Infinity's Daughter

by Laszlo, Jeremy

  “What’s your name, dear?” he asked.

  I blinked, staring at him. My name? I couldn’t give him my actual name. I opened my mouth, and two words fell out. “Lucy…Smith.”

  Officer Sullivan nodded again. “Well, Lucy, let’s sit down and talk.”

  He joined me at the table, and the woman brought us tea and little biscuits. I didn’t eat. Officer Sullivan had five, with little bits of jam and butter dipped carefully on top of them. He listened very carefully, as I spun my tale of lies. I felt awful afterwards, everyone was genuinely concerned. But the hate and dread I had of living in this time overpowered any notion that would have allowed me to feel any real guilt.

  Officer Sullivan told me that I would come back with him, into town, and that I could stay with him and his wife until my parents were located, or the situation was resolved. I thanked him and the woman and her son. As I left, I noticed the newspaper that Officer Sullivan had brought in with him. On the front page read the headline, ‘President McKinley Passes the Gold Standard.’ My eyes widened and incredulity loosened its hold on my mind, giving way to pure revulsion. It was true. It was all, true. The date of the newspaper read in plain, black ink, March 15, 1900.

  1904

  Sometimes it’s a bit unnerving how quickly you begin to forget yourself. The days passed, then the weeks, and before I knew it, I had been lost in my nightmare for more than a year. No one had come to rescue me. I used to wait up at my bedroom window, looking out into the forest, hoping to see my father wandering out in a frenzied daze, calling for me. But he never came.

  At first, the pain was absolutely unrelenting. I found myself aggrieved with heartache every minute of the day, so much it was making me sick. All I could think about was my family and friends. Becky, Brad, but most of all, my mother and father. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what my mother was going through. Sitting all alone in the house while my father was sucked up by the dooms, materializing sporadically, in indiscreet and horrifying ways that could do nothing more than test your faith in time and reality. Before, she had had me to console her. Before, we were together. Now her biggest fears had been verified. Her daughter had been lost in the void, the same void that her husband was subjected to and tormented by every day of his existence. But the difference was, her daughter wasn’t coming back.

  Part of me hated my father, resenting him for what I perceived to be carelessness for almost a year. But in my heart, I forgave him. I knew he would never do anything to hurt me, and could only imagine how he himself must be suffering, knowing that his curse was the reason I was lost between worlds. Mostly, it was just the sorrow that overtook me. Teasing me in the night, and whenever I was alone. Whispering memories of my past life into my ear, and questioning the validity of my own existence. This came to be the hardest part.

  In the first few months, I was truly uncertain of what was real anymore. It all seemed too strange to be true. All of the people I was with were so incredibly genuine, responsible, and caring. And yet they knew nothing of the future, nothing of my past, and were so—by all appearances—of their own time. And I couldn’t help it. Every day I woke up to my little wooden trundle bed, and the horses neighing outside, I was overcome with a very distinct fear that I had lost my mind, and all grasp on reality.

  But as time passed, I began to concede. What was done was done. And whether it was all a figment of my imagination or not, it was my reality, and I had to live in it, through the pain and the fear, if for no other reason than to maintain perceptions. No one could ever know. And even if I had told them, felt secure enough in my new world, I was sure they would lock me up in an asylum, a sure case of hysteria.

  When I wasn’t overwrought with longing for my loved ones and friends, or caught in the rift between reality and fiction, past and future, I began to enjoy some of the quaint aspects of a simpler life. I became very good at cross-stitching, and was encouraged by the lady of the house, Adelle, Officer Sullivan’s wife, to join a stitching group. I attended these sessions, sitting rather meekly in the corner, but found myself absorbed in the little, repetitive motions. When I did speak, everyone thought I was rather strange, always catching myself at the last minute, often stopping mid-sentence before I made some remark about what would come in the future, or how peculiar and inefficient everything of that time seemed to be. To avoid this, and to help tame the sorrow, I often remained quiet. Taking it all in, and speaking very carefully when I was called upon.

  I also found myself reading far more than I used to when I lived at the end of the century. I liked to take a book, and go out into the fields, or sit inaudibly at the end of the large porch, lost between the pages. Reading was another fantastic escape, and one of my saviors. I could misplace myself with the characters, exchanging my life with theirs. When I read, it didn’t matter what time I lived in, or where I was. When I read, I was somewhere else entirely.

  When the universe spat out my father and me in 1900, it had dropped us in a little town outside of New York City, in New York State. By the springtime of 1904, Henry Ford’s cars were beginning to make their way up to our neck of the woods. The first time I saw one I couldn’t help but laugh. The oddity of seeing something so foreign, but so ‘new’ creep out of the past and drive into my life was pressingly bizarre. I have to admit, however, that as those little cars made their way across the country, the burning desire of all who saw them, even I began to want one. It had been so long since I had seen any remotely functional piece of machinery, that I was honestly excited, despite their loud noise and less than comfortable ride.

  Officer Sullivan and his wife, Adelle, had decided to adopt me as their daughter, though unofficially. As prominent figures in the little town, they often had regular dinner parties which, despite everything, I grew to like. They helped pull me out of despondency, and gave me something to look forward to, a new way to distract myself. It seemed that each time we held an event a new socialite appeared, driving their revered and widely sought out Model T. The vehicles were quite the hot topic of conversation at all of our gatherings.

  There was one gathering in particular, that spring of 1904 that still lingers in my mind. Up until that night, my heart yearned for Brad, often. I had sincerely believed that I would spend the rest of my life with him. When the reality sank in that I would never see him again, the thought of meeting someone new, especially in a foreign era, brought a foul taste to my mouth, along with the same, familiar gloom that had begun to linger in my consciousness like an old friend.

  The house was lit up in a spectacular scene, despite the limited electrical output. Lanterns adorned the trees, and garlands of little lights trailed elegantly along the porch and staircases. I was wearing a lovely blue dress, with soft patches of lace accentuating my figure in all the right places. I was very proud of it, feeling more confident than usual, finding myself to be in rather good spirits.

  I was outside on the porch, holding a rather stiff whiskey drink with little touches of lavender and honey dangling on the edges of the taste. Another, new Model T rolled up the driveway, and I stepped closer to the rail, to watch who would emerge from the quaint little mechanical carriage.

  When I saw him, I felt charmed in a way that I hadn’t since I knew Brad, since I was a blushing high school student in my jean skorts and side ponytail. He stepped out of the car, tall, with broad shoulders, and a purpose to his gait. He carried himself with confidence and ease, and greeted everyone with a sincere demeanor.

  Officer Sullivan came out of the house, walking across the porch and down the large flight of stairs to receive him.

  “Samuel,” he said, patting him firmly on the back, and embracing him briefly before reaching out for a strong handshake. “So glad you could come, my boy, welcome, welcome.”

  I blinked nervously, and watched them make their way up towards the house. I stepped off to the side of the porch, engaging myself with nothing, but attempting to blend casually into the cascades of light that flittered from the wooden ra
ilings.

  The young man took up stride with Officer Sullivan, and they made their way to the porch. Dusk was upon us, and the fireflies were beginning to creep out of their nests, speckling the lawn with soft flecks of light. I looked out over the rolling hills of our little town, and the tall trees that encircled the house. It was so different from Holt, in every conceivable way.

  I was fiddling with my drink, when Officer Sullivan, or John, as he had encouraged me to call him, approached me. The closer the newcomer came, the more nervous I got. But I tried not to let it show. He had long, sandy blond hair that dropped down just above his shoulders, sweeping his sharp jaw. His eyes were a very deep azure, and I found myself lingering in his gaze just a little too long.

  “Lucy.” Officer Sullivan touched my shoulder. “I want you to meet someone.” He stepped to the side and patted the young man forward. “This is Officer Samuel Finnik,” he smiled then, pausing, “Or, detective, I should say.” Finnik blushed lightly at this. “He’s newly appointed in our force, and we’re happy to have him.”

  “Thank you, sir, it’s an honor,” Detective Finnik spoke to Officer Sullivan.

  Officer Sullivan coughed, then spoke again, “And, Finnick, I want you to meet my lovely daughter, Lucy.”

  Samuel’s eyes met mine again, and we both smiled. I couldn’t help it.

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” he said. I offered him my hand, which he took graciously, and kissed very softly.

  Officer Sullivan smiled slyly, and grabbed Samuel by the shoulder again. “I’m sure you all will have plenty of time to get acquainted later. Right now, I’ve got to take you on the rounds with the fleet.”

  Samuel nodded, agreeing, and then turned back to me, “Well, I hope we can speak later, then.”

  I nodded, “It was very nice to meet you, I hope we can as well.”

  I turned back towards the sunset and sighed. For the first time since I had plummeted into another era on that frigid morning in the forest, I thought that living at the turn of the twentieth century might perhaps not be that bad after all.

  All too soon, the dinner bell had rung, and the mass of billowing skirts, tightly fitted bodices and steamed suits made their way into the dining room. These events always mesmerized me, as the waves of extravagant food came out without ceasing, followed by precious little pastries hand-decorated with elaborate diminutive flowers and lace, to be dipped in china cups overflowing with hot teas and coffee. The dinners were something that I had no complaints about, in the least. The only thing I was dissuaded by was being waited on, and always insisted on helping in the kitchen at the end of the meal.

  On this particular occasion, I was seated next to Mrs. Sullivan, or Adelle, as per usual. She was a very lovely woman with a big heart, who never rushed me, and was always attentive in the most respectful manner.

  Samuel had caught my eye again, and I tried to hide my smile behind my napkin, before sipping my tea and turning back towards Adelle.

  “Darling,” she said, “Have you been introduced to Mr. Finnik?” Clearly it was no secret that I had been stealing glances at him all through the dinner.

  I put my tea down and hesitated momentarily, nervous that he would hear me, “Yeah—yes, we met earlier, when he came in. John introduced us.”

  Adelle smiled and raised her eyebrows in a little, lighthearted smirk, “He’s very handsome,” she said, “Perhaps you two will have time to talk after dinner.”

  “Adelle!” I whispered, she was the only person who I had met that I felt safe in my unorthodox, teasing mannerisms of the future, “You always have an agenda for me, don’t you?”

  “My dear,” she smiled, “I always do.”

  We laughed, and carried on with the little cakes. Samuel was talking very seriously with two gentlemen from the force, along with Officer Sullivan. One of them nodded, and they all stood up, making their way into the smoking room for further debate.

  “There they go,” Adelle said. “Off into the world of men,” she sighed, laughing as she did.

  I smiled back, but held my tongue about the absurdity of some of the imposed gender roles of the time. I knew all I had to do was wait. It would all change, soon. But, also as per usual, I kept these thoughts to myself. Adelle and I talked quietly about the reading group, and as the company began to break up and scatter around the house, she encouraged me to seek out Samuel.

  “It can’t hurt,” she said. “And you’re so lovely, I’ve been waiting to find someone worthy of you,” she giggled, very proud of her astute nature.

  “Well,” I said, “I won’t go hunt him down, but if I happen to run into him, maybe I’ll say hello.” We both smiled, and I walked out back, onto the porch.

  The men had left their smoking room, and many of them had also ventured out onto the porch to get some air. There was a small group of women huddled in the corner, some of whom I knew from the stitching group. I walked up to them blithely, and said hello, before resuming my usual silence among them. No one was bothered.

  It was dark out now, and in the night time sky, I could clearly see the stars accented against the shadow. It was incredible, without the industrial glow of the cities of the future, how much of the solar system was illuminated in the evening.

  Suddenly then, I heard my name. And to my surprise, Samuel was the one who had uttered it.

  Without turning around, I listened carefully to their quiet conversation just a few yards away on the porch. To this day, I’m very certain that Samuel was fully aware, and probably wanted me to overhear them.

  “Officer Sullivan, if I may have your permission to ask—your daughter, Lucy, is anyone courting her?”

  My heart fell into my stomach, and I blushed, turning further away from their conversation.

  John smiled. “My boy, you certainly have permission, and thank you for inquiring so respectfully. No, no one is courting Lucy.”

  “If I may,” he started, “I would like very much to invite your daughter to join me for dinner. She is very lovely, and there is an air of wisdom about her…with your permission, of course, I would love to get to know her.”

  “And for that, you have my permission, too,” he paused, “However, you have no one’s permission until you ask Lucy herself.” He smiled again.

  At this I chuckled, so happy to have landed in the Sullivan household, of all the places I could have ended up in 1900. Just an hour later, Detective Finnik approached me on the porch, and we had a drink together. Unbeknownst to the Sullivans, we stayed up and talked late into the night. A few weeks later, with my permission, he was courting me.

  1906

  Just ten days after my birthday in 1906, there was a terrible earthquake that bellowed out from the caverns within the soil, and tore apart San Francisco. I saw pictures of it in the newspapers—the images of utter destruction were more than I could bear. It was still so different, seeing things at a slower pace, and only through photographs, rather than videos, television, and radio. But at this point, it had been so long. The fog was beginning to set in, clouding my memories of my past life. Looking at those photographs of the remnants of San Francisco, it felt like I was seeing it for the first time. Touching the corners of the newspaper, running my fingers across the black and white printed images, I felt like I could reach out and touch them, and feel their pain.

  Thousands of people were either dead or injured; that’s what the newspapers said. I winced reading the stories of the displaced—hordes of people without homes, destroyed as the earth came up to claim them. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about the pain they must be enduring. After losing my entire family to something beyond anyone’s control, and without explanation, I could relate to them. Honestly, I thought briefly about traveling to San Francisco, and lending my help, though I wasn’t sure exactly what I could do. But just as quickly as my heart sank, and I wept for those who were lost, I quickly became swept up in my own affairs.

  The guilt I had for selfishly isolating myself from the horror on the Wes
t Coast was soon replaced with my absolute joy and disbelief at the circumstance I had fallen into. On my birthday, Samuel took me for a trip into the city. In my own time, I had never been to New York City. It was absolutely fascinating to see the city before it became the massive metropolitan mecca that it is today. We drove his car to the Upper West Side, taking in the city sights. He took me to a fabulous, candlelit dinner, and afterwards we went for a stroll in Central Park. The park had recently received electric lights, and they sparkled wonderfully throughout the rolling urban jungle.

  We came upon the Bethesda Fountain—a work I was told had been the first piece commissioned from a woman in a large metropolitan area. I looked up at the fountain—a beautiful angel bringing water to the city–and thought of her paving the way for all of the women in the future. It was here, under her gaze, that Samuel got down on one knee, his hat on his chest, and asked me to marry him. I wept, and the tears were ones of pure joy. Despite everything, I truly loved him, and I couldn’t imagine my life any other way, or in any other world. In that moment, there, under that fountain, it was perfect. He grabbed my hand, his other resting in the small of my back, embracing me in a kiss. Our silhouettes stood backlit against the lights of Central Park, casting two intertwined shadows across the pavement.

  Adelle was absolutely overjoyed. When we returned home and told the Sullivans of the news, little tears crept into the corners of John’s eyes, and Adelle began weeping, holding me and repeating over and over how proud she was of me. Samuel held my shoulder, and consoled the couple that I now considered my parents, and his soon-to-be family. I was so awestruck by the entire course of events that I don’t remember speaking much. I simply remember capering around the house, a massive smile plastered across my face, wondering how I ever ended up there in the first place. My sincere happiness surprised me.