Nodding, I self-consciously tried to fix it but it had a mind of its own. I explained the changes that time held, without giving away too much, like her death and the fact that I never spoke to my dad or brothers. Telling her about my book store, and the failed coffee shop, she leaned back and listened to me intently. That was a quality she held that I always admired. She’d listen, really listen, and then assess the situation. Much like she did with Little Adam.
“Adam, if you decide to travel, you mustn’t tell your dad. It’s a secret that holds great responsibility. And Angela will be your guide, like she was mine. A guide helps you when you travel, so that you do not get stuck, or lost.” She got up from the chair and began putting on a tea kettle. “The brooch in your hand, it allows you to travel. Never lose it or you will never return to your time. But Angela will explain all of this to you. You really don’t need my help at all.”
Pouring our tea cups and placing a honey and two spoons on the table, she sat with me and asked if I had questions.
Shit, I had a ton but asking things about time travel seemed to be the reason I was here. Even though I had so many questions about life, and why she left me alone, I knew that she couldn’t answers all of those.
“Why me? Why not Andrew or Charlie?”
She sipped her hot tea and then said, “Because you were the one born like me. Your brothers don’t hold the gift. I saw it in you when you were born. Like a spark in your eye. And you know the only male to travel was Dr. Lockhart himself. It’s fantastic that you have the gift. So rare.”
Rare, yes. Fantastic, no.
“Why can’t I tell Dad?”
This was territory that I knew would be icy but I stepped out anyway.
“Your dad, well, he doesn’t agree with me doing anything my family wanted. His goal was to keep me away from them from the moment we married,” she said as she set her cup down. “He has anger issues, and he’s controlling. I’m sure you know this by now.”
Oh, I definitely knew this all about my father. And there were times when I saw him fight with her in such a way that a little kid would think too harsh. As a man, I now recognized it as abusive. If I ever saw him treat my mom like that now, I’d kill him. I wrung my hands and clenched my teeth as anger coursed through me at the very thought of my mom and what she must have been through with him.
“Adam, be careful traveling by book. Never change the past because it can alter the future greatly,” she said. “Your father forbade me to travel, so I had to give it up. The last thing I set out to do was to finish sealing a book from the early settlers. A young, colonial woman who would change the face of the war.”
Colonial woman, that sounded like Rose. I wondered if she was the person my mother was studying. Was she the young girl who would change the war and be famous someday? And had I screwed that all up by being there?
“What was the girl’s name?” I asked, hoping she would say Rose.
She smiled at my willingness to learn more about her subject and willingness to learn more. Nothing had changed I guess, I always had that spark inside of me.
“I cannot tell you that Adam. All I can say is that she was remarkable and I hated to leave her be. She was special to me. She had something I never did.” She paused. “Passion. Even though I watched her from a distance, I felt a connection. She never knew I was there but I was.”
I nodded, accepting her answer. What more could I do? I couldn’t force her to tell me. So instead I asked, “How does all this traveling work?”
“The most important research is kept inside the blank pages of each book that you read, or travel through. Each mission will yield a new book; a blank book. Once that book is full, your mission is completed and is sent to the Historical Society of Libraries, where it is used as research. If you travel and you record history as it is meant to be recorded, you change lives. Think of it, if you see that an important man or woman is put down in history incorrectly, then you can make it right. That’s amazing isn’t it?”
It sounded great but it wasn’t me at all. I wasn’t the hero, nor did I care to be. I loved books, I loved fiction, but I didn’t want anything to do with the past or the history recorded. Instead of saying so, I just smiled at her and nodded. Breaking my mother’s heart was not what I had in mind.
Not wanting the last moment we had together to be about time travel, I asked her if she was happy in her life, with us.
“Oh Adam, I’m the happiest mother on earth. You boys are my life and I cannot imagine how hard it will be to part with you. Just promise me you’ll never fight and you’ll love your father, despite his faults.”
“That’s your wish?” I asked, though my throat felt like caving in.
“It is. And your happiness, Adam. True happiness.”
Eighteen
Adam 2019
After seeing my mom, I had learned so much about time travel and the role she played in it. I hadn’t touched the box since seeing her. I had been busy with the bookstore. Business sped up during the winter months as people flocked to get new reads during the freezing temperatures.
Seeing her had sparked something inside of me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The sense of family, and the need of something in my life that I couldn’t quite understand. I thought I needed to own a business, and to be a man that proved my father wrong, but now I saw that was childish. While it didn’t make me want to call my dad or brothers, it did help me let go of some of my anger. Burying myself into my work, I ignored the box on my counter after each day ended. But one night I went closer to it and finally set the books back into the box. I ran my finger over her journal, forever thankful for those last precious moments with her. It sure beat the time I saw her take her last breath. That was the most rugged and brutal time of my life. Seeing her face lit up as she recognized me, that was a gift. These Librarians were great women who did so much for history by preserving it. Being forever thankful that they alone did these jobs, I held them in the highest esteem. But I would never be them. I was a man who loved books, a bibliophile who loved reading, not traveling through time and getting the facts right.
Having such a gift as time travel at my fingertips was an honor, one that I would never be able to repay to whoever gave it to me. My mom said I was born with this rare gift but it had to be much more than that.
The book that she had last been recording had to be one I had accidentally traveled into. When she told me the young girl inside it would become someone important, deep down inside of my gut I knew that person must have been Rose.
Hurting her future was never my intention. I had fallen into her life on accident and never intended to feel her around me daily. She was like a ghost that haunted my dreams at night.
Lifting her book out of the box one last time, I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes. Just wanting to touch her, to caress her beautiful tan skin, to taste her mouth on mine, I opened the book. Keeping my eyes closed, careful not to read the pages and fall back inside, I ran my fingers over the pages. I could almost feel her touching me and hear her voice calling my name.
“Adam, where are you?”
It was so real that my eyes flew open and I looked down.
My apartment was gone, and the sounds of New York City died away. It was all replaced with the Georgia trees, bare and leafless. The great oaks and wildflowers that I once saw upon coming here the first time were gone. It was colder and everything was covered in snow. It was chilly the first day I arrived here but this was different. This shivery feeling was not cold, it was bitter and freezing. More unbearable than the city by a landslide.
“Shit,” I said, as I grasped the snow that surrounded my feet. At least I hadn’t fallen on my knee like before. Wearing jeans and a fleece hoodie this time, I had come dressed, but not dressed for this kind of winter.
If Angela knew I was here, she’d freak out. Good
thing I never called her and told her that I saw my mom. It had been two weeks since I last saw them both. Angela and I had some communication but with the store being busy lately, it didn’t leave me much time to schedule anything with her. I stopped going out to bars and picking up women, and I hadn’t even seen Rog in a while. The only thing I had time for was research at night. I found nothing on who Rose would become. I scoured the internet but came up short every time. Reading now was much different. Instead of just reading the words and using my imagination, I saw the words come alive. It took reading to a whole new level. The history books literally came alive for me, like a movie playing out before my very eyes. These books said nothing of the half-Indian girl from a remote mountain range in Georgia. I’d studied and read, despite my urge to read fiction, I dug deeper into history books.
I’d not done much research on the Librarians and instead dove into The Revolutionary War that loomed in the very near future. Still ten years away from the movement that would spark the war’s beginning in 1775. The long arduous war would last until 1783. Savannah, Georgia would be at the very heart of this war, and Rose wasn’t far from it all. Raven’s Ridge was not on any map that I could find, and the native’s her family hailed from would soon be caught up in a war they never asked for. They’d be given guns and told to fight for a king they never served.
Keeping her safe felt somehow like my duty. Maybe I could do something to warn her of the upcoming fate that would befall her great state. Warning her would probably scare her off, and telling her that I was from the future would no doubt prove difficult.
I grasped the brooch my mother gave me, thankful that I tucked it inside my wallet for safe keeping. If I didn’t have it, I’d not be able to go back to my time. That was the one thing I did learn about time travel. Having your lifeline to the future at all times was not only important, it was life or death.
Getting stuck out here without the ability to go home was not an option right now. Although being back, albeit freezing, was comforting.
I stood and brushed the snow off of my legs and began walking toward the direction I had last seen her; the home of Ruth Winthorp and her annoying son Arthur.
***
Rose 1765
The clan had stayed for two nights, giving me the tenderness that I so missed from my mother, and caring for me like a family would. I’d learned much from them and their clan. Haca, as I started calling her, told me the clan’s stories, whether true or not I did not know. She told me that the men of the clan’s role was hunting and fighting, while the women were in charge of the families and social decisions for the clan.
Atohi had found my killer and brought him to my doorstep on the last day. A large coyote who looked well fed, no doubt killing whatever livestock he could along the ridge.
“Killer no more,” Atohi said, as he threw the animal at my feet. I jumped back, not wanting to see the blood pour from the animals’ mouth.
“Thank you,” I said, staring at the animal. It looked defenseless, reminding me so much of myself. He would do anything to survive, even if that meant killing chickens. He was hungry and survival instincts would overcome any animal.
Atohi bent his head low, which meant he was honoring me. His eyes downcast as he backed away.
“Perhaps you will respect Atohi now?” Haca asked me, as she braided my hair later that day. Respect had nothing to do with marriage in my eyes, how did one explain that? Women in the tribe chose husbands who were good providers and were thought to make good babies. I didn’t want to choose my husband based on those attributes. I longed to feel what my mother felt about my father. I wanted to look into the eyes of my beloved husband and feel love.
Seeing them leave that night created a hole inside of me I never anticipated. Atohi never turned back to look at me as he rode away, but Haca did. She and I had created a bond, as sisters or friends, and I would never forget her or what the tribe had done for me. They were my mother’s family and now mine.
Nineteen
Adam 1765
The Winthorp’s residence was a sight that I never thought I’d see after hiking through the snow for what seemed like hours. Several times I thought myself lost, only to find a sign that I had recognized from my trip before. Not knowing the terrain or my way to their house on foot made the walk almost unbearable. My fingers were frozen stiff and my feet soaked through. The elements would kill me if I didn’t get into their house and warm myself by the fire.
As I got closer, I noticed that no smoke rose from their chimney. Odd, I thought. What family could survive out here without a fire? Finally reaching their porch I pounded on the door, praying they would open it soon. Just knocking had hurt my frozen hand, but I did it again and called out to them. “Hello, Ruth its Adam. Please open up.”
Nothing. No sound came from behind the door. At that moment I realized I had two options; to open the door and go inside, or stay out here and die. So, I opened the door and called out again for them. Hearing no reply made me wonder whether they even remembered me. How long had it been since I was away? Maybe they were hiding from me, thinking I was a stranger.
“Hello?”
My stuffy nose failed to notice the stench that hit me in the face, at first. But after I got inside the small cabin it engulfed my nostrils and made me almost vomit. I covered my face with my sleeve and looked around for the source. Something had died in here and it had been dead a long time since flies swarmed the cabin like they do at the dump. Gagging again, I held my stomach trying to keep the contents in but failed to do so after I saw the body that lay on the floor in front of me. I let lose my bile all over the floor, feeling instantly stupid for throwing up in these nice people’s home. The body of Arthur Winthorp was covered in his own puke and feces and I hated to see the poor kid in such a way, that I looked away instantly.
What could cause such a death in this house? And where was his mother? Didn’t this place have any sort of doctor? All these thoughts ran through my mind as I stared at Arthur’s body. I’d only seen one body before, it was my mothers. When the coroner took her away, my dad lost it. His Italian temper got the best of him and he went around the house punching walls and tearing up the wallpaper she insisted we install in the kitchen. He just kept punching and screaming and destroying her favorite room in the house.
Then I wondered why he would do that to her favorite room. I actually hated him for it. But now as I got older, I realized he did it out of anguish, not anger. He destroyed her room because he’d never see her cooking in there ever again.
I searched the room for Mrs. Winthorp calling her name but she didn’t call back. Part of me knew she was dead as soon as I saw Arthur but I wanted to believe she was still alive. Maybe sick and dying, but alive.
I went into her room, and sure enough I found her and her husband in the same manor; dead and covered in the same contents.
“Oh my God, these poor people,” I said, as I shook my head. I was dumbfounded and unaware of the diseases that struck the people of this time. Could it be a virus, or something that I could catch?
Instead of worrying about that, I went through Ruth’s husbands clothing and dressed myself in his warmest clothes. If I died of exposure, I’d be no better off than these poor souls.
“I’m so sorry, Ruth and Mr. Winthorp,” I said to their dead bodies. They lay together in their bed. I covered them with a blanket and said a prayer to God that he delivered their souls to heaven. I wasn’t the most religious man, but I wasn’t heartless either. Many days I had spent in the church going to classes to get my Holy Communion, so I knew a lot about the bible. I didn’t know much about God on a personal level but that didn’t mean I couldn’t pray for this family.
“I promise to bring someone here to bury you and your son,” I said, as I buttoned a jacket onto my cold frame. “And I will let everyone know of your kindness. Whoever I can tell, that is.
”
Feeling foolish for talking to the dead, I left their room and did the same for Arthur. I had to find Rose now and tell her about the families’ fate. Something told me she would know what to do, if I could only find her house. I’d never been there, so it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. But I was willing to jump in that stack to find Rose. I yearned for her like I yearned for no other. I didn’t think of my ex when Rose was on my mind. Trying to tell myself that this trip here was happenstance was foolish. I was here because I wanted her, and I could only hope she wanted me, too.
***
Rose 1765
The winter storm had arrived in a fury. The clouds had been showing a storm brewing all week; I just didn’t know when it would get here. Luckily, I had anticipated its arrival and chopped plenty of firewood. I worried for Handful and my new hens, but they were just going to have to make due with housing themselves in their pens. For now, the snow blew in huge drifts against the house and I thought about the snow collecting on the roof. Father tended to that job, pulling the snow off in huge chunks to avoid caving in and leaking. I wasn’t climbing up on the roof to do it, I’d nearly died climbing a tree once. Being up so high in the air like that frightened me made me feel light in the head. For now, the roof would just have to do, and whatever happened would happen. As my mother always said, “One can only witness what the day brings.”
Huddled on my bed wrapped in blankets I worked on my knitting projects, making a new pair for Father and Mother, in hopes that they would one day crest that hill and make it home to me. If they didn’t, I’d take them to the Winthorp’s and they would make good use out of them. The wind blew roughly and the whistling sound it made had me stopping for a moment. When it went away, I began again, tying the stitch and starting a new row.
The Bibliophile (The Librarian Chronicles Book 3) Page 7