A Different Time

by Donna Steele

  The young woman pointed to the map in the brochure.

  “The one-room schoolhouse where Mr. Stevens taught was rescued and restored. Silas Jordan, the founder of Stevens Battery, had the structure moved to a location on the factory grounds and made it available for tourists.”

  “Not Jordan Battery?” Dusty asked.

  “Silas credited Mr. Stevens with changing his life. He considered his teacher a mentor and wanted to honor him. You should read Silas’ biography. It’s a moving story.”

  “How long did this couple live here?” Dusty prodded.

  “That’s one of the mysterious things. Only around three months. But their impact made waves for years to come. There’s no formal tour of the house, but you’re welcome to wander around.” The guide turned as a small group came in the door.

  “You okay?” Dusty asked Dee when the guide had moved away.

  “A little stunned. I didn’t know.”

  “Neither of us did.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Dee’s old office had been recreated, a close approximation of what had been here, though they spotted inaccuracies immediately. Her fingers twitched to rearrange things.

  Unable to resist, Dee opened a cabinet. “Dusty, look at this. I thought the instruments primitive when we first arrived. After familiarizing myself with what’s currently in use, how did I keep anyone alive? I grew my own damn penicillin! Borderline malpractice,” she mumbled.

  “It was your skill and knowledge. Take credit where it’s due.”

  She felt Dusty’s eyes on her and gave him a tentative smile.

  “You’re on the verge of crying. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” Worry colored his voice.

  Dee blotted at the tears she fought to keep from falling. “No. I’m glad to be here. Ignore the hormones. Let’s see the rest of the house.”

  The dining room held the same familiar furniture, mellowed with loving age though the dishes were a different pattern.

  Mrs. Tillman’s sitting room differed in furnishings, too. “I suppose the red sofa we used couldn’t have lasted until now,” she lamented. “Everything’s altered in here.”

  “Nothing we can do about it. Come on, let’s go upstairs,” Dusty urged.

  New wallpaper with similar colors graced the walls in their bedroom, and a four-poster bed stood in the correct location. The lady’s bureau with its rounded mirror was different, but a close facsimile. “The restorers did an excellent job using only inventory lists. I know there were no expensive, black-and-white pictures for furniture.” She sighed. “I loved that little bureau.”

  “Is it wrong I want to make love to you in here again?” Dusty whispered in her ear, distracting her from the furnishings.

  She felt her face warm. “No, since I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Good to hear. There’s more to see. Do you want to go on or hang around here a while?”

  “Let’s go on. We can stop back by later.”

  Dusty tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her downstairs. Picking up a map of the other sites, they headed outside. The day was warm, so they left the car and walked to the church as they so often had in the past.

  “No changes to the original structure, but it looks like a building’s been added in the rear of the property.”

  The name Grant was etched over its door. Dusty consulted the map. “Says here the addition is the activities building.”

  The church itself had changed little, other than cushions on the seats. Dee spotted Dusty’s grin. “Marcus would not approve,” he whispered to her.

  “Agreed.”

  She led the way toward the new building. A young woman approached them and glanced down at the green bracelets. “I see you’re on the Stevens tour. Please come in. Reverend and Mrs. Grant became close friends with Mr. and Dr. Stevens during the short time they were here. There are, of course, no photographs of them. We do have some photos of the Grants and their family.” She indicated the far wall of the entry, leading them in that direction.

  “This is a photo of Reverend Grant and Mrs. Grant on their wedding day.” A formal tintype pose showed Marcus and Elizabeth smiling slightly. She wore a long dress that ended in a brief train, overlaid in lace, the bodice corseted in that cinched-waist-style Dee had hated. No doubt someone had persuaded Elizabeth to endure the dreaded stays at least for the ceremony. A floor length veil covered her hair. Marcus wore a suit much like the one Caleb had sold Dusty to wear to church.

  The tour guide grinned at them. “You know the tradition of the bride wearing something old, new, borrowed, and blue? Well, Mrs. Grant’s grandson shared a bit of family lore. On her wedding day Mrs. Grant borrowed a pair of what was called ‘bikini underwear.’ Dr. Stevens had left them behind. We have no way to prove such a claim, but it’s one of my favorite stories about the couple.”

  While Dusty tried to control his laughter, Dee let her mirth burst forth, laughing out loud. Of course, Elizabeth had done such a thing. Probably shocked the bejesus out of Marcus, too, no doubt leading to a wonderful wedding night.

  “What an incredible story. Thank you for sharing it,” she finally managed to say.

  The guide’s eyes twinkled. “The Grants had four children, three boys and a girl. Dustin, Matthew, Sara, and James.”

  “Dustin,” Dee said softly.

  “Biblical names except for Dustin,” Dusty observed. She could see the emotion in his eyes. Marcus had become a good friend.

  “Actually, Reverend Grant believed Dustin was the most sacred of the names. He was the person who first put forth the idea Mr. and Dr. Stevens were really angels, visiting here to teach. As far as we know, he did not preach that from the pulpit, but he was not shy about spreading his belief.”

  Flustered, Dee shared a wide-eyed gape with an equally dumbfounded Dusty. “Marcus thought what?” she mouthed to Dusty.

  The guide, oblivious to their shock, glanced back at the pictures. “As head of the Board of Education in Braddock’s Crossing, he ensured all the innovations Mr. Stevens had instituted at the school during his tenure were continued.”

  She pointed to a photograph of Marcus, standing with Connie in front of the school. “He was also a great advocate for the education of women. I’m sure you know Mrs. Grant started the nursing school here along with Ms. Viola Hill, who was the midwife at that time. I’ve heard Reverend Grant could really bring down the rafters with his sermons. To advocate for women in that time, he’d have had to.”

  Dusty swallowed audibly, started to speak, paused, then finally asked, “Is there a biography of the Grants?”

  “Not an official one, though I think that would be a marvelous idea. There are family papers and several of the grandchildren are still alive. Dustin Junior comes by here occasionally and tells us stories. He’s the one who spilled the bikini underwear tale.”

  “I’d love to meet him.”

  “He lives in D.C., Dustin Grant, Junior. I don’t have any contact information, unfortunately. But he shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  Dee watched Dusty absorb the information, the wheels already turning in his head. Maybe they could find him and have him over for dinner with Leonard and Sherry some night. Dustin Jr. would surely make a great addition to their dinner talks if they did.

  ~ ~ ~

  After checking out the rest of the photographs, Dusty led Dee from the church. “Tired?”

  “Not at all. That was fascinating. I’m so glad we got to play matchmaker to those two.”

  “We sure got it right. After the way he bellowed at you not to go help Jedidiah that morning, I have no doubt he could ring some chimes. His sermons sure weren’t mild, but thoughtful? Definitely. I guess we really did confuse the heck out of him.”

  “How could he possibly think we were angels?” De
e whispered. “I’m blown away at the thought.”

  Dusty guided her toward the car. “I’m pretty sure he figured you were the angel and I was along for the ride.” He grinned down at her, enjoying her eye roll.

  They drove over to Stevens Battery next for a look at the school. The entire one-room schoolhouse structure had been moved to a building on the grounds and deemed a museum. Dusty stopped at the door, staring, as past and present converged on him.

  In the far corner of the vast room sat Dee’s sage green Prius, now looking like an antique compared to the vehicle they’d driven to come here. He wandered in that direction and saw the engine had been removed, no doubt for Silas’ work, but the frame of the car remained.

  Unlike Dr. Tillman’s home, the school was preserved exactly as it had been. Dusty could spot no inaccuracies. A list of spelling words was displayed on the right side of the blackboard. On the left in the top corner, protected by a prominent chalk barrier, was an additional list of items he and the children had planned to study further, recreated just as he had composed it.

  “Connie kept things going,” he mused to himself. “She’s the one who should be congratulated. It couldn’t have been easy, but she did keep things moving in the right direction.” Interesting.

  “Dusty, look,” Dee called.

  Dusty joined her at a table he’d assumed was a stand for a visitors’ log. Instead, enshrined in the glass enclosure was the small notebook he’d begun when working with Silas. The ink had faded some, but the drawings to explain and show ideas to Silas were still visible. The book was obviously well-used. Silas’ and Dusty’s notes were there as well. His fingers itched to hold the book and see other pages.

  “I didn’t know you’d done that.” Dee squeezed his hand.

  “Yeah. Some of the other kids worked with us too, but this was mainly for Silas once I realized how quickly he caught on to my ideas and added his own. He was the true genius.”

  “And he quite possibly would never have reached his potential without you. Take a little credit.”

  Leaving the museum, they decided on lunch at the old boardinghouse. He had never been inside. Dee obviously relished seeing again where Mrs. Haas had held sway. The rear downstairs bedroom had been converted into the first women’s shelter with the assistance of Mrs. Masters and Cook. A plaque on the door commemorated the achievement.

  Lunch was served in the dining room. The back cover of the menu told the story of the beginnings of how women in town had been protected, as well as the growth of the movement, along with credit for the recipes going to Helen “Cook” Lathan.

  “I’m good with staying in tonight. We can read up on what town history they have here,” Dusty suggested, “and wander around some more tomorrow.”

  “Yes, please. I wonder if Sybil’s house is still here and if there’s any mention of the Mercantile. Maybe an M and D outlet.”

  His eyes gleamed at the prospect. “We’ll find out.”

  Chapter 18

  Home World of the Malveks

  Braxal motioned for Gsark to join him when he entered the communal room. It was a bold move and Braxal had no doubt others were observing their semi-private meeting.

  “I am honored, Braxal.” The younger warrior spoke first.

  “You were able to see the time distortions, and you stood with me against the old ones. You are the future.”

  “Again, you honor me. You are not so wearied you would not be a formidable foe.”

  Braxal inclined his head. “I have neglected to become familiar with many in your generation. I have heard you sired four warriors.”

  Gsark bared his fangs in a ferocious grin. “Five. Ledda informed me this morning.”

  “Ledda? You have named a female?”

  “Ledda is my mate.”

  Braxal steeled against revealing shock. “Mate?”

  Gsark nodded. “We have been together since the beginning. I only spawn with her.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “She is a great asset to me, even counsels me on occasion.”

  Braxal could not hide his reaction from that statement. “Counsels? She speaks?”

  “All females speak, Braxal. There are just too many who do not listen.”

  A strange young warrior, but formidable. Braxal would listen to his ideas for now.

  Contacting the Guardians?

  Upon hearing Gsark’s thoughts, Braxal paced. “Would they be aware of our surveillance?”

  That would never have been his plan.

  “This has not been attempted before,” Gsark mused. “The individuals who participated with the Guardians or were used as the focus of the change could be sensitive to our attempts at communication, according to the mind talker I consulted. Most of the inhabitants of this planet are blissfully unaware they are not alone in the galaxy.”

  “Yes, that was one of the advantages I planned to use while organizing the colonization prior to the ruination of the atmosphere.”

  “There are other planets for now. But the Guardians must be stopped. Your realization of their interference could save our civilization, Braxal. We must determine why they are thwarting our expansion.”

  Hiding his surprise, Braxal nodded slightly. Praise from another warrior was rare, unprecedented. Many new ideas were coming from this relationship. He turned his attention to the task at hand. “If we knew which individuals were pawns of the Guardians, we could concentrate on them. We need to know why they were chosen, yet I do not see a way to discover their identity.”

  “Our mind talkers could combine their efforts. Such a collaboration might strengthen the communication and hasten our attempt to locate the Guardians.”

  Again, Braxal was taken aback. This level of cooperation unsettled him. True, more might be accomplished, but trust with another warrior was a new concept. This Gsark surprised him in too many ways.

  “My mind talker has been studying the planet. He has completed level seven,” Braxal admitted.

  “Has he been able to pinpoint any activity?” Gsark asked.

  Braxal hesitated. Cooperation was difficult, for the older warriors would not consider it. But Gsark had sired five warriors. To be linked to him could be an asset in the future.

  “His concentration had been focused on a land mass in the northern hemisphere.”

  “The large one?”

  “No, the smaller of the two. The civilization there seems to lead slightly in technology. Prior to the disturbance, the planet’s move toward a welcoming atmosphere for our kind came more from the larger land mass.”

  “It would have been a good home, much water to sustain many spawns. But if we learn from this setback, there are many planets we could save.”

  Braxal inclined his head. Gsark as an ally was looking better with each meeting. New ideas, even talking with females, might not be so bad.

  ~ ~ ~

  Washington, D.C.

  Dusty woke with a start. What an odd dream. He looked over to see Dee still asleep at his side.

  Alligators? Why the hell would he dream about alligators? The large amphibian had been watching him, and for just a moment, it had seemed as though the thing had been in a laboratory of some sort, but as the technician rather than the experiment.

  Intelligence shone in those flat black eyes. And Dusty knew it was pissed at him.

  Why would such a dream unsettle him? He shook his head and relaxed back in the bed, pulling Dee closer. She came willingly, burying her face in his chest.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning Dusty looked up as Leonard tapped on his door. “You have a minute?”

  “Sure.” Dusty saved his work and turned to face him.

  “After, uh, after dinner at your house I thought about this r
ecipe my grandmother always made. It’s about the only thing I can cook, but I wondered if sometime you guys might be free to come over and try it.”

  “We’d love to.”

  “Don’t you have to check with Dee?”

  “I have to get her schedule, but I know she’d enjoy it very much.”

  “Uh, great. I was thinking about next week.”

  “Don’t we have to go back to Denver?”

  “No. Your notes cleared everything up. They’re ahead of schedule on the project.”

  “For real?” Dusty chuckled. “Damn.”

  “Yeah, for the report I’m calling it the ‘Dee Effect.’”

  “It’s because Kenneth and Wesley weren’t there,” Dusty murmured.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” As far as Leonard knew there was no Kenneth or Wesley. They’d never been there to disrupt or whine at the meetings and piss Dusty off. “That’s good news and I’ll let Dee know she’s getting the credit. I can’t disagree in any case. She deserves it.”

  Leonard shook his head ruefully. “Let me know when you guys are free.”

  “I’ll check tonight.”

  Before leaving, Leonard glanced over Dusty’s shoulder at his computer. “Not you, too.”

  “What?” They’d been talking about dinner plans. He glanced at the screen up on his monitor.

  “Alligators. You’re the third person this morning I’ve seen looking up alligators. A guy on the train, the guy at the coffee shop, and now you. Did I miss some super report on the reptile channel last night?”

  “Are you serious?” Dusty glanced at his screen, slightly unnerved. “Three of us? That is odd. No, as far as I know there was no report and we don’t get a reptile channel. I dreamed about alligators last night. Not sure why, so I was looking them up. Haven’t found any that match what I saw exactly. And none seem able to walk upright.”

  “Must have been some dream.”