It was a stormy evening that the club president, Prescott Stevens, introduced him to time travel, and it was the beginning of a fantastic trip. He went back to give the Gettysburg Address and became entwined in a few other problems in that time period. Man, he thought, I shiver every time I think about how it could have turned out! Brrrrr! (Author’s Note: The Abraham Lincoln Mission: Book One)
It was after that mission that he was offered presidency of the club. He grabbed it and has been on a fantastic trip ever since.
The short taxi ride from uptown New York ended at the rear of the club and Bill paid the fare displayed on the ticking meter: $2.25 and gave the driver a one-dollar tip. The man beamed at his good luck in finding a big tipper.
Alone, Bill removed the ornate key attached to a chain around his neck and opened the seven-foot high, wrought iron gate and entered the club’s peaceful garden. Locking the gate behind him, he took a deep breath and enjoyed the fragrance of the various flowers of his private oasis in New York City. In the shadow of the seven-foot high stonewalls, was a miniature waterfall that fed a goldfish pond and in the daylight butterflies fluttered around the bubbling water as crickets chirped both day and night. He walked to the ornate steel door set in the red brick wall at the rear of the garden and using the same key, opened it. Before entering the doorway, Bill removed a cell-phone sized unit from his pocket, flipped it open and typed on the keypad: December 14, 2013 and pressed the red button.
DATELINE: DECEMBER 14, 2012 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
Instantly, the garden was covered in a quiet mantel of white snow. He looked back and saw that the flowers were gone and the fishpond frozen over. Snow in December, he thought, maybe a white Christmas. With a shiver, he entered the opening and locked the door behind him. The time traveler climbed the stone stairs that were illuminated by hissing gas lamps and got to another door on his apartment’s landing, this one made of mahogany and trimmed with brass fittings. He unlocked it using the same key, opened it and went inside.
His black, tan and white beagle, Samson, ran and greeted him, stretching as high as he could for one of his master’s ear-scratchings.
“Welcome home, sir.” Matt said as he stood inside the living room and poured hot chocolate in Bill’s favorite, Donald Duck mug. Matt’s erect and slim posture made him look taller than his real height of five foot-eight inches. His thinning reddish-brown hair made him look older than his fifty-two years, but when he smiled his blue eyes showed the impishness in him.
“As I said, sir, sorry I interrupted your concert, but I know how hard it is for young Edmund to operate in our time, what with the atmosphere and all.”
“No problem, Matt. I can go back and see Fats Waller anytime I want, and as you say, it is tough on my grandson breathing our air.”
“I took the liberty of walking Samson in 1957 and brought back some of your favorite Mary Jane candy bars. I placed them on your desk.
A tap at the mahogany door got both of their attention and Bill opened it.
A tall, twenty-four year old man stood there with a big grin on his face. A shock of dark brown hair almost covered his blue eyes, which gleamed as he and Bill embraced. They separated and Bill put his arm around his descendant’s shoulder as he escorted him to a big leather chair.
“Hi, Edmund, how are you these days?” Bill indicated that the time traveler should sit, and once he did, he sat in another seat facing him.
“I’m fine, grand, . . . “
Bill raised a finger and wagged it at him as he said with a smile, “Uh, uh. No grandpa stuff, you sassy, young rascal, just Bill. Okay?”
Edmund nodded. “Right, sorry, Bill it is.” He took a deep breath and was about to slowly exhale as Samson jumped and settled on his lap. “Offf!” responded Edmund at the sudden assault.
“You okay, Edmund?” Bill asked in a concerned voice.
Matt asked, “Sir, shall I take Samson downstairs with me?”
Edmund shook his head and with the same grin answered, “No, he’s fine right here. Thank you anyway, Matt.”
Bill saw his grandson breathe slowly and said as he shook his head, “Got to admit it, you guys did a great job of cleaning up the earth’s atmosphere.”
“I know. But I wish I could go on a trip back in time with you.”
Bill grinned as he continued, “And of course you did such a great job that you can’t hang around too long in the lousy air of the past so I get to do it for you.” He shrugged his shoulders and went on with the same grin. “Thanks again.”
His grandson smiled back and continued, “I brought you a hologram from Miss Maryellen Muldey. She’s heading up a mission that just developed.” Edmund paused as he slowly removed the steel cylinder from his jacket pocket and handed it to Bill. He took another deep breath and continued with his eyes closed and Bill saw that he was fatigued already.
“The group, . . . ah,” he hesitated and took another breath and continued in a low voice, “said to say ‘hello’ to you, wish you good luck, and of course, if any problems come up, there will always be someone monitoring your frequency. Just send a text message and we’ll be there for you in any way we can.” He started to get up and as Samson jumped down, Bill got to his feet and took his arm.
“Hey, easy big guy. I don’t want to end the Scott family-line right here in my den.”
Edmund stood, still smiling. “Not to worry, grand, er, I mean, Bill, I’m just eager to get back to where I can take a deep breath without passing out. Ha,” he said with a grin, “how do you guys breathe this soup you call air?”
“Hey, you guys should be pleased that we can wallow in this atmosphere and do the dirty work for you guys up there.”
He opened the door and they hugged as Edmund said in a low voice, “Thanks, Bill. You know, the group up there thinks you and your club are fantastic. They know they can depend on you to complete any mission they lay on you, and I’m proud to be a descendant of yours.”
“Go on, you’re gonna make me cry.”
Edmund stepped outside the door and punched into his device the year 2068 as Bill closed the door.
Once back in his den, Bill joined Samson, already on his big leather easy chair, and stirred his hot chocolate as he lifted up the steel cylinder from the future. He took a sip and then pressed his thumb against a hollow depression in the top of the unit, which, after recognizing his thumbprint, activated. The hologram appeared as a cylinder of blue-gray light, which showed a six-inch tall figure of a woman smiling up at him. She seemed to suddenly realize that she was being watched and put her hands in front of her awkwardly. In one hand, she held a notepad.
Maryellen smiled and said, “Greetings Bill. Hope this hologram finds you in good health and all of us from the Time Tracking Group wish you the best.” She now flourished the notebook, and said, “Bill, we sent Edmund Scott down to see you and deliver this hologram, and after I sign off you’ll see a clip of Mister Wilhelm Boeing about to board a steamship for America. Now, this time, he dropped his ticket and a breeze took it away and deposited it into the water, preventing his going to America. Mister Boeing goes back to Germany and his son grows up to be a teacher in Germany instead of coming to America and developing the Boeing Aircraft Company. Our computers will tell you of the outcome of this hiccup in history and why it must be fixed.” The small figure walked in a circle then went on. “Of course, Bill, anything you need shall be provided by us. So, in conclusion, we think perhaps someone from your club could be there and simply grab the ticket before it goes into the ocean, and get history back on track. Any way you wish to handle this mission is, of course, fine with us, and best of luck. Hope to see you soon, ‘bye for now.”
Bill watched as she disappeared and the scene of the wharf materialized in the hologram. He watched as the probe zoomed in on its target, and, sure enough, as Maryellen said, the ticket was lost.
Seems easy enough, he thought as he put his legs up on the coffee table to watch the hologram one m
ore time before coming up with a mission plan.
Bill awoke to the tap on his door, followed by Matt’s voice: “Sir, you asked to be awakened at nine. Will you have coffee and toast for breakfast?”
“Coffee and toast will be fine Matt.”
At that, the door opened and his right-hand man entered carrying a silver tray upon which was a pot of coffee and a covered plate of buttered toast. Samson, smelling food, followed closely.
“Very well, sir.” Matt said as he placed the tray on an eating table and rolled it over Bill’s lap as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Matt, you’re the best.” He inhaled the aroma and said, “New brand of coffee?”
“Not as new as one might think, sir. I took the liberty of stepping back to 1879 to walk Samson and went to Reade Street in downtown Manhattan. It seems there was a small coffee shop that operated there for a few years and they imported coffee beans directly from Brazil that was an outstanding blend. Later they were bought out by a larger coffee shop and it seems the coffee supplier took a disliking to the new owner and stopped shipping their beans.”
Bill took a sip and grinned. “Great find, Matt. Great find.” He took another sip as Matt opened the curtains and Samson jumped up onto Bill’s bed.
“Matt, I’m going on a mission and will need steamship tickets to England along with clothing for the round trip and enough money to cover any expenses. Can you set that up for me?”
“Of course, sir. What year and season would that be, and when would you care to leave?”
“Summer of 1868, and I’d like to leave as soon as everything is ready. It’s a fairly simple mission and should take just a few weeks traveling time.” He paused a moment in thought and then said, “You know Matt, if only the Time Watchers of the future had some kind of a GPS attached to the time machine, the trips would really be fast. Imagine if we could just punch in coordinates along with the date and just appear where the mission needed us?”
“Have you ever asked them, sir?”
Bill nodded affirmatively. “Yep, and I was told they are working on it, but for now we can only use the club’s door as the time portal, and really, that’s just fine with me as I get to see more this way. So, it’s out the door at whatever date we want and then travel just like the other folks of that era, to wherever the mission needs us. This time, England.”
“What shall I tell the club members when they meet?”
“Tell them I’m on vacation in Europe. Actually, that’s the truth, just a hundred plus years different.” He briefed Matt on the mission.
Matt nodded as he walked to the door, “Very well, sir. I’ll be putting the trip in order then.”
Two hours later, Matt tapped at the door as Bill sat at his computer reading up on the time period of England that he was to visit.
“C’mon in, Matt.”
The butler entered with two brown leather valises, worn looking but strong. He put them on the coffee table and opened one.
“I took the liberty of packing four suits along with accessories such as ties, socks, et cetera. I’ve also selected a fifth suit for you to wear, so you’ll have five at your disposal. The usual toiletries are in the smaller valise along with underwear. I’ve also packed some casual clothing, and anything else you may need can be purchased while you are in the time period of the mission.” He opened a brown, soft leather billfold and went on. “I took a trip back to the time of the mission and purchased a first-class, round-trip ticket on the steamship, Delphi. She leaves from the pier at the foot of 48th street in Manhattan, at 10:00 am on June 27, 1868, and after approximately fifteen days, she’ll dock at Liverpool, England. The liner will take three days to refill her coalbunkers, replenish her food galleys and take on new passengers. During your three-day wait, you’ll have to purchase reservations in a nearby hotel, and from the periodicals of the time, I suggest the Sea View Hotel and Eatery. It’s a two-block walk from the wharf and was highly recommended for gentlemen of the time. You board on July 14, at 8:00 am and the ship sails at 11:00 am. She docks back at the same pier which you depart from in New York, on July 29th.” He handed him a leather billfold as he continued, “Here is your normal ID and over one thousand dollars in bills and change.” He passed him a leather belt and opened a slim zipper on the inside. “I recommend that you secrete a few hundred, ‘get-home-dollars’ in this hidden compartment as one never can tell when it will come in handy.”
“Right about that, Matt. Boy, I remember the Hindenburg mission!” (Author’s Note: Hindenburg Mission, Book 2).
Bill smiled and said, “Great job, Matt. Really great job.” He thumbed through the clothes as he mumbled to himself. “If the ship leaves Liverpool at 8:00 in the morning, I have to get there earlier and be next to Boeing in order to catch that ticket before it goes into the water.”
At the bottom of the smaller valise, he removed a small brown leather case and opened it. A set of leather straps held a rectangle shaped shoe brush and a can of shoe polish. Bill unstrapped the shoe brush and pressed down on it’s handle, while at the same time, used a twisting motion. Suddenly the shoe brush opened to reveal a small keyboard and viewing screen. He typed into the hand-held unit a message that appeared on the viewing screen as Matt watched.
“HELLO EDMUND SCOTT. BILL SCOTT HERE TESTING THE COMMUNICATING UNIT. HOW DO YOU READ ME?
He pressed a red ‘send’ button and the screen cleared. Thirty seconds later, the screen showed a message from Edmund in 2068: GREETINGS BILL. I READ YOU PERFECT. AS USUAL, WE WISH YOU GOOD LUCK, AND AS USUAL, THERE WILL BE SOMEONE WATCHING FOR ANY COMMUNICATIONS FROM YOU AND WILL ASSIST IN ANY WAY WE CAN. SIGNING OFF. YOUR GRANDSON, EDMUND SCOTT.
Bill closed the faux shoe brush and snapped it back in place.
Matt closed the valise and asked, “When will you be leaving, sir?”
“Tomorrow Matt. I’ll have dinner with the club members tonight and then get a good nights’ sleep. You never know how much sleep you might miss out on while on a mission.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll put the valises away until tomorrow. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you anyway, Matt. I’ll be right here at my computer writing the stories for tonight’s newspaper. I’ll send you the text before lunch and I’ll just want a light lunch, say, peanut butter and Pineapple jelly with some hot chocolate around one o’clock. Okay?”
“Very well, sir. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”
Samson followed Bill as he went to his computer to check on what took place on December 10 in 1864. He sat an instant before his master and both had to squirm around to get comfortable.
Three hours later he buzzed Matt. “Matt, I just sent you the file on tonight’s newspaper.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll be right on it.”
At 7:00 that evening, Matt tapped on his door and entered. He handed him a newspaper as he said, “Sir, the newspaper you proofed today. Dinner will be ready in one hour.”
Bill sat and quickly went over the reproduction newspaper the club members would be reading this evening. The yellowed, slightly thicker than today’s newspaper, was dated December 10, 1864. Along with short stories about the weather, clothing styles and normal, everyday living, was a large headline at the top of the paper. It read: General Sherman Reaches Savannah, Georgia.
This newspaper, THE CHRONICLE, was chosen to have one of our fine reporters attached to the Army of the Union under the command of General Sherman. During the march south, our reporter was given an interview with the General and his staff. Although we must respect the general’s wishes not to tell of any supplies or routes taken, suffice to say, when the enemy tries its mettle, they will surely be taken aback. Once again, without giving away any secrets, it is obvious to any person lucky enough to see the army pass by, that they are set for a modern day siege of the rebel city.
‘Woe unto the enemy when they try us,’ said Private Kinnsey of a New York Regiment, as he marched alongside a cannon being pulled by a team of stout
horses. We shall report more on the progress of this great army and it’s leader, General Sherman as soon as dispatches arrive from the fighting area. News reporter David Cullen.
The club’s newspaper was an idea started by the club’s past president, Prescott Stevens, and a new edition was put out at each club meeting. The date on the paper was the date that the club member’s conversations had to stop at. The club’s only rule was that the members not ‘speak out of club time,’ and the date on the paper was their stopping point, reason being, how could anyone know anything that happened after that date?
Satisfied, Bill folded the newspaper and dressed.
Twenty minutes later he stood in front of a full-length mirror in his dressing room. Tonight Bill wore a tan suit with a six-button vest over a white shirt. At his neck, he wore a starched white collar and dark brown silk cravat with Mother-of-Pearl stickpin. He put on a pair of high-topped, brown shoes and buttoned them up. Finally, he put on a pair of tan spats and looked in the mirror to see a gentleman from the mid-eighteen hundreds looking back. Before going down to the dining room, he plucked a white carnation out of a vase and pushed it through his lapel. Satisfied, he opened the door and went down the thickly carpeted stairway towards the murmur of people in conversation.
At the entrance to the great room, Bill selected a Cuban cigar from a silver dish on a small table. He didn’t take one of the newspapers folded on the same table as his was under his arm. Upon entering, the conversation halted momentarily as he was noticed. Heads nodded and women did slight curtsies as the conversation slowly started up again. Matt appeared with a tray holding glasses of red and white wine. Bill smiled and took a glass of red as he looked around the room.
“Nice crowd this evening.”
“Yes sir,” said Matt as he deftly struck a wooden match on the tray’s bottom and lit Bill’s cigar. “Almost all of the members are present, sir.”
Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club Book VIII Page 2