Choosing One Moment

by Marja McGraw

  Without realizing what I was doing, I reached for the receiver. Dizziness hit me like a ton of bricks when I touched it.

  My eyes zeroed in on my aunt. “I think it was Elsbeth’s – “

  The dizziness increased to the point where I got sick to my stomach.

  “—sister.”

  My aunt continued to stare at the crank phone. “I love you, Carrie. You were like a granddaughter to me. Like I said last night, I’ll miss you more than you can imagine!”

  My eyes didn’t want to focus. I needed to close them tightly.

  “Nathaniel…” I couldn’t speak after I called his name.

  I dropped to the floor and closed my eyes. I felt Nathaniel’s arms cradle me while I slipped away.

  ~ * ~

  The dizziness slowly disappeared. I was half afraid to open my eyes because I felt so disoriented. I sat quite still for what felt like a long time.

  Reaching up, I brushed tears from my eyes and face.

  I patted my pocket to be sure my cell phone had traveled with me – my one link to the past. It had, and I pulled it out of my pocket, turned it on, and began to cry when I discovered that my pictures of Nathaniel hadn’t made the trip with me. I didn’t want to ever forget that wonderful face of his. His smile, his chipmunk cheeks, his deep blue eyes and sandy-colored hair, even his mustache; those were all things I wanted to be able to see, but I could only see them in my mind.

  And memory can be so faulty.

  I had trouble remembering my aunt as a senior when I closed my eyes. I needed to look at a photo to visually remember her features, and I knew that once I saw her as an old woman, I’d also be able to picture her as a young woman, too.

  The sound of a car door closing followed by knocking on both my front and rear doors finally penetrated my consciousness.

  I tried to yell, “Just a minute,” but my voice was raspy and the volume was low, so I cleared my throat and tried again.

  “Just a minute,” I yelled. My voice sounded frantic to me.

  Picking myself up off the floor, I staggered to the back door and opened it.

  If I could choose one moment from my entire life to relive over and over again, this would be it, I thought.

  My heart pounded so hard I thought I’d pass out.

  Nathaniel stood outside the door looking confused and unsteady. I took his hand and pulled him into the house, making his sit down at the kitchen table.

  “Hi,” he said, softly.

  I grinned at him.

  “Wait here while I answer the front door.”

  I didn’t want to let go of his hand, but the pounding continued.

  He nodded.

  I staggered through the house on shaky legs.

  A lamp was knocked over and broken. My books had been pulled off the shelves and pages had been torn out. The desk drawers had been opened and papers were strewn all over the living room. Someone had been angry and taken it out on my things.

  Shaking my head, I hurried to the front door while the pounding continued.

  Patricia stood on the front porch, knocking as hard as she could. She almost pounded my nose when I opened the door.

  “I’ve been trying to call you for two hours,” she said, staring at my clothing. “I was beginning to worry. Where have you been?”

  “Funny story. Come on out to the kitchen. I have someone I want you to meet.”

  Patricia looked around. “What happened to your house? And why are you so pale? What’s going on?”

  She was right. The house looked like someone had thrown a tantrum, and I was a mess, too. Of course, the house had to have been turned upside down by old Carrie.

  Nathaniel looked at me when I returned. The look in his eyes told me he truly loved and cared about me. He was glad to be in my time, and he’d only just arrived.

  “Are you two going to a costume party?” Patricia couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of Nathaniel. “And who’s this?”

  I pulled out a chair for her. “This is Nathaniel McGee. Sit down. We’ve got quite a story to tell you.”

  Nathaniel laughed, the sound deep and throaty. “She won’t believe you, Carrie.”

  Before she sat she picked up some pieces of paper from the floor. The note Aunt Genny had left for me, asking for help, had been torn into four pieces.

  I sighed. Carrie had a reason for her tantrum, and that reason was my great-aunt.

  We told Patricia everything, from my first trip to traveling home.

  She didn’t believe us.

  “You were right, Nathaniel. We’ll never convince her about time traveling or any of the rest of it.”

  She turned her gaze on the crank phone. “You’re trying to tell me that old phone caused this whole thing?”

  She stood and walked toward it.

  “Don’t touch it,” I warned.

  She ignored me and picked up the receiver. Nothing happened. She opened the front of the phone and an envelope fell out. “What’s this?”

  She picked it up and walked to the table, handing me a thick, yellowed, aged envelope.

  I stared at it and she finally shoved it into my hands.

  Patricia spoke quietly. “I recognize that handwriting. I think you need – no you must – read it.”

  My heart leaped. My name was written on the front in Aunt Genny’s squarish handwriting.

  Chapter Forty-one

  I stared at the envelope for a long time before I opened it.

  Glancing up at Nathaniel, I realized he was coming down to earth – somewhat. He was as pale as I was underneath his tanned face.

  I took a deep breath and began reading.

  Dear Carrie,

  There’s no doubt in my mind that you want to know what happened after you returned home. I can only hope this letter arrives like my original note asking for help. I have a new fondness for that old crank phone. If I was in the future, I’d add a happy face here. I guess I can do that.

  She’d drawn a circle with a happy face in it. I continued to read.

  We were right about Carrie. She shoved her sister down the stairs in a fit of rage. She wanted Daniel for herself and her jealousy knew no bounds. She figured if Elsbeth was out of the picture, she’d have him and everything else that was Elsbeth’s to herself.

  She told me about traveling to your time, and at one point we talked privately and she told me she knew she’d killed Elsbeth, but couldn’t understand how she (I) had picked myself up after the accident. After her trip to your time, she understood my being here.

  She told me that she’d planned on asking me to check on those kittens (now mousing cats for others). She said she’d planned to tell me she had a backache so I’d climb the ladder instead of her. She thought I’d fall and break my neck.

  She planted the knife along the path to the creek, too. She sounded quite proud of herself.

  Daniel and Papa did a careful search of Carrie’s bedroom. Papa discovered that she’d pried out a board in the back of the wardrobe and she’d hidden a diary there. I couldn’t believe that she kept careful notes about what she was doing, and trying to do. Since you seemed to know it was her, you must have found it and read it.

  She’d set up a number of “accidents” feeling that one of them would take her sister’s life, or at the very least, they’d scare her. There was no rhyme or reason to what she did and she never thought about the order of things. Things like the mousetrap and her note were meant for Elsbeth, but she traveled before she could put them where her sister would find them.

  Willie Rhodes and Ruth Cameron ended up getting together. Ruth came to apologize and said Carrie had put her up to some pranks, or so she thought until the truth came out. She returned the locket to me.

  Oh, it never dawned on Carrie that the knife she’d buried, pointing the blade upward, wouldn’t be seen as an accident. It turns out she led some of the local men on, telling them that Elsbeth was interested in them, and thinking if Elsbeth died it would look like one of them had done
it. She was quite devious.

  Mama became suspicious when you started finding some of my things in Carrie’s room, but she couldn’t admit to herself that her daughter could be behind the plot to hurt Elsbeth.

  When old Carrie returned to 1909, our parents thought she’d lost her mind. That’s how quickly they thought her attitude had changed. She was angrier than anyone had ever seen her. I can’t help but think maybe something happened in your time that pushed her over the edge. On her return, she lunged for my throat and Papa had to pull her off of me.

  Much to their chagrin, Mama and Papa had Carrie committed to a mental hospital. Of course, no one knows that she actually killed Original Elsbeth.

  Elsbeth lives on in me.

  I visit Carrie as often as possible, and I still believe at least part of her problem is hormonal. I take natural remedies to her in the hopes she might get better. She curses me but then takes what I’ve brought her. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she’s truly mentally disturbed. From time to time she’s civil to me, although I wouldn’t call it outright friendliness.

  They’ve set her up with paints and an easel, and she paints pictures to her heart’s delight. They’re actually not bad. If you haven’t already seen it, there’s one in the attic that she signed and dated. As I recall, it has 1910 painted on it. When she paints she’s as calm as anyone has ever seen her.

  I explained almost everything to Tess. She’s mature beyond her years in some ways. She occasionally goes with me to visit Carrie, and she tries to treat her like there’s nothing wrong. She actually believes the story about time traveling.

  On to other things. Picture your great-aunt smiling. I know that Nathaniel is in the future with you. At least, he’s not here. I told you that somehow I just know things, and I have no doubt that the two of you are creating a future for yourselves. After everything that happened here, I can almost see the two of you either as detectives or writing together.

  Now see me in your mind’s eye with an even bigger smile. Daniel and I were married on May 8th as planned, and I think our wedding night was very productive. Yes, sweetie, there’s a little bun in this oven, which means we now know if time travel might stop me from having children. It didn’t. Since I’m going by the name of Elsbeth, we’ve decided that if it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Genevieve, after the future me. If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Nathaniel. The baby is due any day now.

  You and I talked about reading that in time travel we shouldn’t do things to change history. Well, I don’t think we’ll change anything important, but you will have a few more relatives to add to the list. And maybe an author. Tess has taken to writing stories. Her teacher says she’s quite talented, and Mama and I tend to agree.

  I hope you and Nathaniel marry and have children, too. He’s a good man and he was meant for you – just born in the wrong era. People ask about his whereabouts and we tell them he moved back to his hometown. Considering everyone thought he and Carrie had become a couple, and she ended up in the nuthouse, no one is surprised.

  Papa’s whole demeanor has changed. He’s learned to be more patient and affectionate, and he and Mama are truly looking forward to their first grandchild.

  If you have any questions, I wish you could ask them. Unfortunately, I’m in 1910 now and you’re not.

  Now for the sad news. Mother Possum died quietly and peacefully, in her sleep. She lasted long enough to see Daniel and me marry. Before I forget, she said she always knew there was something different about you, and when old Carrie returned she wanted to know the truth. I told her, and surprisingly she seemed to believe me. She said I was different, too, and gave me a very knowing look without asking if she was right about me. We all miss her.

  The rest of her letter was written a few years later, dated late 1912.

  Let me see. You might be interested to know that Eugene Hoover went on to play bit parts in silent movies. He’s still way too full of himself though. How could I forget Marie? She took off with Eugene and they married, but she was miserable and the marriage didn’t last. She ended up back with her parents, which didn’t seem to make them very happy.

  It looks like Clarence, Ruth’s brother, is going to end up as a died-in-the-wool bachelor. Maybe one day someone special will come along for him.

  Is life all about romance? No, but sometimes it feels that way. There aren’t so many distractions in this day and age as there are in your time.

  Daniel knows I’m writing this to you. He sends his best and says to tell Nathaniel that he misses him, but knows he’s probably happier with you. You can tell him that he has a nephew named after him. We call him Nate.

  If I had to choose one moment in time, it would be when I returned to Daniel. I believe you understand because I’m guessing your one moment would be when you traveled and met Nathaniel, or when he showed up in your time.

  I stopped reading for a moment. She’d taken my moment in time thought right out of my mouth – or mind. We were more alike than I realized.

  I returned to the letter.

  I feel the morning sickness coming on – there’s another bun in the oven – and I can’t possibly tell you everything in this letter, so I’ll be signing off. I miss you, my great-niece and sister. Maybe one day you’ll travel again. One can always hope.

  With love,

  Aunt Genny or Elsbeth, your choice.

  I passed the letter to Patricia and she read it aloud.

  Nathaniel studied her face with interest while she read. “Now do you believe us?”

  “I guess I have to. Nathaniel? Welcome to your new home. I have one question though. Who did you trade places with?”

  She was right! Did someone go back to 1909 because of Nathaniel?

  My purse was sitting nearby so I grabbed it and pulled out a fold up mirror I carried with me. I opened it and shoved it into his hands. “Take a look. Who do you see in the mirror?”

  He glanced at Patricia, turned and looked into my eyes, and lifted the mirror. A grin spread across his face. “I see myself.”

  My sigh of relief could probably be heard in the next county and my brain kicked into high gear.

  “You were holding me when I traveled home. You must have traveled on my coattails. Patricia was right. Welcome home, Nathaniel!”

  Epilogue

  Nathaniel’s favorite place, at least for a while, was the public library. He checked out and read every book he could find having to do with history. He became an avid reader, and along with catching up to the current day, he read my mysteries. As a fan, he was right up there with Aunt Genny.

  I was a little afraid of what his reaction would be to the “new-fangled” inventions of my time, but I needn’t have worried. He loved every moment of discovery.

  His first ride in a fast car was hysterical – the ride, not him. Funny stuff and I wish I had a picture of his face when I got up to sixty miles per hour.

  He uses the old barn, which was rebuilt, to build furniture. His pieces are in demand because each one is unique and well-built – the old way.

  I continue to write.

  After some research on the Internet, I discovered that Tess went on to write under the pseudonym of T.B. McFerrin, and her books were wildly popular. She made a point of remaining anonymous because she felt if the readers of her time knew the books were written by a woman, they wouldn’t read them.

  I also discovered a few more relatives, as my aunt had informed me I would.

  Patricia has become quite a fan of Nathaniel, particularly because he introduced her to a man he met at the grocery store, of all places, and they hit it off. She seems to enjoy Nathaniel’s childlike enthusiasm for new experiences and thinks his sense of humor was ahead of his time.

  Nathaniel and I have set a wedding date for May 8th, a special day in the life of at least two McFerrin women.

  ~~~~

  About the Author

  Marja McGraw was born and raised in Southern California. She worked in both civil and criminal law, sta
te transportation, and a city building department. She has lived and worked in California, Nevada, Oregon, Alaska and Arizona.

  She wrote a weekly column for a small town newspaper in Northern Nevada, and conducted a Writers’ Support Group in Northern Arizona. A past member of Sisters in Crime (SinC), she was also the Editor for the SinC-Internet Newsletter for a year and a half.

  Marja writes two mystery series: The Sandi Webster Mysteries and The Bogey Man Mysteries, which are light reading with a touch of humor. She also occasionally writes stories that aren’t part of a series.

  Marja says that each of her mysteries contains a little humor, a little romance and A Little Murder!

  She now lives in Washington, where life is good.