by Chris Lange
“By all means,” Tracy said, shooting Weedon a dark look, “do go on, Mister Burnes.”
Garrett gave her a brief nod, yet she knew her sudden formal manner didn’t deceive him in the least. “As I was saying before being interrupted, William worked to a standstill. Time traveling would mean breaking immutable laws of physics. However, prior to his arrival in England, he had learnt about a many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics he named ‘the Everett Theory.’”
Tracy snapped her fingers, recalling how the name rang a bell when she initiated her father’s program on the computer. “Small wonder Dad used this name for his program.”
Garrett slowly took a sip of water, set his glass down on the table, and continued as if she hadn’t butted in.
“Based on this interpretation, William’s work took on a very different direction. He’d already created a telepod in the basement of his Sausalito residence, and finalized another one in Gold Run.”
“Really?”
Her father always acted like the busiest person on the planet, but now she understood why. Still, he abandoned his family for too long to expect forgiveness simply because he might be a genius. Pushing the upsetting thoughts away, she concentrated on Garrett’s voice.
“As I was free and idle at that time, he offered me the opportunity to meet up with him in San Francisco, after he’d had a chance to see his family. I was to assist him in building a third telepod.”
“So you two built the lab I found myself in this morning? The place where you were waiting for me?”
She didn’t mean to sound awed, yet the hint of a proud smile danced on Garrett’s extremely kissable lips.
“Precisely.”
Her dad wouldn’t have let anyone else but himself manipulate the telepods at that early stage of his work. If she judged the situation right, Garrett had journeyed from England to America by boat.
“So you crossed the Atlantic to pursue a dream?” she asked.
“Not a dream at all, as you seem to imply so offhandedly, for William made a breakthrough and created the first dimensional travel device. You didn’t go back in time, Miss Richardson.” Garrett paused.
Tracy felt her stomach spin with anticipation when he leaned a little over the table to stare at her. “You travelled into a parallel universe.”
What? “Are you telling me I’m not back in my 1899?” She straightened up in her chair while observing him, her mind buzzing with excitement. Garrett nodded.
“After testing his first telepod and recognizing he hadn’t traveled in time, William set up a bridge connecting your twenty-first century world to ours. As you may have noticed, there’s a significant gap in time, over a century. He hasn’t discovered the reason yet, however I’m confident he shall do so promptly.”
“Oh my God, this is all so . . . so . . .” She fell silent, at a loss for adequate words. If time traveling astonished her, actually being in a different world proved downright awesome. Her belly tingled with expectation when Garrett continued.
“According to your father, our universes appear rather similar: the original creation, the evolution of mankind, the history. There is no notable difference to this day. At times, however, he’d muse over unexpected discrepancies. He called them ‘weird robotics’ and ‘unlikely characters.’”
She dropped a hand to White Fur to stroke the silky patch at the back of his ears. The wolfdog stretched under her gentle touch. Here was one creature who would never fret about time travel or wacko kidnappers.
She didn’t have a clue about the weird robotics her dad mentioned, and the allusion to unlikely characters was also unclear. Whatever happened, she needed to learn more about this place.
“How did you know I was coming today?” she asked.
“I wasn’t privy to that particular knowledge until this morning,” Garrett responded. “A week ago, William informed me he had left instructions for you. He thought someone might have discovered his invention, an unidentified person whose motives were, as yet, ill-defined.”
“That’s not good,” she conceded, “but what can I do about it?”
“He believed himself at risk, and, drastic situations calling for drastic measures, he relied on you. Should the situation deteriorate, he made it explicit that you had the means to find him and save both our worlds.”
“Are you sure he said ‘save’? What the heck was he going on about?” She searched deep into her memory for any recollection of a particular conversation with her dad. Try as she might, nothing came to mind, and the letter she found in the garden didn’t contain any clues. He never talked about her having special skills or saving whatever he needed her to save.
Across the table, Weedon passed a hand through his hair. Garrett dropped his napkin beside his plate and pushed a crumb with his finger before shrugging. “Regardless, when I received the anonymous message this morning saying that you had been contacted, I inferred you might make an appearance. Thus, I went presently to William’s laboratory, hoping to be right. I’m not a patient man, and I anticipated delay. However, I dare say you made haste.”
“Huh.” She scrunched up her face at him. A compliment? No, that couldn’t be right. This high-and-mighty man would burn his lips rather than praise her.
“When I saw you come forth, looking bemused, I imagined you had no idea as to your whereabouts.” Garrett tilted his head at her. “Nevertheless, you took the risk of entering the telepod. For a woman, I have to say your brave attitude does you credit.”
There it was, the knife in her back, and she didn’t care much about the for a woman part. Not much at all. “You know what, my dear, dear Mister Burnes? I can also cook, iron, vacuum, and clean up with great courage. Isn’t that swell?”
Playing the sweet and honeyed 1950’s housewife to the hilt, she placed her hand on Garrett’s and heard his sharp intake of breath. He reacted so strongly to her simple touch that she, in turn, felt something funny in her stomach. Like a wild inner call. Yet she kept the sweet smile plastered on her face when he retrieved his hand.
“I fear I’m not familiar with your different way of life,” Garrett said.
“I’ll teach you,” she replied.
He appeared taken aback this time, and right after he cleared his throat, his words came out stiffly. “However, let us not diverge from our present occupation. How were you informed of your father’s abduction?”
“I got a very brief and baffling phone call. I didn’t recognize the voice, but it was a man telling me to bring him a Christmas gift or my dad would die.”
Her new companions definitely knew a lot more about the situation because they exchanged a curious glance.
“Not stupid in the least.”
Before Garrett could fill her in, Weedon pushed his chair back and stood up, White Fur alert beside him.
“I’m sorry to cut this interesting gathering short, but I have an engagement elsewhere that I can’t postpone. Don’t worry, Tracy, you’ll soon learn everything we’re aware of.”
God, she’d have to wait again. Why didn’t these people just get out with it and be done? Still, she managed to keep her mouth shut while he concluded his apology.
“At any rate, you won’t notice my absence as I’ll be back in no time to resume our conversation. If we are to help you in your quest, I wouldn’t want to miss the tiniest development.”
Once more, his teasing tone made her wonder if he itched to participate in the search for her dad, or to watch his friend banter with her.
The buddy in question also got to his feet and checked his watch. “We’ve been here long enough in any case. Miss Richardson needs to freshen up and change her garments. Evening is nigh so we shan’t be conspicuous outside now. I’ll take her to the mansion.”
She looked out through high windows adorned with beautiful wood c
arvings. Gray, heavy clouds hid the sun and it was pretty dark already. Following both men to the door, she puzzled over the hazardous situation her father had flung her into, dreading whatever was in store for the both of them.
All she knew for certain was that she needed to find a so-called Christmas gift to trade for her dad’s life. And she wouldn’t let anyone ask more of her because she didn’t want to save worlds.
Then her eyes fell on the wolfdog and she knew that everything would work itself to a happy conclusion. Although fear and confusion flowed in her veins, she’d been given a chance to see what no one else had, to experience the uniqueness of a world where unlikely characters breathed, talked, and lived.
They left the private dining room and went downstairs, the wolfdog on their heels. When they crossed the fabulous lobby, Weedon nudged her elbow while jabbing his chin toward the entrance of the hotel.
“See that man over there?” he asked.
She halted to take a better look at a man in his mid-sixties, maybe waiting for a room while reading a newspaper. “I do. Why?”
“That’s Mark Twain. He wrote a book called The Adventures of—”
“Tom Sawyer. Oh, my God.”
“Have you heard of him?”
“Of course. Kids study his works at school.”
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Weedon bobbed his head up and down without ceasing to stare at the older man.
Was such a famous author the equivalent of a movie star in this time and world? She wanted to gawk longer but Garrett fretted with impatience as he strode away to the Grand Court.
They all got on a carriage and Weedon gave an address to the driver. The streets appeared less busy at this time, coldness settling in. They rode about a mile before the horses stopped and White Fur jumped out to relieve himself on the base of a short, cast-iron lamppost.
Watching the animal with a grin, she touched Garrett’s arm and instantly felt his muscles contract.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Weedon is needed here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
For the first time since she arrived in this San Francisco, she recognized her surroundings. She made out the roundness of the hill ahead in spite of the falling darkness, the familiar shape of six other hills, the crisscrossing of the streets below. They were close to Nob Hill.
Weedon whispered beside her, “We’re being watched.” He whistled.
The wolfdog dashed past her, ran across the street toward a motionless shape, sniffed the tall man standing in the shadows about a hundred feet away, and came back briskly to pad beside her.
“Weedon, do you know that man?” she asked.
“He’s been around for a few weeks. I’ve seen him several times, not far from the house, but he seems no threat to White Fur. He’d have made his move by now if he were related to our current affair.”
She peered into the shadows, intrigued by the stranger who didn’t make much effort to conceal himself. “Unusual,” she murmured.
“Most uncommon I’d say, which is why I inquired rather extensively about him downtown. Nobody seems to know where he comes from or even where he lives. He’s always wandering alone, minding his own business. I’ve even heard he’s rescued a few damsels in distress.”
“Really?”
Her astonished tone obviously didn’t sit well with Garrett because his face went from cold to icy.
Chapter 5
“I do not see what’s so unusual about a drifter roaming a town,” Garrett said. “For all we know, he may be plotting against mankind.”
The tall stranger walked away from his post, wrapped up in a long black cloak. As he passed the entrance of a house, someone opened the door and a ray of light fell on his features.
He was watching her. With intent, without menace. Her bottom lip dropped when his dark as night gaze ran her through. Then quicker than a gust of wind, he vanished around the corner of the street.
“Did you get a good look at him, Miss Richardson? Are you satisfied?”
Garrett’s brisk tone startled her as much as the roamer’s stare. He spoke like a jealous husband, robbing her of any smart reply. An awkward moment ensued before Weedon took advantage of it to enfold her hands in his.
“This is where our paths split for now,” he said. “It’s been a delight meeting you, and I’ll see you later. In the meantime, try not to take offense at anything our grouchy friend here might say. He just takes his role very seriously.”
He delivered his speech with such a good-natured manner that she couldn’t help but chuckle.
Mumbling something indecipherable, Garrett grabbed her arm as though she belonged to him. “We must go forthwith. Good-bye, Weedon.”
Garrett wheeled her around and pretty soon, they were climbing a rather steep lane, willow trees lining up alongside the road. They made the rest of their journey in silence, up Nob Hill to an impressive Victorian mansion.
Asymmetrical with thick porch posts, the house featured a steep roof, shingled insets, and slanted bay windows. A turret looming over gave the mansion an air of grandeur. She admired the beautiful structure, this elegant house matching its owner.
At the threshold, Garrett stepped aside to let her in. He gave orders to the maid who opened the door before he led her up a grand flight of marble stairs. Down a corridor, he opened the third door.
“This is your chamber. Mine is across the hall, should you require my assistance. You’re safe and welcome here. I’ve asked the maid to bring you clean and appropriate garments, and she shall be with you shortly. In the meantime, should you like to freshen up, everything is at your disposal in the wash-down closet over there.”
“Thanks, Garrett,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
She was glad for the respite, however brief. She needed some time to relax, to take in this awesome and weird day.
“It’s very kind of you to look after me.”
He acknowledged her words with a polite nod, and his severe expression didn’t waver as he took a step back. “Dinner is to be served in an hour, I shall escort you. I must introduce you to some people, for we may be in need of their help.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Then he left her alone.
By the time he knocked on her door, she had managed a thorough scrub in the bathtub despite the mild temperature of the water, the lack of high-pressure shower, hydro massage tub, or soothing whirlpool spa.
The maid had set her up, fastening her borrowed dress and styling her hair in the local, nineteenth-century fashion. Standing in front of a tall mirror, a not-quite-familiar person looked back at her.
She wore a long and graceful, cream-colored gown that brushed the ground. A pigeon breast corset, emphasizing her narrow waist, gave an impression of an even slimmer, elongated silhouette.
Her hair was piled high upon her head, but she discarded the very broad hat. The accessory might damage her hair-do and she wasn’t supposed to go outside tonight. At least, Garrett didn’t mention the possibility during their silent walk to the mansion.
She opened the door, twirling around to show her delight. “So, how do I look?”
Her tacit invitation encouraged him to enter her bedroom. It took him a few seconds to pronounce a single word. “Ravishing.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at her with an expression she didn’t expect to see on him. Her belly fluttered as his appreciative eyes traveled slowly over her exposed throat and the full roundness of her breasts. The neckline was so low-cut and daring, she felt close to naked under his disturbing scrutiny.
“Please, allow me.” Matching gesture to offer, he came to stand behind her to place his hand on her bare shoulder.
She shuddered, a twinge of desire running through her veins,
wondering why she responded with such intensity to this severe man, foolishly hoping his warm hand would come down to cup her breast.
It didn’t, of course. With a slight chill, his fingers relinquished their claim. A pearl necklace glistened around her neck, enhancing the silver one from her father. The one she could not, would not take off.
“We ought to go, Miss Richardson,” he said.
The moment was over and she bit her lip. Was he referring to the people waiting for them downstairs, or to the fact that they were alone in the bedroom? Struck with an unexpected bout of embarrassment, she felt incapable of looking him in the eye. He offered her his arm and she took it with grace. Together, they cleared the long hallway before descending the grand staircase.
Passing through the gray entrance hall, she marveled at the splendor of the mansion, the high decorated ceilings, the marbleized woodwork, the grained finishes, the thick walls resembling blocks of stone.
Thanks to her diligence during her four years spent at San Francisco Academy of Art, she was able to pick out and appreciate the various styles, mostly Second Empire, Queen Anne and Shingle.
Three people and a wolfdog awaited their arrival in the dining room. Weedon Welsh raised his half-full glass in salute while White Fur trotted to her and licked her hand, his tail wagging.
Taking up three quarters of the back wall, a massive gothic fireplace drew her attention. An ornately decorated sideboard appeared to be the focal point of the room, along with a dense oak table and six chairs. A dark walnut chandelier lit the space, giving it an air of luxury and comfort.
A person observed her. In his late-thirties, well-built and medium height, the very good-looking man took a resolute step toward them. He moved about as if he owned the place while she took in his roguish countenance, riveting blue eyes, and the bewitching smile creating a dimple in his chin.