Dave agreed and shook hands with Matt as Bill set his Time Frequency Modulator to NOVEMBER 15, 1864, 9:00 A.M. then opened the door in his den. Dave followed him as Samson ran down the stone steps of the stairwell. He waited at the security door and once at the bottom Bill pressed the activate button and opened the door.
DATELINE: NOVEMBER 15, 1864, 9:00 A.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
The garden was closed for the approaching winter and Samson ran around sniffing every nook and cranny as Bill unlocked the garden gate.
“Bill, there’s no way I can ever thank you for this. I guess once I’m out that gate we never see each other again?”
“Dave, every Saturday I go back to August 2, 1900 at eleven o’clock in the morning. I enjoy a cigar while sitting on that stone bench facing the gate. I do that because the lady club member that went back and I agreed on that time so that if she ever decided to return she knows that I’ll be here waiting for her. If you decide to return meet me here at that same time.”
The two men shook hands. “Have a great life, my friend,” said Bill as Dave left the garden. He looked back once and walked down the street to catch a carriage to the ferry.
The ten A.M. train ride to Washington was fast as was the train to Atlanta. It was six o’clock when Dave stepped off of the platform and immediately noticed that the city was getting back to business. The Union Army still had a large presence in the city but there were more civilian buckboards and carriages in the streets. He walked over to where Captain Merrill’s tent was located but it was gone along with the other tents of his group. The war moves on, Dave thought to himself as he headed towards a blacksmith shop.
He smiled as he heard the ring of a hammer hitting iron. Unless you heard that sound for yourself, there’s no way a history book could describe it to you, he thought as he entered the barn. He saw a red-bearded, shirtless man who looked like a Roman God as sparks flew every time his hammer hit the iron he held in a pair of long tongs. Dave stood to the side until the man finally spotted him and stopped.
“How can I help you, sir?” he asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
“I was wondering if you knew where I could purchase a horse and carriage?”
The blacksmith looked at him and said as he walked towards the rear of the barn, “Follow me.”
They went to the rear of the building where the man stopped and pulled a canvas tarp off of a black two-wheel carriage. He stepped on the iron footstep and grabbed the folded top cover and pulled it into the full up position. He then pointed at a black and gray horse that was in a stable. “The carriage, horse and riggings are yours for fifty dollars. And let me tell you, my friend, there ain’t too many available around here after them soldiers picked what they wanted first.”
“I’ll take them,” answered Dave “and can you toss in some feed for him?”
The man nodded and said as he walked to a sack of feed, “Her. Jenny’s her name. Ya can change it but it’ll sure confuse her.”
“Jenny’s fine,” the time traveler said as he rubbed her forehead. He paid the man who then started to walk her to the rig when a small boy ran into the barn.
“Pa! What are ya doin’ with Jenny?”
“Hush, Tad. We just sold her and this rig to this gentleman. I’m sure he’ll take care of her,” he looked at Dave for support.
Dave felt terrible, “I promise to take good care of her, sonny.”
“Tad,” the man said, “help me with the rigging, son.”
The boy tried to keep from crying as he helped his father.
Finished, both Tad and his father stood watching as Dave climbed up and took the reins. He saw the look in the boy’s eyes as he petted the horses’ head. Dave climbed back down and went to him. “Tad, will you do me a favor and hold this for me?”
The boy looked wide-eyed as he saw a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “I have a deal for you,” Dave said. “You buy another horse and keep him or trade him to me for Jenny when I come to town for more horse feed. Is that a deal?’
Tad smiled broadly as he petted Jenny and said, “Jenny, you go with this nice man and be good and I’ll have you back just as soon as I get another horse for him.”
The blacksmith shook hands with Dave and said, “Thank you and we’ll be here with all the horse feed ya need, sir.”
Dave walked the horse and carriage out onto the street and headed south.
The sun had just gone down as Ellen and Cleo sat on the buckboard that bounced and dipped as they made their way along the rough road home.
“Whoa!” said Ellen in a hushed tone as she kicked the wooden brake that caused the food and supplies in the rear of the buckboard to slide forward.
“M-Miss Ellen, what happened? Why did we stop here?”
“Hush! Look between those trees. See the light? Someone’s in the house and lit the lamps.”
Cleo nodded and added, “They also took off the shutters and boards that covered the windows. What are we gonna do?”
Ellen reached behind her seat and retrieved the shotgun she had under a burlap bag. “We leave the horse and wagon here and go the rest of the way on foot. No sense in warning the scum.”
The two ladies went cautiously between the trees staying in the dark shadows. They arrived at the side of the house and saw light streaming from all of the windows and the boards that had once covered them stacked neatly in a pile near the cut wood. A sound came from the front of the house and both stopped short.
“Miss, Ellen . . .” Cleo whispered, “It-it sounds like someone’s sittin’ in the rockin’ chair on the porch.”
Cleo couldn’t see the determined look that came across Ellen’s face as she whispered between clenched teeth, “Sitting on my porch in my rocking chair when we don’t dare do that yet.” At that she tore through the rest of the trees and faced the porch only to see a man rocking gently back and forth as he smoked a slim cigar and sipped lemonade. It took both but five seconds before Ellen dropped the shotgun and both ran towards the man on the porch screaming, “Samson! It’s Samson. He came back!”
The hugging went on for a long time, as did the tears from all three.
The three sat at the round table in the dining room as questions were asked and answered.
Dave happily told them when asked, “My eye is regaining vision and should be as healthy as it’s going to be in a few months time. And seeing the house so dark I thought that I might help out. As the war has passed and won’t return I realized that this house needed some light in it to start its way back to glory and the way to start was by removing those boards and lighting the oil lamps.”
“Oh, Mister Samson,” asked Cleo, “are you gonna stay this time?”
He looked at Ellen who blushed as he said, “It sort of hinges on what Miss Ellen wants. I’ll gladly stay on for as long as I’m wanted.”
Ellen reached across the table, placed her hand on his arm and answered, “You may stay as long as you wish.”
“First,” he said, “I must confess to recovering my memory. My true name is Dave McKinnon.”
Cleo stood and said with a grin, “I gotta go an’ get the supplies outta the buckboard before every squirrel in the county has a feast. I’ll probably be about an hour or more.” She winked at Ellen as she left them alone.
Dave took Ellen’s slim hand in his and said, “Ellen, I must be honest with you. I came back to see if there could be a life for me here.”
Her answer was to stand and meet him in the middle of the floor as they embraced.
Cleo came back two hours later and went up to her room. She smiled herself to sleep to the sound of giggles from Ellen’s room.
Two evenings later Dave cooked his version of a barbeque. After digging a hole he packed stones around the edge and bottom, dropped cut wood into it and set it afire. Using a steel kitchen grill from the kitchen he grilled the par-boiled chicken on it and constantly glazed it with honey. Potatoes and garden vegetables added to the small feast.
As the three sat at the table Ellen said, “I have some good news. Today I met with Mister Macpherson of the Aberdeen Sweater Manufacturers of Scotland. My family sold him cotton for years and he wants to know how soon we’ll be back in business. When I told him of the cotton we have hidden he was so happy that tomorrow he is sending a group of workers here to take it back to his ship.” She smiled and said to Cleo, “We are back in business again, Cleo. Once we have his money, we hire workers to plant cotton again.”
“Does that mean that we can use our real . . .”
“Hush, now, Cleo. The answer is yes, but I want to tell Dave all about our plan first.”
Dave sat back, crossed his arms and asked, “And when do I hear of this plan?”
Cleo stood and said as she patted her stomach, “Mister Dave, your barbeque was wonderful. Now I want to go up to my room and finish a book I’m reading.” She giggled as she went up the stairs leaving them alone.
Ellen and Dave sat on the wooden step of the porch in the light of a full moon. “Dave,” she said as they sat with his arm around her. “When the war started our home and business was on the verge of destruction. Our help left, our own soldiers and then the Northern soldiers trampled our fields. They both took all they wanted and destroyed the rest all in the name of the war. What no one knew was that Cleo and I had dragged away all of the bales of cotton that were ready to ship before they were discovered. There is a deep old bear cave about one half mile from here and we stored them in it before covering the opening with rocks and brush. I swore that I would not use my family name again until I was back in business. My mother and father started this plantation years ago and they struggled to make it into a very profitable business. It was my mother’s maiden name that I decided to take and scrape as she did until I was a success. I needed the strength that her name gave me. If I were successful, then and only then would I use my family name. As Cleo was my friend since childhood she stuck with me and is using her mother’s name as well. Tomorrow when Mister Macpherson and I sign the transaction that gives him the cotton I will use my family name once again.”
She looked at him and said, “Dave, if this sounds silly to you I’m sorry, but it got me through some horrible times.”
He squeezed her tightly. “I completely understand and am proud of you no matter what name you go by and that goes for Cleo too. However, will I have a problem when I ask you to change your name once again?”
For a moment she looked perplexed, “Once again? I don’t . . . Oh! Dave, are you asking me to-to . . .”
“To marry me?” He said, “Yes. I would love for you to change your name to mine.”
“Oh! Oh my!” They hugged and she said excitedly, “We-we can have the ceremony right here! I have nice curtains and many fineries hidden in the cellar.” She hugged him again, “Oh Dave, my answer is yes! I would be proud to be Mrs. McKinnon.”
They blew out all of the lamps and went upstairs.
Dave woke and looked on the table to see his clock when he realized where he was. I forgot. I didn’t bring an alarm clock along, he thought with a grin. The room was dark as a layer of rain clouds covered the full moon. It’s just too quiet, thought Dave as he slid gently out of bed and went to the window. No owls hooting or any of the night sounds that I’m becoming accustomed to. An opening in the clouds allowed a shaft of moonlight to bathe a small area about thirty yards away from the front gate. The sliver of light showed a man on horseback just waiting there and it seemed like he was expecting someone to join him. Oh my gosh! It’s Captain Bill Merrill. He must have heard that I’m back. Dave looked at Ellen’s sleeping form, opened the bedroom door and went down the stairs. He was dressed in a nightshirt and didn’t think to carry an oil lamp. He trotted out and the wet grass deadened his footsteps.
“Bill?” he called out. He slowed down his advance, as the rider said nothing. Hey, he thought, maybe I should have carried a sword or something.
“Bill, that you?” He stopped about ten feet away and asked again, “Is that you, Bill?”
“Dave McKinnon?” the figure called back.
“Yes, that’s me. Who are you? What do you want?”
The man got down off his horse and walked calmly towards him. He stopped just out of swinging range. “Dave McKinnon, right?”
“Yes, what do you want?”
“I just wish to give you a letter to give to the lady of the house.”
“Miss Ellen?”
“If that’s the name she is going by these days, yes.” He held out a white envelope. The moon came out from behind the cloud just enough for Dave to see a good-looking man with a trimmed black mustache. He was dressed in a gray suit with thin black pinstripes and the moonlight gleamed off of his black riding boots. He tipped his wide-brimmed pearl gray hat and said as Dave took the envelope, “She’s a good woman and deserves the best, sir. From what I hear in Atlanta these days I believe that you are that person.” He returned to his horse and said as he mounted, “Have a great life, sir and know that you shall never see me again.” He turned his horse as the clouds covered the moon allowing him to disappear into the darkness.
Dave walked back to the house just as an oil lamp was lit in the kitchen. He entered and saw Ellen as she placed the lamp on the table.
“Dave, I woke up and you were gone. I got so-so nervous I came down to look for you.” She saw the envelope and asked as she pulled her shawl tight, “What’s that?”
“I don’t know. I just met a gentleman on horseback and he gave me this letter to give to you.” He placed it on the table.
She pushed back a strand of her long black hair and asked as she picked up the envelope, “What was his name?”
“He didn’t offer that information. Just the letter.”
She sat and he took the seat opposite her as she opened the letter with shaking hands. She read it and he saw a look of contentment come over her pretty face.
“Is everything alright? Dave asked.
She turned the letter around so it faced him. “Dave, please read it.”
My dear. We enjoyed some fine times at Tara. The days were filled with fun, laughter and dance and your folks were as fine as any person could hope to have. Did we really love each other or was it simply the times we were in: Love and enjoy life? This war showed us all that we danced and made merry when others were not so lucky. I spotted you and Prissy in Atlanta the other day and a fine looking young fellow was driving the buckboard. If he is your choice for the future, he looks like a good enough fellow and I bid you the very best of luck. I stood out in front of your home the other evening and Tara looks good. She might need a coat of paint but she’s still the grand dame. You won’t see me again, but I will always cherish the times we had together. So, my dear Scarlett, good luck.
Warmest regards, Rhett B.
A stunned Dave closed the letter and said almost in a whisper, “Scarlett. Your real name is Scarlett O’Hara and Cleo is Prissy?”
“Yes. As I said starting tomorrow I plan to use my birth name again as does Prissy.”
“And,” he asked, “Tara is your home?”
“Yes,” she answered as she looked around the room, “Tara is still a grand dame and she will get a coat of paint.” She tore the letter in half. “Rhett Butler was a friend of mine and perhaps at one time we were in love with each other, but never at the same time. I’m glad he dropped by as it closes the past and opens our future.”
“It does, my love, it truly does.” They went back up the stairs.
DATELINE: AUGUST 2, 1900 11:00 P.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
As he sat on a stone bench smoking a Cuban cigar, Bill Scott watched Samson as the beagle investigated the many scents the garden gave off.
While I’d love to see my club members who decided to stay back in time after completing their missions, I truly hope that they don’t show up. I truly hope they made the right decision when they decided to stay back in the 1800s.
One hour la
ter he checked his watch and seeing that it was noon, nudged Samson from his nap next to him on the bench. “Come on, pup, time for lunch.” He took a last look at the gate before entering the club through the security door. Another week gone by and I’m happy to say that the three club members who stayed back still enjoy it. I wonder what the people upline would say if they knew? He took out his TFM and entered his password then NOVEMBER 5, 2015, 12 NOON and pressed the activate button.
End
Dear reader, Book 13 is now in the works as I have been informed of at least one new mission that has been completed by the 1800 Club.
See you soon, Robert P. McAuley
The 1800 Club
The end is usually very apparent in a story, be it a book or movie. However in this case, although it is the end page-wise, it continues on in the 1800 Club. You see, The 1800 Club does exist in New York City, although, under a different name and address. I, Bill Scott, also exist as President and owner of the club, and the people I wrote of, all exist. Some of their names have been changed, as they do have a life outside of the club and they and the club must be protected.
By now you are thinking, “This is a put-on, there is no club that can travel in time.” But, I ask you to look around. Isn’t history the same as you read it in your history books? Believe me, the club is working to keep it so. You the reader may ask, “Why is he admitting this?” To that I answer, “Why not?” Sometimes the best place to hide something is right out in plain sight. So, while admitting the club exists, the secret is as safe as saying it doesn’t exist.
I intended to continue this narrative and tell you about some of the other missions the club has worked on, however, I have to interrupt this book at this point because I’ve just been alerted that there is a problem going on right now with another historic event. I do intend to document it, and others as they occur, in the next book, ‘Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club: Book 13.’
TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club [Book 12] Page 29