he’s so different from any man I’ve ever met. He’s for real! He’s an honest, creative man with ideals. I’d be proud to be his wife.”
Bat returned and saw them holding hands.
Bill looked up and smiled at the cowboy. “Guess my time here is finished, Bat. I’m going back to New York.”
“Think ya’ can stay until Saturday?” He put his arm around Emma’s waist. “We need a best man at our wedding, and I hoped you would do the honors.”
Bill nodded yes, as he saw a tear in Emma’s eye, “I’d be proud to, partner.”
Saturday was another warm day, and some of the townsfolk tied tumbleweed to the rear of Bat’s buckboard. Bill joined in throwing flower seeds at the bride and groom as they drove off. Emma turned and smiled at him. He waved back. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to see Wyatt Earp, watching the newly married couple leave town.
“You know, Bill, since you came to town, Will has become a changed man.”
Bill smiled at the lawman. “Think so, Wyatt?”
“Yep, partner, I sure do, an’ I thank ya.” He turned and said as he held his arm out, “If ya have the time, care ta join me in a drink or two?”
“I’d be proud to, partner. I have all the time in the world!”
DATELINE: NOVEMBER 25, 1920 PLACE: BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
It was a snowy night on November 25, 1920. A short, husky man sporting a long white mustache gave a letter to a friend’s son.
“Richard,” he asked, “will you do me a great favor? I have no kids to do this, so I got to ask that you keep this letter in your in family. Pass it down until August 2, 2011, and then have it delivered to the address on the envelope.”
The young man took the letter, placed it in a small wall safe and secured it. “I promise Mr. Masterson. It’ll be delivered just as you requested.”
DATELINE: AUGUST 2, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK
A man carrying an envelope rang the doorbell of 520 East Ninth Street, The 1800 Club, and Matt answered the door. The man asked to meet with Bill Scott, the name on the yellowed envelope. Bill was working at his computer when Matt came to his door.
“Sir, a Mr. Caputo is at the door. He has an envelope for you and insists he speak to you only.”
Bill pushed away from the computer. “I love a mystery, Matt. Let’s go see him.” He followed Matt downstairs into the club’s den. Bill walked over to the man and offered his hand. “I’m Bill Scott. I understand you have some mail for me?”
The man shook his hand. “I’m Richard Caputo. I live about thirty blocks from here.” He showed Bill the old envelope. “This envelope has been in my family since 1920. A friend of my grandfathers gave it to him with instructions that it is delivered today. I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s been the talk of my family for years and I’m here to fulfill the man’s wish.”
Bill took it and walked over to a small table, sat and opened it. In neat handwriting it read, “Bill, if you get this letter, please come to 570 Tenth Street, Brooklyn, New York, on November 25, 1920. Regards, your friend, Will “Bat” Masterson.”
Bill looked up and shook his head. Caputo was still there. He deserves an answer after all these years, Bill thought.
“Mr. Caputo, this is a letter from an old friend of the family. It’s sort of a time capsule saying hello to the future Scotts. Thank you so much. Could I give you some good Cuban cigars for your family’s stewardship of the letter all these years?”
Caputo smiled. “I wasn’t here for a reward, Mr. Scott, just honoring an old family wish. However, I’d enjoy a good cigar.”
Bill turned to Matt and said, “Matt, please get Mr. Caputo a dozen Cubans from my private stock.” Then he offered his hand to his visitor. “Thank you again, Mr. Caputo. Wait here and Matt will be right back.”
Bill walked quickly back to his den and reread the letter. Got to honor it, he thought, as he changed into 1920s clothes. He took some 1920’s currency, dialed the Time Frequency Modulator to November 25, 1920, and went out the door.
DATELINE: NOVEMBER 25, 1920 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK
The time traveler walked through the garden and out into the New York of 1920. It started to snow and he pulled the long black overcoat tight to him as he walked over to Broadway. Sparks flew from the overhead wires as an electric trolley car stopped at his corner. Bill got in and stayed on until he reached downtown and the Brooklyn Bridge. At the last stop, he caught a yellow taxi over it. A drafty taxi, he thought as it went over the bridge, slipping on the wet, steel-mesh flooring high above the cold, windblown waters. The snow started to fall heavily and the cab’s wipers were having a hard time pushing the large, wet snowflakes away.
Once on the Brooklyn side, he directed the driver toward Prospect Park. From there, they went to Tenth Street and Seventh Avenue. He asked the man to wait, and then walked up the block to 570, the address on the envelope. The sidewalk’s gray, slate slabs were slippery with the snow that was now sticking to them and Bill treaded carefully as he looked at the row houses for his destination.
The dim light cast by the early streetlight showed the numbers 570 painted on the steps leading into one of the turn-of-the-century row houses. In the vestibule of the three-story building, he saw mailboxes fitted into the wall. Bill lit a small flashlight and spotted the name he wanted on the first floor. There was no bell, so he entered, walked down a short, hallway that a gaslight fought to push back the darkness and rapped lightly on the door. There was a shuffling on the other side, and then it opened.
Bill immediately recognized him, though forty of his years had passed. His hair was just as long, but pure white, as was his mustache, and he squinted through glasses. The time traveler smiled and offered his hand. The man shook it, and then both embraced as Bill said, “Bat Masterson, how the heck are you?”
“Just fine, Bill, just fine. Come on in.” He held the door and Bill walked into a small hall leading to a well-lit kitchen. Bat closed the door and escorted him into a sitting room.
“Sit, Bill. Somethin’ ta drink? Coffee, Scotch, beer? What’s your poison, old friend?”
“Whatever you’re having, Bat.”
“Two beers it is.” He walked to the kitchen, opened the icebox, took out a quart bottle of beer and poured two glasses. Bat came back into the living room with the two tall glasses of beer, handed one to Bill, and then raised his in a toast. “To old friends and old times.”
Bill raised his glass, “Old friends and old times.”
They both drank, then Bat looked at Bill and smiled, “Old, applies to only one of us in this case, though.”
“What made you send the message to me, Bat?”
“Ingenious, right?”
Bill nodded, “Damned ingenious.” He looked around, “Emma? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine, Bill. Just fine . . . for an old woman. And that’s the reason I asked you to come here. She’s at her friend’s house, playing cards, so we can talk man to man.” He took a long drink and gave Bill a serious look. “Bill, you knew when you received my letter that I knew all about you and Emma time traveling.”
Bill nodded. “I figured Emma had told you everything.”
“She did. She’s a fine woman, Bill, and she did her job well. She told me when to write a letter to Roosevelt and just what to say. He and I became pretty good friends over the years. And from what I understand, the time problem has fixed itself. Am I right?”
“It did, Bat. It worked just as we hoped.”
“It worked because of a great woman, Bill, Emma Walters, my wife. She saved the future. Now I have a favor to ask.”
“Whatever I can do for you two, Bat, name it.”
“Take her back.”
Bill did a double take. “Take her back? I don’t understand.”
Bat swiped the froth from his mustache. “Bill, as you can see we are old now, and you’re still a youngster. I figure you can take her back home from, say, 1900. The future would have been
set by then, and she wouldn’t have to spend her whole life here. Take her back so she can be young again.”
“Did she ask for this, Bat?”
“Heck no. It’s me asking for it. I’m a grouch, and she doesn’t need to be strapped to me . . . not when she can get out and be that pretty lady I married when we were young.”
There was a movement in the entrance to the living room. Both men turned and saw Emma standing there as she removed her scarf.
Damn! She’s still a handsome woman, Bill thought, as he stood up.
She smiled at him and they embraced. “Bill Scott! You son-of-a-gun! You are a sight for old eyes. Isn’t he, Bat? A sight for old eyes.” She emphasized the word “old.”
She walked over and sat on the armrest of Bat’s easy chair and hugged him. “Claire wasn’t feeling up to cards, so I came home early.” She looked at the old cowboy. “Bat, I heard every word you said and want you to remember the words, ‘Till death do us part.’ Do you think I’d let Bill take me away from you? Never! I stayed here on my own, not to just finish some silly project. That became secondary very soon after I met you, Bat Masterson.”
Bat looked sheepishly at her. “But, Em, you can go back and be young again. I can handle it.”
She kissed the top of his head, “But I couldn’t. No, cowboy, we are in the long cattle drive together, so you have to get used to it.”
He kissed her hand.
Bill finished his drink. “Is there anything I can do for you two?”
Emma laughed.
Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I Page 29