“I don’t think so.”
“But—”
“As I said, there could be multiple reasons why there would be no impact. Edgar told me that you were knocked down twice at the lake by a bright white light. We both assumed that this was the result of Valcas’ arrival on the Jet Ski.”
I shook my head. “The first one happened just before he showed up, but the only thing impacted was me. The second blow hit just before Valcas helped me to escape. There was no impact when he showed up earlier to take me to dinner.”
Enta pursed her lips. “Then there was something else there. It must have had the ability to absorb the impact.”
“What was there?”
“I don’t know, but I feel terrible for having doubted Valcas.”
We sat there in silence for a long time before I excused myself from the table. The workshop in the woods was a nowhere. Something besides Valcas could still be after me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fall asleep that night.
THE NEXT morning was cold and alarmingly still despite the rays of sunlight creeping in through the bedroom window. Still in my pajamas, I walked downstairs to the kitchen where I found Enta fully dressed and ready for the day. She wasn’t cleaning or cooking. She wept at the empty kitchen table in muffled sobs.
“Edgar? Is he—?” I couldn’t finish my sentence. It all seemed so impossible. I’d brought back the recipe and the ingredients. Enta had even brewed the elixir according to Edgar’s own instructions. He should be better. He had to be better.
“He never woke up. Another Hall lost to me,” she moaned. “I was so sure that we had it—that it would work. But, look at me, sitting here idle, not doing a thing of use to him or anyone else. I’m going into town. I need to find someone to help with the burial.”
My head reeled as my eyes filled with tears. Had Enta brewed it wrong? Had she missed an ingredient? I doubted that Edgar had made a mistake in preparing the vials or writing the instructions. He wouldn’t have taken that chance, knowing that Valcas would have tested the elixir to make sure it was effective before letting me go. That was the whole point of my letter, of the lie. It had to be the right recipe.
“But you gave him the elixir last night,” I said. “Why didn’t it work?”
“It was just too late. I have no other explanation. He was too sick and we were too late.” Fresh tears spilled from Enta’s blotchy red eyes as she clambered for the door.
“Do you need any help? I can go with you.”
“No. Thank you, Calla. I just need to do something, need some time—” Enta shut the door, cutting off her own words.
I sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out what had just happened. We were too late? No, not we, I sighed. I was too late. I’d let myself get distracted when Edgar needed me most. I hadn’t been fast enough. And now he was… I just didn’t believe it. I walked over to the room where Edgar was still at rest in the child-size bed. The IV bag was no longer there. Cold and frail, Edgar was as still and lifeless as the silver brook. I opened the window that overlooked the backyard to let in some fresh air. It didn’t help me to breathe any better.
I collapsed onto the wooden floor and wept. Intermingled waves of guilt, sadness, regret and loss overtook me as I thought of what I’d done. I’d lied to a past version of Edgar, a lie that I’d recorded as a writing on a physical object. I’d broken TSTA rules and would be in a lot of trouble. Edgar was dead. I was being doubly punished. Every risk I’d taken, all the pain and regret that I’d felt—I’d done it all for nothing.
“Edgar!” I cried his name as I repeated a litany of apologies that came out in gasping sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’d given up the secret of his life’s work under the illusion that he would save me, and yet I had not been able to save him. “I’m so sorry.” Figuring that this would be my last private moment with Edgar, I knelt and reached up from the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
I grasped his hand. It was clenched shut and cool to the touch. His skin felt like tissue paper that had been crumpled into a ball and then smoothed out again. At any other point in my life this would have sent a shiver up my spine. But I didn’t care that I was holding a dead person’s hand. I was holding the hand of Edgar, someone who’d meant more to me than anyone else in the world.
I squeezed his hand. It made a crunching sound.
I froze, then pulled my hand away, hoping that I hadn’t just broken the bones in his fingers.
I stood up out of my kneeling position to take a closer look. A corner of paper poked through his fist where his thumb met his pointer finger. Edgar must have been holding onto something as he died. I gently tugged at the paper, trying not to tear it or disturb Edgar. I jumped back when his stiff hand loosened enough to free what was inside.
The paper was creased and folded many times. I slowly unfolded it and read.
Dear Edgar,
I have no idea how long I’ve been gone, but I’ve run into some trouble and I need your help.
…
It was my letter, the daily reminder that I’d left in his past, a falsehood that forced him to face his obsession with the youth elixir. I crushed the letter in my hands, pressing it into a tight ball. Enta and I weren’t too late to save him. Edgar didn’t die from an illness. He’d lost the will to live. He’d given up his unnaturally long life of solitude. I looked at his withered face. It looked peaceful. Edgar was finally free from the imprisonment of his life’s work.
BY EARLY afternoon, a half dozen people had assembled at the homestead, eager to help set up a burial and memorial service for someone they’d never met. There were four men in dark overalls and black hats and two women in dark dresses with bonnets, all hardworking country folk just like Enta. Two of the men each carried a pair of shovels. They closely followed behind the other two men who carried an empty wooden casket over to a table placed on the front lawn. Then they all went to the back of the house where I figured they were going to dig a hole for Edgar’s burial plot.
The women busied themselves by setting up seats and a buffet table on Enta’s whitewashed porch. I followed them into the kitchen where they tirelessly prepared a luncheon for eight. Enta turned down my offers to help with the food preparation. She thanked me with a gentle hug and asked that I go to the barn and feed the animals instead. “We cannot forget about them in our time of sadness. They also need to eat.”
After feeding Enta’s cow and pig and the Estrel-pony, I walked over to the back of the house and watched as the men finished digging the hole for Edgar’s grave. They finished their task quickly with eight hands and four shovels. At least he didn’t die alone in his nowhere, I thought. He’d been with Enta, someone who was able to care for him and keep him comfortable in his final days. Afterward, I went back in the house and up to the guest room where I’d slept the night before so that I could clean up before the service. Enta had laid out the same homespun clothes she’d made for me back when Edgar and I traveled together to visit her. I put them on and tossed my jeans and T-shirt aside.
Everything was ready when I returned to the porch. Edgar’s body was positioned inside the casket set outside on the lawn. Enta and the others must have dressed and moved Edgar either when she sent me out to the barn or when I was upstairs getting dressed. I sighed, mentally thanking Enta for sparing me from that part of the preparations.
I sat down in one of the rocking chairs next to a sprightly townswoman with bright blue eyes, where I numbly sat through most of the service, trying to make sense of the fact that Edgar was gone. It didn’t feel real. When Enta asked me if I had anything to say, I stood up from the rocking chair, dazed.
“I showed up at his workshop one day to ask for his help,” I said. “And he helped me, a complete stranger.” I blinked back tears. “He helped me, but I couldn’t help him stay alive. It was too late. I—”
I lost my voice and sat down.
The woman sitting next to me patted my arm.
Enta spoke after me. I
’m sure her eulogy was a lot more eloquent. I didn’t hear most of it, though. Certain words caught my attention— Genius. Inventive. Helpful. Kind. But, for the most part, spaced out, my mind filled with my own thoughts and broodings. What would happen to the workshop in the woods now that Edgar was gone? Where would I go after completing my research of Valcas’ past?
The workshop was abandoned, but now that I knew it was a nowhere, I wasn’t sure whether going back there was such a good idea. Enta was just as affected by Edgar’s death as I was. She had her own life and I didn’t want to burden her. But at least I had the travel glasses. Maybe my father was still out there somewhere. Maybe I was ready to find him. Ready or not, I was running out of options.
After the porch service, we gathered behind the house to watch as the four men lowered Edgar’s casket into the ground and then shoveled the dirt back into the hole they’d made. One of the women, the sprightly one, sang a hymn that I hadn’t heard before. She sang about eternal rest and the profound peace of those who slumber knowing that they are surrounded by their loved ones. Her voice ran sharp with a slight trill at the end of each phrase. I sniffled as Enta joined the song on the second verse.
Everyone returned to the porch for lunch. The sprightly woman tried to engage me in conversation when she noticed that I hadn’t eaten anything on my plate. The corners of her bright blue eyes and rosy lips crinkled when she spoke. I assured her that there was nothing wrong with the chicken salad sandwich and spoonful of homemade macaroni salad that I’d taken from the buffet table.
“Thank you for helping Enta with all of this for Edgar,” I told her. “He meant a lot to me, to both of us.”
She smiled knowingly as she pointed to her heart and her stomach. “You are feeling it the most where it hurts here and here,” she said. “But don’t let that affect what you know you must do in here,” she added while pointing to her head. “Your friend is gone now, but here you are still alive. What would your friend think of that?”
I nodded and excused myself to spend some time alone at Edgar’s freshly covered grave. The woman’s message was kind of strange. I didn’t know whether she was providing sympathy in general or if her words meant something specific to me. “Where do I go from here?” I asked Edgar’s grave. “What do I do?”
THAT NIGHT I planned my return to the white tower where I would continue my research. There was very little to pack, my backpack being the sum total of my luggage. I placed the crumpled ball of paper that had been my letter to Edgar inside the backpack with the travel glasses. The white tower had plenty of food and clothes. As long as I passed through security, I should be all right.
My thoughts bounced back and forth between getting to see Valcas again and wondering what Enta meant earlier that morning when she’d said “another Hall lost to me.” Who did Enta mean? Lost how? I paced the bedroom, trying to figure out the most polite way of asking this question. The timing felt wrong. Enta was still grieving. I decided that I could ask her my question later, once she and I both had time to heal.
When I was settled in bed underneath one of Enta’s handmade quilts, I heard a soft knocking at the door.
“Come in,” I called from the bed.
Enta entered, carrying a portable gas lamp in one hand and a small trinket box in the other.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Calla. I want to give you something before you leave tomorrow. I’m going to be staying somewhere else tonight. I need some time away from the house.”
“I understand.” I accepted the glossy carved wooden box and opened it to find a miniature telescope inside a fitted silk lining. “This is very beautiful. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. It’s something I probably should have given you earlier. I’m sure you’ll figure out why. Have a safe journey.”
Enta retreated and shut the door before I could form a coherent question about the significance of the gift. I got out of bed and groped around in the dark for the candle lamp that I’d already snuffed out for the night. I fumbled around until I was able to light a match which I used to light the lamp. I frantically searched the first floor and the barn for Enta, wondering why she’d left without any explanation about the gift. She was nowhere to be found. I ran back up to my room and fished the travel glasses out of my backpack.
“Enta? Enta, where are you? Hello?”
No answer.
“Why is she all of a sudden being so evasive again?” I groaned. “Would it have killed her to tell me what the gift is or what it does? And why couldn’t two genius inventors figure out how to add something useful to the travel glasses, like a ringer or a voice inbox?”
Frustrated, I stuffed the travel glasses in my backpack, snuffed the candle lamp and went back to bed.
I TOOK a deep, calming breath before clearing my throat. “My name is Calla Winston, friend of Shirlyn Hall and student—no, former student—of the inventor Edgar Hall. I am here to see Valcas to discuss our shared interests in time travel.”
Enta’s pig responded, this time with an unsatisfied grunt, to the fourth repetition of my scripted introductory lines. I gave the pig a tentative look.
“Too formal? You don’t think they’re going to buy it, huh?”
I dropped into a cross-legged position on a fresh pile of hay next to where I’d been pacing. Shirlyn wouldn’t be there with me this time to explain my arrival. I would be an uninvited stranger. Sure, I could tell the guards that Valcas asked me to come back and visit again, but no one would remember that. Our stories wouldn’t match, so no one would believe me. I was also stalling because I was nervous about seeing Valcas again.
“He may not warm up to me so quickly or grow attached to me this time, and for some reason that bothers me,” I admitted aloud as I drew the pony out of the barn and onto the dew-covered grass. My heart fluttered, then sank. This time, he might not show any interest in me at all.
“I guess we’ll find out soon,” I whispered to the pony once we settled into a comfortable trot.
I slipped on the travel glasses. The sky transformed from pink to white to black.
THE EXPERIENCE of flying again lifted my spirits. As I waited for the swarms of guards in their Estrel-Flyers to materialize, I securely placed the travel glasses in my sweatshirt pocket. A 360-degree survey of the sky confirmed that it was daytime; there were no moons. Before long, a familiar shout beckoned me to identify myself. The voice was less threatening than I’d remembered from last time, but it still boomed with authority. I prepared to clearly speak my introduction into the microphone of the flyer as the security team continued to approach. I took a deep breath.
“My name is Calla Win—”
“It’s her! The girl has returned!”
Another, gentler amplified voice called out, “I will go back to inform young Mr. Hall, as he will want preparations to be made. He will want to be here to welcome you to the tower, Miss Winston.”
“I don’t understand,” I called out. “How did you know I was coming here?”
“Please follow us to the tower, Miss Winston.”
Multiple questions jumped into my head as I complied with the guard’s order. How were they able to recognize me by name? I shouldn’t even be a memory to Valcas, let alone his guards. Preparations? Did I travel to the wrong time?
It looked like the right place. The white tower gleamed brightly as I approached, led by the flock of guards. A tall dark figure became visible below, smiling and waving enthusiastically. Valcas stood at the foot of the tower in formal dress. His jewel-encrusted cloak, emblazoned by the light exuding from the tower, flowed to the ground and glittered several feet behind him.
Half expecting the scene to open up into a ballroom of blaring trumpets and a procession of color guard, I felt a familiar fear. Oh, please, no. I craned my neck and squinted, trying to see the color of Valcas’ eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief as I got near enough to see that they were the same bright green as when I’d left the white tower—the jeweled eyes that preoccupied my thoughts
when I wasn’t mourning over Edgar or worrying about what my life would be now that he was gone.
I dismounted the tan and white Estrel-Flyer and cautiously approached Valcas. My own eyes roved back and forth between the unmistakable look of devotion he wore on his face and the massive bouquet of roses he held in the hand that was not reaching for me. How could he possibly remember me? When I was within a foot or two away from him, he leaped out and welcomed me with a huge hug, crushing the bouquet of roses against my back.
“You’ve returned, and here it is just two weeks later. Not that I could have waited much longer.” He grinned.
My understanding of past individuals’ memory loss shattered. I stared at Valcas, unable to speak even after my lungs expanded again when he freed me from his embrace.
“Calla, you are speechless.” Valcas’ smile was radiant. He recognized me. He remembered.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked.
“We just had an impromptu ceremonial gathering here at the tower,” he replied. “It lasted a lot longer than anticipated. My guards have been on the lookout for your arrival so that I could be here to welcome you back.”
I managed a polite nod even though I felt that I had no control over myself or my emotions. I’d been so upset thinking that Valcas would not remember me. Now it was even more disturbing that he did. It was all so confusing, so unexpectedly terrifying. Still wary, I let him continue making small talk while I tried to figure out what to do next.
“Did your business go well? I’m sorry—you look out of sorts. Excuse my ignorance, but I can’t seem to remember the nature of the pressing matter.”
“A funeral,” I choked out. “I left here earlier because my friend was sick. He didn’t get any better.” I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling.
Valcas took my hand in his, tenderly replying, “I apologize, dearest. I was so intent on celebrating your return that I wasn’t even thinking—” He furrowed his brow and the corners of his lips pulled into a slight frown. “I feel terrible for not remembering something like that. At least now I have some idea why you don’t seem very excited to see me. Come, follow me. I have the ideal place for you to relax and forget about all of this unpleasantness.”
Travel Glasses Page 16