by Alex Myers
“I’m not saying that you do, but…. I don’t know, I thought we were getting along really well.” The wagon bounced on the rough road.
“And what’s happened that would make you think otherwise?”
“It’s just that I thought we had something special.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea here. I’ve been divorced.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Keep your voice down.” She looked around as if someone was actually close enough to overhear. “It means I’ve been divorced. I’ve made some mistakes in the past and I’m just not ready to rush into anything.”
“Listen, Frances. In my day, people get divorced all the time.”
“They don’t in 1856 and I told you, I am not rushing into anything. I’m going to take things slow—real slow.”
Jack slapped the reins a little harder than necessary. He was fuming. He just wanted to have some fun—a few laughs—and here she was putting the brakes to things that weren’t even happening. It was as if she couldn’t see him as something more than a friend without turning him into a potential husband. He turned to look at her and he saw that she had glanced away, out at an empty field. “I can’t believe we got into all this. I guess what I was trying to say was I missed you.”
“I’m not sure what you want from me.”
Jack almost let go of the reins, “You’re the only person I can really talk to. You’re the only person who knows my situation. Are you telling me that you didn’t miss me, too?”
“You don’t have to be so dramatic, Jack. Yes, I missed you. I missed my friend.”
“Fine,” Jack said, gripping the reins tighter and looking away.
After a while she said, “Are you going to sit there and pout all day? I have to tell you something important.”
“What’s that?” he asked without looking at her.
“Do you remember after you made me dinner a couple of days ago—“
“Almost a freakin’ month ago!” Jack interrupted.
Frances sighed. “Remember how you said that New York survived the war unscathed?”
“Sure I do,” Jack said with a defensive tone.
“Dammit, Jack. Are you going to be part of this or not?”
“OK! Yeah, I remember.”
“Daddy wants to move there.”
“Move there?”
“Yes, he wants to move the business and mom and everything. My father met me up there a week ago. Uncle Andrew is all for it.”
“Is that what you’ve been working on up there?”
“It’s done. The family is moving October first. My mom is from New York and she’s always wanted to move back; this is her chance. It’s because of your warning that I was able to convince them to move.”
“So it’s my fault?”
“Don’t you want what’s best for us? What happens to Norfolk in this Civil War you remember?”
“It’s conquered and taken over by the Union forces of the North.”
“How does trade do?” Frances asked sharply.
“It doesn’t. Everything is either taken over or embargoed.”
“This should be an easy decision. Daddy is going to concentrate on the catalog side while Uncle Andrew maintains the shops and looks for—what did you call them?—catalog showrooms and more acquisitions north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
“Fine. Just fine.” He pulled the wagon into the grand entry to the Sanger Estate, and they rode in silence to the big front door. The estate was large enough that they had live-in help: Two men took care of the grounds and an older married couple served as butler, cook, and housekeeper. They met the wagon as it came to a stop.
Frances watched Jack unload the wagon and hand the luggage to the help. He turned and she had positioned herself between Jack and the wagon. “Do you have anything to say?”
“About what, Frances? You seem to have everything worked out perfectly. I really need to go.” He quickly moved around her and was in the wagon in a single bound.
“You really don’t need to go—you need to run away. Is this how you stand up for the things you believe in?”
He kept his eyes straight ahead and slapped the reins on the back of the horse. She tried to keep up as he pulled away. “Don’t do this, Jack. Be stronger than this.”
He never looked at her but sensed she chased him nearly out the gate.
“Did she come right out and tell you she was leaving?” Murphy asked.
Jack was slamming things in the barn as he put the horse and wagon away. “No, but her whole family was going. It’s a done deal. Plus, she was acting really distant to me.”
“Did it ever occur to you, somewhere between your rage and feeling sorry for yourself, that she wanted you to ask her.”
“Ask her what? I’m not following you, Murphy.”
“Ask her to stay. Hell’s fire, there must be enough work for her to do; just managing what we send to the company is a full-time job.”
Jack paused and really considered what Murphy was saying. “She did seem to be waiting for something….”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“She was talking to me about not standing up for what I believe in. She said, be strong.”
“That doesn’t sound like someone who has written you off and is going to up and move to New York.”
“She damned near ran after me all the way out to the gate.” Jack was smiling and starting to believe in the theory.
“There is another possibility. Do you reckon she wants you to move to New York with her?”
“But I don’t want to go to New York. I can stop this war from happening, but I have to be here in the South. The solution has to come from a southerner. This war is a angry dog and I’ve either got to kick it in the ass, tell it to sit and pat its head, or just get out of the way and let it run. Everything in my soul is saying stay here and make my stand. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt that way about anything in my life.”
“Are you talking about this Civil War or are you talking about Frances Sanger?”
“Both?”
Murphy started smiling and actually slapped his knee.
“What? What is going on with you?” Jack asked.
“That’s more passion than I’ve ever seen come out of you. Why, you’re finer than wine and gooder than snuff.”
“Did you talk this way before you went to Texas?”
“Don’t let that fire burn down. Keep it stoked, get on that horse, and go talk to that gal.” Jack was already saddling the mare. “One more thing. Have you ever told her how you feel about her?”
Jack stopped dead and everything was silent. “I don’t know how I feel about her.”
“I think you’ve got a horse in this race, ‘cepting you don’t know it yet. What physically did you feel, when you thought she was leaving?”
“It started like a ball of energy in my hands and feet and shot to my chest and my throat. I thought I was going to choke.”
“I appreciate the fact you can be honest with me, because I think you’re being honest with yourself. Jack, I think you are as capable a man as I’ve ever seen. You got enough coal, you just need a little hotter fire. Now go and tell that woman how you feel.”
He rode fast and hard enough that when he pulled it up in front of her house the horse was covered in a sheen of sweat. Frances was waiting on the front porch standing bathed in the light of the setting sun.
“Are you out here waiting for me?” Jack asked as he tied off the horse and walked to the steps.
“I was waiting for somebody. I was hoping it would be you.”
“Frances, I don’t want to go to New York.”
“No one said anything about you going.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“No one said anything about me going either.” Frances said, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.
This gave Jack the courage to continue. “I want to make
my stand here. Momentum is working for me.”
“And what about the war?” she asked.
“I’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen. Don’t give up on me.” Jack grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes. “Stay here in the South…with me. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
Jack’s knees gave slightly, he looked off at the sunset, and then quickly back to Frances.
“Jack, what’s wrong? You’re as white as a sheet.”
“I just realized I’ve never made a promise to a woman before.”
“In that case, I’ll stay here. I based everything between us on whether you’d come back here and face me, face your fears. Courage is a rare and wonderful thing. We all have it, but so few of us will speak its name.”
And then she smiled and said, “Keep a base of operations here in the South? I’ll do it.”
“Then you trust me?”
“You coming back here tonight told me you trust you.”
And then Jack smiled. He put his hand on the porch rail, leaned over, and breathed a sigh. “But we can go visit New York often.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a grown woman. I’m fine with this decision.”
“Oh, I don’t mean we can visit out of sentimentality. I mean we can visit because New York is the most progressive city in the world.”
“OK,” she giggled.
“Great. Do your dad and uncle know where they are going to buy up there?”
“No, they’ve just come to grips with the idea.”
“Good. I could make a few suggestions of places, areas that’ll be valuable and desirable in the future—long-term and short-term. I need to hire the best metal workers in the country, try to steal a plant manager, and meet with a few people. Plus, I want to make a few stops along the way to New York. There’s somebody I want to see in Chicago.”
"Who could you possibly know in Chicago?"
"Somebody from my history books."
CHAPTER 27
May 1856
Write As Fast as You Can
“I think I have about five hours’ worth of battery charge left in it—probably less. I would love to be able to print out the information—“ Jack looked at the iPhone as if it was the first time he’d ever seen it.
“I’m sorry, Jack, but ‘print out?’ I have no idea what that means,” Frances said.
“It’s a….” Jack paused then laughed. “Ah, I never realized that such a common term and action would be almost impossible to explain to someone unfamiliar with the technology or terminology. A print-out or printing in general is the representation of an electronic document on a physical medium, like paper. It would be a document that represented information within my phone.”
“What kind of information is on the device that you want to save so badly?”
“All of it, really. The science and medical for sure. I have a lot of music and books that we have no way of getting. I’d have to look to see if there is anything else. Here’s the thing—I could read the stuff off, and I’d just need someone to transcribe it and to take it down as fast as I can say it.”
“Are you asking me for help?” Frances asked.
“I can’t imagine asking anyone else. We would need to go start to finish, up until the battery quits and then the phone is useless. I figure it would take me five or six months to come up with a way to charge it, but that would require taking it apart, and right now, some of that information in there is too valuable to lose.”
“Are those your notes?” Frances asked. There were handwritten pages, next to a clean stack of paper and fifteen sharpened pencils.
“Yes. Time is going to mean everything to us. We don’t have time to browse; we’re going to have to fly right through this.”
“Can I take a look at what you have so far, to familiarize myself with what we’re going to be covering?”
“That’s probably a good idea, so you can at least have an inkling what I’m talking about. I’m sure you’re going to have to spell the words phonetically—do you know what that word means?” Jack asked.
“Not really.”
“Phonetically means to spell it out like it sounds.”
She picked up the sheet labeled ‘How Things Work.’ “Does each one of these pieces of paper correspond to one of your . . .”
“Programs, apps—yes.”
“This looks like at least a two day project,” Frances said.
“Do you think you can stand being alone with me for that long?”
“Maybe. What’s in it for me?”
“How about the first ballpoint pen ever made?”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“You’ll love it, I promise.”
Jack hit the “on” button, the Apple logo appeared, the phone beeped, and Frances jumped.
“That’s just the sound it makes when it comes on.” He turned on the camera app. “Smile,” he said and snapped a couple of pictures. “Be more dramatic.”
And she was.
“Can I look at it?” she asked impatiently as he got to the photo. “It’s like a part of my essence is caught inside.”
He taught her how to slide the pictures with her finger. She marveled over her own color image, something she’d never seen before.
“Here, watch this,” Jack said. He took the phone and switched from picture mode to movie mode. “Say something.”
“Say something? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Say your name and the date.”
“This is Frances Anne Sanger. I live in Norfolk, Virginia and the date is May 25th, 1856.”
“Dance a little, move around.”
“Jack, whatever for?”
“Just do it. You’ll see.”
“I did take ballet lessons when I was younger,” Frances said and began to move. She began with a run, which turned into a leap, with her legs in the splits. She turned with her legs out and her knees at the side. Pointing her toes, she kept a straight back with her arms relaxed. She finished with her legs straight and her head held high.
Jack had forgotten to breathe. He stopped the video from recording and invited her over. “Frances, that was incredible.”
“Thank you,” she said brushing it off. “Now what is it you want to show me?”
He played the video back for her. This time it was she that forgot to breathe. She watched the video again, and then flicked her finger back to look at the pictures again. She saw the picture he’d originally taken of her by the river and flicked it by it. Then she stopped and asked, “What’s this?”
He looked. “That was my ‘Teacher of the Year’ ceremony.”
“Who’s this?” she asked pointing.
“That’s an old girlfriend of mine. Her name is…or was…or will be Ashley.”
“And you don’t think there’s anything strange about her?”
Jack looked at the picture and shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”
“This woman, this Ashley—this is Mattie Turner.”
Jack furrowed his brow and looked again. “I don’t know, I’m not seeing it.”
“Oh, this is bizarre. Change the hair, give her a little color from the sun, it’s the same person.”
Jack flicked back another page and it was a picture of Ashley on his sailboat, eyes closed, smiling into the sun and wind. In this picture, even he could see the resemblance. “It’s like I forgot what she looked like.”
Frances took the phone, looked at the picture, and seemed as amazed as she had at the first picture.
Jack said, “Go back to the picture of me getting the award.” He grabbed the phone, pinched the screen apart to zoom in on a person. It was a black man in the front row of the audience.
“You look like you saw a ghost. What’s wrong?”
“That man—he’s Mattie Turner’s slave, um . . . Hercules. I’m not sure what to make of all this.”
Jack handed her the phone and she used her finger to move through the picture
s like an Apple iPhone veteran. “What is this? Poetry?” she asked.
She handed the phone back and Jack looked to see what she was talking about. “That’s not poetry,” he said. “It’s the lyrics to one of my favorite songs from the movie ‘Moulin Rouge.’ Here. Let me play a little for you. I have the song in my iTunes.”
It took him just a second to find the song sung by Ian McGregor to Nicole Kidman based on Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth.’ The song intro took 36 seconds for Ian to sing the first words and Jack thought of the dozens of times he had heard the song before, all the times he had sung along. He realized he loved the song so much, because this is the kind of love he’d longed for:
Never knew I could feel like this
Like I've never seen the sky before
Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing?
Telling me to give you everything
Seasons may change, winter to spring
But I love you until the end of time
Come what may, come what may
I will love you until my dying day
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste
It all revolves around you
Jack looked up as the song ended into the smiling face of Frances.
“Here you go,” Frances said handing Jack a piece of paper.
“What is this?” Before Frances could answer, he saw that it was the words to the song in Frances’s perfect handwriting. “Oh, my gosh, you pass the transcription test.”
“You love that song, don’t you? I saw you mouthing the words to it—a couple a times I even heard you singing out loud.” She smiled and kept her eyes on Jack.
Jack was a little embarrassed. He felt as if someone had glimpsed a little too much of the real him. He searched for words.
“OK, let’s go over this,” she said, sitting the page of lyrics on the table. Her demeanor became more businesslike. “Since I have a bunch of paper, I’m going to give each one of these topics its own page. First item.”
She took a clean sheet of paper and wrote across the top ‘Petroleum Distillation.’
“Next items,” she said. “Turbines, steam, water and gas, then electrodynamics and electric generation. I’m kind of understanding some of this, but then there’s ‘thermionic’ semiconductors and transformers.”
