by Edward Gates
Charlie strolled into town and down the covered sidewalks. He figured that if he acted as if he belonged there, maybe people wouldn’t bother him. As he strode along at a leisurely pace, he tried not to make eye contact with anyone. To those that did notice him he smiled and nodded. Sometimes the smile was returned, but in most cases the people just looked away and kept walking. As he passed by a store entrance, two soldiers came out of the door and bumped into him. He slightly bowed, apologized for running into them and continued walking.
“Hey!” one soldier hollered.
Charlie stopped. “I said I was sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”
“You’re soaking wet. What, did you just crawl out of that river?” The two soldiers started to laugh. “Look what we got here, Jesse. A half-drowned Southern rat.” More laughter. Charlie could feel the anger rise within him, but he was smart enough to stand there quietly and take any ribbing these two would muster out. “What’s your name, boy?”
Charlie sighed. He didn’t want to answer but knew it would get worse if he didn’t. “Charlie.”
“You live here in this town, Charlie?”
“No. Just passing through.”
He raised his eyes and sternly met the eyes of the soldier. The man stepped closer and slammed his rifle into Charlie’s chest. “Don’t you go eyeballin’ me, boy!” Charlie let out a cough, fell back against the building and crumpled to the sidewalk. The soldier stepped forward to deliver a second blow but stopped when the other one grabbed his arm.
“Let him be, Reese. He didn’t mean nothin’.”
Charlie got to his feet rubbing his chest. Just then one of the Union officers rode up on his horse and stopped. “What’s all this?” The two soldiers snapped to attention but didn’t answer. “Corporal? What’s the problem?” Again, there was silence.
Charlie stepped forward. “It was my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“I bumped into these two on the sidewalk and they were just helping me up.” Charlie cast a bit of a smirk in the direction of the two soldiers still at attention. He made sure they noticed his look.
“What’s your name?”
“Charlie, Charlie Turlock.”
The officer dismounted and came onto the sidewalk to escape the rain. “You two, at ease.” The soldiers relaxed. “Is that what happened, here?”
“Yes, sir. Just like he said.” The corporal, the one that hit Charlie, kept looking at the officer. His partner glanced a kind look and a wink towards Charlie that said thanks.
“You two are dismissed. Carry on.” The two soldiers quickly moved down the sidewalk away from the officer. The officer turned to Charlie and smiled. “That red-headed corporal that plucked you is named Reese.” Charlie lowered his head and rubbed his chest without responding. The officer laughed a little. “It’s all right. I saw what he did. He’s an Ohio hellion. I don’t think I’d like him as a friend but I’d hate to be his enemy. Not much of a person, but a damn good fighter.” He He studied Charlie. “I’m Colonel Carr.” Another pause. “You know, these days I don’t see too many young able-bodied men that aren’t in a uniform. What’s your story?”
Charlie paused. “I’m just passing through, Colonel. I’m not looking for any trouble.”
“Passing through? From where to where?”
Charlie looked around. How long is this going to go on? “Well, sir, I’m originally from New York. And I’m just working my way across the country to get out west for a new start.”
“New York?” The Colonel seemed surprised. “New York,” he repeated. “How’d you miss getting pulled into the army?”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders.
“What do you do, Mr. Turlock?”
He thought about saying he was an astrophysicist working with the mapping of subatomic structures, but he knew that would be the wrong thing to say. He didn’t want to make an enemy of the Colonel. He thought for a moment and remembered Clemens. “I do a lot of things. I’ve driven a mule team. I’m a blacksmith. I’ll do whatever I can to make enough money to move on.”
The colonel looked a little displeased with Charlie’s answer. “You know, we have a problem with spies. For all I know, you might be a Southern spy.”
Charlie’s eyes widened and a chill surged through him. A spy? He thought about the equipment he had stashed by the tree. Did they find that? “I assure you, Colonel, I’m not a spy. I don’t want anything to do with any of this. I’m just a simple blacksmith trying to start a new life somewhere west.”
“A blacksmith, huh?” The colonel shook the rain from his cape and hat.
“I just got here and I was going to the livery to see if I can get some work. I need to get some food and supplies.”
“Well, Mr. Turlock, I’ll save you a trip. “You’re hired.” He stepped off the sidewalk and climbed into the saddle.
“Hired? What are you talking about?”
“I’m commander of the Fourth Division under General Curtis. We had a pretty good scrape up on Pea Ridge some months back. We took the battle but the Rebs gave us a beating for it. I have a lot of armaments that need repair and a cavalry that needs looking after. Smithies are hard to come by. You are now the commandeered property of the Army of the Southwest. We’re camped two miles east of here.” He flipped a ten-dollar gold coin to Charlie. “Get your food and supplies and be there tomorrow morning.”
Charlie stood frozen on the sidewalk as he watched the colonel ride up the street. “I got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.
12
Settling In
After the colonel rode away, Charlie found a small café in Clarksville. It was nothing more than a lean-to with a structural roof attached to the side of a building. A canvas tent provided the back wall, side wall and a partial front wall. For thirty-five cents he ate a breakfast of potatoes, corn, ham and coffee. The two camp stoves used for cooking provided a nice dry warmth inside the café, a respite from the weather. Charlie’s clothes were drying out and he finally began to feel comfortable. He sat and drank his coffee while he watched the people move between buildings dodging the rain and mud puddles.
Charlie needed to make some decisions. Just keeping a step ahead of the time-agents was not a very viable plan. If he was going to actually stay and live here for a while, he had to learn to fit in with the masses. And he had to do it without upsetting any historic timelines. He ordered another cup of coffee.
Charlie pondered how one could live in an environment or community and not have any impact on it. Just the simple fact that he was here, in another time, would be a change. Insignificant as it was, it would still manifest as a historical change. Anyone that he came in contact with may have their historical timeline altered just by his presence. If he took a job, then he would be taking a job away from someone who historically had had that job, thereby affecting that person’s timeline. But he had to have some form of livelihood. Having a family or even a relationship was out of the question; his involvement with a woman would undoubtedly affect future generations.
He thought about all the mistakes the human race would make over the next four hundred years. All the wars and disasters that could be prevented. The toppling of governments and countries could be reversed. He realized he had the power to actually change history. It was an overwhelming feeling of immense power. But he knew any dramatic changes would be disastrous for future generations. It might even affect his own existence. No, change was inevitable, but it had to be managed to keep it inconsequential. As much as he hated the thought of working for the army, it might be the perfect solution. In the army, he’d just be another body. He’d come and go and have little impact on history. And there would likely not be any record of him.
After he had his fill of coffee, he walked back down the street to the general merchandise store where he’d encountered the two soldiers. The old pine floorboards creaked as he entered. The smells of coffee, tobacco and leather goods blended together and hung in the stale h
umid air. Charlie was intrigued with the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined the walls, and the various display counters and tables that crowded the floor space; however, a lot of the shelves and counters were bare. Apparently, the war had taken its toll on available goods in this retail establishment.
It was late September. He could already feel the chill in the air. He needed a hat and a coat to replace the borrowed uniform that he left behind. Maybe he could get some other clothes as well. The brown canvas pants that Clemens had given him were worn and stained from working around the forge. He would like to have another pair. The brown boots were a little big, but they would do for now. The oatmeal-colored wool pullover shirt that buttoned in front from the chest to the neck was also stained and had a few burn holes in it. It would be nice to have another shirt to wear and maybe a vest to cover his suspenders. He looked at the handful of coins he had after he had paid for breakfast and knew his funds were limited. The extra clothes would have to wait.
“What’d ya need, fella?” the old man behind the counter asked.
Charlie walked to where the man stood, browsing as he went. “I need a lot, but I can only afford a little.” The man’s expression didn’t change. “I need a coat and a hat.”
The shop clerk walked to the other side of the store, turned back to size Charlie up and pulled a coat from one of the many shelves. “I have a sack coat here that should fit you.” He handed it to Charlie, who slipped it on. It was warm and poorly made, but it fit and it was comfortable.
“How much?”
“You got Confederate notes or Yankee dollars?”
Charlie wasn’t sure. He wasn’t used to dealing with money. Every transaction in his previous world was done with electronic credits and debits. Physical money didn’t exist, except as artifacts. He showed his coins to the clerk, who nodded.
“Dollars. Good. The coat’s three dollars.” The clerk walked to the back of the store behind one of the counters. Charlie followed. “I got some derbies and stovepipes here, but if that’s all you got, you ain’t got enough. Back here I got some felt hats. I’ll let you have one for a dollar fifty.”
“What’s the difference between Confederate notes and dollars?” Charlie asked.
The man stopped and looked at Charlie with a queer expression. “You jus’ crawl out of a hole?” Charlie shook his head, confused by the question. “That Confederate red money ain’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Every day it gets more and more worthless. If’n it gits any worse, I won’t even trade for it at all.” He handed Charlie a couple of dark brown felt hats.
Charlie tried on a few hats until he found one that fit. He did a quick tally in his head and smiled at the clerk. “All right. Four dollars and fifty for the coat and hat.” He studied the coins and found a five-dollar gold half-eagle coin and handed it to the clerk. The clerk gave him two silver quarters in return. “Do you know a place where I can stay?”
“How long you plannin’ on bein’ here?”
“Just a few days.”
“There’s a boardin’ house up the street next to the apothecary. Lady’s name is Hawkins. You can get a spot there for fifty cents a night. Or, you can git a room there for two dollars a night.”
Charlie thanked the clerk and headed up to Mrs. Hawkins’s boarding house. A short, whitewashed picket fence lined the property and a small gate stood open at the walkway. As he approached the house he stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the porch columns. The entrance to the two-story clapboard house was draped in black fabric. He didn’t know much about the customs and the people of this time, but he was fairly certain this meant someone had died. The store clerk hadn’t mentioned anything about this. He slowly climbed the three steps to the front porch and hesitated before knocking on the door, not wanting to disturb a household in mourning. Just before he knocked, the door opened and two men walked out. They smiled and nodded a greeting to him as they passed. They didn’t appear to be mourners to him. The front door was left ajar.
Charlie stuck his head in the doorway and listened but heard no sounds. “Hello?” There was no immediate response, so he pushed the door open a little farther and stepped inside. He stood in a small entry hall. A staircase was directly across from him at the other end of the hall. There was an arched doorway on either side of the entry hall. He could see a parlor on the left and a dining room on the right. He was about to call out again when a Negro servant stepped from the dining room. “Mornin’, sir. Miz Hawkins’s in the parlor. Can I help you wit sumpin’?”
Charlie smiled as he remembered Fran and Clemens. “Uh, I heard I can get a room here?”
“Yazzir. You sho’ can.” She was about to continue when she was called to from the parlor.
“Roberta? I’ll speak with the gentleman.”
The servant slightly bowed to Charlie and left the entry hall through the dining room arch just as a lady entered the hall from the parlor. She was short with dark hair parted in the middle and pulled tightly back and fastened in a bun. A black lace veil covered her head and face. She wore a long-sleeved black dress that covered her from her neck to the floor and black lace gloves. She gently offered her right hand to Charlie who, unsure of what to do, briefly and softly held her hand for a moment and then released it. She lifted her veil over her head exposing her face. “Good day. I am Gwendolyn Pfister Hawkins. And you, sir, are…?”
Charlie was speechless. She was young and quite attractive, in a plain sort of way. He guessed her to be in her twenties, around his age. “Uh, Campb… or, uh, Turlock, ma’am. Charlie Turlock. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Turlock.” She turned her head to the side and lowered her eyes. “My husband, Jacob Hawkins, was killed at Manassas a few weeks ago.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m afraid the place has been left to ruin. I apologize for the appearance.”
From what Charlie could see, the house looked immaculate. He didn’t understand her comment. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry for your loss.”
She regained her composure. “You asked about a room?”
“Yes. I was told you rent sleeping space and rooms.”
“I only have one room for rent, Mr. Turlock. And it’s occupied by a newlywed couple. However, there are two other rooms for sleeping spaces. You can find a flop space for fifty cents a night. It’s payable each morning in silver or gold only.”
Charlie found a silver dollar amidst his coins and smiled as he handed it to Mrs. Hawkins. “I’ll be staying two nights, then. Maybe more.” She lowered her head but he could briefly see that she returned his smile.
She stepped back to the bottom of the staircase and pointed up to the second floor. “At the top of the stairs on your left will be a room. There’s only two other gentlemen in that room so you should have no trouble finding a space for you to sleep. Do you have any belongings, Mr. Turlock?”
Charlie thought about his haversack and bedroll that he had stashed by a tree earlier that morning. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’ll bring them by later.”
“Very well, then. Make yourself at home, Mr. Turlock. You are welcome here. We serve breakfast at seven but it’s an additional ten cents. You will be asked to pay before you dine. Roberta is the house servant and cook, but she does not wait on our guests. She is not your servant, Mr. Turlock.”
Charlie nodded. “I understand.”
Mrs. Hawkins continued. “Roberta’s husband, Harold, maintains this dwelling, best as he can. You may see him about. The privy is in the back by the slaves’ quarters. If you have any further questions, please ask Roberta. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned and walked back to the parlor.
Charlie climbed the narrow staircase that wound its way to the second floor. Each stair creaked and groaned a different sound as he stepped on it; there would be no sneaking up or down these stairs. At the top of the stairs was a hallway that ran the length of the house. Two doors opened off each side of the hallway. Charlie e
ntered the first room on the left. The stench of stale tobacco, damp clothes, unwashed bodies and mud greeted him. He coughed, backed out into the hallway and took a few short breaths. It was going to take some time to get used to that smell. The only furniture in the room was a single cot that had already been claimed by a guest. Along the front wall by the door was a bedroll, presumably belonging to the second occupant. Charlie decided to claim the empty floor space below the window on the back wall. If nothing else, at least he would be closer to some fresh air.
Charlie spent the rest of the day exploring the fledgling town. Other than the café and general store, he saw there was a small building that housed the constable and justice-of-the-peace. A saloon was next to the constable’s office; Charlie wondered whether that was by design. Two doors down from the boarding house, on the other side of the apothecary, was a barber and bath house that advertised a “Hot Bath” for fifty cents. At the other end of town was a church with a small schoolroom attached to it. Across from it was the livery.
The livery contained a portable homemade forge, but it was cold. It was a part-time blacksmith shop. A young man named Eli attended the livery while his brothers were off to the war. Charlie spent a good part of his afternoon talking with the lad. He discovered that Eli’s father tended their farm. Eli knew very little about blacksmithing. All he could do was some farrier work.
In the evening, after stew and biscuits at the café, he went into the trees outside of town and recovered his bedroll and belongings. It was just getting dark when he entered his flop room at Mrs. Hawkins’s boarding house and laid out his bedroll on the floor below the window. The room was dark but he could see that one man was asleep in the cot and the other bedroll was still empty. Exhausted, he rolled up his new coat for a pillow and stretched out on his bedroll. The floor was hard, but he was surprised at how good it felt to lie down. He was more tired than he thought.
Charlie thought about his home. Back there he had his own place with every convenience imaginable. He wasn’t used to sharing space. He missed the comfort of his apartment. He missed his colleagues, his friends and Angel, his girlfriend. Being all alone in a strange time and place left him scared and lonely. He was afraid of how he would be received. His chest was sore from one struggle with a soldier; he didn’t want another. He moved his belongings between himself and the wall, closed his eyes and let the events of the day filter through his mind. He thought about Colonel Carr and wondered how he would be able to find him in the morning. He thought about the comfort of Clemens’s household and how he had enjoyed being there. It hadn’t even been a day and he already missed them. That was his last thought before he fell sound asleep.