He hesitated because the elderly couple was looking at him with very intense gazes—as if they thought he were insane, he thought. No, he realized, he had expected them to look at him as if he were insane. To his great surprise, they were looking at him like they believed him.
He took a deep breath and, as Jody took her seat next to Bat, Garison continued, "In this manuscript he writes about having traveled through time. I know, it sounds crazy. But, the reason I came to you is because my friend here," he pointed at Bat, who was a little surprised to be referred to as a friend, "Read the manuscript and said there were things in it that reminded him of things you had written."
"Really?" Bronwyn asked. She was trying to sound skeptical but it came out a little breathless.
"Yes ma'am," Garison nodded. "The man who wrote this book claims he grew up in the Soviet Americas and that, just to the south, was the Republic of Texas." At this point, the elderly couple grabbed each others' hands. "He even mentions some things that are similar to your books. His boundaries for Texas match those in your book, for one thing. And he mentions that Abraham Lincoln served four terms as President of Texas, following Sam Houston.
"Ma'am, I've got to know. How did you put things in your book that he wrote about two hundred years ago and then sealed away where no one could find? Have you seen this manuscript before somehow or is it just some lucky coincidence?"
Jason Kerrigan rocked forward in the recliner, barely noticing when his sore foot hit the ground. Nervously, he reached toward the manuscript and said, "May I see that, Son?" As he gingerly looked through the manuscript, he said, "Can you tell us the whole story or do I have to read it? I'm not sure my eyes could navigate this old script. Give me a couple days and some sunlight, maybe, but not here."
Garison told him, "If you've got the time and promise not to call me an idiot for believing it until I've told the whole thing, I'll be happy to tell it."
"We promise," Bronwyn quickly agreed, with a nod of assent from Jason.
Chapter Nineteen
"So I'm just recovering from the fact that I find myself taking the machine apart when that manuscript arrives and tells me why I was taking it apart," Garison finished, about an hour later. "That manuscript goes into more detail about everything I've told you. Has some journal entries from the other Garison and from Heather, stuff like that."
Heather added, "And we've done everything we can to verify it's authenticity. We believe it's true."
Jason Kerrigan had eased back into the reclined position while listening to the story, but now he swung forward again and said, "I want to show you something."
"What about the story?" Garison asked.
"Let me show you something, then we'll talk about the story." He reached for a cane and stood up. He was a tall man, probably just over six-two, and no stoop to his shoulders. His hair was still pretty thick, though there was a thin spot in the back. Even though it was now white, Heather somehow had the impression it had once been black, probably because there was still some black in the eyebrows. Steadying himself, he muttered, "Sometimes I think just sitting like that is harder on my foot than walking around on it. Oh well, come on."
Bronwyn looked up at him and asked, "Honey, are you sure?"
Jason smiled at her and said, "We've been waiting for someone like them for sixty years. Why wait any longer?"
Bronwyn nodded and, taking his hand, led the quartet through the kitchen and out the back door (with a stop at the restroom for Jody). They crossed the yard to a large metal building near the back gate that Garison somehow instinctively realized was the counterpart of his own laboratory.
Inside they found a work station with two computers, lots of books, and a large open space. The floor was concrete and smooth. There was an abundance of ambient light from a series of large skylights in the ceiling that added a friendly look to what was, basically, a rather austere place.
Jason Kerrigan pulled out a set of keys and unlocked a large cabinet. Inside was a rolling cart with something on top that was covered with a nylon sheet. He motioned to the cart and asked Garison and Bat, "Could you two young men wheel that out here for me?"
As they wheeled it out of the cabinet, Jason hobbled over to a mark on the floor and said, "Wheel it over here so that the two front wheels are exactly on this mark. Bronwyn, you fire 'er up."
He pulled off the tarp to reveal a large, blunt object that looked like an oversized bullet with no cartridge. It was almost a yard in length and was, Garison guessed, about twenty-four inches in circumference at its widest point. It was shiny and metallic and showed no signs of any kind of seam. It also looked brand-new, or at least recently polished.
"What is it?" Bat asked as Jody came up and put her arm around him. She was leaning closer with curiosity, but not sure if she were allowed to touch it. No one else had been touching the actual silver thing when she entered, so she held herself back.
"Ready," Bronwyn said from a nearby control panel.
Jason smiled and told them, "Watch closely. Whenever you're ready, Dear."
As Bronwyn counted down from ten, Heather took Garison's hand in anticipation of something big happening even though she had no idea what. Unconsciously, Jody held tighter to Bat. He returned the gesture by putting his arm around her.
"Two . . . One . . . Go."
Suddenly, the device was twenty feet away across the laboratory. No sound, no flash, it was accompanied by nothing. It had just been in one spot then instantaneously it was in another.
No one said anything until Bat said, "Wow." He looked over at Bronwyn and said, "I remember reading once that some scientists were saying Eddie was a scientific impossibility."
"You've read my work?" she asked, trying not to sound anxious.
"Some of it. It's been a while. But I do remember reading about Eddie. I was really intrigued by that because, basically, I'm a lazy traveler and it sounded like a good idea. Used to dream of having one at home with the coordinates set to take me to a ski area whenever I wanted."
"Who's Eddie?" Heather and Jody asked simultaneously.
Bat walked over to the device and replied as he gingerly touched it, "Extra-Dimensional . . . something. Integration, right? It's not hot," he muttered.
"Right," Bronwyn nodded. "You have a good memory."
"My knowledge is a mile wide and an inch deep," Bat replied, then waited for Garison to make some comment about his personality matching. But Garison was walking over to touch the device as well. When he was assured it wasn't hot—or cold, or electrified or whatever—he ran his hand over the surface, as if trying to glean its secrets from the tactile experience.
"How does it work?" Garison asked.
Jason smiled and said, "First, let me tell you a story then I'll tell you what I think of your story, you tell me what you think of mine—ours, then we'll tell you all about Eddie.
They went outside and sat down in some lawn furniture, Jason taking a chaise lounge that would allow him to put his foot up. When they were all settled (and Jody had again returned from the restroom), Jason said, "Now, you just sit quiet through my story like I sat through yours." He cleared his throat. "Bronwyn and I were born in the Republic of Texas . . . "
"We eventually formulated an impossible to safely test theory about how we got to the future, but we never have figured out how the past could have changed without us. By all rights, if my parents ceased to exist, then I should have, too."
"But you weren't sure who your parents were," Bat pointed out. "What their real names were, I mean."
"True, but we did know who mine were," Bronwyn said. "And as soon as I saw that other Bronwyn, I knew my parents had to be the same. My question wasn't why I didn't cease to exist so much as why there would be two of us. It seems like she would have been the Bronwyn for this world, making me superfluous."
"Did you ever see her again?" Jody asked.
"A few times, actually," Bronwyn nodded. "Whenever I went to Tyler, I'd look her up. Then a couple of our ki
ds wound up going to the same college."
"No kidding," Jody smiled.
Bat mused out loud, "Here's a weird thought: what if they had gotten married? In theory, it might be the same genetic results as marrying your half sister."
"We thought of that," Bronwyn nodded. "But, luckily, they were never interested in each other. Just acquaintances, really. May have both been in the choir together at one time."
"So did you ever tell her—the other Bronwyn?" Heather asked. So far, Garison had just sat back in silence, soaking it all in.
"I wanted to, but I never knew how. I took the story of the two of us and turned it into a novel—"
"'Twin Sisters'!" Bat exclaimed. "I read that one."
"You were the one. I always wondered where that copy sold," Bronwyn chuckled. “She asked me about it once, but just assumed I had taken our chance meeting in Tyler and turned it into a novel. She thought it was intriguing, but I could tell she wouldn't have accepted it as fact—and the critics said it was too far out and contrived." She looked over at Heather and said, "I really wanted to tell her, but, well, she died last year."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jody said, reaching out a hand.
Bronwyn took it with an appreciative glance and said, "It sure made me feel odd when I heard."
"What did she die of? If you don't mind me asking," Bat quickly apologized.
"Lung cancer. She smoked for over fifty years. I remember telling her she ought to quit years ago but she didn't seem interested and it didn't seem like any of my business." She forced a smile and said, "I feel guilty, but I was a little glad when I found out what she died of. It was kind of a relief to find out it wasn't some congenital heart defect or something like that."
"They say everybody has a twin," Bat quipped, half-heartedly.
"That's what she said," Bronwyn chuckled genuinely.
"It's been strange," Jason injected. "One time back in the nineteen-sixties we were in Sweetwater—you know, over west of Abilene—and Bronwyn spotted Carter—our wingman that had been shot down and presumed dead or captured, remember? Anyway, she ran over to him and hugged him before remembering where she was—and that he wouldn't know her. Suddenly she starts stammering about how she thought he was someone else and backs away looking like some kind of a crazy woman."
Bronwyn laughed, "His wife was with him at the time and I don't think she got a big kick out of it, either."
Bat queried, "Ever run into anyone else? Anyone else from—from the old world?"
Jason answered, "There were a lot of people from Haskell that I had known before. Ernie Pike, the Kings, the Pace boys, the White family."
"As the years went by," Bronwyn took over for him, "It happened a few times. Ran into Lieutenant Avery once in Orange. He was teaching school—one of the first black teachers there. But he was big enough, nobody'd give him any grief. He was smart, too. I thought I saw Major Sherman once, but I wasn't sure. Few other times I saw people in a crowd that looked familiar. Never sure though and I couldn't go ask them."
"Whatever happened to Susan?" Jody asked. "Did you ever find out?"
Jason nodded, "Quite a few times, in fact. We went to her fiftieth anniversary and they came to ours, even."
"What was that like?"
"At first," Jason responded, "It was really awkward. But then, I got used to it." He took Bronwyn's hand and said, "Over time, I was just more and more in love with Bronwyn—and I also came to realize that this Susan just looked like my Susan. And, as time went by and she had a couple kids and got some maturity, she looked less like my Susan, so I think that helped, too. But, you know, I think it was also nice to know that, in a way, my Susan was still alive."
Heather pointed out, "The Garison in the books got to see his parents after having thought they were dead for a long time. Did that happen to you?"
Bronwyn shook her head. "Nope. Daddy apparently died of lung cancer—he was a smoker here, just like the Bronwyn here—when I was about twenty and Mama died in child birth with me."
"How weird," Heather and Jody said, almost in unison.
"What about you?" Bat asked Jason.
"You know, I looked. But I never could find any evidence that my parents ever existed. Lots of reasons for that, though. Maybe I had the names wrong, or maybe they grew up outside of Texas in this world. I looked and looked—even did some research on the Internet once that came out—but never found anything about either one of them. For all I know, they were never born."
"Did you tell your kids? Tell them the whole story?" Bat asked.
"Eventually," Bronwyn nodded. "Once they were old enough—and we could show them Eddie. Up until then, well, we really didn't have to lie to them. I told them about growing up in Tyler and Jason told them about growing up in Haskell and we told them about their grandparents—who had all passed on, anyway. And we used to make references to the war and just weren't real specific about details. Then one day, our oldest daughter—Leslie—came home saying that her teacher said that no country had ever had women fighter pilots. She was twelve, so we decided she was old enough to know the truth. So we showed her what Eddie could do and then told her the rest of the story like we did for you. She was just young enough to still believe everything her parents said, but old enough to know that what we were telling her was fantastic. Once Leslie knew, it was only a matter of time before the other kids knew. We were just always very adamant that it was a family secret and they should never tell anyone outside the family. As they got older, they realized how important that was. And it was sort of a game, keeping it secret like that."
"Kind of sorry they never had any cousins to play with," Jason mentioned. Then he added with a smile, "But they seem to have all decided to make sure their own kids had plenty of cousins.
"What about now?" Bat queried. "Do your kids still believe you?
Jason and Bronwyn shared a look, then Jason replied, "As far as we know."
Bronwyn answered, "Our middle child, Jason Jr., he's always been really fascinated by it. He's somewhat of a writer himself and always says that, when we're gone, he's going to write a book about the truth and see if anyone believes it. So he's asked tons of questions and follow-up questions—"
"Even took a boat out on Lake Kirby," Jason chuckled. "Said he wanted to get the feel of the place."
"Do you ever fly anymore?" Heather asked, the question itself bringing out a smile in Garison. While Heather took part in many things, he knew that her passions came down to three things: religion, quilting and flying. He had always expected that one day she would decide she was going to go into the business of flying supplies (mainly quilts) to missionaries. So he was a little surprised the question hadn't come up earlier in the conversation.
"Not in years," Jason replied. "But we did for a long time. Bronwyn and I both qualified for pilots licenses—and that was back when a woman pilot was still somewhat of a rarity. They were really surprised when she qualified to fly the big stuff on what they thought was her first day in one." He winked at his wife, "But she always could fly anything she got in. She had a real gift, I guess you'd say."
"He used to kid me that I was a better pilot than a writer. But I guess that Hugo award shut him up," she said as she returned the wink. "Couple airlines tried to hire me, in fact. Would have gotten a lot of free advertising about having a female pilot—and one who was a writer to boot. I thought about it, but then I realized that it was just going to involve going up, flying to a city, land, repeat. It would be like having the freedom of flying—but some kind of cheap rip-off version. Would have been worse than not flying at all."
"So what did you do with the plane—the Comal?" Heather asked anxiously. "I'd love to see it."
"It's at our son Brian's place down near Brennam. He still takes it out and flies it every now and then. As long as no one gets close, you can mistake it for a P-47. Anyone does get close, he just says it's a kit his father built on a P-47 frame. Most folks don't realize how hard that would be to do. Officially, it's li
censed as a home-made airplane. I'd love to take you down there to see it."
"I'd love that," Heather told them earnestly. “I’d love to fly in it.”
"One thing I haven't understood yet," Jason said, "Is why you're here, Pat."
"Bat," he corrected, "As in baseball. Remember when—in their story—the other Garison was a teacher at Sul Ross? Well, one part they left out was that I had a tryout with Sul Ross for the baseball team and I met that Garison Fitch."
"So?" Bronwyn and Jason asked. Then Bronwyn asked, "What does that have to do with us?"
"Maybe nothing," Bat told them. "But, you see, I still remember that meeting. According to all the laws of time travel—and science fiction—I shouldn't remember that. Technically, it never happened, right? But anyway, I remember that meeting. I mentioned that to Garison a few days ago and he says I shouldn't remember that and I said I did and we got started talking about all this and he let me read that manuscript then I told him that some of the stuff in there seemed like it had been plagiarized from your book 'Lost Time.' Garison didn't believe me so we went to a book store, I showed him your books, and then we called you. That fast, and we're down here talking to you."
Bronwyn was looking at him like she didn't quite comprehend what he was saying, which was probably because he had said it so quickly. After a moment, she leaned forward and asked, "You say you remember that meeting? All of it?"
"All of it," Bat nodded. "I shouldn't be able to, should I? I mean, if everything that's been said is true, right? If anything, I should just remember that I had a tryout with Sul Ross but decided not to take it and went to Dallas instead. But I remember trying out, then having this guy over here—or his look-alike or whatever—telling me I didn't make it. So I went to Dallas, became a world famous private eye, and never thought about it again. The question is: why do I remember it at all?"
"How did Garison remember it?" Jason suddenly injected.
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 3): Lost Time Page 29