The Willard

by LeAnne Burnett Morse

  “This way, Mr. Kelly.” Chase led him through a doorway off the lobby into the Round Robin Bar. “Please have a seat,” he said as he poured him a glass of water from a carafe behind the bar.

  “I could sue this hotel, you know! How many people take a bath in this place and end up passing out? I could have drowned!” The more he talked the more upset he became but Chase remained calm.

  “You are not high, Mr. Kelly. You are in perfect health. The bath salts were a mixture of the finest lavender, heather, and moss from Ireland. There was nothing in them that would cause you any distress,” the concierge assured him.

  “Then I suppose you have an explanation for whatever the hell is happening to me? Is that right, Chase?”

  “It is. But I’m afraid you are going to have to indulge me for a rather lengthy explanation. Please drink some water and try and calm down. The meeting with your investors is not in jeopardy. However, the fate of the world is and you are here to do something about it.”

  Tom stared at the concierge for a long time, waiting for him to either break up laughing or offer further explanation. He did neither. After a few deep breaths and a full glass of water Tom was no closer to figuring out what was happening.

  “All right, I’m listening. Start talking,” he said to Mr. Chase.

  “Today is October 23, 1962. Last night, President John F. Kennedy went on national television to announce the buildup of offensive missile sites by the Soviet Union on the island of Cuba. He also announced a blockade around the island to stop any Soviet ships attempting to deliver further supplies to Cuba that could make the weapons operational. You know this event as the Cuban Missile Crisis and you know that it ended peacefully with the Russians turning their ships around and the missile sites being dismantled. That’s how it happened the first time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘the first time’?” asked Tom.

  “Something has happened to the fabric of history, Mr. Kelly, and a significant change has taken place in the run up to the finale of the “game of chicken” as you refer to it. The first time the Soviets blinked. They pulled back and war was averted. This time the course of events has been altered. That’s why you’re here. You have to find out what has changed and fix it. And before you ask the question let me answer it; if you don’t fix it, a first strike order will be issued by one of the nations. Given the circumstances, once it is ordered it cannot be rescinded.”

  CHAPTER 21

  CALVIN WALKER

  1963

  It was now 9:30 in the morning. For the third time since he woke up, Calvin was walking to the elevator on his floor. He still hadn’t had a cup of coffee. The clothes Chase had left with him were fairly nondescript. There was nothing thuggish about them, but they also didn’t look like they had come from an expensive store. They were meant to blend in where he was going. To that end, Calvin had taken off his gold wedding band with the row of diamonds across the top. He hated thinking that it might be stolen.

  When he got to the lobby Edward Chase was waiting for him. The concierge said he had arranged for a taxi to take Calvin to the general area where the addresses he had given him were located. He warned him that it could be hard to get a taxi on the way back and that he should be careful to get out of the area before it got too late. Calvin didn’t understand why getting a taxi in D.C. would be a problem. They were known to be pretty much everywhere looking for fares.

  “Mr. Walker, you have to remember this is 1963. Just the color of your skin will be enough for most taxis to pass you by in the better neighborhoods and where you’re going they are scarce indeed because the area has a reputation for violence.”

  Awesome. This is sounding better and better all the time. Calvin got into the cab and headed for the first address on his list in Washington’s Southeast quadrant. The driver dropped him off a few blocks away and said he would go no farther.

  Once on the sidewalk, Calvin got his bearings and started walking in the direction of his first stop. On the way there he wondered what kind of heinous activity could be taking place at this time of the morning. In his mind, these things happened in the dark of night, not before lunch on a Tuesday. The neighborhood was a busy one. Mothers were pushing their children in strollers along the sidewalk and stores seemed to be doing good business as he passed by their open doors. Nothing looked particularly dangerous to him. He walked straight for a few blocks and navigated west for a couple more. He’d ventured into the residential areas where he saw people sitting on the steps of walk-ups that had seen better days and in doorways of apartment buildings. Most were men who should have been at work by this time of day, but they seemed to have nowhere to be. There were also quite a few young people in their teens and twenties who eyed Calvin with suspicion as he passed. He was feeling like the farther he walked from where the taxi driver had dropped him off the more sinister the area felt. One other thing he’d noticed in the six blocks he’d walked was that he hadn’t seen a single white face. It was the opposite of the nearly all-white environment near the Willard. He couldn’t explain why but he felt much more out of place here where the faces looked like his own than he had when he walked up 14th Street with Edward Chase, and he was ashamed of his reaction. Just about the time he had decided to turn back he came to the first address on the note. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was for dropping in on a group of radicals so he rang the buzzer until someone released the door and he walked up to the second floor. He did the only thing he knew to do. He knocked. After a few more minutes of knocking and listening for any sound that would betray the inhabitants he decided there was nobody there and he went back to the street. He really wanted to leave the area but the other address was only a block away so he vowed to give it one more try and then hightail it back to the Northwest.

  The single block made a world of difference. There were overflowing trash cans on the sidewalk, like the city didn’t bother to pick up the trash here. The smell was putrid and some of the lighter waste had blown into the street where it advanced from doorway to doorway with every gust of wind or passing car. The people who were milling about locked onto the newcomer as soon as he rounded the corner and Calvin could feel them watching his every move. Three times. I’ll knock three times and wait thirty seconds and then I’m out of here.

  He came to a walk-up with the address he was looking for above the door. There were three young men sitting on the steps between him and the entrance and they were in no hurry to move to let him pass. He remembered what he’d been told years before that had served him well in business: always walk into a room looking like you belong there and people won’t question you. He put on the air of someone who was supposed to be exactly where he was and stepped around the men. Inside the main door there were two doors on the first floor and a staircase leading to two more on the floor above. He was looking for apartment 2A. As he started up the stairs he heard a commotion. When he reached the second floor landing, he saw the door to 2A standing open and several men moving boxes inside that had been sitting outside the door. They all stopped when they saw Calvin. Then they simultaneously pulled handguns from waistbands, coat pockets and other hiding places. Calvin put his hands up as he quickly counted eight barrels aimed at him.

  In colorful language they asked him what he was doing standing there. Act like you belong and nobody will question you. Calvin barely recognized his own strong and non-wavering voice as he said, “Put the guns down. I’m on your side. I’m here to help you.”

  CHAPTER 22

  OLIVIA FORDHAM

  1913

  On February 12, sixteen women left New York City bound for Washington, D.C. Many more joined them along the way as they gained publicity for the planned march in the nation’s capital the day before the inauguration. They had drawn up a letter for President-Elect Woodrow Wilson informing him that they would be seriously watching his administration to a degree that had never before been seen and they expected him to champion suffrage for women. They requested an audience with hi
m for as soon as possible after he was sworn in.

  The women were doing all they could to gain attention for the upcoming march and for their cause at large. One drove a horse-drawn, brightly-colored wagon covered with signs and filled with literature she handed out freely to all who would take it. Some of their participants even recorded a newfangled motion picture promotion that was greeted with boos and hisses when it played in movie houses. Preparation was underway on floats, banners, and all the trappings of a celebratory parade.

  Olivia didn’t know any of this was happening. As the head of a global business and now a large foundation, she was accustomed to briefings from her trusted staff on any subject she needed to master. She approached the situation she found herself in now with the same attitude. She asked Chase to fill her in on everything.

  “I’m happy to share what I know with you, Olivia, but you must understand that my knowledge of the situation is limited.”

  “How can that be? And what did you mean when you said earlier that my being here is your fault?”

  Chase thought carefully about how to explain the next part to her.

  “Since I came to the Willard and became the concierge I’ve been tasked with leading people like you through these points in history. I’m never sure exactly what the problem is or how to solve it. Downstairs, behind the concierge desk, there is a wall of cubbies where messages and mail were collected for guests before the days of voicemail and e-mail. When I first came here I wasn’t sure how my job would work. On the first evening I was looking at the cubby wall and something caught my eye. It was a narrow slot that seemed out of place. Upon further examination I found a note that had been left for me. It gave me limited information about the historical tear and a few details and I was instructed to choose a person to travel back in time to try and fix the problem. I wasn’t sure what to do at first but I learned over time how to select the right people by examining the hotel’s reservation lists. I learned as much as possible about who would be here and whether or not that person would be a good match for the situation. Honestly, Olivia, it’s usually just a hunch, although these days with the Internet I can find out quite a bit about a person before they arrive. That leads me to you and to why I said it’s my fault you’re here.”

  Olivia sat enthralled by what she was hearing.

  “When I found out about this tear I was only told three things. First, that it involved women’s suffrage and the 1913 march. Second, that there is a particular woman who is critical to the future of untold numbers of men, women and children in the years to come and that something in this timeline is changed so that she might not fulfill the role she is destined to play. Keep in mind she did fulfill that role initially.”

  Olivia nodded. “What’s the third thing you were told?”

  “The last thing I learned from the note is that this lady does not understand her significance in the course of history and that without her involvement the result would be future suffering and untapped potential. When I learned you would be here at the hotel this week the timing seemed providential. I knew you had to be the one to handle this.”

  “Why do you think it has to be me?”

  “You’re a strong woman and look at everything you’ve been able to do with your life. Without women like these pioneers you might not have had those opportunities and I believed, and I still believe, that when you meet them and walk in their shoes you’ll be inspired to help overcome any obstacle that’s set before them. So, you see, it was my decision to bring you here.” Chase was concerned when Olivia didn’t respond right away. “I hope you aren’t angry with me.”

  She seemed to be somewhere else entirely but when she spoke Chase realized her analytical mind had been hard at work. “If what you’re telling me is true then I’m not having one of my episodes AND you have given me an opportunity to meet and interact with some of the bravest women of the twentieth century. Is that the long and short of it?” she asked with a sly smile.

  “Yes, I believe that about covers it,” Chase answered. He was pleased to see her looking like her old self.

  “Then let’s get out of this room and find this mystery woman.” She practically sprang to her feet and headed for the bedroom to get changed. From the hallway Chase heard her parting comment.

  “I’ve always wanted to drive a Model T!”

  Chase accompanied Olivia to the lobby in her Edwardian finery. They had decided she would visit the headquarters of the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA) on F Street and introduce herself to Alice Paul who was the driving force behind the march. Olivia didn’t see any reason not to start right at the top. Edward walked away momentarily to arrange her transportation and Olivia busied herself watching the exquisitely dressed patrons as they milled about the lobby. She herself was dressed in one of the smart ensembles that had appeared in her closet. She was glad that by this time the use of corsets was optional. She opted to skip that part of the experience. Age did have its advantages.

  She was admiring the courtly manners of the gentlemen as they attended the ladies. It’s a pity such niceties were abandoned, she thought. A young woman entering through the revolving door caught her attention. She was lovely with her dark hair arranged in a complex style and topped with an enormous hat that set off the vibrant blue of her eyes. She appeared to be quite young but it was clear she was comfortable in such opulent surroundings, like she belonged in a place such as this. The sight of her reminded Olivia of the character, Rose, when she steps out of the motorcar in the movie Titanic. Olivia watched her as she kindly thanked the bellman who had brought her bags. Her voice was soft and her speech refined.

  She has excellent manners. It’s apparent she’s been raised well, Olivia found herself thinking.

  The young woman seemed to be waiting for someone and she made her way to the seating area where Olivia was standing. As she got closer something that felt like a jolt of electricity went straight up Olivia’s spine.

  “Pardon me, ma’am, would you happen to be Amelia Sutherland?” the young woman asked.

  Olivia could not speak. She only managed to stare into the blue eyes before her, but the young woman didn’t seem to find her rude.

  “Please forgive my manners, ma’am. I didn’t introduce myself.” She offered her hand. “I’m Victoria Webster.”

  It cannot be, Olivia thought over and over. As if in slow motion she reached forward and placed her hand into Victoria’s. Time seemed to stand still as Olivia Asher Fordham shook hands with her grandmother.

  CHAPTER 23

  CATHERINE PARKER

  1865

  “Destroy the United States of America? I’m a Yankee, Mr. Chase, why would I want to do that? And how would saving the life of the man who devoted that life to preserving the union destroy it?” Catherine asked incredulously.

  “Do you remember why John Wilkes Booth wanted to kill the president?” Chase let his question hang in the air as he watched Catherine consider her answer.

  “He was a Southerner. I remember that,” she answered.

  “Yes, but not a Southerner whose family farm had been destroyed because there were no men left to work the fields. He didn’t have children who were half-starved because their livestock and stored food had been commandeered by the army. He wasn’t part of the suffering mass of people whose lives had been given over to fighting for their homes and property because it was the land of their birth. Most were too poor to own slaves and too far removed from the political world to concern themselves with “states rights” and such weighty thoughts. They were farmers and merchants and blacksmiths and riverboat dock stewards. And now they’re sick of war. Hundreds of thousands are dead. Families are scattered and the land they fought for is ruined. They didn’t want to lose the war, but they’ve given it all they had and they’re tired. They want to go home and start over. But not John Wilkes Booth.

  He’s an actor from a family of actors. His life is spent on stages and in fine hotels with the public fawnin
g over him. These past four years he’s had the luxury of concerning himself with fine clothes, aged whisky, and flaming political rhetoric. He hasn’t bled for the cause and he’s not prepared to let it die. Originally, he planned a kidnapping but now he believes the South will take up arms again if he kills Lincoln. He thinks he’ll be heralded as a hero across the Confederacy, and that the fire will be reignited. We know it didn’t work out that way. He was called a murderer and he died a coward’s death hiding in a barn. The South did not rise up and call him ‘son’ and the death of Lincoln actually helped heal the nation, not tear it back apart. The Southerner who thought he knew what the people wanted could not have been more wrong.”

  “I still don’t see what any of this has to do with tearing apart the country. You just said yourself that people came together over Lincoln,” Catherine countered.

  “I said they came together over his death because a nation that had seen nothing but death for four years recognized the brutality of what he suffered. But what if he had lived? There were others who were attempting to stir factions of the Southern population into new rebellion. Some were saying the Emancipation Proclamation meant nothing to them and abuses of the newly freed slaves were promised. Not every military unit had laid down its arms. Fighting continued for months after the surrender at Appomattox as word of capitulation traveled west. There were still two sides, two ways of life. Each side only saw their own suffering. They needed to come together and heal the wounds, but they didn’t have a common experience on which to base those first tentative steps. Lincoln’s assassination gave it to them. While he lived he was just a man, but in death he became a martyr. Booth’s action achieved the complete opposite of what he intended. For decades, even a hundred years after, Lincoln’s words were being used to inspire the hearts of freedom fighters and civil rights leaders. When Lee surrendered to Grant, most in the government wanted the South to pay and pay dearly. Lincoln knew the Southern people had already paid, and that if the union was to truly be reunited mercy and grace would have to rule the day. He put forth lenient terms for those who had worn the gray uniform. They were sent home to begin the process of rebuilding their lives and Lincoln made sure the terms with each state laid out a clear path to reconciliation, not a focus on retribution. He famously said, “Let ‘em up easy.” He set those things in motion and then just days later he died. In death, he became larger than life and his example of mercy and dedication to the ideals of unity never had to endure testing or scrutiny. His legacy became untouchable and the nation healed.”