Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club. Book III

by Robert P McAuley

  “EDMUND, BILL HERE. SORRY I MISSED YOU. IF YOU COME ON BACK I’LL BUY YOU A HOT CHOCOLATE. REGARDS BILL.”

  He sat back and took a sip of his drink, then went over and opened the door to await his future grandson. Ten minutes later he heard a shuffle at the open door.

  “Bill?” called Edmund Scott.

  “C’mon in, Edmund, I’m in the living room.”

  The future Scott entered at a slow pace. He smiled at Bill and said, “Greetings from the future, Gramps.”

  Bill got up and hugged his visitor. “Hey, young fella,” he said, as he escorted him to an overstuffed leather chair, “sit and relax. Breathe slowly.”

  Edmund obeyed and continued, “As I was saying, greetings from 2066.” He spoke quietly and paused frequently. “We have a big problem as you saw. Actually, we always seem to have a big problem every time we come to see you.” He took a deep breath and went on, “I promise you, after this mission we’re going to meet somewhere halfway in time where we can all breathe fairly well and have a party.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, Edmund. “Now, how can I help the group?”

  “Well, you saw the hologram,” Edmund said, as he closed his eyes. “We need someone to travel back to get Ronald Reagan’s great-great-grandfather away from the press gang.” He paused again to take a slow, deep breath, and then continued, “The problem is the time line. It’s 1772. Well before the time period that any of your club members participate in.”

  Bill looked down at the floor. “Yeah, that is a problem. It’s about a hundred years too early for us. Plus, I thought the furthest back we could go was to when this building was first built?”

  “In extreme circumstances, we can send a person back to an earlier time through the same door. But first we have to send back a probe to make sure there’s nothing physical in the way. You see it’s not the door, but the spot that’s the time portal. The door and the club ensure that there will always be an opening available for us to enter the time period we want without running into, say, a building or something. In this case, a probe has already been sent back and the person would just be walking out into a small group of trees.”

  Bill nodded and said, ”Let me think about it. We have some pretty adaptable members here and I’m constantly surprised at what they accomplish. I’ll have to take a look at the membership list and see who’s best to help out here. Maybe I’ll take this one.”

  Edmund shook his head. “No, Bill. The council really hopes you can send someone else. You’ve become a cornerstone for them, someone they can count on and they don’t want you taking any chances.”

  Bill sat back sharply. “But that’s a big perk for me, to take trips. They must know that.”

  “They do. And of course they want you to time travel, but, they would like you to take more of, you know, sort of vacation time-trips. Not go on missions that could be dangerous.”

  Bill nodded and said, “Well, we’ll see. Meanwhile, I’ll have to do some research on this mission. But first let me ask you this. If you know when he’s going to be grabbed, why don’t we just go back the day before and warn him?”

  “Because,” Edmund answered slowly, “in this scenario more than a dozen men from various counties are pressed and some of them, or their descendants, go on to be great people. We’d never be able to warn them all. No, it has to be done all at once, either just before they sail, or at sea when they’re all together. The group has said that if that’s the only way to save Ronald Reagan, then they’ll green light a plan to just warn him the day before. But they want you to first try to get them all at one time.”

  Bill looked at his young future relative who was appearing pale. “C’mon Edmund, let’s get you back to your own time where you can breathe better. Tell the group I’ll check out the best way to proceed and text you as soon as I get a handle on how to do this one. Okay?”

  Edmund slowly nodded, as Bill helped him to the door.

  “Want me to walk you out?” he asked.

  Once again Edmund Scott of 2066 shook his head. “No Bill, I’ll be all right. Besides you have a mission to plan. Stay in touch. Love ya.” He went through the doorway and into his own time.

  It was after midnight and two cigars, when Bill finished a plan of action he thought might work. Got to check out the club members and see who’s a sailor of seagoing windjammers, or even if we have any, he thought, as he started going through his club members’ bios.

  The big grandfather clock struck two, as Bill sat back and stretched after hours hunched over his laptop. A tap at his door and Matt came in carrying a big mug of hot chocolate in his favorite Donald Duck mug. “Thought you might need something about now, sir,” he said, as he placed the silver tray on the coffee table next to Bill’s desk.

  Bill smiled at Matt, dressed in his pajamas and bathrobe and still looking reserved as ever. “Perfect, Matt, as usual. Perfect timing. Why don’t you call it a night? One of us has to sleep.”

  Matt gave a slight bow from the waist, “Very well, sir. If you have any need of me, please call. Good night, sir.”

  “Ah, hey Matt,” he said as he held up his mug, “You really don’t have to tell anyone about this . . . right?”

  “Our secret, sir.”

  “Good night, Matt.” Bill said with a smile as he looked at his mug.

  Matt left the room to Bill and his computer.

  The clock chimed four as Bill logged off, extinguished his third cigar and picked up the printout he made. He sat back and read it.

  Rocko Perna, club member for two years. Avid yachtsman. Thirty-two and single. Is a boat owner. A windfall let him retire at a very young age. He’s a close friend of fellow member and Time Traveler, John Brand.

  Bill put down the printout, stood and stretched. Tomorrow, he thought, I’ll give John Brand a call and talk to him about Rocko. Right now, it’s bedtime. He turned off the light and went into his room after leaving a wakeup call with Matt.

  Matt tapped on his bedroom door and cracked it open at ten-thirty in the morning. Bill rolled over and was greeted by the aroma of the fresh coffee and buttered croissants that Matt put on the bed table across his lap.

  “Good morning, Matt.”

  “Good morning, sir. It’s ten-thirty and as you requested, I’ve called Mr. John Brand and set up an appointment for a light lunch.”

  “Great, Matt. I’ll be down in a half hour. I want to run through Rocko Perna’s stats again and talk to John about them. Is this a new brand of coffee?” he asked after he took a sip.

  “Yes, sir. I took the liberty of going to 1956 and purchasing a small package from the proprietor of Junior’s restaurant in downtown Brooklyn. For years they brewed from the very best beans. I thought you would enjoy a cup of the best coffee about.” He walked to the door, turned and said, “Oh, sir, I also purchased one of their famous cheese cakes for desert.” He closed the door to Bill’s moan of approval.

  When the doorbell rang, Bill answered it himself. John Brand smiled as Bill greeted him. They shook hands and Bill closed the door behind him.

  “How have you been, John?”

  “Good, Bill, and you?”

  “Fine, just fine.” He led John upstairs to his apartment. “Grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches and coffee sound good?”

  “Fine with me.”

  After lunch they went out onto the sunny balcony to smoke cigars and Bill said. “I have to tap your brain for awhile.”

  John nodded. “Go right ahead. What’s up?”

  “I need to send someone back on a mission.”

  John nodded again, as Bill looked him in the eye and continued. “The trip is an early one. I mean, like 1772.”

  “Wow! That is early. You thinking about using me?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, as much as I’d like to. I need a boat guy. Someone who can do a long voyage from the U.S. to England in a sailing ship.”

  John flinched. “Ow! Right you are. I’m not the guy. Especially on a sailing ship. I�
��d be going around in circles. So, who are you thinking about?”

  “Rocko Perna.”

  “Rocko Perna!” exclaimed John as he slowly nodded his head, “Wow, that’s great. He’s a good, reliable guy. Plus, he knows his sailing ships. So,” he looked at Bill with his eyes narrowed, “why am I here?”

  “Because, I don’t know him as well as you do. Before I became president, we sort of hung in different circles in the club, and I need to make sure he’s the right guy.”

  “So you want me to give you a ‘go-no-go’ on him?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. I don’t want to reveal the time-travel aspect of the club if he’s going to turn it down. Know what I mean?”

  “Sure I do. But believe me, Bill, he’ll want to go.”

  “Good, then why don’t you ask him to join us? Together, we’ll introduce him with a trip back to 1865.”

  John smiled and said, “You won’t regret it. He’s a first-rate guy.”

  “Okay, tell me about him and then we can give him a call.”

  John inhaled long on his Cuban cigar, then said, “Real down-to-earth guy. Started out living with his mom and dad who were immigrants from Italy. They saved and bought a three-family apartment house in Brooklyn. Rocko, or Rocky as we call him, worked in the Domino Cane Sugar factory in South Brooklyn for thirteen years. He went to work every day. Even during a few big snowstorms when everyone else was out, he was at the job. He didn’t know it, but his boss liked his attitude and when the boss, who had no family, passed away, he left the factory to Rocky. Rocky sold the factory after awhile to follow the one thing he loved most in life, sailing.”

  John flicked his cigar ash and continued, “He read everything he could about the early sailing ships. He can name every part of a man-of-war in the Royal Navy. The money he got from the factory allowed him to realize his lifelong dream and he purchased a sailboat. A twenty-footer, then sold that for a thirty-five-footer, and finally a big oceangoing sailboat.” He put his cigar out. “You picked the right man for the job, Bill.”

  Bill smiled at John’s report. “What do you say we take him on a trip to little ol’ New York?”

  “An outstanding idea. I’ll call him right now.” He took out his cell phone.

  At three-thirty that afternoon, Bill looked on as John brought Rocko Perna down the long dark-brown-carpeted hallway toward him. Both were dressed in three-piece suits in the 1865 style. Rocky filled out his dark blue suit well. He was five-foot-ten-inches tall and had shoulders like a football player. According to John, he got them by helping out a plumber friend lift radiators during renovations. He had a shock of jet-black wavy hair and went hatless during a hat-wearing period. Bill met them halfway and extended his hand.

  “Rocko Perna. Welcome. I’ve been meaning to get to chat with you for some time now.”

  Rocko shook his hand and Bill was amazed at his grip. Bill was no slouch as an ex-SEAL, but he could tell that Rocko’s strength was natural. His hands were as strong as they were large.

  “President Scott,” Rocko answered, “you don’t know how much this means to me. When John called and said you were taking a few people for a special tour of the club and I was one of them, well, this is fantastic. Thank you so much for picking me. It’s an honor, sir.”

  “So,” Bill said, looking at John, “did John brief you about the tour?”

  John answered for him, “No, President Scott, I thought you’d like to do that.”

  “First off, let me ask that we three be on a first name basis, at least for the tour. I’m Bill.”

  Rocko responded, “My friends call me Rocky.”

  Then the third member chimed in, “And I’m John.”

  Bill nodded and said, “Rocky, John tells me you have an open mind. Is that correct?”

  “Yes sir, I believe I do,” answered Rocky with a smile.

  “And you enjoy the club?”

  “Very much.”

  “And,” Bill said, as he pointed toward the door he used for time-trips, “if I tell you we’re going for a trip back to 1865, you’d be all for it?”

  Rocky didn’t answer. He just glanced at his friend John who smiled and said, “If that door opened to 1865, Rocky, would you go out there with Bill and me?”

  Rocky smiled and looked at them with puzzlement. “You guys are putting me on . . . right?”

  John put his hand on Rocky’s shoulder and said, “Remember that time when we were kids and I said I’d do a cartwheel on the subway train at Coney Island? You bet me fifty cents I wouldn’t do it, and I did it. Well, I’m going to give you a chance to get your money back.” He pointed at the door. “Right outside is 1865. I know because Bill took me there . . . more than once. If it opens to 1865 you owe me another half buck, but, if it’s still 2011 out there, I owe you the half. Okay?”

  Rocky took two quarters out of his pocket and said, “You’re on. And I hope I lose again.”

  Bill grabbed the two coins, stuffed it in John’s pocket and said, “You lose again, my friend.”

  John turned to Bill. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Bill took the key from around his neck, opened the lock and swung open the heavy mahogany door. “Allow me, gentlemen.” And he stepped into the stairwell.

  “After you,” John said to Rocky, and they followed Bill down the flight of stone stairs lined with gaslights that glowed against the red brick walls.

  Nice brickwork, thought Rocky. They just don’t do this kind of work anymore.

  At the bottom, Bill stopped at another heavy door. Rocky waited as he fumbled with the key again, opened the lock and swung open the door. Bill stepped out and the other two followed.

  DATELINE: 1865 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  “What a beautiful garden!” said Rocky as he looked around and admired the flowers and trees enclosed inside the eight-foot-high stonewalls. Rocky grew up in a brownstone in Brooklyn and each apartment house had a small backyard, but he had never seen anything like this.

  Bill walked toward the gate and John followed, motioning Rocky to catch up. At the gate the men looked out onto a cobblestone street, as three boys walked by. All wore high leather shoes and had their pants held up by suspenders, each wore a different colored shirt and each carried a slingshot. They looked devilishly at the men and Bill looked sternly back and said in a low voice, “Now, now, boys, mind your actions. You would be amazed at how fast I can run after you.” They suddenly assumed angelic looks and shrugged their shoulders as if they had never had a mischievous thought.

  Rocky watched it all and was stunned. This can’t be, he thought. A small wagon pulled by a white horse trundled by. The driver was dressed in dark, rough work clothes and had a bunch of packages on the flat bed of the wagon. The side of the wagon said in white letters “KAHAINE’S FAST DELIVERY.”

  Or . . .can this be? Rocky thought. He watched the boys run behind the wagon and hitch a ride on the rear. True, they’re dressed in the mid-eighteen-hundred period, but so are we. Can this be?

  He nudged John and said, “Is this some kind of elaborate joke? It looks real, but it can’t be.” He looked at his friend and continued, “Right? I mean there’s just no such thing as time-travel . . . is there?”

  John slapped him on his shoulder. “Rocky, I know just how you feel. I felt the same way when Bill brought me here the first time. Oh, and by the way, you lost that half dollar.”

  “All right,” Rocky replied, “let’s cut to the chase. If this is for real, why? Why me? Don’t get me wrong. If this is for real, I’m happy to be here. But, as I said, why me?”

  Bill nodded and said, “It’s for real and we’ll take you for a walk to prove it. As to why, well, the club asks a few good men and women to help us out now and then. And right now we need someone who has sailing experience, and you are the premier sailor in the club.”

  Rocko turned and looked at his old friend John. “You guys want me to do something here?”

  John looked at Bill. “No, Rock
y, not me. It’s Bill’s show. He asked me how I thought you’d react, and I said you’d react the same way I did. Shocked, then happy, followed by completing the mission.” He looked seriously at his friend, “Am I right, Rocky?”

  Rocky looked back with a level gaze and said, “Wow! Yeah, you’re right. If this is for real, I’d be darn happy to be back in 18-whatever. And if there’s sailing involved, well, that’s a plus.” He opened his hands and implored, “But how is this possible?” He watched a street cleaner dressed in a white uniform and cap push a steel barrel on wheels. The man stopped to sweep and pick up some leaves in the street. The side of the barrel stated he was with the New York City Department Of Sanitation.

  “How it’s possible will be explained,” Bill said, “but where it’s explained is the fun part. Where would you like to go while we’re here?” he said as he held his arms out.

  Rocky smiled. “This is for real then? This is really 1865?” he asked as he scanned both men and again, both nodded yes.

  “Then,” Rocky said, as he crossed his arms, “if this is 1865, I know of a nice little Italian place down on Mott Street. It was opened in 1836 and had the best Italian cooking around until it burned down in 1873. That’s where I’d like to go. Okay?”

  Bill smiled and called back over his shoulder as he opened the gate, “Let’s go.” The three walked out and Bill locked the gate behind them.

  They just got to the corner when a horse-drawn carriage made the turn and Bill started to wave it down.

  “Wait,” said Rocky, “let’s take the New York and Harlem Railroad. We should be able to get one on Fourth Avenue. It used to run straight down to Little Italy.”

  Bill looked at him and said, “New York and Harlem Railroad. Is that some sort of trolley car?”