Chapter 6

Caroline’s head was spinning after her talk with her mother, Dove Feather. She lay under the beautiful Injun-patterned woollen blanket, and was almost getting warm, but sleep wouldn’t come immediately. Their conversation had been interrupted by Hiding Fox’s return, leaving so many unanswered questions.

So, it appeared that she could determine to stay here in this Wild West setting if she wanted to, but she did not yet know the means to do so, and her mother was reticent on the way how to manage it, hinting that there were certain rules to this game. Presumably she had to cut off her ties with reality by dying, as her mother had, but it couldn’t possibly be as simple as that; her father’s death in his sleep in the stark reality of his Yorkshire home town, where he had lived all his natural life, coincided with his violent death in the fantasy world of Sweetwater Valley. Were the two events unrelated or not?

She was aware that she could only stay here in this world while she was awake here and asleep at home. It seemed that she couldn’t be awake in both places at once. As soon as she fell sleep here in Sweetwater, she knew she would wake up in her Dad’s old car. There were rules to this fantasy world and some of those rules were becoming clear. She needed the full picture, though, before she made up her mind about where her future lay.

At home she had lost all her friends when her marriage went sour, her ex-husband had abused her marriage and her two sons had revealed themselves as being no better than their father. There was nothing to hold her there any more in that reality.

What was worrying, though, it seemed as though the ‘people’ populating this fantasy world had free will and could become rustlers or gun fighters, bank robbers, and bandits, if they wanted to. Recently, three of them, dangerous people indeed, were able to pick a fight with her father and, outnumbering him, shot and killed him in cold blood and cared little for the fact they were witnessed doing so. In turn, Caroline had seen two of them hanged, showing that life was cheap here in Sweetwater. So this fantasy was not a vision of perfect paradise all the way.

Could she live here in this violent place, she wanted to know, where law could be lax enough for murder to take place, yet be so terrible in revenge? Her mother had found that she couldn’t live in the Victorian underclass fantasy world that her own grandmother created, so what kind of world could Caroline invent for herself, if she had indeed inherited the ability that her mother had hinted?

It was all right for her parents. Together, they had all their lives shared an overwhelming interest in Wild West play acting, that they had tried to make appear more grown up by calling it ‘Reenactment’. Somehow, through this ancient art of witchcraft, plain old Mrs Maureen Pinner from Harrogate, had indeed created their dream world. It seemed so real, too.

Of course it wasn’t really real, even this Injun village was a joke for a start. ‘Firewater’ was actually ginger ale, and the ‘Injuns’ were white people, just like the extras in old Wild West films, only these fantasy Indians appeared to think that they were Injuns. In fact, those blue eyes and the smile with perfect teeth of the young brave Yellow Snow, reminded her of Old Mr Snodgrass from Pontefract, who once kept a string of ponies and was one of her Dad’s old friends. And the cute dimples on that little girl Jumping Rabbit, was similar to ... a lovely Mary Somebody-or-other, she remembered, who taught her how to weave wampum beads at that summer camp on the Moors that her parents took her to when she was about nine. Did her mother use her memories of these old friends to build and populate this world?

If she was going to spend time in any dream world, Caroline believed she had no real enthusiasm for any other era or setting other than this. Here, despite the dangers and the violence, she felt at home here. She had to admit to herself that she had really enjoyed the weekends and summer camps playing Cowboys and Indians as a young girl, but had excused herself from the activities once reaching her late teens brought a degree of autonomy to her weekend activities and her friends and contemporaries considered the whole act of being pretend Cowboys all a bit silly. But now she was enjoying being here more than anything, much more than being at her lonely home in the Cotswolds, where she had been relegated by the divorce and her tight income to become an anonymous nobody. Even just laying here in this warm teepee, the smoke from the embers of a fire drifting upward, the gentle breathing of the devoted Alice lying close next to her and the occasional snuffle of some of the other single Injun women spread around the comforting shelter of the tent, was somehow comforting and relaxing. And with that ... she fell asleep.

Caroline shivered and woke up in the dream car in her garage. The blanket had fallen away from her shoulders and she felt chilled and stiff. Yet, as she exited the car, she no longer felt sleepy. The heating was on in the house, so she soon began to warm up. She suddenly felt hunger pangs and knew there was little food in the house. She hadn’t done any food shopping yesterday because of the car accident...

She suddenly laughed. That accident wasn’t ‘yesterday’, it was only a matter of a few hours ago. Although she had spent all day riding to the camp and enjoyed a barbecue with a prime rib steak from a cow born and raised on her own ranch in Sweetwater, and eaten just a couple of hours ago, that was in the Wild West. Here in the Cotswolds she hadn’t actually eaten all day. What with the time spent in the hospital, and the trip to the plumbers, she had missed most of her meals. Food. She needed to shop and the nearest supermarket was open until eight at night, giving her another ninety minutes before it closed. She put together a quick list and ventured out into the winter rain.

It had been chilly in that Sweetwater reservation teepee, but even where there was snow, the skies were bright and clear and the air desiccatingly cold; while in England it was wet with fine drizzle, windy and with low cloud and poor visibility.

Her mind was still turning over the concept of being some kind of a witch with fantasy world-creating powers, when her shopping trolley gently bumped into another.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I know,” he said, “I’ve been watching you for a couple of minutes and you were clearly miles away. Somewhere nice and warm with a sandy beach, I hope.”

“Doctor George!”

“The very same, although when I am not wearing my stethoscope around my neck, I usually answer to plain Peter,” he chuckled, “How’s young Olivia?”

“Oh, the little girl? To be honest, I don’t know, I handed her over to her mother and dashed off to the plumbers, hoping to catch them, but they’d closed up for the night.”

“I remember now, you were the Good Samaritan who brought her in after a road accident.”

“Yes, an accelerating car’s wing mirror caught the poor girl’s elbow and knocked her off her bike. The driver didn’t stop. I think Olivia was more shocked than hurt, so I had to take her to Casualty.”

“So you were unable to do your shopping until now?”

“Something like that. You just finished your shift?”

“Yes, well, a couple of hours ago. I have been up to the house to check on what the builders were doing. They’d gone by the time I got there. I couldn’t help but notice they’d eaten all the biscuits and virtually run out of coffee, tea, milk and sugar. Got to keep the workers happy, so I’m here getting in a few supplies.”

“How is the house? You were having quite a lot of work done on it, weren’t you?”

“Yes, they have almost completely gutted the inside and are working on repairing the roof and cracks in the chimney. It’s coming along and should be ready sometime in late January, early February. The builders are having about three weeks off over Christmas, otherwise it could have been a little more convenient.”

“I suppose it will be nice to finally move in and get settled.”

“Yes it will. Er, look, I just need to visit the biscuit aisle and then I’m done. Would you like to join me in a cup of coffee or tea before you go?”

“Normally, I would, but,” she could see from his face that he was disappointed at his invitation being rejected. She thought he was a kindly man and, having only recently moved back to the area after a forty year absence, not knowing anyone around here. He sounded, from his accent, as though he had spent the intervening years in London or the South East. She supposed all his hospital colleagues were youngsters in their twenties and thirties who had little in common with him.

“I need to get back, I’m afraid,” Caroline said while giving him a warm but apologetic smile, “with things to do, it being a busy time at Christmas, but perhaps next week or the coming weekend?”

“It’s Friday night already, Mrs er...”

“Bradshaw, but please, call me Caroline. Look, I live at Number 14 Albert Crescent. It’s just round the corner from your house. Would you like to come to Sunday tea, say at 3 o’clock?”

“I would like that, er, the Christmas lights in the town are being switched on tonight, but perhaps we could go look at them after tea on Sunday. It’ll be a lot less crowded at that time.”

“Yes, I would like that, Peter, thank you.” Caroline smiled, “I will see you Sunday.”

It was cold but sunny at the Injun Reservation, nestling in the bend in the Sweetwater River the opposite side of the mountain from the Lazy C Ranch. Most of the single Injun women who slept in this particular teepee were already up and about. Alice was also absent when Caroline awoke.

Caroline had retired fully dressed, still in her riding buckskins, so it didn’t take her long to shake out her blanket and fold it up ready to go outside.

“Good morning, Miss Caroline,” came Alice’s voice from the tent opening, where she was carrying a small black iron cauldron suspended from a wire handle, with a thick cloth wrapped around it, “did you sleep well?”