Chase continued talking, but Calvin was becoming lost in his own thoughts. Here he was walking down the street with a hotel concierge explaining to him that he had traveled back in time to 1963, that he had met the real Dr. Martin Luther King outside an elevator this morning, and that the famous March on Washington was in literal danger and he was the only person who could help. It was all so ludicrous and yet Calvin hadn’t packed his bags and changed hotels. It had happened the moment he handed that newspaper to the man at the elevator. In spite of the sheer impossibility of the situation, something in Calvin’s very being had told him he was talking with the real Dr. King. It might have been the presence the great man exuded or the sound of his voice that Calvin had heard so many times over the years when the famous speeches were played. Those were possibilities, but he felt there was something else and then it came to him. It was color. He almost laughed out loud. The key to him accepting that he was currently in 1963 Washington was all, ironically, about color. Both his meeting at the elevator and the sites he was seeing on the streets were so different than in his mind’s eye. Everything was alive, breathing and teeming with unspent action and hope. He realized that everything he had ever known of this time had come from black and white photographs in books. Now he was seeing everything in full color and three dimensions. These people were real and they were walking and talking in a real environment where he could walk and talk with them. He could feel the slight breeze that eased some of the oppressive August heat and he could smell the bacon cooking as they passed a restaurant. He had felt the grip of the handshake Dr. King had offered him and he had seen with his own eyes the way the races interacted with one another here in public. He even believed he’d be able to taste the bacon that was cooking except that, as a black man, he would likely not be welcome in the restaurant. Despite all common sense and the laws of nature, Calvin knew what he was experiencing was real. With that established, he turned his attention back to the conversation.
While they walked, Chase explained to Calvin that there were a lot of different groups within the black community who were against the march because they felt it didn’t go far enough for the cause. They thought the policy of peaceful protest was weak and the practice of teaming up with white advocates was selling out to the very people who had kept them in bondage for so many years. These groups took a militant stance and they felt that if the march was successful with its even-handed tactics it would set them back further. They weren’t willing to petition for changes. They weren’t interested in asking the government that had enslaved them to come to their aid now. To them, the time had come for action, not words. They wanted to take the rights they were due by force and to make those who would consider them less than equal pay at any cost. Some of the groups were well known and the FBI was monitoring their movements to prevent violence. It was the smaller and lesser-known groups that Chase was concerned about, particularly one that called itself Kifo, which was short for nyeupe kifo.
“It means white death in Swahili,” Chase said.
“Sounds like a fun group,” Calvin said sarcastically.
“They’re more dangerous than any of the groups you’ve heard about. They only want one outcome and that’s the one their name espouses. They want blood, Mr. Walker. Blood for blood, in their estimation. Anything less, to them, is giving in to the white man.”
“So they have plans for this march?” Calvin asked.
“Big plans. They’re holed up here in the city with plans to disrupt the proceedings.”
“I don’t understand the rationale,” Calvin said. “How can they go against their own brothers?”
“They believe their ‘brothers’ have gone soft and are begging at the white man’s table for scraps. If the march is successful, as we know it was when it initially happened, it will show that non-violent protest and multi-racial cooperation are viable means to an end. Kifo doesn’t want that message to get out. They want a race war and their offensive begins tomorrow.”
“What am I supposed to do about it? Look at me, Mr. Chase. I’m the kind of guy they’re fighting against. I don’t believe in violence and bloodshed. I don’t know what you think I can do with people like that,” Calvin said.
“Unfortunately, I’ve told you all I know about the situation. The how is for you to figure out. I have two addresses where they might be gathering. Both are in very dangerous parts of the city. I have arranged a change of wardrobe for you so you’ll fit in better with where you’re going. It won’t do for you to come walking in wearing wingtips,” Chase told him.
“I don’t think it’s my shoes that’ll make me look like I don’t belong.”
They arrived back at the Willard and Chase walked Calvin to the elevator.
“The clothes are in your room along with some currency of the proper era and a brief identity I wrote up for you. Basically you keep your own name, but you tell them you come from the streets of Chattanooga, not the suburbs. The fact that you come from a Southern state should help you. Think of all the atrocities you’ve read about in the history of the civil rights struggle and use those kinds of examples to describe your background. Just don’t claim to have been part of any organized group or present at any famous event like the Greensboro sit-ins. They may be able to trip you up and find out you’re lying if you go with big name events. Keep it generic, but wear a chip on your shoulder. If you can find out what they’re planning, perhaps law enforcement can take it from there. You won’t know until you get inside,” Chase said.
“I imagine it takes a long time to gain the trust of a group like this. What makes you think they’ll warm up to me and share information in a single night?” Calvin asked.
“I think they will because whatever they’re planning is imminent. They need as much help as possible to pull it off. If you give them the impression you’re ready to do battle they may let their guard down a little. Remember, they’ll be on the lookout for informants who may be trying to stop what they’re planning.”
“What you mean is that I’m walking into a trap,” Calvin stated.
“You could be. I don’t want you to have any misunderstanding about the stakes here. If they think you’re against them they will kill you without a moment’s regret.”
“Remind me again why I’m doing this, then?”
“Someone has to stop this group. You have a decision to make. You have to decide if the future you know, the freedoms you enjoy and the world your children live in, is more important than your own life. I did some research on you, Mr. Walker, and I know the kind of man you are. I believe you are the perfect person for the job and that’s why we’re here,” Chase answered.
Calvin was silent while he considered what the man had told him.
“There’s just one problem with your theory, Chase. If they kill me I won’t be able to be that man for my children.”
“That’s why you can’t fail, Mr. Walker.”
Chase pushed the button for the elevator and the doors opened. Calvin walked inside and Chase stayed on the lobby side of the doors.
“You have to sell them on the idea that you’ve come to Washington to kill the people they want dead. In the end, it’s the only way to save them.”
CHAPTER 18
OLIVIA FORDHAM
1913
Chase had to do something he had never done before. He had to start his explanation at the beginning of everything he knew about traveling through history. A woman with Olivia’s intelligence and worldliness who also feared she was losing herself to a brain tumor was not going to be convinced any other way. By the time Chase had told her about his experience in college and all the things he had been party to since coming to the Willard, Olivia had a monster headache. She was teetering between the absurdity of what he was saying (wouldn’t this make him hundreds of years old?) with the burgeoning hope that maybe there was another explanation for what was happening that didn’t mean her lucid time was coming to an end.
Olivia confided that the planned e
ndowment for the Fordham Museum was to be her final act in the public eye. She was planning a graceful retirement once the center’s future was secure. She envisioned herself becoming a mysterious hermit who would live out her life in her New York City penthouse enjoying any good days she had left and keeping her declining health from public view. She had it all planned out and now this man was telling her she had another purpose to fulfill before any of that could happen. He kept talking about tears in the fabric of history. Tears she could understand. Hadn’t she been having tears in her own mental capacity for three years now? She was willing to grant that it was possible because she was inexplicably excited by the idea. Her life over the past thirty-six months had been in a type of limbo, never knowing when her reality would be upended. She rarely went anywhere without Jane just in case things began to get hazy or she found herself in a full-fledged episode.
The longer Chase talked, the more excited she could feel herself becoming. He explained why she was here and how important it was for her to do what was needed. It appealed to her sense of service and, more importantly, her unquenchable desire for extraordinary experiences.
Her mind couldn’t make sense of everything he was telling her. He even admitted such a thing was impossible.
“Olivia, for the people who do these things to do them, they have to suspend part of what they know as reality. Each one has to be willing to go forward with nothing but the unbelievable notion that the impossible is possible.”
“It’s like faith,” Olivia said.
Chase didn’t know if she was a woman of faith or not. Her causes had always been secular in nature and he didn’t know her personally well enough to determine her private views. But she seemed to grasp that to accept what he was telling her she would have to be willing to accept what cannot be proven.
The worry seemed to disappear from her face and Chase could see that she was relaxing. She couldn’t explain what was happening. She didn’t know if it was real or her imagination. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do or how she could be of use one hundred years in the past. And she didn’t care. In the same way she agreed with Robert Fordham that their lives could be best lived together, she decided to lean in to what Chase was telling her. The rest would have to sort itself out.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“In a few days, Woodrow Wilson will be inaugurated as President of the United States. Before that date, thousands of women are planning to come to Washington to demand the right to vote. Two weeks ago, sixteen of them left New York City on horseback and on foot bound for the city. They need your help.”
Olivia was silent for a moment. She smiled when she spoke next.
“Well, they’re in luck, Edward. They sound like my kind of broads.”
CHAPTER 19
CATHERINE PARKER
1865
When Catherine came around, the first thing she noticed was a playbill for Our American Cousin. Edward Chase had placed it beside her on the settee in order to wave the smelling salts under her nose. As she pulled herself together he handed her his handkerchief so she could dab at the water she’d spilled on her dress. It was still damp from the soaking she got from the carriage. Chase didn’t speak at first and she took her time tending to her dress before she faced him again.
“You were saying something about . . .umm . . .an assassination I believe?” It seemed she could hardly form the words.
Chase searched her eyes but couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He’d been in this situation many times and he knew he had to go slowly. Rushing headlong into his explanation would only cause her to shut down or, worse yet, bolt for the door. He knew they didn’t have that kind of time. They only had forty-eight hours to go before their date with destiny and there wasn’t time to find another person to handle the situation. It had to be Catherine. He gave her a brief explanation of what it meant to have a tear in the fabric of history and how critical it was to make sure everything happened as it had originally. That meant that she had been brought here to see that the president’s assassination was not thwarted.
Catherine had been silent, taking in Chase’s words all the while trying to wrap her mind around them. He’s saying it again. He’s saying I have to make sure the president is assassinated. Perhaps the most beloved president of all time. The man who preserved the union. The one who freed the slaves. The same person who said ‘four score and seven years ago’ and other stuff like that. The president who was very famously shot and killed already and yet he wants me to make sure it happens again? What the hell kind of dream is this? It has to be a dream. It must be.
“Mr. Chase, let me see if I understand you. I came here today, and by today I mean in 2016, to attend a job interview. An interview for a job that could change the course of my life, mind you. And now I’m sitting here in a long, dirty dress having just met an actress while I was out dodging horses and buggies on muddy streets and you’re telling me I’m about a century and a half in the past and that I’m just going to walk out of here in my buttoned shoes and go make sure somebody kills the president who has been dead for 151 years. Is that about it? Because if it is, I think one of us needs some medical attention.”
A hint of a smile crossed Chase’s face. “Ah, sarcasm. The twenty-first century practice of stating the absurd. I recognize it.”
Catherine didn’t smile back. She wasn’t giving in so easily to this man who appeared to be deranged. How does a fancy place like this end up with a nut job for a concierge?
She sat in silent defiance.
But he didn’t make the cars disappear. Or the paved streets. And certainly not the top of the Washington Monument.
She tentatively decided then to give him a chance, not because she was prepared to believe what he was saying, but because she didn’t have any other choice.
“All right, I’ll play,” she said as she picked up the playbill resting between them. She saw the name LAURA KEENE in big, bold letters. The star of the show.
“She was nice to me,” Catherine said, almost to herself. “She helped me after a carriage flew out of an alley and splattered me with all this mud.” She looked down at her bedraggled attire and thought she must look a mess.
Chase nodded his agreement. “She’s a nice lady and a very well-known actress. I suppose you might say she’s the Jennifer Aniston of this time. I heard about what happened behind the theatre this afternoon. That’s where you were, you know? That’s the alley behind Ford’s Theatre. Evidently a bit of a kerfuffle erupted between Ms. Keene and Mrs. Aberdeen. It wasn’t the first time Mrs. Aberdeen has made a hasty retreat about town with her carriage. I’m sorry you got caught in the flying mud, but it’s serendipitous that you met Ms. Keene. You’ll have easy access to the theatre through her.”
“So she knows about this? She knows I’m. . . .not from here?” Catherine asked.
“No, she has no idea. She was just going through rehearsals this afternoon. She’s played this theatre many times, but there are a few areas of the stage that have limited sight lines for some of the seats in the house so they were doing some new blocking. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen. She doesn’t even know the president will be in the theatre in two days. He has not replied and there is even a rumor that he left town to attend the ceremony for the raising of the United States flag over Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor. Major Anderson hauled it down that awful night four years ago and this will be the first time the union colors have flown over the fort since. No, the president will not make his plans known until the day of the performance when it becomes clear his wife wants to attend with Major Rathbone and Clara Harris.”
“Just like that?” Catherine questioned him with a snap of her fingers. “Shouldn’t there be Secret Service crawling the place already and getting ready to lock everything down? I know times were different, but I didn’t think the president ever went anywhere on the spur of the moment.”
“Remember back to your junior high history, Ms. Parker
. No president had ever been assassinated before Mr. Lincoln so there is no Secret Service yet. The president comes and goes just as you or I. Even during the war he rode his horse to and from the Soldier’s Home outside of the city with just a single sentry most of the time. And now the war is over. Peace is the order of the day for the first time in four contentious years and people are breathing easier. Lincoln is being hailed a hero. He really should be safer than ever.”
Catherine jumped in. “Then that’s wonderful news! All we have to do is keep him home from the theatre and the Great Emancipator lives to oversee Reconstruction. Simple, right?” Catherine’s comment was dripping with sarcasm. “If this is really 1865 and I’m going to be hanging out with the leading lady at Lincoln’s last play then why would I do anything OTHER than wave my arms around and tell everyone who’ll listen that John Wilkes Booth is up to no good and save the president’s life?”
“You’re right. You could do that and you’d save a great man’s life. But you could also do what the entire Confederacy could not. You might destroy the United States of America.”
CHAPTER 20
TOM KELLY
1962
Tom nearly tripped a woman on her way through the revolving doors. As he entered the lobby of the Willard he saw Edward Chase walking toward him.
“What’s going on?” The words were out of Tom’s mouth before the two met halfway across the lobby.
“Mr. Kelly, please lower your voice. I assure you I can explain everything.”
“There was something wrong with those bath salts in my room. I think they had some kind of drug in them. I’m walking around in a dream state and I have a very important meeting in a few hours that I can’t afford to mess up. You need to get somebody in here, a doctor or somebody, to help me,” Tom was nearly pleading as he ran his hand back and forth through his hair.
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