  Home/QuickSearch + Categories + Schedule Rules + FAQ + Links/Lists + Contact |
|
Home/QuickSearch + Categories + Schedule Rules + FAQ + Links/Lists + Contact |
|
ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Prologue
By Char Chaffin and Tess
MSR, Casefile, AU
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season SevenDisclaimers: Clones on Loan
Thanks: To Sallie, Carol and Teresa for beta above and beyond the call of duty; to Robin, Donna, AlyC and Shelba for preview and advice! Ladies, you're the tops!
Summary: While vacationing in Colorado Mulder and Scully uncover disturbing evidence that reflects the history of the alien virus -
Prologue
Miller's Gold Mine Company
Millersburg, Colorado
1860"Ben, make sure ya got that fuse long enough." Jack Sawyer leaned over to check the placement of the dynamite.
"Got it," Ben Nulty grunted. He ran his finger along the length of fuse dangling down the rock wall. "Plenty of time for even an old geezer like you t' run outta here." He faked a grimace as the older man cuffed him lightly across the back of the head.
"Show some respect for your elders, boy!"
"Yeah, yeah." Ben pushed himself to his feet and grinned impudently. "Ya ready?"
Jack nodded and struck a match against the rocks. "Fire in the hole!" he shouted as he touched the flame to the end of the fuse. Both men whirled and ran into the next chamber. They joined two other miners who were crouched behind a rocky outcropping for safety. Seconds later the chamber shook from the force of the distant explosion and dust filled the air. Coughing, the men cautiously stepped out from behind the protective barrier.
One of the younger men - a boy actually no more than sixteen years old - moved toward the site of the explosion.
"Hold on there, Bobby." Jack reached out and grabbed the young man by the arm. "Don't be in such an all-fired rush."
"What're we waitin' for?" the boy asked.
Ben leaned against the wall and shook his head. "Kids," he muttered.
"What are you talking 'bout?" Jack laughed. "You can't be no more than a coupla years older than Bobby, here."
"Few months down in this hole ages a man beyond his years," mumbled the fourth miner.
Jack and Ben grinned appreciatively.
"What we're waitin' for is the dust to clear and t' give the mountain a minute or two to settle before we go runnin' back in there." Jack stabbed a finger toward the chamber where the explosion had occurred. "Don't wanna be runnin' into a place where rocks are still fallin' down on your head," he explained.
Bobby's eyes widened and he leaned back against the wall, unconsciously mimicking the older men's stances.
A few more minutes passed and Jack deemed it safe enough to return to work. Silently, the men tossed their picks and shovels into a couple of wheelbarrows and followed him through the tunnel.
Several hours passed as the men cleared the debris left from the explosion. They strained their backs under the heavy weight as they lifted large chunks of rock littering the floor of the chamber into wheelbarrows.
Jack straightened up and pressed his hands against the small of his back, heaving a tired sigh. Taking a drink of water from his canteen, he grimaced at the warm, stale taste. He pulled a watch from his pocket and flipped open the cover, squinting in the dim light to see the time. They had been working for over ten hours now.
"Not long till quittin' time, boys," he called out as he tucked the watch away.
He hefted a long iron pole in his callused hands and went back to work at moving a particularly large and stubborn rock out of the way. He and Ben strained, pitting their strength against the rock and were rewarded when it finally shifted away from the wall. They dropped the pole and the two men set to work at breaking the rock into smaller pieces.
An hour later, Jack heaved the last chunk of broken rock into the wheelbarrow and nodded to Bobby who wheeled the load away.
"What's this?" Jack turned to see Ben looking at something on the ground. He joined the younger man who had dropped down onto his haunches.
"Looks like some kind of oil," Ben mused as he dipped his fingers into the sticky, black substance that had been revealed with the removal of the debris.
Jack lowered a lantern and peered closely at the black puddle that seemed to seep up from the ground.
"Never seen nothin' like it," he grunted as he pushed himself back to his feet. "There's all kinds of minerals and stuff down here. Whatever it is, there don't seem to be a lot of it," he murmured, noting the small size of the puddle.
A shrill whistle sounded in the distance.
"Time to go home," Jack smiled. "I'm gonna get some dinner, kiss my wife and kids and get some sleep," he groaned as he clapped a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Let's go, boy."
Ben glanced up and then back down at the small pool of the dark matter. "Is it just me," he asked, "or does this stuff look like it's moving?"
Jack laughed. "Probably just the light and shadows playing with ya." He reached out a hand to grab the younger man's arm and pull him to his feet.
"Come on," he urged. "Jenny and that baby o' yours are gonna be wonderin' where you are if you don't hurry up. And wipe that stuff off before you get it on me. These're new britches and Mary just made me this shirt. If I come home with an oily mess on me, she'll shoot me!"
Ben nodded and wiped his soiled hands on his shirt as he followed Jack through the tunnels and up to the surface.
The next morning, Jenny Nulty gathered up her husband's dirty clothes from the chair near their bed and threw them into a basket. She paused to check on the sleeping baby lying in a cradle near the stove and then carried the laundry outside, leaving the door open so that she could hear the baby.
She pulled Ben's work clothes from the basket. She plunged a shirt into the water of the washbasin and then ran a bar of soap over the wet material. As she scrubbed the shirt against the washboard, her thoughts turned to her husband. He had awakened, complaining of a headache and an unsettled stomach. She had wanted him to stay home from work, but he had brushed off her concerns and set off for the mine, reluctant to risk losing his job.
Jenny sighed as the dark stain on Ben's shirt stubbornly refused to come out. She ran her fingers over the stain and frowned at the tacky feeling substance. She rubbed the material harder against the washboard, scrubbing until her arms ached with the effort and still the stain refused to budge.
"Oh well," she grimaced. "It's just gonna get dirty again." She wrung the excess water from the shirt and clipped it to the clothesline. Turning back to the washbasin, she stumbled and almost fell. Looking down to see what had caused her to trip, she found a twenty-pound bag of feed for the chickens lying on the ground. She planted her hands on her hips and heaved out an annoyed sigh. Why would Ben set the bag in the middle of the yard? As she contemplated just leaving the bag there until her husband came home, she noted that the shirt she had just clipped to the clothesline was dripping directly onto the bag of feed. Muttering under her breath, she bent at the waist and used her apron to blot up the moisture. She grasped the edges of the burlap bag with both hands; straining, she hefted it into her arms and began to carry it across the small yard toward the barn. Three greedy hens squawked and fluttered around her, almost causing her to trip again, when a loud wail from the cabin caught her attention.
"Someone's up from her nap." Jenny looked around for a place to set down the bag of feed out of the way of the squawking chickens. She spied a low wooden barrel propped up against the side of the chicken coop. Upending it, she shoved the bag into the barrel. The baby's wails were growing louder and angrier. Jenny scooped up the wooden lid and slammed it on top of the barrel. She couldn't fathom the hens managing to get into the barrel, but for good measure she grabbed Ben's toolbox and set it on the lid.
"Shoo." She kicked a gentle foot toward the fluttering chickens. "You already had your breakfast." She wiped her hands on her damp apron and hurried in to feed her baby.
Ben Nulty staggered home beneath the lowering sun. The headache and upset stomach he had awakened with had only gotten worse as the day had passed. Now, every muscle in his body ached and his head pounded with a fierceness that threatened to drive him to his knees. He longed for nothing more than to lie down in the bed he shared with Jenny and sleep for the next ten hours.
He pushed open the door to the tiny cabin that was their home and found Jenny and the baby curled up on the bed. The baby whimpered fretfully and tears streamed down Jenny's face. Like Ben, they were both bathed in perspiration.
"Oh, Ben," Jenny cried weakly as she caught sight of her husband. "I'm so glad you're home." She held out a hand to him. "Sarah's sick. What're we gonna do?"
Ben stumbled across the room and dropped to his knees next to the bed. He lifted trembling fingers to the baby's cheek and then looked into this wife's frightened eyes.
"What're we gonna do, Ben?" she asked again.
He shook his head and rubbed his fists against his eyes. He blinked and tried to clear his vision, but suddenly it was as if he was looking at the world through mud-coated glass.
"Ben?" Jenny cried shrilly. "Ben! Ben!"
As he collapsed to the floor beside the bed, the last thing Ben Nulty heard before the world went black was his wife's desperate screams.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Chapter One
By Char Chaffin and Tess
MSR, Casefile, AU
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season SevenDisclaimers: Clones on Loan
Thanks: To Sallie, Carol and Teresa for beta above and beyond the call of duty; to Robin, Donna, AlyC and Shelba for preview and advice! Ladies, you're the tops!
Summary: While vacationing in Colorado Mulder and Scully uncover disturbing evidence that reflects the history of the alien virus -
Chapter One
Estes Park, Colorado
July, 2000Mulder stepped out of the shower and briskly ran a towel over his arms and chest. He secured the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. He glanced around the hotel room and caught sight of Scully through the glass doors that led to the private balcony of their suite. Padding across the room, he slid open the doors and joined her.
"Breakfast should be here soon," she murmured as he slid his arms around her. She leaned her head against his chest and sighed contentedly. It was promising to be a spectacular day. The snowcapped peaks of the Rockies stood out in stark contrast against the brilliantly blue sky. Their balcony overlooked a clear, mountain lake and Rocky Mountain National Park.
"You glad we came?" He pressed a kiss against her cheek and she smiled softly. Eyes closed, she tilted her face upward, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her cheeks, the feel of Mulder's arms around her and the peacefulness of their surroundings. There had been so much upheaval in their lives in the last few months, beginning with the one-two punch of the death of Mulder's mother along with his acceptance of the permanent loss of Samantha from his life and culminating in their fruitless efforts to create a child.
When the last attempt at invitro fertilization had failed, she had been broken, beaten; he had picked her up and carried her through yet another crisis. And something between them... changed. Where once they had exclusively spent their evenings eating take-out and going over the latest case or writing up a report, they began instead to find time to relax and just enjoy one another's company without the excuse of work. A few tentative, almost shy kisses; eating popcorn and watching a few video rentals together - they learned to intersperse those moments into their lives. The intrusion of her past into their present leading her to the realization that all roads led directly to him... in the six weeks since, they had made the transition from friends to lovers with astounding ease.
They had cashed in two weeks of vacation time and had settled happily in the Colorado Rockies to relax and get to know each other away from all things familiar.
Scully opened her eyes and glanced back at him. "I'm very glad we're here," she smiled. "I've wanted to go away and spend workfree, alien-free, monster-free time with you for a very long time now," she admitted. She turned her attention back to the panoramic view before them. "What do you want to do today?"
"Weellll..." he drawled as his fingers played with the drawstring of her lightweight, cotton pajama bottoms. "I was thinking that we could..." Sneaky fingers dipped beneath the now-loosened material to trace a teasing pattern over the soft skin of her stomach.
She squirmed in a half-hearted protest. "Mulder, we've been here two days and we haven't left the hotel."
His teeth grazed her jaw in a nipping bite. "And that's a problem because...?" His hand slipped lower, encouraging her to his way of thinking.
"Breakfast will be here soon," she reminded him weakly.
He turned her in his arms. "That's good," he whispered. "You need to eat to keep up your strength."
Scully laughed and threw her arms around his neck. "Okay," she agreed. "But after breakfast, we're going out."
He drew her back into their room and eased her down onto the rumpled bed. "After lunch," he countered as he stretched out over her.
"We'll argue about it later," she murmured against his lips.
In the end, they compromised on a late breakfast and a stroll around town. Scully had been content to window shop but one store had drawn her attention and Mulder had followed her inside. The shop was filled with handcrafted leather goods and jewelry. Scully trailed her fingers over a beautifully stitched leather coat and then gravitated toward a glass case filled with Native American jewelry. As she poured over a display of silver and turquoise earrings, Mulder wandered around the shop. One small corner of the store was crammed with a clutter of postcards, maps and books dedicated to the area. He flipped through several travel guides and glanced with some interest at a map book of suggested scenic drives. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Scully was still raptly looking at the jewelry. He shoved the map book back onto the shelf and let his gaze wander over the rest of the books.
His eyes lit up at the title of one book and he drew it off the shelf. "Mysteries of Colorado: Hauntings, Ghost Towns and Other Strange Phenomena." He leaned against a wall and flipped to the table of contents.
"Hey Scully, listen to this." Book in hand he strolled across the room to her side. She smiled up at him as he leaned against the display case. "According to this book, there are a number of ghost towns in Colorado," he said as he skimmed through the book.
Scully immediately started to shake her head. Rising up on her toes, she brushed her mouth against his ear. "Work-free, alien-free, monster-free time," she reminded him in a whisper.
Mulder opened his mouth to protest, but then he remembered the 'nothing that goes bump in the night' pledge he had made to her when they were making their vacation plans. He stifled a regretful sigh and nodded in agreement.
"What do you think of these?" Scully tilted her head to show him the earrings she had chosen.
He tapped a finger against the jewelry. "Pretty," he agreed. He stroked his fingers over the curve of her cheek and turned away. As he wandered back to the other side of the store, he continued to flip through the book. On impulse, he veered away from the bookcase and carried the book to the counter.
"I'm going to take this," he told the old man working the cash register.
"There's a ghost town 'bout fifty miles from here," the man said as he tucked the book into a plastic bag.
"Yeah?" Mulder asked as he handed his money to the other man. "What can you tell me about it?"
The next day dawned as bright and beautiful as the previous day. After another late breakfast, Mulder and Scully decided to while away the rest of the morning hours relaxing by the hotel's pool. After slathering herself with sunscreen, Scully abandoned the idea of reading the book in her tote bag in favor of dozing in the warmth of the sun. While she slept, Mulder pulled out the book he had purchased and was soon engrossed in its stories.
Scully was startled from her sleep by the loud shrieking of two children as they cannonballed into the pool and the shrill sound of the lifeguard's admonishing whistle. She jerked awake and looked around blearily. "How long have I been asleep?" She sat up slowly and stretched her arms over her head.
Mulder tipped down his sunglasses to look at her. "About an hour," he replied. He tucked one finger into the book to mark his page and glanced over at her pinkened shoulders. "Do you think you need more sunscreen?" He reached toward the table next to his chair for the tube of cream. "I'd be happy to rub it on for you..."
"No thanks." A tiny smile quirked her lips upward. "I think I'm okay."
"Damn," he sighed mournfully.
"I will take a sip of your water though."
He handed her the plastic bottle and she smiled her thanks. She unscrewed the cap and took several long sips of the water.
"What are you reading?" She replaced the cap and rolled the cold plastic against her neck.
"Oh, just that book I showed you in the store yesterday."
She settled back against her chair. "The one about the haunted mysteries of Colorado?"
"Yep."
"Anything interesting?"
Mulder looked at her closely, trying to determine whether she was really interested or merely humoring him. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but she seemed relaxed and the familiar tilt of her head told him that she was truly curious to know.
He shrugged. "A lot of the stories are your standard haunted house stories," he admitted. "But some of it's really interesting."
"For instance?"
He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and rolled onto his side. "Reports of strange, hovering lights in the skies over the mountains," he said as he squinted against the sun's rays.
"Mulder, is there a reason why aliens are only interested in buzzing the most remote areas of the earth?" she asked dryly.
He laughed. "Don't use your Agent Scully voice with me," he warned.
She grinned. "Anything other than hauntings and aliens?"
"Well... there's a story about a ghost town not far from here."
"I don't get the fascination with ghost towns," Scully admitted. "I mean, a ghost town is just a place that was abandoned by its residents more than likely for economical reasons."
"Usually," Mulder agreed. "But according to this book, the residents of Millersburg didn't voluntarily move away..." His voice trailed off mysteriously.
"What happened to them?" she asked casually.
Mulder sat up and reached out to take the water bottle away from her. "I don't want to spoil it for you." He took a sip of water to hide his smile. He knew she was more interested than she cared to admit. "You can read the book when I'm finished with it," he offered generously. He pulled his sunglasses back down and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He could feel her staring at him as he opened the book and began reading again.
She stood. "Maybe," she said, feigning complete disinterest. "If I'm finished with my own book." She glanced at her watch. "I think I'm going to run up to the room for a quick shower before we go to lunch." She collected her towel and tote bag. As she rounded his chair, he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist.
"Why don't you stay..." he tugged her down onto the chair next to him, "...and I'll tell you about the town of Millersburg."
Scully heaved a long-suffering sigh. "If it'll make you happy," she offered magnanimously. She stretched out on the lounge chair beside him and rested her cheek against the sun-warmed skin of his chest.
He set the book aside and tunneled his fingers into her hair. "It was a dark and stormy night..." he intoned in a solemn voice.
"Mulder." She raised her head and glared at him warningly.
"Alright." He urged her to lie back down. When she was settled comfortably against him, he began again.
"Well, the book says that Millersburg was founded in the early 1850's. The town sprang up around a gold mine. Men came out to work the mine. Some brought their families with them. Eventually, other businesses cropped up to support the families and soon enough Millersburg was a small, but growing town. They had a general store, a church, and a number of other small businesses. The mine was profitable and more and more people flocked to the area."
"If the mine was so profitable, and the town booming economically, why did everyone leave?" Scully traced her fingers over Mulder's ribs.
"That's what's so interesting," Mulder agreed. "The townspeople had every reason to stay."
"So, what happened to them?"
"No one knows. One day it was a vibrant place to live and then..."
She stacked her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them. "And then, what?" she demanded.
He stroked his fingers through the hair over her ear. "Then, they just..." he lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper, "...disappeared. One by one, until there was no one left."
"And no one knows what happened to them?" Her eyes widened in disbelief. "No one knows why they all left?"
"I didn't say they left," he contradicted. "I said they disappeared."
"Poof? They just disappeared?"
He nodded. "Uh huh."
"Just like that?" She snapped her fingers.
He nodded again. "Yep. Just like that."
She pursed her lips. "Maybe there was some kind of disease and they all died," she speculated.
Mulder fingered the silver and turquoise earring dangling from her ear. "There were no recent graves," he countered.
"But if a disease wiped out the whole town in close succession, they might not have had time to bury everyone..."
Again, he shook his head. "According to the story, there was a peddler who would come to the town regularly," he told her. "When the peddler returned to Millersburg - about a month after his last visit - he said that there wasn't a living soul to be found. No dogs. No horses or other animals. No people... and no bodies." He stroked his hand over her back. "The stores were still stocked with merchandise and all of their belongings were still in their homes. Tables were still set with dinner dishes. Clotheslines were heavy with laundry..." He felt a shiver run through Scully's body.
"Today, the only things left in the town are the remnants of the buildings and houses, the abandoned mine and the tiny graveyard by the church."
"Doesn't the book give any clues as to what happened?"
He shook his head. "No, but did you happen to see the man who sold me the book?"
Scully searched her memory. "An older gentlemen? He looked to be Native American."
Mulder nodded eagerly. "Yeah, that's him. He told me that his people have passed down a legend about the disappearance of the townsfolk of Millersburg."
She noted the sparkle in his eyes. "Uh, oh. I know that look!" She debated for a moment whether she wanted to hear the rest of the story, but in the end, as always, her curiosity won out over her trepidation. "Okay," she sighed. "What did he tell you?"
He grinned triumphantly. "Well, according to the legend, there were still small bands of Native Americans in the area around Millersburg. For several weeks in the year 1860, they noticed strange lights dancing in the skies over the town. When the last light had flickered away... so had all of the people."
"Aliens?" she scoffed.
"Well, not necessarily," he allowed. "According to the legend, the Indians believed the lights were the angry spirits of the earth taking their revenge on the people of Millersburg."
"Revenge for what?" she wondered.
"For the way the whites treated the earth. For stealing tribal land from the Indians. For blasting holes into the mountain and stealing her gold. For tearing down trees and polluting the water. For wasting the earth's bounty - killing more fish and animals than they could eat."
Scully sat up. "It's a pretty good story," she allowed with a smile.
Mulder rested his hand on her bare thigh. "You know," he said as he stroked his fingers over her leg, "going out there would really be more like a history lesson than anything else," he noted.
"A history lesson?" she said dryly. "Really?"
"Don't you wanna see how the pioneers really lived?" he asked. "First-hand instead of in some stuffy, old history book?"
"I'd rather see Rocky Mountain National Park," she waved a hand toward the nearby mountains. "You know... one of the reasons we came here in the first place?"
"According to the book, Millersburg is in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains." He sat up and ran the backs of his knuckles along the scooped neckline of her bathing suit. "For whatever reason, the area is pretty remote and undeveloped," he explained. "There are meadows filled with wildflowers, a creek that's fed by the snowmelt, small caves dot the hills. You can see hawks and eagles..."
He continued his campaign to wear down what he knew to be her token resistance. "We could take a picnic lunch, maybe a bottle of wine so that it's not too dull and boring a lesson." He dipped his head and pressed a warm kiss against her throat.
"God forbid we should be bored," she groaned.
"Fifty miles," he repeated. "We can check the place out today and still be back in time for a nice, romantic dinner this evening." He climbed to his feet. "What do you say?" He held out a hand.
She slipped her fingers into his hand and let him pull her up. "Okay. But I get to drive."
ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Chapter Two
By Char Chaffin and Tess
MSR, Casefile, AU
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season SevenDisclaimers: Clones on Loan
Thanks: To Sallie, Carol and Teresa for beta above and beyond the call of duty; to Robin, Donna, AlyC and Shelba for preview and advice! Ladies, you're the tops!
Summary: While vacationing in Colorado Mulder and Scully uncover disturbing evidence that reflects the history of the alien virus -
Chapter Two
Millersburg Mine
Rocky Mountain FoothillsThey made good time on the back roads that wound through the foothills of the lower Rockies, reaching the turn-off to the Millersburg Mine roughly an hour after leaving Estes Park. Scully couldn't complain; the drive had been spectacular. Blindingly blue skies and an overload of green and flowering meadows, dotted with rocky hills and the lower mountain range in the background, the area was a visual treat. The narrow road had been almost deserted, and they'd only passed a few cars. Either Millersburg was relatively unknown or else few travelers on vacation were all that interested in ghost towns.
Well, leave it to Mulder... who caught her resigned grin as she slowed down and took the turn. He flicked his sunglasses off his nose and demanded, "What? You can't tell me you haven't been enjoying the drive, Scully. I know you better than that."
"I'm loving the drive, Mulder. Very picturesque. I was just noticing the lack of tourists in the vicinity, and thinking that we might be the only people in a hundred-mile area that care about poking around an abandoned mine. That's all." She parked in a sandy area nearby a large wooden sign that proclaimed they were 'At the Site of One of Colorado's Most Mysterious Ghost Mines.' Below those words was a smaller plaque that detailed Millersburg statistics: initial population, mining history, plus a list of notable flora and fauna that could be found nearby.
They climbed out of their rented Jeep and stretched stiff muscles, then clasped hands as they wandered down the rough path that formed behind the placard sign. There was a light breeze in the air, helping to ease the baking heat of the sun. In the lower foothills the climate was much dryer and hotter this time of year.
Scully peeled the damp shirt away from her back and complained, "I wish I hadn't let you talk me out of that tank top I wanted to wear. I'm already soaked to the skin." She eyed Mulder irritably, envying him the ability to tramp around in ninety-degree heat and barely break a sweat.
He grinned at her in mock-sympathy and lifted the damp hair off her neck, fanning her with his free hand. Scully sighed in relief and murmured her thanks; Mulder nuzzled her cheek before dropping her hair and propelling her back toward the Jeep. "Come on, SweatyGirl. Back to the air-conditioned interior of this prime rental vehicle. Let's drive as far into the mine area as we can and stay cool at the same time."
"Sounds like a plan to me. I'll even let you drive."
"Gee, thanks, Scully. You're too good to me," he deadpanned.
She swallowed a chuckle. "Damn straight, Mulder."
They piled back in the Jeep and flipped the air on full-blast, buckled themselves in and nosed their way along the pot-holed road. On either side, overgrown weeds and grasses were dotted with wildflowers and thin aspen trees stood out in stark contrast to the bright blue sky. The look of the town itself appeared as sparse buildings on the very outskirts, thickening into a rudimentary cluster of what might have been anything from a saloon to a post office or general store. They found themselves trying to guess aloud as they drove slowly past wooden structures in various stages of collapse, boards bleached and warped from almost a hundred and fifty years of sun, wind, rain and snow.
"That looks like the local beer joint, doesn't it? You can almost see the swinging doors, if you squint." Mulder pointed to a caved-in wooden frame that had one large side window and a gaping hole for a doorway. The raised sidewalk that ran along the front of the saloon was broken in pieces, especially around the window. "Know any good beer-drinking songs, Scully?"
She could just imagine a drunken miner getting tossed out through that large gap, after some kind of barroom brawl. Scully stared at the old structure, seeing it in just that way, and she couldn't help but smile. "As a matter of fact, I had a great-uncle who was fond of his beer, and was known to chug down a pitcher; then belt out a tune or two. I think his favorite was 'Behind the Swinging Doors'." She hummed a little, then quoted, "'the doors swing in and the doors swing out... where some pass in and others pass out...'"
"Hey, I've heard that one!" Mulder was delighted. "I remember one of the lines went, 'the story is told of a fool and his gold... behind the swinging doors.' How completely apropos, considering where we are right now. You continually amaze me with your knowledge of really old, really obscure tunes, Scully. I'm gonna have to get you to sing me to sleep again, one of these days."
She snorted, "Like that'll happen any time soon. Dream on, Mulder."
"You can bet I will."
They drove on through until the buildings thinned out again, which took very little time. They could have literally thrown a rock from end to end of Millersburg proper. Once past the town, the rutted road narrowed and steepened as it wound through the lower hills and the mine came into view.
"Wow. Check that out, Scully. I can't believe a place this cool isn't lousy with tourists and cheesy gift shops - and very glad it isn't. We should go up to that first hill and enjoy the view with our lunch." Mulder stopped the Jeep within a few yards of the collapsed mine entrance and they got out, reaching into the rear seat for the plastic bags they'd loaded with picnic supplies. With their hands full, they started up the incline toward the mining caves.
Despite the hot day, he was glad they'd worn jeans and cotton shirts, sturdy hiking boots. The ground was rough and there were low bushes full of prickly thistles. Although the incline wasn't unbearably steep, they weren't used to the over-bright sun and higher elevation, and found themselves out of breath by the time they reached the first large cave.
By mutual consent they stopped there and unloaded their bags. Scully had borrowed a small blanket that was obviously meant to cover the hide-a-bed in their hotel room. Since they had no intention of sleeping on it, she figured it would make an adequate tablecloth - and it did. She pulled it from her bag and began to spread it out; Mulder eyed it dubiously as he fished out plastic utensils and napkins.
"That looks suspiciously like the spare blanket from our room, Scully. Lay it down on the ground and it's gonna get all dirty and thistle-y. I hear the temperature is supposed to drop to fifty degrees tonight... what if I get cold in the middle of the night, and I need that blanket?" He turned a mock-worried glare on Scully and fought back a huge grin when she merely stuck out her tongue at him and continued to unfold the blanket.
"Well, Mulder... I suppose I could act as your blanket, in a pinch. I mean, I'd hate to see you freeze, and I certainly wouldn't want to be awakened in the middle of the night by your chattering teeth and shivering bones. So," she gave a dramatic sigh, "Feel free to use me. In any way you deem necessary." She peeped at him demurely from under her lashes as she added, "And there's no such word as 'thistley.'"
Mulder plopped himself down on the fluffy blanket and handed her a sandwich. "Doesn't matter if there is or isn't. Usage of said fabricated word got me what I wanted, didn't it? You, naked and covering me like my own personal blankee, Scully. Life is good." He leaned forward and caught her bottom lip in a nibbling little kiss, mouth curving against hers when she mumbled a suitable retort.
"Who said anything about 'naked, hmmm? I plan on wearing the ugliest flannel pajamas I own."
His tone was supremely smug. "You don't own any ugly flannel jammies, Scully - not anymore. I burned them all in the fireplace, the morning after our first night together."
"Ah, I thought I smelled smoldering cotton that day. At the time I assumed it was the inside of your sneakers, Mulder."
"Wise-ass."
They ate in the sun and traded good-humored insults and gentle sarcasm, enjoying the novelty of being able to spend time together away from work-related pressures. It seemed lately their daily grind had been especially heavy and could easily be compared to canal-water sucking. This vacation was going to be so good for them.
Mulder swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and took a huge gulp of lemonade from his thermos; then leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. The breeze had kicked up a little and the cooler air felt good. He could hear Scully rewrapping plastic and snapping lids on containers. When she curled next to him and laid her head on his chest, he brought a hand up and threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her close. The quiet of the day was broken only by an occasional bird-twitter and buzzing fly.
"I could get used to this kind of complete inactivity, Mulder - how about you?" Her murmur vibrated against his shirt. Mulder stroked her hair and smiled, eyes still closed.
"Definitely. Although eventually I'd like to nose around that cave over yonder, Scully. I've done my share of spelunking in my life, y'know."
"Well, when you did I sure hope you used the appropriate protection." Her voice was the ultimate monotone, and Mulder retaliated by rolling her on her back and tickling her mercilessly.
Over her shrieks of protesting laughter he growled, "That's two instances of 'wise-ass'; I should just spank you now and get it over with. But I'll be nice and hold off, if you'll get up off those adorable buns of yours and do a little unprotected spelunking with me. We got a deal?" He held her wriggling body close and blew noisy kisses into her neck, loving the giggles that erupted from her as she squirmed against him.
"Okay, okay! I'll do it! Just stop, Mulder, I'll do anything! I can't breathe!" Her giggles became hiccups as he gave her one final squeeze and released her, standing up and pulling at her hands until she gained her feet and leaned into him, holding her breath to stop the hiccups. She glared at him as she managed to get herself under control. "You're a sadist. And I'm going to get you back, one way or another, so watch yourself, Pal."
"Promises, promises."
They scooped up the remains of their picnic and locked it in the Jeep. Scully slung her leather carryall over her shoulder, adjusting it until it fit her like a backpack. Mulder looked askance at the incongruity of cave-hopping wearing a purse, and she shot one raised eyebrow his way as if daring him to comment. Shrugging and mumbling a teasing, "Not a word, honest," he grabbed their flashlights and they climbed up the short incline leading to the mouth of the cave.
It wasn't the largest of the four caves within view of the old mine, but it seemed big enough to stand up in and even Mulder only had to duck his head a few times. With both flashlights on, they could see dampness on the cave walls, indicating a possible water source somewhere within. There was no way of telling how far back into the hills this particular cave retreated, but they were both game to find out.
"Smells funky in here. I detect mold, mildew, basic root rot and something else indefinable. And it's NOT burning flannel, so don't even go there, Mulder."
He was all innocence. "Wouldn't even think it. And yet, I can't help but contemplate that maybe deep within the channels of this ancient cave, we'll find mushrooms. Yum, Scully... dinner."
"Oh, yuk." On a good day, Scully barely tolerated mushrooms, usually accepting their presence in her food only if they were sparsely sprinkled on a pizza and coated well with cheese. The idea of scavenging the nasty little toadstools from a dank cave was too repulsive to contemplate. "Good thing I'm not hungry, isn't it?"
"You're such a picky eater."
She readily nodded, "When it comes to eating fungus, yes I am."
They slowly made their way further into the cave, occasionally pointing their beams along the floor and noting dampness there as well. Luckily as yet they hadn't found any animal droppings, which was a relief. Although the cave ceiling wasn't very high, it was encrusted in places with bits of stalactite-like formations. As their progress within narrowed and they had to venture single-file, Mulder led the way with Scully holding onto the back of his shirt with one hand and keeping her flashlight steady with the other.
"I feel like a five-year old, hanging onto you like this... but the last thing we need to do is become separated, especially if the cave channels out into several corridors." Scully felt the need to rationalize her death-grip on his clothing.
Mulder was quick to reassure her. "Hey, if our positions were reversed you can be sure I'd have a fist twisted in your shirt, Scully. Better safe than sorry."
"Okay, but you'd better not breathe a word of this to anyone, Mulder. I've got a rep to protect."
It was his turn to mutter, "Oh, brother."
The cave corridor finally widened a bit and then made a fairly sharp curve to the right. Mulder, not expecting it, stumbled and Scully bumped into him and dropped her flashlight. She stuck out a hand to brace herself and her palm hit a wall of damp rock; she bit back a curse as the rough surface cut her.
"Ouch, dammit!"
Mulder shone his flashlight on her briefly, blinding her for a second, before he realized what he was doing and tilted the beam toward the ground. "Sorry, Scully. Did you hurt yourself? Where?"
She felt around on the floor of the cave with her uninjured hand until she located the fallen flashlight, retrieving it and shining it on herself. "I cut my hand on the wall. It stings but it's not a deep cut, Mulder. Just caught me by surprise. I've got a few bandaids in my backpack."
"You mean that stylish leather thing you've got slung over your shoulders? Looked like a purse to me." He chose teasing over worry, figuring she'd kick his ass if he hovered over her.
Scully's reaction was comfortably predictable. "It's not a purse, Mulder. You know I don't do purses. This is a small backpack and luckily for both of us, I stocked it with several necessities, before we left home. Band-aids. Aspirin and Tums. "
"What, no mint-flavored unwaxed dental floss?" When she didn't answer right away Mulder swung the flashlight a little closer to her face. "You did, didn't you? Dental floss. I can't believe you keep dental floss in your purse, Scully."
Her disgruntled, "It's NOT a purse," made him break out in a huge grin.
"Well, whatever. Turn around so I can reach it and I'll go digging in your... backpack... for the band-aids." Mulder spared her any further purse-grief as he shone his flashlight on the outer flap of her bag, rooting inside until he found the small package. With Scully holding the light for him, he made short work of unwrapping the largest band-aid he could find, examining her hand briefly and even carefully washing it with a little of the water from the bottle he'd had strapped to his belt loop. Thankfully there was very little grit embedded in the cut, and the bleeding had stopped. But who knew what kind of ancient crud and assorted bacteria could be found on the cave walls?
When he muttered this under his breath as he wiped her hand dry with a clean handkerchief and affixed the band-aid, Scully fought back an exasperated laugh. Mulder WAS being very sweet, taking such careful care of what really was no big deal. She kissed him on the cheek after he finished and had the satisfaction of seeing one of his cheeks flush pink, before she lowered the flashlight and sent it over the surface of the wall her palm had hit. She couldn't see anything other than a typical cave wall, stone and grit with moss growing - and carvings...
Wait a minute. Carvings?
While Mulder re-snapped his water bottle back on his belt loop and picked up his own flashlight, Scully stepped closer and shone hers in a wider arc. Sure enough, there were carvings all over the wall. She squinted a little, trying to decide whether she was seeing letters or drawings; murmuring, "Mulder, take a look at this. Carvings. Native American, do you think?"
She kept the beam trained on the markings as Mulder added his light and edged closer to the wall. He studied the markings, noting an odd combination of figures, letters and numbers. There seemed to be no specific order or pattern to the sequence; he tilted his head to the side, trying to imagine the age; the era.
He blew out a breath and shook his head, "I have no idea, Scully. Could be anything. There are numbers here, at least they look like numbers to me. And here," he pointed to a crooked 'A', "definitely a letter. Over here," he flicked the beam a few inches to the left, "this looks like an animal. There's a rudimentary tail, and that point on the head could be an ear. It's very crude but I'm sure to the one who carved this, it made perfect sense to him."
Scully raised an eyebrow at the use of pronoun. "'He?' What makes you think the creator of this 'artwork' was a man, Mulder?" As she spoke she reached out for his hand, squeezing his fingers to show she was teasing him; her other hand touched the wall to trace over the 'animal'...
As her bandaged palm pressed against the deep carving, suddenly it felt as if all the air in the world had vanished; she gasped and swayed, unable to breathe. Dimly she head Mulder coughing, his hand gripping hers so tightly it caused pain. There was a sound like a million mosquitoes circling her now-aching head; she fought to stand upright and instead found herself pushed to the cave floor by heavy, invisible weights. Unable to release Mulder's hand, she pulled at him and he came down hard next to her as she fell to the ground.
Her eyes felt glued shut; she couldn't open them. Her throat closed up in utter panic; she couldn't speak, couldn't scream. All around them the cave walls began to vibrate, then shimmer. Scully held on tightly to Mulder, there on the dirt floor... and her last conscious thought ripped through her numbed mind like a thunderclap.
"MULDER!"
He awoke with a raging headache and a sour taste in his mouth. Nausea hovered close by as well, and when Mulder forced his eyes open, pushing trembling fingers into his aching temples, the nausea advanced from hovering to full-attack-mode. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, raised himself shakily to his knees and was miserably sick on the dirt floor of the cave. As he expelled his lunch he was dimly aware of Scully stirring on the ground next to him... then moaning and retching as well.
Jesus, what the hell had they eaten that gave both of them food poisoning?
With one last heave, Mulder managed to sit up, swiping sweaty hair out of his eyes and reaching out a still-shaky hand to rub at Scully's shoulder as she gagged and coughed up her lunch. He could hear himself murmuring to her but the words sounded muffled and cottony to his ears. When she leaned against him in exhaustion, Mulder looped an arm weakly around her shoulders and eased her head down onto his chest. Scully sighed gratefully and rested, both of them fighting to get their stomachs under control.
"Mulder, God... what the hell did we eat?" Her voice was raspy from her ordeal. Mulder stroked the hair back from her damp forehead, noting even in the dimness of the cave the pale white of her skin. He was sure his face was just as pasty.
He took a cautious breath before replying, relieved to know his stomach was starting to calm down. "I don't think it was anything we ate, Scully. We'd still be suffering, and I don't know about you but my stomach is almost back to normal."
Scully sat up gingerly, rubbing sweat and grit from her cheeks. "Mine seems to be better as well. God, that was damned weird. Felt as if all the air had been sucked out of me, and I couldn't see or breathe."
Mulder nodded, "I felt the same way. Utterly weird." No sooner were the words out of his mouth than they both felt the cave floor vibrate again, then a loud explosive sound shook the walls around them. Scully jumped and grabbed at Mulder's arm.
"What the hell...!"
They scrambled to their feet and both swayed dizzily as a cloud of what smelled like burning gunpowder wafted in from the direction of the mouth of the cave. Mulder sniffed and declared, "That's dynamite. Or something like it. Damn, Scully... someone's bombing around here! Maybe trying to reopen the mine? We've got to get out of here."
They retrieved one flashlight but couldn't find the other. There was no time to waste looking around for it. Scully's backpack was hanging off a shoulder but was still closed; she slipped the loose strap back into place and held onto Mulder's hand as they made their way back to the cave opening...
Only to find that while they'd been unconscious - or whatever they'd been - in the cave, life and the world as they knew it had been inexplicably altered, for outside that cave opening was daylight and bustle and a scene straight out of an Old West film.
They ducked back into the overhanging cave entrance, panicked, confused... and then peeped out, not believing their own eyes.
Men were pushing wheelbarrows full of rocks and dirt, wearing rough dungarees and homespun shirts, dusty hobnail boots on their feet. Some of them wore equally dusty cowboy-style hats. Some were barechested and others wore suspenders that held up their pants. Some were clean-shaven and others sported long and scraggly-shaped beards. They called out to each other in voices carrying a definite twang. They were grimy and sweaty as only miners can get, when hard at work. The scene was bustling and noisy, loud with the coarse language of the common man, peppered with the braying of what sounded like mules, or donkeys. It looked foreign and yet oddly familiar - and frightening as hell.
"Jesus, Mulder... where ARE we?" Scully's voice shook and her hand was gripping his so hard that he knew she'd leave bruises behind.
He swallowed audibly and his worried gaze coated her in fresh panic. His words reinforced the panic.
"I think the question might instead be... WHEN are we?"
ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Chapter Three By Char Chaffin and Tess
MSR, Casefile, AU
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season Seven
Feedback: to Tnv099@aol.com; char@chaffin.comHeaders and summary, see Part 1
Chapter Three
Millersburg Mine
Rocky Mountain FoothillsThey spent the remainder of the day hidden from view in the shadows just inside the mouth of the cave. As the afternoon waned, Mulder's panic and confusion gave way to a tiny niggling of excitement. In contrast, he could feel the tension pouring from Scully in nearly palpable waves. She sat on the dirt floor with her knees drawn tightly to her chest. She had barely said a word in the time since he had proffered the idea that they might have traveled back in time. He knew from years of partnership that Scully would not eagerly embrace this experience and that it would take some time before her natural curiosity asserted itself. While he fairly itched to leave the shelter of the cave and poke around the unfamiliar surroundings, he knew that they should take the very first opportunity to try to get back to where they belonged. He had promised her a relaxing vacation and judging by the barely perceptible way she was rocking back and forth, he was sure that this did not qualify as relaxing.
"Look at your watch!" she hissed. He jumped as her voice broke the heavy silence that had settled between them. He leaned into a stray beam of sunlight that had penetrated the vegetation hanging over the cave opening and peered at his watch.
"What am I looking for?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe we're missing time. It might explain what's going on." She flicked a hand toward the bustling activity of the miners mere yards from where they were hiding.
Mulder's eyes widened in astonishment and he lowered his mouth to her ear. "Since when do you believe in lost time?"
She jerked her head away from him. "If my options are lost time or time travel..." She shrugged bad-temperedly.
Mulder stifled a sigh and rubbed his hand soothingly over her back. "I didn't look at the time when we came into the cave," he told her. "But judging by the angle of the sun, I think my watch is correct."
She tapped her forehead rhythmically against her upraised knees. "I knew you were going to say that."
"Look," he began, "it'll be dark soon and things should quiet down around here. As soon as we can, we'll try to find some answers. Okay?"
She nodded and inched closer to him. "Sorry," she muttered. "I don't mean to take it out on you."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. "It's okay," he soothed. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
She peered up at him doubtfully.
"Well," he admitted, "we almost always figure it out."
Scully huffed out a sarcastic laugh and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Sometimes," he amended. "Sometimes we almost always figure it out."
She turned her cheek against his shirt and inhaled his familiar scent. Sometimes, she repeated silently. She didn't like the odds.
A shrill whistle startled them out of an uneasy doze. The sun was quickly sinking behind the mountains, bathing the sky in an everdarkening purple. The fading light couldn't penetrate the shadows where they'd hidden themselves and they crawled even closer to the mouth of the cave, watching as man after man streamed out of the mine.
"End of the shift." Mulder's voice was barely audible. Scully nodded silently, her eyes following the men as they dropped their shovels and picks into a large pile before they trudged down the hillside, presumably toward their homes.
They sat quietly and listened to the sounds of the men's voices fading away and waited an interminable length of time, straining their ears for any sounds of activity.
Scully tugged on Mulder's hand. "Let's go," she breathed softly. He nodded and they eased out of the cave. The rising moon was bright overhead and the stars were brilliant against the midnight blue sky. They paused just outside of the cave entrance and looked around for any sign of movement. They scanned the area, trying to get their bearings.
"I think we left the Jeep down there," Scully pointed. Mulder's head bobbed in agreement and clasping her hand tightly in his, they began to pick their way down the uneven ground of the hillside. They reached the bottom of the hill and found no sign of the Jeep. No tire tracks to indicate that anyone had driven it away or indeed to prove that the Jeep had ever been there in the first place. The potholed road they had driven along to reach the cave was little more than a narrow, crude path that showed only the heavy tracks of wagon wheels and booted feet.
"This isn't possible," Scully whispered angrily. She stalked down the path toward the place where the road had changed to blacktop but there was no paved road. No telephone poles or planes flying overhead. No sign of modern day civilization at all.
Mulder slowly followed her down the path, allowing Scully to work out the reality of their situation on her own.
"This isn't possible," she repeated as he stopped in front of her. She dropped her forehead against his chest and twisted her fingers into his shirt, grounding herself in him.
Knowing that it was important that she regain her composure on her own, he quietly offered his support. He rubbed his jaw against her hair and looped his arms around her waist, hugging her gently. He felt the warm exhalation of her breath as she blew out a sigh against his shirt.
"Okay." She stepped out of his arms. "Let's think about this. What were we doing when everything went black?"
He shrugged. "We were looking at the cave drawings, weren't we?"
Scully's eyes rounded. "We were touching them..." She bit her lip and searched her memory. "We were touching them," she repeated in a murmur, "and then suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the cave." She looked up. "Was that the way it felt to you?"
He dipped his head in agreement. "Yeah. My head started pounding and there was this buzzing noise and then all of a sudden..."
"All of a sudden, it was too hard to stay on your feet?"
"Yeah."
Scully looked over his shoulder at the cave nestled in the hillside.
"Let's go." She bolted past him, her booted feet pounding against the rocks as she raced up the hillside. Mulder took off after her, his longer stride allowing him to catch up with her quickly. Her feet skidded on some loose gravel and he clamped a hand around her upper arm to steady her.
"Careful," he warned. "The situation is bad enough."
She recovered her balance and slowed down. She was reminded of the high altitude as her lungs burned with the exertion of her headlong sprint up the hill. They climbed the last few yards in a silence broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.
They reached the cave and instinctively recoiled at the unrelenting darkness. Scully groped for Mulder's hand.
"Do you have your flashlight?" she asked.
He patted his pockets and came up empty. "Check your backpack."
They stepped out of the cave again and in the light of the moon, Scully rooted through her backpack.
"Here it is!" she exclaimed with relief.
Mulder took the flashlight from her and once again, he led the way into the cave. Unlike earlier in the day when she had stayed connected to him by winding her hand into his shirt, this time she snagged his hand with hers. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly and they moved forward.
With only the one flashlight to guide their way, they moved cautiously. The small light danced over the walls and floor as they crept slowly through the dank corridor.
"I think we're close," Mulder muttered as the beam of light revealed the corridor's sharp curve to the right. They eased around the turn and Mulder played the flashlight's beam over the wall as they searched for the cave drawings.
"There!" The crude artwork was illuminated in the glow of the flashlight.
Mulder let go of Scully's hand and moved closer to the cave wall. "Do you remember what part of the drawings we were touching when it happened?" He lifted his fingers towards the drawings.
"Wait!" Scully yanked on his sleeve and pulled him back a step. Mulder tossed her a startled look over his shoulder.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want you going anywhere without me," she said. "Weren't we holding hands when it happened?"
Mulder blew out a low whistling 'whew'. "You're right." He wrapped the fingers of his free hand around one of hers. "I'll hold the flashlight," he said. "You... you go ahead and touch the wall."
Scully nodded nervously and wiped her other hand against her jeans. "Okay," she whispered. She raised her fingers toward the cave drawings. "Here goes nothing." Their grip on each other tightened and she actually squeezed her eyes closed as she tentatively laid her hand against the damp wall, and...
Nothing. No buzzing noises in their heads. No vibrating walls. Just the sounds of their rapid breathing and the occasional faint drip-drip of water from somewhere deep inside the mountain.
"Maybe we should try another spot?" he suggested. She bit her lip and nodded. They worked their way from one end of the series of images to the other, every inch of the drawings covered by her hand and still nothing happened.
"Now what?" Scully dropped her hand away from the wall.
"I don't know," Mulder admitted.
"Are you saying that we're stuck here?"
He ran his hand over the rigid length of her spine. "For now, yes. It would seem so."
She nodded wearily. "That's what I thought."
He slipped his arm around her waist. "It's late and we're tired. Let's try to get some rest and regroup in the morning."
She shrugged her backpack from her shoulders and sank down to the ground. "Okay."
He squatted beside her and rested the flashlight on the ground. "I don't suppose you have anything to eat in that backpack?" he asked hopefully.
She propped the bag on her lap and began to rummage through it. A moment later she withdrew her hand and held out two cellophane wrapped packages. "Peanut butter crackers or cheese and wheat?"
Mulder snatched one package from her hand. "Definitely peanut butter," he said as he fumbled with the plastic wrapping. "Let's save the wheat crackers for breakfast."
They slowly ate the crackers and washed them down with the water left in the bottle snapped to Mulder's belt. Scully dusted her hands together and brushed the orange cracker crumbs from her shirt.
"I guess we should try to get some sleep," she said. She shifted around on the hard ground, trying to find a comfortable position and leaned back against the cave wall. Mulder settled in next to her and draped an arm over her shoulder.
"We should probably conserve the batteries," he commented and thumbed off the flashlight's switch. They were instantly immersed in complete darkness. The light flashed back on.
"Okay," Mulder breathed. "There's dark... and then there's DARK!" Scully looked at him and nodded in wide-eyed agreement. They grinned nervously at one another. They had spent most of their professional lives working and living in varying degrees of darkness, but they were both a little spooked by the impenetrable blackness of the cave.
"Maybe if we go back to the cave opening?" she proposed.
Mulder pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. "Let's go."
They inched their way back and a few minutes later were rewarded by the faint glow of the moonlight as they reached the front of the cave. Mulder turned the flashlight off again and they both breathed a little easier as the moonlight seeping through the overhanging vegetation lent a soft light to their surroundings.
"Much better," Scully declared. She shivered a bit and ran her hands over her arms. The warmth of the day had been lost with the rising moon.
"Cold?" Mulder pulled her down onto the ground and they burrowed into each other, sharing their body heat. He rested his cheek against her hair; she tucked her face into the curve of his neck.
"What time is it?" Her breath puffed against his skin, warming him. His arms were wrapped around her waist and he peered over her shoulder at the illuminated face of his watch.
"A little after nine," he told her.
"It feels later than that," she admitted. "Doesn't it?"
"Mmmm," he murmured in agreement. She shifted again and this time found a more comfortable niche to rest her back against. She leaned back and pulled him toward her so that he was resting some of his weight on her.
"Better?" she asked.
He stifled a yawn and nodded. "Yes. But are you sure you're comfortable?"
She stretched her legs out and flexed her toes inside her hiking boots. "As comfortable as I'm going to get in here," she told him.
They tangled their legs together and tried to relax. He could feel the tension knotting her muscles and his hands slipped under her shirt and skated over her back in long, comforting strokes. She could feel his pulse pounding in his throat and her fingers sifted through his hair rhythmically. And as the moon rose higher and higher before beginning its descent, they slept.
The next morning greeted them with the watery light that precedes dawn and the chirping of the birds as they too awoke to meet the day. Mulder lifted his head from its resting place on Scully's shoulder and found her blinking awake.
"Oh," she groaned and stretched her arms over her head. "It would have been too easy for all of this to be a dream, huh?"
Mulder snorted out a soft laugh. "For us, yeah."
Scully climbed to her feet and winced as the aches and pains brought on from a night sleeping propped up against a rock wall made themselves known.
She scooped up her bag and pulled out a small travel-sized package of tissues. "I'm just gonna..." She jerked her thumb toward the cave entrance. He nodded, and feeling a pressure on his own bladder, followed her cue and stepped outside. He was watching a pair of birds fighting over a worm when Scully returned.
"There's a small creek around the bend," she announced as she approached. "We can refill the water bottle."
"You're not worried about any runoff or pollution from the mine?"
She frowned. "The water was clear and there's a lot of small fish and plant life." She shrugged. "My guess is that it's safe, but there's always a risk."
He followed her around the side of the cave and they settled in the grass near the creek. Mulder plunged the plastic bottle into the water. He lifted the bottle to his nose for a cautious sniff.
"Smells okay." He took a sip and shrugged. "Tastes fine, too."
"Just don't drink too much," she cautioned.
They split the remaining package of crackers for breakfast. The creek water cheerfully burbled over the rocks. Wildflowers dotted the lush grass on either side of the creek. Birds flitted overhead and two rabbits crept out and were daintily nibbling on their own breakfast about twenty yards away. The setting was absolutely tranquil and Scully couldn't help but think about the impromptu picnic they had enjoyed the previous day before everything went to hell.
She crumpled up the cellophane wrapper and stuffed it back into her bag.
"Mulder, what are we going to do?"
He took another sip of water and lifted his face toward the rising sun. "We can't stay here." He lowered his gaze to hers.
"But if this is where were when we... when it... when..." She shook her head in frustration, still unable to wrap her brain around the idea of time travel.
"I know." He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. "But until we can figure a way out of here, we need better shelter, food..."
She propped her chin on her knees and absently watched the water flowing in the creek. "Ummm... I think that mining first started in Colorado in the 1850's," she murmured in a worried voice.
"Yeah..."
They lapsed into a troubled silence.
"Judging from the way those men were dressed yesterday, I'd say we're not too far off that mark," Mulder finally commented.
Nineteenth century, Colorado. It was too difficult a concept to imagine.
"We need to get away from the mine before the morning shift arrives," he gently urged. "It's early still; maybe we can poke around a bit, see what else is around." He stood and wiped off the seat of his jeans before pulling her to her feet.
They started down the rough, dirt road that wound its way through the foothills, unsure of where it would lead them. They had been walking for about twenty minutes when they heard the rumbling of wagon wheels in the distance. Slipping off the road, they hid in a small copse of trees as a group of men trudged up the road toward the mine.
"Morning shift," Mulder whispered. Scully dipped her head in response and counted approximately twenty men as they passed. Just as before, they were roughly dressed and the equipment loaded into the lone wagon showed no signs of twenty-first century ingenuity.
As the miners disappeared around a bend in the road, Mulder and Scully stepped clear of the trees.
"Maybe we should stay off the road," she suggested.
"Yeah. Let's keep it in sight though. It's got to lead someplace."
They walked through the thicket of trees running parallel to the road for another hour and stumbled to a stop at the sight of a cabin. They ducked down as a woman stepped outside to scatter feed to the chickens pecking in a small pen. Two children raced out of the cabin.
"Got yer schoolbooks?" The woman wiped her hands off on the apron tied around her waist.
"Yes, Mama," the children chorused.
"Well, let's get goin'." The woman herded her children away from the small cabin and they set off down the road.
"Scully, look."
She followed his pointing finger toward a clothesline heavy with clean laundry, including several dresses.
"Oh, no," she said in a low warning voice as she realized his intention. "We can't steal that woman's clothes," she hissed.
"Borrow, Scully. Borrow."
She shook her head. "Look at this place, Mulder. It's so small. She probably only has a few dresses. How can I take one of them? She'd know right away that one was missing."
"I know. But you stand out like a sore thumb dressed the way you are."
"Well... maybe we can just stay out of sight and it won't matter."
"No. We already said that we need to find food and better shelter. And besides, someone might know something about those cave drawings."
"We'll never blend in," she argued.
"Certainly not with you dressed like that," he countered. "I can probably get away with what I'm wearing, but you can't."
"Regardless of what we're wearing, anyone that we meet will know right away that we're out of place."
"Yes, but they'll just think that we're from another part of the country, or maybe a bit odd. No one is going to assume that we're from the future!"
"We're taking a risk."
"We're probably going to have to take several if we want to get back home."
She ground her teeth in frustration. "Let's make it quick." Despite her words, they cautiously made their way closer to the small homestead. While Mulder kept watch, Scully plucked a dress from the clothesline and they hurried back to disappear into the tree line. They waited a few moments to see if anyone had noticed them, but no one raised an alarm.
Scully sat on the ground to unlace her boots and then stood up to strip out of her jeans and shirt. She hurriedly pulled the dress over her head.
"It's too big." She plucked at the excess material over her breasts and looked down to where the hem was practically dragging in the dirt.
"It'll be fine." He stepped behind her and began fastening the dozen or so buttons that ran up the back of the dress and tied the sash into a haphazard bow at the base of her spine.
She smoothed her hand over the blue and tan checked material and pushed back the cuffs that hung past her wrists. She sat back down and stuffed her feet back into her boots and quickly laced them back up. As she stood, the skirt of the dress fell to cover her distinctly non-1800's footwear.
"I guess we should... I don't know, hide these someplace." She scooped up her discarded clothes and folded them into a neat pile. Looking around, she saw a small outcropping of rocks and stuffed her clothes into a crevice between the rocks. Mulder slung both straps of her bag over one shoulder and they set off again.
They continued their journey in near silence, each at a loss as to what to say. Scully tripped twice over the too-long hem of her dress. Cursing softly under her breath, she gathered up the skirt in one hand. Mulder caught her other hand in his and squeezed her fingers comfortingly.
Hand-in-hand, they plodded on.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Chapter Four By Char Chaffin and Tess
MSR, Casefile, AU
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season Seven
Feedback: to Tnv099@aol.com; char@chaffin.comHeaders and summary, see Part 1
Chapter Four
Millersburg, ColoradoThey crested a hill and the quiet suddenly dropped away. On the other side of the hill was a bustling town. They immediately recognized the basic structures as the same dilapidated buildings they had encountered on their drive the day before. But this was no ghost town. Millersburg was alive and humming with activity.
"Oh, my God," Scully breathed. "How? I really didn't believe... I still can't. But, oh. Look at this, Mulder."
He was looking and despite his more ready belief, still couldn't grasp what he was seeing. Somehow, some way they had been transported back to the nineteenth century.
Horses and wagons vied for space on the dirt streets with people darting from one establishment to another. A raised, wooden sidewalk connected the buildings. Their guesses from the prior day had been very close to the mark. A quick glance around the town showed a general store, saloon and telegraph office along with a number of other businesses.
Women in long dresses and prairie bonnets walked through the streets carrying baskets brimming with their day's purchases. Horses tied near a trough dipped their heads to lap up the cool water. Despite the pre-noon hour, a few men loitered outside the saloon door while others could be seen going about their jobs. At the far end of town, they saw children chasing each other through a field near a small schoolhouse.
So entranced were they by the scene, they forgot to keep out of sight and failed to hear the sound of approaching footsteps until it was too late.
"You're strangers 'round these parts." Startled, they turned to face the owner of the voice.
"Excuse me?" Scully tightened her grip on Mulder's hand and shifted closer to him. Although they had stolen the dress so that she wouldn't stand out in a crowd, they had hoped to lie low and stay out of sight for at least a little while longer. They had no plan in place. No cover story.
"I said you're strangers." A woman of an indeterminate age held her hand over her brow to shade her eyes from the sun. "I've never seen you around here before."
Caught off balance, they stared at her dumbly. The woman cocked her head to one side, her eyes flitting from one face to the other.
"You have names, don't you?" she prompted.
"Oh!" Mulder exclaimed. "Of course." Thinking quickly, he slipped his arm around Scully's waist and hugged her to his side. "My name is... William - Will Mulder. And this is my... my wife, Kate." He scrubbed his hand against his jeans and held it out. The woman hesitated a moment before shaking his hand.
"Where are you from?"
"Virginia, ma'am," he replied politely. "Just outside of Washington."
"That's a long ways from here. I don't see a wagon or any horses..." She glanced around and planted her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you walked all the way from Virginia," she harrumphed disbelievingly.
"Oh, no ma'am." Mulder pasted his most charming and beguiling smile on his face and laughed softly. "We... we took the train as far as far as we could." He prayed that his knowledge of the history of the expansion of the country would hold up to scrutiny. "And we've been riding stage coaches ever since."
"The stage only comes to Millersburg twice a month." A note of doubt crept into her voice. "And it's not due here for another week."
"Yes, ma'am," he nodded his head earnestly. "We weren't traveling to... Millersburg, you say?" His lips turned down and he sighed heavily. A small part of him was enjoying creating this story. "We were traveling to Denver, but our stage was robbed."
The woman pressed her fingers to her mouth and gasped, "Indians?"
He shook his head. "No, ma'am. We didn't see any Indians. Just three men on horseback. They took everything we had, didn't they, honey?" His arm tightened around Scully's waist, prompting her reply.
"Yes." She fought the urge to send him a warning glare. "Everything."
He resumed the narrative. "We've been walking ever since. This town is the first sign of civilization that we've seen in three days." He was making the story up on the fly and hoping that it sounded believable.
The woman stared at them for another moment, lips pursed as she considered their story. Suddenly, her stern features noticeably softened and a friendly smile wreathed her face.
"Mercy! You must be exhausted." She patted a hand against Scully's arm; then her fingers plucked at the loose material in the waist of Scully's too-large dress. "Looks like you've lost some weight." She made a tsk'ing sound. "And you're such a tiny thing to begin with." Before Scully could take irritated exception at being called 'tiny', the woman gave Scully another quick once-over; then pointed to her hair. "Guess I thought Indians right off because it looks as if someone cut off all your hair." Though her words were innocuous enough, her tone held some lingering doubt.
Scully fought to keep blank panic from her face. She hadn't even given a thought to how odd her hairstyle would look in an era when a woman's crowning glory was long, luxurious hair. If only they'd swiped a bonnet as well as the dress...
Thinking fast, she passed a hand over her short hair and blurted out the first thing she could fabricate. "I had... a fever. I had to have all of my hair cut off to help bring it down." She hated lying to this poor woman, but didn't see any viable choice.
"Oh, you poor dear! No wonder you look as if a strong wind would blow you over! A fever! And having to lose your hair, too... Well, it'll all grow back, and be as pretty as ever. Such a lovely shade of red!" The woman gave Scully a reassuring smile and exclaimed, "Where are my manners? My name is Elizabeth Weston. Libby to my friends," she added. "I'm sure you could use something nourishing to eat." She began to make her way down the hill toward town.
"Oh, no," Scully protested. "We don't want to be any trouble."
Libby looked over her shoulder and squinted back up at them. "No trouble. No trouble at all." She continued down the hill. "Come along."
Scully's chin dropped to her chest, her hair swinging forward to obscure her face. "Will and Kate?" she asked from behind the coppery curtain. She lifted her head and raised wide eyes to him. "Seriously?"
Mulder gently smoothed her hair away from her cheeks. "I don't know," he shrugged. "Fox just doesn't seem to fit in nineteenth century Colorado." He huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "Doesn't fit in the twenty-first century either," he complained. "And I figured that if we were going to use my middle name, we might as well use yours."
She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, what are we doing?" She glanced down the hill where Libby was patiently awaiting them. "We can't keep spinning lies," she said in a low voice. "We don't fit in here."
He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I know. I just... I had to say something."
"But, Mulder..."
"Look, I don't like lying to the woman either. But it's like I said earlier. As long as we're here, we need to find shelter. Food."
Scully nodded in resignation. "Maybe someone here knows something that can help us find our way home..." she suggested doubtfully.
"Maybe."
She gathered up her skirt in her free hand. "Let's go get something to eat." With Mulder's hand at the small of her back, they followed Libby Weston down the hill.
"By the way, that was some quick thinking, claiming a fever took your hair. I'm impressed, Scully." His voice held just enough teasing inflection to take the edge off her nerves.
Scully responded without turning around, knowing her retort would make him grin like a goon. "Shut up, Mulder."
"Go on, sit yourselves down," Libby urged. They had followed her into the kitchen of a small house next to a church made of logs, near the edge of town. They seated themselves at the table as Libby bustled around readying the meal.
"Do you need help with anything?" Scully asked.
"Not a thing, my dear. Not a thing." Libby poured water into glasses and set them onto the table. "Lunch will be ready soon."
The door swung open and a man stepped into the house. He swept a hat from his head and blinked rapidly as his eyes made the adjustment from the late morning sun to the dimly lit kitchen.
"Libby, is that your vegetable soup I smell..." His voice trailed off as he noticed the two strangers seated at the kitchen table.
"Oh, excuse me. I didn't realize we had company." He sent a questioning look toward his wife who crossed the room to stand at his side.
"Dear, I'd like you to meet Will and Kate Mulder." She smiled at the younger couple. "This is my husband, Reverend Thomas Weston."
Mulder scraped his chair back and stood. "We're pleased to meet you, Reverend." The two men shook hands.
"Likewise." Thomas Weston waved at Mulder to sit down. He pulled out another chair at the table and sank into it, smiling a hello at Scully.
"Reverend." She dipped her head in response.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Mulder."
Scully twitched at the unfamiliar name and the Reverend let out a booming laugh.
"Newlyweds?" he grinned.
"Ex...excuse me? Scully asked.
Thomas leaned against the back of his chair. "You seemed startled when I called you by your married name," he laughed. "I assume you've only recently been married?"
Scully had been uncomfortable enough in lying to Libby; she was having even more difficulty with the thought of lying to a man of the cloth and she managed a wan smile in lieu of a response.
Libby set a steaming pot of vegetable soup in the middle of the table. As she ladled the fragrant broth into bowls, she recounted the story Mulder had told her earlier.
"I thought we could help them." She sat down and clasping her hands together, sent an expectant look toward her husband.
He folded his own hands and lowered his head to offer a blessing for the meal. Mulder and Scully quickly followed suit and ducked their own heads.
"Amen," Thomas concluded. He reached for a plate of freshly baked bread and passed it around the table. "You're from Virginia?" He dipped his spoon into the soup and lifted it to his lips.
Mulder swallowed a spoonful of broth. "Yessir."
"What made you decide to head out west?" the reverend asked. "You got gold fever?"
That comment elicited a small smile from both of his guests.
"We just wanted to get away," Scully answered truthfully. "Make a fresh start." That had, after all, been the underlying reason for their trip to Colorado, she thought.
Libby nodded thoughtfully. "Living out here... we sometimes forget about what's going on back east."
Mulder and Scully both realized that she was talking about the rising tensions between the northern and southern states in the years and months before the Civil War.
"Y...yes," Mulder agreed. "And Kate and I have had a..." he glanced towards Scully, "... rough couple of months." He shrugged. That, too, was the truth. "Like Kate said, we wanted a fresh start."
Thomas tore off a piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. "Betcha didn't think that fresh start would include finding yourselves in a strange town with only the clothes on your backs."
Unexpected tears stung the backs of Scully's eyes. If only he knew, she thought. She glanced up to find Mulder's concerned gaze directed toward her and she summoned up a tiny smile for his benefit.
"You could say that," she said wryly.
Libby took the empty bowl from her husband's outstretched hand and ladled more soup into it before passing it back to him.
"Mr. Mulder?" She jerked her chin toward his bowl. "More soup?"
Mulder eagerly held out his empty bowl and Libby laughed delightedly as she refilled it.
"How about you, dear?"
Scully looked up and shook her head. "It's delicious, Mrs. Weston," she assured her. "But I have plenty."
Libby clucked her tongue reprovingly. "You'll need to eat more than that if you're going to make your life here in the West, especially after that nasty fever you had," she chided. When her husband glanced over at Scully inquiringly, Libby clarified, "She had a fever and lost weight, poor child. And she had to have her hair cut off to help bring the fever down!" The reverend's reaction was very similar to his wife's and his eyes were sympathetic as they rested on Scully, who by now was red in both cheeks.
Libby turned her attention back to her husband. "We can help them, Thomas. Can't we?"
Reverend Weston swallowed a last mouthful of soup and wiped his mouth with a red and white checked napkin. "Yes, dear. I believe we can." He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Maybe the Nulty homestead?" He posed the question to his wife.
She thought about it for a moment. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes. I think that would be perfect." She turned toward the other couple.
"Jenny and Ben Nulty had a homestead just outside of town, about two miles from here," she related.
"Had?" Mulder asked.
Thomas leaned back and hooked an arm across the back of his chair. "They moved away about a month ago," he said slowly.
"Were they miners or farmers?" Scully's curious eyes darted back and forth between the minister and his wife.
"Both. Ben mined and Jenny - his wife - took care of the farm. They never told us they were leaving, just upped and took off one day," Libby explained. "Ben never showed up for his shift at the mine and when someone went out to their place to look for him, no one was home. He and Jenny and their baby girl were just... gone." She lifted her hands into the air; then shrugged. "Not everyone is cut out for this kind of life, and I know Jenny was having a rough time, especially after Sarah was born. It's a hard life for these young folk that start out in the mines, thinking they can make a fortune. And Jenny was from town; about a hundred miles east of here. But she seemed to be getting the hang of it; I thought she was doing better these last few months."
"They might be coming back," Reverend Weston picked up the narrative. "They left some of their things at the farm. Some personal items, some clothes. Traveling through these parts is best done with a light load. I'd hate to see that homestead go to ruin and the garden die. We've gone out there a few times, making sure the chickens are fed. Some of the other neighbors were willing to help out some, but there isn't much to do except feed the chickens and make sure the garden gets watered now and then. Don't see why you couldn't stay out there and take care of the place."
"It's a pretty little farm," Libby said enticingly. "And that garden will be overrun with weeds soon if it isn't already."
"Oh," Scully protested. "I don't know... I'm not much of a gardener..." Her voice trailed off helplessly and she shot a look toward Mulder.
Libby reached across the table and took Scully's hand into her own. She compared the soft, pale-skinned and well-tended hands to her own work-roughened hands. "I'm guessing that you probably don't have much experience with keeping a house at all," she commented shrewdly.
Scully flushed and bit back an indignant retort. She took impeccable care of her apartment and was proud of the cozy home she had created. She cooked and did the laundry and all of the other daily chores that go into a day... but she did it all with electricity. She was firmly out of her element here.
Libby gently squeezed her hands. "You're newlyweds," she said brightly. "And you were on your way to set up your very first household. You'll learn. And I'll help you."
Thomas scraped his chair back from the table and stood. "I have some clothes you can borrow," he eyed Mulder's frame.
"No. Sir, I couldn't," the younger man argued. He bit back another protest as the reverend held up a silencing hand.
"Nonsense. Just until you get back on your feet. Besides, Ben's clothes wouldn't fit you, son. He's not as tall as you and not nearly as wide in the shoulders. Might as well be wearing comfy clothes, right? And I have more than enough." He propped his hands on his hips and glanced at Scully.
"Jenny Nulty's a pretty little thing just like you," he commented. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you borrowed some of her dresses." He rubbed his hands together. He was a man used to taking charge and having others follow his lead. Woe to anyone who got in his way; he'd cajolingly ride roughshod over anyone's objections.
"Libby, why don't you wrap up some food and we'll take these young'uns out to the Nulty place."
Nulty Homestead
Millersburg, ColoradoThe road was narrow and rutted, and the Reverend's wagon seemed to hit every single rut. Mulder kept his arm tightly around Scully's shoulders as she swayed against him, unused to such rough motion. Across the wooden seat, Libby Weston smiled at the way they sat so close together, no doubt thinking as newlyweds they couldn't keep their hands off each other even in the daylight hours and in front of virtual strangers. Mulder hid a smile of his own; in a way she was absolutely correct. He couldn't keep his hands off Scully; that was the honest truth. He had a feeling in this era, husbands and wives were still very circumspect with each other in public, regardless of how long they'd been together. He and Scully would have to remember where they were, and adjust accordingly. But in the meantime the wagon rocked over holes and plowed through muck, and it was as good a reason as any to hold onto Scully, enjoying the warmth of her at his side.
He knew they both needed maximum contact with each other right now. They were so far out of their depth. It would only get worse, too.
They rounded a slope in the road, past a thicket of low brush and a few trees that looked like some kind of evergreen, coming up on a roughhewn fence to the right. A dusty yard, an equally-dusty garden, a wooden chicken coop set in a dirt area; a pump well in front of a small cabin. To the right of the log dwelling there was a small barn and to the left an outhouse. Oh, goody... Mulder didn't dare look over at Scully; he could only imagine the expression on her horrified face. He'd lay money she'd never used an outhouse in her life - in fact, he could recall maybe twice in his entire life, having to do his business in one.
Maybe they were at the beginning of a great adventure, but there was no doubt in his mind they were going to work hard for every second of that adventure.
Reverend Weston pulled up sharply on the reins and his pair of geldings obediently came to a clopping halt. He jumped down from the high seat with the ease of a man who'd been doing it all of his life; walked around to the side of the wagon and extended both hands to his wife, then grasped her around the waist and swung her to the ground. Mulder watched him covertly then mimicked him on the other side of the wagon, helping Scully to gain her feet. They shielded their eyes from the bright sunlight and gave their new home a fast once-over.
The fence ran unevenly around what appeared to be several acres of land; in the shimmering glare it was hard to judge. As they moved closer to the house Mulder could see very few windows along the front of the cabin, and only one of them actually held glass. It wasn't surprising; he remembered enough about Frontier history to know glass was considered a luxury, imported from the East and probably costing a small fortune. The rest of the windows were covered with what looked like some kind of oiled cloth.
The door was made of wooden planks and so was the single latch that held it closed. Bits of twig, clumps of dirt and small pebbles were caught here and there in its rough surface, indicating the area might suffer strong winds. A rickety clothesline had been strung from the corner of the cabin to the nearest tree, a slender aspen. A rag and what appeared to be a faded and torn shirt hung from the line, moving stiffly in the morning breeze. There wasn't much grass in the yard, mostly dirt and small rocks and clumps of weeds.
It was definitely on the depressing side... and they'd yet to see the interior.
Libby reached out to grasp the wooden latch and raised it up, then pulled on the creaking door, opening it wide. "Haven't been out here in a few days, and then just to feed the chickens, so I can't say how dusty it is inside. But like I said, it's a nice little place. Go on in, see for yourself," she invited Scully, who pasted on a quick smile and stepped inside. And almost recoiled from the heat. She struggled to keep her face impassive and expressionless as she looked around.
There were only two rooms, and they were small. The main room held a wooden table and two chairs, an old cook-stove with a battered kettle resting on it and a blackened fireplace. The room smelled strongly of creosote, indicating a plugged chimney. An attempt to make the room cheery was evident in the faded yellow gingham curtains that hung at the small, cloth-covered windows and the matching fabric on the table. The glass window was bare of anything, including curtains, and was the only real source of daylight in the room. A handmade rocker sat next to the hearth and on three of the walls at eye-level old oil lamps had been nailed to the wood, awaiting their nighttime lighting. The floor was made of uneven planks that had been nailed together. Scully heaved a silent sigh of relief; she'd feared there would be nothing but dirt beneath their feet. What little she remembered about nineteenth-century prairie life had included earthen floors.
Mulder moved toward the bedroom, his hand clasping hers, and Scully hesitantly followed. Another uneven planked floor; a narrow bed frame, barely a double, with a single lumpy pillow sheathed in a flour-sack. Both mattress and pillow were rent with holes; to Mulder it looked as if mice had chewed at them. He suppressed a shudder, hoping it had been mice and not anything larger, like rats. Had rats even inhabited the western prairie? Of course they had; rats were everywhere, even a hundred or more years ago. He shook his head impatiently, and forced back the image of large rodents scurrying around gnawing on bedding, instead resuming his perusal of the little bedroom.
There was a tiny cradle in one corner and a wooden washstand in the other, with an enamel basin and pitcher sitting beside a chunk of homemade soap. A small shaving mug and brush shared space with a boar-bristled hairbrush and a comb with several teeth missing. At the end of the bed there was an area curtained off; when Mulder peeked behind it he found clothes hanging from wooden pegs, both male and female articles ranging from britches and suspenders to a corset and petticoats; a few dresses and a couple pairs of assorted shoes on the floor. A shelf nailed to the wall behind the curtain yielded several sets of neatly-folded undergarments and a few blankets. The room had one small window and two oil lamps affixed to the wall, one on each side of the bed.
Although the sun was high above, the interior of the cabin was dim, no doubt owing to the lack of windows. The bedroom was overly warm, as the other room had been. Summers would probably be a real bear to endure and Mulder had a feeling the winters would be tough as well. He stifled a frustrated sigh and resisted running his hands over his face and pulling at his hair. Now wasn't the time to lose his cool.
Libby had followed them into the bedroom and stood just inside the door, observing the reaction Scully couldn't hide as she'd looked around the little room. Libby sent her eyes over the sagging bed and the small window, sighing aloud when she saw the holes in the mattress and pillow. Dang rats... thankfully she and Thomas weren't using the extra mattress they kept in their spare room; she'd have him bring it over later on that evening. Glancing at the newly-wed Mrs. Mulder, she could tell the poor child had also seen the holes and was no doubt scared to death of encountering vermin in her sleep. Trying to envision it the way it might seem to a lady from back East, Libby spared another look at the younger woman and her expression held sympathy.
She hadn't forgotten what it was like to come from a fairly civilized place into a life as hard and rough as a gold camp town. It wasn't an easy way to live, but it had its own rewards. There was a sweetness to the spring mornings, when dew glittered on the prairie wildflowers and the air smelled of fresh night rain. Summers were hot but the sun was such a bright yellow and the sky the deepest blue. The people of Millersburg were hard workers, friendly and helpful. Folks here shared when they had enough to share and weren't afraid to ask for help when they needed it. In her ten years living in town with Thomas, she hadn't regretted a single day.
At that moment, watching the worry and the tension flow into Kate Mulder's face, Libby Weston vowed to do whatever she could to teach her to become the kind of prairie wife that would be a helpmeet to her husband.
"I refuse to wear that thing." Scully gave the cotton corset a dirty look. Mulder traced a finger over the mean-looking set of hooks and crisscrossed laces and smothered a grin. Too late; she caught it and snorted, her hands on her hips. "I suppose you think it's sexy, Mulder. That's a nineteenth-century torture device, worthy of any Spanish Inquisition. In this heat I'd have it on a grand total of two-point-eight seconds, before keeling over."
Mulder gave in to his urge and flashed her the grin. "Maybe so, but think of how tiny your waist would look as you went down for the count." He waited for the expected retort and wasn't disappointed.
She threw him a look of feminine affront. "Oh, bite me, Mulder." She then spoiled the effect of her words with a resigned chuckle. Mulder picked up the corset and hung it back on its little wooden peg; then pulled out a thin cotton dress with a full skirt and loose, three-quarter-length sleeves. He tossed it to Scully and she caught it with one hand, noting the soft pattern of peach-colored roses on a pale blue background. The dress looked a lot smaller than the one she was currently swimming in; Libby Weston had mentioned Jenny Nulty was petite. Scully shrugged and began unbuttoning the dress they'd 'borrowed', with Mulder leaning back on the bed and enjoying the show. As he watched, he thought back on the last few hours.
As soon as the Westons had left the little homestead, promising to send the reverend over that evening with a spare mattress, Mulder and Scully had indulged in a more thorough investigation of the cabin. They'd found a piece of wide wood, hinged on one side, in the main room's floor; upon pulling up on the rope that served as a handle they discovered a kind of crude larder, with steps cut from the hardpacked earth. Mulder ventured down, holding his flashlight aloft, and found a small room lined with wooden barrels and shelves. The air was much cooler down there and he decided the Nultys had probably used it as a sort of refrigerator. He hadn't nosed around for very long but had noticed some tin cans and a small wooden bin full of potatoes. He didn't open any of the barrels but figured they held various foodstuffs and maybe even some preserved meat. At least they wouldn't starve.
As the day lengthened and the sun rose higher, the cabin brightened and didn't look as grim as they'd originally thought. Jenny Nulty had obviously tried to make her small home as happy a place as possible, with precious little to work with. Mulder had wondered aloud what the Nultys had done for things like milk and butter, when there wasn't evidence of them ever having a cow. He started making a mental list of questions to ask the reverend.
After Scully wriggled her way into the dress Mulder had found for her - appreciating the more comfortable fit - the rest of the day was spent nosing around the barn and the chicken coop. They'd opened the little door of the coop and had stepped back in amused surprise when a gaggle of noisy hens streaked by them, headed for whatever sustenance they could peck off the ground. A wooden barrel with a crude lid sitting next to one side of the coop yielded a bounty of coarse feed for the chickens and they'd amused themselves by sprinkling some on the ground and watching the greedy hens dive-bomb for it. An arrogant rooster strutted out of the coop and over to the piles of feed, scattering his feathered harem with a few well-placed pecks as he asserted his right to steal their food.
With the leftover soup and homemade bread the Westons had left them, they'd had an early supper, preferring to eat room-temperature food rather than attempt to add heat to an already-warm room by lighting the stove. Scully had found some chipped china in a cupboard nailed over the cookstove; a few plates and bowls, some mismatched mugs and silverware. There was a small sack of salt and one of pepper sitting on the table, and another sack leaning up against the wall yielded a decent supply of flour. Thankfully the sack looked intact, no little rodent gnaw-marks anywhere.
They'd eaten in relative silence, both lost in their own thoughts, occasionally catching each other's eyes and sharing small smiles.
Early evening found them accepting a new mattress and pillow from Reverend Weston, plus a well-washed and soft looking linen sheet. The reverend had waved away their stammered thanks, assuring them they'd kept the spare bedding for emergencies such as this. Apparently homeless people coming out West were not that much of a rarity after all, Mulder thought wryly.
He'd dragged the ruined mattress off the frame and out to the yard, and Thomas Weston had helped maneuver the new bedding into place. They'd all sighed in relief when it fit with only a little overhang at the sides. The borrowed pillow was longer than a modern standard and looked as if it would cushion both their heads easily enough. The reverend had hopped back into his wagon and waved at Mulder and Scully as they stood in the doorway of the cabin, telling them that he and Libby would see them in the morning. As the older man rode away down the bumpy and dusty road, they'd both offered up a thankful prayer for running into the Westons, who were proving to be a real Godsend.
After he'd helped Scully make up the new mattress with the sheet and the homespun blankets they'd found in the curtained-off closet, they decided to investigate the barn. This netted them the discovery that the Nultys had once owned a team of workhorses; they found harnesses and bridles and what appeared to be a fairly new plow.
"If the Nultys moved away then it's reasonable to think they took the horses, wouldn't you agree?" Mulder tapped a finger on one of the harnesses thoughtfully. "Of course, why they didn't take the hens as well is a mystery."
Scully sat on a bale of hay and loosened the laces on the highbuttoned boots she'd found in the closet. "Well, those are some damned obnoxious birds, Mulder. If I had to choose between a team of horses and those stupid chickens I'd sure know what to leave behind." She stretched out her legs and sent another look around the barn. There were more bales of hay propped up against the empty water trough and a pitchfork sticking up out of one of them. The barn smelled surprisingly decent; it was apparent someone had mucked it out recently. She wondered aloud, "Any guesses as to why the Nultys just 'upped and left', Mulder? The mine seemed to be doing well, judging by what little we saw of it before we snuck out of the cave. And this place really isn't all that bad. Not to mention all the personal things they left behind."
Mulder rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Well, maybe it's just what the Westons said. Tough life and all, the wife can't hack it and talks the hubby into leaving. Unless..." He thought for a moment, hesitant to voice what had just popped into his mind, "unless they somehow shoved their hands all over those cave etchings and got sent to God-knows-where, I have no idea, Scully. I probably shouldn't joke about it, you know? Maybe that's exactly what happened. Obviously their departure was hurried and unexpected."
He moved to the hay bale and she obligingly scooted over to make room for him. He flung an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, grateful for the support. She was exhausted and so was he. An early night would do them both a world of good; they needed to turn their brains off and get some decent rest in a real bed. They could hash it over better in the morning, with clearer heads.
With a groan, Mulder stood up and pulled Scully to her feet. "Come on, Laura Ingalls Wilder, let's hit the sack. Tomorrow's gonna be one hell of a long day."
She allowed him to drag her toward the cabin. "If I'm Laura Ingalls then who does that make you, Mulder?"
His reply wafted back to her on the still evening air and made her laugh out loud. "Why, Nellie, of course..."
In the kitchen they found a box of sulphur matches and lit the oil lamps in the bedroom. Earlier in the evening he'd filled about half a bucket of well water from the old pump in the front yard; he poured most of it into the basin and they took turns washing up. The soap had smelled vaguely of vanilla, and Scully had vowed to ask Libby Weston how to make more of it, knowing they'd go through the softmilled bar very quickly.
The bed was surprisingly comfortable, albeit narrow. But the length was decent; Mulder found he could stretch out easily enough. He turned on his side and gathered Scully close; they'd both deigned to sleep nude, which would have probably shocked the hell out of the Westons, he thought with a grin.
Scully felt the curve of his mouth against her throat and queried sleepily, "What, did you tell yourself a joke?"
"I was just imagining what our benefactors the Westons would think if they knew we were sleeping in the nude." He ran his hands up and down her smooth back, enjoying the feel of her skin against his palms.
Scully wriggled appreciatively under his caresses. "I refuse to believe the Reverend and Mrs. Weston have never slept together au natural. I'd bet they have a very normal marriage. Probably quite open-minded for this day and age."
"You think?"
"Uh-huh." She nestled closer to him and let her fingertips drift over his chest, knowing how sensitive he was right around heartlevel. It had been a few days since they'd last made love, and she missed him. They usually made love every night and her body had rapidly become accustomed to the frequent intimacy. After years of deprivation, it was amazing how quickly she'd found herself needing him, craving him. Her hand slipped over his stomach muscles, teased lower still.
Mulder stifled a groan, his voice a low rasp in her ear. "So, Scully... whatcha got on? Your mind?"
She snickered. "You're a simpleton. And as to what I have on... besides my mind... why don't you take a few guesses?"
In one quick maneuver, he snagged her beneath him, and pressed eagerly into her softness. He kissed his way down her smooth throat, mumbling between kisses, "Don't have to guess. I know what you want. It's what you always want from me, when we're nekkid in bed together. You want to have sexual relations with me. I suppose I'll just have to submit to your insatiable demands." His lips closed over one small nipple and Scully's breath caught on a moan.
She fisted her hand in his hair and held him against her; beneath his cheek her heart pounded. She managed a shaky, "Sex-u-all relations? You make me sound so... greedy and deviant, Mulder. I think I like it."
Without releasing her breast, Mulder curled himself over her, then slipped into the cradle of her body and slid inside her with one smooth thrust. Several snappy comebacks blurred into one long groan of want that vibrated against her skin, as they moved together in the narrow old bed. In this century or any other, what they had formed between them was simply the very best. They'd get through their current predicament as they'd survived every obstacle in their pasts... together.
The night air formed a breeze that stirred the faded curtains at the window, as they made familiar love in an unfamiliar time and place.
"Oh, hell. We're still here. I was hoping we'd dreamed it all."
The resigned rasp of Scully's voice woke Mulder from a dozing sleep; he stretched and opened gritty eyes. Outside the window dawn had already broken and daylight was slowly working its way over the little cabin. Mulder forced his attention away from the window and stretched again, noting his back felt a little stiff, but no more so than how it usually felt after sleeping in a strange bed. And for certain, this bed was one of the strangest he'd ever slept in. He turned his head, searching for Scully; she sat next to him with blankets pooled at her waist, hair sticking up on end and eyes heavy with sleep.
He reached out a hand and stroked it over her tangled hair, yawning, "Morning, Sunshine. And yes, we're still here. I wonder why the rooster didn't crow at sunrise and wake us? Aren't roosters supposed to crow at sunrise?"
Scully flopped back onto the mattress and rested her head on Mulder's shoulder. "Yes, roosters crow at sunrise, usually waking the dead. Maybe he was too busy engaging his... harem to bother with his other duties."
Mulder chuckled. "Well, we're gonna have to dock his pay, then. Horny little cock."
She laughed with him for a moment; then sat up again, eyes now serious. "Actually, Mulder... you've got a point. Why isn't he crowing? Maybe he took off? There weren't any holes in the fence that I could see. Maybe he's sick? I looked him over yesterday and he looked healthy enough, but what do I know of roosters? We need to have a rooster. We have to eat eggs; we need the protein. And if we end up stuck here for any length of time we'll have to breed more chickens, for the meat they'll provide."
Mulder was quick to reassure. "Well, let's get some clothes on, and we'll go investigate. As you say, we need eggs. We can collect a few, and then figure out how to cook them. The Westons said they'd be back this morning, so I suppose we can't laze around in bed, pretending we're on vacation." He jumped up from the bed and yanked her up after him, ignoring her grumbling remarks about how their adventure had begun as a damned vacation...
They donned the clothes they'd worn the day before and hand-in-hand, walked out the door of the cabin; Scully taking note that in the early-morning light the small kitchen looked rather cheery. The air felt cool and the ground was dewy on the sparse grass that grew in irregular clumps around the front yard. Scully needed to relieve herself, badly, but balked at using the tiny outhouse. She decided she could hold it a few minutes more, and she stepped ahead of Mulder, rounding the corner of the house nearby the chicken coop...
"Oh, my God. Mulder, look at the chickens."
In the dirt around the opening of the chicken coop lay several chickens, and even from a distance Mulder could tell they were dead. Stretched out, their legs and claws already stiffening, it was impossible to say when they'd died - or what had killed them. At first glance they rather gave the appearance of being asleep, if one could overlook the obvious telltale positioning of the carcasses. Birds usually always nested; they didn't lie on their sides like the family dog.
Near the small water trough the rest of the chickens lay, and a few of them were moving sluggishly, trying to gain their feet, only to flop sideways onto the ground. Also near the trough the rooster lay limp and unmoving. A few handfuls of feed could be seen scattered over the well-pecked dirt. One chicken's lifeless head was buried beak-first into the larger pile.
Mulder squatted down next to one of the felled chickens and reached out a finger to prod at it, then thought better of it and glanced around for a stick, murmuring his thanks to Scully when she handed him a piece of slender kindling from the nearby woodpile. He turned the bird gently, looking for anything suspicious. "You got any ideas why some of these cluckers are dead and others appear to be dying, Scully?"
She knelt alongside him and took the stick from his hand, beginning her own careful examination. "I have no idea. By no stretch of the imagination can I claim knowledge of basic vet skills - or whatever sort of vet takes care of chickens - but these birds looked healthy yesterday, in fact seemed to be thriving. They ate what we fed them and I can recall hearing them rattling around the yard last night. If they came down with an ailment between last night and this morning, obviously whatever got to them did so very fast. Maybe a virus of some kind, something only chickens get. I just don't know, Mulder. I suppose in this era almost anything could make livestock sicken."
She straightened and tossed away the stick, careful not to wipe her hands on her dress. She rubbed them together to dust them off instead, cautioning, "We should scrub our hands and probably wipe down our shoes. Maybe get rid of that chicken feed. Until we can acquire more chickens, we sure don't need it, especially if it's tainted. God knows how old it is, especially with no preservatives to speak of. We need to talk to the Westons, find out if they've noticed any sickness centered around the local chickens."
They walked back to the cabin, careful not to touch their clothes or each other. The wooden bucket Mulder had used the night before was still sitting on the tiny stoop; they took down the old rag pinned to the clothesline and used it to wipe off their shoes. Mulder managed to pry open the front door with the toe of his boot and followed Scully inside, both of them headed for the bedroom and the basin of water they hadn't yet thrown out. As they stood side by side scrubbing at their hands, he commented, "The chickens that were still alive probably won't be much longer. I'll talk with Reverend Weston and find out where we can get more, and another rooster. I'll also ask him if he's noticed any other farm animals becoming ill and dying."
Scully nodded as she dried her hands on a small flour-sack towel. "Sounds like a plan. Suddenly I'm not very hungry, Mulder. I'll fix you something if you want it -"
He interrupted her quietly, "I'm not hungry either. Let's just lie down for a while, and wait for the Westons. I'm really tired." He took her by the hand and pulled her down onto the bed; she came willingly, snuggling in next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. She was weary, too...
As the sun rose higher and the morning lengthened, Mulder and Scully dozed fitfully in the heat of the small cabin, finally awakening when the sound of clopping hooves and creaking wagon wheels signaled the arrival of the Westons. They yawned and stretched, both stiff and still very tired, and straightening their clothes went to greet their benefactors, their hands clasped in comfort and support.
Outside Reverend Weston was standing near the coop taking in the sight of deceased chickens, while Libby Weston held a large straw basket in one hand and covered her mouth in shock with the other. As Mulder and Scully approached she turned to them and exclaimed, "Are you both all right? Are you feeling ill? Your chickens..." She paused and stared down at the fallen birds. When she raised her eyes they held confusion and worry. Livestock ailments were fairly common and there wasn't anyone that knowledgeable in town, at least about fowl. Chickens weren't the cleanest of birds, either.
Mulder's sharp gaze locked on Libby's pale cheeks and distressed eyes, understanding why she would be upset but thinking her reaction was perhaps a bit too pronounced. He added, "Is there a reason why we would be feeling ill, Mrs. Weston? Is this some kind of illness that befalls humans as well as animals or birds?"
Libby sighed and looked for a place to set down the heavy basket she carried, murmuring her thanks when Mulder dropped Scully's hand and took the basket from her. She rubbed at her temples and seemed to struggle for the right reply. "A few of our neighbors out here have mentioned losing some livestock; chickens, hogs, milking cows. Animals just sickened, then upped and died. We don't have much of a farm doc around here, and Doc Henson - he's the closest thing to a medical doc there is in town - said he couldn't figure what they died from."
Scully was curious. "What do these people think happened to their animals?" She directed the question to Libby Weston, who looked to her husband helplessly for an answer.
Reverend Weston was quick to take up the narrative. "They didn't know. Some are young married folk like the Nultys, and had no money to buy more stock. Last time I talked to a few of the men, I tried to reassure them that the congregation would pitch in and most likely give a few chickens here and there, maybe even a cow. I didn't want to see these young folks leave like the Nultys had. Lord knows we need them to stay in Millersburg, not give up and move back to the bigger towns. Guess they couldn't take the rough life out here. And not all the miners stay on."
Somehow they'd gone beyond talking about sick livestock and were now discussing the apparently-fickle Nultys. Going with the conversational flow, Scully asked gently, "Did they take their belongings with them, or did they leave most of it behind?" She watched Libby carefully for her reaction to the query, and nodded perceptively when the older woman's face registered surprise at the question.
It was Thomas who answered the question. "I think some of them left a lot of their stuff behind. We've been so busy working with the congregation, I've missed checking on some of the younger folks. I'll be sure to do it in the next few days. They must have left for a more civilized place. I don't think there's any shame in admitting you're not cut out for prairie life. And we already talked about how hard it is to travel with a passel of trunks." He smiled at his wife and she latched onto that smile like a lifeline; Scully observed the relief in Libby's face and remained quiet, thoughtful.
Mulder was quiet too, and his mind was busy processing data and possibilities. But now wasn't the time to get into it, not until he had a chance to discuss his thoughts with Scully.
Maybe the Nultys and others left under their own steam. Mulder hoped that was the correct explanation for their abrupt departure. And maybe, just maybe... their departure was involuntary. Perhaps they'd ventured too close to the cave and its drawings.
Keeping his musings to himself, Mulder shifted his attention to the Westons and inquired brightly, "So, what's in the basket, Mrs. Weston?"
She smiled at him just as brightly. "Please call me Libby, Mr. Mulder!" She glanced down at the basket in his hand. "Just some more bread and preserves and a few other things I thought you might need." She smiled at Scully. "Of course we'll need to go into town to get y'all some supplies. Why don't we get out of the morning heat, and I'll show you what I've brought and we can make a list of what else you'll need?"
Mulder shifted the basket to one hand and snared Scully's fingers with the other, pulling her gently toward the house. "It's Will and Kate, Libby. And that sounds like a great idea. Thank you for your kindness."
ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Chapter Five
By Char Chaffin and Tess
MSR, Casefile, AU
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season Seven
Feedback: to Tnv099@aol.com; char@chaffin.comHeaders and summary, see Part 1
Chapter Five
Millersburg, ColoradoIt was just past noon when Thomas Weston pulled back on the reins and eased the wagon to a halt. He set the brake and both men swung out of the wagon and helped the women to the ground.
"Kate and I will get the things we need from the store," Libby Weston told her husband as she reached into the back of the wagon for the two large baskets she had stowed there earlier.
"Well now, that sounds fine." The reverend patted her hand and escorted her up onto the wooden sidewalk that ran past several small businesses. "We'll meet you back here in a couple of hours?"
"Oh, yes. That should give us plenty of time to buy all the things we need." She turned to see Will brush a kiss against the corner of his wife's mouth.
"Go on with you now, young man," she admonished. "There's work that needs doing." She handed one basket to Scully and drew the younger woman toward the general store.
Mulder stood in the dirt street and watched the two women walking away. He turned suddenly at the sound of the minister's voice.
"Come along, Will. My Libby will take good care of your pretty bride." He clapped a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "I'll introduce you around town and we'll see what we can do about finding you some good, honest work."
Scully trailed hesitantly into the store in Libby Weston's wake. The mercantile could best be described as organized chaos. One large room housed all of the necessities for frontier living. Shelves brimming with dry goods and groceries were mounted on every available wall. Bolts of cloth spilled across a table at one end of the room. A nearby shelf housed bobbins of thread, boxes of needles, straight pins and various sewing notions. Hammers, saws and other tools were displayed on hooks driven into the walls. Candles and cast iron cookware, oil for lamps, rakes, shoes and brooms, tobacco and suspenders all vied for space on the crowded shelves.
Libby paused in her march across the room to reach out and catch Scully's hand in her own. "This way, Kate," she murmured. "I'll introduce you to the store owner." She tugged the younger woman toward the far end of the store.
"Silas!" she called. A man turned from stocking canned goods onto a shelf behind the counter. He had dark hair, liberally sprinkled with threads of silver, and lively green eyes. Scully judged him to be in his early fifties.
"Mrs. Weston," he greeted her warmly and climbed down from the ladder on which he had been perched. "What can I get for you today? I've got a sale on sugar - five cents off a five pound sack."
"Well, that sounds dandy, Silas. And I am running low on sugar. But first, I want you to meet someone." She drew Scully forward. "This is Kate Mulder. She and her husband, Will, are new to town." She patted Scully's hand once before letting go. "Kate, I'd like you to meet Silas Cranston. He's the owner of this store and a dear friend to both the Reverend and me."
"Mr. Cranston." Scully reached out a hand to shake his. "It's nice to meet you."
The shopkeeper seemed a bit startled with her forthrightness but he recovered quickly and wiped his hands on his apron. "It's surely my pleasure." Leaning over the counter, he folded her hand between both of his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Well, what can I do for you ladies?" he asked as he released her hand.
"The Mulders were on their way to Denver when their stage was robbed."
He stepped out from behind the counter. "Robbed!"
Libby nodded emphatically. "Yes, robbed! And the thieves took everything these folks had to their name, except the clothes on their backs," she confided.
Struggling against the urge to roll her eyes, Scully instead let her head fall forward in what she hoped was a despairing pose and listened as the conversation between the two townsfolk rolled on.
"The Mulders are going to be staying at the Nulty place, for now."
"I don't know, Libby." Silas shook his head. "What if the Nultys come back? They might not be too happy to find squatters on their land!"
Suddenly anxious to exclude herself from the conversation, Scully stepped away from the others and began to examine small bottles of cough syrup and other medical supplies that were grouped together at one end of the shop's main counter. Curious, she uncorked a bottle labeled 'cold medicine' and took a cautious sniff of the yellow liquid inside. Tears sprang to her eyes and she instinctively jerked her head back and looked down at the label.
"Cures what ails you," she read softly. Judging by the fumes, alcohol was the main ingredient. It was an easy guess that while the 'medicine' wouldn't likely cure anyone of a cold, it would sure go a long way toward helping a patient not to care. She jammed the stopper back into the bottle and studying the label of another bottle; then reluctantly turned back to the conversation going on behind her.
"Tsk!" Libby was wagging a finger in the shopkeeper's face. "I'm sure Jenny and Ben will be happy to know that someone is taking care of their property."
Silas shrugged. "If you think it's best, Libby."
Libby beamed at him. "Precisely!" She lifted the basket in her hands. "We're here for some basic supplies to get them started keeping house."
The shopkeeper folded his arms across his chest. "Who's gonna pay for all these... supplies?" he wondered gruffly. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I thought you said that everything they owned was stolen by the stage robbers. I ain't running a charity and you don't know 'em well enough to be loaning them money."
Scully knotted her fingers together until the knucklebones showed white through her skin. The truth was that until they could find their way back home, they were dependent on the kindness and charity of others to survive. She struggled to maintain the posture of what she imagined would be that of a demure lady of the nineteenth century. Inside she was squirming with a feeling of helplessness that was unwelcome and frustrating.
"Silas Cranston!" Libby Weston admonished. "Is that any way to greet a newcomer?" She shook her head angrily. "Why, you'll have Mrs. Mulder believing that Millersburg is an inhospitable town!"
"Now, Libby..." He held his hands up in front of his chest in a defensive posture. "I was only..."
"You were only being rude!" Libby took a deep breath. "I'm embarrassed, to be sure. Here I've been telling these young folks about what a nice town this is and you..."
The indignant Libby broke off in a gulp when Scully laid a hand on her arm. "It's all right, Mrs. Weston."
Dana Scully had spent a lifetime forcing people to look past her gender by using her intellect, education and experience to get what she wanted and to move ahead in life. But intuition was telling her those methods would be wasted in the world in which she now found herself. She couldn't help but to instantly think of Scarlett O'Hara and how that character had often hidden her intellect behind feminine wiles to get what she needed. She dug deep for her inner southern belle and lifted glistening blue eyes toward the storeowner.
"Mr. Cranston IS running a business, after all." Scully favored him with a sweet smile. "Reverend Weston is helping my husband to find work and Mrs. Weston suggested that we might want to open an account in your fine store." She glanced around at the crammed shelves with an approving nod. "As soon as my husband is paid, the very first thing we'll do will be to settle our bill here."
Libby glared at her old friend. "Of course, the Reverend and I will be happy to vouch for the Mulders," she said stiffly.
Silas flushed and dropped his head forward. "My apologies, Mrs. Mulder." Once again he gathered her hand between both of his. "I truly did not mean to offend." He looked helplessly between the two women and tried a timid smile. The female species had alwa