Time Change Book One: The Jump

by Alex Myers

  Emerson’s words rang throughout the hall. “Civil war is nearly upon us. It is not a question of if but rather of when, because left on our current path, it will visit us within three-and-a-half years.”

  There was talk in the crowd, not people talking to each other as much as talking to themselves. Emerson continued. “Three million will fight, six hundred thousand will die directly in the fight, countless others will perish indirectly. Lives will be indelibly changed, families and fortunes set asunder, and the face of this nation will be forever scarred.”

  He didn’t speak in a manner that one would question, but with a certainty that everyone felt. Only Emerson with his spirit so pure, his motivations so transparent, his life so singularly guileless could have persuaded the people in the church.

  “Brother against brother, friend against friend, at a cost of four billion dollars to the North and double that for the South.” Not one eye moved from the pulpit; men leaned forward enraptured, enchanted. “We and our influence need to change the course of human events. This is my destiny and now it is yours.”

  It was the Senator—soon-to-be-Governor—from Texas, Sam Houston, who broke the long silence. “Mr. Emerson, as a man who holds my country in my heart more than I do my own life, I have thought of this a thousand times and it seems that inertia is propelling us toward conflict. How can a man, even the great men, loyal patriots, aggregated in this room, ebb the mighty flow of this raging river?”

  “Compensated emancipation.” Emerson let the words hang in the air.

  Jack looked at Jefferson Davis, then to Robert E. Lee. Neither looked opposed, but neither gave an indication of agreement either.

  Writer Nathaniel Hawthorne, of all people, stood and harrumphed. “The North will never pay and the South will never accept. Northerners would never agree to compensate for something they believe defies the laws of God.” There were a few sounds of agreement in the room. “And the Southern man believes the Negro is his property and it’s the right of the state, not the federal government to dictate.”

  Senator Calvin Chappee of Massachusetts spoke. “Without the Negro, how can the Southern landowner get his crop to market?”

  “That is the easiest thing to remedy,” Emerson said.

  Hawthorne was still standing “And what of the flood of unskilled Negroes to the North? We can’t feed the masses now—we don’t want or need them.”

  Jefferson Davis from Alabama said, “And we can’t support them here in the South.”

  A woman’s voice yelled, “Send them back to Africa!”

  "We don't want to go back to Africa. This is my country; this is my home,” Sojourner Truth said. She was small and very dark in the dimly lit hall, but her eyes burned bright with passion.

  "And who would pay if we had a mind to pay?" Senator Chaffee from Massachusetts asked.

  "He would," Abraham Lincoln, the trial lawyer from Illinois and Republican Senatorial candidate, said standing and pointing at Jack. Everyone in the crowd turned to look at the man standing and the one he was pointing at. Jack was sitting behind and to the right of Ralph Waldo Emerson on the altar. Even Emerson himself turned to look at Jack’s stunned face and give him a sly wink and a smile in the process.

  "Who is he?" Robert E. Lee asked.

  The industrials knew, and so did the inventors, but nearly everyone else was clueless, evidently, with the exception of Lincoln.

  Emerson, still smiling, turned back to Lincoln and asked, "Why would you think that, Mr. Lincoln?"

  "Let's look at the facts and most of them stem from you, Mr. Emerson. You were in the middle of a twenty-city tour and suddenly you canceled. This wouldn't be strange for nearly anyone else, but you do not cancel your speaking engagements, or at least you never have, and this was relayed to me by the man who owns the venue in which you were to speak in Chicago. This information came to light on the same day I received a hand-written invitation from you to attend this function. The post was not sent from your home in Concord but from Norfolk, Virginia. I spoke with some people who said you were spending time with Jack Riggs, the inventor. A private detective from Chicago, Allan Pinkerton, informed me that Mr. Riggs was much more than just an inventor and that he had met with Riggs himself and was now in his employ."

  "Excellent work," Emerson said. "Tell everyone why you chose to attend."

  Allan Pinkerton, who had been standing in the shadows on the extreme left side of the church, stepped forward into the light and gave a two-finger salute to Lincoln.

  "Because Allan Pinkerton said that it would be the only way we could avoid a war."

  "But how can a bicycle salesman afford to pay the cost of emancipating four million slaves?" Herman Melville asked.

  "I think he invented a can opener too,” Senator John Crittenden of Kentucky said. There was a tittering in the crowd.

  “Then there are these men.” Lincoln motioned to Horace Smith, Oliver Winchester, Eliphalet Remington, and Samuel Colt. “They are the four biggest weapons manufacturers in the world, and Jack Riggs shut down and retooled their factories with unheard of designs.”

  Rumblings from the crowd nearly drowned out Senator Chappee. “Smith and Wesson is in my district. Is he trying to put American manufacturers out of business?”

  “On the contrary, they can’t manufacture the new items fast enough. I don’t have all the details, but I have heard that Mr. Riggs has given them innovations that move weapon design ahead ten to twenty years,” Lincoln said.

  Samuel Colt, the natural showman of the group, stood and said, “Moved us ahead more like fifty years, wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?” The other weapons makers shook their head in agreement. “I won’t go on record saying that he ‘gave’ the designs to us, though.”

  Chuckles were heard from the crowd.

  Lincoln continued. “And from my own district, he had an almost similar effect on the two biggest farm equipment makers.”

  Once bitter enemies, Cyrus McCormick and John Deere looked at each other and smiled. Between their newly partnered companies they shared at least thirty patents with Jack and his company. They also knew of six or seven with Bessemer Steel, and these were just the ones they knew of. They also knew that Jack was working with rail, power, medical, and manufacturing too.

  "I can't pay for everything, not even close," Jack said, standing and stepping up to where Emerson stood. "But I can help provide the means—“

  And that was when he saw her—Mattie Turner sitting with Senator Brinkley from Virginia. And she saw him see her.

  CHAPTER 52

  June 1857

  She Gets Away?

  “Ah….” Jack said as he saw the look of panic on Mattie’s face and watched her abruptly stand and make her way to the far aisle. The man sitting next to her barely noticed her leaving.

  Every eye in the building was on Jack as he struggled to continue. “I’m sorry. As I was saying….” He made his pledge of financial and technological support to the cause and turned things back over to Emerson to outline the details of the plan. He saw Emerson’s stern look as he left the raised platform and made his way down to Pinkerton.

  Emerson’s voice was booming as he and Alan Pinkerton stepped behind one of the big columns to talk.

  “What’s wrong?” Pinkerton asked, reading Jack’s expression.

  “I want you to take a look out there and tell me who the big, white-haired, old guy is sitting two rows behind Frederick Douglass.”

  Pinkerton had a notebook filled with pictures or drawings and a short bio of everyone in attendance. He peeked from around the column and immediately came back. It’s Senator Stephen Brinkley, the Senator from Virginia.”

  “I didn’t invite him.”

  “No, Mr. Emerson did. He’s a senator from a Southern state and he just happens to be against secession.”

  “Why is Mattie Turner with him?”

  Pinkerton referred to his notebook. “I’m sorry I don’t have much on her. It says that it’s his wife, Margaret
.”

  “Wife! Margaret? Oh, this is bad. That’s not who she is. Do you have a picture?”

  “No, just a drawing,” Pinkerton said, showing him the notebook.

  “What else do you have on her?”

  “Not much else. We did the checking on the attendees, not their spouses. Wait, I do have that they were married a month ago, quite quickly too. Rumor had it she is pregnant.”

  Jack looked at the drawing, “That’s her, I’m sure of it. That woman is not who she says she is. And she’s leaving in quite a hurry. Don’t you have men posted at the front door?”

  “Certainly, but they were told to keep people from entering, not leaving, and especially not someone on the approved list.”

  “I’m going to ask her a few questions. I’ll be back.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m betting yes, but I plan on finding out for sure,” Jack said as he started toward the front door. He took the long way between the columns and the windows. Moving in the shadows, he hoped not to attract attention as Emerson continued from the stage to lay out the proposal to the crowd.

  Pinkerton watched him leave, followed him to the front of the church, and then proceeded down the other side, heading for the back rear door.

  Jack pushed the tall double-arched front door open and hit the street in almost total darkness. Lightning flashed brightly enough to almost sting his eyes. In the image that was burned into his retina, he saw one of Pinkerton’s men slumped on the ground unmoving in the entranceway. Lightning flashed again and this time the thunderclap was so loud it felt as if it shook the ground. Jack could smell the ozone in the air.

  The gas lamps of Washington Square barely illuminated anything other than the area directly below them. The shadows of the church made the sidewalks both left and right an inky black cloud. He ran into the street, trying to escape the sinister shadows. He heard the rider coming from the right of the church, directly behind him, before turning and seeing the horse being reined to avoid him. Jack turned to follow his progress and saw Mattie under the cross-street light.

  At first she gave no sign to the approaching rider, and then she did so only with the slight leveling of her hand. The horse and silhouetted rider slowed slightly and turned in her direction, approaching at a canter.

  “Mattie!” Jack yelled.

  Mattie raised the arm that gave the signal, held out her hand, and beckoned the rider. He lowered a hand and was still approaching at a good speed.

  Jack started running, trying to close the fifty feet between them.

  “Stop, Mrs. Brinkley! Stop!” Pinkerton’s voiced echoed from the side of the building.

  The rider looked in the direction of the sound and Mattie wavered as she saw Jack’s approach, just as their hands were about to clasp. They missed. The rider grabbed her coat sleeve. Instead of allowing Mattie to jump up and around to the back of the saddle, the slight miscalculation knocked her backwards off her feet. She would have continued to fall had not the rider continued to lift and try to swing her. Her face hit the running flank of the horse. The momentum of the lift, together with the forward speed of the horse and rider sent her careening in the opposite direction. The rider spun off the saddle and the horse continued onward. Both rider and Mattie hung for the briefest of seconds in midair. Then she dropped to the hard macadam street. The rider came down on top of her.

  Pinkerton arrived seconds later as the rider made it to his knees and dived for Pinkerton’s legs. Caught off guard, Pinkerton tumbled down and the rider scrambled on top of him. One of Pinkerton’s arms was pinned beneath his body. The rider clasped his hands together and swung his arms like a mace into the side of Pinkerton’s face. Pinkerton’s head slammed back into the ground. The rider raised his arms and poised them for another blow.

  Jack felt as if he were running in a dream in which everything moved in slow motion. “No!” Jack screamed as he left the ground and flew toward them.

  The rider looked back over his shoulder just as Jack’s fist slammed squarely into his jaw. Jack rolled past the men and, amazingly, the rider was getting to his feet. The man’s jaw was broken and dislocated and it just hung like lead shot in a sock. His eyes were wild and his face terribly misshapen.

  Jack recognized him. It was Bob Cooper.

  Bob the rider now turned into Bob the limping runner. Jack was getting to his feet to pursue when a scream of “Margaret!” came from the front of the church. Jack took his eyes off the rider to see Senator Brinkley quickly approaching. He looked down and saw the pool of blood starting to grow under Mattie Turner.

  Pinkerton was now on his feet with his gun drawn. He was looking toward the woods in the middle of Washington Square just as Bob Cooper was slipping into the shadows. He fired off a round and Bob’s shoe exploded and he fell flat on his face. Just as quickly, he was up again and limped into the shadows.

  “Pink, let him go,” Jack yelled as Pinkerton was about to pursue the runner into the absolute blackness. “I need your help over here.”

  Jack was on his knees bent over the woman as the Senator and Allan Pinkerton arrived simultaneously. “Margaret,” Senator Brinkley said in a moan.

  Jack cradled his hand under the woman’s head. The Senator buried his face in his hands and started to cry. Pinkerton was on one knee and silently mouthed a question. ‘Dead?’ Jack shook his head slightly. Her face was severely scraped and bloody.

  “What have you done to my wife?” the Senator wailed.

  “It wasn’t me. There was a man, on a horse.” Jack looked around, but the horse was just as gone as the man.

  Brinkley squatted down as best he could, sobbing. His large bulk strained his clothing’s overtaxed seams. The street lamps shone off his flushed and tear-streaked cheeks.

  Jack handed Mattie over to the Senator. “Sir, she’s still here, barely.”

  “Maggie, oh my Maggie,” the Senator said, rocking her in his arms. Mattie opened her eyes and looked from the sobbing Senator to Jack where the look of recognition was unmistakable.

  Jack locked eyes with her as he stood. Her lips moved and inaudible sounds came from her mouth. The Senator moved his face inches from hers. “What is it, dear? I’m here, what are you trying to say?” He put his ear to her lips as she shuddered and said a single word loud enough for the Senator, Pinkerton, and Jack to hear. “Kaz.”

  She gave a shudder and her body went limp. The senator set her body gently down and turned his fury and frustration on Jack. The senator was a full foot shorter but he had Jack by the lapels and was pushing him backwards toward the church.

  "You killed her. "

  Alan Pinkerton was trying to keep the Senator from tearing into Jack.

  "She got up and ran Senator, there was a man on horseback."

  "Preposterous. My Margaret, Maggie, why would she have any reason to run?"

  "For starters, her name wasn't Margaret or Maggie. It was Mattie and she was a widowed mother living in Norfolk."

  "No! You are wrong. I'm calling the police. You murdered my wife."

  "Jack, look, she's gone,“ Pinkerton said. He was pointing to the empty spot on the street where all that remained was a bloody smear.

  "Margaret!" the Senator yelled, releasing Jack's lapels. "What have they done with you?"

  But before the question could be pondered, Jack pointed to the wooded area in Washington Square where the rider had disappeared. "There she goes."

  Cooper moving on the stump of his leg had returned and was leading her off into the darkness.

  Alan Pinkerton and Senator Brinkley were in hot pursuit when Jack called out to Pinkerton, "Pink, come back!"

  Pink turned around, but the Senator continued toward the dark woods.

  Jack moved up to Pinkerton. “That is the woman I know from Norfolk, I'm 100% sure. The man with her is Bob Cooper who used to work for me. Remember the one I said locked me in the safe?”

  “How could he run? I blew his foot off!” Pinkerton said.

&nbs
p; “That was a wooden prosthesis that I made for him. He only had one leg; the other was gone at the knee.”

  “He sure moved pretty well for a one-legged man. What do you think this was all about?” Pinkerton asked.

  “Mattie certainly was in a big hurry to leave—either trying to go somewhere or to get away from something,“ Jack said.

  “A bomb—there may be a bomb.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, Pink. We’ve got to get those people out of there. I’m going back in!” Jack dashed around the corner and into the front of the church.

  Groups of five or six people were standing and speaking animatedly inside the church. The group standing closest to the pew where Mattie and the Senator had been sitting consisted of Nathaniel Hawthorn, George Templeton Strong, Jefferson Davis, and three men Jack didn’t know by sight. They were also the group furthest from the door. Jack saw Emerson smiling broadly and motioning for him to join him. He shook his head and moved swiftly to the section where Mattie and the Senator had been sitting. He quickly scanned the rows and, seeing nothing, dropped to his hands and knees and looked under the seats—still nothing. He rose to his haunches and searched the church.

  The minister locked eyes with Jack from the chancel in front of the altar. He had a hatbox in his hands. Panic flashed across the man’s face as he tucked the box under his arm and started up the main aisle of the church.