Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel

by Charlotte Banchi

  “Are you sure she’s still here?” he asked.

  Taxi answered by giving the door a good pounding.

  “The doctor could be out on an emergency call,” Mitch suggested, when no one responded to the horrendous beating Taxi inflicted on the door. “Or maybe Kat got worse and he took her to the hospital.”

  “Ain’t no colored hospital close by. All the doctoring we got is right behind this here door. Besides, Dr. Tim don’t go hauling his stuff all over town. You get sick, you over come here.”

  When Dreama Simms opened the door Mitch took a step backwards. Thirty-seven years and an equal number of pounds were gone, but there was no way to disguise the saucy expression or her familiar high energy smile. Within a split second the smile faded and the future Police Department housekeeping manager stared at him with distrust.

  She stepped aside enough to allow Taxi to squeeze through the narrow opening, but before Mitch could get one foot across the threshold the door slammed in his face. He was still rubbing the sore spot on his nose when Taxi opened the door and yanked him into the house.

  An indignant Dreama stood with arms folded and foot tapping. Her volatile expression dared Mitch to say one word. He offered a smile. She snorted and marched out of the room.

  “What’s wrong with her, Taxi?”

  “The woman’s gone and got herself an attitude, that’s what’s wrong.”

  “You didn’t tell her about me,” Mitch accused.

  “Things heated up around here before I come to fetch you, Mitch. No time to get into it.”

  “So what happens now? With that thunderstorm expression she’s wearing there’s no way she’ll let me see Kat.”

  Taxi squared his shoulders and hitched up his pants. “I’ll be taking care of that little thunderstorm right now. Yes sir, right now,” he declared and followed Dreama.

  Mitch took a seat in the waiting room, and waited. His experiences were growing more bizarre by the second. First he’d run head on into his father. And now Dreama Simms. He dreaded what lay ahead. Good thing he hadn’t been born yet, because he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to meet himself this afternoon.

  The voices coming from the other room rose and fell as the argument escalated. Mitch did his level best to keep from eavesdropping, but with his name repeatedly mentioned he couldn’t help but tune in.

  “Dreama honey,” Taxi said. “I’m tellin’ you, Mitch is her friend.”

  “What you mean ‘her friend’? And why you keep on calling him Mitch?”

  “He asked me to do that. Mitch ain’t like them others, baby. He’s good white folk.”

  “How you know he’s good? He could be one of them from the field. You consider that?”

  “He ain’t part of that bunch. I seen him beat ‘em up at Bubba’s.”

  “Well there you go, Taxi. You tell me he beat on someone and that’s supposed to make him good white folk?” Dreama asked, sarcasm dripping off each word.

  “Baby, you not hearing me. No sir, not hearing at all.”

  “I’m hearing fine. You expect me to step aside and let that man at Kat? Let him do any ole thing he pleases on account you can call him plain Mitch, instead of Mister Mitch.”

  “Now settle down.”

  Mitch paused in the kitchen doorway and cleared his throat. He’d entered enemy territory to rescue his fellow soldier, who, at the moment, appeared to be getting the living crap kicked out of him.

  “Ma’am?” he said, tense and on guard in case she took a swing at him. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and you’re wrong about me. I am Kat’s friend and I’ve been looking for her.”

  “And if my man could’ve kept his lips from flapping, how was you expecting to find your friend?”

  “By searching every inch of Maceyville,” Mitch said, challenging her hostile attitude.

  “Well, she ain’t here no more,” Dreama said, a cruel smile played around her mouth. “So’s you best get your walking shoes on, there’s lots of inches in Maceyville.”

  Mitch stared at her, unnerved by both the information and the cruelty with which she delivered it. He’d never done anything to her and didn’t deserve to be treated like scum.

  “You listen to me, Dreama Simms, Kathleen Templeton is my friend. And you and your racist attitude can go directly to hell.” Having said his piece, he turned on his heels and left the room.

  He made sure to slam the front door hard enough to rattled the windows.

  =SIXTEEN=

  April 02—Tuesday

  The too large maroon slippers flopped around on Kat’s feet. Half the time the bottom of her feet hit the asphalt alleyway rather than the tattered felt lining of the shoe. Although the awkward footwear slowed her progress some, she’d managed to put at least a half mile between herself and the white man in the green car. She took some small comfort in knowing Floyd didn’t know where to look. Which gave her a temporary advantage. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could outrun him forever. Slowed by a battered body and on foot, it wouldn’t take him long to catch up with her. And he would be looking hard. He’d raped a police officer. Assault on law enforcement personnel was a federal offense which carried a substantial jail sentence.

  Sensing danger close on her heels, she picked up the pace. Only one more house until the alley intersected with a major thoroughfare, Webster Avenue. She could see the steady line of cars parading by, folks heading off to work. Kat paused at the street and looked both ways. She needed to be on the alert for Floyd’s pickup. It wouldn’t do to walk into another ambush.

  “I have to remember,” she muttered, struggling to recall pertinent details that would set his white stake-bed truck apart from the dozens on the road. “Think, Kat. Think.”

  She remembered several large rust spots on the right door. A broomstick handle, with a confederate Southern Cross flag attached, tied to the left rear fender. And something on the radio antenna flapped in the wind as they drove. She closed her eyes, trying to bring the image into a clear focus. Her eyes spilled over with frustrated tears when she couldn’t do it.

  “Hey, Miss Kat!” The boisterous greeting carried easily across the street.

  Virgil and Lamar, the boys she’d met yesterday morning, darted across Webster Avenue, dodging the traffic and ignoring blaring horns. Instead of striped tee-shirts and jeans, today they wore their Sunday’s finest: long sleeve white shirts with skinny black ties, dark trousers, and polished leather shoes. All the little boy dirt had been scrubbed from their faces and hands.

  “Whoa, Miss Kat.” Lamar whistled. “What happened to you?”

  Before she could respond, the inquisitive Virgil bombarded her with rapid fire questions.

  “Why you got ice cream sticks on your fingers? Is that a black eye? I ain’t never seen a colored woman with a black eye. What you be doing in this alley?”

  Kat ignored his first two questions and answered the last. “It’s a short cut,” she explained.

  “A short cut to where?” Virgil asked.

  “Miss Kat,” Lamar interrupted, looking closely at her clothes. “Couldn’t you find Miss Jane’s dress store yesterday?”

  Virgil poked Lamar in the side and pointed to her feet.

  Kat looked down at her stolen men’s clothing and the sad looking maroon house shoes. “My new outfit got ruined yesterday,” she said as a couple of tears slipped down her cheeks.

  The boys glanced at each other, silently communicating.

  “You come along with us, Miss Kat, my house is close by and we’ll get you some girl clothes,” Lamar offered.

  “That’s real kind, honey, but I can’t take clothes from your momma.”

  “His momma won’t care,” Virgil said. “She be dead.”

  Kat looked at Lamar and he nodded. “She’s been gone a long while now. But Daddy keeps her dresses in a box in the closet. He won’t mind if you take one.”

  The boy looked so eager to help, Kat didn’t have the heart to turn him down. “I’d be proud to
wear your momma’s dress, Lamar.”

  He smiled and offered his arm, a true Southern gentleman.

  Virgil, not to be left out, put his arm around Kat’s waist, and the threesome walked down the sidewalk together.

  * * *

  A green blanket of kudzu almost buried Lamar’s long and narrow shot-gun house. A few early purple blossoms had added a splash of color to the weathered ship-lap. The gravel walkway pointed the way to the front door.

  Lamar lifted the tangle of drooping vines engulfing the small porch so Kat could easily pass underneath the kudzu. She stumbled slightly because of the ill fitting silly looking house shoes. Her hip banged against the wringer washing machine, perched on a bleached spotted wooden pallet next to the top step. Lamar gently took her elbow and helped her to the door.

  He knew the outside of his house would look better with a coat or two of paint, but no one could find fault with the immaculate interior. The hardwood floors didn’t have a high wax sheen, but first his momma, and now his daddy had mopped them so many times they looked like soft velvet. The window panes sparkled, because that was one of Lamar’s regular Saturday chores, and the living room glowed with spring light. He thought the overstuffed sofa covered in patchwork made the room look like somebody was ready to have a party.

  Lamar rubbed his hand across the fabric. It reminded him of Momma. He remembered when she sewed it all together, taking pieces from her dresses, his too small clothes, and from the shirts his daddy had stained so bad he couldn’t wear them on Sunday. The piece from his momma’s favorite dress covered the sofa arm. When nobody was home, he rested his head in that very spot. Sometimes he could even smell Momma’s rose water perfume.

  A worn red velvet recliner and arm chair pretty much filled the rest of the skinny room. But his daddy had magically squeezed in a cabinet television and a water marked coffee table, and still managed to leave a narrow passage to the next room.

  “Her clothes is back here,” Lamar said, as he led the way through the kitchen and into a bedroom at the rear of the house.

  Kat hesitated in the doorway and looked around. “Lamar, is this your daddy’s bedroom?”

  “Not now. He been sleeping in the front room.” He dragged a large cardboard box from the closet and slid it across the floor to Kat. “He says he don’t like comin’ in here no more, now that Momma’s gone.” Lamar didn’t like sleeping back here either. It was so lonely and sad without Momma’s things around. He’d been pretty mad when his daddy packed everything up. It didn’t seem right somehow. Like he wanted to forget her.

  “Is he home?” Kat asked.

  She looked so scared, Lamar felt glad his daddy wasn’t home. “You can come on in, he’s down at the church, getting ready to preach to the Ladies Prayer Breakfast.”

  “Yeah,” Virgil interrupted. “Me an Lamar is suppose to hand out programs and help the old ones to their seats.”

  “It’s okay, Miss Kat,” Lamar said, noticing her frown. “Once I explain to him, he’ll say we done right. Shoot he might even preach about how we was good Samaritans.”

  Kat took a couple of steps into the bedroom. “Preach?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He pastors Webster Avenue Freedom Methodist,” Lamar said proudly, hoping his daddy being a preacher would make her feel better. He didn’t know nobody who was scared of a man of God.

  “My Pop’s a preacher too,” she said softly.

  “Do you like having a preacher man for a daddy?” Lamar asked.

  “Sometimes yes, and sometimes no.”

  Lamar nodded. “I feel that way too. Especially when I got to go twice on Sunday and then to Wednesday night bible class. You know he makes me get up in front of the whole congregation and sing?”

  “Yeah, and, Miss Kat,” Virgil confided. “Lamar can’t sing worth beans.”

  Lamar was glad to see the small smile on her face. She looked so sad. Not talking like before. Yesterday she’d been a happy lady, kind of smart mouthed but he liked her a lot. Today her eyes looked funny, like all sorts of bad thoughts were spinning around inside her head and ever so often stopped to peek out through her eyes. He wished he was older, then he’d know how to help her.

  “Hey, Miss Kat, how about this one?” Virgil held up a slinky black dress with sequins sewn around the scooped neck line. “It’s real pretty.”

  “Virgil, I swear you don’t got the brains to boil water,” Lamar scolded. “That’s Momma’s party dress.”

  “I know that. But it’s a real pretty party dress.”

  “Virgil, it’s too fancy for my needs,” Kat said.

  The boy looked disappointed, but laid the dress aside without argument.

  Lamar’s held up a pale yellow shirtwaist with pearl buttons and a Peter Pan collar. “This one okay?”

  “I seen shoes the same color somewhere in here,” Virgil said, as he dug around in the bottom of the box. A few seconds later emerged with a pair of yellow sandals.

  She nodded and held out her hand. “If y’all will pass them on over, I’ll see if they fit.”

  When she closed the bathroom door, Lamar leaned over to whisper in Virgil’s ear. “Something’s wrong with Miss Kat. She’s gone all quiet. I seen a woman beat up like that once when she come to over talk to Daddy. She sure cried a lot.”

  “Lordy mercy, I hope she don’t start cryin’,” Virgil said. “I hate when ladies carry-on.”

  Lamar shook his head. “I don’t much think Miss Kat is one of those crying kind of ladies. She got something inside that makes her strong.”

  “Well what we going to do with her now? Can’t let her walk around all beat up. The police will put her in jail for sure.”

  “I’ll take her over to see Daddy. He’ll know what to do.” Lamar held his finger to his lips when the lock on the bathroom door clicked open.

  As Kat stepped through the door, Virgil whistled appreciatively.

  Lamar thought she looked real pretty in his momma’s dress. But he knew one more thing that she needed. “Miss Kat, can you wait one second?” He dug around in the bottom of the box until he found a pale yellow satin ribbon. “Momma always tied this in her hair when she wore that dress,” he said and handed her the ribbon. “I’d be proud if you would too.”

  * * *

  Mitch, scrunched down in the front seat of the De Soto for the last half hour, popped his head over the window frame when he heard the clinic door slam. Seeing Taxi on the covered porch, rather than an angry Dreama Simms, he stuck his hand out the window and wiggled his fingers.

  Taxi hurried down the sidewalk. “You all right?”

  “It’s a heck of a lot safer in the car than it is inside,” Mitch grumbled. He’d never met anyone as irritating or judgmental as Dreama. He found it hard to equate the furious whirlwind he’d just sparred with, and the woman he saw every day at the station. He got along fine with the other Dreama. He liked her. Liked her a lot.

  And she liked him.

  “No doubt about it, Dreama’s got a sharp tongue at times.” Taxi shoved his skinny brimmed pork pie hat to the back of his head and scratched his forehead. “Been cut up myself on occasion. Most usually she don’t mean half what she says.”

  “Half is more than adequate for me.”

  “Aww, don’t pay her no mind, Mitch.”

  “It’s not in my best interest to keep making enemies, I need all the friends and help I can get. And that includes her.”

  “Well, now I wouldn’t be counting on her help just yet. She got strong opinions when it comes to white folks.”

  “I’d take another shot at changing her mind about me, except I’m on a tight schedule. We need to get back home because Kat’s father had a heart attack yesterday. They’re not sure he’ll pull through.”

  “So you been looking so hard for that girl cause her daddy’s sick?”

  “Yep. She needs to be with him, not on some crusade.” And she’d be at the hospital, right now if I’d stuck to my guns, he thought. I should have done something two d
ays ago instead of spouting theories and what-ifs. Now that those predictions had become reality, he felt more like crying than throwing an ‘I told you so’ party.

  “I’ll do my best to smooth things out,” Taxi was saying. “Oh, if you reach in my glove box I got somethin’ belonging to you.”

  Mitch popped the catch and saw Kat’s boot pin. He picked it up and squeezed it. “Guess you never got a chance to return it to her.”

  “She’ll like it better if it comes back to her through you. Now come on inside, Lettie Ruth got breakfast ready.”

  Mitch sat up so fast his head hit the roof of the car. “Who?”

  “Lettie Ruth Rayson works here at the clinic with Dr. Tim and she fixed us breakfast.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Mitch whispered. As if things weren’t already messed up enough, somehow Kat had ended up in the same house with her mysterious aunt.

  “You be acting mighty peculiar, Mitch. Something wrong?”

  He opened the door and climbed out of the car. “Taxi, so many things are wrong I can’t begin to list them all.”

  “Well then, I say we get us some breakfast and do a little talking ‘bout that list of yours.”

  * * *

  The four people seated around the table ate in silence. Mitch kept his eyes on his plate and fervently wished someone would say something. As the minutes crawled by, other than the tinny clink of a fork against a plate or a slurp when one of them took a sip of coffee, the room might well be inhabited by ghosts.

  “This is foolishness,” Lettie Ruth said, breaking the sound barrier. “It’s high time to speak our minds.”

  Mitch cleared his throat and three pair of dark eyes jumped to his face. “Let me start by thanking Miss Simms and Taxi for bringing Kat to the clinic. And you, Miss Rayson, for taking such good care of her.” Lettie inclined her head, acknowledging his gratitude. “If you don’t mind, would you please tell me what happened to her?” he asked.