The first stop had been Kitty Hawk. McCullough's book. It had been a fun read, but stepping inside its pages enlightened me about how to proceed.
“Here's another one, Wilbur.” The younger dark-haired man pointed at me as I walked into their work shed.
“What do you want?” I answered him as abruptly as he had asked.
“I'm looking for someone. And he's been here. Have you seen him?”
“Would I be correct if I said the name Russell?” Wilbur asked, nodding to his brother.
“I think you already know the answer is yes.” I asked when he'd been there.
“Who are you?” Orville asked.
“My name is Ashley Gilbert. Fritz is my friend and he's lost.”
“He acted fairly certain of his location when he came here,” Wilbur said. “He had a lot to say this time.”
“This time?”
“I met him a few years ago in Dayton. When he left, he walked into a glowing rectangle. When he showed up here, we three spent a few hours talking about what he said would be accomplished here.”
Orville said, “It's out there, Will.”
Orville had tried to look busy, but he stood in the shed opening looking at the fluorescent rectangle, the portal. I told them that Fritz and I had found a way to travel through time and space. They both laughed, not at my statement but at the idea that they were about to change the world through flight. I understood the irony.
“How could he be lost, Mr. Gilbert? He came here, just as you have. And he left through your portal. As I presume will you.”
I asked again when Fritz had visited.
“What's it been now, Will? Nine, no ten days?” Wilbur nodded. “Why is finding him so important to you?”
I'd never put it into words before. Fritz and I had just meshed right from the start, my first day teaching English at Riverboro High. We'd just talked between classes, like we'd known each other forever.
“I'm the butter to his bread. He's the salt to my pepper.” I looked at the workshop. “I'm his propeller, and he's my wings. Alone we work fine. Together we soar.” I glanced at the brothers. “I'm his Wilbur, and he's my Orville.” I hesitated at their grins, and asked, “Which of you has the best sense of humor?”
Wilbur stiffened, his lips forming a thin, taut line. Orville shrugged. I waited. They answered at the same time.
“Orville,” said Wilbur.
“I do,” said his brother, and they both laughed.
“In that case, I'm his Orville and he's my Wilbur.”
“Mr. Gilbert?” Wilbur asked. “The moon. Does man reach the moon? Mr. Russell said we did.”
I asked him if he'd read Jules Verne. He shook his head.
“Not too far in the future from now,” I told him. “On July 20th in the year 1969, a man named Neil Armstrong was the first, will be the first, to set foot on the moon's surface. But, what's as exciting is that we had the communication technology to be able to watch it right here on earth. The future, gentlemen, is astounding,” I said, “and you are an important part of the foundation we will build on. Now, I have to go. Having met you is a great honor. I have given you a gift, a glimpse of the future. Use the knowledge judiciously.”
When I finished the first story, I checked the time. Already nine o'clock. Tomorrow school would begin again, with the final push to Christmas vacation. Jane asked me where I'd been.
“Chatting with Orville and Wilbur. No wonder Fritz wants to use the portal.” I pushed the pad across the table. “Here.” She pushed it back.
“Ash, you have to find him. The portal may be fun, but it's destroying our friends' lives. So keep writing. Where did you go next?”
“Germany. Of all the places Fritz could go, he went to see Hitler in prison in 1924. That's when he wrote Mein Kampf. Fritz paperclipped the one picture of Hitler in his cell.”
Jane asked me why Fritz would pick Hitler. Curiosity more than anything, I told her. For a brief moment, I could visualize Fritz with a gun, one step inside the portal, a quick shot. Hitler would be dead, and he would be gone. A shiver ran down my back.
“What's wrong?” Jane asked.
“I wonder if Fritz considered shooting him?”
“He would know he'd create cataclysmic changes. He wouldn't take that chance.”
“I'm not so sure. I honestly don't know what he would do. His state of mind is nothing like anything I've ever seen. Just leaving, giving up. It's not like him at all.”
“Did Hitler see you?”
“No. I looked and left in less than five seconds.”
“You should write that as part of your description. In case things change, it'll be a place to look and see if he's the reason.”
When she asked me to describe Hitler, I said I only saw his back, but from the photos, his anger lived on the surface. Dead eyes. No joy beneath. I expected his cell would be like we see in American prison documentaries. Instead, I had seen a fairly large room with a large window, which swung open to the inside.
“Why was he in prison?” she asked.
“In 1923, the Nazis tried to overthrow the government. History books call the attack the Beer Hall Putsch. I need to read more about it, but Fritz said that besides writing the book, Hitler learned a strategic lesson, which he used effectively. From that point, he used the political system to bring the Nazis to power. They became a force the government couldn't ignore. So the German president appointed Hitler as chancellor. He rose to power preying on the fears of the people.”
“Write that all down. If nothing else, it's a good start on a book. Then get a shower. You're pretty ripe.” Her eyes beamed at me and I finished recording my notes quickly.
Monday morning came too soon. Jane had a meeting with Colonel Mitchell about closing down the secret airport now that the elections were over. I suggested that they might want to delay closing it until the president left office. “He may still be a target. Richter, I mean Koppler, hasn't been put away.”
“I agree, Ash, but the president is beginning to wind down everything, so he's ready to hand over the keys on January 20.”
“If you talk to him, tell him I still have a bet I expect to win.” She chuckled and kissed my cheek on her way out the door. I had only a few minutes to gather my thoughts and my lessons. The stack of books called to me, so I took the remaining seven to the car, along with my game plan for the day.
After homeroom ended, the day should have been busy, but I pulled the plug. For each class, I assigned different writing projects, long enough that they couldn't finish it in class, so it would carry over as their homework. While each class wrote, so did I.
I paid close attention to the next book, General Longstreet's memoir, the one Lee had told Fritz he had asked Longstreet to write. I had stepped through no more than three feet from the general. I had barely enough time to look around. His binoculars were aimed at a wide field covered in smoke, and he didn't hear me come through. Loud, repetitious cannon fire didn't distract the two soldiers running toward me. As I took a step toward the portal, General Lee stepped through the door onto the porch. I didn't wait to make contact. With all the smoke, and so little wind, I don't know how anyone could see anything, but the woods teemed with men preparing. Pickett's Charge would soon follow.
By the end of the first period, I had completed my description of five seconds at Gettysburg, and had started making notes on the next book, Professor Guelzo's history of the battle. Fritz pursuing Lee made sense to me because Fritz said that book read like a novel, one of the best he had ever read. I found out right away I wasn't prepared for my next visit to the past.
Fritz had clipped the pages where the Confederates had retreated from Gettysburg, and camped at the banks of the Potomac in a downpour. If Fritz had been here, I think he would have left quickly. On the heights, the Union army formed up, with the chance to put an end to the Army of Northern Virginia, with its back to the swollen river. Lee's army had escaped, so I had no reason to get any wetter.
&nb
sp; “Mr. Gilbert.” Yanked back to the present, I wiped the imagined and remembered rain from my forehead. Jay Bennett had his hand up.
“Are you done, Jay?”
“Not yet, but do you know when Mr. Russell will be back? We want to get started on the tournament. We're already falling behind.”
Susan added, “And we were supposed to help Delport High set up their own tournament.”
I told them I didn't know, but they might be smart to talk to Ms. Chambers. Liz had helped Fritz with last year's history baseball tournament and unless I could find him, she would be their best bet. History baseball and smiling students. Maybe Fritz's best idea ever. I made a note to talk with her, but how would I explain Fritz's situation? Once again, a burst of anger sizzled in me that he'd chosen to leave when so many people were counting on him. I hadn't ever considered how much we all impact each other's lives.
I told the class to get back to work, anxious to return to my own. I opened the fifth book, Koppler's self-absorbed memoir of his service in government. I would never read it. Why Fritz had bought it surprised me on so many levels. I turned to the pictures and returned to my trip into the Koppler family history.
I had gone twice to this scene. I walked into the middle of a party and left immediately. I reset the paperclip to re-enter to a more remote spot. Before I returned, I looked at the pictures of an estate with a large Georgian brick house, surrounded by gardens and a huge lawn in the rear. The house looked as large as a three-story football field. Wanting to avoid being spotted, I set the clip at a shrub-hidden spot on the side of the house, and poked my head into the portal. Three fully grown rhododendrons that had only a few flower petals remaining concealed my entrance. I estimated a late spring event. About thirty feet away, three men stood talking. All three wore tuxedos and held champagne glasses, as their guests, I assumed they were guests, milled around and some stopped to say a word. In the background, a large open tent enclosed a dozen or more tables corralled by folding chairs. Long serving tables down one side provided a choice of food to the line of people holding plates out to the servers.
If Fritz had come here, he probably didn't stay long, but two former presidents, waiting to greet their hosts, held me in place. After my close scrutiny, the three men standing and holding court for the plebeians were related, one somewhat younger than the other two. No doubt remained that, even in younger form, these were the men we had been chasing. I stepped back to the present, but as I crossed the portal, I could sense Fritz's essence, almost as if he'd sent off a foreboding, ghostly message. I noted then that I would search that book again.
Class ended and the next began, pretty much without me. I needed to get through the remaining books, and plan my next steps. Maybe for the first time in my teaching career, the kids just didn't matter. I finally understood what Fritz meant by “the portal at work.”
The next book I opened with mixed feelings. Churchill. But Fritz had selected a photo of him as Prime Minister during World War II. As one of the best-protected people in the world, he hadn't met us yet. Spending the Second World War in a British prison didn't appeal to me, so only a peek and gone. Too bad, because I've always been curious what 10 Downing Street looks like on the inside. I stepped in, saw him yelling at someone, waving his cigar, and caught his eye. I left before he could say a word. Likely, he said nothing about a sparkly rectangle appearing and disappearing. But he would remember it, and maybe even me.
As if I were living in a time-lapsed day, classes came in, sat, looked at the assignment, and wrote. If they were noisy or misbehaved, I didn't notice. As if I were in a sound-proof bubble, I kept working my way through. Jane said to put down as much detail as I could remember, so before the day ended, I reread my notes and added the little things. When the final bell rang, I had made it to the last book. I'd visited Dallas, stood in Dealey Plaza, looking up at the Texas Schoolbook Depository and listening for those supposed additional gunshots, but too many people nearby sent me scurrying back through the portal before President Kennedy's motorcade reached me. Then I went in search of Ben Franklin, who we'd met before, and who I hoped would remember me. As I stepped in, I saw Franklin walking in quick-step toward me.
“Mr. Gilbert, nice to see you again. Is Mr. Russell on his way?”
“Afraid not, Dr. Franklin. He's lost somewhere in time. I'm looking for him. You haven't seen him by chance?”
“Sorry, m'boy, but I haven't. If I do, I'll let him know you're searching.”
I thanked him, shook his hand and left him to explain whatever any of the others might have seen. I checked the caption on the page to see again where I'd been. The Constitutional Convention. Franklin had only recently returned from years in France and his jovial welcome indicated his happiness to be home.
As my last class departed, I began to pack up. The last book could wait. The picture's caption read, “Good news or bad, he was there.” Lincoln leaned over the telegraph operator's shoulder, reading an incoming message. I wanted to speak to George, but before I could get out my door, I had visitors, the Dough Twins.
“Hi, Mr. Gilbert,” Rachel and Nicole said in unison. In their three years of collecting for charities, now seniors, they had perfected their presentations, their cadence, and their matching clothing and haircuts. They knew about the portal, and had conversed with the president, intimidated the Speaker of the House, and shaken hands with Benjamin Franklin. I anticipated an enjoyable year with them.
“Hi girls. I'm going to the office and then I'm leaving.”
“That's okay,” Nicole said. “We'll walk with you.”
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
They crossed the room to my desk, looking around to be sure we were alone. Rachel asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Is Mr. R off spying again?” I think my hesitation alerted them, something I regretted right away.
“What's wrong? Can we help?” Nicole asked.
Rachel said, “We won't say anything, Mr. Gilbert. You know we can keep a secret.”
Their offers, as genuine as any I've ever had, tempted me to tell them, but when my classroom door opened again, my instinct to keep them ignorant took over. “No girls, I haven't spoken with him. Maybe he ate too many turkey sandwiches.” They left, but neither of them took their eyes off me on the way past Liz Chambers and out the door.
“Hi, Liz. What can I do for you?”
“I just spoke with Susan and Jay. They said you told them to talk to me about the tournament.”
“I did. They're getting antsy because Fritz hasn't been around.”
“Ashley, I have no idea how Fritz set this up. You know more than I do.”
“You know Fritz gave the kids the credit for 'their' tournament.” She nodded. “Well, he meant it. Once the teams were chosen and the teachers assigned, he kept George mollified and gave them advice when they asked.”
“What about all the questions?”
“You still have the list, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“And Susan probably has marked off every used question, so that's a start.”
“Isn't he coming back? Did something happen?”
“Between us, okay? Your oath to the president, okay?”
“The portal?”
“Yup. He went in and the power shut off. He could be anywhere.”
I didn't elaborate. Her stunned look froze on her face until she asked, “Can anyone find him?” I told her to take a seat and I watched her eyes grow wider as her eyebrows inched higher. Her hand reached up slowly and remained covering her mouth as I related the events of the past few days.
“Ashley, I'm so sorry. You have a tremendous burden to carry. Poor Linda. How awful for all of you. Look, I know I can't be much help, but if you need me, please don't hesitate.”
“Thanks, Liz, but for now, if you can handle the tournament, I'd be grateful. I'm sure Fritz wants to see it work out. Let the kids tell you what needs to be done. I know you can handle George.” At that point, in spite of the serio
usness of the situation, we had a short laugh.
As she left, she turned and said, “Good luck. And you have some visitors.” Nicole and Rachel were standing at the door.
“Girls, I need to speak to Mr. McAllister and then I need to leave. Walk with me to the office, but make it quick.”
Rachel said, “Mr. Gilbert, we just wanted you to know that whatever you need from us, like taking over your classes or something, we'll do it. You know—if you need to help Mr. R.”
I stopped and turned to them. “Rachel, Nicole, I really appreciate your offer. And you can help me. It'll mean you can't be in the tournament, but I want you to help Ms. Chambers and the tenth graders set things up.”
“Does that mean Mr. R isn't coming back?” Nicole asked.
“Girls, you took an oath to the president. It's possible he may be gone for a while. You said you know how to keep a secret. So no one can know. I trust you, okay?”
To end what had been one of the strangest days I'd ever had teaching, I spoke to George about what had transpired only three days earlier. His usual annoyance with a crimson touch never materialized. When I told him that I would be using the portal as long as necessary to track Fritz down, he asked if he could help. My first thought matched the one Fritz would have had. The portal at work? Until now, I had never appreciated what must have weighed on Fritz nonstop.
“Thanks, George. I think you need to be prepared in case I can't find him.”
“Ashley, I know you will. I have complete confidence in you. Lois does too.” What a way to end the day. After ten years, he had paid me the greatest compliment ever.
* * *
I FINISHED MY notes about my glimpse of Lincoln, and spread the sheets from the pad on the dining room table. I stacked the books so I could review the places Fritz had paperclipped, and Jane could look over each stop.
When she came in, I had been searching for a clue as to where Fritz would have met Lee as he escaped across the Potomac. I remained convinced that Lee was the most likely destination. But, safer spots, and certainly drier ones, made more sense as a meeting place. Fritz's mighty disdain for thunderstorms had a good reason. After all, lightning hitting the school, almost killing him, began our portal adventures.
The Portal At The End Of The Storm (Quantum Touch Book 6) Page 2