Tear In Time

by Petersen, Christopher David

  “It's a very long story. I'll tell you about it over lunch sometime. Right now, what you have here is not your average garden variety gunshot wound. This is a wound straight from the Civil War – 1863, to be exact – and requires special techniques and attention if we are going to save Dr. Warner's life,” Dr. Morgan replied. “So, gentlemen, if you don't mind me pulling rank on you, I believe I can take it from here.”

  “Take it from here? You old coot, don't you have family to go to something. You lost again?” Dr. Albert said jokingly.

  “Dr. Albert, I can assure you, this is no joke. I've been studying how to treat this man's wound nearly my whole life. Again, another long story. So, let's get down to brass tacks. Hand me a number eight and some clamps. Stand by with suction and have at least three pints standing by. He's going to need it by the time I'm through,” Dr. Morgan ordered with authority.

  ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

  The sound of beeps and repetitive tones softly drummed the cadence of human life. Peering into his room, Dr. Phineas Morgan watched the monitors for a moment, ensuring his patient's progress. He then walked to the edge of David's bedside and stared at the man he had heard about since childhood, and had befriended since David took the job at the hospital a few of years before. He watched David sleep, and laughed at the modest beard he had grown in his departure.

  “A right handsome beard, I believe is the term great-great-granddad used,” Dr. Morgan said out loud.

  Suddenly, David breathed in an enormous breath of air. Instantly, the monitors reacted. Dr. Morgan double-checked their readouts, then returned his gaze to David. Satisfied with his condition, he checked the intravenous fluids and adjusted the flow a bit.

  “I increased your drip, David. Enjoy your refreshment. I'll be back to check on you in a little while,” Dr. Morgan said.

  He lightly laid his hand on David's shoulder, then turned and walked away.

  David let out a large exhale and coughed. Dr. Morgan stopped in his tracks and quickly returned to his bedside.

  “David? David, can you hear me?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  He shook David's shoulder lightly and asked again, “David, can you hear me? Wiggle your fingers if you can hear me.”

  Dr. Morgan watched with great anticipation, hoping for movement, but saw nothing. Again, he lightly nudged David's shoulder, hoping for any kind of response. Except for his chest compressions, David laid lifeless.

  “David, I know you can hear me. Your levels are elevated when I speak. Try to move your fingers,” Dr. Morgan asked once more.

  At first, Dr. Morgan thought he was just watching natural movement caused by David's breathing. But as he focused, he realized that David’s fingers didn't match the repetitive movement of his chest. David was trying to move his fingers.

  “That's it, David. Move those digits,” Dr. Morgan joked mildly.

  More and with greater movement, David's fingers twitched; first on his left side, then his right. With his fingers moving, David's eyelids began to flutter slightly.

  “David, can you open your eyes?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  Like the dawn's first light, David slowly broke open his eyelids, only letting small amounts of light into his darkness. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he opened them more, allowing greater amounts of light in. With his vision blurred, he struggled to make out the silhouette of the man standing at his side.

  “Welcome back, David. Interesting vacation, huh? Meet anyone I might know?” Dr. Morgan joked again.

  “Dr. Morgan? Is that you?” David asked, his vision and his mind still in a fog.

  “If by Dr. Morgan you mean Phineas, then yes. If you're referring to my great-great-granddad, Jebadiah, then the answer is no,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  David squinted, then brought his hand up to rub his eyes, his action causing him slight pain.

  “Careful, David; no sudden moves. You wouldn't want to disrupt my handiwork,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “Phin, is that you? My eyes are still pretty blurry,” David asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

  “In the flesh,” Dr. Morgan responded, smiling ear to ear.

  David squinted and refocused again. A smile spread across his face as he was able to recognize his old mentor.

  “David, how are you feeling? Your vitals look good. Your surgery went remarkably well,” Dr. Morgan rattled off quickly.

  David exhaled loudly then replied, “I'm ok, I guess. My back hurts like hell.” He paused, then said, “Phin, did I hear you correctly? Did you say great-great-grandfather Jebadiah?” David asked incredulously, his eyes widening.

  Dr. Morgan was now flashing a toothy smile as he delighted in David's confusion.

  “Yes, David. Or should I call you ‘lad’?” Dr. Morgan joked again.

  “This is all too confusing. Phin, what do you know about Doc and me?” David asked, trying to make sense out of his confusion.

  David tried to sit up but the pain of his injury stopped him short. Dr. Morgan reached for a control panel and pushed the incline button, slowly raising the back of the bed high enough for David to sit up without pain.

  “First, David, I have something for you,” Dr. Morgan said with a secretive smile.

  He reached behind him and grabbed a large box. Handing it to David, he said, “I often wondered what I'd say if I ever got the chance to deliver this package. I had all these witty statements memorized, but somehow none of them seem appropriate right now. Anyway, this package is yours. Open it. I'm absolutely dying to see your expression,” Dr. Morgan said, not even attempting to hide his excitement.

  “Thanks for the package, but, Phin, you didn't answer my question. I just woke up. Unless you're a mind reader, there's no way you would have known about Jebadiah. How could you have possibly known there is a connection between Jebadiah and me?” David asked, now almost demanding.

  “The box might give you some insight, David. Go ahead. Open it,” Dr. Morgan responded.

  David nodded, then began to peel off the tape from the top. He pulled open the flaps and looked inside. David's eyes grew to nearly twice their normal size. He closed his eyes and reopened them. Slowly, a tear rolled down his cheek as he digested the contents of the box.

  “Recognize any of that stuff, David?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  David lifted his head slightly and smiled. “It's mine, Phin. But how? How did you get it?” he asked.

  “Where do I begin? Actually, a better question would be how much time do you have? This story is as long as it is interesting. Honestly, Hollywood should make a movie of this,” Dr. Moran began. “Ok, let's start with my pledge to a long-since dead Civil War doctor named Jebadiah Morgan. My dad, his dad, and a long list of dads before him, promised each previous dad that we would pass along the contents of that box as asked by Jebadiah himself nearly one hundred and thirty years ago, before he passed away. It appears you made quite an impression on my great-great-granddad; so much so that he collected all your remaining personal effects and passed them down from generation to generation in order to return them to you. Pretty amazing, don't you think?”

  “Wow, this is unbelievable. No, really. No one will believe this,” David said, shaking his head in amazement.

  “You'll always have the skeptics, David, but have no fear: I think there is enough evidence to support the truth,” Dr. Morgan responded. “In any case, great-great-granddad Jebadiah knew the day you left, November twenty-fourth 1863, and also knew it was going to be this hospital, Elanger Hospital, because of the elevator – but what is interesting is that, after the war, rumors surfaced about two Confederate soldiers that shot a Union general behind Signal Mountain on that very date, and when they went to 'collect him', as they put it, the Union general vanished before their eyes. Poof,” Dr. Morgan said, using his hands to simulate the vanishing.

  “Wow,” was all David could say, awestruck by the story.

  “Great-great-granddad Jebidiah spent quite a bit of time tracking down those two soldiers. When he finally found them
, he was grief-stricken to learn of your injury. Prior to that revelation, he had no idea that you were shot. He just thought you entered the elevator and were transported back to your time. After he found out you were shot in the back, he felt he might be able to do something about it. I guess he felt – and rightly so, I might add – that if he prepared his future sons to be trained and ready for this kind of injury, he could save you from the grave, so to speak. So, as this story was passed down from generation to generation, at least one successive son was trained in medicine.

  “Here's the intriguing part of this story. Although we knew the exact time of your departure from 1863, we had no way of knowing when you would return. It appears that when you travel in time, the day, month and time of your travel stays the same: only the date changes. You traveled from here on June 8th in 2005 and landed back in 1862 on that same date. So, we knew the day you would return: we just didn’t know the year you would return, and that mystery fueled the search for Dr. Brig. Gen. David Warner of the Army of the Potomac for years to come. No one knew what year you would be sent forward to, so we waited and we waited, and we waited some more. Each year that passed was like holding a lottery ticket you knew was a winner, only you didn't know the year it would win. You always wondered if this was the year. The anticipation of being the one to treat you fed the obsession in my family for over a hundred years.”

  “I guess you're the lucky winner,” David joked.

  “My grandfather once said his greatest disappointment in life was that he was not the one,” Dr. Morgan said, then added, “Just imagine my excitement the day I heard your name called out on the roster. I finally would get to meet the man who had been a legend in my family for over a century.”

  “You may kiss my ring at any time,” David teased.

  Dr. Morgan smiled dryly, then continued, “That obsession, which has lasted for the past hundred and forty-six years, drove our family to accumulate information about you, as well as your injury. Starting back with great-great-granddad Jebidiah, and continuing with each successive generation, we have amassed quite a collection of your personal effects, as well as other information relating to your time there during the war. That collection is the box you are holding in your hands.”

  “I feel like a child at Christmas,” David replied excitedly.

  “Go ahead. Open the rest of your present,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “Before I do, could you tell me what year it is?” David asked nervously.

  “It's 2009. You've been gone about four years,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  “Wow, four years. In my world, I've been gone a year and a half. Amazing,” David replied.

  He reached into the box and pulled out the first thing on top: the old picture from the elevator. Still in broken glass, it had faded some, but was in remarkably good shape after a hundred and forty years of travel.

  David examined the picture briefly then remarked, “Huh, the picture changed. I’ll be damned. I’m in this one. You know, Phin, the day I left in 1863, this photo was retaken with me in it. I wasn’t in the original one – the one I carried with me the whole time I was there.”

  “I know. The story about that picture was handed down with each generation,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  David smiled slightly, then continued through his effects. He pushed aside his haversack, canteen, loose papers he wrote chronicling his experience, a collection of old photos bound together, his straight razor, his scalpel, and other articles used for daily living. David stopped short. He looked down at the bottom of the box in amazement.

  “Oh my God. My Colt forty-five. Phin, I can't tell you how many times this baby saved my life when I was fighting with Custer,” David said as he examined the handgun, still in great shape.

  “I heard. Actually, there are a couple of photos of you and Custer together,” Dr. Morgan pointed out.

  “There are? Wow, I don’t remember standing for any photographs,” David replied.

  He reached into the box and pulled out the stack of old photos, and began to examine them, stopping a moment or so to reflect on each one.

  “The photographers must have just blended in with the action. It's funny. I don't remember them being there too often,” David continued. “Huh, I'll be: there we are, Custer and I discussing the battle plan at Gettysburg.” David paused a moment to reflect, then said, “Boy, Phin, that friggin' battle was everything they said it was and more. What a bloody mess. So much suffering. And the outcome was quite disturbing.”

  “I know. I saw your bullet wound. Pretty nasty if you ask me, although not even close to the one you have now,” Dr. Morgan concurred.

  “No, Phin, I'm not talking about my wound. I’m talking about the outcome of the battle. We won,” David said emphatically. “We weren't supposed to win. Before I arrived, the south won that battle and took Washington. After I arrived, we stopped them at Gettysburg and held Washington. My existence in the past changed the future.” David paused again, then said, “Speaking of which, how is this future?”

  “Fine, I guess. Hard to say because I don't know what the past was like before you changed it. If you're wondering about world destruction, where the natural order of things is disrupted, that didn't happen – or, at least I didn’t see it happen. Seems like a pretty ok world to me,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  David stared off into space a moment, then said, “I guess the future DID overcome, huh?”

  Suddenly, David had a thought, he quickly looked at Dr. Morgan and asked, “Phin, what about Stonewall Jackson? Was he ever remembered or honored? Before I went back in time, he rose to President of the United States. After I was there, I saved a guy who was supposed to die. He ended up shooting Stonewall and he eventually died of his wounds.”

  “Ah yes, Stonewall Jackson. He's remembered, but only as a blip in history. He's got a few statues around here in the south and he is regarded by most as a rough, but brilliant commander, but that's as far as his notoriety has gone,” Dr. Morgan responded.

  “Wow, that's a shame. He really was a brave and brilliant man,” David offered, then continued looking through the box.

  David stopped for a moment. Looking up at Dr. Morgan he pulled an envelope from the box. The envelope was old, and it looked it. With the parchment paper deeply yellowed with age, he could see that the integrity of the paper was in poor shape, fragile and ready to crack at any moment. David ran his hand over the sealing flap and touched the wax that helped to maintain the privacy of the contents. Turning the envelope over, he read aloud the inscription on the back.

  “Dr. Brigadier General David Warner, Army of the Potomac, United States of America,” David said out loud, but in modest tone, feeling a bit embarrassed about the title. He looked up at Dr. Morgan and asked, “Phin, what is this? Any idea what Doc wrote?”

  Dr. Morgan cleared his throat and replied, “Actually, David, there have been heated discussions about that very letter. Some wanted to open it, claiming they deserved some satisfaction after a lifetime of watching for you, while others fiercely defended its privacy. As you can see, good ethics and self-restraint were exercised. The contents of that letter have never been seen. You are the first.”

  David rubbed his fingers over the wax seal, then stopped. He placed the envelope on the bed next to him and looked inside the box again. Dr. Morgan's face immediately twitched with frustration.

  “David, don't keep an old man waiting. Aren't you going to open it?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  David looked down at the envelope again, then back to Dr. Morgan and replied, “I'm not ready yet. A day ago I said goodbye to a man I considered the greatest influence of my life. It was probably the most painful thing I've ever done. I think I want to wait a little while before I cross that road again.”

  Dr. Morgan wore the look of disappointment on his face. He had speculated for years on the contents of the letter. Now, just on the brink of discovery, his hopes were dashed once more. Even though he sympathized with David, he could hardly contain his impa
tience.

  In a quiet and understanding tone, Dr. Morgan said, “I know the letter is none of my business, David, but I would be grateful to you if I could learn of great-great-granddad Jebidiah's words.”

  “Of course, Phin. I wouldn't think of keeping it from you. I'll call you at the first opportunity,” David replied. “I just need a little time.”

  “Thank you, David,” Dr. Morgan responded.

  David returned to the box. Pushing aside more memories, he found his way to the bottom once more. In a moment of surprise, David's eyes widened and he smiled slightly at this new discovery. Reaching in, he pulled out his five dollar bill. On the face of the bill was Andrew Jackson. He studied it a moment, then spoke.

  “I guess you've probably seen this before, huh?” David asked.

  “Now that you've mentioned it, yes. My family has found years of entertainment speculating on what that bill must have looked like when Stonewall’s image was imprinted on the face,” Dr. Morgan answered.