Christopher's Journey: Sometimes it takes being lost to find yourself Page 7
A cold morning breeze swept over Chris making him wake without yet opening his eyes. ‘I don’t want to open my eyes.’ he thought, for he remembered that he was sleeping behind a dumpster with nowhere to go, with no one to care for him, with no hope.
Another breeze chilled him to the bone. He reached around hoping to find some newspapers, bags or anything that would suffice as a blanket in this heartless city that had turned it’s back on him.
‘City? Why was it so silent? Do I actually hear crickets?’ he thought as he reached around him.
His fingers found no answers to his questions but ran along sharp blades of dew moistened grass. The ground beneath him was cold like concrete but soft and supple, grainy but rich.
Chris forced his weary eyes open only to be blinded by the rising sun spread across the endless horizon. He slowly rose to his feet as he crept in a full 360 degree circle. The trash was gone, the dumpster was gone, the buildings, the concrete, the people, traffic and noise had all vanished.
Instead he rested his sights on a never ending prairie with flowing grasses. One direction was as flat as could be while the other had soft slopes covered with hundreds of trees. The rest of the landscape seemed to fall in between as the land flowed in soft hills as if blowing gently in the breeze. Scattered throughout the grass were thousands of large patches of flowers, purple and white, almost as white as the billowing clouds that speckled the immeasurable, deep blue sky.
The air was free from pollution and smog and only the crisp, cool scent of the natures morning filled Chris' head. He'd not smelled air this clean as far as his memory would go back.
The sun rising past the crest of the horizon made the trees and plants sparkle and perk up as if they were greeting the sun, thankful for the new day. They seemed to be reaching for it's warmth.
Chris looked around, full of confusion but couldn't quite ignore the splendor. Glorious or not, he needed to find his way out of here and fast.
In the distance he could see a wooded area that seemed to have a large gap in the middle.
“A road?” Chris said out loud, unsure. He decided his only option of finding his way home was to find a road and follow it until something looked familiar. He couldn't be too far from Coar City.
Chris took in a deep breath and began trudging through the tall grass that seemed to want to grab him and pull him down.
“I cannot believe they found me!” he fumed, stomping down the grass in front of him. “Joe-Z and his mindless followers must have drugged me and dumped me here in the middle of no where! COWARDS! They couldn’t confront me like men?”
Even though he could see his destination in front of him, it took miles to reach the tree line. He could feel the exhaustion from his anger and the walk through the tall weeds and grasses. It was as tiring as trying to run through water. He’d not eaten or had a drop to drink since his release and felt his body screaming for nutrients. He found the road and began following it towards the Northeast, as he figured from the position of the sun.
He had paid some attention in school to know that the sun rises in the East, rests overhead at noon and sets in the West. If only he'd taken some wilderness training as a boy, the scouts would have taught him what to do in a predicament like this.
After what seemed like hours, he spotted something up ahead. A house. A shack more like it, it could not have been larger than the apartment Chris grew up in. It was built out of logs which were notched out and criss-crossed in every corner. From what Chris could see from the road, the house had only one door and one window. A similar looking building lay across the yard but had a larger door and a fence around it that appeared to be made of nothing more than tree branches and twigs. A rope was tied from the tiny front porch to the door of what Chris guessed was a garage or a very small barn.
As he approached the house he noticed a clothes line, a tiny shed that appeared to be only large enough to stand in, a wooden barrel and a small, un-kept garden. The rest of the property was surrounded by tall grass as far as the eye could see.
Chris stumbled up the two steps to the door, noticing that there was no door handle. Instead there lay a rope coming from a hole at the top of the door. He knocked despite his confusion with an ounce of fear mixed in. He knocked again, a little harder. With the extra force, the door swung open only enough for Chris to pop his head in.
“Hello?” he softly called.
The room smelled of kerosene and smoke as the fire in the fireplace dwindled down. A large kettle sat in front of the fireplace next to a high back arm chair. The only other furniture in the room was a bed in the corner that had only one leg. The other three sides seemed to be attached to the walls. A dining table with two chairs sat on the opposite side of the shack. On the table sat a kerosene lamp, a small wooden box and a pipe. The one door and one window had indeed been the only in this tiny huddle, the smallest house Chris had ever seen.
“Hello?” he managed to choke out.
Obviously no one was in the house. Using the rope, he pulled the door shut and turned to look into the wilderness that stood between him and home, wherever home was. He wasn’t sure if he had a home in Coar City. His mother didn’t want him, his father had vanished, his only friends were his fellow gang members who had banished him to this remote place. If he went back, they’d kill him for sure. The only person that would help him or show him any love had left him over thirteen years ago. A tear formed in the corner of Chris’ eye as he tried to shake the thought of his grandma out of his head. Even if he found a phone, who would he call?
‘I guess I need to find out where I am first.’ Chris thought.
He made his way down the two steps and down the narrow drive. Half way to the road he stopped short and turned his head to hear better. Silence. He turned to walk again and stopped. He kept hearing a faint jingle, like metal on metal. It was coming from around that second building, the garage. Chris apprehensively but desperately made his way to the building.
“Hello?” Chris almost shouted.
“In back.” Came a gruff voice shouting back at him.
Chris made his way around the building to see a man hooking two horses onto an old wagon. He’d seen these wagons before but only on TV.
The tall slender man wore a long sleeved brown shirt under his overalls which tucked snuggly into his boots. His brimmed hat shaded his face as he turned to Chris.
“Just let me finish hookin’ up my schooner and I’ll be right with ya.”
Schooner? Who was this guy? Chris studied his face to see if there was any hint of crazy in this man. There has to be a reason he’s choosing to live this way. Other than the dark, sagging eyes, full dirty beard and dusty face, he didn’t seem completely out of the ordinary. Still, Chris took a step back as the man turned to him.
“Now, what can I do for ya, son?” Son? He had a lot of nerve! “I haven’t seen you around these parts, you new to this area?”
What parts? All there is here is area.
“I’m just passing through.” Chris finally answered. “actually, I was just wondering if I could use your phone.”
“Phone?” the man said, looking confused as he scratched his beard.
“Well, I noticed there are no wires going to your house but I was hoping you’d have a cell or something, I’m really lost.”
“Cell?” ‘Ugh, maybe this guy was out of his mind!’
Their silence made the man speak up again. “Son, I’m not sure of these contraptions you speak of, but if you’re lost, I can see what I can do to help. I’m Louis Kinsley.” he said, holding out his right hand.
Chris hesitantly reached out to shake his hand.
“I’m Chris Scholt. Actually, could you just tell me where I am?”
“Well, you ain't more than two miles east of the Oak Forest River, near the town of Coar, Christopher.”
“It’s CHRIS! Wait.. What? I can’t be two miles fr
om the river in Coar City.”
“City? Well, it is growin’ a bit, but we are far from bein’ a city. I have heard the boardin' house was going to be rebuilt bigger and better, there’s talk of that bein’ done by the fall of 1870. I own the Livery in town, I’d love to do some expandin’ on that.” 1870? This man was insane! “Would you like a ride into town, son?”
“NO! Thank you.” Chris crept slowly backward and turned away almost running down the drive. “Wherever Joe-Z dumped me, it’s crazy-ville for sure.”
Determined, Chris trudged along the beaten dirt path. His thirst was unbearable, his stomach grumbled with hunger, the sun beat down on him with no mercy and seemed too hot to be early May. His feet ached as they began to shuffle rather than step. Chris walked a couple more miles only looking ahead occasionally to make sure he was still on the road. He felt exhausted and defeated that he’d seen only one house on his half day journey.
His eyes spotted something strange ahead. It looked like another house but even smaller. It had only one wall, the rest of it was nestled into a small hill. Golden grass lay tall and thick around the strange dwelling that had only one doorway and one window. The fact that the doorway had no door and the window had no glass led Chris to believe that no one was living there, but he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“Hello?” he called as he approached the doorway. He peeked inside. “I can’t believe this house is smaller than the last one, this place is no bigger than my prison cell.”
A bed frame covered the entire left side of the home. Because most of the walls were smoothed out Earth, the bed frame had two legs but was fastened to the front wall. It was a simple wood box with criss-crossed rope in the middle that was meant to hold a mattress even though one was no where in sight. Half of the right side were two chairs sitting around a table that also fastened to the front wall. A small iron stove took up the rest of the right side.
“I’m pretty certain nobody is living here.” Chris spoke aloud. He looked around outside, again, just to be sure. There were no other buildings around this house except another one of those tiny sheds.
‘I just need to lie down for a minute.’ he thought. ‘I can still use this bed for now, it can’t be worse than a hammock.’
Chris sat on the side of the box frame and took his last ounce of strength to swing his legs up as he laid back. The rope was not as soft and forgiving as a hammock and it certainly did not gently rock back and forth. It actually dug into every part of his body that was touching it, surely making a waffle pattern on the length of him. Chris squirmed trying to convince himself that this was better than being scorched by the sun and burned by the wind.
He closed his eyes just to shoot them back open with the sound of whinnying. He could hear the clatter of a horse and wagon approaching. He jumped up, worried that he may indeed be in someone’s home and bolted out the door.
‘That’s the last thing I need is to go back to jail for breaking and entering… or at least entering.’
“Well, Christopher Scholt.” shouted Mr. Kinsley.
“Chris!”
“You didn’t make it too far, did ya? The offer for a ride into town is still good.”
Chris stared at the man that he already deemed ‘crazy’ but Mr. Kinsley’s smile seemed genuine and he was the only person willing to help, well, the only person around, period.
“Do you have any water?” Chris asked.
“Sure, hop on up.” Mr. Kinsley handed Chris a small leather bag after he had settled in next to him on the raised bench. “Help yourself, son.”
After depleting the man’s water supply, Chris wiped his mouth. “Could you NOT call me son? It makes me feel uncomfortable since I don’t have parents anymore.”
Mr. Kinsley’s eyes dropped. “I’m sorry. You’ve been orphaned. The fever get ‘em?”
“No, and I’m not orphaned, it’s just that, um…”
“Of course you ain’t orphaned, why you’re a young man now, ain’t ya? How many years ya got on ya? Eighteen?”
“I’m nineteen.” Chris answered.
“Where ya from?”
Chris didn’t know how to answer that question. He was from Coar City but that’s where Mr. Kinsley thought he was, back in time even. Chris decided to change the subject and start asking his own questions. “Who lives in that half a house back there?”
“You mean the soddy? No one’s lived there since last year. Mr. and Mrs. Horton packed up and headed South last fall. Didn’t try to sell the property or nothin'. The Browley’s have been looking into buyin’ the land behind it for farmin’ but no one in town has the desire to take up residence there. The soddy is too small for the families around here. I have my own place and the other single folk live in town at the boardin'house. You thinkin' you wanna buy it?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore, nothing has made any sense to me today.”
“Oh, I have days like that too, son… uh, Chris. We all do.” Mr. Kinsley shot Chris an understanding grin.
Chris closed his eyes and allowed the soft breeze to take the heat of the day off of him. The ride in the wagon was loud and bumpy. The rickety wood wheels found every rock and dip in the road, tossing Chris around in his seat.
“Here she is.” Mr. Kinsley stated as they went around a bend.
Chris opened his eyes. “Here what is?” he stated not even expecting an answer. He saw a winding river to his right that was lined with several buildings. The first building had a sign above it that read ‘The Moyor Mercantile.’ A small road ran past the mercantile towards the river to a smaller building with a large wheel that set in the river, turning as the water pushed through it. Past the mercantile was a one room, shed sized, building labeled, ‘Post Office.’
“This is Coar.” Mr. Kinsley said, answering Chris’ rhetorical question. “That there is the Tradin’ Store or the Mercantile as they now call it, then the Post Office, that building on the corner is the boardin'house, best stew around. Across the way, there is the school and church and last but not least, my livery, way there on the end. It’s the first thing people see when they come up from Branson, though, so I ain’t complainin’.
“What river is that?” Chris asked with nothing but confusion rolling through his mind.
“That there is the Oak Forest River that I told you about earlier. The people here have been using it to get supplies from Shorlin for years.. Across it is the Oak Forest which is where the river got it’s name.”
“Oak Forest Park! Oak Forest River between Shorlin and Branson? This is Coar City?”
“You must be from smaller parts if you think this is a city, but yep, this is Coar. It’s not much but it’s gone up nicely for less than two decades it’s been around. People started settlin’ down here around 1850 or so. You’ll never meet a nicer bunch of folk.”
Chris closed his eyes and squeezed them shut trying to wake if this was a dream. “What year is it?” He almost whispered.
Mr. Kinsley gave him a questioned look. “Why it’s May, 1868.”
Chris shot a glance at him. “Who is president of the United States?” he almost shouted.
“It’s Johnson, Andrew Johnson… son, are you alright?”
“I have to go.” Chris got up and jumped from the slow moving wagon.
‘What is going on?’ Chris rang through his mind over and over as he ran in the opposite direction out of town. ‘This can’t be, how could I be in 1868? I’m either dreaming or I have gone insane. Here I thought Louis Kinsley was crazy and I’m the one who’s lost his mind.’
Chris stomped down the road looking for any sign of civilization. ‘Maybe this was an elaborate joke, after all, he’d only met one person. Maybe Mr. Kinsley was a friend or a parent of one of the gang members.’ That had to be it, there was no other explanation. Time travel is not possible.’
He passed a large farm that he remembered passing while ridin
g with Mr. Kinsley, if that is his real name. This farm was not huge but it had been the largest set-up he’d seen all day. He visually scoured the roof top and around the house, no wires, no phones, no electricity. Why bother stopping, they’re probably in on this too. Maybe this was the gangs plan of how to kill him. Dump him out here to die of hunger, thirst, exposure, even fear. Were the members of the gang that elaborate to come up with such a detailed scheme? And what about that river?
Chris had grown up around that river and knew it by heart, every twist and turn and depth of it. He had just seen the Oak Forest River. The city park across it, however, was now thick forest.
Chris looked to the West to see the sun touching the horizon. ‘It’s going to be dark soon and I have no place to go. I’ve spent this entire day walking in a giant circle, have only met one person and besides town, had only seen two homes… well, besides that soddy.’ Chris’ thoughts halted.
“The soddy. Mr. Kinsley said nobody was living there, surely no one would know if I spent the night.”
He picked up his pace in order to get to the soddy before dark. When he reached it, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He entered the door-less doorway only to look at the bed frame with no mattress. ‘Ugh.’ he remembered how uncomfortable it was to lay on for only a few minutes, he wouldn’t last all night.
He stepped out the door and stared at the sea of grass glimmering in the sunset. With the last of his strength, he walked to the side of the soddy and started yanking big handfuls of the tall grass, some chunks coming up with their roots. When he had an armful, he carried the bundle into the soddy and laid the grass over the ropes. He’d had an idea to weave them in multiple directions to at least make a solid surface but that would take more grass and even more time. ‘This will have to do.’
He laid down not onto luxurious comfort, but he’d slept on worse. Even last night when he slept on concrete behind a smelly dumpster. If he was transported overnight to 1868, maybe he’ll go back tonight, but what was he really going back to?