Dream Car

Yellow Snow looked down. Sure enough, the half-Paleface/half-Injun rancher had his six gun in hand, the barrel making a significant bulge in the poncho and pointing to the Injun's heart. "Ha! Sneakier than any full Injun, Red Coyote, I reckon we'll have to call this one even."

Yellow Snow laughed and all the other braves laughed with him, putting their arrows away back in their quivers. The whole party, white men, women and escorting Injuns, rode into the encampment as one.

Caroline's mother, Dove Feather, was waiting outside her teepee. Yet it was Red Coyote who jumped down first and greeted his mother in a warm embrace. Caroline and Dove Feather exchanged a more restrained welcome, in the form of light kisses on cheeks, as did Alice, who Dove Feather knew well and had trained to become Caroline's maid. Dove Feather and the Marshal merely nodded in greeting. Red Coyote was not aware yet that Caroline was a whole instead of a half sister. That was a conversation that would have to wait until the time was right and all three were alone.

And Caroline and Dove Feather would have to wait until the pair of them were alone before they could discuss pressing matters.

"Hi, Mum," Caroline said later as she entered the teepee, "I wasn't sure I'd be able to catch you on your own before I fell asleep."

"That would have been inconvenient, dear," Dove Feather smiled, "come here, Carrie dear, give your old Mum a cuddle."

It felt so good, so many years of hurt melting away.

"Tell me about David, Mum, and Samuel. You died, so how did you end up here?"

"I didn't die, I left that body behind and came here, I stayed here permanently and that old body of mine was dying anyway and eventually died of my neglect. I poured every ounce of my life force that I could spare to build this fantasy world for your father and me to live in. I started it all off at home but my strength there ran out of time and I had to do the rest of it from here."

"But Dad died here at the same time as back home. How was it you died at home but live here?"

"Are you sure that those two events are related?"

"What am I supposed to think?"

"I know, Carrie sweetheart, it is difficult to get a complete handle on it, but I assure you that it is better that you work it out for yourself, I can only give you the barest hints and answer those questions that are really easy."

"But why? Honestly, Mum is becom—"

Just then the tent flap flew open and Hiding Fox walked in, and stood still when he saw the two women in conversation.

"Oh, father, would you mind?" Dove Feather said, "but Miss Caroline and I have some things to discuss in private, Red Coyote being one of them."

The old medicine man nodded and turned to go, before he paused and asked, "How long do you need?"

"Say two walks around the camp, maybe three?"

The old man nodded to them both in turn, "Daughter, Miss Caroline," and left, dropping the flap of the teepee closed behind him.

"Did you teach him English?" Caroline asked.

"Ha! Ha!" Dove Feather laughed and slapped her thigh, she was almost bent double with laughter. "Caroline, how long have you been here and how many Injuns have you spoken to?"

"This is my third trip to this camp, and I have heard four or five braves talk, like Yellow Snow this afternoon. They all speak surprisingly good English."

"Of course they do. How could they possibly speak Commanche or Apache, when neither your father or I can?"

"Of course, they are what your vision of the Old West was, from your re-enactment society days?"

"And using as references those supporting Western films from the times of our youth, black and white repeats on Saturday morning pictures, and pulp novels."

"So all these 'Injuns' are just pretend red indians, like Caucasian extras and actors!"

"Exactly!" Dove Feather smiled. "I started out with the tribe, I came here as a little girl, maybe aged about six years old and was taken in by my adopted mother Honey Bear, and medicine man father Hiding Fox. They didn't have a child of their own. I wandered into camp pretending I had no idea where I was from. They kept me hidden from white men while I grew up, afraid they might claim me for my rightful parents. And one day, when I was about 16, a white man rode into the village with a string of cows, to buy me. It was your father."

"How did he take so long?"

"The one thing I didn't foresee was your Dad's stroke, which he had just after I died back there. He didn't see any of the clues I left him, because he was confined to the wheelchair, he couldn't go upstairs. He told me later that his Dream Car was delivered shortly after he got home from hospital, but he was too upset at my loss to bear to even look at it. It was covered by a tarpaulin for a long while."

"We all begged him to sell it, Mum, my husband most of all, but Dad refused to budge."

"I know, he was always stubborn. But then, after about five years of it parked behind that laurel hedge, he got a really good offer from a collector who said he passed by regularly and offered a good price, which Sam accepted."

"Accepted? But he would never have—"

"He did, but it was an extremely good offer. He told the caller that he had to sort out the paperwork, and could the guy come back in a couple of days. Then, while no one was around, he wheeled himself around to the car, parked behind that thick hedge. With great difficulty, he managed to sit in the driver's seat. He shut the door, looked around and saw a Stetson hat."

"And Dad being Dad, he couldn't resist putting it on."

"He couldn't, and that's how he first came into Sweetwater township on the stagecoach. Boy! Was it the Wild West then!"

"But how did did he manage with his wheelchair and his being paralized down one side?"

"He was fit and well on this side, and a vigorous man in his thirties, and fast with a gun."

"I heard from Alice that Dad struck it rich at the silver mines and used the money to build the town," Caroline said.

"He certainly did!" Dove Feather smiled. "I guess I was about 12 when the Elders wanted to go on the warpath because Jed pulled down the old trading post."

"Ha! No more firewater, huh?"

"Yes, I thought you'd like that little touch!"

"I did, Mum, was this dream world just one big playground, for you and Dad?"

"Yes, it is, sweetheart, and it could be yours too, if you want it, or you could start up your own."

"What?!"

"My Granny D had a Victorian world, that was more to her taste and she wanted me to join her. I didn't like it much, and then when I met your Dad—"

"Wait, Mum, this isn't the only fantasy world in the family?"

"No, there must be many, but they are closed to me now, because I chose your Dad's, and there's no going back, not at our level, anyway," Dove Feather smiled, "This can be your world, if you choose to stay, or you can go and create your own."

"How do I do that?"

"I can't tell you how."

"There are rules?"

"There are always rules, sweetheart, but stay here a while, or come and go as you please. Get used to it. Imagine what changes you would like, and then see if you can conjure up new characters to ride into town."

"I could do that?"

"Maybe, I hope so. I was able to. It is in our genes, dear. As you know, your Dad always called me Mo, and I was born Maureen Dival. My grandmother Charlotte Dival, usually called Lottie, never married, and was in service all her life. She felt terribly lost when the great houses couldn't keep their servants any more. She had my mother when she was about 16, and was retired before I started courting your Dad."

"I hardly knew Granny D. I remember her being very strict, and strait laced, though. I think she must've died when I was about eight."

"Yes, she went to a better place, her Victorian world, where she lived life as a flirty young chambermaid."

"No!"

"Yes. Definitely wasn't the place for me."

"Mum, can anyone do this? Why can you, Granny D and possibly me?"

"Our family name, Dival is a clue. It has been spelt many different ways, but it was historically the d'Evil family of witches. Most of us were wiped out in the witch purges, three or four hundred years ago, but our tiny branch quietly survived."

"And Granny D was your only living relative?"

"Yes, she was. I don't think her Mum was married either. One thing we world builders learn early is that we cannot use this ... skill, magic, or whatever you want to call it, to help our real lives. If we are born poor, we stay poor, but we can escape to a new world. Your Dad and I used to collect silver ornaments, quite cheaply, when we went on holiday, as mementoes. He melted them down and brought them here, using the silver mines as cover. You can buy a lot with Wild West dollars."

"Mum, I want to ask about the ashes in the boot, why are yours there?"

"Just my ashes, dear?"

"No, the cowboy re-enacting club that Dad belonged to, he left them his ashes in his Will and they brought them around to me the day after the funeral. I didn't know what to do with them, either. I thought maybe they belonged in Dad's dream car, so I popped the boot, and found your urn there."

"You have Jed's ashes? Bring them on the Stagecoach next time you use it. Now hush, dear, I hear Hiding Fox coming."

Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry," she said automatically, "I wasn't looking where I was going."

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

"Doctor George!"

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

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

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

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

"So you were unable to do your shopping until now?"

"Something like that. You just finished your shift?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's Friday night already, Mrs er..."

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"I did, Alice, thank you. What about yourself?"

"Dandy, ma'am. Ah got some vittles here that the Injuns cooked up, some kind of cereal, like buckwheat with cow's milk. Would ya like some?"

"Why not, the Injuns seem to look well fed on whatever it is they eat."

"Well it don't look like they ate any o' ma Ma's cows, that's fer a fact. Uncle Tom has a face sourer than week old milk, cos he ain't found no 'eveedence' that these Injuns are the rustlers he's lookin' fer."