by Linda Grant
“You haven’t seen trouble yet. We go to Philly and we die.”
“What are you, some kind of psychic? We’re just going to mop up there. There’ll be no fight left in the colonials after what we just dropped on them—if there’re any of them left alive.”
“Don’t you know anything, you stupid Kraut? The area’s hot, radioactive. We go there and we get radiation sickness. Our hair falls out, we get sores all over us, and our red blood cells get so screwed up that we die in a few weeks or months. No cure. You get it now?”
Siggy paled. “I don’t believe it. If it was that dangerous, Captain Kreuger wouldn’t send us in there.”
“What makes you think he wouldn’t? Where is the stinking captain now? I don’t see him risking his ass. Well, where is he?”
Heads twisted around and mouths opened in surprise as the other men looked at Caleb.
“Yeah, go ahead and look. We’re finished, all of us, right now, unless we turn around and go back.”
“How do you know? What makes you so sure?”
The objector was a tall man in his early 30s. Even the fatigue that stamped his face couldn’t mask the intelligence in his eyes.
A chorus of murmured comments greeted his words.
How could he get through to these guys? He hadn’t come all this way to die horribly, especially without having accomplished anything.
“Trust me on this one. Just ask yourself why they bothered to send us. The city will be devastated. There won’t be any resistance. People will be too busy trying to get away. So why send us? Can you tell me that?”
His avalanche of questions seemed to have rocked the men. They began muttering among themselves.
The trucks stopped suddenly. Caleb saw why. There was no road left. It had heaved up in the same way that he had seen an earthquake in San Francisco destroy a freeway. Farther on, the road had fused into a glass-like substance. Fires were burning everywhere; not one building was standing, only blackened shells.
Where were the survivors—if any?
Then Caleb saw them. As with one voice, the men gasped. He heard Siggy beside him becoming violently sick over the side of the truck.
You couldn’t tell if they were men or women, Caleb observed with a sort of detachment that he recognized as shock. They were like something out of a horror movie, those crisped, stump-like figures moaning and stumbling along like an army of zombies.
The trucks suddenly roared into reverse, bumped to a jerky stop, then turned and drove madly off, followed by the insane howling of what was left of the former inhabitants of the City of Brotherly Love.
Maybe they were the lucky ones. At least they’d die fast. Already the soldiers and himself were exposed. They’d take longer to die a slow, miserable death.
Caleb looked up at the sky, his heart contracting with misery for his country, his doomed country that had never really had a chance.
What was the point of his having seen this devastation that would live forever in his nightmares? No one—except perhaps the other Morgans—would ever believe that a rich, powerful America, the mightiest nation that had ever arisen, could ever experience such devastation. But the ancient Romans probably never thought that the day would come when barbarians would conquer them.
So was there anything he could do? He knew what he had seen, what he had felt in his gut. If there were even a slim possibility of this scenario occurring in the 20th century in his lifetime, he would work night and day to prevent this.
The light began to dim, a slow fade-out that sucked out colors, leaving a gray blight over everything. Then he felt himself being pried out of the body of his host and contracted into a single point of consciousness, enveloped by the sweetest music he’d ever experienced, a sound at once awesome and familiar, healing and soothing. Borne on the mighty waves of this music, he was swept back into his universe.
CHAPTER 50
Jason Kramer San Juan Mission garden, June 21, 1992
* * *
J.J. straightened up cautiously. He was sitting on the bench in the mission garden, in his own body. The rest of the Morgans and Mr. S. were all there, too. He looked at his watch: June 21, 2:20 P.M., five minutes after they’d left.
Over the sudden babble he could hear Caleb saying, “I had the time of my life in Colonial America, but my jump into a future alternate timeline was pretty ghastly. Nobody had better try to tell me that nothing happened!”
By the look on everyone’s faces, no one was about to.
Dan was nodding his head. The remote expression on his face made you think that he must have had a few adventures of his own, too.
Marjory had edged right over to the end of the bench that she was sitting on beside Nicholas, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her. It was like he didn’t care. Gerry had come out of her shell and was smiling at everyone. Laney was sitting erect as a little princess and looking very thoughtful. Bet she had a few things to talk about.
Only Cummings was his usual self. He was one cool guy. “Welcome back,” he was saying, and then, “I have notified the sheriff’s department about our assailant here.”
The guy was lying on his back, out cold. Then he started groaning and trying to sit up.
“Hold still!” said Cummings, pointing the gun he held at the man.
After rubbing his arm, Dan got up and went over and checked the guy—probably for other weapons—who glared at him but stopped trying to get up.
Cummings walked over to them. Looking down at the guy on the ground, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Carlo,” he muttered.
“Well, Carlo, face it—you’ve lost,” said Dan.
“Yes,” observed Cummings. “Today is the summer solstice, and the window for changing this timeline has closed.”
With a bleak look on his face, Carlo looked at Cummings, then closed his eyes and murmured, “Papa.”
“Your papa,” said Cummings, “wanted to dominate the world.”
Carlo opened his eyes and protested, “It was for their own good.”
“But not their decision.”
An uncertain look came into the eyes of their assailant. “But Papa said …”
“That you elites know better than the masses how to run their affairs? What your papa has forgotten is that the way that most people learn is by being allowed to make their own mistakes. In that sense, this world is a perfect place to learn, for by reincarnating over and over again—albeit in different scenarios, from warriors and kings to peasants—one finally learns compassion for others.”
A siren wailed in the distance. Tires crunched on the gravel of the car park. Two cops hustled into the garden soon after that and took the gun from Cummings.
Carlo got up and pointed at Dan. “This man attacked me! Arrest him.”
Caleb hurried over. “I’m Caleb Morgan,” he said.
“The developer?” asked the younger cop, who was built like a wrestler.
Caleb puffed out his chest. “The very same,” he said.
“My dad used to work for you, said you were a straight shooter. So what happened here?”
“This thug tried to kill us. If it hadn’t been for Dan, he would have succeeded.”
“I am Carlo Hauptman, no thug but a respectable businessman!”
“Yeah, right. So why were you trying to kill us?” asked Dan.
“We’ll sort this out when we all go downtown,” said the older cop in a raspy voice.
Carlo was taken into custody and held for interrogation. After the authorities were satisfied that the Morgans and Nicholas were basically just tourists, they were allowed to leave. Caleb suggested that they all go back to his place where they could order in supper and debrief.
CHAPTER 51
Jason Kramer Caleb’s mansion, June 21, 1992
* * *
They gathered in Caleb’s library, where Cummings took their orders for food. After he had called a restaurant, he said, “I shouldn’t be surprised if the attacks were over.”<
br />
“Why is that?” asked Laney.
Giving one of his rare smiles, Cummings answered, “Since you have succeeded in stabilizing the timeline, you Morgans are no longer a threat—at least for now.”
“How do we know if we really did succeed?” asked Laney.
“I’m sure there will be certain indicators.”
She had her mouth open to ask some more questions when Dan cut in with, “So the reason we were attacked was that someone didn’t want the timeline stabilized.”
“It makes sense,” broke in Nicholas. “Mind you, Marjory and I had some opposition from an Indian who tried to stop us from seeing Susanna …”
“Kiontawakon! He tried to make me persuade the chiefs of the Iroquois League to help Metacom against the New Englanders,” cried J.J., “but I wouldn’t do it.”
“And quite by accident, I saved the life of Benjamin Church, who led the colonists to victory in King Phillip’s War. If Church had died, there might not have been an America,” said Dan. “Where did you go, Gerry?” he asked, his gaze lingering on her.
“Back into the body of Lady Mary Montague, who persuaded the Princess of Wales to inoculate her children against smallpox. That meant, you see,” she explained, “that all of England eventually followed suit.”
“Saved a lot of lives,” said Dan, nodding his head. Then turning to his daughter he asked, “Laney, where did you go?”
“France. I was the wife of the Marquis de Lafayette.”
That explained her new air of self-confidence. Living with a bunch of aristocrats must have been fun for her.
“But I’m glad to be back.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. J.J. whispered to her, “Why do you think you went to that lifetime?” he asked.
“I told Lafayette he was going to be a big hero during the American Revolution, and that it was because of him France helped the Americans, who mightn’t have won otherwise,” she said in a rush as though it was a confession she had to make all at once.
“Sounds like that’s what you were supposed to do.”
At the hopeful look in her eyes, he added, “It’s tough to be a hero. Maybe Lafayette needed a little encouragement to do what he was going to do, if you see what I mean.”
Laney brightened and said, “Maybe it was all right, telling him about the future and all, since he was feverish anyway. He might have thought later that he’d just imagined it.”
“You made him think.”
“I hope so. Oh, and later I think I saved his life from an assassin. He was a great guy. I …” She looked down at her hands. “I found it hard to leave him.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away.
“I met a girl I didn’t want to leave, either.”
Laney brushed away her tears and looked at him compassionately. “I never thought time traveling would be like this, getting attached to people and then feeling just horrible when you had to leave them.”
The food came and got cold while Dan and the others went on and on about their adventures. Marjory and Nicholas, who hardly looked at each other, told their stories, too, but were pretty reserved about the whole thing. It sounded as if they hadn’t been too thrilled about living in Colonial America.
Marjory was excited when she heard that Geraldine had gone back to the 18th century. Trust the old lady to know all about Lady Mary and how she had persuaded the English to start vaccinating people against smallpox.
Then Gerry spoke up. “I have a question. Like the rest of you, I went back to another era, but how could I do that? I’m not really a Morgan. After my father died, my mother married Aunt Marjory’s brother.”
Dan gave a muffled exclamation and looked hard at Gerry.
“The same applies to me,” said Nicholas. “I, too, am not a Morgan, yet I also went back in time.”
J.J. looked at Cummings. He had that secretive, amused look on his face. When the commotion died down—everyone wanted to talk at once—Cummings said, “And yet all of you were important in some way to stabilize this timeline. Asking you to come to San Francisco was a way of getting everyone here.”
“The family reunion thing,” said Laney.
Cummings smiled at her and said, “Just so. Then, too, you Morgans and your friends were the ones who were willing to engage in this adventure and had lived in previous times where momentous events were happening.”
After Cummings had taken away the food since most of the older people were too busy talking to eat much, except for him—it was great to eat regular food again—he got a real jolt hearing Nicholas ask, “Has it ever occurred to any of the rest of you to wonder who Jeremy really is?”
Cummings was handing around the dessert, big slices of chocolate cake, when Nicholas’s question dropped into the silence.
Looking up at Cummings, J.J. was startled to see him wink. Certain things rearranged themselves. It was like when you finally figured out a really tough question in physics. You had that same “I got it!” feeling and a sense of the rightness of your answer. You just knew that you had done it the best way possible. That was the feeling he had when he connected Jeremy and the Archdruid with Cummings. In some way, they were the same person.
But how could that be? Cummings wasn’t a Morgan. He was just … Cummings. But he knew things. Then what was he doing acting as a servant? But come to think of it, it was perfect. He was a subtle guy, didn’t say much but seemed to be good at dropping little hints here and there.
Everybody got quiet then until Caleb started talking, saying that he didn’t want to lose touch with the other Morgans, not after all they’d been through. Too bad they couldn’t stay in San Francisco. Laney looked excited, and her father looked interested.
Glancing around at the relatives, Caleb said, “I have been wondering what to do with my fortune when I die.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Caleb went on. “I propose to set up a foundation that will do some good in this world. It is my belief that we need leaders—particularly in education, politics, and business—to return to the ideals that America was founded on.”
“And where are you going to find those people?” asked Nicholas.
“Perhaps money could be given to certain educational institutions to offer more history and civics classes.”
Laney wrinkled up her nose. “Most people my age don’t care about stuff like that.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” said J.J. “We’re into movies and TV.”
“And don’t forget music,” added Laney, smiling at him.
“Perhaps a foundation could fund scholarships to colleges that promote those sorts of values,” said Marjory. “And, as Laney and J.J. pointed out, use the media to fund specials like PBS does as well as promote other television programs and movies with those themes.”
“Laney mentioned the importance of music,” observed Nicholas. “J.J.’s mother, Diana, invited me to a concert given by the youth orchestra that J.J. was playing in. I was struck by how well they played and the passion they had for the music. After the concert was over, their conductor explained how the kids involved in music did better in school and developed values of discipline and hard work as well as a love for music that in many of them would last their entire lives.”
“Our music teacher showed us a film about the Venezuelans,” said J.J. “They’ve set up orchestras with slum kids. Could they ever play! The other kids teach them, and they get so involved that they don’t want to do drugs or get involved in crime.”
Caleb nodded. “We’ve got to do something,” he said soberly. “After what I saw in an alternate future, there’s no time to waste. In the meantime, all of you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”
People started drifting back to their rooms pretty fast after that, J.J. noticed.
After going to his room, he flopped onto his bed and buried his face in a pillow. A huge weight of misery settled on him. He’d never see Devonna again. She was only old bones now.
A knock at the door s
tartled him. He didn’t want to see anybody right now.
Reluctantly, he rolled off the bed and said, “C’mon in.” The last person he expected to see came in and quietly shut the door behind him.
“I thought you might be in need of some refreshment, so I took the liberty of bringing you something.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think …”
Cummings put down a tray down on a small table. The aroma of hot chocolate drifted over to him. It was too much to resist.
J.J. went over to the table and sat down. He had drunk half the beverage before he noticed that Cummings was still there, sitting with his hands folded over his stomach and a faint smile on his lips. It was like he was waiting for something.
J.J. ran his tongue around the ring of chocolate around his mouth. Cummings silently handed him a napkin and waited patiently while he wiped his mouth clean.
It was beginning to get to him, how calm the guy was. What would it take to crack that, Roman soldiers running after him with their swords and a crazy Druid out to kill him or losing the first girl you ever loved?
J.J. shuddered. Then he felt the older man’s hand on his shoulder.
“You have been through much, Jason, and acquitted yourself like a man.”
Cummings knew, but how?
“Devonna …” was all he could say as a tear squeezed itself out of his eye and ran down his cheek.
“Thanks to you, she and the child you sired are safe with Bran, and the continuity of that branch of the Morgan family is thereby assured.”
“But I’ll never see her again!”
“No, not in that form.”
Seconds, like hard pellets of granite, weighted his tongue. He wanted to yell, take out his rage on the man standing in front of him, but he didn’t dare. Something knowing and wise about the man stopped him, so he said nothing until the silence got to him and he had to ask, “Who is she now?”
Cummings only cocked his head to one side and said nothing.
“Crystal? The girl I met in Kenora? Devonna kind of reminded me of her, but that means that Crystal might be the reincarnation of Devonna.” So he hadn’t lost her after all! Life suddenly looked wonderful, exciting even.
