by Ilena Holder
“Royce,” Donna said gently. “We’ve got something I think you’ll really like. It’s called an elevator.” She led him to the shining brass doors.
“Elevator? Oh, I’ve heard of them but never gotten to use one yet. I guess today is my chance.” Royce touched the glowing buttons gently.
“Go ahead, push the up arrow.”
Royce did as she said and jumped back a bit when the amber button suddenly glowed. They heard the sound of cables grinding and the whooshing of air.
In a few seconds, the bell chimed and the doors opened. Donna tried to put herself in Royce’s shoes, thinking how she would have felt as a child, riding an elevator for the first time. But too many years had passed and when you are used to modern conveniences you take them for granted. She sighed and wondered how his first trip would be.
Royce stood stock still, startled at the doors opening and an empty conveyance now yawning in front of them.
“Do you trust this to deliver us to your apartment, Donna?”
“Yes, I ride it daily. I can’t imagine life without it.”
“And it goes up and down? Alright, if you say it’s safe, I’ll trust your judgment.” Gingerly, he stepped in, tentatively testing the floor to see if it gave any under his weight. Satisfied, he stepped all the way in and faced the wall.
Donna entered after him, laughing. “Turn around, Royce. Riders always face the door.”
“Why?” he said, doing an about face.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I guess so we are ready to hop out when we arrive at our floor—and perhaps to make room for other people if they get on. It might look funny or rude to them if they got in and saw our backs.”
“Oh.” He seemed satisfied with her answer.
The doors shut with a hissing sound and they remained still.
“You might want to hang onto the rails.”
Gripping them mightily, Royce braced himself. “This can’t be much worse than a fishing boat on the lake during a storm.”
“No, not much more than that. And it won’t rock back and forth.”
Before she pushed the button for the twentieth floor, she said one last thing.
“You might want to flex your knees, this is an express elevator.”
When the door opened on the twentieth floor, a wild eyed Royce jumped out. “I’m sorry, Donna. This will take some getting used to.” He held onto the wall unsteadily, catching his breath.
Donna put her arm around his waist to steady him.
“There, there. It’ll pass in a minute. Here, let me get the door unlocked and get you inside.”
She fumbled for her keys. Shoving the door open, motion sensitive lights automatically came on. Royce just nodded and headed for her couch. “I need to calm my nerves a second.”
Donna tossed her purse on the coffee table and sat next to him.
“I understand. There are some things that you will have to experience. I can tell you about them, but it’ll be better if you see or feel them yourself.”
Royce shut his eyes and leaned back. “I didn’t know the future could be so extraordinary.”
“I’ll help you through it, Royce. With me to explain, it’ll be easier for you.”
“If you don’t mind, Donna, I want to go to bed now.”
“Would you like to wash up first?” Donna was slipping off her coat.
“No, it can wait until tomorrow morning. Perhaps you could get me a shaving brush and cream and a good straight razor? I need to clean up. A comb would help, too.” He ran his fingers through his long hair.
“Yes, of course. I may have some of those toiletries here from past house guests.”
She left him, thankful she always kept robes and a few essential male grooming supplies for past boyfriends. After she rummaged through the dresser in the guest bedroom, she took an armful of what she thought he might need. As she rounded the corner in the hallway, she saw him sprawled out on the couch, head tucked into a pillow, sound asleep. Smiling, she tiptoed over to where he slept, but it wasn’t necessary. He was dead to the world. She gently pulled off his boots and he didn’t flinch. She placed a throw over him, tucking it in at his ankles. She would have liked to have him sleep in her bed with her, but it wasn’t to be. At least, not tonight.
Chapter Twelve
Donna awoke around nine the next morning. It was restful to just lie still in the bed for a few minutes, collecting her thoughts. It seemed strange to be back in her own bed, in her own apartment. So it was possible to travel back and forth in time and stay intact. And Royce had come with her. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she tiptoed through the open door to the living room. She thought it best the night before to leave her door open in case he called out in fright. He might be shocked to wake up in strange surroundings. Apparently he’d slept as deeply as she did. He was still sprawled out on the couch, as comfortable as could be. She was glad to see that. She was also glad she had pulled off his boots the night before and covered him up.
Heading to the shower, she thought she would throw on some sweats and head downstairs to Starbucks to buy some pastries and cream cheese. That would be good with some freshly ground coffee. She had deliberately let her perishable supplies dwindle since she had gone to St. Joe for a few days.
Taking a pad and pen from the kitchen island, she jotted down a quick note telling Royce to get something out of the fridge if he wanted anything to eat or drink before she got back. She also said she was coming back with pastries. She left it out in plain view, thinking he might walk around when he woke up.
Taking one last peek at Royce blissfully asleep, she quietly unlocked the door and pulled it shut behind her. She hoped she would get some answers to her problems about Royce. He had feelings for her, unspoken feelings, that was plain. If he had been more open about what he felt for her, she might have stayed in the past. Or would she? That seemed childish, to leave her life, her job, her apartment for a life in the past with a near-stranger. Yet he needed medical help and he wanted to get it with her assistance. He had no idea what cataract surgery consisted of. In all honesty, he said he would work to pay the bills. But he had no idea of the cost of things in the year 2010. It was just as well to be ignorant in some things.
* * * *
Royce awoke and rubbed his eyes. He yawned and stretched and then dropped his hands down to feel what he had been sleeping on. His fingers caressed soft leather, plugged with buttons. Strange, but he was sleeping on a couch instead of his bed. It was better than most beds he’d been in his entire life. A soft blanket had been tossed over his legs. Slowly, he realized he was at Donna’s place. They had driven to Chicago in her car, then came up to this huge building where he rode an elevator for the first time. He groaned at the memory. Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, he realized someone had removed his boots. All well and good. There they were, propped by the wall. He wondered where Donna was. Everything was still and he had no idea what time it was. He heard his stomach rumbling and thought perhaps he might find some food in her kitchen. Though he didn’t smell anything cooking, he thought she might have some rolls or bread or perhaps cold coffee. He thought, too, she was probably still asleep. He’d search the rooms for her.
Padding down the hall, he peeked into vacant bedrooms and saw nobody. The largest bedroom had a huge bed, still unmade. He felt the sheets and they were cool so she had been gone for at least a half hour. She must have gone out, perhaps to get provisions. Past the bedrooms, he came to a large kitchen. Colorful copper kettles hung off hooks on the ceiling. A rope of garlic cloves hung on a nail. He sniffed it, but it seemed dried up. It appeared she had it hanging around just for decoration. A clay basket of apples looked inviting. Pale and green, they looked crisp, so he picked one up and took a bite.
“Argh, it’s wax!” Spitting it out into his hand, he investigated the inside. More decorations!
There wasn’t a single seed or anything inside that even resembled an apple! He threw the disgusting
mess into a nearby trash can.
He didn’t see any coffee pot, though the stove was certainly clean and tidy. It was completely bare, not a speck of grease on it. He wondered how you put a pot on to boil, the top was black and smooth, as glass. He ran his hand over it to ascertain it was glass and wondrously smooth. There was a handle; he pulled it open to see where they built the fire. There was nothing in there but some racks and wire coils. Not a bit of ash or soot. Like everything else he saw in the place, it was tidy and spotless.
Opening a cabinet, he saw a few cans of what appeared to be some home preserved vegetables. He knew this from the colorful paper wrappers glued around each can. Most everything was recognizable: corn, beets, beans, and green beans, among others. He thought he might want to open one and sample what was inside, just to see how futuristic food tasted. But as he rolled the can of beets around in his palm, he could not figure out how in the world one would open it! He rapped it with his knuckles and even gave it a squeeze, but to no avail. Looking under the sink, he found a large bag of white rice. He knew what it was immediately; the sack it was in was crystal clear and fairly tough! If it had been burlap he would have had to wonder what was inside, or opened it to see the contents. Right now he would have enjoyed a buttery bowl of rice, but he had no idea how he would boil it. He jabbed it and marveled at how he couldn’t even poke his finger through the wrapping.
Sighing, he surveyed what other wonders Donna might have in her kitchen. He inspected her sink, peered down the drain hole, and lifted up the silver pump handle. He had seen others do this in the Holtzclaw’s kitchen and was pleased when a stream of bubbly water ran into his hands. He filled his hands to the brim and then sipped the liquid. It was clear and cold, though it had a strong odor he couldn’t quite describe.
Opening another cabinet near the sink, he found cups and plates. On the countertops, he saw a variety of sizes of colored metal machines, for lack of a better word. He didn’t know what purpose they served except all of them appeared to have small blades, removable lids, and buttons. Everything seemed to be able to cut or chop up food, perhaps vegetables or fruits. Maybe Donna used this in food preservation in the summer.
And where was she anyway? He was getting bored with her kitchen and didn’t want to appear to be prowling through the rest of her place with her gone, though it would have been easy enough to do. Going to the wall in the living room where he had been sleeping, he yanked open the beige curtains. Startled at what he saw, he threw himself backwards in shock! He was higher than he had ever been in his life! Higher up than any tree or rooftop! Cars were below on the road, small and moving about in painted lanes! How small they looked from up here; and the people were miniscule also! Holding his breath a second, he moved closer to the pane of glass. Putting his hands lightly on it to avoid swaying from the vertigo, he peered out. Chicago was huge! So much bigger than what it looked like last time he visited in 1860. There must be millions upon millions of people living here. He could have stared out at the scene for an hour or more, but he thought he would go downstairs to street level. Perhaps he would run into Donna then. Maybe she had to contact her family or the people she worked for. He had been too tired the night before to ask her. Even when he took a trip, friends and family inquired about his well being and plans on the voyage out and also when he returned to St. Joe, so it should be no different with Donna.
Glancing around her kitchen one last time, he thought he might perhaps buy some food down on the street from peddlers or push cart vendors. Spotting a bowl of loose change on the counter, he scooped a handful and shoved it in his pants pocket. Perhaps if he bought some meat and vegetables and brought it back up to her place, she would cook it when she returned. As he headed to her front door he heard voices out in the hallway. Good! Others were leaving the building and he would follow them, since the elevator business was still strange to him. He yanked open the door and moved swiftly onto the landing.
Four other building dwellers were chatting animatedly, waving their hands, and not especially paying much attention to him. All the better for him. He would try to blend in with them, as they punched the elevator button.
He watched their mannerisms, their lack of alertness. They should be more cautious, this is a big city. He slid in amongst their group when they got into the elevator. Pressing himself against the back wall, he braced himself for the descent. As the others continued their gossip and talk of the days’ events, he held the bar on the wall to steady himself for the sickening downward motion. He shut his eyes as the elevator sank, thankful that he knew to face frontward and nobody paid the least amount of attention to him.
They came to a halt, and he hoped his queasy stomach wouldn’t give him away. Luckily for him, everybody seemed to be in a rush to depart and do whatever they had to do. He waited a second, and then followed the group of them out into the street. Some turned left and some turned right. He decided to follow the latter group, as he could smell food. Jingling the coins in his pocket, he saw a man wearing a white hat and pushing a cart. Steamy meat smells leaked out from under the cover of his small pushcart. Royce took a seat on a nearby bench to observe before he went into action. He had no idea what the food was, or even what it cost. He would just watch and wait a bit until others showed up. Surely with the sun so high in the sky people would be taking a lunch break soon. He was right. People must have been watching for this vendor’s approach. First a stylishly dressed lady in a very short skirt and jacket stepped up and began to make small talk with the man. Her hair had the same kind of golden stripes in that Donna’s had. They seemed to know each other by their friendly banter. He guessed she had bought food from him before. The vendor took a paper wrapping and then reached into a sack and pulled out a bun. Then he opened one of his containers and with tongs, pulled out a long wiener! Royce’s mouth began watering at the smell. The man forked it on the bun and the lady gestured at other containers of toppings he had to offer. He slathered on mustard and onions while the lady selected some other colorful pouch of some food product. It crinkled with a rattling sound when she picked it up. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the cart had various colors of this food, hanging on a hook. There couldn’t have been much in the bag, it was so small. The woman took a sort of can or canister from a compartment. Finally she paid the vendor and came and sat down next to Royce, smiling. Before others could form a queue, Royce stood up and casually walked to the cart.
“I’ll have the same thing the lady had,” he said. He thought that was the best bet, since he was unsure of exactly what she had bought and he didn’t want to sound out-of-place.
“Sure, buddy,” the vendor said with a flourish of his silver tongs. “Can’t go wrong with a Chicago dog and chips, can ya?”
Royce watched him as he repeated the movements he had done a minute ago. The wiener was slapped in the bun and mustard and onions lavishly applied on top of it.
“What are ya having to drink today, bud?”
“Oh, just whatever you have on the top of the heap.”
“Looks like Coca-Cola,” the vendor said.
“Wonderful.” Royce figured it must be safe to drink if the woman was drinking it. He was used to a variety of tasty drinks back at Fallow Field Farm. Milk, sarsaparilla, ginger beer, and hot tea were always plentiful. In the fall and into the early winter they had good fresh apple cider. The maids dug up sassafras root in the springtime, and kept a supply of the dried roots in the pantry for brewing year-round. Then in bars out in town of course, you had beers, applejack, and whiskey for grownups.
Unsure what his purchases cost, Royce dug in his pocket and held out a handful of change to the man.
Quizzically, the man looked at him, then down at the change in his palm. Shrugging, he picked out a number of coins and pocketed them.
“First time in Chicago, eh?” the man said.
“Oh, no,” Royce said. “I’ve been here many times in the past.”
“Whatever. Enjoy your dog,” the man said.
“Drat! My pull tab broke off!” She was looking at her drink can in disgust. “Now how will I wash down my dog?”
Feeling chivalrous, Royce stood and took his knife from his pocket. “I’ll be glad to help you, miss.” The problem seemed vexing to her but the solution was as simple as A-B-C to him. He removed his knife from his pocket and wiped it clean with the napkins he had. Placing the can on the sidewalk, Royce jabbed his knife tip into the round circle that was keeping the drink inside the container. With a quick ‘poink’ the sharp metal pierced the can and the brown liquid bubbled out.
The woman clapped her hands in glee. “Thank you! I should have known a construction worker would carry a knife!”
Royce thought about correcting her because he was certainly no construction worker. He decided against it and thought he would get to work on eating his meal. He sat on the bench and carefully took a bite of the steaming hot dog, enjoying the flavors that mixed together. Since he saw the lady pull a ring on her drink can, he did the same and when it popped open, he took a sip of it. He was surprised at the bubbles that burst and tingled in his mouth. Suddenly, he felt a hand behind tugging at his collar, almost choking him. He turned to see Donna’s face blazing with fury.
“What are you doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Royce looked at her bemusedly. He didn’t appear the least bit ashamed that she found him sitting and eating a wiener.
“It’s not safe out here,” she blustered.
“Seems safe to me,” the strange lady in the short skirt said. “Anyway, he’s got a knife!”
When she saw the hostile look Donna shot at her she clamped her mouth shut.
“How did you plan to get back into the apartment?”
Royce smiled, continued to eat his wiener and mused on the question. “I guess I’d go up in that fast box you call the elevator and open the door.”