Inherit the Past

by Susan Finlay

  “I think so. You can ask.”

  Karl yelled out: “Birgitta will drive the carriage. Ryan, Max, and I will ride horseback.”

  “I don’t think I should ride on horseback,” Ryan said. “Maybe I can drive the carriage instead.”

  “Nein. Birgitta drive. She knows the roads.” Karl turned to Sofie. “Can you ride horse?”

  She nodded.

  “Then boy ride inside, and Sofie ride horse. But Ryan, do not distract Birgitta.”

  Max said, “Do you have any kind of map?”

  Karl nodded. “Under the seat. Not much good, this map, but maybe help. Fortunately, I am familiar with much of the area because I travel for selling my clocks.”

  Tobias walked up to Karl and said, “I was wondering something . . . well, can I call you Gramps, too?”

  Karl looked down at the boy. Max hoped Karl would be nice to him even though he wasn’t his great-grandson.

  “I would be honored, Tobias.”

  Max lifted Tobias up and set him inside the carriage, then helped Sofie onto her horse before mounting his own. God, he hadn’t ridden a horse in years. He hoped he wouldn’t be too sore from riding. Forget sore, he hoped he wouldn’t fall off and make an ass of himself in front of everyone. He had double checked the horse’s cinch before mounting to make sure it was secure. He knew at least that much. But his mount kind of looked like a barrel horse. If it was, the cinch might be secure, but the saddle could still unexpectedly slide to the side of the horse, flipping the rider off, or worse, if his foot got caught in the stirrup dragging the rider under the horse, spooking the horse and potentially getting oneself trampled. Please, please don’t let that happen!

  Birgitta had meanwhile climbed aboard the carriage and snapped the reins, lurching it forward. As the carriage began rattling along the cobbled road, leaving the clock shop behind, Max glanced backwards.

  Birgitta was sitting alone on the bench. Tobias and the two teenagers were inside, where he couldn’t see them. Hmm. Might not be the best idea letting those two teenagers ride together. Maybe I should talk to Gramps. He squinted his eyes a moment. Something was bothering him. Wait a minute. Birgitta sitting alone? Uh, where was Lotte? Was she inside the carriage? He hadn’t seen her get in. He turned his mount to the side to look behind the carriage as it drove by. Good grief. Lotte was running behind them and waving her hands, looking frantic and out of breath. She stopped and yelled out something he didn’t understand, but could pretty much guess the meaning. Karl apparently heard her demands, too, because he stopped his mount, and yelled to Birgitta to halt the carriage.

  Lotte trudged up to the carriage, breathing heavily from exertion, and waved her hand in an angry gesture at Birgitta. Max got off his horse and helped her up onto the bench next to Birgitta. The women glared at each other, Birgitta huffed and snickered, then yanked on the reins, encouraging the horses forward.

  They left through a town gate that Max didn’t recognize, and the cobble road immediately changed to dirt and ruts. It was in worse condition than the one they’d walked on during their first night here.

  Karl had told him that the roads here in Bavaria were far better than the roads in the northern states, but that he’d heard all of them were worse than in England. England was supposedly years ahead of them in everything from fashion to construction. Throughout the day’s ride, the road grew congested with wagons, carriages of various types, horseback riders, and pedestrians. Some of the carriages were exquisite, which Max assumed meant they were carrying the elite travelers, perhaps even royalty. The congestion slowed their already snail’s pace, and Max was becoming doubtful they’d make it back to Riesen before winter set in, considering the nearby Alps. He remembered old western television series and movies where wagon trains crossing America got stuck in or near the Rocky Mountains at the start of winter and had to camp until the spring thaw. His musings drifted to stories of the Donner wagon train. He shuddered. Best not to dwell on that outcome.

  By nightfall, the congestion had dissipated as travelers reached their destinations or stopped for a meal or drink at one of the roadside taverns or for a night at an inn, which Max learned was called a gasthof here in Bavaria. Max sighed as he watched those lucky travelers. Karl had told the group upfront that he was saving his money for any emergency they might encounter, which left them only one option: camping on the side of the road. Not that it made the reality any better, but they weren’t the only ones camping. Max couldn’t decide if there was safety in numbers, or if the other campers themselves posed the greater threat.

  On their second morning, as they were preparing to leave their campsite, Max suggested to Karl that it might be wise to separate the two teenagers, but they both rebelled vehemently when Karl tried. Anneliese pleaded with Karl and rubbed her eyes as if she was going to cry. Karl gave in. Birgitta tut-tutted, shaking her head, and walked away. It was then that Max realized the girl, Anneliese, could manipulate Karl. Max decided she was another one to watch.

  Every day of travel soon blended into the next, becoming a mind-numbing routine. Sometimes they would trade places in the carriage and on horseback, but that was the extent of variation. Max knew eventually he would have to take a turn driving the carriage, but thus far, no one had mentioned it. His first day in the saddle was pure agony on his poor backside and chaffed legs. By the third day, however, he decided he was either acclimated, or his ass was totally numb and broken beyond repair.

  The smell surprised Max, constantly assaulting his nostrils, usually ranging from unpleasant to downright disgusting. History books conveniently left out that little detail. As if life on the road wasn’t bad enough, he began noticing odd looks passing between Gramps, Lotte, and Birgitta. Yesterday, he’d overhead a snippet of what sounded like an argument between the two women. Of course, he couldn’t understand what they’d said. Too bad Sofie or Tobias hadn’t been nearby to translate. A few times he noticed Gramps heading towards Lotte, but when she saw him, she slipped away. Max had asked Gramps about it. He merely shrugged.

  This morning at their campsite, Gramps and Birgitta were whispering together for a few minutes, while everyone else was preparing for their day’s travel to resume. Then Gramps gathered everyone into the carriage. Once the passengers were aboard, he climbed onto the bench beside Lotte and motioned Birgitta to get onto his horse. Her expression was lethal.

  Max, sitting on his horse, leaned toward Sofie who was also on horseback and asked, “What do you think the switch is about?”

  “I have no idea and I’m not going to ask.”

  LOTTE STARED AT the rutted road ahead from her seat next to Karl, her arms crossed and her lips pressed firmly together. If her legs were not swollen and painful from varicose veins, she would jump off the carriage and walk rather than get questioned by Karl again. Damned old man. He had cornered her the day before and asked her what she was doing here. She had told him what had happened, but he didn’t believe her. She gave him a sideways glance. Hmmph. Why does he think asking me the same questions again and again will get him different answers?

  He slowed the horses and waved his arm. “Why did you come to this time period? You knew about the portal.”

  Staring straight ahead again, she said, “I told you. I did not come on purpose. Vikktor made me promise to keep Sofie away from that house. I was doing fine until your pushy grandson showed up.”

  “You let them go there.”

  “I tried to stop them. They would not listen. They are both stubborn.”

  “You followed them into the cellar and through the portal. You are not stupid. You knew what would happen.”

  She pursed her mouth. What an Esel! Turning to glare at him, she said, “The males, including Tobias, had already gone through while we were distracted.” She did not tell him that a spider web had scared them. He would have gotten a laugh out of that. “I tried to keep Sofie from following them, but what could I do? She is Tobias’s mother and nothing I could say would keep her from searchin
g for her little boy.”

  Karl stared straight ahead, watching as another carriage going the opposite direction veered too close and agitated his horses. Once the horses settled, he said, “Where is Vikktor now? Does he know?”

  “How the hell would I know? If I knew how to find him in this time period, I would have done it and got him to send us back to the twenty-first century. Vikktor always plays it cagey. He gets messages to me once in a while, but I do not see him. He travels around Germany, France, and England under his false identities and then takes off again through his portal, wherever the hell it is. You already know that. He told me so.”

  Karl grunted.

  “Vikktor used to go through the portal in Margrit’s house, but somehow he had found another one that was easier to get to.”

  Karl’s shoulders tensed up. “Another portal? Where is this other portal?”

  “I do not know. Why ask me about Vikktor? You probably know more about his dealings than I do.” He did not respond. Damn, him. She had tried to get information from him on two other occasions they had spoken in private, but Karl would not talk. “What do you know about Vikktor?” she asked.

  Karl shifted the reins to his other hand and glanced at Lotte. “He told me he communicates with you regularly.”

  “He tells me nothing.” She pouted a moment and did not say anything more. Suddenly, the impact of Karl’s words hit her: He told me. “Then you have seen him. When was the last time, and where?”

  Karl sighed and glanced at her again. “He is secretive. At least with me. I figured he would tell you more, being as you are his sister. He tells me very little, and yet he expects me to help him whenever he asks.”

  “Do you help him?” She turned and stared at Karl. His chin jutted out. “What does he have you do? What is he up to?”

  Silence.

  Her anger boiled beneath the surface. “Well, if you want to be that way, then I guess I will have to have a talk with Sofie. I am sure she would be interested in knowing a bit about her family’s past. But then, Vikktor and I are not really her family, are we? I wonder what she would say about that.”

  He turned and glared at her. “You would not do that to Sofie. Do you care nothing about her and her son?”

  “Of course I care. But I am not going to spend the rest of my days here.” She waved her arm and snorted. “Margrit did not want to, either. Maybe your grandson would want to know about that bit of his family’s history, too. What would Max say if he knew Birgitta was his great-aunt?”

  Karl and Lotte both looked straight ahead at the horseback riders. Max looked over his shoulder at them, oblivious to the secrets. Lotte was tempted to motion for him and get him to come to the carriage. Instead, she turned around as far as she could and looked through the window of the carriage at the two teenagers sitting side-by-side across from Tobias, their fingers intertwined. It had not taken them long to get cozy.

  Lotte turned back around.

  Karl said, “You old hag. I do not know why I ever got involved with you. Margrit, for all her strange ways, was a better woman and wife than you could ever be.”

  “Hah. You have lost your memory, or maybe you have somehow convinced yourself that she was a good wife, but I will remind you it was not my idea to get rid of you. It was hers.”

  Karl suddenly yanked the horse-reins, causing the horses to speed up their pace. Lotte grabbed hold of the bench to keep herself from tumbling overboard.

  AFTER SEVERAL DAYS of grueling travel and uncomfortable nights sleeping alongside the road, usually in heavily treed areas, Max sat at the helm of the carriage. He hoped he wouldn’t wreck the darn thing. Karl gave him a couple brief instructions, and moments later the vehicle lurched forward, rumbling and rocking from side to side, reminding Max of the boat ride he and his family had taken to Catalina Island in Southern California years ago. Half the passengers had rapidly become seasick, including his two ten-year-old kids. The sensory memory of the sounds and ocean smells that had filled the crowded cabin made him shiver again for a second. He shook his head and tried to push the thoughts away, without any luck.

  As they had disembarked onto Catalina Island, he had complained to his wife about the miserable and lengthy boat ride, while his wife tried to comfort the children. She turned and told him to stop complaining. “The ride was less than thirty miles, and you didn’t even get sick. Can’t you ever think about anyone but yourself?” He’d argued that she was wrong. The boat ride was much longer than that. She’d pulled a brochure out of her purse, handed it to him, pointing to the statement that showed the trip being twenty-six miles, proving her right. As if that weren’t annoying enough, she’d descended into one of her silent-treatment episodes. Max pulled himself away from that memory.

  Birgitta sat next to him on the bench. Karl had finally made Ryan ride a horse, separating him from Anneliese, and the boy was sulking and not speaking to anyone because of it. Other days, Tobias had taken to riding on horseback with Karl or Sofie, while most of the time Lotte was inside the carriage with Anneliese.

  Max hadn’t complained about driving, and he wouldn’t, but why couldn’t his grandfather have let Sofie ride with him? At least she and Max could speak the same language. Max sighed and tried unsuccessfully to make conversation with Birgitta. He’d picked up a few German words and she’d picked up a couple of English words. Mostly, though, they were relegated to motioning to things. Birgitta would point out a squirrel and say ‘Eichhörnchen’ and he would say ‘Squirrel’. Most of the time, Max watched the riders ahead of them and wondered what Gramps and Sofie talked about. It was obvious by the way they were waving their arms and turning their heads that they were talking and getting to know one another. Max chided himself for feeling jealous.

  That evening Max stopped in a lovely spot next to a lake surrounded by pine trees, the shore peppered in wildflowers. He’d driven the team all day and was determined to pick the camping spot, regardless what his grandfather said. The peaceful setting might help him relax and finally let him get the good night’s rest he needed. Karl grumbled about the choice, but gave in and built a campfire. As Max, Sofie, Birgitta, and the boys sat around the campfire talking, his grandfather and Lotte disappeared into the woods. Birgitta pretended to listen to the fireside conversation, but it was obvious she was elsewhere, barely saying a word and sitting with her mouth pursed most of the time until they returned. When they did return, all three of the elders said nothing for the rest of the evening. When they retired for the night, Max tossed and turned, his sleep filled with disturbing dreams about secrets and lies.

  In the morning his knee joints cracked when he stood up to stretch. The air was cool and damp, and the sky was clouded over. When he moved his head, sharp pains stabbed him in the neck. He tried self-massage, but that only seemed to make it worse. The combination of hard ground and cool air had probably initiated the stiffness, but the stress caused by Karl and Lotte’s secretiveness aggravated it. Lack of showers and shaves didn’t help. Max had dipped into the cool lake last night for a swim and that had removed some of his dirt. It did nothing, however, for the face stubble rapidly turning into a beard and mustache. He wasn’t ready to risk shaving with a knife. Ryan’s face was showing signs of developing a beard, too, but it was slower and more sporadic than Max’s. It amused Max to see the scraggly fuzz on his son, but he kept his silence.

  Max carefully sat down on a boulder near his grandfather, who was drinking ale out of a flask and dribbling it onto his beard. “You know, Gramps, I’ve been wondering about something. You lived in a house that has a time portal. It’s the house my mother grew up in. I remember her telling us—my sister Diana and me— that the house had been in the family for generations. Yet you didn’t know there was a time portal in the cellar until you ‘accidentally’ time traveled twenty years ago. The same portal we found the first day we arrived. How could that be?”

  Karl shrugged.

  “Come on, Gramps. Are you telling me that no one else in yo
ur family ever time traveled or talked about the portal? You just stumbled onto it one day?”

  He nodded

  “No one ever opened the door to that tunnel, or whatever you want to call it? No one used the portal to evade the war or survive a bombing?”

  “It was boarded up. Your mother and I were remodeling in the cellar. We un-boarded it.”

  Max chewed on the inside of his mouth for a moment. He remembered seeing boards with nails near the door. “Okay. I’ll accept that for now. Here’s another question. You talk as if you don’t know Vikktor and Lotte very well, but you insisted on riding with her the other day. Since then, I’ve seen you two whispering together and, well, it sounded a couple of times like you were arguing. What haven’t you told us?”

  Max broke off a piece of bread from a loaf that Birgitta had bought at a stand in one of the villages they’d passed through and stuffed it into his mouth while waiting for his grandfather to answer.

  A pained frown flittered across Karl’s face and his lips pressed together; then in the blink of an eye, his face changed into an unreadable mask. He cleared his throat. “Vikktor, Lotte, and I grew up together in Riesen. Vikktor and I were friends, until he moved away to Frankfurt. Lotte moved away, too. Gottingen or Berlin, I think. I was married by then and had a daughter. That’s it. Nothing more to tell.”

  “You told us you didn’t keep in touch after you finished school, but the photograph in your house showed you and Vikktor together, and it didn’t look more than thirty years old.”

  “We saw each other occasionally. But Vikktor had changed. He became secretive. Stubborn, too.”

  Max took another bite, but missed the bread and bit his tongue instead. Damn that hurt.

  If Karl noticed, he didn’t show it.

  Max chewed another piece of bread and swallowed. “What have you and Lotte been talking about?”

  “’Nothing really.” He pursed his lips again and made it clear he wasn’t going to give him any more information.