The Townsends and Wyatt had boarded the westbound train at two o'clock, not long after saying goodbye to two orphans. They had risen early so that they could spend as much time as possible with the brave teen and the spunky girl who had stolen their hearts and changed how they looked at the world.
Chuck glanced at Justin, who sat next to Wyatt in the nearest of two facing seats and stared blankly into space. He wanted to say something comforting but kept silent instead. He knew that there was nothing he could say or do – at least now – to ease his son's excruciating pain.
The long goodbyes in Houston were surprisingly short. Though they were more subdued than many others in the grief center that was the Grand Central Depot, they were no less meaningful.
When Amelia Gaines, the first of the girls to leave, reached Justin at the end of a line of well-wishers, she didn't say a word. She just embraced her rescuer for more than a minute, kissed him on the cheek, and left him with a gentle smile.
Anna Beck said so long in a similar way. She gave Justin a long hug, wiped a tear from his cheek, and handed him a drawing she had created that morning. It depicted Justin, Emily, and Anna holding hands in a place that looked an awful lot like heaven.
The girls then returned to their relatives, caught trains headed in different directions, and left an impressionable twenty-one-year-old man to his thoughts. They left Justin sadder than they had found him but also far richer. That had shown him that there was beauty in tragedy and meaning in death. They had given him the perspective that he so badly craved.
Chuck gazed at his son for a moment and then glanced at a man who continued to amaze, inspire, and shock. He wondered if he would ever fully understand the mystery that was his close friend, confidant, and relative.
Wyatt hadn't planned on accompanying the others to California. He hadn't seen the point of making the trip without Rose and wanted to get on with the business of rebuilding his company and his city. He had changed his mind, however, after putting a bullet in his brother's brain.
After serving twenty days in jail for allegedly murdering his fiancée, Wyatt had decided that he didn't care much for incarceration. He hadn't wanted to take the chance that a prosecutor or a judge might view his act as vengeance rather than self-defense and send him to prison or the gallows. So he'd elected to flee to 2016 Los Angeles, a place that was beyond any 1900 bounty hunter or extradition treaty.
The grown-ups at the Fitzpatrick mansion had done what they could to put the violent episode behind them. Wyatt and Justin had buried Silas in a hidden section of the backyard. Chuck had cleaned up the bloody mess in the sitting room. Charlotte had counseled each of the girls and advised them to keep what they had seen to themselves.
Wyatt had not felt at ease, however, subjecting the others to suspicion. So he had written two letters to Hannibal Butler. In the first, he confessed to shooting Silas. In the second, he requested that his assets be used to start a fund for orphans.
Wyatt had given the letters to Butler in person on Thursday morning and asked the attorney not to open them before October 1. He had wanted time to escape to South America should the time tunnel in Los Angeles prove to be less effective than advertised.
Chuck hoped that wouldn't be the case. Though he had every reason to believe that the portal would be operational when the travelers reached California on September 16, he didn't know for a fact that it would be. There was still a chance that they had already waited too long.
Chuck smiled sadly at Wyatt, who returned his smile, and then directed his attention to the woman who rested her head on his shoulder. He didn't know what words he would use to describe her, but he knew that, whatever they were, they would be drawn from poetry.
Whenever Chuck looked at the woman who spoke four kinds of French, played piano like Liberace, and made the best breakfasts in Texas, he thought of a lottery ticket. He had not just improved his lot in 1900. He had won big. He had found the perfect mate, someone who would fill the rest of his life with love and laugher and maybe a little magic.
What he admired most about Charlotte Townsend was the way she had handled adversity. Despite the murder of one colleague, the betrayal of another, and the disappearance of a third, she had maintained her poise. She had handled every setback with courage, kindness, and grace.
Chuck did worry about the difficult moments ahead, starting with Geoffrey Bell's reaction to his bringing back a pregnant souvenir from 1900. Bell would huff and puff and probably lecture him on time-travel ethics. He might even demand that Chuck reimburse him for certain expenses.
If he did, Chuck would gladly sign over what was left of his meager savings. He would rather be poor and happy than poor and miserable. He looked forward to life with the intelligent, charming, and beautiful Mrs. Townsend and the child they would raise together.
Chuck put his arm around his sleeping wife, pulled her close, and then glanced at the far door of his passenger coach. He did a double take when he saw a man look back at him and then quickly exit through the door. The man was the spitting image of Thomas Mack.
Chuck shook his head. He couldn't believe that a man who had shadowed him in Galveston for more than four months would possibly do so here and now, but he couldn't rule it out. If there was one thing he had learned in 1900, it was that he could never rule anything out.
The time traveler didn't give Thomas Mack or the Shadow or whoever he was a second thought. He instead made himself comfortable and gazed at the men in the facing seats.
Chuck saw that Wyatt and Justin had already settled in for the long haul. Wyatt had pulled his cowboy hat over his face. Justin had closed his eyes. He rested his head against Wyatt's shoulder. If the two were not yet asleep, they were knocking on slumber's door.
That was just as well, Chuck thought. Each of the men had had a long week and had an even longer week ahead. It was time for everyone to put Galveston and 1900 in the rear-view mirror and think of better things. A magnificent city and a gleaming new century waited.
CHAPTER 87: CHUCK
Los Angeles, California – Sunday, September 16, 1900
Chuck found the Bell house exactly as he had left it – pristine, glorious, and apparently empty. If Percival Bell's widow had sold or rented the place to someone else, that someone else was not home. That, Chuck concluded, was a good thing.
The senior time traveler grabbed his wife's hand and escorted her across the back lawn to a gap in the ground and a series of steps that led to the magic tunnel. When Justin and Wyatt joined them near the top step a few seconds later, Chuck looked at his son.
"Do you want the honor?"
"No," Justin said. "You can have it."
Justin retrieved the blue gypsum crystal that had survived two long train trips, a burglary, a hurricane, and the evidence drawer at the Galveston police station. He smiled sadly and placed the rock in his father's left hand.
Chuck reached into his jacket pocket with his right hand and pulled out a skeleton key that had rarely left his possession. He turned to face the others and saw an apprehensive wife, a heartbroken son, and a curious friend. Wyatt carried the group's two suitcases.
"Do you have any questions before we change centuries?" Chuck asked.
Three people shook their heads.
"OK then. Let's go."
Chuck led Charlotte, Justin, and Wyatt down the brick steps to a windowless door that also looked like it hadn't changed in five months. He put the skeleton key in the hole, turned the key, and opened the door to a dark chamber that had changed – at least in one respect.
Though Chuck could see from the available afternoon light that the brick-lined passage was about fifteen feet long, eight feet high, and five feet wide, he could also see that it wasn't illuminated. No strip of glowing white and blue stones hung overhead.
Chuck looked at the blue crystal in his hand and noticed that it, too, had remained in a dark and apparently dormant state. It wasn't in sync with anything.
"This all looks a bit differe
nt, folks, so bear with me," Chuck said.
Chuck entered the tunnel, brushed away a cobweb, and proceeded to the keyless interior door that led to the basement. He found the door locked. He turned around and exited the chamber.
"The inside door is locked," Chuck said. "It looks like we may have to spend a little quality time in a cold, dark cell."
Wyatt grinned.
"That sounds like home."
Chuck smiled and shook his head.
"I'll bet it does."
Chuck sighed.
"Let's all go inside. Shut the door behind you, Wyatt."
Chuck grabbed Charlotte's hand and led her through the tunnel to the interior door. He tried the knob once again and found it as immovable as ever.
Wyatt followed Justin into the chamber a few seconds later. He placed the suitcases on the floor, reached for the exterior door, and pulled it shut.
Chuck waited for the overhead lights to pierce the total darkness. When they didn't, he lifted the crystal toward the ceiling. When that didn't achieve the desired effect, he began to sweat.
"Check the door, Wyatt."
Wyatt reached around in the dark until he found the knob.
"It's locked."
Charlotte gasped.
Chuck felt his stomach twist when he remembered something Professor Bell had said.
"The power within the blue crystal will eventually expire. I can't tell you when. I can tell you only that I have never been able activate the chamber using the blue crystal alone after 153 days."
"Try the door again," Chuck said.
Wyatt did.
"It's still locked."
Chuck feared the worst. He kicked himself for losing the white crystal and then not doing more to find it. He wondered what Goldie had done with it, but he didn't wonder long. When you were trapped in a small, dark space, you had other things to think about.
"Let me try, Dad," Justin said. "Give me the rock."
"All right."
Chuck started toward the other end of the tunnel. He tripped a couple of times as he moved blindly through the chamber but finally found his son, who had not moved far from the door. He gave Justin the blue crystal, stepped back, and waited for something to happen.
Something did. Before Chuck could say, "There's more to this than meets the eye," the tunnel started to change. A single crystal, embedded in the limestone ceiling, flickered and then lit up like a reading light in the cabin of an aircraft. A second one did the same, followed by a third and a fourth. By the time Chuck returned his attention to Charlotte, the room was lightly illuminated.
"It looks like the crystal wanted its owner," Chuck said.
Justin smiled softly.
"It looks like it did," Justin said.
Chuck walked back to Charlotte, who appeared visibly relieved, and gave her a gentle hug. He then took a deep breath, turned the knob on the interior door, and pushed the door open.
"Let me check this out first," Chuck said to the others.
Chuck entered the basement and looked around. He saw white walls, white carpet, and white sofas but no people. He motioned for Charlotte, Justin, and Wyatt to join him.
"This place is empty," Justin said a moment later. "I wonder if anyone's home."
Chuck approached a small table that sat between two facing couches in the center of the room. When he got there, he placed his hand on a teacup that sat on the table.
"Someone's home, all right," Chuck said. "The tea's still warm."
"It's fresh too," Professor Geoffrey Bell said as he entered the room. "I could have Jeanette make some more, if you'd like."
"I'd like that," Chuck said.
Bell offered a hand when he reached the table. He did not offer a smile.
Chuck shook the hand and sighed.
"Welcome back, Mr. Townsend," Bell said. "I've been expecting you."
The professor looked at the other three travelers.
"I've been expecting all of you."
CHAPTER 88: CHUCK
Friday, September 16, 2016
The professor didn't try to hide his disappointment. Even after Jeanette Bell served tea to the visitors, who sat on one sofa, and her husband, who sat on the other, he didn't smile. He didn't say or do anything that might suggest he was happy to see four time travelers in his basement instead of two.
"I see you brought back more than a postcard," Bell said. "I know it's been a while since I last spoke to you, but I'm certain I instructed you not to bring back any two-legged souvenirs."
"You did," Chuck said.
"Then why did you violate my specific instructions?"
Chuck knew immediately that he had a choice to make. He could let Bell push him around or he could defend his actions. He decided to go on offense.
"You asked me to have an adventure," Chuck said. "I did. I had the adventure of a lifetime. In the process, I fell in love and married a wonderful woman."
"I see that," Bell said. He looked at Charlotte. "Welcome to 2016, Mrs. Townsend."
"Thank you," Charlotte said.
She gave Chuck a what's-this-all-about look.
"Forgive me if I seem rude, madam," Bell said to Charlotte. "I'm actually quite pleasant most of the time. I'm not pleasant, however, to people who fail to honor agreements."
"Let it go, professor," Chuck said.
"I wish I could," Bell said. "If you had done nothing more than marry a wonderful woman, I could understand. I know what it's like to marry a wonderful woman."
The professor gazed admiringly at his wife.
"So what's the problem?" Chuck asked.
"The problem, sir, is that you did more than pick up a spouse in 1900," Bell said. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a tri-folded sheet, and opened it. "According to this report, given to me today, you repeatedly meddled in the lives of several residents of Galveston, Texas, and altered the outcome of a criminal investigation."
Bell glanced at Wyatt.
"How's it feel to be a free man, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"
Wyatt smiled.
"It feels glorious."
"I'll bet it does."
"Who gave you that report?" Chuck asked.
"I thought you'd never ask," Bell said.
The professor got up from the sofa and turned toward a stairway that led to the main floor.
"You can come down now, Tom."
Chuck looked at the far side of the room and saw someone walk down the stairs. He knew even before he saw the man's face that he was the person who had followed him for months. He stared at the man as he walked across the room and approached the sofas.
"Say hello to Thomas Mack," Bell said. "Mr. Mack, as I'm sure all of you know, is a private investigator in Galveston. He prepared the report that's in my hands."
Bell pointed to the empty seat on his sofa.
"Please take a seat, Tom."
Mack did as requested.
"You hired this guy?" Chuck asked.
"I did," Bell said. "I went back to 1900 the day after you left, mailed him relevant photos and information, and asked him to keep an eye on you during your stay in Texas. I asked him to send weekly reports to a mailbox in Los Angeles. We've been corresponding for months."
The professor returned to his seat.
"How did you know we went to Galveston instead of Chicago?" Chuck asked.
"You left a clue in the back of your car," Bell said. He pulled a copy of a news article from his pocket and handed it to Chuck. "People who plan to travel to Chicago tend to read about Chicago – not Galveston. I suspected that you were going to try to save thousands of lives by warning people about the hurricane there."
"Would that have been so awful?"
"Yes. It might have been."
"How is that?" Chuck asked.
"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" Bell asked.
"Yes."
"Then I'll spell it out. You and your son went to 1900 as guests of that time, Mr. Townsend. You had an obligation to leave th
ings as you found them. By saving even a fair number of lives, you would have changed the fates of many. You could have, in fact, changed history itself."
"I didn't though."
"No. It appears that you didn't. You brought back a widow who never remarried the first time around and a businessman who died on the gallows before starting a family line."
Chuck looked at the professor closely and noticed that his demeanor had softened a bit. He guessed that now that Bell had thrown his tantrum, he was prepared to move on.
When Chuck glanced at Wyatt, however, he saw a man who was spoiling for a fight – not with the professor but rather with Thomas Mack. Wyatt glared at Mack with hot eyes.
"You appear to be troubled by something, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Bell said. "What is it?"
Wyatt glanced at Bell.
"It's nothing really. I'd just like to know if Mr. Mack here had a role in the murder of my fiancée."
Wyatt returned to Mack.
"Did you, Thomas?"
"I did not," Mack said.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want. I had no part in killing Rose."
"You worked for my brother," Wyatt said.
"He hired me to gather information on many people," Mack said. "When I suspected that he might someday use that information to harm others, I left his employment."
"I see."
"If it makes a difference, I'll help you find Silas as soon as I return to 1900. I understand that hindsight is useful in bringing about justice."
"Your help won't be necessary," Wyatt said.
"Why is that?" Mack asked.
"I put a bullet in my brother's skull a few days ago."
"So I have a fugitive on my hands, after all," Bell said.
"I shot Silas to save Charlotte's life," Wyatt said. "If you don't believe me, you can ask three witnesses sitting on this sofa."
The professor rose to his feet.
"I'll do that," Bell said. "I'll do that when we meet again on Sunday."
"Why not now?" Chuck asked.
"I want a chance to reflect on what I've learned today. That's why," Bell said. "I also want the opportunity to read the journal I asked you to keep. You did keep a journal, did you not?"
September Sky (American Journey Book 1) Page 38