By the Bay (25 page)

The youngest, Michael Stevens, interrupted eagerly. “You’re from the future. So for the first time, we know it really will work.”

“You already
knew
that, Mike,” Davis told him. “Don’t we get messages from other times?”

The man he called Mike stared defiantly at him. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if you didn’t manufacture those, Davis.”

“Why in hell would I do that?”

This time Franklin answered, his voice graveled with age, “Because you want this so much, son. Because you’re so sure it will
work
if we just give you the chance. But I represent a peace loving president in this matter and I want to be sure we’re on firm ground.”

Sullenly Davis indicated the two visitors seated on the couch. “Well, here’s your proof. They should be enough to convince you.”

“The girl looks like you.”

“I’m told she’s my daughter.”

Jillian shifted position slightly as though about to speak, but Philippe touched her hand and met her eyes.
Wait
. They needed to let this play out to see what was really going on.

“And the man?” It was as though they couldn’t hear what was going on. Again Philippe and Jillian exchanged knowing glances. Davis had been less than straight forward with them when he’d brought them here. Philippe was not surprised to learn this.

“A pirate from the early 1800s,” Davis said enthusiastically. “A real live man from the past.”

For once Philippe did not insist on the word privateer. It didn’t matter that these men didn’t understand his profession, didn’t know that he was a patriot fighting for the American cause.

He got casually to his feet and went to stand to one side, the better able to use his sword if defense should become necessary. He didn’t want Jillian to
o
close where she might get accidentally
stabbed.

Davis laughed. “How much proof do you guys need? You’ve got living breathing
evidence looking right at
you. It’s time to get moving.”

Cal Franklin ignored him, turning to look at Jillian. “I represent the office of the presidency here, Miss Blake, and while I am interested in anything that could bring a lasting peace, I feel we are on very uncertain ground.” He pointed at Micha
el
. “Captain Stevens is with the Navy. Of course, you know that Mr.
Lewis
and your father came up with this whole theory and are responsible for the initial steps that were taken before we happened on them.”

She didn’t correct him, didn’t say that this Davis wasn’t her father.
He knew w
hat really puzzled her was
Owen
Lewis
’s position in the whole thing.
She was used to thinking of Owen as her friend.

“
Y
ou need to understand
how serious
this all is
. There are those who want to drag us into this European war and at the same time we are being threatened on our Mexican border.” Franklin was once again the spokesman. In some way, maybe just because he was oldest, he seemed to be the leader.

Philippe felt out of his depth. He was the only one here who truly did not know what was going on. His last legitimate memory of national affairs was
of
the British
threatening
New Orleans. Jillian had spoken of world wars. How did a whole world go to war? “Who are we fighting?” he asked with considerable interest. “This time? Is it the British again?”

Franklin looked at him like he was a total idiot. “We’re not fighting anyone yet.”

“Then who do we contemplate fighting?” Philippe didn’t intend to be put off.

Jillian glanced a
t where he was standing behind her.
She was the only one who seemed to remember that for him this was not history, but a time that hadn’t happened yet.

“We’re on the same side this time,” she said.

“If we fight, if this goes on,” Davis insisted. “But with our ability to travel in time and to show each side what can happen, it will stop. We will never fight a world war.”

Philippe left the talking to Jillian this time. “That’s not what will happen,” she said. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know what’s going on in the years to
come. That you’re s
i
tting here in ignorance?’

The man they called Michael Stevens that they’d said was in the Navy, though he didn’t look to Philippe like any sailor he’d ever met, spoke up. “How can we know? We haven’t started yet. We’re just here trying to talk Mr. Franklin and the government into funding us.” He whirled angrily on Jillian and Philippe took a step forward, tightening his grip on his weapon. “Are you
telling us
we fail when you and your friend are here as full evidence that we succeed?”

Jillian didn’t seem to be frightened. Philippe felt so proud of her as she sat up straighter, one beautiful red-haired woman trying to fight for the welfare of others. “No,” she said. “I’m trying to tell you that you succeed. And God help us all if you go on with this.”

Chaos broke out with every man trying to talk at once. Philippe could only follow a word here and there. Davis and Michael looked both elated and excited, talking about how they were going to end warfare.
Owen
was trying to tell Jillian that she was bringing them the best of news.

Cal Franklin shouted, calling them to order.

When everything finally quieted down, he looked at Philippe. “We were told you were going to talk against the project, but it seems to me that Davis is right and you have come to tell us we must go on.”

Philippe shook his head. “Sacre Bleu,” he swor
e softly
, “
has nothing strange been happening here? Are not things changing all around you moment by moment?”

They all stared at him.
Then Jillian spoke softly, her voice tuned just for him.
“My darling, this is the base point, the last stable time
. Before
and behind them it is happening. The world is shaking itself to pieces.”

He looked at her without hope. If there was no evidence that they could see, how could the two of them ever stop what was about to happen? Surely they were all doomed.

Chapter Thirty
Five

Roy
Ezell stopped by the café early that morning to tell them that Nazi subs had been spotted just off shore. Naturally they’d already heard before this official word came in, the town was buzzing with the news.

Florence
wondered what she was expected to do about it. She guessed she should move Christine over here to
Owen
’s little apartment for a few days. Certainly if the enemy came ashore they would walk right into her sister’s yard and trample over her bright tropical flowers.

Glancing at the old light house, she tried to draw comfort from its continuing presence, but w
hen she drove over to the cottage at the first chance she had, she saw coast guard men down by the bay and felt the loss of privacy. Jillian had played down in those sands since she was a little girl. She wouldn’t be happy to be chased out of her own home.

If she ever came back. The dreary thought haunted her constantly. It was her niece that gave them all a sense of family. Where would they be without her?

With the help of the day’s caretaker, Maria again this time working on probation, she packed up a few necessities for her sister, put a protesting Christine and her belongings into the car, and headed to the apartment.

Chris didn’t like this one bit. She hated being away from her own home, was restless and confused at any other location. Still there was no choice and she couldn’t expect her sister to understand that German sailors might approach her house at any minute.

In a way,
Florence
agreed with Christine. She found it hard to believe invaders would be interested in isolated little Port Isabel
but
, if they did come ashore, no doubt they would march right over the little town and the
café would be as vulnerable as the cottage.

Somehow she couldn’t see Ro
y
and his
few
police officers and the coast guard successfully turned away a bunch of Nazis. Of course, the townspeople would all help.

She went back to the cottage for her brother-in-law’s old twenty two, the gun
with which
she’d taught Jillian to
shoot
. It was not the weapon that killed him, that had been a police issued pistol. Christine hadn’t been able to bear to have
it
in the house after what happened and
Owen
had taken it away for her.

She dared any Nazi to come into her restaurant.

In a way it was easier having Christine right on the property so she could go back and check on her at every opportunity. Though her sister couldn’t be comfortable with the change. She had secluded herself  in her cottage since Davis’ death over twenty years ago. It was as though she’d hidden away in the darkness all those years and was now pushed into the light.

Florence
wasn’t sure she would survive the experience.

The café was even more crowded today than usual. As soon as a table or booth emptied, it was quickly occupied by more customers. Old friends gathered together for comfort, coffee and talk, the youngsters full of bravado, their seniors reliving the days of the last war when the coast had seemed even more vulnerable.

Back then there was trouble across the border too with Mexico in chaos and bandits threatening.
Florence
had still be
en
in her teens then, more excited than terrified. In the years since she’d been grateful for  ordinary days.

She hoped those weren’t gone for good as she refilled coffee cups and took orders while
Owen
cooked in the kitchen. Too busy to be giving anything much thought, she was startled when Christine came in from the back.

For once her sister was wearing street clothes, a blue print dress with dark shoes and one of her own hats. It was a small hat with a veil that went down over the forehead. Chris looked absolutely fetching and anything but ill.

She smiled and waved at
Florence
, but wound her way through the tables to the booth where
Roy
and a couple of his officers sat.

Many of the customers had never even seen
Florence
’s sister since she rarely left the cottage, but a few of the old-timers knew her and called out half-hearted greetings. They’d heard the stories about her and didn’t know how to react to seeing her out in public like this.

Roy
Ezell was one of the old-timers. He had been one of Davis’ deputies in the old days. He’d come to the house after the shooting and testified at the hearing that what had happened was an accidental death.

Chris walked up to where
Roy
was seated at one of the booths with a couple of old friends. With a bright smile, she stretched out both hands. “Cuff me,” she said. “I confess. I murdered my husband.”

The room went quiet.
Florence
was frozen in place.

“Now, Chris,”
Roy
responded, his habitual drawl sounding uneasy. “You know that’s not what happened.”

H
er long arms and slender wrists remained in place. “
Arrest me,
Roy
. Davis is dead and it’s my fault.”

He looked at her with open pity. “Sweetheart, he may be dead, but it sure wasn’t something you wanted to happen. The only thing Davis would have blamed you for was not getting on with your life.”

When Christine collapsed, he caught her in his arms and held her against him while she sobbed her heart out.

Chapter Thirty
Six

Davis Blake and Michael Stevens hated both of them.
Owen
seemed a little less certain, more willing to listen to reason. She couldn’t even begin to guess what the oldest member of the group, Cal Franklin, was thinking, but she guessed he was all important.

The others seemed to be performing for him, trying to persuade him they were right. She guessed he controlled the moneybags that could bring their project into reality.

Philippe, who was used to more violent times, was convinced that the conspirators would do her harm if they got the chance and insisted that she not go anywhere without him.

On this particular morning Cal had taken them to the part of town where, he explained, communication towers were being contemplated that promised technological possibilities as exciting in their own way as the timing experiences.

The trouble was, he said, that the federal government would not fund both projects in the same region. His task was to decide which was more critical.