We sat in silence for a while, enjoying the day and the companionship and our shared secret. Then I remembered something from one of Charlotte’s entries. The first time she’d found the spring was because Queen Penelope had ordered her to fill a sack with pinecones one winter day. She’d clutched that sack in her lap when she took a sip of spring water and the sack of pinecones had gone back with her to 1886. Whatever we were touching, like our clothes, went back in time with us. Unless, as in Charlie’s case, he just went back to a younger version of himself and appeared in the clothes he owned at that age. When Charley had gone the first time, he had let the horse go graze. Without it touching him, the horse had not made the journey back in time. It gave me an idea.
“Charley, I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything, Emma. You know that.”
“Meet me here by the spring a little before nine o’clock the morning of August 17th. That’s fifteen days from now. You mustn’t be late or forget.”
“I won’t let you down. Why’s it so important?”
“I can’t say just yet. Will you do another thing for me?”
“Name it.”
“Stay here with me until the spring water wears off. I’ll simply vanish, just like your pa’s black horse did.”
“I’ll stay with you for as long as it takes.” He smiled and held my hand.
That’s how I discovered that nobody can move forward in time from their present, even if they are touching someone who does.
Chapter 13
I was up at dawn on August 17th, milking Methuselah, throwing a flake of hay to Tashunka, tossing scratch to the chickens, gathering eggs, and chopping kindling before breakfast. All the while my stomach fluttered like I’d swallowed a flock of dragonflies.
The Troll said my other jobs for the day were picking tomatoes and helping Cook scald, skin, and can them. Then she wanted me to ride the mare into town to pick up the mail. No way would I be able to meet Charley at the spring by nine o’clock, and today could be one of the most important of my life. If I was successful. If I missed it, the opportunity would be gone for another year.
After breakfast I whispered to Cook that I wouldn’t be free to pick tomatoes until after lunch. She started to protest, but I told her I’d make it up to her and she relented. I found Penelope’s mailbox key and flew out to the barn to groom and saddle Tashunka. However, we didn’t head west to town. We lit out in a canter to the northeast with no time to waste.
The mare trotted into the meadow about 8:30. I unsaddled her, clipped a long rope to her halter, and staked her out to graze.
Crouching by the mouth of the spring, I cupped both hands under the flow and drank three large gulps of water, hoping that would be enough to take me back to 1882 for a longer time than ever before. Within a few minutes the popping sensation in my head let me know stomach cramps and a dizzy headache were on their way. When it hit, I panicked, afraid the amount of water I’d swallowed would surely kill me. My skull became engulfed in pain only a wrecking ball could produce, feeling as if it had been shattered to bone fragments. Inside my ruined skull, my brain throbbed in agony. I knelt by the spring, my eyeballs feeling swollen, my stomach roiling with grinding convulsions. Retching and coughing, I strained with no success to empty my stomach of the poisonous spring water gnawing my insides raw. Wave after wave of dizziness rolled over me until I lost all control and toppled over. My last thought was begging God for a quick death.
When my head cleared I refused to open my eyes. The thought that too much water might have sent me back to the fourteenth century or maybe to an era when a Tyrannosaurus Rex might make a snack of me, brought on a siege of trembling. The familiar caw of a crow relaxed my rigid muscles. Though it could have been a crow from the year 1361, I cracked an eyeball, just enough to see the 1882 forest shading the clearing in the morning light. Charley hadn’t arrived, and I began to worry that his family didn’t have an accurate clock of any kind, or he had forgotten. Maybe I’d been partly right and had slipped a bit farther back in time. I rose and paced along the short stretch of spring water for a few minutes, stressing about how I couldn’t pull this off if I’d gone too far back in time. Even if I was in 1882, without Charley this would never work. I glanced at the condition of the burned pine. It was 1882.
The chances of it not even working with Charley present were a lot higher than I liked. A movement to the side of my eye caught my attention, and Charley walked into the clearing before nine. We sat together by the spring.
“You wanna tell me what this is all about?” Charley asked. “Pa wanted me to go into the forest to cut more wood for winter today and, after arguin’ with him for a spell, I just tromped off and left him standin’ there. There’ll be the Devil’s own hell to pay when he sees me next. Whatever this is, it better be worth what I got comin’.”
“I don’t know if this is going to work,” I began. “Even if I tell you about it, you’ll never remember a thing I say, so I won’t be wasting my breath. For now, I need you to go back to 1876, and I need you to take me with you.”
“How in tarnation am I gonna do that, Emma? You can only go from your time here to 1882.”
“True. Only I think whatever we happen to hold or touch goes back with us. Once you drink the water I’m going to sit in your lap. I want you to wrap your arms around me tight as you can. Just maybe, I’ll go back with you.”
“And what if it don’t work? What if you don’t come with me?”
I cringed at what he’d see in 1876. “If that happens, I’ll sit here and wait until you return.”
“And what happens if you get lost somewhere else in time?” Charley’s eyes blazed. “I’m not partial to takin’ a chance like that. I’d never see you again.”
I didn’t know if I’d get caught in another year, or another century for that matter, but I was willing to take the risk. I checked my watch. Six minutes until nine. “Come on, Charley. We’re going to run out of time.”
He sat near the mouth of the spring and drank two large swallows of water. I climbed into his lap, my heart hammering like a woodpecker. I could hear it pumping in my ears. Charley wrapped his arms tightly around me and I snuggled back against his warmth.
“Hang on and don’t let go,” I whispered, “no matter how sick and dizzy you get.”
Of course nothing happened for a couple of minutes other than Charley making comments about how he liked this arrangement. I should sit in his lap more often, he told me. Then I felt him tighten and groan softly. He began teetering from side to side, struggling to keep his hold on me through the dizziness. I hung onto Charley’s arms as if letting go might be the end of me. How he was managing to keep his grip around me through all the dizziness and sickness was a mystery.
And then, with a suddenness that skittered my heart into overdrive, I was cold. No arms held me. Charley was gone. Still sitting by the spring, I glanced about frantically. I sat alone in the deserted meadow struggling to breathe, afraid my heart might burst out of my chest. Where had Charley gone and why wasn’t I with him? I had gone back to some other time, though maybe not clear back to 1876. Perhaps Charley and I had accidentally let go of each other and I had only gone part way back with him.
I stood up. The clearing looked the same. Charley must have gone on to 1876 and left me behind. Though I could detect no changes around me, the clearing smelled different.
Like a campfire.
I glanced across the spring to the burned-out ponderosa. It was perfect, over eighty feet tall and smoking with every branch singed or burned, yet still attached to the tree. It appeared blackened and ashy but other than a split down its center, I guessed it must be its original size the second before lightning struck it. Fear rose in my throat and made my tongue go dry. Where was Charley?”
I crossed the spring and walked the few yards to the smoldering tree wondering
why the whole clearing hadn’t burned. I felt warmth radiating from the tree, the perfect temperature to roast marshmallows golden instead of black.
Voices floated to me from across the meadow. Boys’ voices. I ducked behind the tree and peeked around to see two kids emerge from the forest to the east, laughing and playfully punching each other on the shoulder. One was a good bit taller than the other. Both had brown hair and wore light-colored homespun shirts, plain blue trousers and suspenders. As they grew nearer, I could see one was Charley. Ten-year-old Charley. The shorter boy must be his brother, Joey.
They approached the volcanic boulders and pointed at the burned tree I hid behind. After chattering about last night’s storm and Charley jerking his little brother away from the tree, Joey discovered the newly unearthed spring. With great excitement he scooped out a catch basin to make a miniature pond and played in it until Charley told him he was getting muddy and Ma would have his ears for that.
“Then I wanna play up on the rocks,” Joey whined.
Charley boosted him up until he could crawl the rest of the way before following him up and jumping from boulder top to boulder top claiming to be King of the Hill.
I would have to be fast to save Joey when he fell. Then second thoughts began to crowd my mind. What if Joey was supposed to die? What if I managed to save him and he turned out to be a serial killer or shot the president or became a child molester?
“You’re not playin’ fair,” Joey whined. “My legs ain’t as long as yours.”
“That’s not my fault shrimp-legs,” Charley taunted. “Don’t be such a ninny. You can make it from one rock to another if you try. Come on, baby.”
“Shut up!” Joey cried. Charley turned his back on him.
What Charley didn’t see was Joey trying to leap from his rock to the one Charley stood on. It only took a second before he lost his balance and began back-pedaling right to the edge of his boulder where, arms pinwheeling in panic, he cried out and fell, landing in the catch basin he’d made for the spring. He lay in it face down without moving.
Charley heard the cry and jumped to Joey’s rock to see what happened, “You little faker,” he yelled down to Joey. “What a little baby you are. Get out of that water and quit bein’ such a ninny or I won’t bring you back here.”
I was already running toward Joey, nearly slipping in the mud while reaching down to haul him out of the water. I dragged him back into the grass and laid him down on his back. His face had gone white except for a tinge of blue forming around his lips and under his closed eyes. He wasn’t breathing.
“Who the blazes are you?” Charley shouted from his rock before jumping down. “What are you doin’ with my brother? Get your hands off him!”
“Keep your distance,” I yelled at him, “or your brother will stay dead.”
I cleared his mouth, tilted back his head, and started CPR, giving him two rescue breaths and thirty chest pumps before repeating the procedure. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see the blue tinge had spread to his ears, blotched his neck and tinted his fingernails. How could a child drown this quickly?
Charley came to squat nearby, tears streaming down his face. He asked through his tears what I was doing to his brother. I ignored him.
I repeated the cycle of breaths and compressions five times. Maybe I was doing it wrong. Nothing was happening. This wasn’t going to work. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to because Joey was meant to die. I knew CPR didn’t always revive the victim. I couldn’t understand that because I’d gotten to him so fast. Every minute felt like an eternity. I stopped to listen and feel for a pulse under his jaw. No breath, no heartbeat.
I resumed the cycle. Panic started to tighten my chest and jaw. This was all I knew how to do, and I was very close to tears myself. Maybe this tragedy had been set by fate in stone. Maybe trying to change the past was against the laws of nature and completely futile. What if the spring water I’d swallowed wore off before I could finish this? If it didn’t work, Charley had now been re-traumatized for nothing. Would he carry the memory of me doing strange things to his brother into the future? Would he still blame me in 1882 for Joey’s death? Would he even recognize me in 1882 as the girl who had killed his brother in 1876?
Beneath my hands I felt a slight jerk. Then a cough. I turned Joey onto his side and water streamed out of his mouth. He coughed again and his eyes flickered opened. His blue ears and lips purpled for a time before fading into a pale pink. I helped him sit up.
“Who are you?” he gasped between coughs.
Charley wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve and put his arms around his brother.
“Let him rest for a bit,” I said. “Then take him home.” I stood, grateful to stretch out my legs after kneeling that long. Turning away, I walked toward the edge of the forest, tears of fear and relief coursing down my cheeks.
I stayed just out of sight in the trees watching the two brothers. What had I done? Saved Charley years of sadness and guilt? Maybe. But I had changed the past. Would that do something weird to the people living in 1876? What if this little stunt I’d pulled changed the future? Charley’s future and even my future? I’d always heard that all things were meant to be. That everything that happened was God’s will. That God moved in mysterious ways and it wasn’t up to us to question His wisdom. Our job was simply to accept and move on. If someone’s past “track” in time changed from what had actually occurred, that would certainly change their future. In Joey’s case, it gave him a future he never would have had, and what he chose to do with it could impact dozens, maybe hundreds of people and change their futures too. It would be like dominoes; knock over one and that affected the next one which affected the next one and so forth. I hadn’t stopped to think about this before I decided to try and help Charley by saving his brother. What had I done to scores of people I would never meet and to hundreds more who shared 2016 with me? What had I done to myself?
I glanced at my watch. Nine forty-seven, August 17th, 1876. How was I going to get back? What if I managed to get to the right century, only I emerged in 2010 instead of 2016 because I had traveled back in time six years farther than I was supposed to? I would return to my century as my ten-year-old self here in the meadow, freaked out because I wouldn’t know where I was. Or would I be back home in Pasadena as a ten-year-old having to live the next six years of my life over again?
I hadn’t felt any fear with Charley at my side. Now alone, I had to admit my hands were beginning to shake. Brushing bits of mud from my skirt, I sat down on a mossy log to wait with every nerve taut. Near the spring, Charley helped Joey to his feet and they started across the meadow the way they’d come in, disappearing into the trees, leaving me utterly alone.
Almost two tense hours later I saw the meadow shimmer and go jerky. The woods around me vibrated and wobbled, a tree here and there disappearing. My stomach cramped and churned, and the popping and roaring in my head and ears dissolved into a headachy dizziness. Thankfully, it was not nearly as intense as this morning’s episode. When it stopped, I was no longer sitting in the trees. I was sitting alone at the spring. I blotted at the perspiration on my forehead and checked my watch. Ten minutes past noon. The meadow lay in green and gold grasses, peaceful in the bright August sun. Tashunka grazed placidly at the end of her tether. I glanced toward the burned tree, a two-foot high black stump. Strange to think a couple of hours ago it was still smoking from the 1876 lightning strike. I was back in 2016 now and clueless as to whatever had happened to Charley and Joey. My dress still carried small streaks of mud from 1876, a fact sure to be noticed by the Troll. I saddled the mare, released her tether and mounted for home, wondering what changes I had accidentally caused in the present by saving one small pioneer boy. How would that affect the rest of Sweet Creek?
Chapter 14
The church Great-grandmother Penelope attended squatted at the edge of to
wn in a dingy strip mall. That was convenient. After church, if we hadn’t been tarred and feathered or burned at the stake for our relationships with the Antichrist, we could pick up some paper towels, second-hand casual wear, check out the recruitment posters for the Navy, buy some hooch at the dirty little liquor store, or explore the Dollar Store for deals on cheap perfume.
The church’s name, Baptized by Fire Evangelical Church of God, had been emblazoned above the automatic sliding glass door entryway in black Holy Scripture-style letters with red flames curling around them. The building had once been a major supermarket back in the day which accounted for the sliding glass doors. Inside the warehouse-sized space, ugly dark marks on the linoleum where long shelves of canned goods and dry cereal had once stood served as guide marks for lining up the folding metal chairs in uniform rows. A makeshift plywood chancel hugged the back wall.
Upon the chancel squatted a rickety facsimile of an altar, looking fresh out of the middle school’s woodworking class. Two potted plastic ferns had been plopped on either side of the altar for decoration. To the left of the altar, a homemade pulpit rested. On the right, a two-and-a-half octave Roland electronic piano perched on a stand awaiting the “organist.”
The grocery’s check-out stands near the sliding glass doors hibernated behind the congregation’s chairs. Each checkout stand held straw baskets to be passed down the rows for the offering. Behind the chancel flashed a red neon plastic cross suspended from the ceiling. It partially obscured the industrial-strength plastic flap strips hiding the back room where frozen meat and shipments of produce had once been stored. Now that space held Christmas decorations, extra chairs, and choir robes, according to Cook.
A black-robed minister glided about greeting the congregation as they filed in through the sliding glass doors and took seats. When he caught sight of Miss Ross, Simon, Cook and me, he flashed us an oh-so-plastic smile and made his way over.
A Certain Twist in Time Page 13