Journey to Yesterday (2 page)

She drove into nearby Bridgeport for dinner, then found a
quiet motel to spend the night. Tomorrow, she would continue up Highway 395,
maybe stop in Reno and try her hand at one the blackjack tables before going on
to Plumas Pines.

Later, in her room, she pulled out the books she had bought
in the Bodie museum—
Boomtowns of the Old West
,
The Cowboy, An
American Legend
,
The Guide to Bodie and Other Eastern Sierra Historic
Sites
, as well as three reproductions of Bodie newspapers.

She picked up the first paper, the
Bodie Morning News
,
which was dated Tuesday, August 12, 1879, noticing that it contained mostly
advertisements and a few articles. She glanced at some of the ads, noting that
The Bodie Bank boasted capital of $50,000, while the Mono County Bank had
$100,000.00 in capital.

Koppel & Platt’s were having a clearance sale. There was
a note at the bottom of the ad, signed by Koppel & Platt, which read, “This
is an opportunity seldom offered, as the stock now on hand is finely assorted
and of the best quality. Gentlemen will please call and examine goods and
prices to satisfy themselves that it is no humbug and we mean business.”

The American Hotel was for sale.

Turning the page, she saw a lengthy article titled “A
Chinese War! War Breaks Out Among the Chinese Last Night — A small battle in
Chinatown — Three Known to be Killed, and More to be Heard from, etc.”

She skipped the article itself and picked up the second
paper, dated August 13, 1879. An ad at the bottom of the first page caught her
eye.
“$100 Reward…Taken from our barn in the lower end of Bodie, on the
night of the 7
th
of August, one black horse, Mexican saddle, and
blankets.”
The next few sentences were illegible, but it went on to say,
“We will pay $100 for the return of the horse in Bodie, and will pay $50 for
the arrest and conviction of the thieves. Moresi Brothers. Dairymen, Bodie,
Cal.”

She laughed out loud as she read an audacious ad by a Mr.
Jonas Cohn, who claimed to be the “The Pioneer Clothing Man of Nevada” then
went on to say he was there to let all his old friends know he was still
around, and that he was going to “sink or swim with all the old timers”. He
also claimed to have an entirely new stock of clothing, gents’ furnishings,
boots and shoes, and claimed it was as good as anything to be found in San
Francisco. He closed with an invitation to call at the Poor Man’s Store and
shake an honest man’s hand.

She couldn’t help thinking that Mr. Jonas Cohn must have
been the Colonel Tom Parker of his day.

Yawning, she turned the page and read, “The Cheap Column.
Under this head we will publish notices not exceeding FIVE lines.”

The third paper was the
Daily Free Press
dated
Thursday morning, March 16, 1882, making her wonder if the
Bodie Morning
News
had gone out of business.

This paper, too, was mostly ads:

Philadelphia Beer Depot

Opposite Wells, Fargo & Co’s.

This Celebrated Beer is not on tap, and for

purity and flavor

IT HAS NO EQUAL

Chas. H. Kelly

Leading

UNDERTAKER

Main Street, Bodie

Everything in the undertaker’s line

fully attended to. Embalming and

the preparation of bodies for trans-

portation will receive special attendance.

WOOD! wood!

At

N. Ambler’s

Nevada Wood Yard

Nut-pine, Cedar & Mahogany Wood

Cut to order and delivered at lowest rates.

Yard on Mill Street, South of Hospital

Mrs. Brophy

FASHIONABLE DRESSMAKER

LaGrange House

HOSTETTER’S STOMACH BITTERS

The name of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters

is heard in every dwelling. It finds a place

in every household, and its praises are

sounded throughout the whole Western

Hemisphere, as a general invigorant,

a cure for sick headache, a specific for flatulency

and sour stomach, an appetizing stomachic,

an excellent blood depurent and certain

remedy for intermittent fever and kindred

diseases.

For sale by all Druggists and Dealers

Generally

She thumbed through
The Guide to Bodie and Eastern Sierra
Historic Sites
. She grinned when she saw that this book, too, mentioned the
quote from the little girl’s diary that was supposed to read, “Goodbye God! We
are going to Bodie.”

According to this book, the editor of a Bodie newspaper
rejoined that the little girl had been misquoted. What she had really said was,
“Good, by God! We are going to Bodie.”

Yawning, Shaye closed the book and put it on the table
beside the bed, turned off the light, and snuggled under the covers. No sooner
had she closed her eyes than the ghostly image she had seen at the jail
appeared in her mind, as tall and dark and handsome as before, his eyes
shadowed with despair.

“Go away,” she murmured. “You don’t exist.”

* * * * *

She slept later than usual and woke feeling vaguely uneasy
over a dream that had been set in Bodie. She supposed her dream wasn’t all that
surprising, since she had spent the day wandering through the ghost town but,
try as she might, she couldn’t remember any details except that she had been
desperately searching for someone… someone with long black hair and dark-brown
eyes.

She showered, brushed her teeth, and dried her hair. She
pulled on a pair of black shorts and her favorite Beauty and the Beast tee shirt,
laced up her Nikes, and went in search of breakfast, hoping to be on the road
no later than eleven.

After a quick breakfast of French toast and orange juice,
she made a stop at the nearest gas station. She smiled as she glanced at her
watch. Ten forty-five.

She pulled out of the driveway and followed the signs to the
highway. Switching on the radio, she found a country station.

“Next stop, Reno.”

She was singing
Smoke Rings in the Dark
along with
her favorite country singer, Gary Alan, when she realized she was on the road
heading back to Bodie.

With a shake of her head, she pulled off the road, intending
to turn around. Instead, she sat there for a moment, wondering how she could
have made such a mistake in the first place, wondering if, subconsciously, she
wanted to go back, wanted to see the jail one more time, if only to prove that
what she had seen, or thought she had seen, had been nothing more than her
imagination.

Frowning, she switched off the engine and gazed into the
distance. Bodie was there, nestled in a shallow valley surrounded by a range of
barren, windswept hills where nothing grew but sagebrush.

She leaned to the left and peered in the rearview mirror.
“Have you lost your mind, Shaye Montgomery? You’re supposed to be going to
Reno. What the devil are you doing here?”

What, indeed? She closed her eyes and the image of a man’s
face flashed through her mind. A face that looked familiar, yet one she knew
she had never seen before.

Except in her imagination.

And last night.

In a dream.

* * * * *

The same attendant was on duty when she reached the entrance
to the park. “Welcome back,” she said.

Shaye grinned as she handed the woman two dollars. “Thanks.
I didn’t expect to be back so soon.”

“Well, the place kind of grows on you,” the woman replied.
“Do you need a guidebook?”

Shaye held up the one she had bought yesterday. “No, thanks.
Got one.”

“Well, have a good day then.”

“Thanks, you, too.” Shaye hesitated a moment. Then, feeling
like a fool, she blurted, “Has anyone ever seen a ghost here?”

“Of course, honey,” the attendant said with an indulgent
grin. “It is a ghost town, you know.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’ve worked and lived here for the past five years,” the
attendant replied soberly. “And I’ve never seen one, but some of the year-round
employees claim to have seen the Angel of Bodie.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, the way the story was told to me, one of the miners
and a little girl became good friends. Seems she followed him wherever he went.
One day she followed him just a little too close and as he was swinging his
axe, he accidentally hit her in the head and fractured her skull. She’s buried
in the Bodie cemetery.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No, but a few years back, a couple of tourists claimed to.
A man and his daughter were visiting the cemetery and he said his little girl
was laughing and seemed to be playing with an invisible playmate. He didn’t
think anything of it at the time. Later, his daughter supposedly asked who the
little girl in the cemetery was.”

“Do you believe it?”

“I don’t know. But if there’s such a thing as ghosts, this
is the place for ‘em.”

With a nod, Shaye put the car in gear and drove up to the
parking lot. As clearly as if she was seeing the words in print, she recalled
the last few lines on the first page of the guide book:
But with the
possible exception of an occasional ghostly visitor, its badmen are all in
their graves.

She parked the Rover, grabbed her keys and backpack, and
locked the door.

For a moment, she stood at the top of the hill, and then she
hurried down the path and made her way to the museum housed in the Miners Union
Hall on Main Street where she had bought books the day before.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes.” She smiled at the man behind the counter. He was a
nice-looking man, about her height, with wavy blond hair and hazel eyes. His
badge identified him as Clark McDonald. “Do you have any books on…” She
hesitated. “On ghosts?”

“You believe in ghosts, do you?”

“No, I don’t actually.”

“Just curious?”

“It’s research,” she said, thinking quickly. “I’m a writer.”

“Is that so? What do you write?”

“Actually, I’m an investigative reporter.” She held out her
hand. “Shaye Montgomery.”

“Clark McDonald. What are you investigating here?”

“Nothing. I mean, it’s like I said, I’m doing research. I’ve
decided to try my hand at writing a novel set in Bodie.”

“I see.” Clark studied her a moment, his eyes narrowed, his
expression thoughtful. Stepping out from behind the counter, he motioned for
her to follow him.

Curious, she followed him outside and around to the back of
the building. “You’ve seen something, haven’t you?” he asked. “Felt something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you?”

She nodded, her mouth dry, her heart pounding.

“Where?”

“At the jail.”

McDonald drew in a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh.

“Have you seen it?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I thought I did once, maybe cause I was
hoping to, but…” He shrugged. “It was probably just my imagination.”

“When did it happen?”

“At the jail, just a year ago. On August twelfth.”

“I saw him yesterday,” she said. “Well, I don’t know if it was
him, but I saw something. At least I think I did.”

He nodded. “Yesterday was August twelfth.”

“Who is he? I mean, who was he?”

Clark glanced up and down the street. “His name was
Alejandro Valverde, but most people called him Rio. He came to Bodie in late
1879 near as I can tell. He was a gambler, quick with a knife and a gun. He
owned half-interest in a saloon for awhile. His partner was a prostitute. He
was accused of killing her. He swore he was innocent right up to the end, but
no one believed him. He was hanged in 1880. On August twelfth, three days after
they arrested him for her murder.”

Shaye stared at him, her heart pounding wildly. “How do you
know so much about him?”

“He was a distant relative. His mother was an Indian. I
think her name was Lark or Dove or something like that. His old man was Irish
and Spanish. Our lines cross somewhere on the Irish side. Alejandro was born in
South Dakota, near the Black Hills.”

“Do you know what Valverde looked like?”

“Just that he was tall, with long black hair.”

“And brown eyes?”

Clark shrugged. “Might have been. I have an old photo, but
it’s black and white, you know, so it’s hard to tell.”

She felt a thrill of excitement. “I’d like to see it.”

Clark glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.
Are you planning to spend the day here?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“The picture’s up at my place. I’ve got an old diary you
might be interested in, too. I could show them to you after work.”

“All right.”

“Why don’t you meet me here at, say, seven? We can have
dinner and talk.”

Shaye nodded. “Sounds great. Thanks so much.”

With a nod, he walked toward the street.

Shaye stood there a moment. It was only a little after noon,
which meant she had seven hours to kill. She tapped her foot impatiently, then
took a deep breath.

“Relax, Shaye,” she muttered. “You’re on vacation.”

There was nothing to do but take the self-guided tour again.
Pulling the guide book out of her backpack, she walked back to Green Street and
the post marked One. The Dolan House. The guidebook had little to say about
this family other than they produced two Mono County sheriffs around the turn
of the century.

The Methodist Church was next. It was the only church still
standing in the town, and the only Protestant church ever built. The last
service had been held in 1932. In the ensuing years, the interior of the
building had been badly vandalized. According to the booklet, the Ten
Commandants, painted on oilcloth, had once hung behind the pulpit. Apparently,
whoever had stolen it did not hold with the Ninth Commandment—thou shalt not
steal.