“Hey,” said John with a fake look of hurt on his face, “Doesn’t it say in my file that I can swim?”
“And,” added Rocko, “You know that I can swim too.”
Bill looked sheepishly at his two time traveling friends, “Guys, this might be an ocean swim at night pulling a woman along.” He shook his head, “Naw, I have to go on this one. This is one area that being a SEAL gives me the best possible chance to complete the mission if we go into the ocean at night.”
Both of his friends grinned and John said for both of them as he raised his can of beer in a toast, “Hey, Bill. You know we’re fooling with you. If you think that, should you go on a mission, the odds will help save someone, then we both agree.”
“I knew that you would. But let me show you guys the hologram.”
Twenty minutes later Rocko nodded, “Seems straight forward, Bill. Just follow her and keep her away from a railing.”
A tap sounded at the door and Matt entered with another covered tureen, went to the empty one on the table and put the fresh wieners into the ‘dirty-water’.
The three guys laughed and Matt handed John and Rocko a piece of paper before leaving the room.
Rocko read his note aloud:
‘1800 Club’s New York City Dirty-Water Dogs’
2 quarts of water
1/8 tablespoon of ground nutmeg
Pinch ground cumin
Favorite hot dogs, not skinless!
Large yellow onion, peeled and coarsely sliced.
3 tablespoons of cooking oil.
Pinch of crushed red pepper and hot sauce to taste, optional.
1 tablespoons of red vinegar
1/4 can of tomatoes sauce or ketchup for a sweeter version.
Cooking instructions
In a covered, 4-quart saucepan, bring water to slight simmer, stir in vinegar, cumin and nutmeg.
Add up to two packs of wieners and cover for at least ten-minutes.
They all laughed as both men pocketed the recipe.
The grandfather clock chimed ten times and both visitors decided that it was time to go. “I’m sure you’ve still got some planning to do,” said Rocko shaking Bill’s hand. “If you need anything, just call.”
“Same here,” added John as they shook hands.
Bill walked them to the door, “Take care, guys. I’ll give you both the full story on the mission when I get back.”
Bill went back up to his apartment and Matt entered right behind him carrying a valise in one hand and a long coat over his other arm.
Bill grinned as he said, “I believe that dinner was a success, Matt.”
“I agree, sir. Not that I understand it because they could have been served the finest steak available yet you somehow knew that they would enjoy the wieners.”
Bill winked, “Just a gut feeling, that’s all.”
Matt placed the brown leather valise on an ottoman and held up the long black coat as he said, “This is a light-weight dress overcoat, sir. Very warm yet light and comfortable. Next he opened the valise and took out a dark brown two-button suit and draped it over the couch. “Dark brown, sir, as the mission is in October and one wearing light colors would be looked upon as uninformed in the style of the day.”
He opened the jacket to show the waistline of the trousers, “Permanently stitched crease, sir. These trousers will never lose their crease.” He picked up two more suits, one black the other sharkskin gray. “These two may be shared: the jacket of one goes well with pants from the other. All have white shirts and starched collars along with accessories such as black glass buttons, string ties and cravats with stickpins. Two pair of low-cut, wing tip shoes, one black, the other dark brown. This was the year that the low-cut style of shoe was preferred over the high top, sir, because of this,” he said as he picked up a pair of men’s socks.
“Men’s hosiery were designed to be shown rather than hid by the high-top shoes.” The socks he held up were black with luminous stripes of green, blue and cherry with fancy figures running up and down the ankle.”
Next he picked up a pair of workout gym clothes along with white canvas deck shoes. “Should you feel in the need of exercise, sir, these are the latest fashion in the cruise wear of 1889. The rest is your underwear, sleeping garments, toiletry and lastly,” he said as he wacked a round, flat pancake shaped item against his hand and with a pop, it immediately became a dress hat, “a satin collapsible top hat made from black bridal satin with a grosgrain hat band and a leather interior sweatband.” Matt handed him an envelope, “Inside is a round trip ticket aboard the coastal steamer Brooklyn and three hundred 1889 dollars and some coins.” He took out the final item: the brown wooden hairbrush/communicator and passed it to Bill.
“Sir, at the suggestion of our friends upline, we have incorporated a password to operate the communication device. I set yours to be ‘Samson’. Simply enter your password into the communication device and then press the newly added unlock button followed by your message. Should the unit be lost and found by someone in the past, it would never work for them.”
Bill pressed down on the wooden handle while giving it a twist. It immediately popped open to show a small screen and keyboard. He typed ‘Samson’ and pressed the unlock button, typed a message, pressed the send button and the communicator in Matt’s jacket pocket buzzed as it vibrated. He took it out, opened it and read the message out loud: “Hi Matt!” . . . Bill’s communicator was in perfect working order.
“What time do you plan on leaving tomorrow, sir?”
The Brooklyn leaves at 10:00 a.m. from Pier 21 which is close by so I’ll get up at 7:30 and still have plenty of time.”
“I’ll arrange for a cab to be in front of the garden at 8:45, sir.”
“Perfect, Matt. And once again, thanks for all of your help.”
Matt simply nodded at his statement and said as he went out the door, “I’ll bring up a mug of hot chocolate for you, sir.”
After taking a shower, Bill sat on the thick rug at the bottom of his bed facing the unlit fireplace. He smiled as he thought of the nights he shared here with Shirley Holmes. He took a sip of his hot chocolate, then lifted the mug to his fiancé so many miles and years away, “To you my sweet, Shirley Holmes,” he took a sip and thirty minutes later climbed in bed and found Samson sharing his pillow.
“Hey, old buddy, I’m afraid some things might have to change around here.” He was answered with a snort as his beagle claimed even more of the pillow.
The next morning, Bill sat at the table in the alcove watching raindrops as they slid down the window’s glass. He was dressed in the brown outfit that Matt had provided and sipped his cup of coffee as he looked at his pocket watch. Eight thirty, he thought, time to leave. He sat back and stretched as he thought, I know I can sleep late and still catch the ship by simply setting the time I want to arrive at, but that sort of takes the fun out of traveling in the past. I love feeling the full effect of an average man as I step in the same steps that others back then did.
The door to the time portal opened and Matt entered with Samson shaking rainwater off his coat. “Nasty day, sir. Will you need an umbrella?”
Bill shook his head, no, “Thanks anyway, Matt, but I checked the date I’m going to and it’s clear. A bit nippy, but no rain or snow. Besides, I’d just leave it somewhere. If the cab is out front I’m set.”
“It is, sir. He is parked in front of the gate.”
Bill wiped his mouth, stood and flicked some toast crumbs off his jacket as Matt popped open his hat and handed it to him before helping him put on the long black overcoat. Bill squatted down and scratched his beagle’s ears.
“You be good while I’m gone. Hear me?”
Samson gave a woof, jumped up onto one of the leather seats and curled up.
Bill grabbed his valise and shook hands with Matt. “See you in a few days, Matt. I hope you use the time to relax.”
“I do relax at times, sir, but with you away, I will take the opportu
nity to steam clean the rugs of your rooms.”
Bill shook his head and with a smile said, “There’s a great Men’s Club in Brooklyn, 1957, on Ninth Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues that gives a great massage for two dollars. You should give yourself a treat.”
“I shall keep that in mind, sir.”
Bill opened the door at the rear of his den, took out his Time Frequency Modulator and entered: October 20, 1889. He looked at his watch and seeing 8:40 a.m., entered 8:40 a.m. in keeping with his habit of setting the time that he was going to, the same time he was coming from and in this case he was leaving 2014 at 8:40 and arriving in 1889 at 8:40 a.m, rested and fed.
Matt and Samson watched as Bill opened the steel door and entered the time portal.
Man, he thought as he went down the stone steps of the enclosed stairway, I never cease to admire the transition from 2014 to the 1800s. From bright electric lights to the gentle flickering flame of the gas lamps of old.
He stopped in front of one of the hissing lamps and looked at it up-close for the first time. Bill remembered reading an article on them in the file of items that belonged to the club. Each item was recorded with when and where they were purchased and any upgrades they might have had done on them. He closed his eyes and snapped them open as he recalled the information on the string of gas lamps that ran down the length of the red brick stairwell: Purchased in London, England in 1887; made of cast brass with an iron turn key; and intricate fine, cut glass shades. He grinned with self-satisfaction as he took the stairs two at a time, pressed the activate button on his TFM and opened the security door to October 20, 1889.
DATELINE: OCTOBER 20, 1889 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
Bill stepped out into the partially slumbering, fall garden. Once again he smiled as he thought of Shirley stopping short as she entered the beautifully landscaped area. “Glory be,” she muttered as she looked around the walled-in garden, “tis a scene from the best of an English garden.” They both sat on one of the stone benches and he listened as she described what the club’s gardener had created.
“Up against the far wall,” she said, pointing to the tall plant that Bill had thought of as weeds, “the Eupatorium’s mauve flowers have been mistakenly thought of by many as nothing more than weeds while the true gardener, who planted them here, uses them as a background for other, shorter flowers such as,” she pointed at the red, pink and white flowers that resembled a turtle’s head and continued, “the Chelone. It loves to grow in dense clumps for shade from the sun and thus avoid any excessive dry heat.” She pointed to the large cluster of gray-green foliage capped with blue buds and went on, “The Caryopteris or Blue Mist Shrub, blossoms in August and attracts the butterflies and bees.” She next pointed to pink, purple, blue and white daisy look-alikes and went on, “The Aster, or Michaelmas Daisy, start opening in August and continues until the first frost. They tend to creep throughout your garden, but their airiness allow them to blend particularly well with other flowers, giving an appearance of being denser than they truly are.” She looked around before pointing at the ground cover surrounding the mini pond set in the corner of the garden. “The Bearberry is one of my favorite ground covers: an evergreen with hardy foliage that is low maintenance and provides beautiful fall color. They creep over and around obstacles such as boulders or, in this setting, the fish pond.”
“I’ll never remember all of this,” he said and was rewarded with a peck on his cheek, “If human beings took the time to look deeply into the ways of nature, I believe they would not be so fast to destroy all about them . . . including themselves.”
Bill decided then and there to read and learn all he could about the club’s garden and found himself many times sitting on the stone bench and going over the various plants, shrubs and flowers as he puffed on a cigar and enjoyed a glass of red wine.
He stood, sighed and walked to the gate. Once outside of the enclosed area, Bill felt a cool breeze and pulled up his coat’s collar as he walked to a carriage parked at the curb. The breeze, he thought, will help clear the air of horse waste.
A thin man with a very long black mustache tipped his shabby tall hat and said, “Are you the gentleman going to Pier 21, sir?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Climb on up, then, sir. You’ll find a warm blanket folded on the seat should you feel the need of it.” He winked proudly as he added, “My wife washed it herself just yesterday.”
Bill stepped on the steel step that protruded from beneath the carriage door and climbed into the cab. The driver whistled and the horse pulled away from the curb. Bill looked at the blanket and was happy that he had his overcoat on.
The time traveler sat back while holding the worn, leather grip attached to the side of the wooden cab. Bill truly enjoyed taking a ride in a carriage, as almost every trip was a different experience. This time the driver sat up front and guided the horse along the cobblestone streets while other carriages had the driver sitting high up at the rear of the cab. Bill saw that many times the driver who sat behind the carriage clipped something like a pole or another cab as the view from back was not as good as a carriage that was operated from the front.
Suddenly three horse drawn carriages came running out of a side street, their driver’s eyes open wide as they looked behind them and slapped their whips on the horses’ rumps. The few passengers that had their heads out of the cab’s windows were white as ghosts as they looked behind them. Bill’s driver stopped so suddenly by pulling back on the reins and stomping on the mechanical brake that, had he not been holding the grip, the time traveler would have been thrown forward. Another cab flew out of the same street, made a sharp left turn and finally stopped where Bill’s cab would have been had his driver not been on the ball. Next to run out of the street were about a dozen children. But rather than having a look of fear, they wore smiles as they looked back.
Then Bill saw what caused the cabs to flee and the children to enjoy the run: a red and gold, four-wheeled carriage burst out of the street drawn by three huge white horses with bulging eyes and froth coming from their mouths as they beat the cobblestone street with their massive hooves. Howling at the top of their voices for all to give way were two men driving the rig: one constantly pulling the large brass bell as the other held the reins in a commanding way. Behind them a brass steam engine belched flames and white smoke that streamed in a long ribbon behind them and every now and then Bill could see two more men holding onto the rear for their lives. All four of the men wore black rubber coats, which covered their blue pants and red shirts, and past-the-knees rubber boots. On their heads were black, hard leather, helmets with a company number drawn on a badge and mounted on the front of their helmets. They all seemed to be shouting to clear the way and the roar of the steam engine plus the large wheels bouncing on the uneven cobblestones along with the thud of the horses’ hooves created such a din that Bill understood the panic in the faces of the other carriage drivers and passengers. He also understood the glee of the children who followed them to the fire. He grinned as he thought, Wow! Even way back here firemen all seemed to sport long curled mustaches.
As quickly as they appeared, the controlled chaos of the fire wagon disappeared down another street and all of the traffic closed up behind them as though the event never took place at all.
Bill’s driver made up for the lost minutes by taking a narrower street that the larger wagons had a hard time driving through. They pulled up in front of the pier with plenty of time to spare. Bill paid the fare, gave him a generous tip, grabbed his valise and walked over to the boarding area.
Pier 21 was a typical New York pier: a wooden structure with paint that was being chipped away by the elements, jutting out into the Hudson River. At the street side of the pier stood a wooden building, sixty-feet by thirty-feet that was also being attacked by the elements. Bill stepped inside and had his ticket punched by a middle-aged man who never looked up when he said, “Follow the white arrow.”
> Bill followed an almost scuffed away white painted arrow that led to a door at the far end of the building. He opened it and saw a line of passengers going up an enclosed wooden gangway. Some carried their smaller luggage and Bill did the same. At the end of the gangway, a young man collected the tickets, tore off the stub that had the cabin number on it and gave it back to him.
Cabin 64, he noted as he pocketed the stub, and Nellie Bly is in cabin 63, both one deck down.
Bill went to his cabin and found the door open. He entered and spotted the key on the bed. Well, he thought as he looked around, it’s certainly not first class, but it’s what the mission calls for: get as close to Nellie Bly as possible.
The cabin was clean and efficient with whitewashed walls and ceiling, the white walls were broken up with paintings of ships at sea and the ceiling sported a single, slow moving fan over the bed. The bed was smaller than a double and had just one bedside table with a pen and ink set on it. The floor was a black and white zebra style linoleum . . . much easier to clean than rugs, he thought. Oh well, guess I was spoiled by going first class most of the time, he thought with a grin. Next to the bed was a small closet followed by a small round table and two straight-backed wicker chairs. Opposite the closet was a white, four-drawer dresser with a washbowl and pitcher that was kept from sliding off by a one-inch high wooden lip that ran around the edge of the dresser top. A small round mirror above the dresser made it look as though there were two washbowls and pitchers. Another door led to a very small washroom that contained a toilet and bath, one overhead electric light and a rack with three white towels; the floor had the same zebra pattern as the main room. I think a friend of the ship builder had lots of zebra linoleum in stock, he thought as he stepped back into the main cabin. Turning, he now saw an 8 1/2x11 inch frame attached to the cabin’s door and in it was a sheet of manila colored parchment that had printed at the top: NEWS AND ACTIVITIES OF THE DAY, MONDAY OCT. 20, 1889. Bill read on;
Book 11 Page 5