"The network evening news would fit that bill, too," Heather quipped.
"Ever the cynic, huh?" he laughed, knowing that was not an accurate description of Heather Dawson Fitch, except where politics were concerned.
"What about the lab?" Heather wondered. "Do we destroy it, too?"
"We'll keep it. I'll use part of the lab for my inventions, and I'll turn the rest into a wood shop. I have a great urge to build you a rocking chair of wood taken from here in our beloved La Plata Canyon."
"A rocking chair?" she asked. With mock anger, she slapped him on the arm, "Garison Fitch, are you saying I'm getting old? Look at my hair. Do you see a gray hair there? or a line on my face?"
He put his arms around her and said, "No, I don't. You are the most beautiful woman on this time line or any other."
"Could be," she offered.
"Aren't you the humble one?"
"Just kidding. But, it could be I'm twice as pretty because I am smiling for two."
"That's true."
"So why a rocking chair?
"Because every mother needs a rocking chair to rock her baby to sleep in."
Garison was out in front of his laboratory later that same day, after the rain had passed on through, fashioning a crib for his forthcoming child from some oak he had purchased, when he heard someone walking up the dirt driveway in front of the house. He had wanted to build the crib from actual La Plata Canyon pine, but he decided oak would look better and last longer and so had purchased it at what seemed like an awfully high price at a lumber yard in Farmington. But, he knew Heather wanted to place more than one child in the crib over the years and he had wanted the crib to last. He still wasn't sure if he could bring himself to give her another child, but he was slowly warming up to the idea and thought that, in another two or three years, he might be able to take the first step and marry her. Again.
Sometimes, he thought it might only be months.
He looked up, but could see no one, so he went back to the crib, trusting Heather to call him if he were needed. They had a set of walkie-talkies they had purchased so she could call him (or vice-versa) when he was outside. Since learning of her pregnancy—early along though she was—he hated being out of touch with her. It had almost reached the point of annoyance for Heather, but on the other hand she liked knowing that he cared that much about her, especially considering that, in some weird way, the child really only belonged to half of Garison.
Garison looked up again when he heard the footsteps come over the rise between himself and the house and saw a familiar face from long ago approaching. Garison smiled from reflex and said, "Howdy, Tex."
The man paused and looked at Garison strangely. He came closer and asked, "How did you know my name? Have we met?"
It then hit Garison what he had done and he dropped his hammer, narrowly missing his foot. He picked it up with a look of embarrassment, brushed it off as if nothing had happened, then set it on his saw horse (missing the horse and dropping the hammer again). Shrugging, he offered a hand to the stranger and said, "Garison Fitch. No...I...ah, I call lots of people Tex." As soon as he said it, he realized with a grimace how stupid it had sounded.
The man shook Garison's hand warily, but said, "Harry Jameson. But people do call me Tex. I thought maybe we had met somewhere but I had forgotten it."
"I guess not," Garison shrugged. Still, he looked intently at the stranger. Physically, this was the Tex he had known...before. Wiping the thoughts from his head, Garison asked, "Where you from?"
"Texas, actually, down near Nacogdoches," the man replied proudly. "But, I just bought a piece of land down the canyon a ways and thought I would come see if I could meet any of my new neighbors. You're the first person I've found at home."
"There aren't many of us back up in this far," Garison nodded. "Where is the land you bought?"
"I bought fifteen acres from Charlie Begay, down at the mouth of the canyon where that old motel used to be. I've brought in a mobile home and my plan is to tear down that motel and build me a log home—sort of like the one you've got. Back in the trees behind where that motel is now."
"Well," Garison offered, "If I can be of any help, let me know. I learned a lot from building this one and I might could save you some trouble." Especially since I built the same house twice, Garison thought to himself, and remember it from both times.
"You live here by yourself?" Tex asked.
"No. My wife's inside." Garison motioned to the wood before him and said, "It's going to be a crib. My wife's going to have a baby."
"Congratulations. Got four kids of my own—and thirteen grandchildren."
"Thirteen!" Garison replied with a smile. "You never mentioned them—ah. Wow. Thirteen?" It was going to take a while, Garison told himself, to remember this wasn't the Tex he had known before, at least not entirely. He was anxious to find out how similar this Tex was to the one he had known.
Tex looked at Garison strangely and wondered if he might have been better off just passing up this particular residence on his quest to meet neighbors. This young man seemed a bit odd. Nervously, he nodded, "Yep. Thirteen. And there should be one more by Christmas."
As if out of the blue, Garison asked, "Do you read much?"
"Lots," Tex replied warily. "Why?"
"Oh," Garison shrugged, "I used to have a friend I traded books with a lot. You kind of remind me of him. He was from Texas, too. I haven't—I haven't seen him in about five years. I, uh, don't think he's around anymore."
Reading was one of Tex's passions so he told Garison, "I love to read. I like trading books with folks and discussing them after we've both read them."
"You remind me more and more of my old friend." After a pause, Garison recalled, "Like I say, I guess I haven't seen him in over five years now. I've kind of been looking for someone who reads. My wife does, but we have different interests. I miss those books and discussions I used to have with my friend." Looking at Tex, he asked, "You ever read anything by a man named 'Doc' Green?"
"Ben K. Green? He's my favorite!" Tex exclaimed excitedly.
"My friend loaned me a Doc Green book once but I, um, I got called away and when I got back I couldn't find it. I'd love to read some of his stuff now. After all my friend told me about him."
"I've got everything he ever wrote—that I've been able to find, anyway. When I get 'em all unpacked, I'll loan 'em to you."
"That would be great!" Garison motioned toward his house with the hammer and offered, "Would you like to come in for a glass of Dr Pepper? You do drink Dr Pepper, don't you?"
The man was a little wary of his strange new neighbor, but finally replied, "Everyone from Texas drinks Dr Pepper."
"Well, come on inside and you can meet my wife. And I want to talk with someone who's read Green."
"Ever read anything by Dobie?"
"J. Frank Dobie? Yeah!" Garison exclaimed happily. "You ever read Elmer Kelton? Or ..."
A Final Word From Garison's Journal
September 17, 2005
When we had figured out how to word them, Heather and I put our final ideas about the whole adventure into our computer. We saved it on a hard disk, then put "the whole shootin' match"—as Tex would say—in a lined metal case which we then stored in a safety deposit box in Durango. Maybe someday, we will have all this published so the world can know what the world used to be like. Of course, Heather's right that we would probably have to publish it under fiction.
As I said before, there is something about being up late at night—especially if it's raining—that makes me think of my years growing up on a world that no longer exists. ["in a world"? Whatever] In fact, the reality is that it never did exist. It is not really a figment of my imagination, but yet, it is. Perhaps someone who reads our thoughts on the matter one day will find a better way to verbalize what happened. I am no story teller, however, so I will not even make the attempt. Maybe Heather will be able to tell it. I can only say that it really did happen.
We
completely destroyed the time machine. I am working on restoring the power plant to be used like a generator here at the house like at my previous house in La Plata Canyon, but it has become more of a hobby than a vocation. Heather and I have resurrected our law office and I make furniture on the side. Neither make us rich or famous, but I crave for neither, having sampled them both. And I make a comfortable living from a software company I and Bat invested in some years before.
I play baseball for a local adult team and am beginning to really enjoy the sport. They tell me I could have played professionally in my younger days, but, with a wink in Heather's direction, I tell them you can't change the past.
Heather is, indeed, pregnant. The doctors have confirmed it. Just yesterday, we were able to get an ultrasound and they tell us our first baby will be a girl. She seems healthy and active and should be born on or around Thanksgiving.
As we lay in bed last night, speaking of the baby and talking of how we would raise her, Heather asked if she could choose the name for the baby. Since she seemed to already have one picked out, I was happy to let her. I am no better at picking out names than I am at telling stories, anyway. Remember Bob?
When I asked her what name she had picked out, she smiled and told me, "Sarah."
APPENDIX
World History (or "As I Remember It")
by Garison Fitch
In the year 1492, a man named Christopher Columbus tried to convince the kings and queens of his day that the world was round. We regard him as quite a revolutionary for his day, but he wasn't, really. Every mariner knew the world was round (as did almost every other yokel in the world). I am certain that even Noah could have told us the world was round, he just didn't feel it important to his story. For, anyone who has ever watched a mast disappear over the horizon of a seemingly flat ocean knows the world is round. And, if it were possible for a ship to sail over the edge, how come the water doesn't fall out of the ocean?
Columbus never proved his theory, though. Before he could make it all the way around, he ran into something. What appeared to be a small and insignificant something later turned out to be a very big and quite significant something. Columbus didn't find this out immediately, though; like the great adventurer he was, he turned around and went home.
A man name Amerigo Vespucci later ran into the same obstacle Columbus ran into, so they named it after him. Considering that most places that are named after a person take his last name, I am sure the inhabitants of the newly discovered continent breathed a sigh of relief that tradition was being flaunted and they were being named after Vespucci's first name. I venture to say that no one who hailed himself as a Vespuccian would have ever amounted to much. "Hello, I am a Vespuccian," sounds like the beginning of some sort of marine-life related joke.
More explorers followed Vespucci and, eventually, a ship that started out being captained by a man named Magellan proved that every mariner who had ever said the earth was round was right. After several lay-overs so that they could re-stock their ship and give more crew members scurvy, they made it all the way around the planet. Within a few decades, the explorers had convinced everyone except the Catholic church that the world was, indeed, round. Eventually, even the Catholic church was convinced.
If anything happened during the next few centuries, I must have slept through it. However, I was at least partially cognizant of the fact that colonies had finally gotten a small toe hold on the Columbian Obstacle (sometimes known as America) by the seventeenth century. By the eighteenth century, the New Country had become so crowded that each man only had about a million acres apiece. This, of course, made them see the necessity for more land so they began to kill the original inhabitants who had had the gall to occupy the land first.
France, Italy, Spain and Germany had settlers in the new world, but it was only the English settlers who caused any trouble of note. Hasn't this always been the way of things?
There were something like twelve or thirteen British colonies on this land called America by the mid eighteenth century. All of them were on the east coast of the continent as everyone thought the western lands were full of savages and strange beasts.
These colonies were governed by England, but only in theory. If I remember right, the British magistrates who ruled the colonies sometimes did so by their own laws and whims—and for their own profit. After all, the King (whatever his name was—they seemed to have a lot named Henry and a couple name George) was three months away by a fast ship. A lot of money could be taken in by a crooked magistrate in the three months before someone came along to stop him.
I think what irritated the colonists the most, though, was Britain's Parliament. It had been established by an illustrious document called the Magna Carta, but most people in my time thought that was some sort of wine. In theory, it was an organization which operated by the vote of the people; somehow, however, they had forgotten to give the colonists a vote.
What I remember of this next part is almost laughable. Thirteen insignificant colonies rebelled against the most powerful empire in the world—and won—mostly by virtue of the fact that England was fighting more important wars on other fronts. It took them from about 1774 until 1791 to defeat their oppressors, but the plucky little colonists did it. Many historians believe they could have done it much quicker had they had a really good leader. Unfortunately, the colonies began by fighting independently and were only saved from certain disaster when Samuel Adams stepped to the fore of the army and rallied them together in the fall of 1786. Using guerilla tactics, the colonists successfully drove the British from their soil, but at great cost to themselves.
The glory was short lived, however (by historical comparison). The rag-tag congress that met in Boston in 1793 was unable to find its rear, let alone establish a country. So, after fighting themselves out from under a monarchy, they elected a President and gave him power they didn't comprehend—effectively placing themselves under a monarchy with another name.
Their choice for first President of this new Republic (which they laughably called the United States) was one Mister John Adams, brother to the aforementioned Samuel. While he might have been able to govern an established system, he was at a loss for how to establish one himself. His administration was marked by confusion and a revolving door of advisors. By the time his four years of elected term had come to an end, the country was in a shambles.
As John Adams was ridden out of the country on a rail, the people elected a man named Thomas Jefferson. He probably could have been the President they needed had they elected him first, but it was too late for him to do anything by the time he got to office (in a Boston building that was, itself, a joke). He got the country onto shaky feet just in time for the British to sweep in in the spring of 1800 and quash the rebellion. Jefferson, Samuel Adams, and a score of other revolutionaries were executed and buried in a communal grave outside Boston. The United States of America would, from that point forward, be nothing more than a trivia question for people who enjoyed studying about failure.
The British ruled their colonies with an iron hand, but they did allow the thirteen colonies two representatives in the House of Commons. They were picked by the House of Lords and only one of the two had ever been to the Americas (unfortunately, he had been sick and bed-ridden the whole time). The other one, however, had done some extensive reading on the subject (having read the books of a man named Cooper, who was executed alongside Adams and Jefferson, and claimed to have from them an especially good perspective on the aboriginal problem in the Americas).
It was decided by some in Parliament that their biggest mistake with the colonies had been to allow them religious freedom. This, they said, bred discontent and rabble rousers. So, in a close vote, it was decided that only the Anglican church was to be allowed in the British Americas, as they were called.
Despite the heavy protests, the Baptists, the Methodists, the Quakers, the Puritans, the Presbyterians and all other sects were banned. This was enforced with imprisonm
ent and, possibly, execution. In the 1810's, a man named Thomas Campbell, along with his son Alexander, sought to turn the Church of England "back to the New Testament." Their movement spread rapidly, but it lost its momentum upon the hanging of both Campbells from a brush-arbor church they had created themselves. It was clear that the Anglican Church, which claimed to be Christian, had decided it wanted nothing to do with the New Testament and a lot to do with the power of the monarchy.
The land called America existed in relative piece for a few years, but then the British began to move westward. More and more people, some with families, began to move into that savage wilderness to the west. This made it clear that something must be done with the aboriginal population. The decision was simple and quickly made; the follow-up, however, was not. But, by 1834, the Indians (as our friend Columbus had so inappropriately named them) were—for all practical purposes—dead. From the Atlantic ocean to the Spanish Colonies just across the great river in the west, there were no more aborigines—except the few lucky enough to have light enough skin to pass for an Anglo and a couple tribes like the Navaho who had been able to convince the British they could live like white people and wouldn't cause any trouble. The next problem the British had to deal with was the Spanish.
Part of the Spanish problem was taken care of by a band of men calling themselves Texans. A man named Sam Houston had watched from a distance as his friend, Andrew Jackson, was executed by the British redcoats for his part in trying to revive the United States. By clandestine methods, Houston left the east coast and came to a land called Texas. Some would say he jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. For, while the eastern rebels were just ending their conflict, Texas was just beginning its own. But with Houston's arrival Texas had what the defeated U.S. had not: a leader.
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 1): First Time Page 36