Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II

by Padgett Lively

  Gabriel reached out and held her so tight she felt her bones creak. He sat back and looked at her. “No, it is I who should apologize to you. Since your mother’s disappearance, I’ve been lost, paralyzed, fearful of losing you as well.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet, resting his hands on her shoulders. “From now on, we’ll talk; I’ll tell you what I know. But you must not, Evelyn, you must not put yourself in harm’s way.” He punctuated each “not” with a firm grip on her shoulders and a little shake.

  Evelyn wiped the tears from her cheeks, but her expression was unyielding. “Papa, I am sorry… truly, but I’m not being reckless.”

  He was about to speak, when she stopped him with a militant shake of her head. “You can’t just talk, Papa, you have to listen as well.”

  His hands dropped from her shoulders, and he sighed deeply. “All right then, I’m listening.”

  Evelyn looked slightly nonplussed at his sudden acquiescence, but was quick to take advantage of the situation. “Well, Billy told me that since last year his grandfather has been involved in a committee of sorts, to gather information on the British—”

  Gabriel groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. His shoulders began to shake.

  Evelyn looked concerned. “What is it, Papa? Are you unwell?”

  The other three exchanged uncomfortable glances, Odell saying, “We can come back later, Gabe. Maybe you would like some privacy.”

  Gabriel dropped his hand and while there were tears in his eyes, his mouth was set in a wide smile. Finally, he was able to pull in a deep breath, and his laughter filled the room. He dropped back into the armchair and sat there laughing. Everyone looked relieved, yet perplexed.

  He took in a few more deep breaths, wiped his eyes, and looked up at them. “I was just remembering back to those days looking for you, Odell, and chasing Sir Archibald through London—trying not to get killed. We were such novices… innocents. I don’t think any of us had a clue what we were actually up against, or what to do about it.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We had plans. They were well-reasoned, not implausible. But, my God, we were lucky.”

  He looked around the pleasant little parlor. The sun was streaming in through the two large street-facing windows, one partially boarded up from the blast. The walls were of a deep plum color. The much lighter lavender ceiling was offset by a cream-colored molding. Odette had decorated the room with light-colored airy curtains and several lovely paintings, some of them done by his sister, Barbara. The furniture was comfortable, with a large, ornate harp pushed into the corner. The effect was neat and informal. It had been their practice of an evening to push the sofa and chairs up to the fireplace and toast bread to be eaten with butter and sardines.

  Gabriel thought of that other long-ago parlor, a much grander one, where they had sat weary and unsure, yet young and resilient. He looked at the faces about him; they were not the same ones from that fraught time. Many of those had been left behind in England. The dearest of them all, gone, disappeared. He shook from his mind the melancholy that had sapped his strength and clouded his judgment for so many weeks. They were not the same faces, but they were equally valuable, all important to him, and they were here. He stood again and faced the assembled company.

  “Forgive my outburst. I don’t think I’ve laughed since Christmastime. Unfortunately, its cause is perhaps not very amusing.” They looked back at him awaiting further insight. “The committee of which you speak is the Committee of Secret Correspondence. It was created to gather intelligence, mostly foreign, on the intentions and actions of the English government and how we might proceed with that information. It was supposed to be secret as are all intelligence gathering efforts by the colonial authorities. I can only assume this information was gained at the keyhole by young Master Franklin.” He raised his eyebrows at Evelyn.

  “Yes, well, I don’t believe the information was entrusted to him directly,” was her diplomatic reply.

  Gabriel laughed again and shook his head. “Our security is lax indeed. I had hoped, considering what is at stake, that our colonial friends would be less haphazard than we were so many years ago.” He quickly sobered and asked, “How did Mister Thornton come to be involved?”

  “I can’t be sure,” she answered. “When I agreed to help, Billy just took me with him and then we reported together. Because our stable is close to Mister Thornton’s store, they used it as a meeting place. And, of course, it’s never padlocked, so people can come and go—”

  “Putting any escapee at risk of discovery,” Gabriel interrupted sternly.

  She hung her head. “I know. That’s why I told Toby I had seen strange things going on there. But I know I should have told you right off.”

  He nodded his head seriously. He gave her no solace, for this was a situation that could have cost lives. “It has to stop. I’ll speak with Mister Thornton.”

  Her head jerked up. “But if you do that, he won’t want me—”

  He held up his hand for silence. “I’ll talk to Ben first and find out how Mister Thornton fits into the whole scheme of things. It may be something informal or part of a greater effort, but if he’s using children to track the movements of possible loyalists… well, I’m not sure that’s the wisest way to gather the information we need.”

  “It’s not dangerous, if that’s what you mean,” she asserted. “It’s really a perfect set-up. Nobody even notices us. And I’ve created maps of routes, and meeting places, and drop-off points, and—”

  Before she could say more and, more importantly, before Gabriel could give voice to the incredulity in his expression, Hershel intervened, “I’d love to see those maps, but first we need to deal with Jimmy Reynolds and his information.”

  Father and daughter looked apologetically around the room. In their search for a mutual understanding, they had forgotten about the others.

  “You’re right, Hershel,” Gabriel replied. “Tell them what you have learned.”

  “I found Jimmy knocking back some gin with a couple of sailors down by the docks,” Hershel reported with an investigator’s precision. “I recognized him as Mrs. Reynolds’ youngest. She’s the widow of Captain Todd Reynolds who went down with all hands during a storm around February of ’75. It happened some weeks before our arrival. To a small city like Philadelphia it was a massive blow to lose so many; so it was a topic of conversation even after we’d gotten here.” Hershel stopped to gauge any reaction from his listeners and, when seeing none, continued, “So I wasn’t surprised to see Jimmy hanging out with sailors. But one investigator recognizes another, and it wasn’t long before I realized Jimmy wasn’t drinking as much as the other two and was steering the conversation in a certain direction. Not unlike the one I was interested in hearing.

  “So I hung back out of sight until he’d finished. Then I accosted him when he was making his way up Market Street. Young Jimmy’s a slippery one, but he knew who I was. When I told him I was investigating the tavern fire at the behest of Doctor Franklin, he told me what he’d found out.”

  Hershel paused, and his audience leaned in expectantly. “Seems there’s a new player here in Philadelphia,” he told them grimly. “The boys on the docks don’t really know what to make of it. They’ve seen some cargo coming in at strange hours. They figure it can’t be smugglers, with the water bailiff keeping such close watch and all. But it’s shrouded in mystery, and the crews are particularly closed-mouthed, almost scared like. They’ve overheard some of them refer to a ‘syndicate,’ and orders from someone called the ‘Godfather.’ ”

  “What!” Odell and Ava exclaimed, standing up simultaneously.

  “Sounds like a diabolical thief overlord if ever there was one!” exclaimed a cheerful voice from the parlor threshold.

  Five pairs of eyes turned to look at the woman standing in the doorway, four with astonished recognition and one with something approaching awe.

  Evelyn, the first to regain her senses, croaked out, “Aunt Fancy!” And cast hers
elf headlong into the other woman’s arms.

  Eighteen

  THE PANDEMONIUM THAT followed this dramatic entrance was extreme. The center of an excited group, Fancy smiled and laughed, tears running down her cheeks. Gabriel finally got close enough to hug her, saying with emotion, “How the devil did you get here?”

  “Well I certainly didn’t swim,” she replied mischievously. He smiled and shook his head resignedly, and she added more seriously, “Wu. I got a letter from Wu that you needed me.”

  The silence that followed was profound in contrast to the loud exclamations of only seconds before.

  Ava ventured, “Who is Wu?”

  For the first time, Fancy noticed the young black woman standing just to the side and behind Odell.

  “I know everyone here but you,” she addressed Ava, before turning her attention to Odell and saying, “Although if Wu knew you were going to be here, he didn’t let on in his letter.”

  Odell cleared his throat and made formal introductions, “Miss Fancy O’Sullivan this is Doctor Ava Washington, a professor of history at the university where I am also on faculty.”

  With an infectious smile, Fancy nodded to Ava. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Ava could hardly believe her luck. Her disappointment at finding Odette gone was swept away at meeting the formidable Fancy O’Sullivan. “Likewise.” She smiled. “Your accomplishments… uh…” She turned to Odell. “I can’t say ‘precede’ her, can I?”

  “Well, technically, her accomplishment do precede you meeting her, but since you only learned of them in an historical sense and some have yet to be achieved, ‘precede’ would be inaccurate—”

  “Stop! Please!” Fancy laughed, clutching dramatically at her head. “The vagaries of time travel are too much for me!” She dropped her hands to her side and said more seriously, “To see you virtually unchanged, Odell, is quite enough for my sanity.”

  He could have said much the same of her and not been far off the mark. She had put a few pounds on her petite frame, but otherwise her countenance and figure were still quite youthful. Odell calculated quickly and supposed her to be somewhere in her mid-thirties. What struck him more forcefully was her confident bearing and the smooth, cultured delivery of her speech. He shook his head wistfully, thinking that he would miss the blunt, foul-mouthed girl who had done so much to save his life and the world.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “Its unnatural-like, you being unchanged and all.”

  He smiled at her familiar accent and said, “Well, there is nothing natural about time travel. That’s for sure.”

  “Fancy, where is your luggage?” Gabriel asked. “I’ll have it moved up to our… my room, and I can bunk in with Odell and Hugh.”

  “No need, Gabe,” she replied, “I’ve already dropped it off at the house of a correspondent of mine, Miss Verity Turner.”

  “Old Ebenezer Turner’s daughter?” Hershel asked.

  Fancy took off her hat, and Odell could see that her hair was still short and lightly sprinkled with silver. “Yes. Luckily, Verity had received the letter I wrote to her before embarking, so my arrival at their doorstep was not unexpected. Although, I’m afraid Verity’s father thought me somewhat presumptuous for assuming a welcome.”

  “I can only imagine.” Hershel snorted. “He’s a stiff-necked old coot and a Tory at that.”

  Fancy laughed. “Yes. Only a few minutes in his company were enough to make that clear. It is a bone of contention between father and daughter, Verity’s sympathies lying with the colonials.”

  “A not unusual conflict these days, one that has split loyalties and families,” Gabriel replied sadly. “Which brings me to ask why Miss Verity Turner received a letter and we did not?

  “Simple.” She grinned. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  He took her hands and squeezed them tightly. “It couldn’t be more needed or welcomed.”

  She replied seriously, “Wu wrote that Odette had left, and I should come.”

  To Ava’s confusion, everyone else in the room seemed to take this pronouncement as sufficient explanation of Fancy’s unexpected arrival.

  “Who is Wu?” she repeated.

  Fancy released Gabriel’s hands and walked over to the fireplace. “Wu is a Buddhist priest,” she answered. “He lives in seclusion at a hidden monastery in the mountains of China.”

  “How ever did you meet?” Ava was incredulous.

  Fancy smiled at the memory, but simply replied, “In London, but he returned to his mountain retreat long ago. I’ve heard from him only infrequently in the ensuing years.” She shook off the cloud of remembrance and continued briskly, “Which is why his letter sent me packing in such haste. It must have taken several weeks to find its way to me, and I was anxious to know how you all were.”

  “Did Wu happen to say when Odette would return?” Gabriel asked rather stiffly.

  She looked at him and answered with compassion, “He did not. But I have gathered from what he did write, that there is much you have kept from me,” she concluded much less compassionately.

  “Yes… well… we didn’t want—”

  She held up her hand. “Please, spare me the explanations, Gabe. I can easily imagine Odette’s rationalizations.”

  “You did almost die, Fancy, and Odette… well, she didn’t want to take you from your work.”

  Fancy sighed deeply and nodded. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m here, and clearly Odell’s appearance is part of all this.” She looked around waiting for further explanation.

  Gabriel’s heart had lightened at her arrival, but his thoughts were in a jumble. Too many loose ends were flapping in the wind, and he needed to pull them together.

  “Can this wait?” he asked. “I think we should regroup later when I’ve had time to speak with Ben and bring all the disparate pieces together.”

  “Most definitely,” Fancy agreed. “I am still somewhat wobbly on my feet, and I must see Cara.” She smiled sheepishly at Hershel. “She will not be as forgiving as you all have been.”

  “Very true.” Hershel returned her smile. “She has always maintained that surprise is her least attractive expression.”

  *

  Ava followed Evelyn as they wound their way through the stalls on Third and Market Street. The fresh vegetables and livestock, the wood and mud of their surroundings, the natural fibers of every stitch of clothing on every back, the utter absence of anything plastic or synthetic, produced a smell of an overwhelmingly organic nature. Ava took only shallow breaths of air until she could acclimate herself to the scent of life so rich it almost stifled her.

  This was different than the night of their arrival when she had feared her body’s rejection of those long-dead oxygen molecules. Now, she was fearful of being drugged—made giddy by the heavy, unaccustomed smells and left helpless to wander in a dazed state. She fought hard to keep her attention fixed, her gaze lifted only enough to see where she was going; Gabriel’s warnings still rang in her ears.

  In Philadelphia, the matter of slavery was in flux. With the Quaker population no longer ascribing to the practice and the market economy such that slaveholding was increasingly impractical, it was nevertheless still legal to own slaves and illegal to help one escape. Gabriel had explained that even freemen were greatly restricted in their movements and actions. The various and sundry rules were often onerous, with punishment for wrongdoers being servitude.

  Ava had watched Odell’s lips thin with scorn when Gabriel soberly described the penalty for freemen when caught fraternizing with whites.

  “If they marry, the Negro partner can be sold into slavery for life, if it involves fornication only, seven years of servitude.”

  “And their white accomplices?” he had asked.

  “If there are any penalties on the books, I have yet to see them applied,” Gabriel replied with a cynical twist of his lips.

  Ava wondered, not for the first time, why Gabriel had seen fit to single out that particular viola
tion for greater emphasis. Evelyn had pegged them as a “courting couple.” Perhaps Gabriel had also misinterpreted their friendship as romantic.

  Ava’s thoughts and feelings when it came to Odell were complicated, to say the least. Ettie’s read on his character was more of a reality than just the hopeful musings of a fond sister, as Ava had once thought. He certainly had a presumption, an air of confidence that at first seemed like arrogant disregard, but the more she got to know him…

  “Ava, what do you think? Wheat or oat porridge for breakfast?

  She refocused her eyes and looked up at Evelyn. “Whatever you prefer, Miss Evelyn.”

  Ava had to stifle the urge to infuse her words with a Gone with the Wind southern accent and merely kept her voice low and indistinct.

  “But Uncle Odell, which would he like?”

  “Oats then, Miss Evelyn.”

  They both carried large woven baskets which had, over the course of their meandering route, become quite full. Ava was surprised at the variety and selection of food, spices, and condiments that were available. Evelyn worked the stalls like a seasoned pro. She tested the produce, made pronouncements on its freshness and general overall quality, and haggled with the price when she found it lacking. She identified with authority the dizzying array of spices and turned up her nose at mealy apples and moldy dried fruit.

  The latent ethnographer in Ava awoke with a vengeance. She tried to cover her inquisitiveness with the subservient demeanor of a servant. She wished for chameleon-like eyes so she could see in all directions without moving her head.

  Among the general bustle of the marketplace, she began to note the presence of other blacks, particularly women. The universal and homey nature of purchasing food made it difficult to distinguish slave from freeman. She began to unwind and relax a little as she noted that these women, while deferential, were by no means cowering in their shoes. And the whites didn’t seem to be going out of their way to catch a minor infraction or imagined slight.