by Cathy Peper
Time Rebound
By Cathy Peper
Glue Sticks and Gemstones
St. Peters, MO
Copyright © 2018 by Cathy Peper
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Cathy Peper/Gluesticks and Gemstones
www.cathy peper.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2018 BookDesignTemplates.com
Time Rebound/Cathy Peper. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-946548-03-0
For Carl, my husband, my love.
We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance.
Harrison Ford
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Chapter 1
After months of shaking the earth was still. Bryce lifted his head. The sun fought to shine through the cloud cover, casting its murky light upon the ground. Cold tinged the air, but less intense than the cold he had left back in 1812. He guessed it was still winter, perhaps even still January, but if he had traveled to Victoria’s time, as he hoped, he was about two hundred years in the future. The road he followed stretched before him in perfect undulating waves allowing the modern carriages to hurtle past at speeds he would never have thought possible. Had roads such as these existed in his time, his family could have done ten times the business it did. Maybe more. He recalled the painful crawl of his keelboat as he and his men dragged it up the river, inch by excruciating inch. Even going downriver, floating with the current, seemed slow compared to these strange objects.
A horn blared, startling him so he nearly stumbled into the road. The vehicle tore alongside him and his heart thumped in his chest as the wind rushed past his body. He’d seen people crushed beneath the hooves of horses and the wheels of carriages and guessed the damage would be even worse if he were struck by one of these horseless varieties. He stepped farther from the road, sticking close to the scrub grass, and his gaze swept the barren landscape. Where had all the trees gone? Where were the animals? He saw only gently rolling hills clear of almost all life and the road relentlessly pulling forward.
A large vehicle with a flat open area in the back that reminded Bryce of a wagon, pulled over and stopped. Bryce fingered his gun as he approached. The front part of the vehicle was enclosed with windows made of glass on both the side and front. When Bryce drew near, the window nearest him dropped down into its gutter seemingly by magic. A man sat on the far side of the bench, but his hands remained on the round, wheel-shaped object in front of him. Bryce could not imagine how he had opened the window but suspected he must have.
“Good day, sir,” Bryce said, nodding his head.
The man grinned. He wore blue breeches and a Scottish looking shirt with a heavy coat thrown over it. “Thought you might like a ride. Cold day for a walk.”
Bryce returned the man’s smile. “Thank you kindly. I would appreciate it.” He was more scared than he wanted to admit to step inside the metal box, but it would save time. Did the man mean for him to sit within the enclosed section or in the wagon bed? There was plenty of room on the bench, but Bryce didn’t see how to enter the space except through the window, which would be quite awkward. So he placed his hand on the metal rim and prepared to haul himself into the bed.
“You can sit up here with me,” the man said. “You’re not crazy, right?”
Crazy, no, but definitely in unfamiliar territory. He wished he’d had more time to talk to Victoria about her world. He stared at the sheet of metal in front of him. A handle was nestled within the frame. He grasped it and pulled. Nothing.
The man gave him a puzzled look. “Lift it up.”
Feeling stupid, Bryce lifted the handle and pulled again. This time the door swung open and he stepped up and took a seat. Slamming the door closed proved much simpler than opening it.
The man turned the wheel and they shot back out onto the road. Bryce studied him carefully. The wheel appeared to control the direction they were going, but he wasn’t sure how the big box was propelled. There were many unusual items in front of the wheel. Gages, buttons, and knobs intrigued him even as they taunted him with his ignorance. The man seemed mostly concerned with the wheel, but he was also pushing a pedal with his foot. This must be how he moved them forward, though the details were still unclear.
“So, what were you doing out on the road? Hitchhiking?”
Bryce grunted, not knowing the meaning of the word.
“Girlfriend throw you out of the car?” The man chuckled as if he found the idea funny. “I’m Jim Hitchcock.”
Bryce opened his mouth, but instead of saying “Bob Rivers”, as he had intended, he answered truthfully. “Bryce Poole.”
“Nice to meet you, Bryce. Now you don’t have to tell me what you’re doing out in the middle of nowhere if you don’t want to, but it might ease my mind a tad. Just so you know, I have a license to carry.”
Bryce could barely decipher Hitchcock’s English. He hadn’t spent a lot of time with Victoria but noticed a similarity with their speech patterns. “I was out hunting,” he said, wondering whether people still hunted in this time. They needed to eat, but he’d seen little in the way of wildlife in the miles he’d walked since the time jump.
“Did you get lost? Where’s your vehicle?”
Bryce bristled at the possibility he could have gotten lost. “I had just made camp when I was set upon by outlaws. They stole my…car.” Just in time, he recalled the word Hitchcock had used earlier.
Hitchcock slammed the palm of his hand onto the wheel. “Well, ain’t that something. Seems a man can’t even go hunting anymore without getting in a spot of trouble. Think they were after money for drugs?”
“They took my money, but I have a few valuables in my pack. Could you take me to a place where I can sell them?”
“We’ll pull off at the next exit with a town and you can report the crime to the police. Whether or not there’s a pawn shop probably depends on how big the town is.”
Bryce didn’t want to get involved with the police. “No need to go to the police. It was dark and I didn’t see their faces. I wouldn’t be able to recognize them if I saw them again.”
“You’ll need a police report to get money for your car from the insurance company.”
Once again, Bryce was in over his head. “Fine. I will speak to the police.”
Hitchcock leveled a look at him. “You weren’t doing something illegal yourself, were you? Hunting out of season, perhaps? I don’t hunt myself, but if I remember correctly, deer hunting is in the fall.”
“I wasn’t hunting deer,” Bryce said, puzzled at the concept of hunting seasons. Apparentl
y, lots of additional laws could be passed in two hundred years. “I appreciate the ride, but you can just drop me off at the next settlement.” He wondered where that would be. They had been miles from any sizable town back in 1812, but he had seen so many cars while walking along the road. They all had to be going somewhere. Quickly, too. At first, he’d felt nauseated by the sight of the world streaming by in his window, but he’d already grown accustomed to it.
“New Madrid would be closest.”
The last time Bryce had been in New Madrid was the day of the first big earthquake—over two hundred years ago in the present time—or so he hoped. He remembered casting off from the town in the middle of the night as the stench of sulfur filled the air and the land tried to rip itself apart. He hadn’t gone back, but his fellow keelboater, Sebastien, had reported the town received significant damage. Good to hear the town had survived. “New Madrid will be fine. I visited there a long time ago.” He wanted to ask Hitchcock the date but feared to raise the man’s suspicions even higher.
“New Madrid it is.” Hitchcock fiddled with one of the knobs on the board in front of them and to Bryce’s shock, music suddenly filled the interior of the car. “Hope you’re okay with country music, though you could talk me into some rock ‘n roll.”
“Country is fine.” After a few minutes, he decided he’d even spoken the truth. The music was unlike the melodies of his day, but not wildly different.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Of course not.” Why bother to ask? He was a guest in Hitchcock’s car. His eyes widened, however, when the man pushed another knob on the car and fiddled with a small box, paying little or no attention to the road as he extracted a thin white stick from the container.
“Want one?” Hitchcock tossed the box onto Bryce’s lap. “Nasty habit, but I just can’t seem to quit.”
Bryce smoked on occasion. Tobacco was one of the many commodities his family traded in and he found it relaxing. He had never allowed himself to become addicted to the substance, however. Curious, he pulled out one of the sticks and examined it. It wasn’t that different from the rolled tobacco he had smoked in the past. “Thank you.” He watched the other man insert the tobacco tube into his mouth, pull the knob from the car and touch it to the tobacco. Hitchcock handed the metal knob to him and Bryce saw that center of the cylinder was red-hot. He mimicked Hitchcock’s actions and inhaled deeply. His lungs filled with the satisfying and familiar sensation.
“Been awhile?”
Bryce glanced over at Hitchcock who was eying him speculatively. “Haven’t had a smoke in months,” he replied.
“Shouldn’t have tempted you then. It’s so damn hard to quit.”
Bryce took another drag. “It’s just a matter of discipline.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve never had much willpower.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, Bryce happy to no longer be under Hitchcock’s scrutiny. At least the other man kept his attention on the road. How on earth did he operate his car if he barely paid it any heed?
“Where you from?” Hitchcock asked once the silence began to drag.
“Virginia, originally, but I’ve been working on the river the last few years.”
“What do you do on the river? Barge work?”
“Mostly,” Bryce said. After seeing the New Orleans, the first steamboat to tackle the Mississippi, on his last voyage down the big river, Bryce guessed that steamboats would soon take over the waterways. Soon, in his time, and surely well established by this time. Hitchcock had said barges, however, and Bryce took the safe option.
“I’m from Arkansas, myself, but I’m headed up to Iowa.”
Bryce grunted, never having heard of either place. Then, thinking something else might be expected of him, added, “Do you have business up in Iowa?”
“No, family. You got any family?”
“They’re all gone now.” Bryce’s chest tightened as he spoke the words. His mother had died several years ago, but his father had been alive—and angry—the last time they spoke. He had no siblings, and Ari and the baby had died together. As always, grief and rage bubbled up at the memory of his sweetheart. Perhaps he should have killed Sebastien when he had the chance. No, it was in the past, the very distant past, now.
“Sorry to hear that, Bryce. Family is what’s important.”
“I’ve probably got some cousins, somewhere, but no close relatives.” Back in the nineteenth century, he had an uncle and some cousins over in England. They had probably left descendants, some of whom may have even come to America.
Hitchcock began to talk about sports teams. Bryce feigned a mild interest, but claimed not to be an enthusiast so he wouldn’t get dragged into discussions about teams, games, and even plays he knew nothing about.
“New Madrid is the next exit,” Hitchcock said after a period of silence. He seemed to have exhausted his store of sports knowledge.
“I appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.” Hitchcock pulled off the main road onto a smaller one. The material the road was made from changed, but to Bryce’s surprise, it was still smooth, hard and easy to drive on. He had half expected to find familiar dirt roads once they left the main thoroughfare. “Shouldn’t be hard to find the police department in a small town like this.”
Small? The town Bryce saw was larger than the one he had known. What would he find if he went to St. Louis or his hometown of Williamsburg, Virginia?
“Here we go.” Hitchcock pulled up in front of a block-shaped building. “Sure you’re going to be all right?”
“Of course. Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Hitchcock.”
“Call me Jim. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. He flipped it open and pulled out a card. “Call me if you need help. I know you said you weren’t lost, but you seem a bit lost to me, son.”
Bryce took the card. It read “James Hitchcock” across the top and underneath was an address and a number for a cell phone, whatever that was. “You have been most kind.” He worked the latch to open the door without trouble this time and stepped out of the car. Feeling Jim’s eyes on him, he walked into the police department. A uniformed man sat at a desk, but there was also a lobby area. Fliers were pinned to rectangular areas and he wandered over to gaze at them. He was killing time until he could slip back out of the station, sure that Jim would be gone, but found himself interested in the wide variety of things posted. There were a few blurry images of individuals wanted for a crime as well as many other announcements ranging from self-defense classes, to a spaghetti dinner raising money to support a local charity. Bryce had never heard of spaghetti but was even more stunned at the cost of attendance. It must only be for the wealthy…or things were far more expensive in the future than he had anticipated.
To his relief, the man at the desk paid little attention to him and after a few moments, he walked out of the police station and down the street. There weren’t many people out, but the ones he saw were strangely dressed, many sporting puffy coats similar to the one worn by Victoria. A few of the people he passed didn’t seem dressed at all for the weather, but they usually darted quickly into another shop or into their cars. To his shock, both men and women wore trousers. Victoria had not been so scandalously clad when Sebastien pulled her from the river.
Bryce studied the shops. Some sold clothes, others offered food and drink and one appeared to sell only candles. Finally, he found a place labeled “antique store.” As he pulled the door open, a bell rang. The shelves were filled with decorative items, and tables, chairs and other pieces of furniture littered the floor.
A woman wearing trousers greeted him. “Can I help you?”
Bryce could barely take his eyes off her legs, even though they were covered in a strange blue material. With an effort, he dragged his gaze to her face. She was middle-aged, but attractive, with shoulder length dark hair and a warm smile. “I have some old coins to sell. Would you be interested?”
“We do
n’t usually buy from customers, but let me see what you have. I’m always on the hunt for something special.” She walked back to a counter made of glass, displaying several items of jewelry. Bryce followed.
Pulling the coins from his pocket, he laid them on the counter. He had more in his bag but wanted to see what these would bring first.
The woman twisted a knob on the lantern-like object sitting on the edge of the counter and it immediately blossomed with light. She took a magnifying glass out of a drawer and inspected the coins. “Wow,” she said and looked up at him. “These are remarkably well preserved for their age. Where did you get them?”
“They’ve been in my family for years.”
“They look genuine to me, but I’m not an expert.” She pulled another object from the drawer, flat and rectangular with a dark, shiny surface. She touched the object and it also lit up. Her fingers danced across it, moving too quickly for him to follow, but to his astonishment, images and words began to appear as if by magic. “They could be quite valuable. I would like to have an expert look at them before making any decisions.”
“I was hoping for an immediate sale. Do you know of another shop that might be interested?”
The woman bit her lip. “Tell you what. I’ll buy one now and show it to someone I know. If they’re real, I would be willing to buy the whole set. A pawn shop would probably take them, but you’ll get a better deal from me.”
“Very well.”
She showed him the coin she had been studying under the magnifying glass. “I’ll give you four hundred dollars for this one.”
Bryce disguised his gasp as a cough, but then he recalled the price of the charity dinner. While it seemed a fortune, four hundred dollars might not last long in this time. “I accept,” he said, sliding the remaining coins back into his pocket. The woman wrote up the sale in a ledger.
“Like I said, I will have this checked out and if it’s genuine, I would be happy to purchase them all.”
