Time Change Book One: The Jump

by Alex Myers

  “A little, not enough. Why?”

  “There’s been something weighing heavily on my mind. It’s all everyone is talking about, it seems. This slavery issue. How is it resolved in the future?”

  This was the first time other than the time Jack had seen the original newspaper headline that he thought about just where exactly in history fate had decided to throw him.

  He shook his head miserably and spoke the words slowly. “It’s going to be bad.”

  “Bad?” She looked frightened. “War?”

  “The most devastating war in American history.”

  She looked panicked. “When?”

  “Soon,” he said.

  “How soon?”

  “Almost five years exactly.”

  “You’ve got to stop it!” Her voice was definite and she made it sound simple.

  He stood. “There’s no easy answer.”

  “Did you ever think that this is perhaps why you’re here? That this is why this has happened to you?”

  His shoes and pants were soaked through and his shirt was half damp. A cold afternoon breeze starting blowing in from the north. Jack was full on shaking from the cold. “Can we start heading back? I’m chilled to the bone.” He held out his hand for her.

  She grabbed his hand and stood in front of him not moving. “Jack, I’m serious. Maybe this is why you’re here.”

  “The whole time travel thing? I don’t know. I read a time travel book one time where all the time traveler had to do was go back and stop one assassination from happening. That seems pretty simple and straightforward compared to this.”

  Still not moving and staring him straight in the eye, she asked, “Will you consider this?”

  They walked toward the barn without talking. Jack led the way, walking fast because he was cold, not talking because he didn’t know what else to say. Frances was right behind him. They walked inside the horse barn and Jack was relieved to get out of the wind.

  He turned to Frances. “I’m not totally convinced that I haven’t lost my mind.”

  “Will you try, Mr. Riggs?”

  “Jack.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Will you try, Jack?”

  “Yes, for you I will try.”

  “Don’t do it for me. Do it for humanity.”

  “That sounds pretty grandiose.”

  “You’re right. You need to do it for yourself.”

  Jack felt as if she had cracked open his skull and was ciphering its contents. “I’ll try, but I’m sure I can’t do it alone.”

  “No one said you will have to do it alone. It’s curious why that would even enter your mind.” She looked slightly confused. “I’ll help you any way I can and my family is fairly well-connected.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Perhaps this is your ‘journey’—why you were put here in this time.” She turned to walk away. “Daddy and I are leaving in a few hours; we’re going to New Orleans to do some buying and to pick up my Uncle Andrew. But we’re really taking this trip to discuss this problem, this civil war as you call it, and the direction we want to take the business. Uncle Andrew wants to merge with us. He has stores all over the North, in Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, and several in New York that Daddy already has shares in. I’m going to bring you up; I’m not really sure yet how—of course I’m not going to mention the time travel. He would never believe any of it. I’ll have to pick the right time to do it and decide what I’m going to say. Just hold tight for a while. Do you need anything?”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Oh I don’t know, like food . . . or money? Do you have any money?”

  “I should be fine. Payday’s tomorrow.”

  “Get whatever you need from our store and just have them put it on my bill.”

  “Thanks, but I couldn’t do that.”

  “Don’t be petty, for heaven’s sake. Just do it. I’ll mention it to the manager on the way out of town. Where are you staying?”

  “I’m staying at Miss Nancy’s Boarding House.”

  “Has she tried taking you to bed yet? She sleeps with all the single male boarders.” She smiled.

  “She’s a feisty ole gal, for sure.”

  “Not really the clear answer I was looking for, but it’s your business. Walk me back to the house and wait a few days, and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll arrange a meeting for you with my dad and Uncle Andrew when we get back. There’s one little suggestion I’d like to offer.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d just be real careful who you share your story with.” She looked briefly away and looked deep in thought. “There are dangerous men around—I know—I was married to one of them, and the people he works for are even worse. ”

  “You’re the only person I’ve told.”

  “I’d keep it that way for now. Oh, and one other thing . . .”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you do make it to the store . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  She smiled and looked down at his neon green Nike running shoes. “Buy some different shoes.”

  CHAPTER 14

  March 1856

  What’s in Store?

  Jack got paid.

  After paying Miss Nancy for his board, he had three dollars available to spend. It was Saturday afternoon and there was no work to be done. He declined Miss Nancy’s offer to accompany her on a picnic, aware that the older woman’s interest in him was more than just friendly. Jack sat at the same bench in Market Square where the deputy had first found him and watched the comings and goings of the town.

  The Sanger Dry Goods Store was open and doing good business. Its broad, shaded porch was one of the town’s main gathering spots. A group of men sat whittling, chewing tobacco, and appeared to be doing a good job of doing nothing. Younger boys in front of the store played a game of jacks. The men would take a break to observe the people walking by, speaking and greeting some, staring and making comments to others, and downright ignoring some people altogether. A young woman and a small boy pulled up to the front of the store in a horse-drawn wagon.

  The men and boys stopped completely and stared as the woman and child climbed down from the long square-boxed wagon. The wooden seat was nearly six feet in the air and it was difficult for the two to maneuver their way down. The boy had an easier time than the woman, who wore a long dress and bonnet. The men on the porch talked openly as the woman hitched the lone horse to the crossrail.

  One look and Jack could see the woman’s type—when she entered a room, wives would stop and bristle. She was extra-curvaceous even if clothed in 1850s-era clothing. The men seemed on the verge of catcalling when the woman flashed them a look that made them swallow any words that might be coming out. She grabbed her son and proudly walked through the throng of gawkers into the store.

  Many of the people he saw shopping the street had a harder-edge style of dress than the people he recognized from town. Must be the only time some of these folks can get in to shop, he thought. These new people looked rougher, dirtier. They came on horses or in wagons and many walked. Most had what looked like every member of their family with them. The entire town had a state fair atmosphere to it, yet in two distinct ways with two very different groups of people.

  The visage of the men changed dramatically when Jack walked up the steps. There was hat tipping and head nodding. Jack assumed that most of what they did on the porch was gossip and, evidently, the word of his pirate fighting had spread.

  He had no idea what three dollars would buy, but he hoped that it would at least buy a change of clothes. Entering the dry goods store, Jack saw Pete Snider behind the counter.

  The store seemed bigger than it had the first time he’d been there two weeks ago. He actually saw an order to things now. It was divided in half, with groceries on one side and dry goods on the other. He noticed the variety of things that he’d missed on his first visit. Shelves filled with tobacco jars, kitchenwares, crockery, bo
lts of cloth, bottles of whiskey, ready-made clothing, canned goods, laundry soaps and scores of other items lined the walls.

  Jack saw large cakes of plug tobacco. "Cut to order,” said the hand-lettered cardboard sign. The mini-guillotine of the plug tobacco cutter sat next to a box of tiny tobacco brand tags that were stuck into the plugs when they were sold.

  There was the tangy smell of iron things like kegs of nails and hand tools, mixed with the smell of customers that had never yet heard of deodorant.

  Pete Snider was wiping the glass top of a display case filled with hair tonics, pomades, shaving soap and razors, talcum powders, camphor and large hunting knives. Jack looked up from the display right into Pete’s eyes.

  “Jack Riggs,” Pete said, his voice thick with condescension. “I’d say things are looking up for you.”

  “Thanks, Pete. As a matter of fact they are.”

  “Miss Frances said they’re taking you on full-time over at the estate and to put your bill on the company tab.”

  “That was nice of her, but I have cash. I can pay my own bill.”

  “Said you’d probably say that, too. Told me your money was no good here and not to let you do otherwise.” Pete looked down his long crooked nose. It almost touched his chin and it looked like it would when he eventually lost his teeth.

  “I’m sure she does that for all the new hires.”

  “Nope, can’t say that she does. Ain’t never done it for no one. Just what do you do for the Sangers anyways? Aren’t you still digging that ditch?”

  “For now. But I’m not really sure what they have in mind for me.”

  “Ain’t got no clerking in your background do you?”

  “Clerking? What do you mean, clerking?”

  Pete gestured around the store. “Clerking. You know, managing an emporium?”

  “Oh, you mean here?” Jack looked around as if he might be considering. “Listen, I’m not out for your job.”

  “Ah huh,” Pete said. “Then what is it? You got something going with Miss Frances?”

  “Why would you ask me something like that?”

  Pete seemed to relax a little. “Well, Miss Frances hasn’t spoken to me freely in six months or so. She might ask a question about inventory or something, but never a ‘How are you, Pete?’ or a question about the weather or something.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “That she hasn’t spoke to me . . .” He thought about this for a second. “I guess not really. Some people might take her as uppity or something, but I just postulate that she is operating on some different level, thinking about things that normal people don’t have time for.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh hell, I don’t know. Just bigger things . . . or something.”

  “Is that why she’s not married anymore?”

  Jack thought he saw a look of panic of the man’s face. “That ex-husband of hers is a mean son of a bitch—nasty, and a lawyer too. Works for some really dangerous people.” Pete clammed up and looked like he was having second thoughts about talking too much. “I don’t know you from nobody. You come in here acting drunk and stuff. So what if you’re supposedly some pirate fighter and suddenly getting treated like the newest member of the Sanger Family. Why should I trust you?”

  “We do share a room together and I get to hear you snoring all night.”

  The reasoning was too much for him. “Well, I . . .”

  “So where’s her husband?”

  “He’s a sec-sesson, sec-sessoner . . .”

  “Secessionist?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. Wants the South to be its own country. Works for some kind of manufacturer. Hell, I don’t know. Why you asking so many questions for anyway?”

  “Just want to know what I’m up against. Why did they split up?”

  “People do a lot of talking—“

  “Course, you wouldn’t—“

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. People say he cheated on her or something. I don’t know, it was before my time and I don’t ask any questions. And besides, I’m not one to talk about someone’s love life, but there are stories . . . I probably need to get back to work.”

  CHAPTER 15

  March 1856

  Footloose and Fiancée Free

  Jack turned his attention to shopping. The term “dry goods” encompassed just about everything. The store looked as crowded with merchandise as it could possibly get. On the food side, there were crates of pickles, barrels of meal and flour, sardines, crackers and cheese. The smells assaulted the senses. Much to Jack’s delight, sitting on the counter was a small barrel with a sign attached saying, ‘Cigars, five cents a handful’—it seemed like a minor extravagance.

  “Hey Mister, you sure are dressed funny.” Jack turned to see a small, impish boy of about six staring wide-eyed at him, the one who had ridden up in the wagon. The boy’s mother, who had been looking at a bolt of fabric, turned and looked in their direction.

  She had taken off her bonnet and her long brown hair fell over her shoulders. What Jack hadn’t seen from his seat on the park bench was how strikingly beautiful the woman was. Her attitude reminded him of Shalah, the student that had caused all the problems back in 2013. But unlike the girl, this woman radiated sexual energy the way only a full-grown woman could. She looked like she was rarely home cooking. As she sauntered over, Jack thought 1856 had just gotten a lot more interesting.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. He can be such a little pest sometimes,” the woman said.

  “That’s OK. He’s not bothering me, “ Jack said. He tussled the boy’s hair. Getting down on his haunches, eye-level with the boy, he said, “So what do you find so strange about the way that I’m dressed?”

  The little boy pointed at Jack’s tennis shoes.

  “Somehow that’s what I thought you were going to say. These shoes are something brand new from New York. A lot of people are wearing them.”

  “You look like my dad,” the little guy said, casting his eyes downward.

  “Robbie Turner!” his mother said, yanking the boy by his arm.

  “So, where is this person I’m supposed to look like?”

  “His daddy…my husband…was killed last year. It was a tragedy,” the woman said. She smiled coyly.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Jack said. Somehow she didn’t seem to miss him that much. She had the most perfect teeth Jack had ever seen; they flashed a brilliant white against her tanned face. Jack had been using cold water and his finger on his teeth and this woman looked like she’d had laser whitening. Her eyes were bright and excited and the color of sapphires. She looked out of place in the store, especially in her heavy wool skirt and faded gray blouse. Her tongue flicked out and wet her rouged lips. The touch of color on them seemed remarkably seductive.

  “Come on, Robbie. We have some more things to get and then we need to get back. We still have a lot of work to do and we can’t be jaw-jacking all day.” She whisked the boy off and continued her shopping. Every time Jack looked her way, he would catch her smiling at him. Oh, he would so have this woman.

  He found the section of men’s clothing and was blown away. Pants and shirts were fifty cents, hats a quarter, and entire men’s suits could be had for a little over a dollar. Then he found the item he was looking for—shoes. Well-made men’s heavy leather black boots were seventy-five cents. He tried on a pair and, other than being a little stiff, they fit great.

  Jack bought the shoes, some socks and baggy underwear, two plain blue shirts, a broad rimmed hat, and a pair of canvas-like pants. His total bill was $2.85.

  “That’ll go on the company account,” Pete said waving away Jack’s money. “Craig Straube gives the best haircuts and shaves in town if you’re wanting to get fancied-up for something.” Pete gave a cruel motion of his chin in the woman’s direction. “Maybe you could be a father for that freckled pup of hers. She’s pretty particular—turned everybody else down.”

  And with that Jack knew Pete meant turned
him down.

  “From what I hear, she killed her husband, but I ain’t one to talk. Maybe you should set your sights on something a little more your style than Frances Sanger. Just don’t get yourself killed.” Pete laughed at himself.

  “Pete, thanks for all your help—and advice. Now that I think about it, clerking does look like a pretty good job after all. I might have to ask Frances about it when she gets back.”

  Pete’s piggish eyes followed Jack out of the store. Jack put the hat on his head and stepped out into the bright morning sun. He decided that a shave and a haircut would be a great idea. Craig Straube’s barbershop even offered semi-warm baths for fifty cents more and so he splurged. Forty-five minutes later he emerged, barbered, shaved, clean, and dressed in his newly bought clothes, feeling like a new man, or at least a man who better fit in with his surroundings. He saw the boy and his mother struggling to load a large flour sack onto the back of an open wagon. “Here, let me help,” he volunteered.

  Jack easily lifted the sack onto the back of the wagon. He saw the rest of her supplies sitting on the front steps of the store and put those in also.

  “You’ve been quite a help to me, sir. Sure could use a strong back like yours out on our ranch.” She smoothed and straightened the front of her dress and then ran her hand over her hair.

  “Momma, maybe he could help with the plow?”

  “Now Robbie, I’m sure this man has better things to do on a Saturday than to help us,” she said, batting her eyes. “A wife that he needs to run home to?”

  “No wife.”

  “A girl you’re sweet on, one you’re courtin’?”

  “Nope, my dance card’s wide open for today. I’m footloose and fiancée free.”

  “Well, a fancy-dressed man like you probably has some highfalutin work you need to get back to?”

  “You really are a very direct person in an indirect way. I dig ditches, and the hole can wait until Monday.”

  “Pardon me?” she asked feigning surprise.

  “I said, I’d love to help you out. The name is Jack, Jack Riggs.”

  “My name is Mattie Turner, and well, you’ve already met Robbie. Really, you would help little ole us? I don’t have money to pay you. Fact is I just spent money we don’t have buying necessaries,” she said with a seductive smile.