Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2)

by John A. Heldt

  Kurt sat up straight and looked at Amanda.

  "Karl has always preferred order and clarity to chaos and ambiguity. He likes simple answers to complicated problems. When he watches American politicians debate issues, he does not see a healthy exchange of ideas. He sees discord. He sees weakness. When he watches the Nazis, he sees strength. He sees people who get things done."

  "He must like Mussolini then," Amanda said. "It's hard to imagine someone more appealing than a man who gets the trains to run on time."

  Kurt smiled.

  "I see you brought your wit to the park."

  "You like it?" Amanda asked.

  "It's one of your most appealing qualities," Kurt said.

  "What else do you find appealing?"

  Kurt put a hand to his chin.

  "Let me think. This might take a while."

  Amanda glared at her companion.

  "It had better not!"

  Kurt laughed.

  "You're right. I shouldn't need much time."

  "Well?"

  "Let's see," Kurt said. "I like your intellect, for sure, and I'm definitely warming up to your blond hair and blue eyes. I really like your eyes."

  "That's a good start. What else?"

  Kurt looked at her thoughtfully.

  "I like your perceptiveness."

  "What do you mean?" Amanda asked.

  "I mean I like how you see things that others don't. I like how you know things that others don't. I'm still trying to figure out how you knew that the Nationalists had captured Madrid a day before anyone else."

  "I heard something on the radio. I told you that."

  "I know," Kurt said. "I also know that I didn't hear the news, from an official source, until this morning when I picked up a paper."

  "Are you accusing me of something?"

  "No. I'm just saying that either you heard something no one else did or you have some sort of gift. I like to think it's the latter. I like to think I'm dating someone who's gifted."

  Amanda laughed.

  "I guess I just pay attention to things, that's all. Has your dad said anything to you about my revelation at dinner? Does he plan to say anything to me?"

  "No," Kurt said as he shook his head. "He hasn't – and he won't."

  "Why is that?"

  "He won't because he's not the kind of person to put someone on the spot," Kurt said. "When he wants information, he finds it himself. He's very good at that."

  CHAPTER 49: ELIZABETH

  Princeton, New Jersey – Saturday, April 8, 1939

  For the first time in weeks, Elizabeth Campbell, walking machine, strolled down her street alone. She didn't mind walking alone. She liked it, in fact. She liked it because it gave her the opportunity to think, and on this sunny spring day, she had much to think about.

  Elizabeth thought about the trip, of course. It was hard not to. She had seen Congress in session, met an interesting couple, and watched the world's most famous cherry trees come to life. People didn't forget things like that in the course of a week. Nor did they forget watching a granddaughter take on two Nazis in a dining-room debate.

  Elizabeth felt bad about the weeks she had lost fighting with Amanda over something as trivial as her boyfriend's ancestry. She realized just in time that what mattered was what Kurt Schmidt did and thought and not who he was. She had told Amanda that she approved of her companion before they left Washington.

  The time traveler also thought about her family, her original family, and what they had come to mean to her in just a few months. She wondered how she would ever break a bond that was growing stronger every day or refrain from meddling with a future she had no right to change. On more than one occasion, she had considered writing a letter to Geoffrey Bell and asking him for permission to break a commandment or two.

  Elizabeth sighed when she thought of that long-ago night in Santa Barbara. Had she not taken the time to meet the professor after his lecture, she would be playing cards with the same old crowd in 2016 and not having the time of her life.

  She continued south on Mercer Street and noticed a few new sights. People worked in their gardens, mowed their lawns, and threw baseballs around. If spring had come to the District of Columbia in a blaze of color, it had come to Princeton, New Jersey, with a flurry of activity.

  Elizabeth waved to a young woman who played with her toddler on the front porch of a house that had just been sold. She didn't know the name of the woman or the child. She knew only that the two were part of a family that was on its way out. They hadn't been a part of her life the first time around and wouldn't be a part of it the second time.

  Elizabeth continued walking and kept to herself until she came upon a scene she had hoped to find. She found the Old Man in a sweatshirt and baggy pants wandering around his yard as though he had lost a cat – or perhaps his mind. She waved when he waved and smiled when she finally met him at his gate.

  "How are you this morning?" Elizabeth asked.

  "I am fine, dear lady, albeit a bit distracted. I seem to have lost my keys."

  "I didn't know you drove."

  "I don't," the Old Man said. "I have lost the keys to my house."

  Elizabeth laughed to herself. She never tired of seeing a side of a man that many others did not. She would definitely put this in her journal.

  "Have you locked yourself out of your house?" Elizabeth asked.

  "No. I have just lost my keys. I know they are here somewhere."

  Elizabeth started to ask if she could help with the search when she saw objects in the grass that reflected the bright morning light. She pointed at her discovery.

  "Are those your keys over there?" Elizabeth asked.

  The Old Man turned around and looked at the spot on the lawn. He walked slowly to the location, picked up the keys, and held them up.

  "There you are, my friends."

  Elizabeth smiled.

  "I think they were just playing hard to get. You know how keys are."

  The Old Man turned to face Elizabeth.

  "Thank you. Your eyes are as sharp as they are bright."

  "I'm glad someone thinks so," Elizabeth said with a laugh.

  The resident returned to his gate.

  "I should reward you with a cup of tea. That is the least I could do."

  Elizabeth thought about the invitation. She had spoken to the Old Man on many occasions during her second tour of the thirties but had never done more than exchange a few pleasantries. Perhaps it was time to change that.

  "I think I'll take you up on that," Elizabeth said.

  "Splendid," the Old Man replied.

  "I have just one condition."

  "Oh. What is that?"

  "I'd like to return the favor," Elizabeth said. "I'd like to have you over for tea and perhaps breakfast. I'd like you to meet my family."

  The Old Man smiled.

  "I would be honored. I believe that is something I'll do."

  CHAPTER 50: SUSAN

  Friday, April 14, 1939

  Susan pondered the question as she sat in a car parked in front of her house. She didn't mind the question or how it had been asked, but she admitted she didn't know how to answer it. She thought about the matter a little more and then turned to face the driver.

  "So you want to know about Bruce?" Susan asked.

  Jack nodded.

  "I do. I don't mean to pry. I'm just curious. I can't figure out why you haven't talked about him more often. He must have meant a lot to you."

  "He did," Susan said.

  "We can discuss something else. I sense he's an uncomfortable subject."

  "My husband is a complicated subject."

  "The difference is the same," Jack said. "If you don't want to talk about him, then we can talk about something else. We can always discuss cruisers and destroyers."

  Susan laughed.

  "I think I'd rather talk about my husband."

  "I'm sure you would," Jack said with a smile. "We've had a long week."


  Susan glanced at her dark house. She surmised that her mother was asleep and that her daughter was still out on her date with Kurt. She thought about inviting Jack in for a drink but decided that the front seat of his open 1937 Plymouth Roadster convertible was as good a place as any for a potentially delicate conversation.

  "What would you like to know about Bruce?" Susan asked.

  "The usual things, I guess," Jack said. "What did he do for a living? What were his interests? What activities did you enjoy together?"

  Susan gazed at the starry sky and considered the questions carefully. She knew she would have only one opportunity to provide meaningful answers and wanted to make the most of it.

  "The first question is an easy one," Susan said. "Bruce was a developer. He developed commercial real estate in Chicago and northern Illinois."

  "What about his interests?"

  "He loved sports, hunting, and fishing, like most men. He also enjoyed collecting things, such as autographs, baseball cards, and old recordings."

  He liked young receptionists too.

  "I see," Jack said. "He sounds like someone I would have liked."

  "I think you would have."

  "How about your common interests?"

  Susan frowned.

  "That's a hard question to answer. We had many common interests in the beginning and for most of our marriage. We both liked baseball, tennis, art, and the theater. We even developed a mutual interest in fancy cars. Bruce would have loved this vehicle. He had a special fascination with convertibles."

  "Why is the question difficult?" Jack asked. "It seems to me that the two of you had a lot in common, certainly more than most married couples."

  Susan sighed.

  "The question is difficult because we drifted apart toward the end. Bruce immersed himself in his work. I pursued other interests. We did not treat our marriage like a garden that needed to be watered and nurtured. We took each other for granted and broke the promises we had once made to each other."

  "You're not suggesting what I think you are, are you?"

  "I am," Susan said. "Bruce had an affair with one of his subordinates last spring. I didn't learn about the relationship until just before he died."

  "You don't need to say more," Jack said.

  "I do, though. I do. You've asked honest questions and deserve honest answers. I haven't said much about my husband because he is still a painful subject. I'm still coming to grips with his deceit and my own shortcomings as a wife."

  "You'll get through it. I'm sure."

  Susan laughed.

  "Is that the glass-is-half-empty admiral talking or the more optimistic retiree?"

  "It's neither," Jack said. "It's a man who knows exactly what you're going through."

  Susan sat up in her seat.

  "You may have to elaborate. I'm getting a little slow in my old age."

  Jack smiled sadly.

  "I know what you're going through because I went through the same thing."

  "Your wife had an affair?" Susan asked.

  Jack nodded.

  "Janet didn't call it that. She called it a 'mistake,' but it was an affair just the same."

  "You don't need to say anything."

  "I think I do," Jack said. "If we're going to share skeletons, we should share all of them."

  "You're probably right."

  "I know I am. Honesty really is the best policy."

  Susan looked at Jack Hicks with new admiration. She saw not only a sailor who had defended America's interests abroad but also a sensitive man who had fought his own battles at home. She wondered what other surprises he had for her.

  "When did all of this happen?" Susan asked.

  Jack sighed.

  "It occurred in 1919 when I was away at sea."

  "Were you two having problems?"

  "No," Jack said. "We were doing well, at least in my opinion, for a couple that had been married ten years. We had just moved to San Diego and had looked forward to finally settling down after living out of suitcases in Seattle and San Francisco."

  "What happened?"

  "Two things happened. The first is that Janet saw a series of doctors and learned why she could not bear children. The second is that my six-month tour of the South Pacific turned into a twelve-month tour. I was not at her side when she needed me most."

  "I see," Susan said.

  "Janet turned to her friends for comfort but found misery instead. Most of the women she knew had children," Jack said. "Whenever she visited their homes, she saw what she did not have. She saw what she could never have."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "She eventually found solace in the arms of a Navy captain. She carried on with him for about six weeks. When my ship returned to San Diego, she confessed everything."

  Susan reached across the seat and put her hand on Jack's arm.

  "That must have been hard."

  "It was difficult," Jack said. "I considered divorce, of course. I considered divorcing Janet for several weeks, but I concluded I would be happier with her than without her. We eventually worked out our differences with the help of a Navy chaplain."

  "Do you regret staying together?"

  "No. What I regret was putting her through several weeks of hell while I decided whether or not to continue our marriage."

  "I admire what you did," Susan said. "Forgiveness is hard."

  Jack laughed sadly.

  "It may be hard, but it's also liberating. I became a better husband after that episode. Janet became a better wife. We enjoyed eighteen more years together, good years, years that I would have never known had I succumbed to bitterness."

  Susan smiled. She remembered her mother saying something similar after she had revealed her own struggle with an adulterous spouse. She considered Elizabeth and Jack better people for passing a test that she had not even been required to take.

  "Thank you for sharing that," Susan said.

  "You're welcome."

  "I should probably head into the house. If I stay out here much longer, my mother may turn on the front lights to see if I'm up to no good."

  "Do you feel like a teenager, Mrs. Peterson?"

  "No. I feel like a forty-nine-year-old woman who's too old to be parking in the dark with a boy I barely know," Susan said. She laughed and then looked at Jack seriously. "Thanks for the lovely evening. I enjoyed the show tonight. I enjoyed our conversation."

  "I did too," Jack said. He sighed. "Let me at least show you to the door."

  "All right."

  Jack opened his door, stepped out of the Plymouth, and walked around the back of the vehicle to the passenger side. He opened Susan's door, helped her out of the car, and escorted her up the walk. He took her hands when they reached the door of the rental.

  "Thank you for a memorable evening," Jack said. "I'd like to do this again."

  "I would too."

  Jack leaned forward and gave Susan a gentle kiss.

  "Good night, Susan."

  "Good night, Jack."

  Susan watched intently as Admiral John J. Hicks returned to his car, turned on the ignition, and drove out of sight. She didn't know what to make of her interesting evening, but she did know it had given her food for thought.

  She had completed a Masters course on love, betrayal, and forgiveness and concluded something she should have concluded long ago. She realized that life was not about looking backward but rather forward. She vowed to look forward the rest of the way.

  CHAPTER 51: AMANDA

  Saturday, April 15, 1939

  Amanda opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling, and started to sweat. She realized it was April 15 and that she had not paid her due. Then she remembered she had not earned an income in 1938 and would still have plenty of time to file a 1040EZ for 2016 when she returned to the future and the wonderful world of taxes.

  She rolled onto her side and laughed. She wondered how she had ever made it this far in a world where everything she did, or didn't do, was a potential
cause for concern. She started to drift back to sleep when her mother disrupted her tranquility with a knock.

  "Are you awake, Amanda?" Susan asked from behind the bedroom door.

  "I'm sleeping. Go away."

  "I made breakfast and coffee."

  "I'll be down in a bit," Amanda said. "I want to think about the IRS for a while."

  "What?"

  "Eat without me, Mom."

  Susan opened the door halfway and stuck her head through the opening. She smiled at Amanda when her daughter returned her gaze.

  "We have a visitor who wants to meet you," Susan said.

  "Who?" Amanda asked.

  "Why don't you come down and see?"

  "Oh, all right. Give me five minutes."

  "Great," Susan said. She beamed. "I'll tell him you're coming."

  "Him?"

  Amanda tried to make sense of the exchange as she cleared the remaining cobwebs from her sleepy head. She wondered who could possibly want to see her, without her make-up, at eight on a Saturday morning. She was almost certain it wasn't the fair-haired boy who had kissed her at the door at midnight.

  She rolled out of bed and walked to her closet. Deciding that her male caller was probably someone more significant than the milkman, she pulled a bright cotton dress off a hanger, threw it on, and walked out of her bedroom and into the bathroom.

  Amanda ran a brush through her thick blond hair, splashed water on her pretty face, and checked her breath for halitosis. When she was satisfied that she wouldn't scare the visitor away, she flipped the light, exited the bathroom, and headed down the hallway.

  She stopped at the top of the stairs, listened for voices, and frowned when she heard nothing more than the clattering of dishes. She figured the least her mother could do was to start a lively conversation that might give her a better idea of what awaited.

  It didn't matter. Amanda needed only to whiff the air at the bottom of the stairs to know that the meal was no ordinary breakfast. She smelled pancakes, sweet rolls, and coffee, among other delightful things.

  Amanda proceeded through the kitchen. When she walked into the dining area, she saw a smiling mother, a talking grandma, and something she would remember for the rest of her life. She saw the world's smartest man.