“But General,” said Eric Silver, “he freed the slaves.”
“He did that, but only when this war has ended will we truly determine the outcome. I believe slavery to be wrong, but what will these people do if they don't have the homes and food they received before? Where will they go? We will see if Mr. Lincoln has done more good than harm.”
“What will you do now, General?” asked David Jewels. David's freckles bounced on his cheeks, his messy, blond head keeping step with each word.
“I will return to my family and my home. But first I must return to Richmond to speak with President Davis about ending the hostilities and reuniting our country. He will not be happy. A number of my men have offered to continue the fight, a guerrilla war from the hills. I hope I have convinced them otherwise. I hope Mr. Lincoln will soon complete what we began yesterday.”
“But Lincoln was assassinated,” exclaimed Amanda Lesetto. The class grew silent. Lee's jaw dropped; a sharp breath joined a mournful stare at Amanda.
“Sorry General,” I said. “Amanda, we were not going to mention the near future.”
Lee asked, “Is this true?”
“General, do you really want to know?”
“Now that the subject has been opened, please.”
With a chest-heaving sigh, I told him that in four days, President and Mrs. Lincoln would go to Ford's Theater in Washington to see “Our American Cousin” and that the president would be shot by an actor, John Wilkes Booth, who hated that Lincoln had defeated his beloved South and was even talking about allowing the former slaves to vote one day. I added that attempts by his fellow conspirators to kill Vice President Johnson, Secretary Seward, and Secretary Stanton would fail, but the president would die the next morning.
“Then we of the South cannot look forward to what I had hoped would be a congenial reconciliation of this nation. It is a sad day now for many reasons—for all of us.” The general stood and looked toward the valley and away from us.
A new question came from Johnny Clayton. “General, what was the worst battle, do you think?”
With his thumb and forefinger, Lee stroked his mustache. Turning back to us, he said, “At Gettysburg, I think I made a mistake, and a costly one it was. Too many were lost there, on both sides. So many of my best commanders. If only General Stuart had been nearby, perhaps the outcome might have been different. We fought at Sharpsburg in Maryland; some call it Antietam for the creek that runs through the field. We fought at Fredericksburg. We fought in the Shenandoah. I think the hardest loss for me was at Chancellorsville, when General Thomas Jackson fell.” He hung his head.
Eric Silver asked, “Do you mean Stonewall, sir?”
“Yes, his men called him that and named their brigade the Stonewall.” He had looked up at Eric's question. “I felt as though I had lost my right arm when he died.”
“General, what does the E stand for?” asked Pat. “You know, Robert E. Lee;” she emphasized the general's middle initial.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Well, the E stands for Edward. But why do you know my name that way? Of course, these days I'm known as General Lee,” a playful twinkle in his eyes. “But most people I know have called me only Robert Lee.”
“General, historians refer to you using your initial,” I said. “It has a sort of melodic sound—Robert E. Lee.”
Lee smiled. “You know, Mr. Russell, I, too, have worked with students. I held the post of superintendent of the Military Academy at West Point, which is also my alma mater, as you appear to know.”
From the trees, a horse whinnied. Walking toward us was a horse, gray with a black mane and long black tail, and a soldier. “Old Traveller, my horse, is always ready to tell me when I need to pay attention to the needs of the moment,” said the general.
The scene surprised and confused the approaching soldier. Walking up to Lee, he whispered, “General, I've been worried. You've been gone for two hours.” He peered at us, curious.
Lee waved toward us. “I would like to introduce Colonel Walter Taylor, my adjutant and close confidant throughout these years of war. Colonel, this is Mr. Russell and his students from New Jersey. I will tell you about them later.” Turning to the class again, he said, “Mr. Russell, young people, it seems my time with you is over. Our conversation has been very enlightening for me, I assure you.”
“General Lee, it has been our pleasure and honor to have met you. Thank you for your time.”
Various members of the classes offered thanks in a variety of ways. David Jewels said, “See ya, General.”
The general cocked his head. “I wonder.” At that, he and Colonel Taylor headed back into the woods, and we left the clearing, squishing toward the door. Suddenly, our shadows danced in the newly arrived sunlight.
The bell rang. I opened the door, and as I stepped through ahead of them, Dan Wilkinson, his textbook open, said, “Mr. R, take a look at this. The words are back.”
Chapter Six
AS THE KIDS LEFT, Ashley scurried down the hallway and through the crowd of book bags. “Where have you been?” he asked.
Johnny Clayton overheard and answered for me. “Mr. Gilbert, you gotta go in there and see. It's really cool. We just met Robert E. Lee. Mr. R, how did you do that?” Ashley glanced at Johnny, bemused, and turned to me. So, I guessed, he hadn't seen much when he looked in.
“I looked for you after last period. Your room was empty.”
“I saw you look in the window. Dinner will be the most interesting meal you'll have this week, I promise. I'll tell you later.”
“Tell me what?”
“You're not going to believe this. I'm not sure I do.”
“WHAT are you talking about?” He sounded exasperated. He didn't understand. I knew I didn't.
“Too much to tell. Later.” Looking through the window, I said, “Room looks like it always does.”
Ashley asked, “And you were expecting something different? What did Johnny mean about meeting Robert E. Lee?”
“Ash, I really don't know what happened, but, yeah, we met Robert E. Lee on the day after he surrendered. I'll tell you the whole story, but later. I have to get through the rest of the day first.”
As Ash walked away, I twisted the doorknob, again feeling a tingle. I stepped through and saw a large building with a Ford sign across the top. Before I could see more, a club rushed my vision, collided with my cheek, and knocked me backwards. I hit the floor with a groan, and Ashley ran back to help me up. He stopped laughing when he saw blood dripping down my face.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
With students gathering around me, I said I didn't know. “I must have tripped and hit my face on something.” Fran Lawrence handed me a tissue.
“You need to go to the nurse, Mr. R. You have a gash on your cheek. And it's starting to swell.”
Ashley took over. “One of you, go to the cafeteria and get some ice in a cup. And ask for a dish towel, a clean one.” He pulled my hand away. “Stay put, Fritz. Will someone go get Ms. Wharton? Tell her what happened.”
I tried to stand but Ashley held me down. Now surrounded by my class and his, I told him to let me move to a wall, so I could sit up. All the while, I kept thinking about what I had so briefly seen.
The ice arrived first, followed shortly by Nurse Wharton and the principal. Just what I need.
“What happened, Mr. Russell? Are you okay? Why are all you students standing around? Get to your classes.” I told him the students were mine and Ashley's and we had told them to stay. “Well then, that's okay I guess, but what happened?
When I told him I didn't know, he said I needed to be more careful. And then he said he hoped nothing was seriously wrong, because he didn't want to be filling out accident reports. We could all tell how irritated he was from his deep red cheeks.
The nurse pried the icepack from my hand and with a none-too-gentle prod said that I had a bruise and a small cut. Mr. McAllister said he was glad to hear it. She asked if I could stand. A
sh and one of the boys pulled me up.
“Keep pressure on it and come to my office. I'll bandage it there.”
George said he would cover for me. From the rear of my group, a couple of moans irritated George even more. “Everyone inside NOW,” he said.
A bandage and a couple of ibuprofens later, I opened my door. George hustled past me without a word. The kids clapped softly as the door clicked shut. Marion Hickok asked if I was okay. I assured her that no permanent damage had been done, and the ice was helping.
Joe DiVincenzo said, “Hey, Mr. R. We heard you turned the class into a forest, and we're going to speak to Robert E. Lee.”
“Joe, do you really believe that?” I glanced at my notes. “Okay, class, open your books to page 287. With the time we have left, we'll discuss the events that led to World War II.”
Marion Hickok raised her hand. “Yes, Marion?”
“Mr. R, while we were waiting, Johnny Clayton said you told Robert E. Lee about computers and cars.” I watched the class waiting, watching me.
“We have other things to discuss. I'll tell you about it sometime. Today we're going to talk about the Treaty of Versailles.” Outside, a stormy sky still filled the windows, but it wasn't as cloudy as the looks on the kids' faces. Close by, there was a flash followed by a rumble.
Fran Lawrence asked, “Mr. Russell, is it true that if you count the seconds from a lightning flash until thunder that the number of seconds will tell you how far away the storm is?”
“No, Fran,” I said. “It will depend on temperature and humidity. Sound travels about one mile every five seconds in normal conditions, but that doesn't account for altitude. Now, Can We Discuss the Versailles Treaty? Steve Christopher, will you read the main points of the treaty?”
As Steve read, I stood at the windows and watched the cars go by. The rain bounced on their windshields like popcorn. I wondered what had just occurred. I'm not a spectator to history. I'm an eyewitness. Why didn't this class find the same scene? What's different? And where WAS I when I got hit? When I turned back, I realized that the classroom was deafeningly quiet.
Marion Hickok raised her hand tentatively. “Mr. Russell, are you sure you're okay?”
“Yes, thank you, Marion, I'm fine. Let's see hands. How did the treaty prepare the groundwork for the future?” Hands went up. Tom Wyle didn't usually volunteer. “Yes, Tom?”
“By creating the League of Nations, it gave us an organization that was supposed to prevent future wars.”
“How did that work out, Tom?”
“Not too well, Mr. R,” said Tom, a little pink, and then asserted, “but it was a good idea.”
“It was, and it is,” I agreed. “What do we have today that does something similar?”
“The United Nations,” said three or four out loud.
“Why didn't the League work?” Again, hands went up. New hands. Bill Taggert? Wow, something's going on. But what? “Yes, Bill?”
“First of all, the United States didn't join.” His voice cracked, unaccustomed to participating. “And the treaty made Germany accept blame for the war and took away land from them. So the Germans weren't really very happy.”
“Good, Bill.” Kevin Maher's hand was up. What's happening here today? “Kevin.”
“They made Germany pay repairments.”
“Reparations,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that's it,” said Kevin.
“Keep going, Kevin”
“Well, the treaty tried to make all countries reduce their arms.”
A voice from the back of the class called out, “And their legs.” Steve Christopher. I shook my head as the class laughed.
“Steve, other than body parts, what did disarming mean?”
“Well, I think it made all countries make their armies smaller to prevent another war. And it made countries tell each other what they were doing.”
“Seems like a good idea, doesn't it?” I asked. “Transparency of action, communication between countries, reduction in military strength. The treaty also had an agreement between members to protect each other from outside aggression, like NATO today. Can anyone see any weaknesses here?” I looked around the room. “Sam Olberman, what do you think?” Sam had been staring out the window.
Looking back at me, he seemed not to be paying attention. Or maybe he was deep in thought. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Um, well, it's like there's no way to make a country agree.”
“All the signers agreed. Could they change their minds?”
Sam said, “I guess so.”
“Can you think of a country that did?”
Sam glanced at the maps on the front wall. “Germany?”
“Good one, Sam. We'll get into that more in a couple of weeks. Can anyone think of another?”
Sarah Bright spoke up and said, “Japan.”
“Good, Sarah,” I said. “Can you tell us more?”
Sarah continued, “So Japan was one of our allies in World War I, and the treaty gave Japan all the islands in the Pacific that Germany owned. And the Japanese were totally our enemies in World War II.”
“Terrific answer, Sarah.” I said. She smiled, and I decided to fill in some details. “The Germans had colonized islands in the Pacific. Not all the islands, but they had not really developed them. The Japanese wanted to build an empire in China and in the western and southern Pacific and were already developing control in the entire region. After World War I, the government in Japan came under control of pro-military politicians and military officers. As the Japanese developed the area, they came in conflict with the U.S. and Britain by the early1930s. We'll get to that later also. Can anyone think of another factor which influenced the outcome of the treaty?” No hands went up. “What about economically?”
“The Roaring Twenties,” said Eddie Bauer.
“What about them?”
“Well, things were good.”
“Where were they good, Eddie?”
“Uh, everywhere?”
It was time to teach. “The war had been devastating to Europe. Millions of young men on both sides were killed or wounded. It ruined much of France and Belgium, where most of the war was fought. Germany was slammed by reparations and losing territory, including the Rhineland, where it mined most of its coal and got most of its timber. That's where industry was, too. Terrible inflation crippled the German economy. Before the war, Germany was the strongest economy in Europe.” I walked back and forth in front of the class. “In the U.S., where normal life was not interrupted by the battles, the recession ended more quickly. Before the war, the United States had owed more money to foreigners than foreigners owed it. During the war, that switched, and it stayed that way until the 1980s.” The bell rang ending the class.
“Aren't you going to tell us what happened last period?” asked Sam.
“Not today, Sam, maybe later.” It was the end of fifth period.
Before they made it out the door, I said “We'll continue this on Monday.” I heard the usual groans.
Ashley walked in. “You look like you have an addition built on your face. So what did happen?”
Bewildered, I shook my head and said, “At the house. I'll tell you what happened there. Not here.”
“You know, the kids have one hell of a tale they're telling, and it seems that some of the teachers are getting filled in, too.”
“I wish I could explain, but I can't.”
Tom Jaffrey walked in. “That must have been a very interesting class, Fritz. Three of my fourth-period students didn't show up, and when I saw them in the hall, they said you would explain.”
“I kept them through the fourth, Tom. Sorry. We had a project with a special guest.” General Lee sitting on a tree stump flashed in my mind. “I thought it would be worth their time. I suppose you've heard the story already?”
Mr. Jaffrey said, “Uh huh. You're going to have to show a bunch of us how you did it, 'cause I haven't seen them this excited about, well, anything.”
&nbs
p; “Tom, when I have it all figured out, I'll have the office set up an in-service for the whole staff. Promise. But I'm still working out some details.”
“Sounds good to me. Gotta run.” I was glad he left.
Ashley listened, befuddled. “You actually set that up?”
“Nope. You'd have known. I just told him that so he wouldn't keep pushing—like present company. Look, Ash, before today is over, I'm going to need to explain this, whatever it was, to a bunch of teachers and to George. I don't really know what happened.” I put the icepack on my cheek. “So expect a good dinner and a long chat. But right now, I have to call Linda and let her know you're coming and bringing wine.” Ashley gave me a thumbs-up.
I had lunch monitor duty the first half of sixth period, keeping order in the freed chaos. Three different teachers asked what had happened to their fourth-period students. I refined the story for each of them. It was good practice for what I suspected was coming. Funny, I thought, I never thought of myself as a born liar. But I'm getting pretty good at this. Knowing I had almost made it through the day, I flipped through my notes and then picked up the book on the right side of my desk. I thumbed to the pages I had paperclipped. A Ford sign. At the bottom of the picture, inside a circle, two feet protruded from a foggy rectangle. The caption read, “This photograph taken at River Rouge that day has never been explained. Whose feet were they? And what was the strange rectangle?” I examined the shoes and lifted my right foot. They were the same. I put the book in my briefcase. Is this a coincidence? Or is that really me? If I were wearing running shoes instead of wingtips, I'd know. And the puzzle would be even bigger. What made me put on good shoes this morning?
Just before the start of seventh period, I went out in the hall to wait for the next class. Seniors. Most of them were already there, talking among themselves, unusually clamor free.
Mike Malloy said, “Mr. Russell, is it true, what everybody's saying?”
“Not now, Mike.” He touched his cheek as though I had slapped him. “Sorry Mike, I didn't mean for it to come out like that.”
Quantum Touch (Book 1): Storm Portal Page 4