“But Meko, how did you explain him?” Elani glanced at the large, black lupine, who, despite his alertness, was letting his head nod, as if made sleepy by the warmth of the heater.
“That was much more difficult. Meko became a succession of dogs, in the sense of Meko, then his son, grandson, etc. I would use some of the graying powder on his face, too, as he supposedly aged. J.P. recognized my affection for my “dog”, and we three went everywhere together. As he became rich and powerful, he pretty much could dictate all the rules he wanted.”
I confess the dark confines of the room as well as the soothing monotone of Tristan’s voice were causing me to become drowsy. Outside, the wind blew in unpredictable bursts, and I watched a flurry of dead leaves fly past the window, scraping the glass as they fell to earth. The sky was gray, overcast…a dreary day made barren by the chill in the air. Oddly, I’d always liked those types of days that seemed straight from the pages of some Victorian novel. If I’d been home, I might have pulled Jane Eyre from my bookshelf and nestled, in my favorite chair, in front of the fireplace, listening as the logs broke and fell in a shower of sparks.
“So what do you know of J.P. Morgan closer to the time of the sinking of the Titanic?” I asked, urgent to focus the discussion and redirect my attention. It was with effort I suppressed a yawn.
Tristan looked up at the ceiling as he conjured his memories. “He, of course, had acquired control over the White Star Line through his shipping conglomerate, International Mercantile Marine. Prior to the launching of the Titanic for her maiden voyage, he was in Rome with Frank Millet to examine plans for the new American Academy of Art.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Frank was an interesting, brilliant man who was actually quite friendly despite his occasional act as a crusty curmudgeon. I think that was the second or third day of April, 1912. J.P. planned to be on board the Titanic for her first crossing but had some health issues. His physician recommended he not travel, and he finally went to Aix-les-Bain in France to get some rest and recovery.”
I noticed that Kipp was focused intently upon Meko, who in turn was staring unblinkingly at Tristan. The elder lupine had unusual pale gray eyes that were brought to prominence by the dark mask of fur on his face. However, Kipp had closed off his thoughts to me; I suspected he was poking into Meko’s mind but didn’t want me to know. He’d been getting a little too free with that sort of thing, which was unethical by our contemporary standards, save for an emergency.
“Kipp, what are you doing?” I hissed privately. With the toe of my shoe, I gently touched his leg in such a manner that no one else observed the action.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he replied. Yawning, he lazily licked the place on his leg that I’d defaced with my toe.
“We know Morgan reserved one of the parlor suites for his use–B52, 54 and 56,” Peter was saying. “There is no approval, of course, for a trip to the Titanic, but if we did, we’d have to work out some way to accommodate the lupines.”
“And you’d need to travel first class with a special word to the staff of the Titanic to let you do as you wished,” Tristan finished the thought. “And that would have to come from J.P. Morgan to have any weight behind it.”
“Exactly,” Peter remarked. He ran a hand up through his thick hair, pushing back the heavy fringe that had settled over his eyes. “Since Morgan didn’t use the suite, we thought there might be some way for us to have it.”
Tristan took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger; his chair creaked as he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling while he collected his thoughts. “I recall that Henry Clay Frick jumped on those rooms when Morgan released them before having to cancel the booking when his wife had an injury. Bruce Ismay took the rooms at the last minute.”
“If somehow we could get those rooms, it wouldn’t change the timeline of history,” Peter persisted. “Morgan didn’t make the trip; neither did Henry Frick. And Ismay would have had other rooms already available for him. So he’d just use the rooms he’d already reserved.”
“Kipp, what are you doing?” I asked my partner again. Now I was certain that he was privately accessing Meko’s thoughts.
“There’s more to this story that Tristan is concealing,” he replied. “Meko is on the verge of spilling some information that needs to come to light.”
“Could you, perhaps, write us a letter of introduction we could present to Morgan, asking him to help us gain passage?” Peter asked.
Tristan glanced at Meko, who continued to gaze at his partner. The unnerving gray eyes of the lupine seemed to grow larger.
“Uh, that could get very complicated,” Tristan replied. “And there would be a very fine timeline to make things happen.”
“Not if we get to our destination early enough to accommodate any last minute changes,” Peter opined. “We have Kipp, who is very good at pinpointing a destination and time frame.”
“What are your thoughts, Meko?” Kipp asked, ignoring Peter’s “atta boy” comment.
The dark lupine turned his head away from us, gazing instead at the glowing grate of the electric heater. It had the appearance of fake fire but was nonetheless hypnotic with the wavering, flowing colors of red, yellow and orange that rippled and swayed as if blown by an invisible, gentle breeze. He sighed deeply before standing; his eyes met those of Tristan, who shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I think it is time to tell the truth,” Meko said.
“Meko, don’t!” Tristan’s voice rose with agitation, his hands clenched into fists.
“J.P. Morgan died on board the Titanic on her maiden voyage. He went down with the ship on April 15, 1912.” Meko glanced at Tristan. “I can’t sit on these lies anymore and keep what’s left of my integrity.”
Chapter 10
“I didn’t push that revelation, in case you wondered,” Kipp remarked, his thoughts meant for my ears only. Of course, I trusted him completely, and if he said it, then it was so. “Meko’s wanted to unburden his soul for years but didn’t out of deference for Taylor.”
“What made the difference now?” I asked.
“Taylor is sick, and his time is winding down.” Kipp sighed. “He won’t live to be old, like Fitzhugh. Meko wants him to leave this earth unencumbered by guilt and pain.” Kipp glanced at me, his ears drooping slightly. “There is a lot of sadness as well as love in this room.”
“Tristan, why don’t you tell us your story?” I requested, sitting forward slightly, hoping I appeared inviting and nonjudgmental. What Tristan shared in terms of his health was his own business, but the rest of the tale was tempting to hear, and I couldn’t pretend to be uninterested. This possible story beneath a story had possibilities to pull me in, despite my wavering interest in anything involving the Titanic.
“It must stay in this room, at least for now,” he replied, his shoulders slumped in resignation.
I glanced at Peter who nodded; a second later, Elani and Kipp signaled their agreement. Outside, a large cloud must have passed between the sun and earth because the room’s interior suddenly was cast in dark shadow, and it felt as if a chill settled, in defiance of the work of the resolute heater. It seemed a solid invitation for the telling of secrets.
“As I told you, I was a good friend of Morgan,” Tristan began. He sighed deeply and glanced at his hands, which were balled up into fists in his lap. With effort, he relaxed his fingers and exhaled slowly. “Meko, too, loved him as a friend.” He smiled at his lupine symbiont who blinked his eyes in response. “On April 10, 1912, we accompanied J.P. on the boat train from Waterloo Station to Southampton, where the Titanic was docked.” He closed his eyes. “I recall quite clearly, although it has been over one hundred years, the fabulous mahogany wood work on the interior of the train. The upholstery was plush, deep blue in color, carefully piped in a tasteful contrast tone.” His dark eyes met mine. “It says something that even the boat train had exclusive cars for the elite of the day.
“Morgan h
ad just arrived in London from his meeting in Italy with Frank Millet, who also was scheduled to be on the Titanic on her maiden voyage.” Tristan’s eyes clouded with a far away expression. “Millet was one of those who died when the Titanic sank. I think he was playing bridge with some other men in the lounge up until close to the end. At that point, the deck was tilted to the degree one couldn’t have kept a seat, much less stand, without holding on to something.
“I know the stories indicate Morgan went to his villa in France after leaving Italy, but in truth he went to London, and after a day or two of business dealings, he boarded the boat train. He felt it important to be on board the minute the Titanic first sailed, and that was from Southampton.
“The last time I saw him, he was walking up the gangplank to enter the Reception Room on D Deck where he registered for the voyage. Morgan had the finest suite of rooms on the ship, more than enough room for him; he was traveling alone. He turned to wave goodbye to me and Meko.” Tristan looked up and glanced around the room at each of us in turn. “Well, what I should say is that was supposed to have been the last time I ever saw him.”
“But it wasn’t,” Meko said, his voice soft in the back of our minds. He gave that type of deep, shuddering sigh that only big dogs and lupines can manage. I noted he was curled upon a worn, circular rug woven from wool. At one point in time, it must have been a fine piece, but now was almost a tattered afterthought but something still cherished.
Tristan laughed, the sound dry and mirthless. “The first reports of the tragedy got back to London, and I eagerly scanned the survivor lists. There was no mention of him among the survivors, so my assumption was that he’d gone down with the other first class men who stood around pretending to be unafraid and doing whatever humans think is the right thing to do in the midst of a tragedy.” He looked at me. “You know they had to be terrified as they handed off wives and children into the lifeboats.”
“The survivor lists weren’t accurate for quite some time,” Peter pointed out. “What if he’d survived but his name wasn’t listed?”
“I thought that improbable since he was a well known figure, quite vocal, and no stranger to telling everyone who he was.” Tristan smiled. “He was a dynamic, larger than life sort of man…pushy, energetic, bright and confident.”
“I read he was self conscious of having his photograph taken in later years,” Elani said. “You would think a man of his importance and wealth would not be so.”
“He had rosacea which distorted the shape of his nose. And, yes, he was very aware of how disfiguring it was.” Tristan replied. “I was his good friend, so, as is true with people who care for one another, I never noticed it as looking unattractive or unusual.”
“So what happened?” I prodded, eager to move past large noses and other useless trivia. Kipp glanced at me and bounced an annoying question mark off my brain. “Ready to get to the story,” I murmured to Kipp, hoping he’d leave me alone.
“I knew I had at most a couple of days to intervene in such a way that any disturbances to the timeline or recorded history could be attributed to post Titanic frenzy and flawed information flying back and forth across the Atlantic. At that time, the only communication between the two continents was by wireless or letter, so obviously there were delays.” The clouds outside suddenly lifted, and the sunlight flashed through the long windows to cast an amber spotlight on the room’s interior. As if his chair could not contain him or his story, Tristan stood restlessly and turned to stare at the bare trees which formed a ragged, black outline against the sky. Rocking back on his heels, he thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers and stood there, his back to us, as he gazed out the window.
“Meko and I made a narrowly focused time shift, landing in London a week before Morgan was scheduled to arrive. Instead of accompanying him on the boat train to Southampton, I convinced him that due to his health, he should travel to his villa in France to recover.”
“How did he receive that suggestion?” Elani asked. Her tone and attitude was so gentle and without critical judgment, I felt she could effortlessly persuade me to confess my many sins.
“He was hesitant at first, since he greatly wanted to make the voyage. But I finally convinced him by enlisting his physician to have a talk with him, too. Morgan was a little bit of a hypochondriac, so it didn’t take much nudging to push him in the needed direction. He sent a telegram to Ismay telling him he was going to France for rest due to illness.”
“That was clever of you,” Kipp observed. He’d been quiet but obviously was paying attention. “But there’s a more important question that nags at me.” Tristan stared at him, raising his eyebrows in response. “Why did you do it?”
There was a long pause as Tristan considered his reply. Outside of the office, we heard footsteps and laughter as symbionts passed by on business. The female of the duo had a high pitched, giggling laughter that seemed frivolous against the somber environment of the office. Tristan took a deep breath and bowed his head for a moment. When he raised it again, there were unshed tears in his dark eyes.
“Morgan was an old man, not in good health. He was also afraid of deep water, such as in a lake or the ocean, where he couldn’t see the bottom. The idea of my friend at his age and with his fears being thrust into the freezing water to slowly die of exposure just horrified me. I felt I couldn’t allow it to happen when I knew the outcome could be manipulated.” He looked away for a moment. “He died of natural causes less than a year later.” Tristan’s dark eyes blazed with defiance as his eyes met mine. “At least he didn’t die in the water, struggling, helpless, alone.”
“So you changed the timeline?” I asked, knowing the answer but needing to say it regardless.
“Yes, and I guess I don’t care anymore who knows about it.”
“What about the ethics of such manipulation?” Peter asked after a long, awkward pause, as politely as if he were at high tea and inquiring of the Queen of England her plans for a delightful holiday in the countryside.
Tristan’s face was guarded for a moment before he caught Meko’s gaze, and then he smiled, but the expression was lopsided, his lips tightly compressed.
“Meko and I teach symbiont ethics,” he replied, daring us to laugh. “So, I guess I know something about the issue.” Bending his knees a little awkwardly, he dropped heavily into his waiting chair.
The room fell quiet for an uncomfortably long minute. For a moment, I hoped the loud, giggling symbiont would return, just to break the silence. The heater seemed to be on a relentless mission to make us all hope for a window to be cracked to let in some blessed fresh air. A bead of sweat traveled between my shoulder blades down my back as I squirmed in my chair. With a feeling close to desperation, I wanted to be free of that room.
Unexpectedly, Kipp stood and approached Tristan. “I can think of no team better qualified to do such a thing since you have experienced what you teach others to avoid. Only you can understand the issues that have impacted you as a bonded pair due to the choice to change one man’s life line.”
Tristan’s face paled as he placed his hands on his knees. I realized he wanted to touch Kipp but kept from doing so out of respect for boundaries. But Kipp had given him an unequivocal pass of complete understanding. And as I digested what Kipp had said, I realized the value in his perspective and the rightness of it.
“The choice you made put a divide between you and Meko that has never healed.” Kipp paused, carefully selecting his words. “Now this is no longer a secret, I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive one another and trust again.”
“The truth is I pushed Meko to do this thing that was wrong by all our measures. I valued my friendship with Morgan more than my bond with Meko. I’ve asked him to forgive me, and he says he has. But it is still there.” Tristan looked away again, his cheeks reddening slightly; it was apparent he was uncomfortable with the self disclosure.
“That’s because you haven’t forgiven yourself, Tristan,” Kipp
replied. “To be forgiven, you must forgive.”
Peter and Elani appeared spellbound–Peter’s mouth fell open in a perfect O—as Kipp acted with the wisdom of a healer. I stole a quick glance at the mantle clock to make certain it was still ticking and time hadn’t stopped with the gravity of the moment, and it was with great effort I didn’t sigh loudly and roll my eyes. I confess I was irritated with Kipp and impatient, wanting to move on. No, that wasn’t noble of me, and I should have been more involved and caring of the general angst in the room. But it was, in the modern way of speak, way too much information, and I wanted to be on with our business. In many aspects, my general negativity about the entire proposed time shift had dampened any displays of compassion. I did care about Tristan and Meko, but we had serious issues on the table. Honestly, the revelation of their emotional rift was embarrassing to me, and I had no wish to observe their distress as they twisted in the proverbial wind.
“Is there any way you can help us to influence Morgan to get us on board the Titanic or not?” I asked, my tone abrupt and cold, even to my own ears. I felt my face flush as Kipp glared at me. Wanting to move on, I felt no inclination to explain my tangle of thoughts and feelings.
“What’s your hurry?” he hissed privately. “I was trying to help them.”
“This is not our problem,” I replied airily. “We were sent here to get information, not conduct family therapy.”
If I’d made a disparaging remark about Kipp’s mama, I don’t think I could have managed to make him angrier with me. He was truly, deeply agitated and assured me that we’d be talking about his feelings again, later that evening.
“Oh, boy. Something fun on the horizon,” I replied flatly.
My poorly timed query broke the rhythm of the flow of dialog, so it seemed appropriate to leave Tristan and Meko to do some deep thinking about our dilemma. We quietly left and walked outside…I almost felt like crying with relief as the cool air touched my overheated skin. It was difficult to ignore Kipp who was glaring at the back of my head, his thoughts shuttered as he processed his irritation with me. Peter and Elani walked quickly ahead to the SUV; it seemed no one wanted to be my best buddy at that particular moment. There were no words spoken or thoughts exchanged amongst us while Peter labored to find a hotel nearby where we could stay the night. I was happy to sit listlessly in the car, offering no help, while fervently wishing to be home eating popcorn and reading a good book.
Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure Page 11
