"Actually, I did," he said. He turned to face Margaret. "When Grace left her room at the hospital to change clothes, I went through her purse. I know it was wrong, but I had to know if she was telling the truth. I had to know if there was anything to support her account."
"And what did you discover in her purse?"
"I found several things. I found her license, of course, the one with the distant dates. But I also found rigid cards with elevated letters, a strange device with numbered buttons, and several photographs – color photographs of our mystery woman, a young man, and two girls who appeared to be a year of age. One of the photographs showed Grace and the young man in wedding attire."
"Did you find anything else?"
Alistair looked at Margaret with thoughtful eyes.
"Indeed, I did. I discovered a ring. I very much doubt it was one she wore at her wedding. It was a ring that bore a butterfly instead of a stone – a trinket, really, like something we might purchase for Penny at a fair or a market."
"Did you find her wedding ring?"
"I did not. But I did find something that perhaps explains its absence."
"And what is that?"
Alistair put a hand in his pocket and retrieved a slip of paper. He handed it to Margaret.
"This looks like a receipt, a receipt for a ring repair," she said.
"Look at the date."
Margaret scanned the top of the slip and saw "10-3-2002" scribbled in ink. She then examined the bottom and noted the name of a Seattle jeweler and its street address.
"I inquired about the business this morning."
"And?"
"It does not exist. There is no such jeweler in Madison Park and no such jeweler in the city of Seattle. The address is a vacant lot. But it won't be vacant for long."
"I don't understand."
"There is a man named Levy who plans to build on the site early next year. The man is new to Seattle but not new to the Northwest. He apparently has many shops in Portland and even one in Tacoma. The man is a jeweler."
Margaret sighed and closed her eyes.
"I'm not asking for endless patience, Margaret. I'm asking only for a week or two. If she is who she says she is, then she has suffered a terrible trauma and deserves our sympathy and our help. Please give me the time I need to learn more about her and help her get settled. Give me that and I will conclude this matter quickly."
Margaret glanced at the guest house and then at her husband. She was still not comfortable with any of this. She did not want a strange, beautiful woman intruding on her happy home, even if she was a helpless time traveler from 2002. But she conceded that her reasonable husband had once again made a reasonable case.
"I'll give you two weeks then, three at the most," she said. "But I want my house and my life back by the end of the month."
CHAPTER 33: GRACE
Saturday, October 12, 1918
Grace surveyed the dining and living rooms as Alistair walked into the kitchen to make tea. She saw ornate china cabinets on one end, impressionist paintings on the other, and a whole lot of wealth in the middle. Uncle Alistair was not only a smart man but also a rich one.
"Do you like cream or sugar?" he asked as he returned to the dining room table.
"Cream would be nice."
Alistair added a shot of cream to Grace's tea and placed a cup and saucer in front of her.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I mean thank you for taking me in. I overheard you speaking to Margaret the other day. I know she doesn't want me here, and I don't blame her. It's just so hard . . ."
Grace dissolved into tears and retreated to the bathroom, just as she had done at least twice a day since she had arrived. She found it nearly impossible to speak or be around others and, for that reason, had mostly kept to herself in the small cottage behind the main residence.
She found it particularly difficult to be around seven-year-old Penelope, who had much in common with the talkative, curious 89-year-old woman who had provided Grace with a home in the summer of 2000. But Penny was a young girl and young girls reminded Grace of the twins she had left at home on a night that grew more distant with each passing hour.
"I'm sorry," Grace said as she returned to her chair. "I promised that I would speak to you, and I will. It's the least I can do to repay your kindness."
Grace watched Alistair light a pipe, take a draw, and place the pipe on a porcelain ashtray in the center of the table. She did not like smoking or smoke-filled rooms but did not complain. Indeed, she found the sight and smell of her uncle smoking a pipe oddly comforting.
A moment later, Alistair dropped his matches in the pocket of his tweed vest and tapped ashes in the tray. He stirred his tea and looked across the table.
"I'm still a bit skeptical of your claim, but I want to hear your story. Something is troubling you, and I believe it would help to talk about it."
"What would you like to know?"
"I'd like to know everything, but let's start with your parents. You say your father was a man named William Vandenberg. Who was he and how did he meet Lucille?"
"My father was a Lutheran minister. He came to Seattle as a young man to attend seminary and met my mother through the church days after she arrived from England."
"Did they have a long engagement?"
"It depends on your definition of long. They married months after meeting."
"Good grief."
"They didn't even wait to get my grandfather's permission. They married in July 1919 and moved to my father's hometown of Mankato, Minnesota, where he headed a small congregation. I was born there in 1920."
"Minnesota? You told me yesterday that you lived abroad."
"I did. I've lived most of my life overseas. When I was four, we moved to St. Louis, where my father trained to be a missionary. We went from there to Africa for six years, the Philippines for three, and China for three. We moved to Seattle just ahead of the Japanese occupation."
"Occupation?"
"There's another war coming, Uncle, a much bigger and bloodier one."
"When? Where?"
Grace paused before answering. She did not want to needlessly alarm this man, or anyone else, but she saw no point in keeping the knowledge to herself. A lot of things were coming, nasty things, and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop them.
"It won't start for several more years, but when it does, it will engulf the world. Everyone will be affected, many in particularly awful ways."
"Will America be a part of it?"
Grace nodded.
"This country will join the fight in 1941. I'd tell you more, but my knowledge is limited. Most of what I know about the war I learned recently through books and magazines. I did not live through most of the conflict, nor did my parents."
"What happened?"
"My parents were killed by a drunk driver on New Year's Eve 1937. I lived with Edith until I finished high school and matriculated to the university on a scholarship."
"How did you get to 2002?"
Grace collected herself for a moment.
"I got there by following my heart."
"I don't understand."
"In between my junior and senior years, I met a boy who himself had traveled through time. On the day America entered the coming war, I followed him back to the year 2000. We married and had twin daughters."
Grace paused again. She attempted to clear her mind of painful memories.
"Please continue."
"On October 5, 2002, Joel and I attended the opening of a rebuilt Palladium Theater. During one of the films, I walked into a restroom to remove an irritant from my eye. When I walked out, it was 1918. That's my story."
Alistair closed his eyes and sighed.
"I'm so sorry."
"I must go back to the theater, Uncle. It's my only hope of returning to my husband and my daughters. It's taking all the strength I have to not go running back today."
"I'm afraid it woul
dn't do you any good even if you did."
"I don't understand."
"The city and county have reaffirmed their decision to close public places. I thought the ban would last only a few days, but apparently things have changed. I'm afraid it may be days, even weeks, before you will be allowed to enter any theater."
Grace tried to remain erect in her chair as her body trembled and her mind turned to mush. She had been able to get through the week on the hope that she would soon be able to return to the women's room of the Palladium, the one with the Braille sign, and return to the husband and children who formed the core of her existence.
"You don't look well. Can I get you anything?"
Grace stared at the man with the neatly groomed mustache but could not speak. She instead grabbed a cloth napkin and tried to push back tears that rolled down her cheeks.
For days she had dreamed of a quick trip home. There was no reason to believe that a theater that had sent her to 1918 in seconds could not just as rapidly return her to 2002. But if she could not enter the theater, she could not go anywhere.
She worried too about a lengthy delay. A lot could change in the interim. If the forces that had conspired to send her here weren't around in a few weeks, she might not ever get back.
Grace looked out a window and saw rain pound a dozen panes. There would be more rainy days ahead – a lot more. She mentally braced for worse times to come.
CHAPTER 34: GRACE
Tuesday, October 22, 1918
If there was one thing Grace liked about western Washington, it was the trees. No matter which way she turned, she could find them in seemingly limitless numbers and varieties, such as hemlocks, firs, birches, oaks, cedars, and even aspen. Three weeks into October she could also find them in seemingly limitless colors, whether vivid reds or bright yellows or fading greens that marked the change in seasons and heralded yet another autumn in her life.
She walked along the fenced perimeter of the Green estate and thought about the family she had left behind. She wondered how Joel had dealt with the sudden loss of his wife and the mother of his daughters. Had he suspected foul play? Had he launched a massive search to find her? Or had he already moved on and buried her memory along with his grief?
Grace tried to find answers and solace in the peaceful setting but found neither. There was no upside to starting a new life in a world filled with war and disease and certainly no upside to losing your husband and children – only gut-wrenching agony.
As she stopped near a corner of the property and rested her folded arms on top of the fence, she wondered what she had done to God or humanity to deserve such a fate. Maybe hell was not a world of fire and brimstone but rather a beautiful place that constantly reminded you of things you could not have.
Grace stared at a Holstein cow in the neighbors' pasture and wondered what went through a cow's mind on a day like this. Did she appreciate the beauty of trees or changes in the seasons? Did she miss her calves? Grace doubted it. Cows were pretty simple. She wished for a moment that she could be such an animal, an animal that didn't feel grief or loss.
Tired of the cow, she looked to her left, to the west, and saw the forest. A gentle breeze blew through the trees and rattled leaves, creating a sound she found both soothing and distracting.
Then she turned to her right and saw a man. He too rested his folded arms on top of the log rail fence. He stood on the other property. But instead of looking straight ahead, at the Green estate, he looked down the length of the fence. He looked at Grace.
Grace, unnerved, turned away. She tried to figure out why someone, particularly a man she did not know, would approach so quietly. Maybe he thought she was a trespasser.
She furtively glanced at the intruder, who stood fifteen yards away. He not so furtively glanced back. Grace turned away a second time. She didn't like this.
"Are you enjoying the scenery?"
"I am."
Grace spoke quickly and then returned her eyes to the safety of the cow. She hoped that her thorough reply would end the conversation, but it only kept it going.
The man retrieved a cane leaning against a post and limped his way forward. He wore the crisp uniform of a U.S. Army officer.
"The trees are a sight this time of year," he said.
"They are."
The man stopped a few feet from Grace, placed his free hand on the top rail, and resumed The Gaze. After a moment of awkward silence, he spoke again.
"I hope I haven't interrupted anything. I don't see many new faces in these parts and thought I'd say hello. Hello."
"Hello," Grace said with little enthusiasm.
"Are you a relative of the Greens?"
"I'm more like an acquaintance," Grace said, putting distance between herself and the Greens, distance that they might appreciate later.
"I see."
Grace looked more closely at the man and saw that he was no garden-variety stalker. He was handsome. Tall and nicely built, with dark hair and chiseled features, he looked a lot like a man she had left in a theater balcony. She felt a pang in her stomach as she thought of Joel.
"I'm John Walker."
John Walker held out a hand.
"Grace Smith."
Grace shook the hand but quickly pulled hers away. She didn't wish to be rude but felt awkward even touching another man when she was mourning at least the memory of her husband.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Smith."
Grace considered correcting the Miss to a Mrs. but took a pass. She didn't want to answer any questions that might follow that correction. Married women wore rings, and she was keenly aware that her left hand was as unadorned as a freshly cut Christmas tree.
"You too."
Grace glanced again at her neighborly neighbor and instantly regretted her curt replies. She had nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain by speaking kindly to a man who probably only wanted to pass the time. People stuck in strange environments needed more than their wits. They needed friends. If John Walker wanted to be her friend, then she would be his.
"I'm sorry if I seem rather distant. I just have a lot on my mind," Grace said. "Do you live here or are you also a guest?"
John started to speak but stopped when a woman rang a dinner bell on the back porch of a house in the distance. He waved to the woman and then returned to Grace.
"I guess that answers your question," he said with a gentle laugh. "That's my mother. She's calling me to supper. I have lived here since I returned from the war in August."
"What happened to you?"
"I took some shrapnel at the Marne. I had hoped to finish the fight with my men but the Army had other ideas. They wanted to see me in a recruiting office here instead."
"Are you all right?
"I won't compete in the next Olympics, but I will regain my mobility. My physicians tell me that the metal in my leg is a temporary inconvenience and not a permanent liability."
"That's wonderful."
Grace saw John grimace as he shifted to a more comfortable posture. She guessed that even if he regained full use of his leg, he would be in pain for some time.
"It must be awful – war, that is."
John gazed at Grace with a face that betrayed sadness, regret, and relief.
"My last few months were difficult. It's never easy to watch men die, but it's no different, I suppose, than anything else in life. You get through it."
"Well, I'm glad you made it home, Mr. Walker.
"It's Captain Walker, but you can call me John."
The woman on the porch shouted again. John turned and waved a second time.
"I should probably go. My mother may send out a search party if I'm late for dinner," John said with a chuckle. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Smith. Perhaps we'll meet again."
"I'd like that," Grace said.
John tipped his hat and turned to face the house.
"And Captain?"
He glanced back.
"Yes."
; "You can call me Grace."
He smiled softly.
"OK, Grace. I'll see you."
Grace watched her new friend limp back to the house he called his home and realized that someone else had had a rough year too. John Walker had been through a kind of hell that she could only imagine. She wished him the best.
Their pleasant meeting, however, had not left her thankful but angry. The captain's brush with death had reminded her that the world was full of sadness and loss.
Grace was tired of loss. She was sick of loss. She wanted to purge it from her mind. It was time, she thought, to focus on something more positive and productive. It was time to look ahead and not behind. It was time to think again about gain.
CHAPTER 35: MARGARET
Monday, October 28, 1918
Margaret watched with great interest as one young woman pushed an ivory queen across a checkered board. She watched with even greater interest as an even younger woman put her hands on her hips.
"No fair!" Penny said. "You took my king!"
"You left yourself exposed," Grace said dryly. "Even a king is no match for a crafty queen."
"I don't care. I wanted to win."
"Someday you will. You're getting better, Penny, much better. Give yourself a few weeks and you'll be able to beat not only me but also everyone in your school – even the boys."
Penelope smiled and widened her eyes.
"Do you really think so?"
"I know so," Grace said. "You're much smarter than I was at your age – and much prettier."
"Did you hear that, Mama? Did you hear that? Grace thinks I'm smart and pretty."
"You are smart and pretty," Margaret said. "You are also late for bed. Now run along and get into your nightgown. I'll read you a story in a little while."
Penelope looked at her mother and then at her friend. She flashed Grace another toothless smile, gave her a hug, and ran out of the room with her hands in the air.
The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3) Page 14