back, Call. I have a better class of boarders now -- people who don't use the furniture for target practice. I don't rent to riff-raff like you anymore."
"Fine. I'll sleep over at the livery. I've done it often enough."
"I'm sorry, Call, but the livery's gone. It was torn down to make way for my new depot. Curtis Wells has a railroad now," Mosby informed him with a toothy grin.
Call choked on his drink. Not the livery! Why, where would he and Enona have their trysts? This had to be some sort of bad dream. He banged his empty glass down on the bar and raced outside to see for himself.
No! It couldn't be! A fine and fancy brick building stood where the livery had once been. Shiny tracks stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. Damn!
What was that speck down the line? It was getting closer. As it came into view, Call heard a voice calling his name.
"Call. Oh, Ca - all."
Call recognized the owner of the voice to be none other than Unbob. He was riding on some sort of contraption on the tracks, pumping his arms up and down furiously.
"Look at me, Call, I been workin' on the railroad! Wheeeee. . ."
Unbob kept right on going and disappeared down the tracks in the opposite direction. Soon there was nothing left of him but a faint "wheeeee" coming back to Call on the breeze.
~~~
Call didn't know what to make of it. He decided to head over to the newspaper office to check on Josiah. He walked down the street and stopped dead in his tracks. What the hell? He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. He looked up and down the street. Surely, he had the right building! But there was no newspaper office to be found. Instead, emblazoned across the front of the building was a huge sign proclaiming: Ike's Tattoo Parlor.
As Call stood there gaping, the door opened, and who should emerge but Twyla, Curtis Wells' own rotund little Madam.
She smiled as she sashayed down the steps and stopped in front of Call. "I'm the first woman in the great state of Montana to get a tattoo, Call. A little butterfly right on my . . . Well, you'll just have to come on over and see me, and I'll show you where it is," she giggled.
Call's face reddened at her invitation, and he turned away abruptly. As luck would have it, though, he bumped right into Ruby and Eula Mae Longbottom, Curtis Wells' old maid gossip biddies, who had been listening to his conversation with Twyla and staring at her with outraged expressions on their prudish, pickle-jar faces.
"Sorry," Call apologized as he side-stepped them and beat a hasty retreat.
"Well, ladies, I guess you're next," he heard Twyla say to them. "Would you like me to go in with you and help you pick out a pretty pattern?"
As he looked back over his shoulder, Call saw Ruby and Eula Mae, clucking behind their hands as they hurried off in the opposite direction.
Twyla watched them go with some amusement before heading back to the whorehouse.
Call thought he might just need another drink after his close call, and he headed back to the Ambrosia.
"Well, Call," Mosby greeted him as he took in the grimy cowboy's dazed expression, "are you startin' to believe me now?"
"Mebbe so," Call answered him as he held out his hand for another drink. "Where's Luther?"
Mosby smiled again. "Our Mister Root has joined the circus. A travelin' troupe came by here six or seven years ago, and he joined up."
Call stared at Mosby over his drink. It couldn't be true! "What the hell is he doin' in a circus?"
"He's the man on the flyin' trapeze. Oh, and he walks the tight rope, as well. I hear he married a lady clown. It seems fittin' somehow."
Call downed his shot and reached for another. He was almost afraid to ask his next question. "How about Austin?"
"He's a prison guard over at Deer Lodge."
Call digested this bit of information. "And Josiah?"
Mosby put another liquor bottle in front of him. "Montana got her statehood last year, and Josiah was elected Senator. He's servin' a term in Washington D.C. Why, I, myself am runnin' for governor of this fine state. Can I count on your vote, Call?"
Call did a spit take, showering the town proprietor with his own watered-down whiskey. "That'll be the day!"
Mosby took out a spotless linen handkerchief and wiped his face and neck fastidiously. "You know, Call, there's one person you haven't asked me about."
Call glowered at him as he took another swig. "Oh, yeah, and who might that be?"
"Mattie."
Call stared at Mosby for a long moment. "Well, what about Mattie then?"
"She returned to Curtis Wells not long after you fell asleep. Soon afterward, she made me the happiest of men by consentin' to become my wife."
Call glared at the saloon owner. "Congratulations," he spat out. "Maybe I'll come by later to kiss the bride."
Mosby ignored his loaded remark. "We have seven children now and another on the way. You know, Call," Mosby said, lowering his voice, "my seed is great."
"So Enona tells me," Call replied.
By now, Call was feeling just a tad bit surly. He finished his drink and ambled out the door. When he saw who was coming, he tried to duck back inside unseen. But alas, it was no use.
"Oh, Newton," Maria called out to him. "Wherever have you been, Newton? I have so much to show you. I've been shopping at the general store. Just wait till you see my new pink dress and matching boots!"
"Not now, Maria," Call told her ungraciously.
Tears welled in Maria's eyes, but she brushed them away and followed her blood brother down the boardwalk. She knew he was just being silly. Of course he wanted to see her new things. She plopped down on his bench with him and promptly set about opening her parcels. She didn't even notice when Call pulled his hat down over his eyes and fell fast asleep.
The End
8/03
