James remembered reading about that at least a dozen times. “Sure. A man goes back in time and kills his grandfather before his father can be conceived. That would make his own existence impossible, therefore he could not go back and kill his grandfather, which means his grandfather would conceive his father and thus the man would be born and grow to go back in time to kill his grandfather.”
“Right. But consider someone who would not have the thought to kill his, or her own grandfather. The action of that person, let’s use Anne as the example, suddenly dropping back in time when she wasn’t meant to be there would cause a series of effects which would grow astronomically, changing the entire world. I mean, let’s figure that her sudden presence at Roper Hospital changed another event that might have happened. Let’s say someone was delayed on a journey somewhere, across town or whatever, and because of that delay they got into an accident and died, or didn’t get into an accident and didn’t die, or they created some other action which led to someone else creating an action which led to someone else dying or not dying. Then that someone else may or may not have sired the person who would become the President of the United States, and thus among many other things, affect relations with some other country which results in a major war. Just her presence in the first hour, let alone for nearly three weeks, should have changed the world forever, but we three are still here, so what does that tell you?”
James closed his mouth. “I’ve thought about that, to be truthful with you. I’ve come up with the old adage, what came first - the chicken or the egg?”
“Precisely!” Steven jumped up. “You have to have one before the other and the other before the one, but we still have them both. We have to have history before we can have Anne, but we have to have Anne to ensure we have history. Didn’t you tell me that Anne believed she was there to ensure history takes place exactly as it should?”
James nodded his head.
“Well, there you go. Whatever happens, happens and no matter what you tell us, we can’t change it.”
James looked from Steven to Howard who raised his eyebrows.
“Probably, James,” Howard said, “whatever you tell us, you have to tell us because it will ensure things will happen as they are supposed to.”
James wiped at the sweat on his face with the napkin from the donut. “November 12,” he mumbled.
“November what?” Steven asked, leaning across the table and laying his arm in the spilled coffee.
“12th. November 12,” James said more clearly, “1943.”
Both Steven and Howard looked toward a twelve-month calendar hanging above the sofa. “Three and a half months,” Howard said. “A Thursday.”
“Friday to Anne,” James said.
Steven continued staring at the calendar. “I didn’t think we could do it that fast.”
Howard nodded his head. “So, when do we send the messages saying we are testing?”
James leaned back in his chair. “The first arrived Tuesday, October 26. It only said you were testing. The second was November 2 saying you were still working out problems, but you wanted her to have something ready for a test on November 5. Following that test there will be another on November 9. That will be the final test. You will then tell her to be ready at precisely 7:00 p.m. on the 12th.”
Still looking at the calendar, Howard said, “Monday nights.” He pointed toward James. “Tuesdays in 1943.”
“That’s what Steven told her.”
“Hmm!” Howard mused. “Steven told her Tuesday nights at 7:00 p.m. How did she know he meant Tuesday night our time, not Tuesday night her time?”
“She didn’t,” James said, “and she didn’t chance to guess. She was there every Tuesday and Wednesday night at 7:00 and 8:00.”
They both looked at him, questioning.
“She also didn’t know if you took into account that there was no daylight-saving time in 1943. Again, she was taking no chances at guessing.”
Howard leaned back in his chair and nodded his head. “So, for more than three months she faithfully waited at the appointed place, the graveyard, twice... no, four times a week.”
At this point, James didn’t acknowledge Howard’s comment. After all, he didn’t ask a question. He only made a statement. How would he explain that Anne didn’t get Steven’s letter until the middle of September; that it was by pure luck she got it at all? How would he say that it wasn’t until September 12 that she found the graveyard and the grave marker with the inscription; that she was full of hope, knowing then who she really was and where she came from, full of fear that after two months she may never hear from her husband again; that he may have already tried and accepted failure?
“Let’s get back to it,” Steven said. “We have a time-line now. We can take the dates James just gave us and back schedule from there. We’ll have her home before Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll be right with you,” Howard said, moving toward the coffee pot. Steven disappeared out the door, coffee dripping off his forearm. Howard said quietly to James while draining coffee into his cup, “It’s not that simple, is it?”
“No.”
“Something else happened you don’t want to tell Steven about, the reason you’re not so sure she returned.”
“He doesn’t need to be stressed any more than he is. I’m glad he worked the dates out of me. Now he has hope.”
“So what happened?”
James stood and walked over to where Howard was dumping a spoonful of sugar into his cup. “Someone else figured out who Anne was, that she was a time traveler from the future. He wanted her knowledge for Germany’s war efforts.”
“A spy?”
“Yes. November 12, the night Anne and Elizabeth were to be taken back to now, 1987, I arrived late. My car broke down. I got there just in time to find this person about to kidnap them, before the quantum jump as you call it. They were sitting in a circle of light. I tackled him and we fought, but he got the better of me. My head hit a gravestone and I blacked out. When I awoke, all three of them were gone. I didn’t know if they came home or if he got them first. I never saw them again.”
“Jesus! So you really don’t have any idea what will happen come November 12.”
“I’ve waited 44 years to find out.”
Chapter 27
Friday ~ August 6, 1943
Anne and Ruth sat in the darkened living room. James stood near the window looking out, watching and waiting. No one made a sound, not even Elizabeth Anne who suckled quietly underneath a tent of clean diaper. James still was embarrassed by Anne nursing her baby and would vacate the room whenever possible.
“As natural as breathing,” his mother said many times. “Get used to it.” He thought he was getting used to it until he walked in on her one morning. She had just finished feeding Elizabeth and was standing in plain view with the infant in one arm digging for a diaper with the other, her blouse wide open and no other covering. He closed his eyes, stammered his apologies, turned around and ran into the doorjamb.
Get used to it? Not possible!
The silence dragged on, each second seeming to take an entire minute. The clock chimed the bottom of the hour.
“He’s late,” Ruth said.
Anne stood and put Elizabeth in the bassinet and then buttoned her blouse and stepped next to James. She crossed her arms. More long seconds slipped by, and then they saw him. He approached quickly, going by the neighbor house, throwing without pausing. He did the same at the Lamric house without noticing the two figures watching from the darkness behind the big window.
“Is anyone going to get it?” Ruth said quietly.
James found himself torn between retrieving the morning News and Courier and remaining rooted next to the cause of his growing palpitations. Her arm brushed his and his body involuntarily jerked away, contrary to what his mind wanted which was to wrap his entire self around her. As always, he gave in to his instinct to maintain the distance. He turned away and walked to the front door,
retrieved the paper and carried it into the kitchen.
At the kitchen table he spread the paper full open and made sure his mother stood in between him and Anne. Ruth turned the pages as all three of them scanned the headings.
When none of them spotted what they were looking for, Ruth turned to the front and started over. Anne turned away. “It makes sense that it’s not there. Only the families of those on board would know very soon, and probably not even yet for them. Do you know anyone on board? Besides Johnny, was there anyone from here in Charleston?”
“Johnny talked of a buddy, but I don’t know who,” Ruth said without taking her eyes from the paper.
“I know some Navy people,” James said. “Maybe I can find out something. I’ll use my influence.”
Ruth closed the newspaper. “Yes, James. Get some sleep, and then see what you can find out.”
James managed to sleep only a couple hours. His shift had ended at 2:00. He was home by 2:30 but simply lay and stared at the ceiling until 6:00 when he got up, made coffee for Anne and his mother, and then waited with them for the morning paper. He was surprised he had fallen asleep afterwards. He was so sure he wouldn’t, that he didn’t even bother telling his mother to wake him. He wanted to make the call to the shipyard at 8:00. Instead he dragged himself from a deep sleep at almost 9:00. After splashing cold water on his face he went down to the telephone.
Admiral Harris’ number was one that James kept in the back of his notebook. It was less than a year ago when the admiral’s oldest daughter, Priscilla James Decker, found her husband, Samuel Decker, lying in a pool of blood in back of his clothing store in downtown Charleston. He had resisted in a robbery and received the sharp edge of a knife as his reward. Her scream reached James and Roger nearly two blocks away. If not for James’ quick response, her husband would certainly have bled to death.
That was the second encounter with Admiral Wilson Harris. The first was only a few months before, just outside the shipyard involving one of the admiral’s senior officers, a situation James handled professionally and diplomatically. When they met again in the admiral’s son-in-law’s hospital room, the admiral handed James his card and said, “You call me if you need anything.”
He dialed the number on the card. The admiral’s secretary put him straight through to Admiral Harris himself. In 45 minutes he was in the admiral’s office.
“Did you say you have a brother on the USS Plymouth, Officer Lamric?”
“No, Sir. He was, but was transferred to the USS Wadsworth a couple weeks ago.” James allowed himself to settle onto one of the plush chairs facing the admiral’s desk.
“I see.” Admiral Harris leaned back in his chair. “What then is your interest in the ship now?”
This was the question James hoped Admiral Harris would not ask. What reason would James have for calling on the highest-ranking officer in the shipyard? Why would he want this as the return for saving his son-in-law’s life? James knew these were the questions running through the admiral’s head. “I’m not sure I’m really at liberty to say.”
“That’s fine, but I think I’ll need more than that. As you know, ships’ movements are classified information.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m not asking for what her mission is or where she is heading. I’m only asking what her operational status is... ah, is she underway or in port... ah... I guess what I’m wondering is, has she suffered any damage in the last day or so? I figure you might know, or would know how to find out.”
“And your reason for wanting to know?”
James shifted forward in his chair.
“Let me ask you this, James. What gives you the idea the USS Plymouth has been damaged?”
James resigned back into his chair and then straightened his posture. “I have a friend who had a premonition.”
“A premonition?”
“Yes, Sir.” James took a deep breath. “She said the USS Plymouth would be sunk by a German U-boat.”
“She?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And when did she say this would take place?”
“August 5. Yesterday. Off the coast of North Carolina and Virginia.”
“Hmm!” Admiral Harris stood. “So, this lady friend of yours awoke this morning, I suppose, having dreamed of this. Very interesting. But I doubt I would put much stock in a woman’s dream. Just coincidental.”
“Coincidental, Admiral? Then it really did happen!”
“Unfortunately, James, I can’t tell you otherwise. Apparently you’ve been hoaxed, Mr. Lamric. Obviously she got wind somehow last night and led you to believe she had this premonition.”
“If that were the case Admiral, I wouldn’t be here. She foretold of the sinking two weeks ago. July 21 to be exact.”
The admiral turned toward James and raised his eyebrows.
“That’s the second thing she’s foretold correctly. Two out of two.”
“What was the other?”
“Actually, I guess there were two others, although one she foretold on the day it was happening. On July 19 she told me the Allied forces were in the process of bombing Rome. She then said that Mussolini would be removed from office and arrested on July 26 and that Marshal Badoglio would be appointed in his place. It happened exactly the way she said.”
“Hmm! Interesting.” He sat back down at his desk. “Very interesting indeed. Your brother transferred to a different ship because she advised him it would be sunk.”
“No, Sir. Not exactly. Johnny had already been offered the transfer to fill a vacated billet onboard the Wadsworth. Anne, my friend, simply encouraged him to take it. She didn’t tell him why.”
“But she told you.”
“Afterwards. Yes, sir. And my mother.”
“What you want from me then, James, is confirmation that your friend is a walking fortune teller, not a looney.”
“In a sense, yes, Sir.” James relaxed back into his chair. “If it means anything, she says 85 men are rescued from the sea. Only 70 will survive.”
“70? Out of...”
“204, Sir.”
“She claims to know those details?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Amazing. Just out of curiosity, I’ll be keeping an eye on the survivor numbers.”
“I’ve never been a believer in such things, Admiral, fortune tellers and such. This truly has changed my mind.”
“Has she told you other things, events yet to happen?”
James squirmed again. He didn’t want to say any more, but to lie to an Admiral... “Yes, Sir.”
“Like what?”
James inhaled. “Just that Italy will surrender September 3, but it will be kept a secret for five days.”
“Hmm! Why would they keep it a secret?”
“She didn’t say.”
Admiral Harris turned his chair toward the window and gazed across the shipyard buildings for a time. “Very interesting.” He turned back to James. “I’ve a meeting in a few minutes. I expect I was able to provide you with the information you needed.”
“Yes, Sir.” James stood, relieved that the visit was over.
“It’s a dark period for our nation, James. A dark period for the entire free world. So many of our boys have died and so many more will die before this is all over. You can be sure of that. I have a son out there myself. His mother awakens often in the middle of the night, gasping in panic over a dream of him coming home in a box. Although such has not come to pass, the thought, the dream ignites her worst fears. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be a woman whose dreams of men dying actually come true.” The admiral walked to the door and opened it. “Thank you for coming by. My prayers to your friend. If you need anything else, please call.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
When James returned home, he walked into the living room to find Anne talking with Dr. Bronson. Their scheduled sessions were on Friday afternoons. When Bronson insisted on twice a week, Anne agreed but on the condition that one would be away f
rom the Lamric house. Tuesdays they met at Dr. Bronson’s home, only a few blocks away. It made for a pleasant walk, she told James and Ruth. Ruth said it was good to get out.
James apologized when she saw the two of them conversing across the coffee table. He started to back out of the room.
“James,” Anne called.
He looked back in.
“Did you find out?”
“Yes.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother is upstairs.” James headed up the stairs and Anne turned back to Dr. Bronson. “I’m sorry. You were saying something about an exercise.”
“An experiment really,” Bronson said. “I may have come upon a new way to treat, or should I say, investigate your type of amnesia. I would like to record your thoughts.”
“Record?”
“Yes. I’ve been able to obtain a machine that will record on vinyl discs, like your records with music. Same thing actually. By recording you talking of your memories we can play them back and try and find some answers which may not have been obvious at the time.”
Anne was skeptical but had no idea why. As far as she knew, psychiatrists always recorded sessions with their patients. But of course that was in that other life her head was always full of. “I guess I don’t fully get the picture, Doctor. You think by listening to our sessions another time or two...” She considered it for a few seconds. “Yes, okay. Maybe I see. It’s like a third person, who by watching but not participating can sometimes see things the other two can’t. Would you be conferring with another doctor on this?”
“No, no. At least not at this point. Your analogy of the third person is very good. To keep your dilemma quiet, confidential you might say, I would act as the third party. I’ll listen to the recordings at another time when I’m alone, in a different frame of mind. Maybe this will allow me to see it from another angle.”
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