Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Well?” Ruth asked.

  Anne looked down at Elizabeth. “I’m scared.”

  “What’s there to be scared of?”

  “I might find another letter telling me I’m here for the rest of my life. Or, worse, I’ll find nothing at all and for the rest of my life I’ll never know.”

  “Sitting here is the same as not knowing. At least getting out there you have a chance. Do you remember which gravestone it is?”

  Anne looked out the side window, across the field to the edge of the tree line where several markers stood together. “Yes.”

  James got out and the next thing Anne knew he had her door open. She paused and then moved to slide out. Ruth took Elizabeth Anne and James stepped aside. The bright, sunny morning was gone, the sky covered by a sheet of gray. Rain, she thought. Smells like it. Feels like it. She stepped from the road into the grass and weeds, then started her trek across the field to the markers farthest away, avoiding a grave marker here and a gravestone there, some populated with flowers. And with that, so began the rain, very light at first, like a mist on a foggy night.

  It wasn’t a cold rain. Not yet. It would get heavier and the wet would seep into her clothes and then into her skin and on into her bones. She stopped in front of the marker she remembered, looked at the inscription and then at the ground all around. There was nothing but marble stone, grass, weeds and dirt, and a bouquet of flowers on a nearby grave.

  Slowly she began moving in a spiral out from the grave of he who lived and died a Christian, gradually working further and further away, looking for anything that might have blown into the grass and weeds – a letter, a note, a box, anything. She sensed James and Ruth nearby, also searching. James was in the trees. Nothing was said but they all searched together.

  Ruth and James gave up before she did and she suddenly found them standing next to her. “There’s nothing Anne,” Ruth said.

  “We’ll come back out Tuesday,” James said.

  “Every Tuesday for as long as you want,” Ruth added. “The letter said that it would take some time to rebuild so I wouldn’t give up hope.”

  “I know.” She saw water running off James’ nose and only then realized how hard it was raining. She had totally ignored it. “You two are soaked. Why don’t you go back to the car? I’m going to look a little more.”

  “We aren’t going back until you do.” Ruth pulled her hair back and wiped the water from her face. “I do think we have covered the area. If anything was sent, it’s gone. However, I don’t think anything was sent.”

  Anne looked at James and he nodded his head. Rain ran off the brim of his derby. She could feel the big drops pounding on her own head. “Should have brought an umbrella.”

  “More than one,” Ruth said.

  “Maybe three would have been nice,” James added.

  “You think so?” Anne said, grinning a little.

  “From the looks of this, it may not have done any good.”

  “I’m sorry.” A shiver dislodged her attempt at humor and she began to shake. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she said between tears and rivulets of rain running down her face.

  Ruth put her arms around her. “Let’s go home.”

  Anne buried her face into the crook of Ruth’s neck and cried.

  “We’re all going to be sick in bed tomorrow if we don’t get warm and dry. And you want to be well enough to be here Tuesday night, right?”

  Anne nodded her head and allowed Ruth to guide her back to the car. Then she suddenly stopped. “Where’s Elizabeth?”

  “You think I’d bring her out in this? She fell asleep. She’s on the back seat snoozing away. And don’t worry. I brought that pillow for a reason. It’s on the floor just in case she rolls off.”

  Anne smiled her thanks and they picked up their pace. Just as they got to the car, another came up behind and eased around James’ Desoto. Anne gave it no more than a glance as James opened her door. She started to move Elizabeth then heard a familiar voice.

  “Miss Annie!”

  There was no doubt she knew that voice. Her first real friend after landing in 1943, when she had no idea who she was or why everything was so crazy. She backed out into the rain and saw Gertie Thigpen trotting toward her, a jacket flapping over her head.

  “Miss Annie? I knows it was you!” Gertie exclaimed and gave Anne a hug.

  “Good to see you, Gertie.”

  “Yeah. My but you all wet.” She looked up at James. “Officer Lamric. You wet too. Whatcha all doing way outs this way? Ya all gots kin buried here in Casey?”

  Anne and James exchanged looks through the pouring rain. “No, Ma’am,” James said. “We’re just out for a Sunday drive.”

  There was a long pause while Gertie waited for more. “I have an interest in old grave stones,” Anne added. “A hobby, sort of.”

  Gertie nodded as though such a hobby was normal. “Do you gets your memory back?”

  “Ah... somewhat.”

  Ruth got out of the car.

  “Goodness sakes, here nother one. Ya’ll looks like ya fell in a lake, and still haven’t gotten out.”

  Anne laughed and shivered. “Gertie, this is Ruth Lamric, Officer Lamric’s mother. Ruth, this is Gertie Thigpen. We were room mates at the hospital for a couple days when Elizabeth was born.”

  “Good to meet you, Mrs. Lamric. But we stands out here make pleasents till we all catch the death. You all come home with us, dry in front of fire, and we compare babies. Sarah gots hot soup on.”

  “Well, ah...”

  “I no take no for answer. You get warm and dry before ya’s long trip home. Besides, this mights be beginning of a hurricane. Ya never knows.”

  There were several nods of agreement.

  “We just a short way.” Gertie returned to her car and they all piled in and followed.

  The log home – more of a Dutch colonial look – didn’t appear to be large enough to accommodate Gertie, Danny and six kids, but inside it was quite roomy. It was also not something Anne would have connected with Gertie. Two boys were in the car with Gertie and Danny. Anne remembered Danny from when he visited Gertie in the hospital. He held the door for them as they slogged through the puddles. Inside, the boys disappeared somewhere in the dim light. It was a few seconds before Anne’s eyes adjusted enough that she saw the stairs. She moved toward the fire.

  “Sarah, Marie, Charlie, Bruster, Heather. Gets down here. We gots company. You all show your manners now. You hear!”

  Anne’s first impression wasn’t what she expected. The word, “Solid” came to mind. She expected messy and cluttered. Although certainly not neat or tidy, it was orderly. Her shivers dropped off immediately upon entering but she still got as close as she could to the huge rock fireplace. Danny was adding wood.

  “That should dry you all up in a jiff, Miss Annie,” He said.

  “Thank you. But please call me Anne. I’m certainly not a Miss.”

  Danny laughed. “I guess I picked that up from Gertie. She calls everyone younger than her, Miss.”

  “I’m Ruth, and this is my son, James.”

  “Ruth, James and Anne. You get yourselves up close here.”

  With her back to the fire, Anne’s eyes continued to adjust to the light, very little of which came from the dreary out doors. Gertie was lighting oil lamps. Toward the top of the stairs she saw one of the boys who had jumped out of the car, as well as a girl of about five with a beautiful heart-shaped face. They were coming down slowly; two sets of big eyes on their guests.

  “Charlie! Go up and get three towels,” Danny ordered.

  The young boy turned and scrambled back up the stairs. The girl plopped her bottom onto a step, pulled her knees up under her dress, and stared.

  “Sarah!” Gertie called. “Gets everyone down here and brings Samuel with ya.”

  “Yes, Ma,” a voice called back.

  Give me some electricity, Anne thought, and I could live here. It reminded her a lot of a summer cabin in N
ew Hampshire where she spent a week with some friends one summer. Except here there weren’t any stuffed animal heads hanging on the walls. Instead, there were bookshelves on every available wall space. She had an urge to investigate the titles. The urge to stay close to the warm fire was stronger.

  “Isn’t this nice!” Ruth said. “Did you build this house, Danny?”

  “No, Ma’am. My father did. Let me get you all some chairs.” He disappeared for a moment and then returned with two heavy chairs, went back for another, and then disappeared up the stairs.

  “Just make yourselves comfortable,” Gertie said. “We visits in a minute. This is Heather. You say hi, Heather.” Gertie went out through a door.

  “Isn’t this an interesting house, James?” Ruth said. “Where do you think they got their furniture? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Neither have I,” James said.

  “I have,” said Anne. They both turned to look at her. “There’s a manufacturer and showroom in Summerville. They distribute all over the state, maybe the southeast. It’s all handmade, just like this.”

  “But that’s 44 years from now,” Ruth corrected.

  “Exactly. The name of the company is, Low Country Wood Artists.”

  “Good name.”

  Anne lowered her voice and leaned in close the Ruth. “‘Forty years serving the Low Country,’ was their motto in a recent anniversary celebration sale. I was in the store just hours before I came here, July 17. Do you know who started the business?”

  They both looked at her.

  “Daniel Thigpen.”

  “Oh! Oh my!”

  The realization gave Anne the shivers.

  While they were talking Heather stood and came the remainder of the way down the stairs, her pink toes peaking out from under her long cotton dress. She crossed halfway to the group, angling toward Anne, away from James sitting on the other side.

  “I think you scare her, James,” Ruth said.

  “I don’t think so,” Anne said. “I think she wants to see the baby. Don’t you sweetie?” Heather stopped. Her eyes shifted between Anne and the bundle on her lap. Anne turned Elizabeth Anne around and pulled back the blanket. “You can come closer, Heather,” Anne encouraged. “Her name is Elizabeth Anne.”

  Heather edged forward, her eyes on the baby, occasionally looking at Anne, and sometimes darting her eyes briefly to James. Anne was amazed how such a solemn, serious face could say so much with such big, brown eyes. She could see the fear of the big man, the great curiosity over the bundle of baby girl, and the growing trust for the lady holding the girl. She continued to step carefully until she was standing next to Anne.

  “You have a little baby brother, don’t you?” Anne asked.

  Without looking away from Elizabeth she nodded her head.

  “What is his name?”

  Heather glanced at James, then Ruth, then back to Anne. “Samuel,” she said in a voice Anne had to strain to hear.

  “Samuel. That’s nice. Do you like your brother?”

  Heather nodded. “Samuel Cooper,” she added in the same soft voice.

  “Samuel Cooper is a fine name. Would you like to hold Elizabeth Anne?”

  Still no change in the face, except for the eyes and they said everything. “Yes, Ma’am,” the voice managed to whisper.

  “Okay. Sit on the floor and I’ll place her in your lap.”

  Heather sat gracefully with her legs crossed in front of her and accepted Elizabeth Anne in her lap.

  “I think she likes you, Heather,” Ruth said.

  Heather grinned up at her.

  “Do you get to hold your baby brother?”

  “Sometimes,” Heather whispered. “He’s heavy.”

  “Heavy!” said Ruth in astonishment.

  Anne took advantage of Ruth’s attention on Heather and Elizabeth Anne, pulled a hairbrush from her bag and turned herself to face the fire. As her front side heated, she pulled the brush through her hair and considered her options.

  What options? It’s been two months.

  Memories. Everything she ever had or ever was, now consisted only of memories.

  Memories of the future. Not my future. My past. In twenty years I can see myself born.

  Not possible.

  Not even conceivable.

  My mother is a baby right now. In Chicago.

  I’m twenty-four years older than my mother.

  Incomprehensible!

  No wonder everyone looked at her funny in the hospital when she started spouting off phone numbers, her doctor’s name, Goose Creek. She’s surprised they didn’t have her committed.

  If it weren’t for James and Ruth, where would I have gone? Now what’s to become of me?

  “Miss Annie.”

  Buried in her thoughts and the vision of dancing flames, Anne wasn’t aware that the entire Thigpen family had gathered. She turned to find a line of five children, tallest to shortest, standing before her. The tallest was holding Samuel. Ruth had taken Elizabeth Anne from Heather.

  “Miss Annie. This is Heather.” Gertie placed her hand on the little girl’s head. “She’s five.” She moved her hand to the next child. “This is Bruster. He’s seven. Charlie is eight. Gives them the towels, Charlie.”

  Charlie stepped forward with his armload of towels and then returned to his position. “Thank you, Charlie,” the three of them said.

  “Marie here is eleven and my oldest, Sarah, is thirteen. Ands of course you remembers Samuel Cooper. Children, this is Mrs. Waring and her baby, Elizabeth Anne. We was in the hospital together. This is Mrs. Lamric and her son Mister Lamric. Mister Lamric is a Police Officer.”

  All five sets of eyes went straight to James. Ruth laughed.

  “Come,” Gertie said. “Soup’s ready.”

  Anne looked to see that the huge table was set with bowls and spoons. How long was she lost in the fire, in her thoughts? The table was bare when she had turned around.

  The table was big enough to accommodate all twelve of them, the babies in their mothers’ laps. The conversation started slow, with Anne, Gertie and Ruth talking babies, and Danny and James talking war. The children sipped their soup and listened.

  When the conversation lulled and things seemed to turn toward the side of uncomfortable, Anne asked Danny, “Where are your manufacturing facilities?”

  Danny looked at Gertie and then back at her. “Manufacturing?”

  “Sure. You build all your furniture, don’t you?”

  “Well, ah, most of it.”

  “You must build it somewhere. Where is your shop?”

  “Oh! I’ve converted part of the barn.”

  “Do you sell much of your work?”

  “I just do this for us, and a few friends. Who’d want to buy it?”

  “Lots of people, Danny.” She ran her hand over the table. “This is craftsmanship. You are a...” she paused for a second, considered whether to say it or not, then added, “wood artist.” An image popped into Anne’s inner vision. Summerville Journal, July 8, 1987. On page two under business highlights, a headline reads, Summerville Business Celebrates 40 Years! Her inner eye scans the article. She sees the history of Low Country Wood Artists, and learns of the passing of Danny in 1981 following Gertie’s death from cancer only a year earlier. She learns of Samuel being killed in action in Vietnam in 1965, and Charlie and Bruster working the business as wood artists just like their father. She learns that Heather is the main figurehead of Low Country Wood Artists, which opened its doors in Summerville July 17, 1947.

  A shiver ran through the center of her core as she realized she knew the future of this family. She knew what Danny and Gertie would die, but not before little Samuel will be taken in a senseless war. But she doesn’t know of Sarah or Marie. Are they not mentioned because they are not active in the business or did something happen to them early on?

  Anne didn’t like it. She didn’t like this level of knowing. To see the future of the country or the world was one th
ing, but to see when and how people sitting right at the table with her, would die – that was incomprehensible – abnormal.

  And then Anne realized that just by being here, she was meddling, influencing the future. Why did she say the words, wood artist?

  “That’s amazing!” Suddenly Danny leaned back in his chair. “Did you hear that Gertie? That’s absolutely amazing! Or did you tell her that?”

  “Tell her what, Danny?” Gertie looked rather confused.

  “About wood artist. We were just talking about that yesterday. Remember?”

  Gertie shook her head.

  “You said you thought I was a wood artist.”

  Gertie continued with the blank look.

  “I said that, Daddy.”

  “Sarah!... I guess you’re right. It was you who said that. Anyway, I think it’s odd that two people, one my daughter and one someone I didn’t even know before today except for a brief meeting at the hospital several months ago, have come up with such a unique thought only a day apart.”

  “I don’t know if it’s all that unique,” Anne said. “Sarah and I just happened to both recognize craftsmanship is all. Right, Sarah?”

  Sarah smiled and nodded.

  Without me the words, wood artist, have already been brought up. Will they be put together with the name, Low Country? Will they think of that or am I here to do that for them? Do I have a purpose here, or am I just meddling? Anne found herself delving deeper into her inner self again, trying to sort out what her impact as a time traveler is or will be on history. And then she remembered the discussion she had with Ruth a month back when Ruth actually brought up the very subject of time travel and Anne had to argue against it because she was convinced there was absolutely no possible way. All her arguments are now out the door... or are they? Can she change history, and thus the future? But just the very basics of the idea make it impossible.

  Impossible.

  Impossible.

  “Impossible.”

  “Impossible?” Danny said.

  Anne looked at him. “What?”

  “You said impossible.”

  “I did? Oh! I was thinking of something else. Sorry. I get to drifting off now and than.”

  “She had amnesia for a time,” Gertie said.