So Little Time

by Doreen Roberts

  As she stood and gazed on the now silent fields and slopes of that momentous battle, in her mind she heard the pounding of the cannons, the cries and shouts of men engaged in deadly warfare.

  She saw the bright flash of gunpowder, and the grimy uniforms moving through the clouds of gray smoke. She smelled the scorched grass, felt the thunder of hooves vibrating across the hard ground.

  Little Round Top, Devil’s Den, The Peach Orchard, all became more than names in a history book. They were real places, where real men had fought and died.

  On the third and last day of the battle, she stood on Cemetery Ridge at the site of Pickett’s charge. The oppressive heat closed around her, without the faintest movement of a breeze to stir the long grass of the open fields. Here, on this ridge, thousands of men had died in untold agony. Had Granger been among them? Or had he even survived until that day? She would never know.

  Turning away, Corie faced the truth. She was never going to see him again. The faint hope she had struggled to hold on to flickered weakly, and died. Granger was gone, taking with him her heart.

  * * *

  He lay on his cot, staring into the darkness, as he did so often nowadays. Something had happened to him since Gettysburg—something strange and impossible to understand. At first he’d thought it was the aftermath of that terrible battle.

  He’d recovered, slowly, from the wounds he’d suffered, leaving only the healing scars to show for the agony. They had told him he might never walk again, but something inside him hadn’t let him believe their dismal conclusions.

  It had taken him eight long weeks to prove them wrong. And another four to convince his commanders that he could ride as well as ever, in spite of his noticeable limp.

  But there was something more. Something he couldn’t define at first. He’d had dreams...strange, outlandish dreams, visions that were beyond his understanding, beyond even his own imagination. Alien structures and miraculous machines, carriages that moved without horses, boxes with moving pictures and an instrument that could talk in his ear.

  Then there was the ache, somewhere under his ribs, that could not be explained by any of the doctor’s examinations. It was as if he mourned for someone, yet he had no one to cause such mental anguish.

  Gradually, as the painful weeks passed, and his mind could dwell on subjects more pleasant than his injuries, more was added to the visions that tricked his mind.

  A fragrance, elusive yet somehow familiar, the flash of a smile, a soft voice calling his name in the quiet hours before dawn. A woman.

  Yet he had known no such woman. Certainly none who had the power to torment his weakened body so. He could not chase the images from his mind, however, no matter how hard he tried.

  It was as if she were with him, in spirit at least. All through the agonizing days of forcing his legs to function again, he’d felt her presence like a living, breathing thing.

  It wasn’t until he had finally been released from the hospital and reported back to his command, that the possessions taken from him when they’d carried him from the battlefield were returned to him.

  Inside his unopened saddlebag he’d found some very strange objects. The compass he recognized as such immediately, though it was unlike any compass he’d ever seen. The other instrument was completely foreign to him. He also found a list of numbers, scribbled on an unusually fine piece of paper, with an ink that did not smudge when wet.

  But the most astounding item was the likeness of a woman, dressed in men’s clothing, printed on a thick, shiny paper such as he’d never seen before. Peculiar structures, similar to the ones in his dreams, towered behind her, and he could not understand the purpose of them. But it was the woman who held his attention.

  He’d known immediately that it was the woman in his visions.

  The only thing he could think of was that he’d found the objects when he’d fallen from his horse, that first day of the Gettysburg battle as he was heading for Ewell’s camp.

  He vaguely remembered stuffing something inside his saddlebag, but he had been dazed by the fall, and couldn’t remember where he’d discovered them. Or where he’d found the odd clothes he wore.

  He’d thought that the picture of the woman was the reason for his visions, but he knew now that it was more than that. Somehow, somewhere, he had known her. He had held her soft, smooth body in his arms and he had loved her.

  Now he had a burning desire to find her. A desire that far surpassed his need to continue his service in the army. He had been offered an honorable discharge, and had refused. After that he’d received orders to report to Chattanooga, and had arrived in Tennessee just last month.

  But now he knew, that given the opportunity, he would gladly give up his commission to follow the woman of his dreams.

  Turning on his side, Granger saw through the dusty window pane the first flush of dawn lighten the sky. He knew no way of finding her. Yet something nagged in his mind, something that couldn’t be denied.

  He’d heard talk of Colonel Carson fighting the Navajo on the borders of New Mexico and the new territory of Arizona. Someone had mentioned a town called Del Muerto. Somehow it had struck a chord in his mind, so strong he couldn’t rid himself of the name.

  He knew, though how he knew he could not imagine, that he would find the woman there. He had asked for a transfer. Yesterday it had been granted.

  Today he was to leave on the long journey west, to a town he’d never heard of before, to find a woman he didn’t know. A woman who so possessed his mind, a woman for whom his love was so powerful, he was willing to give up all he had known—his career, everything he had, even risk his very life—in order to be with her.

  As he lay there watching what would most likely be the last dawn he would see from an eastern town, he was filled with a sense of excitement, and a longing that was painful to bear. If he rode hard he would be in Del Muerto before the end of the year. Somehow he would find her and hold her again. If it took him until the end of his days.

  * * *

  Corie looked down from the tiny window of the jet and wondered why she was opening herself up to inevitable pain. As the weeks had crawled by she’d done her best to forget that Granger Deene had ever existed.

  Sometimes she had almost convinced herself that it had all been a dream, until some sign of his presence had brought back the empty ache of loss.

  Finally unable to bear the memories, she had sold the house and furniture at a profit that had astounded her. Deciding that a complete change was in order, she had put her few belongings in storage and planned a long vacation exploring the west coast. After that she would make a decision as to where she wanted to live.

  Arizona had not been on her itinerary. Before she left the lab, Dr. Richards had informed her that Specturne, as expected, had veered off its orbit, and was no longer in the galaxy. They were therefore scrapping all the information on the star and closing the file.

  Corie had flown to Los Angeles for Christmas, and planned to be in San Francisco to see in the New Year. At the last moment, she had changed her flight to Albuquerque. From there it would take her about five hours to drive to the tiny town of Del Muerto.

  She knew he wouldn’t be there. At least not in her time. But if he remembered, if he had really cared, he might be there in his time. And perhaps, for one fleeting moment, they might be in the same spot at the same time.

  It was foolish, she knew, but if it was possible to reach across time and feel each other’s presence for one last time, it would have been worth the effort. If he was there. If he had survived the trip back, if he had survived the battle, if he had survived the war, if he still remembered her, if he still wanted to return... So many damn ifs.

  Catching her reflection in the window, Corie pulled a face at herself. She was crazy. But she had to do this. She had to put a final end to it. She had to say goodbye. There hadn’t been time during those last few moments in Gettysburg. Now, at last, she could play the final inning. It was over.


  * * *

  It was cold in the mountains of Arizona. He’d resigned his commission two days ago, and he still didn’t know why. He’d found the town, no more than a watering hole, one of many scattered about at the foothills of the Canyon de Chelly.

  There were no women who vaguely resembled the woman in the picture. In fact, there were few women at all. He had no idea why he’d come to this godforsaken hole. He only knew that something, someone had driven him there, and soon it would be resolved.

  He spent the eve of the New Year huddled in front of a blazing fire in an abandoned log cabin. By the light of a broken oil lamp, he studied the picture again. Then he unfolded the rumpled and creased sheet of paper that he’d carried with him all these weeks.

  The figures danced in front of his eyes, and he could make neither head nor tail of their significance. He turned the compass over and over in his palm, his instincts telling him that he needed the instrument, but he could not understand why.

  Finally, in seething frustration he stood, crumpling the paper up into a tight ball. He raised his hand, prepared to send the irritating mess straight into the flames so that he would not be bothered by it again, but some strange force inside him would not let him do it.

  Instead, he shoved it back into his pocket and limped to the window, where the night sky glowed with a thousand twinkling stars. As he watched, a falling star left a white-hot trail across the dark velvet of the sky. Staring at the streak of light, something clicked in his brain.

  A beam of light. An enormous beam of light that fell from the sky and lit up the ground like the glow from a hundred moons. Where had he seen such a beam? Somewhere, sometime, he had stood in the heart of it and felt the strange pulsating energy of it.

  He frowned, turning back to the fire. That day in Gettysburg, when he had fallen from his horse. He remembered a flash of light, an odd feeling of being swept away as if borne by a fierce wind far more powerful than anything he’d witnessed before. Then he’d awoke, lying on the ground with his horse pawing impatiently nearby.

  Slowly, he unfolded the piece of paper again and stared at it. Somewhere in between the time he’d fallen and the time he’d awakened, he’d found the strange objects. The figures, the compass, the other instrument and the picture.

  From somewhere outside he heard the faint, distant sound of a church bell welcoming in the New Year. It was like a signal, triggering his thoughts, so that they tumbled ever faster, so fast he could hardly keep up.

  The figures would lead him to the beam of light. And the light would lead him to the woman. How he knew that he couldn’t imagine, but he was sure. Moving closer to the fire, he peered at the figures again.

  With a feeling of rising excitement, he could make sense of them. The figures at the top represented a date—one, two, sixty-four. January 2, 1864. The day after tomorrow.

  He studied the rest of the figures. There was the time—2:38 a.m. He would have to be there tomorrow night. He limped over to the sack of straw that served as his bed, and opened the saddlebag. He found the compass and the other instrument and drew them out, as well as the picture that had brought him to this desolate spot.

  He knew now what he had to do. Tomorrow night, he would find the spot where the beam of light would shine. And he would step inside. After that, he could not imagine what would happen. He only knew he would find her. And now he knew her name.

  Staring into the flames, he whispered it. “My sweet Corie. Tomorrow night I will come to you. I did not forget.”

  * * *

  Corie shivered in the night wind that brought the chill of snow from the mountains. According to the calculations she had given Granger, he should arrive in that spot within the next fifteen minutes. That’s if he was still alive, and still remembered.

  How would he feel, she wondered, when the expected beam of light didn’t materialize? She had impressed upon him that the chances were slim, that it would be a miracle if Specturne returned. If he cared enough to be there, to give up his life in his time to try to come back to her, then he would be shattered when the star failed to return.

  How long would he wait? What would he do with his life after that? Would he feel as desolate and as lost as she did without him?

  She directed the beam from her flashlight onto her watch. Ten minutes to go. She shivered, hugging her arms about her for comfort. She could see the lights of the small town of Del Muerto from where she stood on a piece of high ground. Small trees and shrubs covered the dry earth, and a tiny trickle of water dripped aimlessly from a slab of high rock.

  Above the ridge of mountains the sky looked clear, brilliant with the myriad of stars that can only be seen from the desert. Her heart ached as she stared up at the still universe.

  “Damn you, Specturne,” she whispered, her voice carrying across the empty ground. “Why couldn’t you have stayed in orbit just one more time?”

  * * *

  It was time. He had watched the hands of the battered pocket watch crawl past the hour, and now he had maybe ten minutes before the beam would come.

  He hoped he was in the right spot. He hoped the voice inside his head had not been his imagination finally scrambling his brain. He still didn’t understand what he had done. He only knew it was right.

  He stood on a rise outside of town, the wind chilling him as it whisked briskly around him. The trees were sparse, and afforded no cover. He could see quite clearly the dark slopes of the mountains rising above the canyon. From somewhere behind him he could hear water trickling down a rock.

  He tensed, his nerves quivering. He had heard something else. The soft fall of unshod hooves on the dry ground.

  Navajo.

  Softly, he cursed. A hunting party returning late. They did not usually attack at night. If he was quiet, perhaps they would pass him by.

  He moved to stand behind a spindly tree, knowing it would not conceal him in the bright light from the moon. His foot kicked a loose rock, sending it tumbling. The sound seemed to echo like thunder.

  His hand went to his belt, where he kept his knife. It was the only weapon he had brought with him. How he wished he had his saber, or better yet, his revolver. It was too late to wish for such things now.

  His mouth went dry when he saw the shifting shadows. There were seven of them, side by side, their horses slowly stepping in a line toward him. They had seen him. And they were not going to pass him by. He could smell them, they were so close.

  Even without the limp, he could not have outrun them on foot. He cursed himself for giving away his horse. With it, he might have had a chance. Gripping the knife in his hand, he braced himself.

  He would not turn his back for them to sink an arrow into his unprotected flesh. He would die facing them, fighting for his life.

  Their war cry rang out in the night, chilling his blood. The ominous yells bounced off the rocks to sound like a hundred war cries. They were coming at him, hatchets raised, their eyes gleaming in the moonlight with the thrill of the kill.

  He closed his eyes briefly, implanting the image of his woman on his mind. Slowly, he raised his hand.

  Forty yards, thirty...

  It came from nowhere. A giant beam so bright he had to close his eyes. It fell straight to earth, a few yards in front of him, spreading a wide circle of dazzling light, throbbing with energy.

  Mist swirled inside the blazing column, and beyond it he could hear the terrified whinnies of the horses, and the harsh shouts of the Indians as they fought to control their crazed animals.

  For one second...two...three...he stood, dazed by the spectacle. Then he heard a voice above the others. His woman. Corie.

  “Run, Granger,” she screamed. “Run into the beam. Now!”

  Frantically he leapt forward. His weakened leg gave way and he fell, leaving him just short of the circle. With a supreme effort he rolled, over and over, and felt the warmth of the light engulf him. The wind came, sweeping him up in a wild torrent of speed, and he knew no more.


  * * *

  Corie was cold. So very cold. Shivering in the pale shadows of the moonlight, she looked at her watch once more. Only another minute or two and she would go, leaving her memories in this lonely place forever.

  Once more she looked up at the sky, and her heart leapt. Staring in disbelief, she saw the star, brighter than any star she’d ever seen. She watched it grow, so fast she barely had time to draw breath before the beam screamed to earth, bathing the ground in front of her with its magnificent light.

  She thought she saw something in the midst of it, shrouded by the swirling mist, but she couldn’t be sure. Dazzled by the light, she could only stand there, her hand shading her eyes.

  Then the light vanished, and she blinked. And blinked again. There in front of her, lay the huddled shape of a man.

  She felt as if she would choke from the rush of hope and excitement. Not daring to believe it yet, she walked slowly forward.

  He lay on his side in a pool of light from the moon, his face hidden from her. One wide shoulder hunched under his ear, pushing the collar of his jacket over his cheek. His legs were drawn up almost to his chin, and one arm seemed to reach out in mute appeal.

  She reached out and took hold of his shoulder. Gently, she rolled him onto his back. The sight of his face, so dearly engraved on her mind, brought the tears to her eyes. She leaned over him, peering at him anxiously. For a moment a terrible fear held her frozen. Was he alive?

  Then, without warning, his eyes opened, staring at her with the odd silver gleam she remembered so well. He gazed at her for a long moment, then said softly, “There is a God, after all.”

  The tears chased down her cheeks. “You came back,” she said, as his arms closed around her. “You came back to me.”

  His hand stroked her hair, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I couldn’t forget,” he whispered. Then his mouth found hers, and the world slipped away.

  * * *

  The plane shuddered, howling defiance to gravity as it gathered speed on the runway. Corie sat with her hand gripped in Granger’s strong fingers, watching his face grow more ashen by the second.