Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Then the war will soon be over?” Ruth asked, excited about the prospect.

  “No. Sorry, Ruth. Two more years. This may be a major setback for Hitler, though he won’t admit it. Many more people will die before this thing ends.” Anne read through the article, found the continuation on page three and read through that as well. When she finished, she pushed the newspaper away and stood. She watched Elizabeth Anne breathe for several minutes, and then walked over to the sink and looked out into the back yard.

  “Who the hell am I? Am I a witch? They burned women at the stake not that long ago for claiming to have such powers.”

  “You are not a witch, Anne. You have a gift,” Ruth insisted.

  “A gift! Who gave it to me? Can I return it; ask for my old life back, whatever my old life was? Can I have my husband back? I’m definitely married.” She held her left hand up to the window. “This ring is not part of my imagination. Where is... who is my husband?” She turned back to face Ruth. “I can tell you what is going to happen halfway around the world, but I can’t tell you a damn thing about my husband, the father of my child.” The tears began. “Oh, God, Ruth. What am I going to do?”

  Ruth Lamric stood, crossed the kitchen to Anne and put her arms around her. “It will be okay,” she said. “Everything will work out. You’ll see. It will be okay.” She repeated those four words over and over while they embraced and cried.

  Chapter 25

  Monday ~ July 26, 1943

  “Telephone for you, Anne.”

  Anne looked up at Ruth from her reading at the kitchen table. “I have a telephone call?” For just the briefest moment she thought maybe Steven found her, but pushed it back even before Ruth said who it was.

  “It’s Doctor Bronson. Says something about wanting to make a house call. See how you are doing.”

  “Okay,” Anne said and stood.

  “You’re doing just fine,” Ruth said. “Do you think it’s necessary for him to come visit just to tell you that?”

  “I can’t see that it would hurt. Besides, it’s more a mental therapy thing. We were talking about my amnesia just before I left the hospital. He was helping me sort it all out.” She continued on past Ruth into the living room. The black phone sat on a low shelf against the wall. She considered Ruth’s comment and the look on her face, and then picked up the handset. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Waring. This is Nathaniel Bronson, Doctor Bronson.”

  “How are you doing, Doctor?”

  “I’m doing just fine. More important, how are you doing?”

  “Much better, thank you. My memory hasn’t changed, but I...”

  Anne found Ruth’s hand suddenly over the mouthpiece. “Don’t tell him you’re psychic.”

  “What’s that Mrs. Waring?” Bronson said. “You were going to say something.”

  “Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was saying my memory hasn’t changed.”

  “I thought you were going to say something else.”

  Ruth was shaking her head at Anne. Anne said into the phone, “I was going to say my memory situation hasn’t changed, but I think health-wise everything is doing very well.”

  “I told you I would call on you sometime.”

  “That’s not necessary, Doctor.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t, but we were having a very interesting conversation concerning amnesia. I don’t go on duty until 5:00 this afternoon. If I could drop by around 3:30, we could talk some more.”

  “I really am working it all out on my own, starting to make a new life. I don’t know if it would be productive to take up more of your time.”

  “It’s really no problem. This would be a complimentary visit. Won’t cost you a thing.”

  “I really don’t need the charity.”

  “It’s not charity, Mrs. Waring. I look at it as research. Your amnesia has sparked my professional curiosity. Studying you may help me find some new answers in this relatively little understood ailment. You may actually be helping me and possibly many future amnesia patients.”

  “If you put it that way, sure, why not. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Waring. I’ll see you about 3:30.”

  When Anne placed the receiver back on the cradle, she caught herself trying to remember how long it had been since she used a rotary dial phone. It was heavy. She wondered what it was made of because it certainly wasn’t plastic.

  She glanced at Ruth who scowled and turned away.

  Nathaniel Bronson was upset with himself for requesting instructions from the U-boat before proceeding. It took him two days to make contact and then he had to wait. To proceed without instructions after requesting them would have been contrary to standard operating procedures. If he did so and something went wrong he would be subject to disciplinary action, possibly pulled from his mission. So he waited. But the message he eventually got back was simply, “Observe only.”

  “Observe only!” Under normal circumstances that means do not make contact. Watch and record. He realized, however, that the only way to observe Anne Waring was to make contact and hold periodic dialogues with her. He debated over that for a day or so before deciding this wasn’t a normal circumstance. So he should divert from procedure and call her.

  This would be just the beginning. He needed to be patient. Become her friend, her confidant and work into two or more sessions a week.

  Of course, he gave very little detail in his communications to the U-boat captain. He couldn’t say he had someone who traveled through time. If he had, he would have been replaced, or at least removed, taken back to the homeland and put through strenuous psychological tests. He would be reduced to the level of an army mess cook, or worse, never to be able to leave Germany again, never to be free.

  Free! That word struck him as odd. Odd that it had come to his mind. Here in America, doing his job, he was free. In Germany he would not be free. He would be doing the bidding of the state, of the party, especially with his training in medicine. And if he let mention he had a woman who was a time traveler... well, it would be needless to even consider any position of responsibility.

  What if he was wrong? He had to admit to himself the entire notion was crazy.

  Bronson slowly took the stairs up to the second floor, unlocked his office and went inside. He pulled out the letter and the five-dollar-bill and studied each. The letter alone only alluded to someone bringing Mrs. Waring back. If she were not a time-traveler, where did she come from? Where would she be brought back to? Another city or state? Her clothing was nothing like he had ever seen before in any of the American big cities, or London, or Paris. But there are places he hadn’t been. New Orleans, Miami, South America for that matter. She had no southern accent. Actually, she had no accent at all, no foreign feel to her speech. But then neither do I, he had to remind himself. The more he looked at the letter the less convinced he became that it was something transmitted across time.

  But there was the five-dollar-bill. He laid it next to one with a current date. It looked different. Maybe it was counterfeit. Maybe someone printed a bunch of these just as a joke. After all, even the paper felt different.

  Or, maybe it’s a new design and a different paper that the mint is working on and one or more got out. But with a 1984 date? People can play funny jokes. It certainly would be more plausible than being brought back from 41 years in the future.

  But, what was it she said? She was talking about something, a fast food, when she stopped and said, “That hasn’t been invented yet... my over active imagination.” That has not been invented yet! What other things could she speak of which haven’t been invented yet? She spoke of future transportation, communications and medicine. What about warfare and weapons? She says she knows all about this war. But Adolf Hitler, the Führer, would not take his own life.

  The science of nuclear. That’s what initially triggered his suspicions. He still couldn’t come up with a translation although he did send it in his message to the U-boat captain. The reply didn’
t appear exciting. Observe only. She totally trusts him so he will encourage her to talk and then see what comes out.

  Anne crossed her arms on her chest and gazed out the front window. 10:30 and already she could feel the heat. The wet air seemed to lay heavy on her skin and no matter how hard she tried, there was no way to stay dry. She guessed it wouldn’t bother her so much if she was used to it, but she wasn’t. She was sure she wasn’t. She spent the last four years in air-conditioned comfort, or at least that’s what her brain kept telling her. And she was intelligent enough to know that there was no such thing as air conditioning, or if there was, no one around here knew about it.

  If she was psychic, she wasn’t like anyone she ever read about. Nostradamus saw his visions in a bowl of water and Edgar Cayce saw his while in a trance. But neither one wrote of the detail she could conjure up, nor as frequent, or as constant. Everything she touched or looked at sparked a memory.

  Will she ever find the answer to it all? If not, is there any way to turn the memories or psychic visions off so she could simply get on with her life? Something to talk to Doctor Bronson about.

  Anne turned away from the window. She screwed up the courage to confront Ruth, sighed and headed up the stairs.

  Anne knocked at Ruth’s partially open bedroom door. She heard no answer. She poked her head in and saw Ruth sitting in her rocking chair looking out the window.

  “May I come in?”

  Ruth said nothing. She stood and retrieved a chair from across the room and then returned to her rocker. Anne understood the invitation, moved the chair closer to the window and sat. Ruth’s view was somewhat north, along the edge of Colonial Lake. Anne’s angle looked more south, allowing her only a view of more houses. They sat in silence for some time, each contemplating her own thoughts along with her respective view. Anne’s thoughts went to the silence hanging between them. She took the step, coming to talk to Ruth about why she got upset when she accepted Doctor Bronson’s offer. Now she only sat, not knowing how to begin, wishing Ruth would just say what was on her mind. The silence dragged on until Anne couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “How long have you lived here, in this house?” Anne asked.

  At first it seemed Ruth wasn’t going to reply, and then she said, “Since just before Johnny was born. We were really lucky, or maybe it was more than luck. Henry worked hard and this house was paid for before the depression hit. Can you believe that? Five years and all paid off. Henry was smart. I never understood how he knew, how he figured it out, but somehow he saw the crash coming. Less than a week before it happened, before banks and all shut down, he pulled everything we had out of the market and the bank. He came home with a box full of cash. He scared me. I thought he had gone crazy. Things were going so well and then he did this crazy thing. Do you want to know what he did with it?”

  Anne looked at Ruth who was still staring out the window. Ruth didn’t wait for a reply.

  “He got even crazier. He built a wooden box and then lined the inside with some kind of material he said would protect the money from moisture and such, packed it all in there and then buried it in the back yard.

  “Henry was in the war – the first war – and there had been stories of men going crazy after it was over, and that was all I could think of. I had two boys to worry about, just children then. He kept telling me that before the end of the year, things were going to get bad. Maybe even sooner, he said. I knew he was crazy, for sure. I was thinking about doing something – digging it up and putting it back in the bank or leaving and going to my sister up in Columbia and putting it in the bank there, where it would be safe and he couldn’t get to it.

  “Except, I couldn’t think of carrying that much money on the train by myself. Then I decided I would write to my sister to come down here and we could go back together. And so, I sat down with paper and a writing instrument and began to compose just such a letter. I didn’t get very far. Only had written October 24, 1929 and Dear Mary when Henry came in the door. Quiet. Solemn. He slumped down in that old stuffed green chair in the living room. It was the middle of the day. Not lunch, which he sometimes comes home for, so I knew something was wrong. I didn’t ask him what. Just looked at him and waited, knowing somehow that whatever it was, my letter would not be written. I still have that piece of paper on which I had begun that letter. I kept it for some crazy reason, maybe to remind myself of the mistake I almost made or maybe as a marker of the day. Black Thursday I’ve heard it called. I haven’t looked at it in years but I know right where it is.

  “So Henry just sat for a long time, on that green chair. Back then it faced toward the window, not like it does now where it sits under the window and faces away. He stared out the window until I thought my patience would run out. Finally I stood, thinking I would go get him a glass of water, just to be doing something. Before I moved a single step, though, he said, and I remember the words exactly, ‘It has happened, Ruth, just as I said, but a lot sooner than I thought. The stock market has crashed and before long the banks will be closing. Maybe in a matter of days. Maybe in a few hours. People are already starting to pull their money. Not many, mind you, but a few. It’s still early. When the panic begins, the banks will run out of money and they will have to close.’

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Anne, I was really dumb about banks and money and such back then and I said to Henry, ‘Why would they run out of money? If everybody put their money in the bank why can’t they just go there to get it?’ He didn’t laugh at me. Henry never laughed at my stupidity. He would get mad when I called myself stupid. ‘You’re not stupid, Ruth. You just have not been schooled in these things.’ That’s what he would say and then we would sit down and he would teach me and invariably I would understand. That’s what he did that Black Thursday afternoon when most people were running to their banks. We sat together with pencil and paper at the kitchen table and he explained to me how banks and the stock market worked.”

  Ruth leaned back in her rocking chair and sighed. “Henry was the smartest man I’ve ever known.”

  The silence was long; Ruth slumped back in her rocker; Anne, sitting with her back straight and hands in her lap. A warm breeze entered, disturbed the cotton doily on the little table next to Ruth, and then was gone.

  “I’m not a dumb woman, Anne. I know that now. What I don’t know about I simply have not been schooled in. We made it through that depression and never had to touch the box of money. Henry made good money at his business and although the income dropped considerably, we were still able to tighten up and make it. For nearly four years that money laid in the ground, and then one morning, in the summer of 1933, I came downstairs to find this dirty box sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor and Henry poring over a ledger. ‘Time to start investing,’ he said. I started to protest but as usual he sat me down and taught me more. He showed me everything he was doing and why. I’ll tell you, Anne, even though it all made sense, I was scared out of my mind. Thank the Lord Henry made me understand because five years later his heart quit. Thirty-nine years old and his heart just up and decided to stop. If it weren’t for the boys, I’m not so sure I would have made it. But I did because the boys needed me and I remembered everything Henry taught me. I pulled out that ledger and pored through it over and over until I was sure I was thinking the same as he would be and then went down to the bank to talk to the man who would help me. I think he was surprised when I could converse with him in his language. Me! A woman! Mister Barges is his name. He respects me now. In fact I’ve even been known to give him advice on stock market investments.

  “That’s what I do, Anne. I trade on the Stock Exchange. I invest in good, growing companies. I don’t go for any get-rich-quick schemes. I look for only solid, reputable companies, just as Henry taught me.”

  Ruth stood, straightened her dress and then sat back down. “So, enough of my history. That isn’t what you came up to talk to me about. You want to know why I got upset about Doctor Bronson coming.”

&
nbsp; Anne gave Ruth a bit of a smile. “Yes.”

  “Well I came up here to try and figure it out myself.”

  “Oh! Do you want me to go away? We could talk about it later if you would like.”

  “No. No.” Ruth let out a long lung-full of air. “What it comes to, Anne, is I’m not upset with you. I think I’m just scared. I admit that at first I thought it was just some kind of weird dreams you were having. Granted, I believed you about the Plymouth sinking, but Johnny was on it and I wasn’t taking any chances. Until I opened the paper this morning and saw the words confirming your prediction about Mussolini, I honestly still thought you were a little off your rocker. Since then, all morning, I’ve been excited. And then I got upset because your doctor is coming and I came up here and looked in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw.”

  Her rocker began moving, rocking slowly. For a full minute Ruth continued the rhythmic motions in silence. Anne didn’t know what to say. Why was Ruth excited about something that sent Anne spiraling into confusion every time she turned around? What was there to be excited about?

  “That’s what it is,” Ruth said suddenly, apparently finding the answer in her thoughts. “I’m scared that this doctor will find out what is wrong with you and take away your gift. I’m being selfish and that’s not right.” She shook her head and rocked a little faster. “No! That’s not right at all! You’re like a crystal ball that suddenly fell into my hands and I have to guard it and protect it or else its power will go away. But you’re not a crystal ball. You are a human being and I have no right to claim ownership of you. I’m being selfish, very selfish, and I’m ashamed of myself.”