"Looking back in the past won't help you with the future." Those were the words spoken by Cimmy Monroe's mother on a fairly regular basis when she had still been alive. Wise words, to be sure. But regardless, Cimmy still couldn't help her love for antiquity and nostalgia. She most likely would have gone to school to study history, or possibly even literature, if it hadn't been for her recently deceased mother constantly encouraging Cimmy to get her medical degree.
Her cousin, who knew what an avid fan she was of anything that smacked of the old West, had paid for her to spend a weekend in a real, authentic, Wild West town as a graduation gift. Cimmy Monroe was now officially Dr. Monroe.
The town was just as she'd imagined, and her neck began to grow stiff as her head swiveled back and forth, trying to drink in every detail, breathing deeply in order to fill her senses with the experience—even the decidedly pungent scent of horse manure.
"Why don't you come with me? It will be fun for the two of us to spend some time together." Cimmy had suggested the idea to her cousin Eva. She didn't see her often, but since Eva was about the only surviving family she had, she truly wanted to reconnect. The graduation gift really had been thoughtful.
"I wish I could, but I can't get away. But please, relax and have a great time. You've worked so hard and deserve a break. I'm proud of you. I have a doctor in the family now," Eva had replied proudly.
"I'm looking forward to it. I need the peace and quiet to figure out my next step."
"Well, you could always open a practice here. I know you said Chicago is too big a city for you, but it would be nice to see you more than once every couple of years."
"I'm not too sure where I will end up. But thank you so much for the gift. A trip to Twain Ridge is just what I need right now."
So there she was… standing on the old dusty road that ran down the middle of Twain Ridge, about to experience a mini vacation of a lifetime. It wasn't a fake Hollywood set like a lot of the ones she'd read about—some of which she'd been to, only to be disappointed. This town had an authentic charm about it.
As she walked, she noticed that all of the buildings were strangely monochromatic from the effects of so many years of both neglect and weather. The town was eerily empty, although Cimmy knew that civilization existed in at least one point there—the Granville Arms Hotel, which was a renovated version of the one that had existed in town during the 1800s. There were two—no, three—saloons, a mercantile, a milliner, an undertaker, and a jail. There were also what looked like a few rooming houses—one or more of which could well have been of ill repute—as well as some private residences that must have been quite nice during their heyday; the fa?ades of which were all left carefully untouched, so as not to ruin their stark appearance.
There were no cars to be seen or heard. Guests were bussed in but once a day from Settler's Bluff, which was the nearest town, and Cimmy alone had disembarked half an hour or so previously. But then, it was the tail end of the season, when it was much cheaper to stay, she imagined.
There wasn't a soul in sight, and just for a split second, she tried to imagine what it might have been like to live in such a town in its heyday. She felt a chill that had her nipples peaking painfully beneath the uncomfortable new fabric of the prim and proper white blouse she was wearing, its mutton sleeves and lacy frills making her feel more feminine than she had in years. The skirt, though, was another matter entirely—she felt much too exposed in it and longed for the comfort of her well-worn jeans, although it did look like something a schoolmarm would wear, as opposed to a lady of loose morals. But she'd indulged herself over the years, buying the appropriate clothing for the era she was so intrigued by, and she figured that, if she was going to wear them at any time, it would be on this trip. Not to mention the fact that it was encouraged by all who visited Twain Ridge to participate in the fantasy of stepping back in time.