The Admiral had decided to turn the trip into a family outing even though two of his three children were on their own – had been for six years in the case of his oldest daughter, four years in the case of his son. Only his thirteen-year-old remained at home, so she and her mother had come. Mrs. Harris chose not to wander in the woods with James and her husband, Wilson. However, her daughter was adventurous and wanted to be with her father. Mrs. Harris spread a blanket on the beach while the men, and Gracy explored the beach house.
“You think a German spy lived here, Daddy?”
“We’re pretty sure, Pumpkin.”
“And you think he talked to U-boats with the radio thing?”
“Most certainly.”
“Wow! Do you know what he looks like?”
“We’ve got photographs and Mr. Lamric knew him.”
“You did, Mr. Lamric? Wow! You knew him and didn’t know he was a spy? How come?”
James remembered laughing and then explaining to her how he looked just like everyone else, and who was going to suspect a doctor? The questions kept coming to the point that her father had to tell her to stop. By that time she had learned everything there was to learn, except for Anne Waring being a time traveler. They managed to leave it where Bronson wanted her because of some special knowledge she had.
James wondered when and how Gracy discovered the rest of the story; how she brought in her nephew and the Senator; and how she found Bronson, because that was certainly him. Sam Frick. He felt a touch on his arm and heard his name spoken. He opened his eyes to find Gracy and the woman who was there when he first awoke, Francine Frick.
“Gracy!”
“How are you feeling, James?”
“I feel fine. Ready to kick some butt, but they won’t let me out until tomorrow.”
“Probably for the best.”
James looked between the two women. “I have a thousand questions, but I don’t know what to ask first... How is Elizabeth Anne?”
“Other than mad most of the time at being handled by a bunch of strangers, and not having her mother, she’s perfectly fine. Steven has taken complete charge of her despite arguments from Robert. They almost went to fists over how to change her diaper.”
“Then Anne didn’t make it,” he said softly.
The women looked at each other.
“No, James, she didn’t,” Francine said. “We knew she wouldn’t.”
James closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them again upon Francine Frick. “Of course. Your husband would know, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, he would.”
“What else?”
The women looked at each other again.
“What else does he know?” he demanded. “What happened that night in 1943 when he kidnapped Anne? Where did he take her? What happened to her?”
“He took her out to the beach house, the one you and my father visited in ‘46. The intention was that the two of them would be picked up by a U-boat.”
James stared at Gracy. “Intention? What does that mean? Does it mean that’s not what happened?”
“It means, James,” Francine said, “it goes afoul. They won’t make it onto the U-boat.”
“What do you mean, ‘they won’t?’”
“It happens tonight, in 1943. At 2:00 a.m. Sam, or Nathaniel Bronson as you knew him then, will make contact with the U-boat and they will send a boat to pick them up. They will get right up along side the U-boat and then the boat captain will turn on them.”
A chill was already starting to build on the back of his neck, as though someone had touched him with an ice cube. “What do you mean, turned on them?” Gracy took his hand and he almost said he didn’t want to hear the rest. He clamped his teeth and stared at Francine.
“He gave an order and a sailor appeared with a gun and started shooting. The next thing Sam knew, they were both in the water. Apparently Anne saw it coming before he did and dove over the side of the boat, taking him with her. He got away, but he never saw her again. He watched the German crew search for a while but never saw them pick her up. He is positive she was shot as she went over the side.”
James could feel the strong beat of his heart and the continuous beep... beep of the monitor. It could just stop now and I wouldn’t care, and for a few seconds he willed it so. But, it kept on.
Beep... beep... beep …
“She sent Elizabeth Anne home first. She sacrificed herself for her daughter.”
Beep... beep... beep …
“Elizabeth will have a lot of love and will always have the best,” Gracy continued. “Sam is setting up a trust in her name.”
“Guilt money!” James’ anger rose in him with the words, but the rhythm of the heart monitor picked up only slightly. “Guilt money! If I were Steven, I’d tell him to keep his damn money. She’s dead and he managed somehow to come out of it unscathed. And after 44 years do you think a few thousand dollars is going to squelch his guilt? I’d tell him to shove it and then turn him over to that group searching out Nazis.”
“He is not a Nazi!” Francine’s jaw clenched tight and she hissed through her teeth. “He is as American as you.”
James grimaced at her. “With all due respect to you, Mrs. Frick, he was a spy. An American doctor who committed treason upon his country. If I’m not mistaken, in a time of war, that’s the death penalty.”
Francine’s jaws clenched even tighter.
Gracy said, “Yes, he has carried that guilt for 44 years; but it’s not guilt that drives him to set up the trust.” She looked at Francine. “Actually, he and Francine are setting that up together.”
Francine took a deep breath and relaxed her jaws. “I have no guilt, James. I’ve no reason to feel guilty. Sam and I both give the money into the trust out of pure and simple love. We cannot feel guilty over what is meant to happen, although, yes, Sam carries a lot of it; but nothing he has done is because of it.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
Francine glanced at Gracy and then looked back at him. “I guess there’s no other way to say it. Elizabeth Anne is our great-granddaughter.”
James could only blink back at her.
“Anne’s mother was our daughter.”
“In other words, James,” Gracy said, “Nathaniel Bronson was Anne’s grandfather.”
Chapter 67
Saturday ~ November 13, 1943
Anne spent most of the night drifting into sleep and then jerking awake, away from the nightmares. With her wrist connected to the bedpost by James’ handcuffs, a comfortable sleep position was difficult. When she could sleep, the nightmare would begin. It would start with her running with Elizabeth Anne down a winding path in the woods, something behind, something chasing her. Bushes and tree limbs caught at her clothes, making tears. She sensed the woods were trying to grab Elizabeth Anne from her. She held her tighter and kept running because the fear of what was pursuing her was even worse. And then she could see a clearing ahead, a large meadow of tall grass, waving in the wind. As she broke free of the woods, the last bush of brambles ripping hard at the blanket wrapped around Elizabeth Anne, Anne saw a table of sorts, like a marble sacrificial altar, standing in the middle of the field of grass. She rushed toward it, pushing through the grass, knowing she had little time before her pursuer broke from the woods as well. And then she was at the altar hesitating... hesitating, then laying Elizabeth Anne upon it, feeling the growing presence of her pursuer bearing down upon her. Apprehensively, she stepped away and as she did, Elizabeth Anne began drifting up, like a hot air balloon, up and up, becoming both smaller and transparent until suddenly she was gone. And in that blink of an eye when Elizabeth Anne disappeared, and Anne was standing in the tall grass, her arms extended up to the heavens, the monster that had chased her and forced her to give up her baby, like a sacrifice to the Gods, grabbed her arm, pinching her wrist until it hurt. Then she would awake, breathing hard, sweating, and straining against the handcuffs. She would kick off the bedclothes
and lay on her back until her heart rate slowed and she turned cold. She would then slide back under the warmth of the covers. After the second round of dreams she was afraid to sleep again. She never had repeating dreams before; now the repeating nightmares scared her. After some time, despite her efforts, she drifted again into sleep. This time, however, she forced herself awake in the middle of the woods, choking and gasping, fighting against the bushes and then the bedclothes and the handcuffs.
As dawn started breaking and light filtered into the one-room beach house, Anne looked at the abrasions around her wrist. The skin was broken and bleeding in several places. She knew she couldn’t spend another night like this. He would have to do something different. She laid back and thought about the dream.
She wondered if she had done the right thing, sending Elizabeth Anne. Did she doom her daughter to be forever drifting in some nowhere land between nineteen forty-three and nineteen eighty-seven? Or worse yet – to death? She knew she could not go on living, not knowing. She had to find out or die trying.
But how?
The plan had been to attempt the transfer on November 12. Seven o’clock. If unsuccessful a second attempt would be made twenty-four hours later, to allow time to analyze why the attempt failed and make whatever corrections necessary. If the second attempt failed then another would take place, another twenty-four hours later.
Anne began thinking through the logic, the what-ifs.
What if Elizabeth Anne didn’t make it? If so, Steven would only think that they weren’t ready or he had equipment problems. He would try at least twice more.
What if Elizabeth Anne did make it? Steven would have no choice but to try again, not knowing why she didn’t come through with their daughter. In either case, she still had a chance. Somehow she would have to be there, in the graveyard, either tonight or tomorrow night.
She looked at the handcuffs in the still dim light and wondered, then looked around for a tool.
Anne heard a thump at the door. She came to a sitting position on the bed. She was hungry and hoped he brought decent food. He had been gentle and kind earlier in the morning, coming in just after sunrise, apologizing for not having anything for her, doctoring the cuts and abrasions on her wrist and tending to her swollen ankle. He then asked her to turn away while he changed clothes. When she turned around, he was a completely different character in bib overalls over a worn dark gray long sleeve shirt and black work boots. An old floppy hat made of soft cowhide and a shadow of a beard topped off the look of a southern farmer. He put on a soiled wool coat with ragged holes in the elbows, and then left, saying he would be back with provisions in a couple hours.
In her waiting she tried picking the lock on the handcuffs with a sliver of wood, the only thing she could find. Then she analyzed the bed frame to see if it could be taken apart. It didn’t look simple. Then she just sat or lay, and waited.
One more thump and the door pushed open. The sun’s rays poured in around his form. The light seemed to wrap around him as he ducked through the door. A contrast of light and shadow rippled across his face, around his nose and eyes, accentuating his wrinkles and slightly sunken cheeks. Apparently, he hadn’t washed since the scuffle with James. Anne had noticed that earlier, curious that a doctor would not automatically have the need to be clean and sterile. Now she understood why. It was part of his new disguise. Obviously he was concerned about a search for him and he needed to not be recognizable. It was very effective. It made him look older and more work-worn, like a totally different person, like another person she knew. He straightened to his full height, took off his hat and turned to look at her.
The recognition that had been eluding her since that day in July when he delivered Elizabeth Anne, suddenly came to her, like an unexpected gust of cold air. Goose flesh ran up and down her body. She knew him, even though she had never met him. She knew his face now, clear as yesterday, clear as the photographs she had seen of him many times.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, still standing in front of the doorway, staring back at her.
And as the chill fell off she understood the possibilities. But she needed time to think it through, to figure it out. Her jaw was hanging slack and she realized she was holding her breath. She closed her mouth, shook her head. “Nothing, nothing. You just startled me.”
Bronson knew she was lying. She masked it quickly but not quick enough. “Ah,” he said and then started to move to the table with the box he was carrying. He stopped and looked at her again. She smiled at him.
“Did you bring food?” she said too fast.
Bronson continued on, set the box down then returned to check her handcuffs. Something was different but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. “I’ve got some bread, meat, fresh vegetables, and water. Oh! And some butter as well.”
“Sounds delicious,” she said with a fake cheer in her voice. He could not only see it but he could feel it. She was tense, nervous. She seemed to avoid his eyes, and then he would catch her staring at him, into him. Maybe it was his own nervousness. There was already a new, renewed search for him, photographs posted like wanted posters. Not long though. Tonight he would hear from the U-boat.
Anne ate quietly for a while, her mind racing, trying to figure what to do. She had sat and watched him prepare the food. He was smooth with his hands, as you would expect any good doctor to be, and a good doctor he was. She had to not forget that. She tried to recall everything she knew about him, but there wasn’t much. Just some photographs and a few unexciting stories. But those stories didn’t have him as being a doctor. He wasn’t even in medicine. He was in law enforcement, a sheriff in Illinois, but retired of course, and old. Forty-four years older, putting him in his middle seventies, at least. The pictures she remembered of him were such that he was in his sixties when they were taken. She studied his face again to be certain she wasn’t wrong.
She wasn’t.
She was certain she wasn’t.
“What are you planning to do with me?”
He looked at her and then returned to his own food, unresponsive.
“What good am I going to be to Germany?”
He continued to ignore her.
“Even if I could reveal everything I know, right now, today, it would be too late. We are years ahead of you. All it would do is kill more people, most of who would be your own countrymen. In the end, Germany and Japan will still be defeated.”
He looked up at her.
“I can’t change history, Nathaniel, even if I wanted to.” She was certain of that. She ran through the scenarios, over and over again, the what-ifs. She had done that all morning, but now with this revelation, with the knowledge of who he was, who he would become... that would change everything. At least she was pretty sure it would change everything. “Let me tell you the way it is. Germany and the Axis will go down in defeat. That’s history. Can’t be changed. But it’s not a bad thing for Germany. It would have been a bad thing if they were not defeated. Adolf Hitler would not have stopped until he pillaged and conquered the world. Do you think that’s really possible? To conquer the world? No, it isn’t. History has proven that, but in his trying to do so, many people will die. As it’s in the history I know, the death toll from this war will be in the multi-millions. You and I fooling around with it will only make it worse.”
Bronson still didn’t say anything but he was no longer trying to ignore her either. She turned more toward him. “Right now, Hitler is working at developing the same weapon we are, except that we’re about two years ahead. As a matter of fact, Germany will scrap the atomic bomb project before long because Hitler will see no future in it. That’s history, Nathaniel. No matter what you or I do, it can’t be changed.” She reached her empty plate to the table and then sat back down, close to the headboard where she could adjust the handcuffs around her sore wrist.
“But, let’s suppose. Let’s just suppose history can be altered. We’ll ignore the fact that for me to even be here, history will h
ave to continue exactly as written.
“Let’s suppose I became completely cooperative and wrote down every last thing I know about nuclear science and the atom bomb. Even with all that, it would take a year or more for Germany to get to where the United States is now. It’ll not change the progress of the war. They’ll not have it even close to ready to use against us. As a matter of fact, even we will not have it ready before Germany surrenders.”
Bronson turned away from her, like a little kid not liking his mother’s lecture.
“Maybe you don’t like that word, ‘Surrender’, Nathaniel, but what that means is that Germany will be beat on the ground, using conventional warfare. This weapon will not be used against them, something for which you need to be grateful. And I’m going to tell you why you need to be grateful.”
Apparently, Bronson didn’t want to hear it. He stood and glared at her then walked out the door.
Anne didn’t know what she was going to say. She agonized over it all morning before deciding to give him some graphic details, some what-ifs that would result in the death of even more of his own people. That had to be important to him, she was sure. German spy was just a title, but deep down she knew he was kind and gentle, truly caring, as a doctor should be. She prayed she wasn’t wrong.
But he walked out and she was left to agonize some more.
He was gone an hour, maybe two. Anne had no way of knowing for sure. She watched the movement of sunlight spilling through the window and wondered how she could construct a sundial on the floor. She visually mapped out an area, using a table leg, a piece of wood and a mark in the floor to define the hours, but after a while she got bored. There was no point in any case. Not like she had an appointment in the afternoon. But when she got bored her mind went to Elizabeth Anne and she got depressed. She would pull herself out of the depression by trying to come up with a plan to escape and get to the Casey Graveyard by 7:00 tomorrow night. She stood and looked at the bed.
Time-Travel Duo Page 51
