The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3)

by John A. Heldt

  "This is a beautiful room. It has your mother's stamp on it."

  "Indeed it does. She insisted that my father add it to the residence two years ago as a condition of her continued company. As you can see, he valued her company."

  Grace laughed.

  "Good for her. It's nice to see that women can still exercise leverage on men when it suits their interests."

  She looked at John when he did not reply and saw him stare at the dark windows in front of them. He appeared lost in thought.

  "How was the reunion?"

  "It was enjoyable but also sobering. Some of the men in attendance came without limbs. Many others came with stories that suggested their adjustment to civilian life has been difficult, in some cases very difficult. When I sat down to speak with them I realized that my own troubles pale by comparison. I can still walk. I have opportunities. They have nothing."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for them. As I said, I'm one of the lucky ones."

  Grace gave her host a sad but reassuring smile and put a hand on his knee.

  "I'm so proud of you."

  "For what?"

  "For thinking of others at a time like this. Many men in the other room are talking about the wealth they hope to create in the coming year and the opportunities they intend to pursue. Yet you chose to spend the evening with those who have little. I admire that."

  "Well, thank you. But I don't consider it an act of charity. I enjoy the company of these men. They enrich my life in ways few can understand. I only hope that they find peace and happiness, like the kind I've known since I met you."

  Grace frowned.

  "Will you still be filled with peace and happiness when my condition progresses? I worry about what people will think of you in the weeks to come."

  "You shouldn't worry. I couldn't care less what others think of me."

  "What about your parents? Surely you care what they think."

  "I do," John said. "But they do not govern my life."

  "What do they think of me?"

  John laughed.

  "Dad thinks you're Callisto herself, a tragic beauty worthy of sympathy, admiration, and protection. He likes you very much."

  John tilted his head and leaned toward Grace.

  "He has encouraged our friendship," he said in a soft, deliberate voice.

  "And your mother?"

  "She worries about the talk, of course, but I think she likes you as well. She has asked me to invite you to dinner this weekend when all the company has left. I believe she'll be more comfortable around you when the house is free of inquisitive relatives."

  "And what does the noble Captain Walker think of me?"

  Grace knew the answer. She knew John thought a lot of her. She had asked merely to keep the conversation light and figured that he would react with a laugh or a smile. She was mildly surprised when a more thoughtful expression formed on his face.

  "What do I think of you?" he asked. "That's an easy one. I think you're the most incredible person I've ever met. You're kind, intelligent, spontaneous, and more beautiful than a spring day. I consider myself lucky just to be sitting here."

  Grace sighed. It was time to get serious.

  "It doesn't trouble you that I carry the child of another man."

  "It troubles me only to see you worry and suffer," John said. "I saw every imaginable horror and depravity in France, Grace. Surely you don't think I'd be offended by a mother-to-be, no matter how unconventional her circumstances."

  Grace looked at John with tears in her eyes.

  "You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that."

  He grabbed her hands and met her eyes.

  "I think I do."

  Grace started to reply but stopped when she heard men shouting and bottles popping in the other room. She glanced at her watch and saw both hands point to the top of the dial.

  "It appears that it's midnight," she said as she wiped an eye.

  "It appears that it is," John said.

  "Then I think you'd better kiss me, Captain, before I turn into a pumpkin."

  John smiled and put a hand to her face.

  "Happy New Year, Grace."

  He leaned forward and kissed her long and softly.

  She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. And with that, Grace Smith, wife, mother, and time traveler, opened her heart to another man, began to let go of the past, and said hello to the wonderful, frightening, and unpredictable world of 1919.

  CHAPTER 53: EDITH

  Seattle, Washington – Wednesday, January 22, 1919

  Edith Green shifted her attention between the pages of a book and the passengers in a car as Alistair drove his Oldsmobile toward the university. For the most part, she found the book, The Education of Henry Adams, more riveting than Lucille, Grace, and Alistair, but not always. She lifted her eyes from the text each time one of the others said something interesting.

  "Grace, tell me about this lecturer you want to see. Has he published any notable works?" Alistair asked as he passed a Model T that had expired on the side of the road.

  "The lecturer is a she, and I don't know what she has published. I know only what I read in Friday's student newspaper. She apparently is quite adept at predicting the future."

  Edith, again engaged, eyed the occupants of the front seat. She watched Alistair turn to his right and lift an eyebrow and Grace turn to her left and flash a wry smile. Grace was clearly up to something, but Edith didn't know what.

  "That seems a bit fantastic, don't you think?" Alistair asked.

  "You'd be surprised at what some people know these days."

  "I think the future is not for us to know," Lucy said piously. "It's only for God to know – and perhaps those silly women at Pike Place Market who tell your fortune for a nickel. I wouldn't trust the likes of them, though. Some of them have that shady look, the kind that suggests they're up to no good."

  "Imagine that," Edith said dryly. "Fortune-tellers out to take your money."

  Alistair laughed.

  "What do you have planned today, Lucy?"

  Edith glanced at her sister, who sat to her right, and noticed that the question seemed to catch her off guard. Lucy started to turn red.

  "I plan to attend my literature class, of course, and then history and ethics."

  "I see. Do you find your ethics class interesting?" Alistair asked.

  "Indeed I do."

  "What have you learned?"

  "I've learned that it is never a good idea to bear false witness against another student or to cheat on an exam or to kill someone unless they're trying to kill you."

  "Sounds like the Bible to me," Grace said.

  "It's more like the honor code at the university," Edith said. "Competition for grades can be rather fierce. I believe that's where the restrictions on killing come into play."

  Alistair smiled and shook his head.

  "Well, I'm happy to see that you ladies are learning something. Your father would be proud of you. Not many women have the opportunity to gain a university education. I hope you both make the most of the opportunities here."

  "I know I am, Uncle," Edith said.

  Edith was too. She had not missed one class or outside lecture since the winter quarter had begun January 4. She considered it a privilege to attend college in the United States and had no intention of squandering even a single day.

  Edith was not entirely certain that Lucy shared this commitment. Lucy spoke more often about where Bill Vandenberg might go as a new minister than where she might go as an intelligent woman with a four-year degree. But she could not scold her sister too harshly for allowing herself to become distracted by a friendly smile or a hearty laugh. She too had succumbed to the charms of a young man, a star pupil of Uncle's, no less!

  She smiled as she thought about Lester Pierce and his sly attempt to combine the radical teachings of Marx with a radical kiss in the sunroom of the Walker mansio
n. He had insisted that all of the great progressive thinkers were "women's liberationists" who believed that females should throw off the "yokes of their oppression" by committing themselves to free love.

  Edith had been around enough males to know that Lester was as full of it as any slick-talking schoolboy in Falmouth, but she appreciated the effort. She knew most men wouldn't demonstrate even half of his creativity in the pursuit of an objective they all shared.

  When they entered the university district, Edith looked out her window and saw several students – older students – walk to class. Most, she suspected, lived in off-campus apartments and houses, the true bastions of independent living, and not the prison-like dormitories or even the comfortable homes of university administrators.

  She looked forward to the day, probably next September, when she could join their ranks and become a full participant in campus life. Until then, she was a new girl in a new country making her way into an adult world.

  When Alistair pulled into his reserved parking spot behind the administration building, Edith stepped out of the car and stretched her arms toward the gray, wintry sky. The world of ideas was hers once again. It was time to enjoy it.

  CHAPTER 54: GRACE

  Judy Dumont was billed as the Nostradamus of the Northwest, someone who had predicted not only the day that the Great War would end but also the day that former President Theodore Roosevelt would die of a heart attack. She had also predicted, with precise accuracy, a number of local events, including a shipyard strike of 35,000 workers that had been called on Tuesday.

  She did not, however, look the part. With a pretty face and red shoulder-length hair, she looked more like one of the pillow-fighting sorority sisters Grace Vandenberg had roomed with between 1939 and 1941 than a bearded sixteenth-century seer.

  Grace pondered that thought as Miss Dumont concluded a forty-five minute presentation in the university's Durocher Lecture Hall. More than a hundred students filled more than half the seats in the spacious, well-lighted room.

  "Thank you all for attending," Judy said from the podium. "If anyone has questions for me, I'd be happy to answer them now."

  Grace turned her head toward the back of the room and saw a young man get up from his seat. He wore the face of someone who came to cause trouble.

  "Miss Dumont, isn't it true that many of your 'amazing' prognostications could be written off as educated guesses? Many in the papers, for example, had predicted that the war would end in November as far back as August and September."

  "How many in the papers, or elsewhere, sir, predicted that the hostilities would end on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month?" Judy asked.

  "I did! I did!" Grace did not say.

  The lecturer stepped away from her lectern and addressed the gathering informally.

  "I do not claim to have all the answers to all the questions, but I do have the ability to foresee many events to come," Judy said. "As I told my previous audience, I would gladly submit all of my predictions to rigorous public scrutiny."

  Another man stood up.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  Laughter erupted in the room.

  "I think I'll keep the answer to that to myself, but thank you for your interest in my personal affairs," Judy said with a smile. "Are there any more questions?"

  Yet another man, this one six rows back, got up from his chair.

  "Who is going to win the World Series this year?"

  "It would be irresponsible of me to provide information that could be used in gaming," Judy said. "I will tell you one thing though. Stay away from the White Sox."

  The questioner smiled as many of those around him howled.

  "Thank you again," Judy said. "Have a nice day."

  Grace turned her head and watched the attendees leave the hall, located near the heart of the campus. She gathered from conversations she could hear that many people were headed not to their next class but to a cafeteria in a nearby building. She waited for the room to empty and then redirected her attention to the podium.

  "Miss Dumont?" Grace asked from a seat in the front row.

  "Yes?"

  The lecturer placed the last of her papers in a folder and looked at Grace.

  "My name is Grace Smith. I have some questions I'd like to ask you as well, but they are a bit more sensitive in nature. Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?"

  Ten minutes later Grace found herself in the same café she had frequented the morning World War I had ended. Only this time she sat with a woman her age and not two older men.

  "I appreciate the kindness, Miss Smith. I'm used to men asking me out on a date. I'm not used to women buying me coffee and a sandwich."

  "It's the least I could do given the questions I plan to ask you. Rest assured, I mean you no harm. In fact, you may soon consider me a friend."

  "This sounds interesting already. Ask away."

  "You're a time traveler, aren't you?"

  Judy nearly spilled her coffee as she hastily moved the cup to its saucer. She looked at Grace as if she had seen a ghost and not an inquisitive blonde in a maternity dress.

  "Why . . . why would you ask that?"

  "Because it's true, that's why."

  Judy looked around the café, as if to see whether others were in on some kind of joke, and then pushed her plate away. She gathered her coat and began to get up.

  "Thank you for lunch," she said, "but I must go."

  Grace put her hand on the woman's arm and gave her a reassuring smile.

  "Please sit. As I said, I mean you no harm."

  Judy sighed and then dropped to her seat. She placed her coat in the adjacent chair.

  "You know, don't you? You really know."

  Grace put both of her hands on Judy's.

  "I was at the Palladium Theater, the new Palladium Theater, on the night that it opened to the public on October 5, 2002. My husband and I had come to celebrate our second anniversary. But what should have been one of the best nights of my life quickly turned into the worst. During the screening of Stella Maris, I walked into the women's room. I saw you there, putting balm on your lips. You primped your hair and left. When I walked out a few minutes later, I stepped into a different theater. The patrons were dressed much the same. The building was much the same. But there were no food and drink tables in the lobby, just as there were no modern cars or fast-food restaurants on Pike Street. Something had changed, and that something was the year. I suspect that you had a similar experience."

  Grace saw the tears even before she finished speaking.

  "I've been going crazy," Judy said. She wiped her eyes with a napkin. "It's taken all the strength I have to keep my head together and not say or do anything that could get me in trouble. I'm giving lectures because it's the only way I can make money – legally, that is."

  "It's all right. I've been there. I spent my first two days in the hospital. If it weren't for an uncle I had never met, I would probably be living on the streets."

  Grace smiled.

  "Tell me about yourself."

  "I'm a graduate student in history, or at least I was," Judy said. "Like you, I came to the theater to celebrate a relationship. My boyfriend had just proposed and wanted to do something special. We both love old movies, old buildings, and history, so a night at the Palladium seemed perfect. We were the first through the doors."

  "Are you aware of any others who might have come this way?"

  "No. Thank God, no. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

  "How did you manage to become so successful so quickly?" Grace asked.

  "You don't want to know. What matters is that I eventually met a man who promotes speakers in the Northwest. He didn't believe in me at first, but when I correctly predicted that a Sergeant York would kill two dozen Germans and capture more than a hundred others on October 8, he booked two engagements in Tacoma. I've done at least two gigs a week ever since."

  "How did you remember all the names and places and
dates? I remembered only when the war ended."

  "I'm a history student, remember? I had just finished a thesis on life in Washington in the years following World War I," Judy said. "I know this time period as intimately as I know my own. That knowledge has been my salvation."

  "Are you OK now? Do you have a place to stay?"

  "I'm fine. I have more than enough money to get by for the next year. I've even made a few friends – the good kind, not the creeps in the back row. But I miss my life. I miss my fiancé. I miss my family. I want them back."

  When Judy broke down and put her face in her hands, Grace reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief. She knew all about industrial-strength crying and knew that paper napkins weren't designed to stop that kind of flow. She handed Judy the cloth.

  "Here you go."

  "Thanks."

  "I want to tell you that things will get better soon, but I can't," Grace said. "There are mornings I can't even get out of bed. I grieve for my husband and daughters every day. But I know at some point I will have to either move on or stop living. I too have made friends. I reside with a wonderful family. They are no substitute for what I lost, but they are something. I'm going to try hard to make a new life for myself. I strongly suggest you do the same."

  "You don't think there is any way back?"

  Grace shook her head.

  "The time portal is tied to both the theater and the movie. The Palladium manager told me that the theater is done with Stella Maris. It won't show it again for months, if ever. I pleaded with him to make an exception, but he said he was powerless to do anything. Other theaters have the film now."

  "Oh, no. Please don't say that."

  "I'm afraid it's the truth," Grace said. She sighed and frowned. "It gets worse too."

  "What do you mean?"

  "What I mean is that time is running out. If you know the history of the theater, then you know that it won't be around much longer. An electrical circuit will fail in the early morning hours of March 3 and cause a fire. The Palladium will burn to the ground and any hope that either of us might have to return to our loved ones will vanish forever."