Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  Anne glanced back toward Ruth, who was still looking down at the books inside the glowing bubble of light. It was in that glance that the light flared and then went out. All that was left to see was Ruth silhouetted in the glow of the lantern light. “It’s gone, James,” Anne said. “The note is gone and I can’t see anything. Too late anyway. I’ll go get the lantern and we’ll try to find your hat. I’m sure it’s caught in the trees here somewhere.”

  When Anne walked up next to Ruth, they both looked down at the spot where the books had been sitting. “It worked.”

  “Yes. It did.”

  “I should be excited.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “Actually, I guess I am. It’s just that there’s so much waiting. Each time I get excited it’s followed by day after day of downers until the next ten seconds of excitement. Now what are they going to do until Tuesday?”

  James walked up next to them. “Did it work?”

  “Yep. You found your hat.”

  “Lucked out. What’s next?”

  “Don’t know. I’d like to think they have their stuff together. I’d expect some kind of confirmation.”

  “We should wait then,” James said.

  Anne felt rain on her face. “In the car. Let’s wait in the car.”

  Steven slipped his goggles to the top of his head as the whine died away, and stepped into the glass cage. He picked up the two books with the rock sitting on top and carried them over to his workstation.

  “Success, gentlemen. Let’s reconfigure quickly so we can send the confirmation.”

  Steven looked at the books. James stepped up next to him and opened the flyleaf of For Whom The Bell Tolls and pointed to the hand written inscription.

  Steven Waring,

  I pray you enjoy this more than “Notes on Boston”. Anne is charming, however a bit confused. I am envious that it is for you that her bell tolls.

  E. Hemingway

  “Steven!”

  Steven looked up at Jerry.

  “Let’s reconfigure and then get the reports out. You can read the books later.”

  Steven held the book up for Jerry to see. “She actually met Hemingway.”

  “Wonderful,” Jerry said. “Reconfigure now.”

  As Steven turned to his duties, James picked up the stone. He put it up to his nose and breathed in, hoping to smell something of his mother where her hands touched it. Nothing. It was just a rock. He wanted to smell the books, was sure Anne’s scent was on them. “May I keep this?” His voice was near a whisper. No one answered. He backed away, carrying the rock with him.

  “I think I should go out and look. Maybe we missed it.”

  “It hasn’t been that long. Besides, we’d see it.”

  “In this rain? I can’t see anything. I can hardly see my hand in front of my face in the car.”

  “First of all, Mom, I would think they have to change things to go from receive to send. It may be a complicated changeover. And, it’s a bright glow. I’m sure we’ll see it.” Despite her assurances to Ruth, to Anne it actually seemed forever. She lit her watch and saw it had only been seven minutes. What if they don’t ever get confirmation? What would that mean? It didn’t work or they don’t think of it?

  The car rocked as James changed position, and then all was still. The air smelled of wet clothes. They didn’t make it to the car before the rain hit full force. Anne pulled the coat tighter around her and tried to relax away the chill. Elizabeth Anne, who seemed to sleep unaffected through everything, stirred and then fell silent again. Without taking her eyes from the darkness where she knew Reverend Nelson’s grave was, Anne checked the blankets around Elizabeth Anne.

  She waited...

  ... and waited. Give Steven credit. He has thought ahead until now. The difference in days and daylight savings. He has accounted for it all. I’d have to say I’ve been impressed, except for the initial screw-up that got me here to begin with, which was more my fault than anyone else’s. Maybe someone else is thinking it all through. Maybe it isn’t Steven at all... give him more credit. He’s my husband. Why do I keep thinking of him as a bumbling idiot? Those are my father’s words.

  7:14

  Because he is a bumbling idiot. Living by himself, he’s probably starving to death trying to figure out how to heat up a can of soup.

  Hope he’s not eating out of the can...

  ... if he’s figured out how to get it open.

  Anne chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Ruth asked.

  “Oh, nothing... I was just thinking about Steven trying to figure out how to cook. I wonder how much weight he’s lost?” She chuckled again.

  “There it is.” James pointed but no one saw his hand in the dark.

  A glow grew against the trees and three car doors flew open. The rain hadn’t stopped, but no one cared. Ruth grabbed the umbrella, and James had the lantern. Anne ran into a grave marker she thought she went around, skinning her shin and falling in the mud. When she limped up next to Ruth and James, the circle was still aglow and James was trying to get the lantern lit under cover of the umbrella.

  The glow blossomed suddenly. Anne saw one of her Tupperware bowls appear and then blackness. A match flared in James’ hand allowing Anne enough visual to navigate past him. The match went out.

  “Damn!” James said.

  “You hold the umbrella and I’ll try.”

  “No, Ma! I’ll get it! Just give me a second.”

  Anne moved forward slowly, feeling with her hands until she touched the bowl, and then scooped it up. Another match flared and then the lantern came alive.

  “Better late than never, I say,” Ruth said.

  “I should have turned on the car headlights.”

  “We’re done. Let’s go.” Anne led them back to the car, not yet aware of the blood that was running down her pain-pulsing shin.

  While Ruth busily analyzed the Tupperware bowl, James stoked the fire. Anne stood with a towel around her neck and another around her shin looking down at the note lying on the table.

  Test successful.

  Let’s do live test on Tuesday. Use Charlie.

  We’re getting close.

  Love, Steven

  P.S. Charlie is the rabbit.

  Chapter 55

  Friday ~ November 5, 1943

  “Did we leave the door unlocked again?”

  James looked at his mother, who was holding the door open. “Stay out here.” He entered the house and listened – nothing – and then stepped quietly through every room, pausing on occasion to listen again. Finally, he came to the stairs leading up to the attic room they used for storage. So far there was nothing, no sign of forced entry, not a thing disturbed.

  He took a step to start up to the attic and then heard a sound behind him. In the same instant the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he swung around, shifting into his defense stance. Anne jumped back, got her feet tangled in the carpet, and would have fallen if not for James grabbing her. “You’re supposed to be outside,” he said angrily.

  “Got tired of waiting. Besides, Mom says she doesn’t actually remember locking the door and she was the last one out.”

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  Anne’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, oh.”

  “What?” He looked around.

  “I’m becoming a bad influence on you. You used the ‘H’ word.”

  “You shouldn’t have come in. If there’s someone here, you’ve just given me away.”

  “There’s no one here. The door was left unlocked. Simple as that.”

  “After you were nearly kidnapped, I’m not taking any chances.”

  “That was almost two months ago. Bronson is long gone – probably back to Germany, or somewhere in hiding far away.”

  “Maybe.” James couldn’t deny her logic. The case had already been put into an inactive file, leaving the responsibility on the Navy. “But let me look in the attic. That’s all that’s left.”
/>
  “Whatever gets you excited.”

  James shook his head and turned back to the attic stairs. He did feel a little foolish... but... be thorough. He moved up, one quiet step at a time, pausing in consideration of stepping over the squeaky board and then didn’t. The step announced his weight through the otherwise quiet house. He continued on up and pushed the door open.

  Ruth paced back and forth on the porch with Elizabeth Anne. She was glad they took the time to get dry before driving back. By the time they got home, it didn’t appear as though it had rained at all.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said in response to Elizabeth Anne’s fussing. “We’ll be inside in just a second.” She stopped at the door and listened. Quiet. She wished Anne hadn’t gone in, even if she was sure she didn’t lock the door. Doesn’t mean someone didn’t go in. “No, siree, Sweetie.” She started walking and rocking again. “Doesn’t mean anything but more of a chance someone is in there.” She stopped to listen again. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  “You should fix that step,” Anne said just as James’ dark form disappeared through the attic door. She suddenly found herself standing alone in the hall, staring at the door that swung shut of its own accord. She may have told James she wasn’t worried, but inside was the, “What if?” If Bronson was back to get her, the attic was a logical place to hide until the middle of the night. If he got her in her sleep with the ether, she probably wouldn’t even be able to make a sound before the gas took hold, let alone grab his balls again. All he would have to do is get on top of her on the bed and it would all be over.

  But it’s been two months. What are the chances?

  The seconds ticked by.

  “James!”

  There was no answer. She started up the steps. “James,” she said louder and then came his voice...

  urgent...

  a crash...

  glass breaking.

  She bolted off the steps and looked at the dark door. The only light was from Ruth’s bedroom, which James left on. She backed up, one cautious step at a time toward the stairs that led down to the main floor, keeping her eyes on the attic door, listening for his voice or maybe Bronson’s voice. If Bronson appeared, she could make it down and out of the house, onto the street. He wouldn’t try to grab me there, would he?

  She felt the corner of the banister, knew all she had to do was turn and step down. The door hung closed, hiding the events going on in its attic room. She felt the spots of dampness still clinging in the creases and folds of her clothes and shivered as a chill ran through her. Her mouth was dry and unresponsive when she tried to call his name again. As the seconds ticked by, the fear inside her kept growing. She noticed the iron grip her hand had on the banister.

  It’s nothing. He just stumbled, knocked something over... a lamp or vase. This isn’t like you, Anne... relax... shake it off. There’s no one up there. He’s taking his time looking in all the corners, or cleaning up whatever it was he knocked over.

  Get a grip... get real.

  She let loose of the banister, allowing her hand to dangle at her side. What if he fell and needs help? How long do I stand here waiting while he lays unconscious and bleeds to death from a glass cut? One form of fear turned into another and she started back toward the attic stairs.

  Three steps... four... five... She stopped as the sixth step protested her weight – a foreign sound in an otherwise fearfully quiet house. Just go on up, open the door, and help him. She saw the light switch that would illuminate the dark approach to the attic entrance. She flipped it up and then, without allowing herself to change her mind, rushed up the final steps, put one hand on the door and reached for the knob.

  The door suddenly opened.

  Anne’s weight sent her forward with the swing of the door. Her foot caught on a step and she fell flat on her stomach, seeing only boots and a bloodied hand closing around her arm.

  Ruth stopped her pacing again to listen. Nothing. Dark and quiet.

  What’s taking so long? Where are they?

  She started to pace again when she heard Anne scream.

  Anne screamed when she saw the blood. The boots jumped back taking the hand with them. She scrambled backwards and by the third step had herself turned and ready to race away.

  “Anne! It’s me.”

  She looked up to see James standing in the doorway, blood dripping from the tips of his fingers.

  “What?” She tried to look past him, see if Bronson, or someone was lying on the floor.

  “I knocked over a stack of books and then put my hand through a storm window.”

  “Oh my God! Are you cut badly? Look at your hand. You’re bleeding all over.”

  He held his hand in front of his face. “Maybe it’s worse than I thought.”

  “Get down here – in the bathroom. Let’s get a look at it.”

  He followed her into the bathroom, noticing the bloody handprint on the sleeve of her coat.

  “Jeeze! You scared me,” she said. “When the door opened all I saw was a bloody hand reaching for me and I about peed my pants. I thought someone had chopped you up and I was next.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Look at you. Looks like your entire arm has been sliced up. Where’s the cut?”

  He stuck his hand under the running water and then showed her the gushing wound.

  “That’s where all the blood’s coming from? That’s not that bad.”

  James sat on the toilet seat and watched her work on him. Towels and bandages, and then the iodine. He gritted his teeth against the sting; fearful she’d notice. When she was done, she took off her coat and soaked the sleeve in cold water.

  “You’re going to have to do the same, James. You’ve got blood everywhere. Get your clothes off and we’ll get Mom to get it all soaking in cold water... Oh, Jeeze! She’s probably still waiting out on the porch with Elizabeth Anne. I’ll go get her. You go get changed.”

  Anne dashed out, down the stairs, and out the front door. “Mom!”

  She wasn’t there. Anne walked back in through the kitchen and looked out the back porch. “Mom!”

  She returned to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “James, is Mom up there?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t find her.” She turned back to the front door and came face to face with two Charleston police officers.

  Ruth offered the coffee pot around but only refilled her own cup. She put the pot back on the stove. “When Anne screamed, all I could think to do was run to the neighbors’. I had Elizabeth Anne so I couldn’t go in.”

  “You did the right thing, Ma,” James said.

  “You betcha, Mrs. Lamric,” Officer Jones confirmed. “And you, Mrs. Waring, shouldn’t have gone in at all. James is trained for that sort of thing. Let the men folk handle it.”

  “Yeah,” Anne said. “Only a highly trained male police officer could have fended off a stack of attacking books and come away with just a cut.”

  James turned red and everyone else laughed. Jones slapped him on the back. “A fine job, James. You’re a regular hero. Rank you right up there with getting the cat out of old Mrs. Daniel’s tree. Did he ever tell you about Mrs. Daniel’s cat, Mrs. Waring?”

  Anne grinned. “No. I’d love to hear it, though.”

  “It’s getting late guys,” James interrupted. “I’ve got to get ready to go on duty.”

  Jones ignored him. “James and Roger just happened to be passing when Mrs. Daniels waved them down, pointing up at her cat raising a ruckus because he can’t get out of her big old magnolia tree. Well, he sure could hear the cat but couldn’t see hide nor hair of him in all the big leaves. So, James crawled under and started working his way up a couple branches. When he finally saw the cat and managed to get one hand to within claw length, the cat decided he didn’t want James’ help, and let him know by drawing blood from a couple of fingers. The cat then jumped on his head and ran down his back using his claws for traction. It hit the ground,
and then ran across the street and got run over by a car.”

  “Oh my God!”

  Jones laughed. “And then he thought old Mrs. Daniels had a heart attack or something.”

  “That’s awful.”

  Jones tried to stifle his laugh. “Yes it was, but when you look back on it... James came clamoring out of the tree, unaware of what has happened because he couldn’t see anything from inside the tree, only to find a dead cat and Mrs. Daniels sprawled on her back on her front lawn.”

  “Oh, jeeze!”

  “She was fine. The shock caused lack of oxygen to her brain and she passed out.”

  “Isn’t it time to go back on duty, Jones?” James said.

  “Yeah, maybe so. Have James tell you about how long it took him to find Mrs. Daniels another cat that looked just like that one.”

  Anne looked at James.

  “Three months,” he said.

  Jones stood and thanked Ruth for the coffee. “Needless to say, she doesn’t call James to get her cat out of the tree any more.”

  “No, I guess not,” Anne said, still a little shocked by the whole story.

  After the officers left and James convinced his mother he would clean up the broken glass after his shift in the morning, Anne took Elizabeth Anne upstairs and put her down for the night. When she walked into the bedroom, something didn’t seem right. She stood just inside the door for twenty seconds, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It wasn’t until after she kissed the already sleeping child and turned around that she saw it – the rumpled bed. It wasn’t like someone had been in it but more like someone had been on it – taking a nap.

  Of course, she hadn’t been here since Monday night. Maybe Ruth’s sister came down from Columbus – or James. No. He’s not like that. He’s much too proper to do such a thing. Probably a houseguest Ruth hasn’t mentioned. It’s her house after all. Why should she have to mention it? She decided she would ask Ruth anyway, just to satisfy her own peace-of-mind. When she returned to the kitchen, Ruth was frantically putting together a lunch for James. Anne pitched in and they were able to hand it to him as he went out the door.