“Never mind. Just a thought. Another part of my mind reaching from the usual fog zone. Thank you for everything and being so understanding.”
“Anytime, Mrs. Waring.”
“Your ride is here, Mrs. Waring,” said Nurse Stephens. She then stepped out the door with Elizabeth Anne. Reluctantly, Anne followed. She had prepared herself for what she would see but still, it left her breathless. Just like watching an old movie.
A car pulled up. James got out and came around to open the door. She slowed and then stopped halfway, allowing Nurse Stephens and Elizabeth Anne to move on ahead. She turned a full circle, taking in everything, trying to convince herself that this is her life, was her life, always has been her life. She sighed and then continued down to where James was waiting. “I was afraid we’d be riding your horse,” she said.
“Now, that would be a sight,” Nurse Stephens laughed.
Anne got in, accepted Elizabeth Anne and thought about child safety seats and seatbelts.
“You take care now, Mrs. Waring,” Nurse Stephens said.
“Thank you for everything, especially for your understanding,” Anne said and they squeezed hands.
Nurse Stephens stepped back and James closed the door.
Nathaniel Bronson stood inside the front doors of Roper Hospital and watched Anne Waring depart. Opportunity in the flesh. Will she call? How long should I wait? What should I do if she doesn’t? Kidnap her? Then do what with her? How would I convince a U-boat to pick her up? I would have to convince the Führer first, who would then issue the orders. I would then kidnap her. I need to get more information, something that the Führer would deem worthwhile to take her to Germany. Tact, diplomacy and patience. Give her a couple of days, and then make a house call.
Chapter 22
Wednesday ~ July 21, 1943
Get used to it, Anne kept saying to herself during the drive to James’ house. This is the way it is – the way it has always been. Get used to it. The cool spell with rain and pleasant temperatures was past, and the rising sun was busy turning a pleasant southern morning into something hot and sticky.
She recognized some of the street names. The street in front of Roper Hospital was Calhoun. James turned around and then turned right onto Gadsden Street and continued on for some time. Anne sat quietly and looked at the homes as they passed by. Some were huge and beautiful, some small and relatively plain. James slowed to turn again.
“Beautain Street,” Anne said when she saw the wooden street sign.
“Do you remember this?” James asked.
“Yes. I do. Isn’t there a lake, a park or something, nearby?” No sooner had she asked the question when they approached a park and Colonial Lake. James turned right onto Ashley and the lake passed on their left. It went on for several blocks. It was the same lake which she and Steven had strolled around a few months back when the Azaleas were in bloom. But it was different. They had taken pictures, watched the ducks, laughed at children playing and then sat for a time on one of the benches because her feet hurt. She remembered a kid walking by with a blaring boom box on his shoulder, big enough to be a home stereo system.
James crossed over Broad Street and then pulled to the curb in front of a white two-story house. A middle-aged woman rushed out, her long flowered dress blowing in the warm breeze. She was down the walk and opening Anne’s door before James could get out of the car.
“Mrs. Waring! I’m Mrs. Lamric, Ruth Lamric, James’ mother. Look at your baby! Elizabeth! Let me take her for you. Oh, my! This is so exciting!”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lamric,” was all Anne managed to get out. Elizabeth Anne disappeared from her arms.
“There’s a room set up for you that’s all yours, for as long as you need to stay. James has told me all about you and your amnesia thing. My, isn’t she beautiful.” To Elizabeth Anne, Ruth Lamric began cooing. “Aren’t you pretty? And such pretty eyes. You’re probably wondering who that strange person is holding you, don’t you. And look at the hair! My babies were both born bald.”
Anne started to get out of the car and suddenly James was there with his hand. She thought about the fact that Steven hardly ever got her door. She accepted his hand and got out.
“I always wanted a little girl and we wished we would have had another child, but the good Lord decided, I guess, that two boys were enough.”
“You have another son, Mrs. Lamric?”
“Oh, yes. Johnny. He’s in the Navy, on a ship. The USS Plymouth. He’s getting ready to leave again.” Her voice took on a sad edge. “Going back to the war.”
“You must be very proud.”
“A fine young man, he is. Both my boys are fine young men. They do make their mother proud.”
James pulled Anne’s bag from the back seat. “Come on, Ma. Let’s get out of the sun. Probably not good for the baby.”
“Oh, hush, James. How many babies have you given birth to and raised?”
“Yes, Ma.” With that they all moved up the walk, James falling in behind Anne who was following Ruth and Elizabeth Anne.
“So, tell me about your amnesia. Do you remember anything?”
Anne looked at Mrs. Lamric and considered the breakfast she just had, so delicious but so simple. A small slice of ham and one egg; homemade biscuits and strawberry jam, and a glass of milk. This isn’t 2%. She had never drunk milk this rich before. She liked it, but worried about her cholesterol. Nothing was plastic. Nothing was fake. Real silver and real china plates reminded her of her grandmother, her father’s mother, who still lived with her grandfather in the house they bought upon their marriage in North Dakota in 1941.
Two years ago?
Anne fussed with the blanket around Elizabeth Anne who was asleep in a bassinet made of sweet grass and bamboo. “It’s not really amnesia, Mrs. Lamric. Or maybe it’s partially amnesia. What is happening is I remember nothing of my real life but remember instead an entirely other life.”
“Oh! How do you know that isn’t your real life? What makes you think there should be something else?”
Anne looked at Mrs. Lamric then at James and back to his mother. She didn’t know what to say. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
Mrs. Lamric stood and started clearing dishes. “Why would you think that?” She laid the dishes on the sink. “Do you think she’s crazy, James?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Well there you go. We don’t think you’re crazy. And if you tell us something that changes our mind we just won’t tell the neighbors. It’ll be our secret. I think you need to talk about it though. Eventually something will fall out and everything will make sense.”
“All right. I’ll tell you one thing, but you’re going to laugh.”
Both James and his mother looked at her. She couldn’t hold eye contact with either of them. She looked around the kitchen of bright white cabinets and yellow towels and then at Elizabeth. “This is 1943.” She looked up at Mrs. Lamric, this time not letting her eyes drop. “My memory tells me I was born in 1963.”
Mrs. Lamric blinked a couple times, picked up the salt and pepper shakers from the table and set them on the counter. She looked at James then at Anne. “Well,” she finally said. “That’s a bit strange.”
“I’d say that’s a lot strange,” Anne said.
“I’m sure your memory will come around and you’ll wake up one day and recall you were born in 1923.”
“It would have to be 1919. I’m twenty-four. Or, at least I think I am. Anyway, I don’t think it’s that simple. I have no recollection of my life until about 1965, my earliest memories. I can tell you the name of every teacher I’ve had and every student of every class since my entry into kindergarten. That in itself is strange, I think. Although I was born in Fargo, North Dakota, my father took a position at MIT when I was in Elementary School. We moved to Boston where I stayed throughout the remainder of my education and until I was married in 1983. My husband was asked to be part of a project here at the shipyard and we moved,
finding a rental for a time and then purchasing a townhouse in Goose Creek.” She looked at Mrs. Lamric, and then held up her hand. “I know. I know. Goose Creek doesn’t exist, but it does in my memory.”
“Oh my!” was all Ruth Lamric could say.
“Before I woke up in that barracks four days ago, it was 1987. Goose Creek not only existed but was also a thriving bedroom community of some 30,000 people. The war, this war, had been over for 42 years. For most people it’s something they learned of in history books and movies.”
“Oh my!” Ruth said again.
While Anne was talking, a portion of her brain was busy processing information. Not always did Anne have total and instant recall. Sometimes it was a matter of finding the right bank of data. Often Anne’s brain did that process in the background without her being aware of it until results were achieved. Ruth Lamric was again expressing how she believed all Anne needed was a little rest and everything would start clearing up and making sense, when suddenly Anne saw the words. It was part of a chronological list of major military losses in WWII.
“The USS Plymouth, Mrs. Lamric?” Anne blurted.
Ruth stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth agape.
“You did say your other son, Johnny, is stationed aboard the USS Plymouth, didn’t you?”
“Yes. He’s a signalman.”
Anne considered the words she saw.
August 5, 1943 – USS Plymouth, PG-57, was sunk off the coast of North Carolina by the German Submarine U566.
“Why do you ask, Anne?” Ruth sat back down.
“Oh, no reason... ah... it, the name just sounded familiar. Like Plymouth Rock up in Massachusetts. It struck a bell, and then nothing.” This could be the proof I need, if it really happens, or the proof I’m insane if it doesn’t. More words appeared in her mind’s eye and she shivered at them.
The Plymouth, which was designed to accommodate 155 men, was carrying a crew of 204, of which only 85 were rescued from the stormy, shark infested waters off Cape Henry. Fifteen later perished as a result of their injuries. The Plymouth was part of an escort group for a convoy from New York to Key West. She had just completed repairs to her sonar at the Navy Shipyard in Charleston, South Carolina. This was her ninth escort voyage between New York and Key West in the past year.
If I were the mother of Johnny, I would want to know, even if it’s nothing but the thoughts of a lunatic woman. So, I tell her what my memory has revealed. Then what? What would she do? Fifteen days to wait to see if her son will die. She didn’t invite me into her house so I can tell her the one thing no mother ever wants to hear. Anne suddenly became aware they were both staring at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just had this sudden wave of drowsiness pass over me.”
“Oh, well, gee wiz. Let me show you your room and if you like you can lie down for a bit. Nothing wrong with a little nap now and then. James, why don’t you take Anne’s bag up to her room?”
“Already did, Ma.”
“Well, there you go. You’re already moved in.” She took Anne’s hand. “Let me show you where it is.”
Anne looked at Elizabeth Anne, still asleep.
“Don’t you worry any about little Elizabeth. When my boys were babies, the only sleep I got was when they slept, so you take advantage and leave her for me to watch over. I’ll bring her to you if she awakes, and wants to be fed.”
Anne resisted only a little. She really wasn’t tired but she pretended she was to cover her thoughts. She allowed Ruth Lamric to lead her out of the kitchen, through the quaint little living room and up the stairs to the room she was told to call her own.
“And you haven’t even asked about the rabbit,” Ruth said. “You get some rest and I’ll take care of the baby,” she added and closed the door.
Now what, Anne Waring? What’s next in your bizarre life? How long do I live here before I discover who I really am? She stared up at the ceiling once more, running her mind through the events leading up to the black hole.
The black hole! That’s what she had taken to calling the time between walking into the building and waking up in the barracks. Was that simply a transition between the dream and the conscious world? If so, which one was the dream?
But dreams don’t last. They fade quickly, often within seconds or minutes after waking. This dream did no such thing. It was more vivid than anything in real life and spanned more than two decades.
Is it dreams or visions, or is it psychic revelations, premonitions, forecasts of things to come, like Nostradamus? What would I see if I looked into a crystal ball or a bowl of water? I’ve never believed in such things. Life cannot be predicted, is not preordained. Events are random, no rhyme or reason, not only unpredictable but also uncontrollable. Uncontrollable for sure.
Kind of like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.
Rabbit!
A white rabbit! She sat up. What white rabbit? The vision was fuzzy. It was hot. Into the cool building. Pictures on the walls. A white rabbit.
What did Ruth mean I haven’t asked about the rabbit?
She sighed, laid back down on the small bed and closed her eyes.
USS Plymouth... sunk... by German Submarine...
Chapter 23
Wednesday ~ July 21, 1943
Anne woke with a start. She swung to a sitting position, looking frantically around the room for Elizabeth Anne, and then remembered where she was. How long did she sleep? Five minutes or five hours? Sunlight and a breeze came in the open window. There was no sun blaring in when she had lain down. Had to be a couple of hours. She stood and looked out the window while her mind and body came fully awake. It all still looked the same. She could see a couple of backyards and a street beyond but it was still the same. It looked like 1943. Not like 1987. She sighed and dug into a side-pocket of the bag for her brush. Next to the brush was the Casio Sports Watch that Steven gave her a year ago because she wanted to start running. That wasn’t long before she discovered she was pregnant. The running stopped. But here was the watch – a digital, based on technology many years yet to come. 1:16 the digits read. She considered putting it on and then, instead, placed it on the dresser. She picked up the brush, but after only a few strokes she had an overwhelming urge for Elizabeth Anne. She laid the hairbrush on the dresser and went out in search of her baby.
She found Elizabeth Anne downstairs, in the living room, fast asleep in the crook of Ruth Lamric’s arm. A bit smaller version of James was sitting in an armchair with a rabbit in his lap. Upon seeing her he jumped to his feet, tucking the rabbit like a football.
“Anne!” Ruth said. “I pray you had a nice nap. This is my other son, Johnny. Johnny, this is Mrs. Waring, mother of this beautiful little girl.”
“Nice to meet you,” Johnny said.
Anne found herself mesmerized by the rabbit. She briefly looked away, toward Elizabeth Anne, and then back to the rabbit. “It’s nice to... ah... meet you too... and...” she reached toward the rabbit, “may I?”
“Sure, sure. He’s yours after all.”
She took the rabbit and went over and sat next to Ruth. He was so soft, almost like a cat. She looked at Johnny who sat back down. “What do you mean he’s mine?”
“That’s what Ma said.”
“You don’t remember the rabbit, Anne?” Ruth said. “James didn’t ask you about him?”
“No. He didn’t. I do sort of remember a rabbit but,” she looked down at the white animal, “this is really weird.”
“Why is that?”
“Only in my dreams. That’s where I remember him. In my dreams. Where did he come from that you think he’s mine?”
“According to James, who talked with the Navy chief at the shipyard who found you, you had this rabbit with you. The chief didn’t know what to do with it so James took it off his hands. He didn’t know if it was a dear pet or what. Strange that he didn’t ask you about it.”
“He means something.”
“You’re remembering?” Ruth said. Elizabeth Anne be
gan to stir.
“No. Not exactly. There’s this fuzzy wall I can’t seem to penetrate. I’m sure the answers are behind that wall and this rabbit has something to do with it.” Elizabeth Anne began fussing and Anne felt a tingle in her breasts. “I’ll take her now. I think it’s time for her feeding.” She walked the rabbit back over to Johnny and then returned to receive Elizabeth Anne from Ruth. The feeling of her baby in her arms sent a rush through her body. Elizabeth’s gentle crying also started her milk flowing.
“Why don’t you and I go out to the kitchen, Johnny?” Ruth said. “Leave Mrs. Waring with her baby.”
Anne thought to protest, to say she would just go upstairs, and then remembered how hot it was up there. “Thank you,” she said and began to unbutton her blouse, even before Johnny stood. As soon as he understood what was going on he practically ran into the kitchen. Anne found his action and innocence rather amusing. She settled back onto the sofa with Elizabeth Anne, closed her eyes and tried again to penetrate the fuzz where the rabbit sat just inside, silhouetted by a backdrop of white light.
Johnny was a handsome young man, a spitting image of his big brother, only a few inches shorter and not nearly as broad. He was quite a bit more talkative; more like his mother than his brother. They all sat around the kitchen table, remnants of an early dinner spread before them.
“I’m not supposed to say much about our missions, but I can say they’re very interesting. We are always sailing between New York and Key West, Florida. Actually saw a German torpedo once.”
Anne saw Mrs. Lamric’s eyes open in shock and look at her son.
“It didn’t hit anything,” he continued. “Didn’t even come close. Several of the other ships in the convoy made chase on the submarine and dropped some depth charges, but they think it got away. We didn’t chase it cause we had other duties.”
“You know I don’t like hearing about those things, Johnny,” Mrs. Lamric said.
“No ships were sunk and no one was hurt. And besides, it happens whether you know about it or not.”
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