“Anyway,” Henry said, “that was it. We compared pictures by mail to confirm our suspicions and then a month later I arranged a meeting in Miami.”
“Sounds like one of those happy reunion stories,” Abigail said.
“Not really,” Francine replied. “My brother was a jerk 50 years ago and still is.”
“No argument there,” Henry said.
The table went silent for a few seconds. “So,” James said, turning to Wilson. “It seems your grandfather is the one who brought you all together.”
“Quite right. He had a vision – literally according to him – that a company needed to be formed to fund research into time travel. Grandfather and I are very close, have been since I was old enough to understand he always carried jelly beans in his pocket.
“Right after he had his ‘vision’ he brought Gracy and me into a meeting. All I knew about this whole thing then was that he and Aunt Gracy had this fascination about time travel. They told me their stories and I humored them with appropriate nods and such. He wanted to form a company and I figured, sure, why not. I could play along for a while just to see where it would go. Like Henry, I wasn’t totally convinced until Nixon resigned. I heard the tapes and met Sam and Francine for the first time the same night that Henry did.”
“I didn’t know that,” Henry said. “I thought you were already on board.”
“Nope. Not even close.”
“And so the company was formed,” Sam said. “Broad Horizons. It only consisted of the Chief Executive Officer, the Board of Directors, and a Chairman of the Board.”
“The chairman was the Admiral?” James asked.
“Of course – still is.”
“He’s still alive!”
“He’s in a home in Jacksonville. For his age, his physical health is not bad, but he is well into Alzheimer's.”
“Does he recognize anyone or remember anything?”
“He used to, but not much anymore. It was soon after we selected the team that his mind began slipping. Broad Horizons was his vision. We decided that as long as he was alive he’d remain chairman, or until the company was dissolved.”
“Dissolved?”
“It was also part of his vision that once this was over, Broad Horizons would cease to exist and all capital disbursed among the officers, employees, and participants. Of all of us, Admiral Harris is the wealthiest. He began building his right after the war, based on a few things Anne told him. Francine and I are probably next, not starting seriously until 1963. That’s also about the time Wilson began, based upon his grandfather’s advice and gift of start-up capital. Gracy began in the 50’s, right Gracy?”
“Yes, but a lot of mine got spent later on campaigns. I’m still doing very well, though.”
“All this thanks to Anne.”
“Don’t forget my mother,” James added.
“Your mother?”
“In 1943 she and Anne spent considerable time together. Anne apparently passed on a ton of financial advice because in 1979, when my mother passed away, I was quite surprised to learn she was worth better than one hundred thirty million. She was a major stock holder in several companies.”
“You didn’t know this?”
“I had no earthly idea. She lived modestly. I knew she did okay because she never needed for anything, and she was generous in her gifts. But she kept her finances private from my brother and me. She was 85 when she was taken by a stroke, and I think every brain cell she had was still fully functional.”
“So, we’re all filthy rich,” Henry said. “Tonight, we hope to be able to meet our benefactor – again for some of us, the first time for others.”
“We hope,” Sam said, “because we don’t know.”
The table became very quiet until Francine spoke. “For twenty-four years I’ve gone without loving contact with my daughter or my granddaughter. My secret calls to Becky, behind Sam’s back, were only cold conversations with a stranger. After she died, I called to speak to Anne, my granddaughter. Even she was cold. Why not? She didn’t know me, had never seen me. I wonder if she has even seen a picture of me, if her mother ever shared anything of me with her except her anger and hate. It has been a very long twenty-four years waiting for this day. A quarter century. I would give up all the money to have my granddaughter back tonight. If she doesn’t make it, all the money can just burn.”
Chapter 78
Sunday ~ November 14, 1943
Got to feed Elizabeth Anne. Anne struggled away from the deep sleep, away from the intense blackness that followed her dream, toward the sound of the crying. The black turned to gray and then the gray became fuzzy. The crying stopped and the fuzzy gray returned to black and then the dream began again. Elizabeth Anne floated in the blackness just over an arm length away, and each time Anne reached to grab her little flailing hand she would cry and float further away. And each time Anne reached there was pain and to try to move closer caused more pain, such unbearable pain. Her reaching seemed to be what was pushing Elizabeth Anne away, but she couldn’t stop reaching... couldn’t stop... couldn’t... couldn’t... stop... stop.
And then Elizabeth Anne was gone.
“No!”
But there was still the crying. Anne struggled from the black into the gray again and could still hear the crying and understood she had been dreaming and needed to push herself into consciousness. She needed to feed her baby as much as her baby needed to be fed. She ached to feel her smooth baby skin against her breast, to smell her sweet baby smell.
The gray became fuzzy. Through the fuzz, shapes emerged – steering wheel – dashboard – windshield – trees.
Crying. She could still hear the crying.
But it wasn’t a baby. She listened to it again.
Sheep! It was sheep – a lamb. And there was something important about knowing it was a lamb. It meant that at least part of her brain was still working. She wasn’t totally delirious.
Why not? I should be a raving lunatic?
What sound does a cow make?
What sound does a horse make?
They bought so much for the nursery, even educational games the baby wouldn’t use for years.
What sound does a sheep make?
Push the picture of the dog and listen to the sound a dog makes.
Push the picture of the baby and listen to the sound Elizabeth Anne makes.
Baa – baaaaaaaa.
Anne tried to move, wanted to see the lamb that must be hungry, complaining such to its mother. Her mind might be awake, but her body was mired in mud. And when she tried to move, lightning pain surged everywhere. With that she remembered everything – at least, almost everything. Jumping or being thrown by the impact of the bullet into the Atlantic Ocean; struggling not to drown and then walking-staggering along the beach; finding the house and then falling; and more pain. She remembered starting the car and it hurting so much to push the clutch, but managing to get into second gear and driving that way for as long as she could. And finding roads and not knowing which road to take; seeing a sign that said, Summerville and an arrow, and then turning onto the dirt and gravel road.
And then what? That was where her memory stopped. What Anne could not remember was later feeling dizzy and managing to pull over and turn off the car before passing out. She was lucky in that she stopped under the great limbs of a huge oak tree, which because of being in the southern part of the state, still held many of its leaves, which provided her shade. Even in November, the South Carolina sun can send the interior temperatures in a black, closed-up car, soaring. Two hours later, just as the sun began to clear the over hanging branches, Anne awoke in a puddle of sweat and blood. Remembering only that she was heading for Summerville, she started the car and pulled back onto the road.
A car passed her by, going fast, honking and blowing dust. She wondered how slow she was going. The speedometer was broken – the needle never moved. The gas gauge was near empty and she hoped that was broken too. After a time, a very long
time, she came to a fork. There was a post on which there used to be two boards. Now there was only one and half of the other. The whole board read, Columbia and pointed up the left fork. The half board read, ville and pointed up the right fork. Summer certainly is gone, Anne thought and became amused by that. Without slowing to the point she would have to shift, she turned right with the sign marked, ville.
She occasionally saw houses and black folk or their children along the way. She refused any thought of stopping for help because help would only delay her and delay meant for sure that her chances of making it home would be gone. Stopping for help would mean giving up.
So she didn’t stop. Even for a stop sign in the middle of Summerville, she didn’t stop. She ignored a honk on one side and the stares from a family in a horse drawn carriage on the other. The man was pulling hard and yelling “Whoa.” She also ignored a gathering of people on the steps of a white church who were throwing rice at a pair of newlyweds. She ignored it all until she was out of Summerville, heading toward Monck’s Corner. She did not see anything except the road in front of her, not even the needle covering the E on the gas gauge that did in fact work. Movement meant getting closer to home.
Another sign. Hwy. 176 it read. Underneath that sign was a second that read, Charleston, and pointed right. She turned without slowing, which at less than twenty miles-per-hour would normally not be too difficult. She swung off the left edge of Highway 176, fought the wheels out of the weeds, and then swerved back across into the rocks and weeds on the opposite side. Her right arm ached noticeably over the pain in her left shoulder, her right rib cage, and her head. She pulled the car back again and managed to correct it onto the middle of the road. For a full minute, spots floated in front of her eyes.
“No!” She shook her head and pushed away the fuzz. “No! I’m Anne Waring, I’m moving south and Elizabeth Anne needs me.”
The spots disappeared. She let go of the steering wheel long enough to shake some of the pain and stiffness from her arm and then tried to think of a song to sing. A lullaby, but nothing came to mind except, “The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah,” which she muttered in a singsong, over and over.
Five minutes later the car quit, jerked, fired again, went another fifty feet, and then jerked once more. Instinctively, Anne pressed the clutch, gritted against the pain and steered the car off the road, coming to rest in a stand of weeds and brown grass. And then the black spots returned and seemed to wrap themselves around the marching ants. “Hurrah, hurrah,” Anne forced out.
That was where she still was when she woke to the crying of the lamb and the responding bleating from its mother.
I’m going to die right here, twenty years before I’m born, in the presence of wooly animals. She wanted to see them but couldn’t. She couldn’t see anything outside the car except a dark silhouette of trees and a sliver of orange and yellow sky. It was no longer intuitive, the answer to the riddle of light within her vision; but still, after several minutes, it came to her.
The sun was setting.
What time is it? She fought past the pain, gritted her teeth, pulled herself to an upright position, and then laid her head back. She gulped in air and felt the blood pound through her head. When things seemed to settle, she looked around. It was almost dark. Time? What time is it?
The effort to see the time wasn’t nearly as painful as before. She wondered if that was good or bad, became indifferent to it, and then pushed the button to light up the digital readout.
5:43.
An hour. She pushed the starter button and the car jerk forward, deeper into the weeds. She fiddled with the shift mechanism until she found neutral and then pushed the starter button again. It started and then died before she got her foot to the clutch. After that the starter simply turned over until the battery was dead.
“Shit!”
She turned her body to reach the door handle with her right hand, and managed to push the door open. She started to slide out and then turned back for the walking stick. The door swung closed. She stopped it with her shoulder. It felt like someone jabbed her with a red-hot branding iron. It was a full minute before she could even think again, or see beyond the blazing red that filled the car. When she became aware of her surroundings once more she was holding the walking stick so tightly she was surprised she didn’t break it in half. She relaxed, flexed her hand back to normal, and then pushed the door open again with the stick.
Once out, she let the door slam closed and then stood still, feeling her weakness, considering how to proceed. There was a nearly full moon, three days waning, although she wasn’t aware of that. It hung low at the treetops, throwing only dark shadows onto the roadway. She was also not aware that her destination was still better than five miles away. What she was aware of was the dropping temperatures and the need to keep moving forward. If she didn’t make it, she was determined it would not be for lack of trying.
The walking stick did little good for her left foot when her left arm was useless. She got herself onto the roadway without its assistance and then began a slow drag-step. “I’m Anne Waring. I’m still moving and my baby needs me.”
Samuelson Frick hung up the phone and said, “They’re all there, getting ready to do the walk-through. I’m tired of sitting here and if any of you are as anxious as I am... well, I think we should get over there.” Everyone stood together, and without further comment, walked out the door.
In fifteen minutes they were gathered with the team in the conference room, listening to the run down of the check off list, and to the announcements of potential problems. The only one of concern was a thunderstorm rolling in. Thomas stated he would disconnect entirely from the outside power sources so unless they had a direct hit by lightning there should be no adverse situations to worry about, and the lightning arresters should divert even a direct hit.
“In any case, we have to go forward, no matter what,” Jerry said.
No one presented an argument.
Anne stopped every few minutes and looked around, trying to find something she recognized. She had no idea where she was; could be the other side of South Carolina as far as she knew. Just in case she had somehow gotten herself in the vicinity, she wasn’t about to miss it.
She was nearly a quarter-mile from the car when she stopped again. This time it wasn’t to find a familiar landmark. She heard something – behind her. Walking forward was difficult as it was, but to turn around to look was even more so. Twisting was impossible, so she started angling toward the edge of the road. Whatever was coming wasn’t a car as there wasn’t the sound of an engine or the flare of headlights, only the crush of dirt and gravel as though under the feet of many people. They would stop her and ask her questions and then see her injuries and want to take her to a doctor. Not yet. Still have a chance of making it, being there when they send the bubble, and going home. Got to get off the road. Got to hide.
She stumbled and nearly fell, felt them breathing down on her neck, ran forward and then looked back in time to see two huge animals nearly on top of her. She screamed and fell backwards off the side of the road into a shallow ditch with an inch of mud in the bottom. The pain struck and then she felt nothing.
Clyde disappeared into the room behind the steel door where Peter was already monitoring the output of the nuclear power plant. Thomas took his position at the power distribution panel that feed everything in the correct phase to all the equipment. Howard, Steven, Robert, and Michael found their positions, all giving up their stools to their guests. They were too nervous to sit. Jerry paced back and forth while the team brought everything up and began doing final checks. James and Abigail, Sam and Francine, Gracy, Henry and Wilson sat as out of the way as they could in the now rather cramped lab, some on the stools, others in chairs brought in from the conference room. Each time Jerry walked by, Henry had to pull his legs in out of the way. James and Abigail sat as close together as their chairs would let them. He was glad she was with him. He took her hand an
d wondered what would have happened if he told her the truth years ago. She would have thought I was crazy. She would not have believed me. Then what?
Abigail squeezed his hand and pointed to the glass structure. “What is that?”
“I guess you could call it the time machine,” James said. And then he proceeded to explain what would happen, or what they hoped would happen.
Anne bolted awake to fire and pain. At first she thought they were one and the same. “No! No!” she screamed. She was cold and on fire at the same time and there were hands on her, holding her down. She needed to run away from the cold fire, get away and she tried to fight against the hands. “No! No! No!” she screamed again.
“Is okay,” a deep voice kept saying over and over. “Is okay, Miss. Is okay. Ya be quiet or ya hurts ya self.” The hand squeezed her left shoulder and she nearly passed out again from the daggers of pain. She stopped fighting and his grip relaxed. “That good. Is okay. Is okay.” He released her.
Tears flowed from Anne’s eyes and the pain ebbed and weaved through her body. She tried to relax but the cold, which seemed to originate in her bones, started sending her into uncontrollable shivers. A heavy wool blanket came around her and then more of the voice.
“Is okay, Miss. Ya burn’n up. Terrible fever. Gots to get ya to doctor, but no doctor close. Big storm blow’n in. Ya sit tight and we gets outa storm. Be at my mama’s soon. We gets ya warm.”
“No!” Anne screamed but she doubted she was understood with her teeth chattering so badly.
“Getcha!” the man yelled and whatever Anne was curled up in began moving. There was no further sound except what she heard just before running off the road. Gradually, the shivering subsided. She tried to move but so much hurt. She wasn’t comfortable with how she was sitting – or was she lying? The angle was odd, the seat hard, and it all bounced. She managed to pull the blanket down below her chin to find a swinging lantern and the back-end of two horses.
Time-Travel Duo Page 60