Anya started shaking her head as soon as she saw it. “I’m sorry Mrs. Grant, but having a big barn is essential for us. I’m afraid this place simply won’t be suitable.”
“If you could just take a look inside the house...”
Anya kept shaking her head as she flipped back through the folders. The realtor gave a soft sigh, but she was a practical woman and turned the car back toward the front of the house and drove back down to the main road. While the realtor was focused on that, Anya picked out their new home.
She held the folder up high in front of the windshield, spread open so Mrs. Grant could see. “This place looks like it has a big enough barn.”
The realtor sighed and shoved the folder out of her face. That’s not the barn, that’s the house. But the barn is almost as big. Maybe bigger.”
Anya simply nodded. “It sounds just right.”
“I have to tell you, it’s on low lying land. Sometimes when we get the really heavy rains, it kind of floods. You’d better get flood insurance.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad—the roof doesn’t leak, does it?”
Mrs. Grant shook her head. “No, the house and barn are both in good repair, and solid. No problems there. But while the house is large, it’s got a lot of rooms. It’s built cramped—not a lot of space to move around in.”
“But the barn isn’t like that, is it?”
“No, the barn is airy. Lots of space and light. I think I’d rather live in that barn than the house—if it wasn’t for the lack of bathrooms and a kitchen.”
Which allayed Anya’s concerns. It sounded the perfect place for their purposes. “We may spend a lot of time working in the barn.”
“This work...”
Anya decided she’d better say something. “Art. And crafts—that sort of thing. More recreational than work.” Now she’d have to take up painting.
Mrs. Grant nodded. Apparently that was an explanation that made sense. “That should be alright, then. But another thing I have to mention...” The realtor hesitated. “This is quite a ways out of town. I know you wanted privacy, but it’s not exactly the, well, best location.”
Anya shook her head. “If you’re trying to tell me it’s not a nice area, Mrs. Grant, I won’t believe you. I don’t believe there’s a bit of Chickadee County that’s not nice.”
“Well...” The realtor gave a little cough. “Some bits of it are nicer than others.”
“As long as we’ve got a nice quiet place where everyone can get away for the summer and relax in peace, we’ll be fine.”
The realtor sighed. “You may be happy with the next place at that.” And she slowed the station wagon and turned down a wide gravel road between two trees and drove past a long metal gate that had been left wide open.
Anya looked into the distance to get a glimpse of their new home. The large wood house was painted forest green and the roof was bright orange. A vast garden spread around one side of the house, and a gigantic barn behind cast a huge shadow over it.
The more Anya saw of the place, the more she fell in love. She turned to give Mrs. Grant a wide smile. “I love it—the garden, that roof.”
“It’s a metal roof, you know—when it rains it’ll make an awful racket.”
“Perfect.” Anya started daydreaming of listening to the drumbeat of the rain on the metal roof. It reminded her of her childhood. She was sure this would be their new home now.
The realtor coughed. “I suppose you’ll want to see the barn first?”
Anya nodded. “We’ll want to look at the whole place before we make a decision, but I think this is it. But it’s the barn that will settle the question.”
Mrs. Grant eased past the side of the house and drove up to the barn. After she stopped the car and they all got out, she broached a new subject. “I don’t know what your plans are for transportation—did you plan to drive up here for the summer? In your own vehicles? Or will you be needing to rent something...”
Anya shook her head. Without proper identification, she doubted they’d be able to rent a car, or even buy one. They certainly couldn’t drive, legally speaking. “I think we’ll just buy a few bicycles for getting around up here.”
The realtor goggled but made no comment. Anya wondered if it would be such a hardship to cycle into town and around. Perhaps one of them should research the laws and local ordinances to see what kinds of transportation they could operate without the need for identification.
Anya sighed under her breath. Everywhere she looked there were a lot of these little problems that needed to be taken care of. Many due to the Travelers’ lack of proper identification. Someone should have foreseen the issue.
She set aside her worries about those problems and paid attention to the barn in front of them. She glanced at the house and back again. The barn had not been painted—it was simple varnished wood. It did look solid, well built. And as they approached the giant double doors, Anya lifted her eyes to see big windows high up, which would indeed let in lots of light.
Tate walked in front of her and pulled the heavy doors open. He stood aside and waved the ladies in. They stepped into the big empty space smelling of sawdust and mildew, and Anya saw that those high windows ran all along each wall of the barn. They’d be a nightmare to clean.
Then she noticed the wooden staircases on each side of the doorway, against the wall and going up to a narrow loft that ran all the way around the upper level, just under those windows. So that’s how they can be cleaned, on the inside anyway.
Anya asked Mrs. Grant about how they’d clean the outside of those windows.
The realtor cleared her throat. “That’s another thing I wanted to mention—I presume you’ll want help with the upkeep, especially if you’re only going to be around in summer.” Seeing Anya nod, Mrs. Grant continued, “What kind of help will you want? And do you need staff to help in the summer season as well? For cooking and cleaning? What about the lawn and the garden?”
Anya considered. They wouldn’t want the contemporaries coming in and out while the Travelers were using the place for research. “We’ll take care of everything ourselves during the season. The rest of the year we’ll want someone to take care of everything—the lawn and garden especially.”
Mrs. Grant nodded. “Old Bill Wheeler lives in the neighborhood, and he’s a great gardener—I’m sure he’ll be available to take care of the outdoors. What about the house itself? Live-in caretakers?”
Anya shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary—we won’t be leaving anything valuable behind. All we’ll need is someone to come by regularly and air the place out, dust and such.”
“I can recommend some people who’ll keep the house in order for you.”
Anya smiled. “Thank you. We’ll have the bank pay them directly, so they don’t have to contact us.”
The realtor nodded again. “But if anything does come up, we’ll need some kind of emergency contact information.”
Anya sighed. “I’ll give you someone you can get hold of at the bank—they can either deal with any situation themselves or contact us.” Which would be difficult, since Anya and the others would simply not exist outside of the summer. Traveling through the rest of the year, they’d miss whatever happened in the interim. That couldn’t be helped. Returning home would take long enough without living in real time. Though the slow path does have its appeal.
She turned around, taking a long look at the interior of the barn and anticipating the time she’d be spending here. Satisfied, she started walking back up to the house.
The realtor called from behind her. “You don’t mind if I drive back up? I can park by the door. It’ll make it easier when we leave.”
Anya called back over her shoulder. “I want the exercise. Tate can ride with you if he’d like.”
Tate must’ve wanted to walk, as he came trudging up to Anya. They both watched Mrs. Grant give a little wave through the car window as she backed up past them and turned the car toward the house.
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While they had their moment of privacy, Anya spoke to her helper. “The barn is perfect for Traveling. If it doesn’t collapse while we’re gone.”
Tate smiled. “You worry too much, Leader. It’s solid. And even if it got knocked down by a tornado or something, we’d just land on top of the rubble—since we can only come through in empty space. We likely wouldn’t be seen out here.”
“Yes, I know I worry too much. Right now I’m anxious about Turner and Nye—did they get to the city alright? Who knows what trouble Nye could be in already?”
“You’re a mother hen.” At least he said it with his smile intact.
They were already coming up to the house, and Mrs. Grant, who must’ve gone in the front, opened the door that led onto the back porch for them and motioned them inside. The woman watched them climb the few short wooden steps.
She must’ve seen Anya checking her watch. “I know—it’s half past six in the morning. Time flies when you’re looking at houses.”
Anya shook herself to get rid of the worries she had about Turner and Nye—the pair wouldn’t even have arrived in the city yet. She needed to focus on her own business.
Following the realtor in off the porch, Anya noticed it led into a utility room, a very narrow space that ran the entire length of the back of the house. There was a washer and dryer, but not much room to use them. Cramped, indeed.
Mrs. Grant preceded Anya and the taciturn Tate down a narrow hallway past a number of doors and into a large kitchen. It, too, was cramped, with its big island and the table and chairs and the counter and cabinets jutting out everywhere.
The realtor pointed. “You’ll find a long, narrow pantry through one of those doors.”
She walked through an open door into another short hallway and led them past a narrow staircase. She ushered them into a large living room stuffed with furniture. A big bay window with a seat looked out onto the front porch. Anya was entranced. It just keeps getting better.
Mrs. Grant waved her arms around. “There are two ground floor bedrooms around that corner and upstairs a couple more and a master suite with a full bath. There’s another one and a half baths up there, and three half baths down here. You might miss the attic under the roof which is hard to find, but it’ll get really hot in the summer, so I don’t know that you’ll want to use it for anything.”
Anya nodded and strolled out the other door to find herself in a main hall staring at a second staircase. The steps were quite deep, and it was barely wide enough for her to climb without turning sideways. Tate and Mrs. Grant followed her.
The realtor must’ve known what she was thinking. “The other stairs aren’t quite so narrow.”
Anya shook her head. Harold wouldn’t want to climb this, so she’d reserve one of the ground floor bedrooms for him. The other would’ve been for the professor, if he were still with them.
She looked up the staircase for a long moment, fighting back the tears so she could face Mrs. Grant. “I don’t think I need to look any more. This is it.”
“You can’t really go wrong, investing in real estate. Prices always go up. But you should check the place out thoroughly, pay for a professional inspection before you commit yourself.”
Anya remembered the price from the folder the woman had given her. Amazing that a home should be so expensive.
She turned to Tate. “Why don’t you look around up there and make sure there are no problems? I’ll stay down here and take care of business.”
Tate nodded without a word and squeezed past Anya to start climbing the stairs. The realtor took a glance back in the living room and then suggested, “Why don’t we sit down in the kitchen to go over the paperwork?”
So Anya followed her back, and they both sat at the large circular oak table that took up the space not occupied by the island. Mrs. Grant took a thick folder out of her bag. “Now then, there are a lot of forms to fill out, and I’ll have to call the lawyer, Mr. Pistlethorn, to see when we can close.”
Anya shook her head. “It won’t be that complicated.” She reached into her own bag and retrieved a folder. The hard work had been done—this part should be easy. “We’ve already made our arrangements with Mr. Pistlethorn.” The local lawyer with the unfortunate name seemed to handle all the real estate transactions in town.
She continued, “The trustees at our bank have prepared the funding, and the trust itself will be the official owner, the purchaser of the property. It’s all been taken care of.” She slid out a sheet of paper. “I simply sign this authorization, confirming the specific property and the agreed price and fees. Then you can drop it off with Mr. Pistlethorn. The bankers and the lawyers will handle the rest. While you and I get on with life.”
Mrs. Grant gaped for a moment, then smiled a genuine smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
The realtor handed Anya a financial disclosure sheet with the full purchase price with closing and other costs detailed, then watched as Anya copied the information onto her authorization form. She signed her name at the bottom and then pulled the ink pad she’d bought from her bag and affixed her thumbprint next to her signature. She slid the completed form over to Mrs. Grant with a smile.
“There now.” Anya dropped the ink pad back into her bag. “All done. What next?”
The realtor returned to her usual businesswoman persona. “Since no one is in residence and only the formalities remain, why don’t I give you the keys now? So you can start making this place over. I can tell you’re eager to get started.”
Anya grinned. “That sounds great. But could you give us a ride back into town? We need to buy some supplies—sheets and dishes and groceries. I suppose we’ll have to take care of getting the power turned on first, for the refrigerator. And of course we’ll need a couple of bicycles and maybe a wagon. Does someplace in town sell wagons? Or bicycles for that matter?”
Mrs. Grant was shaking her head—not in negation but in wonder. “Of course. I’ll take you there. And I can show you where the electric company is. Sounds like you’re going to have a busy day.”
Anya didn’t mind that. They’d also need to get their things from Mrs. McGlinty’s—no need to stay there another night. They had their new home now, and Anya couldn’t wait to move in.
Chapter 11
No Way Out
November 30th, 1997 Midtown Manhattan
MATT still held the black leather bag in his arms and stood on the same sidewalk in front of the same stores, but the thugs were gone—and so was Page. He looked around wildly and had to force himself to breathe slow. In just a minute he had calmed down and could think straight and began to scan his surroundings in every direction.
He knew people got separated when they Traveled together. Not only had Page told him, but he’d experienced the phenomenon himself. If she’d been pulled out of his arms that time but lost her helpers completely when she had arrived in two thousand, then the difference in dislocation had to be either a function of the amount of time spanned or the relative physical distances involved.
Matt checked his watch. They’d Traveled exactly one year into the past. Since the separation when they’d gone back two and a half had been minimal, Page would be right here if it were the first, so it had to be the latter. Meaning she shouldn’t be far away, since she had been close enough to touch. Now the question was how to find her.
Before he could even try to answer that, his eye was caught by her brilliant red head bobbing up the street toward him. Of course. He should’ve known that Page could and would track him down. I’ve got the money.
He stood still and watched through the gaps in the crowds as she approached, wanting to see her face. When she appeared though, she was staring at her watch, and all Matt could see was the top of her head—then when she raised her eyes and saw him, she was glaring.
Matt grinned back. He wondered what her first words would be—he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Was that really necessary?” She frowned, then leaned forward to
peer into the top of the bag.
“Completely. Start thinking of New York City as a jungle. If you don’t want to get in more trouble.”
“This jungle has some great shopping. I saw a store just down the street—and now we can go.”
Matt gaped. “You want to go shopping? Right now?” He looped his hand through the straps of the bag and folded the top closed in a fist. Page had said she’d be getting a new one anyway. He grabbed her elbow with his other hand and propelled her out of the flow of foot traffic.
She stared at him for a long moment. “My device shouldn’t have recharged sufficiently to Travel. Clearly it had, but it couldn’t have had a full charge. So we should wait the full twenty-four hours before we try to Travel again. I can spend that time shopping. I still need better clothes, don’t I?”
He looked her up and down and shook his head. “You said it feeds off my body’s own electrical field—well, light bulbs tend to blow if I get too close. So we may not have to wait quite that long before we can Travel.”
“It’s a Sunday. Even if we could Travel sooner, we might as well wait. The bank won’t be open until tomorrow morning, and after I’ve been shopping I may need to get more cash.”
“I suppose you used that GPS thing you mentioned two and a half years in the future. To find me so fast.”
Page nodded. “Of course. What else would you expect me to do?”
“But I didn’t know how to look for you. How do you use that tracking function?”
She shook her head. “I thought you understood I wasn’t going to show you how to use my device.”
Matt grinned. “Because of our trust issues. You said you wouldn’t show me how to Travel. Which I managed anyway. And you want me sticking close, don’t you?”
Page glared at him for a while before nodding. “It’s so simple you shouldn’t need me to show you, but I guess it will be quicker this way.”
Holding out her own watch so he could see how she operated it, Page pressed the bottom left button.
“I only press once on this device, but press the same button twice on mine to get to the locator app. That blip in the center of the screen is you—it would be me appearing on my watch. If I’m out of range, a red bar on an edge of the screen shows the compass direction in which you can find me.”
Millennium Crash Page 12
