The Fire (Northwest Passage Book 4)

by John A. Heldt

  For a moment, Kevin did nothing but stand in place, stare at the sky, and let the truth sink in. He had done it. He had really done it. He had traveled back in time several decades, if not an entire century, in a matter of minutes, proving science fiction writers right and twenty-first-century physicists wrong. He had done something that had rarely, if ever, been done before. He smiled as he thought about what he would say to his family.

  "So what did you do this weekend?"

  Then he thought about something else, and just that quickly his exhilaration turned to fear. What if he couldn't go back? What if Time Travel Airlines, otherwise known as Asa Johnson's chamber of stones, didn't do roundtrip flights? Or what if it was some sort of magical history tour that sent him to choice locations like Little Big Horn in 1876 or San Francisco in 1906 or even Hiroshima in 1945? He didn't like that idea at all.

  Kevin turned his head and stared at the shed. Maybe he should play it safe. He could always come back another day, after he'd had an opportunity to think things over and consider possible drawbacks. It was one thing to conduct a little science experiment while your parents and sister shopped in Spokane. It was another to mess with the supernatural.

  For a few minutes, Kevin thought not of the unfamiliar world in front of him but rather of the familiar world he had left behind. No matter what he saw or did this day, he wanted to return to that world. He considered his options for a moment and then walked back to the shed.

  Kevin reached into his pockets and pulled out another two dozen coins. He wasn't at all convinced that the coins were necessary, but he was glad he had brought them along. Time travel was not horseshoes or hand grenades, where almost was good enough. He didn't want to leave anything to chance.

  Kevin dropped to his knees and laid out the gold in the still ample evening light. He didn't know if the chamber gods liked heads or tails, but he decided to do what he had done the first time and turn all of the coins sunny side up. Consistency couldn't hurt. When he finished flipping the eagles that belonged to the man in the apparently unoccupied house behind him, he formed the first M of MMXIII. He didn't finish his spelling bee.

  About halfway through the second M, he realized that he was letting fear get the better of him. He didn't want to leave just yet and, in fact, felt an obligation to stay. He was a man of science, after all, a man on a mission – much like the Apollo astronauts. He had an obligation to leave the safety of his ship and check out the neighborhood. If the natives of this world were little green men with paintball guns, then he'd just have to learn how to play paintball.

  Kevin picked up the gold and returned to his feet. A moment later, he stepped into the yard and took a closer look at the world he had come to see. It was a world that looked remarkably different even from thirty feet away. Though Kevin knew he had returned to the home of his ancestors, he knew it was not the home he had left. The home he had left had an overgrown lawn, a greenhouse, and a hot tub that sat atop a large redwood deck. The home he saw now had a neatly cut lawn, two vegetable gardens, rows of roses, and a black wrought-iron fence.

  The residence, too, looked different. It was white, for one thing, and had paned windows, black shutters, and a wood-shake roof. Roger Johnson's slate-gray house had energy-efficient windows, blue shutters, and a metal roof – not to mention a satellite dish.

  Kevin zeroed in on each of the rear-facing windows and looked again for signs of life. He didn't see anyone, which was probably a good thing. The last thing he needed was to be spotted coming out of someone's storage shed, even if that someone might be his great-great-grandfather.

  Convinced he had not aroused the suspicions of anyone in the vicinity, Kevin stepped away from the chamber of stones and took a closer look at the estate. He could see from the leaves on the trees that summer had come to the Silver Valley. He could tell it was summer by the warmth of the air and tell that this particular summer was further along than the one he had left. It was hotter and, from the appearance of the vegetables in the gardens, drier too.

  Something else was different as well. He hadn't noticed it at first, but he noticed it now. There was smoke in the air. Though it didn't rise to health-hazard levels, it was definitely annoying. It was the kind of smoke that brought smiles to the faces of kids in campgrounds but frowns to the faces of firefighters who knew how quickly campground embers could turn into hellish infernos.

  Kevin knew he could have picked a safer year. By choosing 1909, he could have visited the Great Fire era without risking the Great Fire itself. But he assumed that the time portal was an apples-to-apples kind of device that would send him to June 21, 1910, and not a later date. From what he had remembered of Walt's Walking Tour, the fire had flared up in August.

  Kevin had no way of knowing for sure that he had arrived in 1910, a year he had selected out of simple curiosity. For all he knew, he could be in 1909 or 1931 or 1895. The neighborhood looked like a scene from 1910, but confirmation would require venturing beyond the withered tomato plants in the back of the Johnson estate. After giving the matter a little more thought, he decided to continue. As long as he stayed out of trouble, he'd be all right.

  The time traveler checked the windows again for onlookers. Seeing none, he walked around the side of the house. When he reached a U-shaped driveway in front, he saw not a Volkswagen powered by 150 horses but rather a surrey wagon that was probably powered by two horses. When Kevin drew closer, he saw the words MAY & JOHNSON VENTURES and a three-digit telephone number painted on one side. He had little doubt that he had traveled at least to 1910.

  Gazing at an indigo sky, he saw a full moon rise just above the eastern horizon. It was a good sign. He had forgotten that passage through the chamber was possible only in the light of a solstice sun or the shadow of the fullest moon. Under different circumstances, he might have to wait weeks to return to the future.

  Kevin heard noises and walked three blocks east on Garnet Street to a vacant lot. The lot, located between two unimpressive homes, offered an unrestricted view of the downtown core.

  He gazed into the distance and saw an eastbound train pull away from a chateau-style depot. Black smoke poured from a locomotive that seemed torn from the pages of a history text.

  Kevin then turned to the streets below and saw an abundance of human activity. Men in suits and hats and women in long dresses walked in and out of buildings with brightly lit exteriors. Music streamed out of one building, loud voices out of another. Two men, visibly drunk, sang to each other as they stumbled out of a saloon. The weekend had come to Wallace.

  Kevin gave serious thought to jumping in. He could imagine bellying up to a bar and discussing labor practices with a group of crusty miners or sitting at a table and watching a burlesque show when burlesque was in its heyday. He could imagine the fun he could have in this real-life historical museum. He could imagine impressing a date.

  He could not, however, imagine spelling MMXIII in the fast-approaching night. He hadn't brought a flashlight or matches into the past and didn't want to insult the stone-temple gods with an amateurish display. Getting back to 2013 trumped a hot time in this grand old town.

  Kevin glanced at the setting sun and then at his analog watch and decided to give himself fifteen more minutes. He figured that fifteen minutes would be more than enough time to check out a stunning house on the east end of Garnet Street and return to the portal before day turned to night. He scanned the vicinity for nosy neighbors. Finding none, he proceeded down the street.

  When Kevin reached his destination, he stopped, turned around a few times, and took a moment to admire his surroundings. He could see why those who had made their fortunes in these mountains had stuck around to enjoy them. They were invigorating. Wallace residents had struck a truce with nature and that truce – or what amounted to a balance between man and his environment – appeared to be holding.

  Kevin then directed his attention to the main attraction at the end of the street and saw two impressive sights: one he had expected t
o see and one he had not. The first was an elegant Queen Anne mansion with an ornate exterior and two dormers that framed a second-story balcony. The second, standing at the edge of the balcony, was a woman – a very beautiful woman. Wearing an ankle-length dress and mile-high hair, the slender brunette looked like a Gibson girl from Central Casting. The mansion Kevin had come to see suddenly seemed a lot more elegant.

  "Are you lost?" the woman asked in a soft, friendly voice. "You seem lost."

  Kevin laughed to himself.

  That's the understatement of the year.

  "I guess I am, at least a little bit."

  "For whom are you looking?"

  Kevin nearly blurted out, "No one in particular," but caught himself and gave the question some thought. He had an answer, and it was pretty damn convenient.

  "I'm looking for a man named Asa Johnson. Do you know where I can find him?"

  "I most certainly do. He lives in the large white residence at the other end of this street. You can't miss it. In fact, you probably walked right past it, Mister . . ."

  "Johnson. My name is Kevin Johnson, but you can call me Kevin."

  "Are you a relative, Mr. Johnson?"

  Kevin smiled. He knew he could handle this one, too, though he also knew it was only a matter of time before she asked a question that he couldn't answer truthfully.

  "Indeed, I am. I'm a very distant relative. I'm visiting here for the first time."

  "Well, welcome to our town," she said. "I'm sure the other Mr. Johnson will be happy to see you and offer you the warmest hospitality."

  "I'm sure he will, Miss . . ."

  "Thompson. My name is Sarah Thompson, but you can call me Miss Thompson."

  Kevin smiled again. He liked her already.

  "It's nice to meet you, Miss Thompson. I'll just turn around now and go see my very distant relative. I'm sure his hospitality will be every bit as warm as yours has been."

  Sarah smiled at her new acquaintance in a way that suggested she recognized a subtle dig when she heard one. But her smile nonetheless projected warmth and friendliness.

  "Have a nice evening, Mr. Johnson."

  "You too," Kevin said.

  When he saw her turn to go inside, he turned himself, toward the west, and took three steps toward Asa Johnson's house, the chamber of stones, and 2013. He was about to take a fourth step when he stopped and called back to the woman on the balcony.

  "Miss Thompson?"

  "Yes, Mr. Johnson?"

  Sarah looked at him from an open door.

  "I have one more question."

  "Then please ask."

  "OK," Kevin said, as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. "What day is today?"

  "It's Friday, of course."

  "I mean the date. What is the date?"

  Sarah cocked her head and looked at Kevin with curious eyes.

  "It is July 22, I believe."

  "Thank you," Kevin said. "So it's Friday, July 22?"

  "That's what I said."

  "Friday, July 22, 1910?"

  "You're as smart as a whip, Mr. Johnson," Sarah said with a laugh. "Good night."

  Kevin grinned sheepishly as he watched her close the door to the balcony. He felt stupid for asking her even the day and the date, but it was a good kind of stupid. He could ask this enchanting woman stupid questions seven days a week.

  As he started back down the street, Kevin pondered the date. July 22, 1910, was definitely in 1910, but it was more than just a random date on a distant calendar. It was an important date in the history of the Johnson clan, one that seemed to take on greater significance as he approached the family estate.

  According to the reunion program, Asa Johnson had died on July 22, 1910, while visiting his wife's family in Spokane. He had died in the presence of his wife and sons and had never returned to the house he had purchased or the treasure he had hidden. In all likelihood, the man he knew as his great-great-grandfather was already gone.

  Kevin glanced at the darkening sky and then placed his hands in his pockets, where he repositioned a few of the jingling double eagles. He had more than enough coins to placate the portal and the full moon that shined more brightly than ever. He was as confident as ever that he would walk out of 1910. The question now was whether he would walk back.

  CHAPTER 7: KEVIN

  Friday, June 21, 2013

  Cuckoo hadn't budged in his absence, nor had the hands on the clock. Kevin had left his grandfather's house shortly after 7:15 a.m. Pacific Daylight Time on June 21, 2013, and returned to the same place, time, and date. The sports section of a Spokane paper lay where he had left it, as did a paperback copy of Yann Martel's Life of Pi. Even the coffee he had poured in the sink still lay in the sink, in two distinctive puddles. Nothing had changed. Yet everything had changed.

  Kevin tried to digest what he had done as he sat at the kitchen table and stared out a large east-facing window. He had really done it. He had not had a dream. Unless Shelly Johnson had laced her son's coffee with hallucinogenic drugs, that son had just traveled through time 103 years. Kevin was pretty sure his mom hadn't spiked his drink.

  The journey back had been seamless, quick, and cheap. Deciding that he didn't want to leave more than twenty gold pieces outside the chamber of stones for Asa Johnson or anyone else to find, Kevin had picked up the coins and taken them with him. The chamber gods, it seemed, required only a gesture – not the actual goods. Kevin noted that possibly important detail in Asa's journal, which he now claimed as his own.

  Kevin thought a lot about his brief, amazing trip. He thought about seeing his great-great-grandfather's house when his great-great-grandfather lived in it. He thought about residences in a neighborhood that no longer existed and a horse-drawn wagon that probably now occupied its own room in a local museum. He thought about Garnet Street and the smoke and the full moon.

  But mostly he thought about the girl. He thought a lot about the girl. Everything about Sarah Thompson stirred his mind, from her elegant dress and done-up hair to her sense of humor and incredible smile. As long as he lived, he would never forget that smile. It was a beautiful smile, a kind smile, a smile he wanted to see again.

  The decision about whether to go back was not a difficult one. The moment Kevin saw that he had returned to a world unchanged, he decided that time travel was something he could do again. It was something he wanted to do again. If he could have that adventure his mother wanted him to have and still return to the present before his family returned from Spokane, was there really a downside? He didn't think so.

  Still, Kevin had much to consider. For one thing, the portal was as reliable, at least in launch mode, as a test rocket. Not one of Asa Johnson's departure dates had matched up with his arrival dates. Leaving the past on New Year's Day, Asa would have been just as likely to arrive in the future on July 1 as January 1.

  Kevin also pondered James May's deathbed confession. The speculator had been very specific about the chamber of stones. A person could pass through the portal only in the light of a solstice sun or the shadow of the fullest moon. Kevin wasn't sure how far the shadow of the moon extended, at least in Wallace, Idaho, but he guessed that it wasn't more than a day or two. If he wasn't careful, he might find himself stuck in the past for weeks.

  There was also the little matter about what to wear. If he returned to 1910, he would have to dress the part. Though Sarah had said nothing about his attire, he could sense that it was on her mind. He had worn a T-shirt, a windbreaker, Levis, and black Nike jogging shoes to a time when men donned straw boater hats and women hobbled in hobble skirts. If he didn't want to stand out like a ballerina at a Boy Scout convention, he would have to find appropriate clothing.

  Kevin gave thought to spending money as well. He would not be able to use credit cards in 1910 or even modern currency – at least not if he wanted to stay out of jail. He would need bills and coins he could spend and spend without drawing unwanted attention. He would have to do another inventory of Asa's cache a
nd separate what he could use from what he could not.

  He walked into the living room and stared at a large oil painting above the fireplace. It was a local artist's rendition of Wallace in the early 1900s. He had seen the painting several times in his twenty-two years but had never given it a second thought. It was simply one of those artifacts that grandparents kept in their houses to remind themselves of glory days that were probably never as glorious as they remembered them.

  This time, however, he gave the painting its due. It looked an awful lot like the town he had seen from a distance, a town with Victorian houses, horse-drawn wagons, and Gibson girls in long white dresses. He wondered what had gone through the artist's mind when he had captured a scene that now hung prominently in a twenty-first-century living room.

  Kevin had a lot to think about on this sixth day of his first summer vacation as a college graduate. He had a lot to do. He had to plan for a field trip that would likely be far more complicated and challenging than anything he had done in Joel Smith's earth sciences classes.

  He grabbed the keys to his own horse-powered chariot and bolted out the door. He didn't know if the town of Wallace had everything he needed for his next Excellent Adventure, but he knew that, even if it didn't, he could find it elsewhere. He would do this again and he would do it right. He would return to the past and, this time, he would go back prepared.

  CHAPTER 8: KEVIN

  Kevin found the clothes he needed in a Coeur d'Alene costume shop that offered everything from Roman togas to rock-star tights. He settled on a gray suit and hat that would allow him to easily pass as a dapper young man with more prospects than a time-traveling speculator with a secret cache of gold and diamonds.

  He also bought a small, woven-paper suitcase from a second-hand store. He didn't know if the lockable case was fashionable or even available to Americans in 1910. He knew only that it looked like something a traveling businessman might own and was large enough to carry the things he wanted to take on his second trip to the past.