Time Change Book One: The Jump

by Alex Myers

  “Your whore?” Creed hissed.

  Abner had learned a new trick to try to deal with Creed’s explosive anger. He would clench his fingers into fists and dig his manicured nails into the meaty palms of his hands. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Just make it happen.” Creed had his back to the lawyer as he spoke. “I need detonators and I need these guns he makes. If we can’t get him, then get me copies and we’ll reverse-engineer them as we do everything else. My men are the best in the world. And, by the way, if we can’t get him to join us . . . kill him.”

  “Kill him? Don’t you think that’s being a bit harsh?”

  “I’m trying to achieve something great here, something that will change—no, fix— the world. That means I don’t have time to do a little dance with someone. I’ve learned to be quick and clean and then move on.”

  “He’s worth more alive to us than dead. He’s a southerner. I can’t say that he’ll join our cause, but with the way I’m keeping tabs on him, he is essentially working for us,” Abner said.

  “It surprises me to hear you talk like that, considering he’s bedding your ex-wife.”

  Abbey winced at the accusation. “He is not, by the way, as if it matters. I think we are going to have a profitable relationship. My job is to find items for us to manufacture—items, that is, where we have a creative or better than average chance of commandeering their patent.”

  “I will tell you, Mr. Adkins, what your job description is.” A giant of a man walked into the room. He was well-dressed, calm, and ugly. He stood next to the desk in front of Abner and stared rigidly at the wall beyond his head. He didn’t say a word.

  “Abner, this is Miles Drake. He’s in our enforcement, er, security department. Jack Riggs basically killed his brother Quentin; let him drown while saving a dead nigger. Now I suppose you could call him an enforcer, a bodyguard. For all I care you can call him your best friend. He is going to be working with you. As a matter of fact, I’m sending him on the road with you from now on.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Oh, you do. If you are smart and play by my rules, you will do well; you can even give him orders—to a point. But if you cross the company, or me, Miles will kill you. Now go get me Riggs.”

  CHAPTER 30

  June 1856

  Cyrus McCormick

  Jack had limited time before the Civil War was inevitable. He needed to join forces with the most innovative people he could remember from the history books, and one such man was Cyrus McCormick. A quiet revolution had swept the Midwest with the introduction of Cyrus McCormick’s horse-drawn reaper. Before its invention, men cut grain with a scythe; McCormick’s reaper did the same thing, doing the all-day work of three men in less than an hour.

  McCormick was also a pioneer of modern marketing techniques. He advertised heavily, sent out agents, and sold on the installment plan. One of these agents had stopped in Kaz’s gunsmithing shop when Jack had been there. Jack knew McCormick’s company would go on to become International Harvester.

  In 1856, Cyrus McCormick was already a worldwide celebrity. Almost 49, portly, bearded, and an earnest Presbyterian, McCormick up till then had little interest in anything but business and had led a very spartan existence. Now newly married, he had changed his ways and enjoyed certain luxuries.

  “I really appreciate you taking the time to see me, Mr. McCormick,” Jack said, sitting down in a pierced and carved arabesque armchair. McCormick’s office was all mahogany, rosewood, and black walnut. Nothing seemed to match, save for the fact that it was all expensive-looking. Cyrus McCormick sat behind a massive, white-marble-topped desk that stood on deeply cut spiral-turned legs.

  “I just want you to know the only reason I agreed to see you is that I owe Andrew Sanger a favor,” McCormick said in a loud, self-righteous voice.

  Jack already knew about this favor. Ten years earlier, while McCormick was still struggling in Cincinnati, Andrew had persuaded him to base his operations in Chicago. He told McCormick that Chicago was going to be an important city, that much of the capital of the west was centered there. The Illinois & Michigan Canal connected Chicago to the Mississippi River, so that trade that had previously gone through St. Louis went instead to Chicago. In 1850, Chicago was a city of thirty thousand people. By the end of the decade, its population would have more than tripled to 109,000.

  Andrew Sanger even sold Cyrus the property on which he built his reaper factory.

  “I would like to talk to you about distribution lines and raw material acquisition,” Jack said.

  “That’s what we call ‘trade secrets,’ sir,” he said, sitting back in his oversized chair and lighting a cigar. “I just don’t give that kind of information out to strangers.”

  “I assure you, Mr. McCormick. The Sangers have no interest in reapers.”

  “I‘m not talking about the Sangers, I’m talking about you. Do you think I don’t know about the plow you are trying to put into production?”

  “As far as I know, your company doesn’t make anything similar.”

  “John Deere, the man you are fighting in court—or is it the Sanger’s money that is fighting—is a friend of mine. It looks to me like you‘re trying to get into the farm implement business.”

  Jack knew that Deere and McCormick were anything but friends, but he could also see the resolve on the man’s face. He knew how difficult McCormick could be. He wasn’t going to get anywhere using this tack, so he switched to the real reason why he’d come. “What if I deeded over the rights to a combine harvester and thresher that will double the yield of yours with half the work and half the waste?”

  “I would say that’s impossible,” Cyrus huffed.

  “I’m going to show you the plans,” Jack said pulling the blueprints out of a leather tube.

  “And what if this plan of yours works? What would keep me from just taking your idea and making it my own?”

  “You mean other than the fact that I have a patent filed by the best patent lawyer in the United States?”

  “And to that I’d say he hasn’t done you much good in the Deere Case.”

  “Well, I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse….” Jack said as he laid the plans for the machine on McCormick’s desk.

  McCormick’s big bushy eyebrows shot up as he glanced at the details. “Just what are you offering?” McCormick asked, showing new interest.

  “I’m offering to sell you the rights to the combine. You can keep the patent, manufacture it here at your plant, and distribute it along the same lines as your reaper.”

  “Now you’ve got my interest. What kind of money are you talking? Considering your case with Deere is still in court and all.”

  “I’m sure the copyright litigation with your close friend John Deere will turn out in my favor.”

  “Friendship is one thing, but we are talking business here.”

  “I would sell you the rights for a ten percent share of future profits from sales of the plow and a one-time fee of $35,000.”

  Without pause or hesitation McCormick said, “I’ll have my secretary make out a draft for the money.”

  “Mr. McCormick….”

  “Cyrus.”

  “Cyrus. Now that we have made a deal, can I tell you how these machines are going to help stop a great civil war?”

  “And hopefully add to my bottom line.” Cyrus opened the hand-carved humidor on his desk and pulled out two cigars.

  Jack and Cyrus talked the rest of that day and had dinner at Cyrus’s club that night. Jack learned all he needed about materials and shipping and finally, over dessert, struck the deal he’d hoped for all along: to distribute the plow and Cyrus’s reaper through the Sanger Catalog.

  As Jack was boarding his train, he turned to Cyrus and asked, “Why didn’t you bargain harder on the price of the combine? After all, as you said, my case with Deere is still in court.”

  Cyrus laughed. “Litigation is quickly becoming my favorit
e pastime. The case has been over since Friday. You won—or should I say, with these new designs, I won. News can travel slowly at times, I suppose. A deal is a deal, though.”

  “Mr. McCormick, I’m going to be sending you some more stuff soon.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Designs, plans. I’m going to need your help in the future and I think it can be mutually profitable. It might even help to save the country.”

  “Mr. Riggs, it was a pleasure doing business with you.” Jack left the man chuckling to himself at the station. He’d gotten what he’d come for, though, and in the process made an important ally in the Windy City. What Cyrus McCormick didn’t know was that Jack had made a stop two days earlier in Moline, Illinois and had met with John Deere and his son Andrus, and things were chugging along right on track.

  CHAPTER 31

  July 1856

  New York Boat Ride

  Jack hadn’t seen Frances since the twelfth of June when she suddenly made a surprise five-day visit to New York. Jack had been in Chicago working with a supplier until the morning of the fifteenth. He got back to New York to find that Frances was supposed to leave on the morning of the seventeenth. He practically begged her to extend her visit but she said that she had to leave for a business meeting and couldn’t reschedule. Jack gave in and they spent the morning in meetings with her father and Andrew Sanger before quitting for the day at noon. After an afternoon lunch, Jack and Frances headed for the East River and Pier 25 where Jack had his new sailboat moored. The fall day was absolutely splendid.

  Passing by Fulton’s Fish Market, they saw the bowsprits of three cargo schooners almost touching the wooden warehouses on the pier. They watched fearless young boys splash and play in the lapping waves on the pier as they carefully avoided the grunts and men complaining as they unloaded fish from the ships.

  Finally they came upon a forty-foot schooner docked at the end of the workboats named “The Frances.” Her hull was planked in silver balli and angelique—South American hardwoods from Suriname. She was framed in sawn black locust and angelique, with an angelique backbone. The spars were spruce and Douglas fir and the deck was teak. It was Jack’s extravagance that he would use as his main transport vehicle.

  “It’s sleek and beautiful—and so big. I hope you can sail it alone, because I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

  “This is currently the fastest boat in the world, and with the modifications I’ve made it will be for a while. I should be able to make the trip to Norfolk in a day-and-a-half. It should top out at twenty-five knots.”

  “The best time I’ve ever made was five days, Frances said, amazed.

  “I’ve stripped everything out below and there’s a giant conference table to seat ten, with six bunks and a head. I hired the captain that set the trans-Atlantic record with her. So, this should be an office on the water. We can also carry a pretty decent load with just a little loss in speed.”

  “Why have you taken this to such an extreme?”

  “I had fun doing this, but more than that, I want you to have this at your disposal. I don’t want you ever to regret staying in Virginia. You can come visit or do business here in New York whenever you want.”

  “We’re going to take her out?” Frances asked, her voice sounding excited.

  “I’ll give it my best shot,” Jack said untying the lines.

  “Am I just supposed to ignore the name, The Frances?”

  “By the way, the old name of this boat was the ‘Mad Hen’ so I didn’t feel like the new name was that much of a departure.”

  That earned him a playful spank.

  Jack handled the boat with ease, sailing into the bright sunshine passing Roosevelt, Ward’s, and Riker’s Islands. The fat lazy breeze blew off the rippled water. Jack pointed out a huge estate on College Point that looked like a Scottish castle. Delicate white wisps of cloud seemed to converge on the horizon like silken filaments falling from the otherwise pristine sky. He wanted this boat ride to never end.

  She looked off at the big house and grounds and just smiled; the wind cascaded through her long blonde hair, and she closed her eyes to the summer breeze. He watched her soak in the sun and soak in the moment. He thought she was beautiful.

  They rounded Powell Cove, passed Throg’s Point and the little village of King’s Point, and made for the end of the Great Neck Peninsula.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen the family property from the water. It looks perfect. This is a good location?”

  “One day all this property your father and Uncle purchased will be worth hundreds of millions of dollars.” The Sangers had purchased the entire end of the peninsula.

  “I’m sorry we keep missing each other. Daddy and Uncle Andrew want to open up catalog stores in Detroit, St. Louis, Kansas City, and Des Moines. That’s what my business meetings were all about recently. The same man owns multiple locations in each city.”

  “As long as you’re not trying to avoid me.”

  “We have an opportunity to move in Atlanta and Birmingham. You said both those cities were heavily damaged in the war. Do we do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, do it. I’ll use that as added incentive to make sure the war doesn’t happen.”

  She searched his face for his conviction and felt the resolve roll off him.

  CHAPTER 32

  August 1856

  Trespassers at the Complex

  They pulled Jack’s sailboat, ‘The Frances’, into the entrance of Broad Creek that night at seven o’clock. Frances had been out of town for nearly a month. Her ship from Baltimore docked earlier that morning and Jack was waiting for her at the pier. He saw her waving from the rail. There was a giant smile on her face to greet him.

  “How did you know I would be here?”

  “I had the manager from the Baltimore Sanger Store telegraph me,” Jack said.

  “Seems like a frivolous use of a telegraph line.”

  “I come from an age of frivolous.

  They turned the bend in the river and Jack’s Complex came into full view.

  “I can see your place from here. Wow, Jack, that is some serious construction you have going on.”

  Although they’d only broken ground a little over four months ago, amazingly there were already several large buildings visible from the water, and more were being built. Construction on the site was going nearly around the clock and the crews were just leaving for the day. He pulled the boat alongside the newly completed piers.

  “This is all yours?”

  “Mine, Murphy’s and Kaz’s. Neither one of them care a thing about money. We formed a corporation.”

  A group of men waved as a boat pulled away from the other dock on the property.

  “We’ll have the bunkhouse finished by next week.”

  “Are you making money?”

  “Hand over fist, not that I’m sure what that means, but yes, I’ve made more money in the last three months, relatively speaking, than in my entire life. So far I’ve nearly pumped every penny back into the business,” Jack said.

  “With the exception of this boat, right? Quite a fancy little toy.”

  “It is by far the fastest way to get back and forth to Manhattan. I look at it as an investment in transportation and mental health.”

  “I had no idea you were such a good seaman,” Frances said helping Jack tie off the lines.

  “I grew up on the ocean in Virginia Beach, and we always had a boat of one kind or another. There are probably a few other things I’m good at that you don’t know about yet.” He was happy to see a devilish smile from her. “Come on, I want to give you a little tour.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Murphy and Kaz went to Richmond two days ago and everyone else is done for the night.”

  The mouth of Broad Creek was ablaze with the rays of the setting sun. They sat on a bench silhouetted by the golden light dancing off the waves of the miniature bay. She sat l
ike a rock, rigidly still—Jack wasn’t even sure she was breathing. Her hand went to her face, her body began shaking, and then he heard her crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

  “I really like you,” she said, not trying to hide her tears, “but sometimes you make it difficult.”

  Jack draped a big arm around her shoulder. “How do I make it difficult?”

  “By being so impatient! Don’t you understand? I said before I need time.”

  “We’ve known each other since February and we haven’t even kissed. At this rate we won’t be getting into serious necking until the turn of the century,” Jack teased.

  “I had a life before I met you, a good life. I was perfectly happy. I’m good at my job, my family is extremely supportive, and I feel like I have a few things figured out. Sure, I had a failed marriage to a man I wonder if I ever even loved. I never planned for that to happen, but I also learned a lot of things from the experience, too.”

  “If you never loved him, then why did you marry him?”

  “I was young, and I guess I liked the idea of being married more than I liked being married. I never really have had a good relationship and I’ve been willing to let that part of my life go. I was just concentrating on me and working to improve myself. I almost got to the point that I didn’t miss it anymore.”

  “Then what happened?” Jack asked.

  “Then you came into my life—Mr. Time Traveler. It was the last thing I expected and I would have thought the last thing I wanted. There is no room for romance in my busy schedule. You treat me like a woman, but more importantly, you treat me like a person. Very few men outside of my father and uncle have ever done that. You look at me with passion in your eyes, but there is also understanding, warmth, and sincerity. When I talk to you, you really listen. I have never had anyone listen as you do. I have also never had anyone be as kind as you are. Maybe down deep inside there is a part of me that feels guilty—you give so much, and I so little—maybe there is a part of me that doesn’t feel like I deserve it.”