In addition to Seymour’s warnings bouncing around in my head, I’d also watched way too much science fiction to run around in what appeared to be another era without worrying about my every action.
“Then you’ll be here at least until New Year’s Eve,” she said. “That’s when she’s most likely to come back. Of course, that is, if she runs on time. Sometimes she’s early, but more often late. Real, real late.”
She hurried off with her basket in hand now, and I watched her go as I tried to assimilate what she’d just said.
I must have hit my head harder in old man Donahue’s attic than I originally imagined. I took a moment to duck around a quiet corner and pulled out my phone. Of course I expected no signal, but I didn’t think about what going through a wormhole would likely do to it. Sure enough, it was dead. No good to me at all.
It was then the reality of my situation hit me.
The train I arrived on wasn’t going to come back for thirty days.
What the hell was I going to do for thirty days in 1880?
There had to be another way back. A different train, perhaps, a connection with another to eventually take me home…
I approached the formidable-looking woman in the ticket booth, and she scowled. Helen was a tall, imposing figure, with a straight, long nose and even longer face. Her hair was pulled into a bun so severe it seemed to drag the edges of her eyes toward the back of her head. She appeared to be in her early thirties, and she was also very obviously pregnant.
“Can I help you?” she snarled at me, not looking up from the pile of coins she was counting and putting into her wooden cash drawer.
“I’m looking for a ticket back home,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I just got here on the Aurelia Belle, and I didn’t realize how far it would take me.”
I scanned the slate board behind her, marked with train names, numbers, times, and schedules, and nowhere upon it did I even see the Belle mentioned.
“That train is the special,” she replied emotionlessly. “We are never advised in advance exactly when she’s coming in, she just pulls into the station, only on the first track. Only train to ever use the first. Then she goes on her way.” She stopped, and looked at me with curiosity. “I don’t remember ever seeing a passenger disembark before.”
“Well can you give me an estimate as to when it might be back? Any idea at all? ” I asked, deciding to double check the information I’d been given.
“We never know for sure, but she tends to run on a thirty day schedule,” she advised me, just as the girl called Marigold had. “With any luck you’ll be able to catch her on December thirty-first. She’s usually the last train of the day, after sunset.”
“So I’m stuck here. For a month.”
“Would appear so.” She seemed no happier about the idea than I did. “Unless you’d like to take another rail to a different town nearby. Though I warn you, they’re mostly the same as this one.”
I thought about the book and doubted that very much.
I wondered if taking it out and putting it near the track would do anything, if hidden workings inside of it might somehow summon the wormhole again, and I could be on my way home a lot faster. But it had ceased its humming entirely, so I doubted it. I thought better of showing it off in public to make an attempt.
“Well…thank you. Is there anywhere nearby I can find some sort of accommodations? I…I’m willing to work for them.” I wasn’t certain I had anything of value on me I could trade for currency in this time, and one thing was for sure, if I were going to survive here for a month, I’d need it.
Then something occurred to me, but I tucked it into the back of my mind for now. I didn’t want to part with the thing I was thinking of parting with, but if I had to, I had to…
“There’s no work available at the station. We run it.”
“We?”
“The Stationmaster’s family,” she said. “I’m his wife, and his children and I handle all of the work around here. They might be hiring over at Wilson’s General Store, or at the jewelers if you have any watchmaking skills. Otherwise, the only work in Wishing Cross is farm work. We’re a small town, and we don’t have a lot of fancy goings on.” She sniffed, looking me over. “Or a lot of fancy people.”
“I’ll try to be on my best, non-fancy behavior,” I mumbled.
“What did you say?” She leaned closer to the glass.
“Nothing. Thank you very much. If…if you hear of any sooner sightings of the Aurelia Belle—”
She appeared to bristle as I used the train’s name again. “There won’t be,” she interrupted. “Better get used to it, young man. You’re stuck here for a fair while.”
I nodded, then turned away. “Thanks again.”
I discovered when I looked up that Aurelia Belle was no longer on her platform, and I hadn’t heard her leave. She had just vanished into thin air.
I understood now that all of this was going to be a lot more complicated than just finding a local citizen, handing them the book, and getting back on the train to go home.
I was stranded without money, without a job, without a place to stay.
I had to come up with a plan, and then figure out exactly who the book belonged to in this time. I didn’t want to give it to the wrong person.
I recalled some of the things Seymour had said to me:
The book acts like a doorstop. Having it on this side prevents the wormhole from closing permanently. The wormhole is semi-stable on this side, always opening beneath the roundhouse, and it always goes to the same location on the other side, at least according to what I was told. But you can’t force it to open or control what time you land in going forward. Time is the variable, not location. Even though time passes at a normal rate in Wishing Cross, the same there and here, minutes, hours, days, all tick forward, never back. Wishing Cross is behind us, and the distance between times seems to grow with each cycle of the wormhole. By now, they’ve got to be more than a hundred years back.
The book must be returned or destroyed there, to keep anyone like Fox from finding it in this time and causing more trouble than you could possibly fathom.
I sighed. What does a nineteen-year-old college student do when he’s a hundred and thirty-five years out of his proper time?
Well, if he’s me, the first thing he looks to do is to secure a place to sleep before night falls, because it’s bloody cold outside.
CHAPTER SIX
I FORCED MY BACKPACK up over my shoulder again and wished I’d brought a messenger bag instead. It would blend in so much more easily. Not that I had much of a prayer of blending in the way I looked. I was going to have to see about some proper clothing, and soon.
My need for clothing and shelter meant one thing: I was going to have to sell the watch.
I still had some cash on me from home, worthless here. Trying to introduce it into the timeline could do…who knew what.
I stopped walking a moment and sat down on one of the benches at the station. I pulled the silver watch I thought of as antique out of the inner pocket of my pack and contemplated it. “I’m so sorry, Grandfather. I wish I didn’t have to do this.”
I looked across the street from the station, past the horse-drawn carriages and small groups of townspeople milling around, and there I saw the jewelry store.
I sighed as I headed toward it, hating what I had to do.
A small bell sounded almost imperceptibly as I entered.
“Good day!” A man exclaimed in greeting. He sat at a small workbench behind the counter to the right and appeared to be working on a clock. Drawings of elaborate watch works and timepieces surrounded him. “How can I help you?”
“Good day, sir,” I said, “I was wondering if you might be interested in a pocket watch I want to sell.”
“Hmm. Well, Christmas is coming, might be good to have it in inventory.” He looked me over curiously. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, just passing through.
But I find I am going to be here a while, and I’m without local currency. I need to obtain some, and this is the only thing of value I have with me.”
“Let me have a look, if you don’t mind?”
I held the watch out, and he analyzed it closely. He had a loupe in hand already, so he focused in with one eye upon the case, examining the front and back. He popped it open both ways and looked at the gears. “You’ve got the key?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot.” I reached into my pack and pulled out the key, hanging from a small string so I’d be less likely to lose it.
I hadn’t ever wanted to lose the watch my Grandfather had so cherished. I looked skyward for a moment and asked him silently once more to forgive me.
“Awfully special to you, isn’t it?” The man was wise.
“Awfully.”
“Well, you know, I’d be happy to pawn it for you. Give you some money to get by on. Then in a few weeks, you can pay me back.”
“How much will you give me if I pawn it?”
“Let’s see…” He marveled at the movement and the condition of the piece. “This is a lovely, lovely watch. Silver…” He weighed it, and then looked it over again. “I can’t give you what you paid for it, of course. If you don’t repay me, I have to make something. You understand.”
“I understand.”
He looked at me, considering. He seemed a thoughtful man, the kind who didn’t want to take advantage of a stranger though he certainly was in a position to do so. “I’ll give you thirty-eight dollars to pawn it. You pay me back the money within thirty days, plus five percent interest, and you get your watch back. Otherwise it’s mine to sell as I see fit.”
“You have a deal, sir. Thank you.” I really hoped I could get a job that would earn me enough to come back for it before I left. Besides, the consequences of possibly leaving it in this time, wherever and whenever it really was, concerned me. If the book could be an ‘anchor’ or ‘doorstop’ to the wormhole on the 2015 side of things, what could something left behind by someone from 2015 do?
I consoled myself by remembering the watch was originally from 1875, so it wasn’t out of place here, not really. It had just come along with someone who most certainly was.
“Very good. If you’ll just sign my book, here.” He pulled a large ledger out from a shelf behind him and began writing in it. He recorded information about the watch, then pointed to an empty line. “Your name, the date, and where I might find you in town if I need to contact you at all concerning the watch before the date on the pawn agreement expires.”
The date… I struggled to recall what the board at the train station had said. Finally, I remembered and wrote December 1, 1880.
“Location in town…” I shifted uneasily. “Well, it depends. Who in town has a room to rent? You see, I’m looking for a place to stay for a while…and a temporary job.”
He thought a moment. “I have a room for rent above the store, here in my apartment, but it’s going to cost you six dollars a month.” He hurried to add, “Payable up front, but by the week, if it helps you.”
“It would help, thank you again.” I did some quick calculating.
I’d have to save as much money as I could if I had any hope of combining it with a paltry income and still getting the watch back without starving in the meantime.
“Then again…” He sighed, as if hating to tell me but feeling he should. “If you talk to Mr. Wilson over at the General Store, he might be hiring extra postal delivery workers, seeing as it’ll be Christmas soon. There will be a lot more packages coming into town than he’s used to handling. If you can deliver them, he may rent you his spare room for a little less.”
“Would you trust me to come right back and tell you if I got the job? I’ll either be living there, or I’ll be back to talk to you about renting your room. Either way you’ll know how to find me.”
He pondered this for a moment as I nodded toward the watch and continued, “You know it is worth more than you’re giving me. Either way, with interest or by selling it yourself, you’re going to come out ahead.”
“You are smart.” He shook his head and smiled at me. “I’ll tell you what. You try your luck with old Wilson, and if he won’t give you a job, you come back. I’ll be busier than usual the next couple of weeks here at the shop. Pay would be less, but maybe we can work something out.”
I sighed with relief. I thought I could get used to how kind some of the people seemed to be in this particular time and location. I reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you, sir. I’m grateful to you.”
“Name’s William,” the man replied, shaking firmly. “William Best. But everyone just calls me Best, or, ‘the jeweler’ around here.”
“I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Best. I will let you know what happens soon, one way or another.”
“Thank you. I worry about strangers in town, on their own. You, especially being so young…” He paused. “You…came in on the special, didn’t you?”
I was about to ask how he knew but with my clothing, it was obvious I was from out of town. Out of my time? Definitely out of place.
“I did.”
“Thought so. You just be careful, okay? Not everyone around here is as open minded about the idea of visitors from the special as I am.”
“You mean there have been others?”
He hesitated a moment before answering. “Not for a long, long time.”
I waited as he moved toward a small safe, diverting my eyes respectfully as he worked the lock. I took the money he offered, and shook his hand again.
“Remember, watch out of pawn and paid back with interest before New Year’s Day or it belongs to me.”
“Understood. Thank you, sir.”
He waved me toward the exit. “Hurry now, you’ve got work to do.”
Indeed, I did.
Then he called me back. “Wait. What’s your name, son? I can’t make out the signature on the ledger.”
“Keigan,” I said, wishing for the moment I had a more common name. “Keigan Wainwright.”
“Well good luck, Mr. Wainwright. Keep me posted as to how you’re doing, mind? I…I’ll worry about you.”
I nodded and bowed my head slightly before exiting his shop.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A GROUP of young schoolgirls giggled and pointed at me as I walked past.
It was the first real stir I’d caused since I arrived in town. I looked forward to disappearing into the woodwork as I tried to figure out what to do with the book in my backpack, which felt heavier by the second.
I thought again about how it had stopped humming about the time that the Aurelia Belle disappeared into thin air on the train platform. At the moment it happened, I’d been too distracted to notice.
I also realized only now that the train had made no sound as it disappeared. There were no plumes of smoke, no chugging of the engine as it generated fire from coal and power from water. Nothing like the departure from 'my end’ of the journey.
I wondered if it had to do with my presence here, if I were throwing off business as usual in this small town just by existing in it.
I thought about Seymour’s warning that I couldn’t miss the train when it came back. This was an era with little indoor plumbing and no access to the internet…why on Earth he thought I might want to stay, I had no idea. I couldn’t wait for the month to be up, so I could just get the hell out of this place.
I wondered, too, about the passage of time on the other end of the hole. Would it go along as usual, as Seymour had indicated, and when I got back I’d have no job and find an eviction notice on my door? Lila would worry that I’d vanished just like that locomotive did. I didn’t tell her, or anyone else, where I’d gone or what I planned to attempt.
God, who would feed my poor goldfish?
I calmed a little when I remembered the landlady had a key to the apartment. The rent for next month had been paid already, but she would likely go snooping around if I were missing for
more than a few days.
I hoped, maybe, she’d feed little Arthur.
What was I thinking? I was stranded in a city off the map—entirely out of my timeline—with no sure way of ever getting back home, and my greatest concern was my goldfish?
I guessed, with Grandfather gone, Arthur was really all I cared about. Sure, I cared about Lila, but I knew she’d get along okay without me if I didn’t make it back. Unlike me, she did have other friends and a steady girlfriend, too.
I was always the odd man out, the only one without a group to hang with. I cared little for ‘hanging’, anyway. I was perfectly fine with my own company. In fact, be it a fault or not, I actually preferred it to the company of anyone else.
I’m an introvert or a reclusive jerk, I guess. Probably a combination of both.
Introversion notwithstanding, I wasn’t always such a curmudgeon. Back when things were right with my parents, especially my Dad. I missed our talks; they were almost as good as talks with Grandfather. In some ways, they were better. In some ways worse, because it seemed even despite his age, Grandfather better remembered what it was actually like to be young.
I found myself staring at the “Open” sign on the door of Wilson’s General Store, and I paused. I looked in the window at the display. It held shaving soap and brushes and razors. God, I’d need some of those items if I were going to get rid of the light brown scruff that would certainly make me seem more and more out of place here. I didn’t plan to grow a mustache or any of the other wild facial hair configurations popular in the day; no, I’d just stick with a clean-shaven face and hope for the best. It would be just one change, of many.
A large strand of sleigh bells on the door jingled merrily as I opened it. It was the most welcoming part of my reception there.
“Help you?” A stout, short man with a red face and an angry expression asked, glaring at me. It was apparent he recognized that I didn’t belong right away.
“Yes, sir. I…I heard you might be hiring some seasonal help with the mail, or even in the store, and might have a room to rent. I’m ready to work hard and eager to start. I just need a place to begin.”
Wishing Cross Station Page 4