The Unintentional Time Traveler (Time Guardians Book 1)

by Everett Maroon

  Like he’d done for me. Thank goodness we have Mr. Van Doren for our family hygiene.

  “He stayed with me for a week,” she said, and for the first time she looked ashamed of herself. “That kind man brought me back to health. I told him about the telegram, and he looked me straight in the eye and said he didn’t think you were really dead.”

  “What? Why not?” I asked.

  “Because nobody came up with the body, and he said he’d learned that the sheriff who wrote the telegram was agreeing to set up another church for Dr. Traver, one in his town.”

  “But why tell you I’m dead?”

  “Who knows how this crazy man works. Maybe it was to break me, or maybe it was a threat that they could get to you if I kept acting up or if I didn’t move away. If you’re trying to put the fear of god into people, you can’t have some dissenter hanging out, thumbing her nose at you and your followers.”

  Who knew was right. I nodded and tried to think about how someone had gone from lush to total control freak like Dr. Traver.

  “You were a dissenter?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t remember. Ain’t nobody calling themselves the Messiah or a prophet really so. Yes, I told my friends he was a snake oil salesman, pure and simple. I wrote letters to the newspaper, reminding them of scripture, and I told him when he was on his ridiculous box that he belonged in an asylum and not a church. So yes, I dissented. Every chance I got.”

  I laughed out loud. If Jacqueline came from this woman, no wonder she had such a reputation for being stubborn.

  “Once she was better I came up here every few weeks with more supplies,” said Lucas.

  “In the car we drove?”

  “No, in a three-wheeled cycle I have. I pedal it with my arms.” He gave me a big grin, figuring I’d ask how he could ride a bike. Oh my god you’re not kidding, I thought.

  “You industrious young man,” I said, and I smiled back at him.

  Mother shook her head and stood up from the table, shuffling to the sink to rinse her plate.

  “Nobody ever saw you or stopped you with these deliveries?” I asked.

  “Oh it stopped,” he said. “Recently.”

  “I suppose we couldn’t have gone on with this forever,” mother said from the sink.

  “Mr. Traver’s followers grew, with all kinds of people coming into town for his Sunday sermons, which lasted all day. At some point he became aware that Old Lady Bishop was receiving help from neighbors in town, might even be running some kind of bathtub gin operation out of her home. He told people I must be stopped.

  “One evening I thought I heard Mr. Van Doren or Lucas coming to stop by with monthly groceries, so’s I went out to the front porch, and instead of a friendly greeting I watched men skeeter by the house throwing rocks through the front window. One of ‘em had a note attached telling me I wasn’t welcome anymore.”

  I looked toward the living room, and noticed for the first time that one of the windows had wood in it instead of glass.

  “And I decided right then and there that I had to drive the so-called ‘Prophet’ out of town.”

  I’d been wondering all this time, if this wasn’t a hallucination but a real place, why I was here and what I supposed to do about it. If I’d somehow fallen into the life of Jacqueline Bishop, daughter of an outcast in a town run by zealots and murderers?

  Maybe her goal ought to be mine, too.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DARK BROWN EARTH STRETCHED OUT before me, and I’d never noticed before that high quality soil has a smell. Of course nothing in my subdivision came close to being farmable dirt, so I’d never had the exposure, but now rich soil was all up in my nostrils, getting friendly. The broad field was dotted with green plants that while kind of pretty, didn’t look especially appetizing.

  “I didn’t know potatoes were this ugly,” I said.

  “The leaves are drab because they’re poisonous,” said the old woman named Darling. She was the daughter of a freed slave, and so tiny I thought I could put her in the pocket of my overalls. She wore her hair very short, and every so often she fiddled with a pair of wireframe glasses that kept sliding down her nose. But Mother admonished me to listen to everything Darling told me about gardening and not to give her any lip. I squatted down next to her while she gave me instructions for harvesting potatoes. Darling yanked a plant out of the raised row. Bits of the ground dropped onto our shoes.

  “Potatoes are related to nightshade,” she said, knocking clumps of dirt off of the roots. She took a quick glance to see if I was paying attention. “Nightshade is a poison. The only part of the potato plant that people can eat are the roots.” She tossed a pair of dirty white gardening gloves sideways to me and I caught them. “Put these on when you go down the row to gather them. Understand?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said. The gloves hung loose on my hands and smelled moldy. I lifted up the basket and moved down a few feet to start harvesting. Darling stood up, not gaining much height by doing so, and dusted off her blue dress.

  “You got the right idea wearing those boy clothes,” she said before walking back into the house. I kept my head down and pulled potatoes out of the ground, not wanting to fret about my progress or lack thereof. After my basket was loaded up, I dragged it to a long table behind the kitchen door and sat down to pluck the roots from the plants. A woman about my age, maybe younger, walked up to me from around the side of the house, her apron filled with raspberries. Small cuts on her arms stood out, just beginning to clot. The raspberries and her blood clashed with her bright red hair. There was way too much red going on here for my eyes. She took care to fill up a metal bowl with her load, not spilling a single berry.

  “Hi, Jacqueline,” she said, sitting next to me. She held up her apron to dry her sweaty forehead. Raspberries and perspiration, yum.

  “Hello,” I said, glancing at her sideways. Lucas, his father, and I had been here for a few days and I hadn’t seen this person yet. But she knew who I was.

  She laughed at me. I could see older scrapes and bruises on her arms, but I wasn’t sure if they’d come from earlier escapades in the raspberry bushes or if she had some more general tendency toward maiming herself. “I’m Lucille, remember? It’s been a while, I suppose.”

  Lucille. I’d stolen her horse the second time I jumped back. The day I met Lucas and rushed him to the then-drunk Dr. Traver.

  “Sorry about your horse,” I said, snapping another potato off the stem.

  Lucille laughed again, taking some of the vegetables from me. Cackling was more like it. “We never took that horse anywhere interesting. He was probably thrilled he got to have an adventure.”

  “Well, that’s nice of you to say. I’m glad nobody threw me in jail for taking him.”

  “Mr. Rushman got the sheriff to look the other way, remember? Back before the sheriff we have now.”

  “Yes.” Finally, an actual memory I could share with someone here.

  She looked at me, probably wondering how someone who seemed so intelligent at times was really this idiotic. Get in line, lady.

  “I don’t know, I guess he reckoned you were doing a good thing trying to get Lucas to the doctor. Besides, my Pa told the sheriff to take it easy on you.” She shrugged her shoulders and screeched out another laugh.

  “Thanks, Lucille’s Pa.”

  “Lucas is right about you,” she said as she tossed potatoes into the finished pile.

  “What’s that?”

  “You are an odd and fascinating girl.”

  “You have no idea.”

  ***

  Gathered around the supper table were the members of the Underground—Mr. Van Doren and Lucas, Lucille Gifford, Arnold Dawkins, who was a friend of the missing lawyer, Mr. Johnson, and Darling Madison. And now me.

  “You think we are such a daring group,” said Lucas, seeing me taking in the table of people.

  “What do you mean? They seem pretty regular to me.”

  He harrumphed.
“We’re regular until someone sees us white folk eating dinner with Darling.”

  “Well,” I said, trying to cover my shock at him, “maybe we shouldn’t be too proud of ourselves.” This was not a good time to bring up Rosa Parks and the civil rights march on Washington. A lot more racist shit was going to happen that he didn’t know about.

  Mother sat down at the head of the table; I figured her place was assigned as such because this was her house, not because she was the leader of the group. I couldn’t determine who was in charge actually, because it seemed like everyone brought some special experience with them. It was certainly a larger supper gathering than I ever had at home. Home. I missed simple dinners with my parents.

  We passed around bowls, each with a bit of our haul in them—mashed potatoes, mid-season zucchini and tomatoes, stewed together, grilled pork sausage, and biscuits that were too dry to eat alone, but better with vegetables on top.

  “Because sawdust is always more edible when it’s wet,” Lucas whispered to me.

  I gave him a shocked look, as he’d just insulted Mother’s cooking. I kicked him under the table.

  “Ouch,” he said to me, passing the potatoes to Mr. Dawkins, who had spent so much time indoors he looked like a white sheet.

  I felt Lucas’s left hand on my knee, squeezing me. He was trying to get back for my kick, but instead of hurting it felt good. I didn’t want him to take it away, but he did after only a second or two. What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t like this. Stop it, Jack.

  I sighed and put vegetables on top of my biscuit. My real mother would have been impressed. I really just wanted a box of mac & cheese or a pepperoni pizza. And Lucas’s hand back on me. Damn it.

  I turned away from him and his messy bangs and tuned into the conversation around the table. Compared to the meals at my parents’ house, it was loud. Seven people created a lot more noise than three, especially when one of them was as quiet as my mother.

  “How are you adjusting?” asked Mr. Dawkins. He held his elbows off the table as he ate.

  “I’m fine,” I said with as much cheer as I could gather. I caught a glance from Mother, who seemed to think she knew better than to believe me. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Well, I know we’re all glad to have you here, Miss Bishop. We understand it may be quite the transition. Our sweet town has seen a lot of changes in the last couple of years.”

  Transition? I figured he meant it was better than me being dead. How is someone supposed to respond to a comment like that? Nodding? A little head dip and a “Yup, it’s great to still be alive and kicking”? I wound up giving him a half-smile, half-shrug.

  “I’m grateful to be back with Mother and ready to get Dr. Traver out of here.”

  “Well, we need to be careful about that,” said Mr. Van Doren. Maybe I sounded too excited. It was hard to know what these people expected.

  “He’s more dangerous all the time,” said Mr. Dawkins, nodding.

  “Well if he’d had plans to kill me, I’d be gone by now,” said Mother, getting up and collecting plates from the table. “But I’ll sure as I’m standing here not go down without a fight.” For an older woman in a threadbare housedress, she was intimidating.

  “I still think we need to increase your protection, Octavia,” said Mr. Van Doren. “Doctor Traver doesn’t realize Jacqueline is back. He thinks she’s off in the big city.”

  She set the dishes down next to the sink and marched back into the dining room where we sat, her chair creaking under her. “Pray tell, Jacob, why does it matter?”

  “Because with your daughter back, he might presume you have more to fight for now. You were a little more … vocal before you thought she was deceased. There are still people in town who would listen to you, if they thought they had enough numbers to deal with Traver.”

  “You’re an articulate man, Jacob. They would listen to you, too.”

  “I think we all know they would not. With all due respect, I moved to town and opened a tavern and never really was a part of the council. You are from Marion and your family helped put it on the map. If you were to get traction for your ideas to retake leadership, well, Traver must see you as a big threat.”

  This remark was met with silence. As soon as he said it, we all knew he was right. My presence was putting all of them in greater danger, at least if Dr. Traver found out I was back.

  “I should leave so he doesn’t find out,” I said. I fiddled with my fork, a thin piece of aluminum, barely bent enough to hold food.

  Mother walked over to me and drew it out from my fingers, then collected the rest of the silverware from our place settings.

  “You will do no such thing.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and she shushed me. “I won’t hear of it,” she said. “I’ve already spent too much time away from you.” She waved the cutlery as she spoke, and then walked back into the kitchen, where she stood over the sink, choking back tears.

  I couldn’t do anything without hurting people.

  Mr. Van Doren spoke up, and he didn’t look unkind as he made eye contact with me. “When Dr. Traver decides to take us on, and he will at some point, it won’t be because he knows you’re alive, Jacqueline. Although I’m sure we’re all touched by your offer.”

  “Aren’t you tired from this?” I asked. The tablecloth sported several stains from where food had fallen onto it from the course of the night, but I guessed that it would be perfect and clean the next time she set it out. After subsisting on next to nothing for years, I guessed she was honored to have these people in her home. I ran my hands over the cloth.

  “Oh honey love, of course we’re tired,” said Darling, across the table from me. “But we’ve made the decision to stand up to this man, so tired it is.”

  “Please tell me we have a plan,” I said.

  “Yes, Jacqueline, we have a plan,” said Mr. Van Doren, and he sounded a little irritated. Don’t get snippy with me, mister, I thought. You’re my hallucination and you will not speak back to me!

  “We’re going to discuss it in a few minutes, after supper.”

  I nodded and brought more dishes into the kitchen. Mother was filling up the sink with hot water and soap. Darling came in behind me and set down the last of the chipped blue and white china from our meal. She patted me on the back.

  “Come see me by the stables when you get a minute,” she said in my ear.

  Mother turned around and with wet hands gave me a hug. “I love you, Jacqueline.”

  “I love you too, mother,” I said automatically, with her arms squeezing me. What would the nuns back at school in Ohio think of all of this lying I was doing? How many times would I have to recite the Hail Mary at this point?

  You’d have to get them past the time travel first, schmuck.

  “I know it’s been difficult since your father’s death,” she said. I wished she’d let go of me. I was running out of air.

  “Yes, maybe we should talk about that some time.”

  She pulled away, cupping my shoulders in her hands. “Well, there’s no point in rehashing it, dear. It was a terrible war, and you were so young.”

  “I’m just going to get some air before the meeting, if that’s okay with you.”

  She nodded and went back to scrubbing a dish with a tea towel.

  Outside the night was filled with cricket chirps and bird calls I didn’t know. Darling stood next to the horse I’d rode in on, and she had to reach up to pet his cheek.

  “Are you happy to be back?” she asked me, still looking at the horse. They looked pretty content with each other.

  “Of course.”

  “There is a lot of work for us to do. Judging from how you dig up potatoes, you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty.”

  I tried to interpret what that meant. Does she want me to make a mob hit on someone? What the hell?

  “I have a cousin who lives three towns to the west. I can’t call him to ask him to come out here because Dr. Trav
er’s friends would find out. But if you wouldn’t mind, you could go see him and bring him back.”

  “I don’t know where I’m going. I mean, uh, I’m not good at directions.”

  “I know you’re out of your time,” she said, and she turned around to face me at last.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Holy shit, she knows?

  “You really belong to another era, dear. You’re ahead of your time.”

  “Oh. Sure, I guess so.”

  “You are a strange girl.”

  I sighed. “I know, because people tell me that all the time. I’m getting tired of hearing it.”

  “Well, now I have more to say, so how about you button that lip and let your elder speak?”

  “Uh, sorry.” I stabbed at the dirt with my boot.

  “Strange doesn’t mean bad, it only implies that you’re different. You are both selfish and other-oriented; it’s merely a strange mix, like a butterfly and a wasp.”

  Now we were talking about bugs. I wasn’t sure why.

  “Butterflies and wasps are both pollinators,” she said, reading my confusion. “We need them both for the harvest, even though they go about their work in different ways.”

  “So…you’re saying, what, exactly?”

  “That you have more than one option open to you. You can charm people or you can push them away and sting them. Be selective in your tactics.”

  “Oh, okay. Why didn’t you just say that?”

  She shook her head and laughed at me.

  “I set up your horse for you,” said Darling, and she pointed to a large pack on the railing next to the animal. “You have supplies for both of you for a few days. Head west out the old farm road, follow the railroad tracks. You’ll come to an old red barn two towns away where you can spend the night, but get out of there before dawn. Keep going to the next town and find my cousin, Jack. He lives in the first house on the right in the town of Joy. If you hit the Ohio River, you’ve gone too far.” She winked.

  “Tell him to get out here and bring that jalopy of his.”

  “He’ll come just because some woman in trousers tells him to?”