"I wonder who lives here now," Susan said. "Do you know, Mom?"
"I don't," Elizabeth said.
Amanda walked fifteen feet to a red mailbox that looked more like a birdhouse than a receptacle for letters and packages. She examined one side of the box and smiled.
"The Petersons live here," Amanda said.
"Are you kidding?" Susan asked.
"I don't kid."
Susan tilted her head.
"Is Peterson spelled with an 'o'?"
"It is," Amanda said. She grinned as she walked back to the others. "Maybe Dad lived here before you did. Maybe he came from old money."
Susan laughed.
"I don't think so," Susan said. "Your father didn't have any money, old or new, when he was young. Even at Northwestern, he was poor."
"I'll second that," Elizabeth said dryly.
Susan smiled wistfully as she let her mind wander.
The Bruce Peterson she knew in college had not been a man of means. He had been a scrappy student who subsisted on a partial scholarship and a work-study job and counted a squeaky bike, a shoddy wardrobe, and a broken guitar among his worldly possessions.
Bruce had not been much better off when he had asked Susan to marry him in the spring of 1991, but he had not seen that as a problem. He had been confident that he would someday be able to provide for her – and he had been right.
Susan remembered arguing with her parents many times about Bruce's prospects for success and, by extension, her own prospects for a comfortable life. She had insisted that money didn't matter. Calvin and Elizabeth Campbell had insisted it did.
Susan considered turning Bruce down, but in the end she did what her mother had done. She threw caution to the wind and cast her lot with a boy who made her smile.
She had done what she had wanted to do and would do again if given the chance. She had yielded to her heart and not to her head and followed her dreams.
Susan looked away from the house and admired the foliage that lined the street. The trees of Illinois had changed dramatically during her visit. In less than three weeks, they had traded their soothing green coats for ones of yellow, orange, and red. They reminded Susan that a new season was under way and that it was probably time to get moving.
Susan gazed at the trees for another moment and then turned her attention to more important matters. She looked at Elizabeth and Amanda, who gazed at the house.
"Do you want to keep going or head back to the car?" Susan asked.
"I vote for the car," Elizabeth said.
Susan looked at her daughter.
"Amanda?"
"I'm with Grandma," Amanda said. "We've seen what we came to see. We might as well go back to the hotel and pack for the rest of the trip."
"OK then. Let's go," Susan said. "Before we leave, though, I want to mail a letter."
"You want to mail a letter? You don't know anyone here."
Susan smiled.
"Of course I do. I know Professor Bell."
Susan reached into her purse. She retrieved a small envelope that was addressed to a post-office box in Los Angeles, a box Geoffrey Bell said he would check periodically.
"You really wrote him a letter?" Amanda asked.
"Yes. I did. I did what he asked me to do. I plan to write more too."
"You're thinking about that reporter, aren't you? You're thinking that maybe he and his son didn't come back from 1900."
"I'm thinking about us," Susan said. "I want Professor Bell to know where we are and what we're doing in case we run into trouble."
"Then let's find a post office," Amanda said.
"I have a better idea."
"What?"
"I'll show you."
Susan walked to the mailbox that looked like a birdhouse, opened the door, and placed the letter inside. She shut the door and flipped up the flag.
"Uh, Mom, you can't just put a letter in a private mailbox," Amanda said. "It's illegal."
"You're right, honey. It is. I'll probably do time with Al Capone."
Elizabeth laughed and looked at Amanda.
"Let her be, dear. Your mother is on a roll."
"We'll be fine," Susan said.
Amanda smiled, folded her arms, and gave her mother a scolding glance.
"It's still not right."
"I disagree, Amanda," Susan said. "It's as right as rain."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean, dear daughter, is that this mailbox belongs to the Petersons," Susan said. She laughed. "Today it belongs to us."
CHAPTER 17: AMANDA
Mercer County, New Jersey – Sunday, October 30, 1938
Amanda thought of George Washington as she drove across the bridge and entered the last state in her family's twelve-state, forty-five-day tour of the United States.
Like America's Revolutionary War general, she crossed the Delaware River on a cold, dark night with Trenton on her mind. Unlike the Founding Father and first president, she did so in a gas-guzzling Cadillac that was running on fumes.
Amanda felt a sense of déjà vu as she glanced at the gas gauge and then at the road ahead. For the second time in six weeks, she had pushed the Sixty Special to its limit and invited a potentially unpleasant outcome.
She looked in the rear-view mirror, checked the highway for unwanted company, and sighed when she saw a slow-moving sedan and not a fast-moving pickup. She considered that a good thing. The last thing she wanted or needed now was a close encounter with a tattoo-covered bully or a finger-licking cretin.
Amanda knew that most young men weren't boorish, obscene, and obsessed with sex, but she had to admit she was having some doubts. Four of the last five guys she had dated had dumped her when she had refused their advances. The one who hadn't had asked her to "pose" for his "site." When it came to finding men who liked her for her brains, she had more difficulty than a cheerleader in a room full of frat boys and football players.
Amanda set aside her unsatisfactory social life and focused on the task at hand. Following the signs to Princeton, she made her way through Trenton with ease.
She had studied a road map during the last stop, in Norristown, and felt confident she could reach her grandmother's hometown without added assistance. She felt less confident about finding an open gas station at eight fifteen on a Sunday night.
Amanda looked for a port in the storm but found only dimmed signs, empty lots, and closed doors. When she reached the northern fringes of the state capital, she decided to wing it and head straight for Princeton. She figured if the Cadillac could travel twenty miles on empty through the Arizona desert, it could probably do the same through the farmland of New Jersey.
Amanda turned onto Route 583 and then directed her attention to the sleeping beauties in the Sixty Special. Elizabeth snoozed away in the front passenger seat. Susan did the same in back. They snored in stereo and provided the driver with comic relief.
A mile into the fifteen-mile final stretch, Amanda settled into her seat and pondered the weeks ahead. She looked forward to spending some quality time in a college town, making new friends, and witnessing history as only a time traveler could witness it.
Amanda took a moment to examine her surroundings and noticed that the landscape on both sides of the highway had become darker and more remote. Instead of streetlights, business signs, and beams from passing cars, she saw the silhouettes of leafless trees, farmhouses, and barns.
Figuring that she wouldn't see much more the rest of the way, Amanda stepped on the pedal. She pushed the car to fifty when she entered a straight stretch but slowed to forty and then to thirty when she saw a long line of stationary cars. Thirty seconds later, she pulled up behind a yellow coupe and brought the Cadillac to a stop.
"What's going on?" Amanda asked as she pounded the wheel with her hands.
"Did you say something, honey?"
Amanda glanced over her shoulder and saw Susan sit up in the back seat.
"Yes. I did. I want to know why a million
cars are stopped in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday night. This road was free of traffic a minute ago."
"I'm sure there was an accident," Susan said.
"I don't think so. There's something else going on."
Amanda rolled down her window and stuck her head into the cool autumn air. She looked ahead as far as she could and saw what she had expected to see: a seemingly endless stream of red taillights. Then she pushed her head a little further out the window and saw something she didn't expect to see: oncoming traffic.
Three automobiles emerged from a dip in the road and approached the Cadillac at a brisk clip. Four other cars followed suit. By the time Amanda turned off the ignition to save what little gas she had left, several more vehicles zipped by. If an accident was stopping traffic on Route 583, it was stopping it in only one direction.
Amanda started to say something to Susan but stopped when she saw Elizabeth stir in her seat, sit up, and look around. She appeared as bewildered as the rest of the family.
"Where are we?" Elizabeth asked.
"We're on Route 583 between Trenton and Princeton," Amanda said.
"Why have we stopped? What's going on?"
"I don't know, Grandma. Mom thinks there's an accident ahead, but I think it's something else. The traffic heading to Trenton hasn't slowed a bit."
Amanda returned her eyes to the highway and saw that the stream of cars coming her way had grown. Some moved at a steady pace. Others advanced in fits and starts. A few pulled off to the side of the road for reasons that still weren't clear.
Sounds pierced the night air with annoying regularity. Westbound drivers unhappy with the pace and eastbound drivers unhappy with the stoppage honked their horns, creating a cacophony of displeasure on what was once a quiet rural road.
"Something is definitely going on," Susan said.
Elizabeth glanced at her daughter and then directed her eyes forward. She peered out the front window, shielded her eyes from oncoming headlights, and finally looked at the driver.
"What day is it?" Elizabeth asked.
"It's Sunday," Amanda said.
"I mean what's the date?"
"It's October 30."
"I thought so."
Amanda watched with curiosity as a smile formed on her grandmother's face. The smile quickly grew into a grin.
"Why are you smiling, Grandma? This is not a smiling matter," Amanda said. "We may run out of gas on this godforsaken road."
Elizabeth laughed.
"I don't mean to downplay our plight, dear. It's just that I remembered something."
"What?" Amanda asked.
"I just remembered what happened on this date."
"Stop speaking in riddles, Grams. If you know why we're stuck in a traffic jam, then say something. What is going on?"
Elizabeth beamed.
"We're being invaded. The Martians have taken New Jersey."
"The what?" Amanda asked.
"The Martians," Elizabeth replied. She laughed. "We may only have minutes before the little green men have us for dinner. Grovers Mill is just a few miles away."
Amanda needed only a few seconds to figure it out. She turned on the radio, twisted the tuning knob, and navigated a sea of static until she found history on the airwaves.
She listened carefully as an announcer described an invasion that had spread from the hamlet of Grovers Mill to all of central New Jersey. The "journalist" reported details of pitched battles between the army and the invaders from Mars and warned radio listeners that the visiting team was on the move.
"This is the War of the Worlds broadcast," Amanda said.
"It certainly is," Elizabeth replied.
"So why is everyone freaking out?"
"They are 'freaking out,' as you put it, because they think the invasion is real."
Amanda turned up the volume on the radio and quickly learned that the situation had worsened. The aliens had cut communications from Pennsylvania to the Atlantic, torn up railroad tracks, and killed several thousand men in Grovers Mill alone.
Amanda looked at Susan and Elizabeth and saw amusement in their eyes. They smiled like women who had bet on the Yankees to win the Series or the Martians to sweep the world in four games. Elizabeth stifled a laugh with a hand.
Others on Route 583 did not share their nonchalance. If they weren't running around like headless chickens, they were driving their vehicles like people possessed.
When Amanda saw a westbound car suddenly veer off the road ahead, she opened her door and stepped outside. A moment later, she stuck her head through the window.
"I'll be right back," Amanda said.
"Where are you going?" Susan asked.
"I'm going to check on that car and make sure no one got hurt."
Amanda stepped away from the Cadillac and started walking down the centerline toward the commotion ahead. What she saw boggled her mind.
Two men argued over a fender bender and threatened each other with fists. A frantic woman carried her baby from car to car. Farther up the road, two more women pleaded with their male companions to "get us out of here now!" Several others honked their horns, swore like sailors, or threatened to call the police.
You people are morons.
Amanda picked up the pace and walked toward the car that had gone off the road. As she drew closer, she saw two dapper young men jump on the hood of a late-model Ford Woody Wagon and pull two bottles from a small brown box. The larger of the two spoke up as soon as she crossed the road and approached the vehicle.
"Hey, sweetheart, you want a beer? We have plenty."
"No, thanks. I just came over to see if you were OK. I saw your car swerve into the field," Amanda said. She raised a brow. "I see you're just fine."
"We're mighty fine," Big Dapper said. He smiled and took a swig. "We just pulled off the road to enjoy the show."
Amanda glanced at the chaos and saw it had not abated. The honking horns barely drowned out the screams and shouts and the radio broadcast that emanated from every vehicle.
"These people don't really believe the Martians are coming, do they?" Amanda asked.
"Some do. Some are pissing their britches," Little Dapper said with a thick Texas drawl. "They heard the big-eyed buggers are coming for the women and children."
Big Dapper laughed.
"What about the people heading east?" Amanda asked. "Why are they driving toward Grovers Mill?"
"They want to see the buggers," Little Dapper said. "Some want to see them. Some want to shoot them. We saw at least a dozen rifles coming in."
Amanda laughed.
"This is too much."
"You're not from around here, are you?" Little Dapper asked.
Amanda shook her head.
"No. I'm from Chicago. I'm Amanda Peterson, in case you care."
Little Dapper jumped off the hood and shook Amanda's hand.
"I'm Ted Fiske. It's nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too," Amanda said. "Who's your buddy?"
"He's a Martian I picked up," Ted said. "He goes by Bill Green."
"Green, huh? Maybe he is a Martian."
Ted laughed.
"It wouldn't surprise me."
Amanda turned toward the Woody.
"Well, hello, Bill Green. It's a pleasure."
Bill slid off the hood and shook Amanda's hand.
"The pleasure is mine."
"Do you guys go to school around here?" Amanda asked.
Ted nodded.
"We do. We're seniors at Princeton. How about you?"
Amanda sighed.
"I'm just a visitor. I'm visiting Princeton with my family."
"Well, I hope your visit is a long and happy one," Ted said.
Amanda smiled.
She didn't doubt for a minute that these Martian watchers had more on their minds than extraterrestrials, but for once she didn't care. She looked at Bill and Ted and then at the scene ahead. Vehicle traffic had stopped in both directions even as foot traffic
had picked up. People continued to run between cars, including a woman who screamed: "We're all going to die!"
"How long do you think the madness will continue?" Amanda asked.
"I give it another hour," Ted said. He smiled. "Even stupidity has a shelf life."
Amanda laughed and looked at her acquaintances.
"In that case, gentlemen, I accept your offer. I think I'll have that beer."
CHAPTER 18: ELIZABETH
Princeton, New Jersey – Thursday, November 3, 1938
Elizabeth ran her fingers along the wall and felt a crack. She had found five in the past ten minutes and knew she would discover more. When people rented houses for twenty bucks a month, they found a lot of things like cracks, leaks, and windows that didn't open.
Elizabeth didn't mind. She hadn't come to Mercer Street to find a large and lavish residence. She had come to find one close to her childhood home.
"It's not much to look at, is it?" Elizabeth asked. She walked to the middle of the unfurnished living room. "I recall a fancier place."
"You recall a place that had a live-in owner," Susan said. "You can't expect landlords to rent houses to college students and keep them looking like Buckingham Palace."
"I suppose not."
"I like it," Amanda said as she sat on a crate. "It's bigger than the house I had in Champaign and a lot closer to the campus. I have no complaints. You did great, Grandma."
"Thank you, dear. I hope you feel that way when winter comes," Elizabeth said. "This little shack will be our home for at least the next six months."
Elizabeth stepped across the living room to a large window, pulled back the stained and torn cotton sheets that posed as drapes, and allowed the bright morning sunshine to spill across the bare wooden floor. She stared at the imposing green and white colonial across the street. She could almost hear the empty residence call her name.
"When will your parents arrive?" Susan asked.
Elizabeth turned away from the window and stepped toward her daughter.
"They will arrive on December 19. I know that because I have a letter that my mother wrote to her sister. She described our first day in Princeton in great detail. She said it was the day I started crawling."
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