Surprisingly Sylvie had the answer. “Because Betsy can walk in time. She can take you to Mom Myers’ home town.” She ran to collect the horses and get them into harness.
Even though they moved at as fast a clip as was possible, it seemed to take forever to get back to the Carr farm. When they got there, the children yelled with delight and ran to be grabbed up in hugs, their newest puppy yipping at their heels.
Betsy came out of her house, looking flushed and golden with her curls tied back in what would eventually be called a pony-tail, her dress covered with a floury, enveloping apron. “So glad to see you,” she said, hugging Mrs. Myers who didn’t seem to mind that some of the flour was transferred to her own dress. “Come into the kitchen. I’m kneading bread and can’t stop in the middle.”
Caleb came up to greet them and take charge of the team so they trooped into the homey country kitchen where Betsy instructed her sister to get glasses of sweet tea for all of them from the pitcher already made and, washing her hands, went back to kneading the massive lump of dough on her floured wooden board. “I saw you pass this morning. Where were you headed?”
Only Mrs. Myers pulled out one of the cane-bottomed chairs from the kitchen table to sit down hard as though her weight was too much for her feet. Sylvie lifted Emilee in her arms and listened to Ben’s account of how the old red rooster had chased him, but Mac stood waiting near Betsy’s elbow as she watched her pinch and shape the bread dough, beginning to form it into loaves that would be set to rise. The yeasty scent in the air was both appetizing and slightly strange and the thought of newly baked bread made her mouth water.
She felt compelled to allow Mrs. Myers to introduce the subject that had brought them here, feeling the older woman’s chances of success had to be better than her own.
Betsy glanced over her shoulder at Mac and lines deepened in her forehead. “Something wrong, Mac?”
“No. Not really.”
“No word about Jerry?”
Mac shook her head and looked pleadingly at Mrs. Myers. Betsy, seeing that look, finished the last loaf and covered it with a cloth to rise. She washed flour from her hands in the dishpan before turning, her hands bracing her arms against her waist. “Okay, ladies, what’s the big secret? What’s going on?”
Sylvie shrugged. Mac’s face flushed with heat. Mrs. Myers looked anything but embarrassed, “I’ve come to call in a favor, my girl.”
Betsy slipped over to place a quick kiss on the graying hair. “Anything for you, dear Mrs. Myers.”
She picked up the glass of tea Sylvie had poured for her, sipped deeply, than motioned the others to follow her. “We can watch the children play outside while we talk,” she said, going to open the screened door and motioning them out on the porch.
Even though it was still hot outside, the porch was cool and shady and swept by southern breezes. Emilee and Ben ran past them with their puppy out to the child- sized swings that dangled from a branch in the big tree out front while the women seated themselves. Mrs. Myers and Betsy sat beside each other on the old fashioned porch swing while Sylvie chose a seat on the stone steps.
Mac, who felt she would jitter into a hundred pieces if she even tried to be still, walked over to sniff at the multitude of tiny pink roses that bloomed on the rambler at the end of the porch, her back turned to the others.
“You’ve always promised me a trip, my little love,” Mrs. Myers began gently, speaking in a low voice to Betsy that almost excluded the other two. “Ever since you knew you were the only one who could cross the barrier, you said anytime I wanted to see the big wonderful world outside of here, you would take me.”
The swing rocked as Betsy used her feet to give it a push. “You always said ‘no.’ You always said Lavender was enough for you.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to take me and Mac to Korn.”
“Korn? But Eddie was just there when she researched your history for your birthday. She says it’s changed beyond all recognition.”
“No. Not Korn in now, whatever that is. Korn that used to be. The town that I left all those years ago in the 1800s.” She closed her eyes, seeming to search her memories. “My girls would have been little still and Herman had come back from the war without a scratch. We felt so lucky when we knew so many men didn’t come back at all.”
“But Mom Myers . . .” Betsy was so distracted that she used her little sister’s impertinent name for their mentor. “I can’t . ..
Mrs. Meyers took Betsy’s hand in her own even as she interrupted, “You see I need to find out what happened to Herman and Mac and me,” she glanced to where Mac sat feeling so intense that she quivered inside, “We think that’s where Jerry’s is locked up.”
Betsy sat in what appeared to be shocked silence. “But Mrs. Myers, Zan and Eddie would know if that was even possible.”
“I don’t think they’re telling us everything they know. They want to keep us safe, Betsy, and risk all the danger themselves.”
Betsy slumped against the older woman’s shoulder. “Eddie did say Zan was working on some time travel experiments. Maybe that’s what they were after, the people who took Jerry.”
Mrs. Myers nodded. “So you will help us, Betsy?”
Betsy looked up, her blue eyes wide and startled. She climbed slowly to her feet and went to bend over Mac, who looked up at her with a pleading expression.
“Oh, McKinley, I would do this if I could. But what you’re asking of me is beyond my abilities. I can’t take you to 1869 Korn.”
Jerry hoped the white-haired intruder would take Bud Henderson’s shotgun seriously. He knew well enough that men like this one tended to laugh at ancient weapons like Bud’s gun, feeling safe in their lighter, quicker and more powerful weapons. He was fairly sure the six shooter on display in its holster on his right was mostly for show and that inside an easily accessible pocket lay a tiny buzz gun, most likely set to kill or render unconsciousness.
The question then became whether Bud could pull the trigger on his shotgun faster than the other man could buzz them both to helplessness.
“Mr. Caldecott, we need to talk,” the man said, seeming to ignore Bud and his shotgun as unimportant. “What I have to say will serve your interest as well as my own.”
“What about Herman Myers’ interest?” Jerry demanded coldly, increasingly angered as he saw the questioningly look on the other man’s face. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you even know the name of the man you ordered beaten?”
“Oh. Him. Certainly I gave no such barbaric instructions. The locals I hired were a bit primitive and overreacted to my request that all approaches to this location be obstructed. I do regret Mr. Myers’ death.”
“You killed my neighbor?” Bud scowled fiercely, closing the distance between him and the other man. “You don’t deserve being shot, mister. You’re gonna hang.”
“Mr. Caldecott, please restrain this impetuous lout, before I have to take action.”
Somehow Jerry found the cold confidence of his contemporary a whole lot less civilized than that of the vengeful little man from the past. He didn’t want to see Bud killed for having happened into events that should not have come into his life. He didn’t want him to end up like Herman Myers, dead because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Instead he took a different tactic. “How comes its Mr. Caldecott now when it was Jerry just a little while ago. What have I done to deserve such respect?” Sarcasm iced his tone.
“Can I shoot him, Jerry? Would be only right if he’s killed Herman and taken him away from a family that needs him. In my eyes, that’s justice.”
“Not unless you want to stay here forever, Caldecott,” the fancy accent dropped some of its culture. Faster than had seemed possible, a tiny silver weapon that wasn’t even shaped like an old-time gun appeared in the slender, pale-toned hand and it was directed not at him, but at Bud Henderson.
Jerry knew well enough the force of the innocent looking little buzzer. This wasn’t the ki
nd police used to quiet trouble-making, he was fairly sure of that, but the ones used by assassins and other ‘strong’ men. Specially created, set right and one of these could bring down a skyscraper or ten men at a time. That was why they were out-lawed.
He knew what it was only because he knew with whom he was dealing. His enemies and Zan’s were ‘legal’ criminals, guardians of nation states, maybe even their own.
What they wanted was what Zan refused to give them, secrets he meant for the improvement of life, but which they would turn into weapons. Almost anything could become an instrument of destruction in the wrong hands.
And Jerry, under the influence of drugs, had given away all of their secrets. All the ones he knew anyway. This man was here now, in this time, because he’d pumped Jerry’s mind and found out how to bring them both here. But now as he watched the impasse between the two men, he guessed something more was going on. He knew, or they thought he knew, something more. That was why he was still alive.
“Both you guys need to put down your guns,” he finally said, knowing there was no safe way to negotiate this moment.
Bud bristled. “Not me. No siree, bob! That little thing he’s got ain’t no gun.”
Before the little man could move, the stranger moved his head slightly and blew away the big old oak next to the barn. Mouth open, Bud stared at the heap of smoldering splinters left on the ground. Then with only one glance in Jerry’s direction, he dropped his weapon.
The other man pocketed his buzz gun and Jerry drew in a deep thankful breath. He’d bluffed and won. Now if he only knew what cards he held in his hand that made this man want to do business with him.
Chapter Fifteen
“Don’t you want to help us?” Mac demanded furiously. “They could kill Jerry!”
“Oh, honey, I know.” Betsy pushed back her mass of golden curls, looking almost girlish in spite of the fact that she was a wife, mother and not so far from her thirtieth birthday. She tried to hug Mac, but the younger woman quickly sidestepped.
“You have to do it, Betsy. You’re the only one who can.”
To McKinley it was as though the two of them were present there on the Crockett Street front porch so that she was jarred when Mrs. Myers spoke. “It was a promise, Betsy. You said you’d take me outside any time I asked.” Her voice sounded calm and sure with no sense of this being an argument.
“Listen to what she’s trying to tell you, Mac,” Sylvie pleaded. “Explain, Betsy.”
Betsy nodded, her face tense with distress. “It’s not that I won’t do it. I can’t.” She turned to Mrs. Myers. “I promised to take you out to the world where I grew up, the time that is ‘now’ over there. But I have no way to take you to a specific time in the past. Going to 21st century Korn would do you no good.”
“But Betsy, you went back to that time during the war and Violet took Warne to 1940’s England.”
Betsy’s fair skin flushed with the intensity of her feelings. “I didn’t control my trips to civil war Lavender. I just . . .went there. The best I can figure is that somehow Caleb and the love we came to feel for each other drew me there.” She shook her head. “Or maybe it was because my great-grandfather was there and he was the one who started it all.”
“But Violet and Warne . . .” Mrs. Myers’ protest trailed away as Betsy shook her head.
Mac had heard only a little about Violet and Warne Chapman who had gone ahead to another war in the 1940s. She looked questioningly at Betsy.
“That was Violet, not me, and she was taking Warne to her own now in the ‘40s.”
Mrs. Myers’ rounded figure slumped slightly. “Then there’s no way.”
Mac wouldn’t give up that easily. This was about Jerry and saving his life. “You have to try, Betsy. Maybe there is a way and you just have to discover it. Please, at least see what’s possible.”
Betsy stared at her, then nodded. “Sylvie,” she said to her sister, “Will you tell Caleb where I’ve gone and will you see to Ben and Emilee for me.”
“I always get left behind,” Sylvie wailed her protest.
“Just Mac and me this time. It could get dangerous.”
Mrs. Myers pushed her hands against in the swing seat in order to get to her feet. “You’ll need me to take care of you,” she said in a way that left Betsy no doubt that she would be going with them.
Once the milking was finished and all the animals given water and feed, the three men went inside Herman Myers pretty little cabin, taking seats on the stiff, old-fashioned chairs in the parlor. More pictures here, some of them obviously images of a previous generation, but also a family portrait of Herman, his wife and their two small daughters.
Quickly Jerry removed his gaze from that photograph. He didn’t like to think about Mrs. Myers and her children coming back to find their husband and father dead.
Mrs. Myers. Was this woman an earlier version of the Mrs. Myers he’d known all his life, the woman who lived in Lavender and looked after them all?
“What happened to Herman?” he asked now.
“Mr. Caldecott, I’m afraid the man who lived here died, somewhat accidentally, after my hirelings became over-enthusiastic.” The man seemed dry, matter-of-fact, and could have been talking about a simple business matter, not a man’s death. “You see, I wasn’t able to bring expert help with me so had to rely on those I could employ locally. Unfortunately they proved to be less than effective and it became necessary to dispose of them.”
“Aren’t all those deaths going to raise some awkward questions?”
The man shrugged. “I’m not too concerned. Local law enforcement seems rather basic. Besides the bodies have been managed.”
“Managed?” When no answer came to Jerry’s one-word question, he asked. “Who are you and what else do you want from me?”
Gray eyes regarded him coldly. “My name is Constantine Silver and I’m an agent of my government.”
“A legal crook. What government?”
“That needn’t concern you.”
“Don’t trust no governments,” Bud Henderson interposed. “Not nothing since ol’ Jeff Davis went down.”
Jerry thought it best to ignore this diversion. “And what do you want from me that you haven’t already taken?”
Silver leaned back against the unyielding wooden chair, tapping his long fingers against each other in a thoughtful manner. He was thinking just how much he must say to get what he wanted, Jerry guessed, and had no doubt that the words that came from his mouth would be a whole lot less than honest.
“You gave me what I needed to bring you here,” Silver said with an air of being totally candid. “Insight into the time project, how it works.”
“But why here? A little Texas community where not much ever happened of any importance.”
“Hey!” Bud Henderson protested. “Best place in the world. Good people.”
Jerry sent a grin in his direction. “Of course we think so, Bud,” he agreed before turning his gaze back to Silver.
“Well, it was a kind of scatter shot to see what we could do and to get you out of the way of Alexander Alston’s operation.”
A lie. Jerry didn’t have to have an electronic device to recognize that. Why would they have ended up here in Korn, a nice, orderly community with little of interest in the larger world when he’d unconsciously keyed them into Zan’s secrets?
Immediately it clicked into place. Korn was a near neighbor to another community and only a few decades from the time in which it was locked. Lavender was the time anomaly. Lavender had been the target.
But Jerry’s information had been incomplete. He’d been the weapon that had misfired. They’d wanted the secret of how to relocate a whole community and had never realized that this was not either his or Zan’s secret. Old Doc Stephens, long gone to his reward, was the only one who fully knew how that had been done.
Bud scowled in bewilderment. “You fellows got bees in your bonnets,” he accused. “Nothing you’re saying makes any s
ense.”
“Not to me either,” Jerry told him, careful that his posture was relaxed, betraying no concern. “Where did you come from, Constantine?” he drawled out the outlandish name. “That you seem to need help in getting out of an uncomplicated little community like Korn?”
“Sure.” Bud nodded to the south. “Just take the old mill roadway out of town and it’ll lead you on to some bigger places. We don’t need your kind here and would be right pleased to see you on your way.” He shuffled to his feet, standing as though urging the other man to leave. He looked longingly at the shotgun propped up over next to a window.
Jerry didn’t budge and was just as glad old Bud had no way of knowing how dangerous was the game into which he’d been drawn by Jerry’s request for help in rescuing Herman. He kept his eyes on Silver. Your play, he thought.
Silver ignored Bud, seeming unconcerned. “I have a little problem. The information you were so kind as to give us allowed us to enter this place and time, but somehow you neglected to inform us how to depart. We’d like to get home.”
Jerry wasn’t real surprised. It was all he’d known about time, the history of Lavender and how Betsy was the only one who could come and go freely for some reason he didn’t understand. And he’d been inside the development that led from that to the scientific discoveries that allowed Zan and a few others to begin to move through time. Not everybody could do it, he certainly couldn’t. And he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out of here or he’d already be gone.
He determined to give away none of this by as much as a flicker of an eyelash. Once Constantine Silver realized he didn’t have the answer, his life, Bud’s and maybe even Herman’s wife and children would be coin to be spent. Silver wasn’t likely to hold off form using his tiny buzz gun out of mercy. Jerry was fairly sure the man had been born without that quality.
So he bluffed by tilting his head knowingly and giving a taunting smile. “Let me think about it, Conn,” he said.
“My name is Constantine,” Silver snapped, losing his apparent calm for the first time. “And let’s hope you can think quickly enough, Jerry.” He glanced meaningfully at Bud’s furious figure.
Missing in Lavender: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas series Book 6) Page 10
