“You’re leaving?” Ruth stepped from behind the door leading upstairs and rushed toward them, tears coursing down both her cheeks.
“Yes.” Steven rose from the table just before Ruth all but tackled him with a frantic embrace. “And soon. That’s what I was trying to tell you before.”
“But what about me?” She cocked her head to one side, her voice strained. “What about…us?”
Matheson rose from the table. “Perhaps I should give you two a moment.” He turned toward the door through which Ruth had entered, glancing back across his shoulder at his daughter. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
As Matheson disappeared through the door, Ruth squeezed Steven even tighter, her arms far stronger than they appeared. She held him for what seemed an eternity before finally letting go. Taking a breath, she stepped away from him, though she refused to meet his gaze.
“So,” she murmured, “I get to spend the next few weeks saying goodbye to you.”
“If it’s too hard, Nik and I can leave.” Steven lowered his head. “Just say the word.”
“Oh, like Papa and I are going to kick you two to the curb three days before Christmas. No, you and Niklaus stay as long as you need. Just don’t be surprised if I don’t stick around to watch.” Ruth pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m pretty tough, but spending twelve hours a day around you knowing you’re about to vanish back to wherever it is you came from is a little much to ask.” She raised a shoulder in a quick shrug. “You two and Papa can pretty much run the place, anyway. Not to mention, since business has been picking up, he can probably afford to keep the new kid, at least till Tommy gets back from Germany.”
“And you can get back to dancing.” Steven shot her a friendly wink. “Or at least let on that you never stopped.”
Ruth smiled through her tears. “It would be nice not having to lie anymore.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “So, this Audrey person must be pretty special.”
“She is, but it’s more than that.” Steven shook his head. “Nik and I, we just don’t belong here. I know it sounds strange, but someday you’ll understand. I promise you that.”
“How did I get this so wrong?” Tears ran anew down Ruth’s face. “Everything felt so right, just like the fairy tales Mama used to read to me and Tommy when we were kids.”
“Let me tell you something, Ruth. Sometimes the fairy tale does come true, and if anyone deserves to find her prince, it’s you.”
Ruth wrapped her arms around Steven’s chest again, but this time her desperation was tempered with acceptance. “If…when you find her again, you tell this Audrey she’s one lucky woman.”
“Will do.” Steven returned the embrace, his chin resting atop Ruth’s head. “You going to be able to sleep?”
“I’ll manage. I always do.” Ruth broke away and turned for the stairs. “Sweet dreams, Steven.”
Steven lingered a few minutes getting the kitchen back into shape for the morning rush before slipping back into their back room quarters. As he sat down on his cot, Niklaus snorted and sat up on his own makeshift couch-bed.
“Steven?” He sounded like he had just come out of a coma. “Is that you?”
“Yeah.” Steven chuckled. “It’s me.”
Niklaus checked his watch in the dim light. “Damn. What are you doing up? It’s almost two o’clock in the morning.” He stretched his muscular arms above his head and let out a long yawn. “Did I miss something?”
11
Arrivals & Departures
The two weeks leading up to the fourth of January were bittersweet at best. Steven and Niklaus spent both Christmas and New Year’s Eve with the gathered Matheson clan, though neither felt much like celebrating. The first four days of 1946, a year neither were ever meant to experience, had to go off exactly as planned, or they would never see their own time again. The stress and the waiting weighed on both of them. But for Steven, the pain went a bit deeper. The holidays had never been remotely the same since losing his mother years before, and with Katherine’s death on Christmas Eve two years back still an open wound, the “most wonderful time of the year” had become anything but wonderful.
Despite the season, the Matheson family were going through the motions as well, the perfunctory dinners and gift exchanges feeling almost staged as all involved remained focused on the imminent return of Ruth’s brother from Europe. The letters from France and Germany Ruth had shown Steven painted an impressive picture of one Thomas Matheson: young, passionate, patriotic. As he read the brave and insightful words of a man six years his junior, he wondered if such a person wasn’t far better suited for Grey’s great Game. Audrey’s courage, Emilio’s audacity, Lena’s steadfastness, Archie’s indomitable will, Niklaus’ humor, even a bit of Grey’s wisdom: aspects of all his friends echoed through the scrawled messages from another continent, another time.
“Your brother is quite the hero.” Steven folded the last of the battle-stained letters and slid it back into its ragged envelope. “You must be proud.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Ruth appeared as bright as Steven had seen her in days. “I can’t wait for him to get home.” Her lip trembled. “Do you know what it’s like to spend every waking minute knowing someone you love is in harm’s way?” Color rose in Ruth’s cheeks. “Stupid. Of course, you do. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Steven brushed her chin and smiled. “My situation is…unique.”
“What about you isn’t?” Ruth let out a throaty chuckle and headed upstairs, leaving Steven and Niklaus alone behind the counter.
I’m going to miss that laugh. Steven’s mouth turned up in a rough semblance of a smile. Ruth had backed off considerably since their twilight rendezvous before Christmas. Though a part of him missed the attention, right was right, and he kept his cards close to his chest. Don’t want to break the girl’s heart any more than I already have.
As the time leading up to Grey’s impending arrival to New York continued to tick by, an undeniable sense of ending grew in Steven’s mind. Goodbyes had never been easy for him, and with each passing day, he disengaged more and more from the Matheson family, spending most of his time with Niklaus and discussing the next steps in their bid to return to their own time.
Ruth’s return to the world of dance had clearly made it all a bit easier. Steven and Niklaus both had indeed stepped up their efforts around the deli to fill in for her frequent absences as they’d discussed. Not having her around as much had helped assuage both Steven’s sadness and guilt over the coming parting of ways, though her occasional entreaty of “you can always visit” always brought the emotions roaring back.
Steven and Niklaus, on the other hand, had grown closer by the day. Brothers of a sort in their shared loss, they kept each other sane as the days passed and deftly avoided the topic of what they would do if a certain immortal wizard didn’t show up as expected.
“Tomorrow is going to be an odd day.” Steven peered around the deserted deli, empty even for mid-afternoon. Mr. Matheson had gone upstairs to get some rest in preparation for the dinner crowd, and Ruth had retired to her room to primp for a late afternoon audition. “For all his mystical know-it-allness, at this point in history, Grey doesn’t know either of us from Adam.” He laughed. “Unless, of course, there’s something else he hasn’t told us.” Steven raked his fingers through the brown mop of hair atop his head. “What if he won’t help us? God, what if he thinks we’re the enemy?”
“I have no doubt that someone as smart as Grey will be able to figure it out.” Niklaus let out a quiet chuckle. “And won’t it be nice to be the one in the know for a change?”
“Here’s one. What if he believes us and can’t do anything about it? Just because Zed zapped us into the past doesn’t mean Grey has the ability to send us back. The black pouch is what sent us here, but from what Grey said, the corrections are what power the pouches. The next one of those isn’t happening for another sixty-six years.”
“Don’t start second
guessing yourself now, man. Win or lose, tomorrow is it.” Niklaus slapped Steven on the back. “Time to put on your game face.”
That night, Steven and Niklaus worked well into the evening helping Ruth and Mr. Matheson put the kitchen in order after a particularly busy dinner shift. Once they were done, Steven put on a pot of coffee and heated some milk for Ruth’s cocoa while she and her father put together a few left-over pieces of lemon meringue pie from the refrigerator. As they gathered around their usual table at the back and enjoyed their customary after-hours dessert, a pit opened in Steven’s stomach. What if this meal was the last the four of them would ever share?
“We’re leaving in the morning,” Steven revealed at a lull in conversation. “Early.”
Both Ruth and her father took the news in stride, though a slight twitch at the corner of Ruth’s mouth revealed far more than Steven suspected she would have liked about her true feelings on the matter.
Steven rested his elbows on the table, trying to keep his focus on Matheson. “I hope you two will manage all right without us.”
“Of course, we will.” Mr. Matheson let out a quick sigh. “I had a feeling you boys were leaving soon. Fortunately, we’ve got young Andrew helping during the day, and one of Ruth’s cousins is looking for some part-time work till spring hits. We’re going to be just fine.” He squinted at Steven. “Is there anything you need?”
“No.” Steven’s gaze shot to the back room that had been their home for weeks. “We’re mostly packed already. I suspect we’re going to be traveling light.”
“We might want to grab a bite on our way out.” Niklaus peered around the deli. “If that’s all right.”
“You wound me, Niklaus.” Matheson’s palm went to his chest in faux shock. “At this point, you two are practically family.” He eyed Steven knowingly. “And both of you, please understand. If for any reason things don’t work out, you have a place here.”
Steven smiled, remembering Ron Springer’s similar offer. “Thank you, Mr. Matheson.”
“It’s Stuart, Steven. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”
“So, Steven Bauer,” Ruth asked with no small amount of trepidation in her voice, “the big day has finally arrived.”
“Looks that way.” Steven checked his watch, a paranoid tic that had manifested in the last few days. “The man we’ve been awaiting is supposed to arrive in New York tomorrow. If everything works out, this will all be over soon.”
“Well, don’t be in too much of a hurry.” Ruth crossed her arms and looked away.
“Honey.” Matheson rested a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “Steven and Niklaus have their own lives to lead and, from what I can gather, important things to take care of.” He took his daughter’s hand. “You’ve known this day was coming for weeks.”
“I know.” Ruth’s bottom lip shot out in a subtle pout. “I just wish he didn’t sound so damn happy about it.” She locked gazes with Steven. “Will we even see you in the morning?”
“Probably not.” Steven rose from the table, unable to face the sadness in Ruth’s eyes. “We’re planning on taking off well before sunrise, and unless things really go sideways, we’re not coming back.”
“So, this is goodbye.” Tears gathered at the corners of Ruth’s eyes leaving Steven wondering how many times in the preceding nine weeks he had made the young woman cry.
“Can you two excuse us?” Steven’s gaze shot from Matheson to Niklaus and back.
“Of course.” Matheson rose and shook Steven’s hand. “Godspeed, son. Whatever it is you two are facing, I wish you all the best.” He headed for the stairs to their apartment, pausing before he stepped through the door. “Like I said, if you ever need a place to stay…”
“Thank you, Mr. Matheson.” Niklaus rose from the table. “Good to know we’ve got options.” He shot Steven a quick glance. “I’ll be in the back.” Both Niklaus and Ruth’s father shut their respective doors, leaving Steven and Ruth alone for what felt like the last time.
“You’re really going?” She rose from the table and stood before Steven. “Nothing I can do or say to keep you here with us?” Her eyes dropped. “With me?”
“I’m sorry, Ruth.” Steven went to the front window of the deli. “Like it or not, our time here is up.”
“I know.” Ruth joined him at the window. “Believe me.” She held back the tears as the two of them stared out at the lamplit street, her heaving shoulders revealing a different truth.
Steven wrapped an arm around her. “I don’t know if it helps, but I’m going to miss you.”
“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now.” Ruth punched him in the arm. “You’re the one who’s choosing to leave.”
“I didn’t choose this.” Steven’s hands shot up in exasperation. “I didn’t choose any of this. I’m just a…just a…”
I’m just a pawn in all of this.
In his shirt pocket, Amaryllis pinched Steven’s chest for the first time since Florida.
“Look,” he said, wincing at the sudden pain. “Like I’ve told you a dozen times, I’d explain everything to you if I could, but I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”
Ruth turned away, her body visibly trembling. “Then, by all means, just go. All that’s coming out of your mouth are just empty words anyway.”
Steven took a step toward her. “I wish things were different.”
“Don’t you dare say that.” Ruth’s hands balled into fists. “It’s cruel.” She spun around and locked gazes with Steven. “No matter what nice little platitudes come out of your mouth, you’re still leaving, regardless of what I say or feel, right?”
“This is how we’re going to leave it, then?” The knot in Steven’s stomach rivaled the pain brought on by the presence of the Black. “With hard feelings between us?”
“I’m sorry, but this is all I’ve got. I’d tell you to take it or leave it, but you’ve already made that call.” Ruth stormed for the door through which her father exited moments before. “Goodbye, Steven.”
She paused for a moment in the open doorway, not looking back, then bolted up the stairs and out of sight.
“This is miserable.” Niklaus pulled his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together with vigor. “You know, I left Poland for a reason.”
“Miserable, but necessary.” Steven stood with Niklaus in the early morning drizzle, both bundled against the cold coming off the bay. “Just keep your eyes open, all right?”
The truth? There were about a thousand places Steven would rather be on a frigid January morning. More, he couldn’t dismiss the image of Ruth staring down from her second-story window as he and Niklaus left out not two hours before. Still, their one shot at returning home would be walking by any moment, and they had to be ready.
A crowd had gathered on the dock: wives, parents, children, reporters, photographers. All waited in the pre-dawn twilight for the soldiers aboard the moored naval frigate to disembark. As Steven overheard one story or another from the dozens surrounding him and Nik, he understood why Tom Brokaw had dubbed this “The Greatest Generation.” The palpable joy evident in every face, in every description of a loved one, in every barely visible photograph, stirred in Steven a pride that normally remained dormant. Only in the weeks and months after September 11th had he ever experienced such single-minded unity and surety in the mission of the U.S. Military. Despite being the very definition of a fish out of water in 1946, he had never felt prouder to be an American.
“How much longer do you think it’ll be?” Niklaus checked his watch. “We’ve been here for over an hour.”
“As long as it takes.” Steven blew warm air into balled fists. “We screw this up, we’re stuck—”
A tap at Steven’s shoulder interrupted his thought.
“Excuse me.” The words bore an accent from somewhere near the Great Lakes. “Either of you gents have a cigarette?”
Steven and Niklaus turned to find a well-dressed man in his mid-forties wearing
a buttoned-up tweed trench coat standing behind them. Beneath his bowler hat, the man’s waxed mustache reminded Steven of an airplane propeller.
“Sorry.” Steven slid into a practiced smile. “I don’t smoke.”
“Gave it up.” Niklaus stroked the whiskers at his chin. “Bad for the complexion.”
“Too bad.” The man sucked frigid air through his teeth. “I could really use a drag.”
“Wish I could help.” Steven extended a hand. “I’m guessing you’re waiting for your…son?”
The man took Steven’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “My oldest. Supposed to be on board this ship, or at least that’s what the telegram said.”
“How long has he been gone?” Steven asked.
“A year and a half, most of it in France.” The man puffed up his chest a bit. “Two Purple Hearts, I’ll have you know.”
“Two?” Steven studied the man’s features. “Is he—”
“He’s fine.” A smile broke beneath the waxed mustache. “He is a Buchanan, after all.”
“Dad!” A young boy, no more than ten, ran up and pulled at the older man’s coattails. “I see him! I see him! Roy’s home!” The boy sprinted away toward a group of soldiers making their way down the gangplank.
The man shrugged at Steven and smiled. “Ah, to be young again.” He headed off after his son at just shy of a jog, shouting, “Wait up, Woody! I’m coming!”
Niklaus and Steven eyed each other. Though Audrey’s grandfather had never mentioned his surname when they’d met, Buchanan was Audrey’s mother’s maiden name, a fact made more than clear in the dozens of stories of her mother’s youth and her all-too-short marriage to the love of her life, one John Richards.
“Do you think it’s possible?” Steven asked. “I mean, there could be dozens, even a hundred Woody Buchanans, right?”
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