by Sable Hunter
About that time, a huge bolt struck a tree not too far in the distance and Journey grabbed hold of Vernon’s arm. “You’ve got a great soundtrack going here.”
He patted Journey’s hand to calm her nerves. “In 1979, there was a whale of a tornado right here in Wichita Falls. A monster with multiple vortices, all twirling like a Spanish dancer, each one the size of a regular tornado. As I remember, there were times when one of the funnels exceeded a mile in width. One man was sucked up and found himself spinning through the vortex of the funnel. Above him was a twirling mobile home trailer with a woman peering out the window. And when a bed flew by, he thought if he could just grab onto it, he’d go right to sleep. Next thing he knew, he woke up in the hospital. For years, he walked around Wichita Falls and told anyone who’d listen his story.”
“I believe you’re pulling my leg, George.”
“All true. I swear.” He glanced at his phone, the light from the screen glowing eerily. “According to the Doppler, we might not have to chase this storm. It just may come a calling.”
This alarmed Journey a little. “Should we go to the storm cellar?”
Vernon held up his phone. “I’ll let you know. I’m watching it carefully.”
Journey let her breathing ease. “I’ve never been to a wake before, much less been through a tornado.” If she’d attended a wake for her parents, she didn’t remember it. “This is a little odd for me.”
“Well, this is an odd situation. Most decent people arrange for their wake to be held in a funeral home. Instead, here we are with Myles holding court in the living room, stretched out in a nine thousand-dollar coffin.”
Journey pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “If we have to go to the storm cellar, will we take him with us?”
Vernon laughed. “Myles was a big man and that’s a helluva coffin. I don’t think we could wrestle them both downstairs.” A zap of lightning lit the porch of up like daylight. “No, we’ll just let the tornado carry him up to the sky like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.”
“Oh, no. Poor Uncle Myles,” she said with a giggle, then grew sadly sober. “Lately, I wish I could be carried up to a faraway place.” Or a faraway time.
“Hey, you never know. I’ve seen and heard some strange things in my day.”
“Stranger than the man who saw the flying bed?” She felt a kinship with George Vernon that didn’t come from their blood ties. Perhaps it was because he reminded her a little of Lou. “Enlighten me. I need the distraction.”
“Well, all right. I told you I once worked for a research company in the Antarctic.”
“I remember.”
“Very few people know about them, but persistent, giant tornados exist at both of our planet’s geographical poles. They’re called polar cyclones or polar vortexes. The Antarctic one is stronger, but they are both stationary, spinning monsters of gray fog. Can you imagine?”
“I’m trying.” This sounded a little familiar. “So, this is a vortex, like a portal vortex?”
“Oh, you’re smart. I like you.” He chuckled with amusement. “Now, here’s the wild part of the story. In April of 2001, we attached a weather balloon to a cable and sent it up into the Antarctic vortex with a meteorological instrument attached to it that recorded wind speed, barometric pressure, and temperature. We also included a scientific chronometer to accurately report the times of the readings. As soon as the balloon was released, it was sucked right up into the swirling fog and disappeared from sight.”
“Wow. How long did you leave it up there?”
“Not long. With some difficulty, we pulled it in several minutes later and were shocked by the readout on the chronometer. The displayed date read January 27, 1965.”
“Oh, my God. Seriously?”
“I saw it with my own two eyes. We even repeated the experiment. We sent the instruments on that balloon right up into the gaping maw of the vortex and the same date showed up the second time. January 27, 1965. When we reported the episode to our superiors, they turned over the results to military intelligence. We heard later that they gave it the code name of Time Gate.”
Journey ached with longing. “I wish I could go through the Time Gate.”
“Me too. Imagining where I’d travel to is a favorite game of mine.” He laughed. “This time, I think I’d love to visit Medieval England. How about you?”
Journey didn’t even hesitate. “I’ve always felt an affinity for the old west. I think I’d choose Central Texas in the year 1869.”
“Very specific, but definitely a good year. You’d be around to witness the greatest weather event to ever strike the area.”
“And what is that?”
“The great flood of 1869. After sixty-four hours of straight rainfall, the waters crested at fifty-five feet above flood stage. In Austin, the river was ten miles wide. There were even buffalo carcasses floating in the river. The whole Hill Country was devastated.”
“What month?” she asked with wide eyes.
“Well, I’m not sure. About this time, I guess. May or June, that’s when the heavy rains usually fall.”
“Kingsland would’ve been flooded.”
“Absolutely, any town on the river would’ve been completely inundated. There’s no telling how many people drowned.”
Journey clutched the edge of the seat. She tried to remember if there was any mention of the flood in the papers she’d examined. She knew the Stanton children were already in Boston by this time. Of course, Reno’s return might’ve changed things in some way. What if he were in danger?
“What’s wrong?” George asked. “If you’re worried, it looks like the storm is moving away.”
“That’s good,” she muttered, but this wasn’t the storm she was worried about. She needed to know if Reno was safe. “Excuse me, George. It was nice talking to you, but I need to make a call.”
“No problem. I enjoyed getting to know you.”
She gave him a friendly wave and returned indoors. People were still milling about and renewing old acquaintances. Weaving through the house, she headed upstairs to find some privacy. Once she was behind closed doors in the room she was sharing with her aunt, Journey phoned Lou.
After three rings, she answered. “Hey, Jo. What’s up?”
“I need you to go into my room and find Saul’s journal. I think it’s in the top drawer of the dresser, right hand side.”
“You got it. What am I looking for?”
“When you find it, open the journal and see if there is a letter affixed to the back cover in some way.”
“All right. When is the last time you saw the letter?”
“I haven’t. Reno was supposed to write me a note to let me know he arrived safely. I need to know if it’s there.”
“Okay.”
Journey waited, staring out the window at the diminishing storm. “Well?”
There was silence as Lou looked for the journal. “Found it.”
“You found the letter?” Excitement coursed through her voice. “Read it to me.”
“No, I found the journal. Hold on. When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow. After the funeral.” Journey waited. And waited. “Well? Lou? Is it there?”
“There’s no letter here, Journey. Not in the back or the front. I looked all through it. I’m sorry.”
“Dammit!” Journey wanted to scream.
“Well, it’s probably too soon. He’s only been gone a little over twenty-four hours. Give him time. He had to do a lot of riding and…”
“Oh, Lou. I’m scared.” She sat down on the bed and began to cry.
“Settle down, honey. I’m sure everything is going to be fine. That man of yours is resourceful. If there’s any way in the world, he’ll get in touch with you.”
“I hope so. I won’t rest until he does.”
* * *
The sixty-mile ride from Packsaddle Mountain to Austin generally took about eight hours. Since they’d left before daybreak, King expected th
ey were over halfway there. For most of the way, the conversation had been limited to talk of the weather or observations about people they passed on their journey. Reno didn’t try to introduce any new topics. If his Cap felt funny speaking with him, he didn’t want to push the issue.
However, after stopping to eat a bite of lunch and water their horses on the bank of a swift running creek, King seemed to find more to say, “I thought we’d rent a room in the boarding house at Scholz Garten. Hopefully, we won’t have to stay more than two nights.”
“I know the place. It’s not far from the capital building.” Reno held the reins loosely as they hit the trail again, following the narrow pathway through the thick evergreen forest.
“Right. I hope we’ll get an audience with the governor right off, but we can’t be certain of that. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been considering how we should handle our request.”
“I’ve been thinking about that myself. Obviously, we can’t tell him the truth about how or where I came by the information. What I can tell him is my personal experience with Kinsella and what I heard with my own ears. I also have the last names of two of his cohorts.”
“I agree. And after closely studying what you gave me to read, I realize there’s information we can use to convince the governor about Taylor. The hatred he harbors in his heart for the Indian people is public knowledge, as is the incendiary newspaper he published.”
“That’s right,” Reno spoke with a hopeful tone in his voice. “The vigilante army he raised is also an indisputable, verifiable fact. Their actions can be checked. People can be interviewed.”
“Yes, they can. I’m sure there’ll be an investigation. Governor Pease will probably call in the Rangers on this.”
Reno snorted. “The Texas Rangers, I hope, and not Taylor’s Jacksonville Rangers.”
“The Taylor’s are a powerful family,” King stated, a hint of doubt entering his voice.
“I know.” Reno understood his Captain’s unspoken concern. “That shouldn’t make a difference.”
“No, it shouldn’t.”
“Pease will listen, won’t he? I mean, we can tell him enough to plant doubt in his mind, can’t we?”
“I hope so.” King pushed his hat up on his head and wiped his brow. “God, it’s warm for May.” He looked up at the sun. “So, tell me what’s changed? I mean I saw that photograph of an unrecognizable Austin and the impossible flying machine, but – what else?”
Reno shook his head, a wry laugh on his lips. “Where do I start? What hasn’t changed?” He considered what he might say. “The nation is united, for the most part. Fifty states in all. Texas will return to the union next year. There’ll be more war. Two world wars. War in Asia. War in the Middle East.”
“How about war on this soil?”
“No. At least we seemed to have learned that lesson.”
King appeared to contemplate the matter. “Speaking of land, while we’re in Austin I want to visit the Land Office. I need to make sure those deeds were properly recorded when I transferred acreage into all of your names.”
“I know I said it before, but that was very generous of you, King.” He didn’t comment on his plans, they were still too up in the air to make sense to anybody but him.
“There are more types of currency than money, Reno. Blood and sweat counts for as much in my book.”
They stopped speaking when a flock of wild turkeys took flight from the nearby brush. Both of their mounts sidestepped in place, startled by the spectacle. When the wild flapping died down, King glanced at Reno. “How’s the hunting in the future?”
This question surprised him. “Regulated for the most part. There’s been so much development that land available for hunting is scarce. Much of our area is designated as a game preserve. Deer roam freely into people’s yards and the animals are treated like pets. There are even large tracts of land set aside to protect species that are endangered because of over-hunting in the past, pesticides, or pollution – you name it. There’ve been countless advancements in the future, but we’ve also lost ground with some things.” He pointed to the sky. “Man has walked on the moon. Can you imagine that?”
The notion appealed to King. “I can, actually. I’ve been dreaming of things like that all my life. You see, my father owned a copy of a very rare book entitled The Man in the Moon by Bishop Francis Godwin. The bishop penned the novel in the year 1636. Father wouldn’t let me touch it, but he’d hold me on his lap and read it to me. Soon, he didn’t have to do that, for I memorized most of the book. Let me see if I can still recall…” He began to quote what he could remember. “An explorer builds a spaceship and meets aliens on another world. They are a ‘people most strange,’ these extraterrestrials. They’re twice as tall as humans; they wear clothes spun of a mysterious material, dyed in a color unseen by human eyes; and they speak only in haunting musical tones. Then the explorer returns to Earth.”
“That’s incredible. I’d never heard of such.” He’d been on the verge of telling King about climate change and global warming, but considering his good mood, Reno decided to save that for another day.
Riding just ahead, King pulled out his pocket watch. “We’ll be crossing the Colorado soon. We should arrive in the city around four. I think we’re making good time.”
Reno laughed. “Not really. Just last week, I made the trip in a little over an hour.”
“In a flying machine?”
“No. I was driving a Japanese horseless carriage called a Subaru.”
King scoffed. “Now, you’re just making things up.”
* * *
The next morning, the two men set out for the Governor’s office a little after nine. Since the distance was a short one, they elected to walk, leaving their horses stabled at the boarding house. Reno couldn’t help but notice the number of people all heading in the same direction as they were going. “I wonder what’s attracting such a crowd?”
“I don’t know,” King muttered, his eyes sweeping the streets and the buildings on either side. “I can’t get that photo you showed me out of my head. I look around and try to figure out how the change will happen.”
“Gradually, over time. Very little of what you see today will remain.” He chuckled and pointed in the direction they’d come. “Except for where we’re staying. In 2019, Scholtz Garten is the oldest remaining business in the city.”
“Huh! A German beer garten, you might know.” King shook his head in amazement.
The closer they came to their destination, the more people they encountered. “I do believe there’s some type of celebration going on at the capital.” As they drew near, King tapped a man on his shoulder. “Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me what’s the reason for the gathering?”
The man frowned. “You don’t know? Well, it’s the end of the world as we know it, son. They’ve just sworn in two black men to sit on the Texas Senate. Can you believe that?”
King didn’t respond, he just pushed ahead of the fellow. Reno followed close on his heels. “I hope this doesn’t interfere with our gaining an audience with the governor.”
“I hope not too,” King agreed. “Come on, let’s get closer.”
Once they were on the grounds of the capital building itself, the men could see a bandstand set up under one of the grand old oaks. Just like the frustrated man said, there were two black men dressed in fine suits standing on either side of Governor Pease. “Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce Matthew Gaines and George T. Ruby, members of the Texas Senate.”
“Well, this is an unexpected sight,” drawled King. “I honestly thought I’d never live to see the day.”
Reno leaned in to whisper in his Captain’s ear. “A black man will serve two terms as President beginning in 2008.”
King frowned. “What took so long?”
“I don’t know.” Reno shrugged as he watched the ceremony. “In some areas, progress is fast. In others, much too slow.”
“Reno! Reno Black!
Oh, my word! Is that you?”
An excited female voice caused both men wheel around to find a familiar woman staring at Reno with mouth agape.
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Talmadge. It’s me.” Reno doffed his hat, recognizing their neighbor’s sister. “How are you?” He couldn’t help but notice that King was backing up a few inches. Just a few months ago, this woman had her eye set on the Captain as future husband material.
“Well, I just might faint.” She fanned herself with a silk handkerchief. “I thought you were dead!”
“Yes. I am alive.” He cleared his throat and paraphrased a future Mark Twain, who wouldn’t write Tom Sawyer for another nine years. “I ran into some trouble, but news of my death was an unfortunate exaggeration.”
His calm observation did little to quell the woman’s excitement. “Oh, this is too wonderful. You won’t believe this, but I’m a journalist now. I work for the Daily State Gazette.” She turned, waved her hand, and began to appeal to an older gentleman who was taking photographs of the governor and his two honorees. “J.D.! You must come! I have another story for us!”
“Oh, no. No,” Reno tried to protest. “I don’t want a story written about me.”
King leaned over to whisper in his ear. “This could be an opportunity to get the truth of the Indian attacks out there.”
Reno swallowed his trepidation. He didn’t relish making up a story, especially one that would be recorded in the newspaper.
In a few moments, they were joined by the camera wielding photographer. Mavis beamed as she made the introductions. “J.D. Elliot is the owner of the newspaper. J.D., I’d like you to meet Kingston Ramsay and Reno Black. Kingston owns King’s Ransom, the large ranch near Packsaddle Mountain. Reno works for him. Originally from Tennessee, they served together in the Confederate Army.”
