Fire, The (12 page)

Kevin didn't question his moral or legal right to spend Asa's illicit treasure. He had found the money, after all, and had used it to better the life of a penniless orphan. If his aunts, uncles, and cousins had a problem with that, then they could take him to court!

He also pondered his own great-great-grandfather paradox. If he had taken custody of Asa's gold in 2013 and spent a good chunk of it paying off a slimy turn-of-the-century banker, then what, pray tell, would he have found in Asa's guest bedroom in 1910? He wisely decided to set that brain-buster aside for the time being.

Kevin grabbed his digital camera from the suitcase, turned it on, and flipped through twenty pictures. He laughed at one of Andy taking a nap in Maude's parlor and sighed at one of Sadie staring out a living room window. He had managed to take the picture discreetly by standing just inside the open door of a darkened room.

He studied the photo for a moment and then closed his eyes, allowing his mind to soak up every precious detail. He wanted to remember Sadie just as he had captured her in that fleeting second: brave, fragile, defiant, and breathtakingly beautiful.

When he concluded his sentimental journey, he opened his eyes and saw the sterile dining area of a century-old kitchen. He didn't see Asa or Celia or a funky coffee pot but rather a mostly empty room in a mostly empty house that would soon belong to someone not named Johnson. He lamented that the memories of his trip were already starting to fade, but he knew it was just as well. He had a life to lead, a modern life, and it was time to get on with it.

He got up from his chair, walked into the living room, picked up a pair of dirty socks, and continued toward the bathroom. As he walked across the room, he noticed his reflection in the glass doors of a hutch. He was still wearing the suit, the one that made him look more like Stan Laurel than Kevin Johnson but one that had served him well over the past ten days.

Kevin stood straight, smoothed the sleeves of his jacket, and smiled. Maybe he should take a photo of this too. He decided that he liked that idea and started back for the table but didn't get five feet before he felt something sharp poke one of his ribs.

He took off the jacket, turned it inside out, and noticed that the irritant was a lightly sealed envelope that someone had tucked in an inside pocket. He removed the envelope from the pocket and saw that it bore his name. A woman had written the name, a woman he knew.

Kevin opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of scented stationery. The enclosure was a thank you note written on February 22, 1910. It was a letter from Sadie.

CHAPTER 23: KEVIN

Friday, June 21, 2013

The second time Kevin read the handwritten note from the girl with the raven hair, he had to sit on a downtown bench. The first time he'd had to take a long, cold shower.

Sadie hadn't written a steamy love letter full of naughty notions and sinful suggestions, but she had expressed herself in a way that took Kevin aback and left him wondering whether he had departed her world prematurely. She hadn't wasted a word.

Dearest Kevin:

I write tonight with a heavy heart. I know I shouldn't be sad. I should be happy and gay and full of good cheer, but I'm not. I'm not because I don't expect to see you again.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope that instead of finding your place in Montana you come back to a town that needs you and a girl who admires you. I hope you give Wallace another look and Sadie Hawkins another chance.

For two days, I've tried to think of an appropriate way to thank you. For two days, I've failed. I may never succeed. You did something even my father couldn't do. You freed me from those who would use me and did so without reservation or expectation of compensation. That says much about your character and your soul.

I hope to have the chance to repay your kindness with kindness of my own. If I don't, please accept my gratitude and affection as payment for your deeds.

Sadie

Kevin read the letter a third time as he sat in front of a Sixth Street bar in a T-shirt and shorts. He gazed across the street and did a double take when he saw two college-age women walk toward a bank. They looked eerily similar to two girls – the
only
two girls – he had dated as a college senior.

Why hadn't Lisa Mancini written a letter like this? Or Megan Richards? Or every other girl he had liked since kindergarten? He had been kind and thoughtful to all of them. Why did the first female to show this kind of interest have to be one born in the 1800s?

He brought the note to his nose, took in its scent, and laughed to himself. Nobody in 2013 wrote letters in longhand, much less sprayed them with perfume. Sadie had given him more than an eloquent declaration of her feelings. She had given him a treasure from another time, one that probably belonged in a museum or an archive.

Kevin understood her gratitude. He
had
done a lot for her, even after he had set her up as Maude's live-in cook and maid. He had spent his last two days in 1910 making her life better.

On Tuesday he had taken her to lunch and bought her three dresses – nice dresses, the kind women wore to dances and Sunday socials. He had wanted to make sure Sadie not only had something to wear but also something to show. He had wanted her to stand out in any crowd and perhaps attract the attention of a man worthy of her kindness and affection.

On Wednesday he had taken her to Wallace's only public library, a sliver of a building on Fifth and Bank, where he had recommended several works, both literary and scientific. He had wanted her to be prepared for changes that he knew were coming soon and coming fast.

Sadie's letter nevertheless took him by surprise. She wasn't just grateful to him. She was smitten
with
him. She liked him and clearly wanted him back.

Kevin got off the bench, slipped the letter in a back pocket, and walked to the intersection with Cedar Street, where he saw Walt lead another merry band of tourists past the house of ill repute. He smiled when he saw a high-school-age boy throw his hand up and presumably ask a question about historic Wallace. He wondered what the kid would think of the real deal.

Haunted by the scented note, Kevin decided to walk around town and hopefully clear a mind that had been remarkably uncluttered just an hour earlier. He turned west, toward Fifth Street, then north, toward the river, and began a tour of a familiar neighborhood.

When he approached the high school campus, he saw two distinctive buildings. The first was the new school, an edifice of colored brick and glass that filled nearly an entire block. The second was a remnant of the old school, a storage facility that had changed little in more than a hundred years and presumably still served a useful purpose.

Kevin thought about his visit to the original school, his conversations with Principal Edward Morrison, the boys in the gym class, and his unexpected but entirely welcome encounter with Sarah Thompson. He hoped that she had come to her senses with respect to Preston Pierce and found a satisfying life that she too deserved.

When Kevin reached a small park next to the school, he stopped, sat on a picnic table, and assessed his surroundings. Wallace had changed a lot in a century. Fewer businesses now operated in its downtown core. Fewer houses dotted its south and west sides. An elevated freeway loomed over the riverfront and the former site of the Northern Pacific Railroad depot.

Yet there was still much that was familiar about this once important town. Kevin could sense it, even feel it. He could almost see horse-drawn wagons pulling kegs of beer and women wearing fancy hats stepping out of not-so-fancy shops. He
could
see Andy in the Shooting Star and Maude in the Placer Room. Those images would never go away.

A few minutes later, he got up, headed south on Third, and cut across Bank to King Street, once the site of Wallace's most extravagant homes. He thought again about how the city had changed and how it had not and then returned to the letter.

I hope that instead of finding your place in Montana you come back to a town that needs you and a girl who admires you. I hope you give Wallace another look and Sadie Hawkins another chance.

Kevin shook his head. He could see now that he should have handled matters differently. Though he did not at all regret saving Sadie from a life of squalor and retiring her debt, he did regret creating an impression he could not honor. He had taken her to dinner, bought her gifts, and all but courted her for forty-eight hours. He had encouraged affection he knew he'd never be able to return and that, he concluded, had been a mistake.

He glanced at his watch, saw two forty-five on the dial, and pondered his options. Despite the hour, it was not too late to join his family. He could hop in his Beetle, drive to Spokane, and order a New York strip before Dad touted the virtues of 3D printing, Mom asked about his day, and Rena recounted the horrors of not finding clothes in her size at outlet stores. He would enjoy a big meal, more time with his clan, and maybe even the show. He didn't care much for plays, but he did like spectacles. A rousing theatrical performance might just be the ticket.

Kevin knew also that he could stay put. He could check out more of the tourist traps or go on a long hike or even grab his bike and hit the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes. A physically fit cyclist could cover a lot of ground on a two-hour ride and work up a serious appetite. The more he thought about getting out on the trail and revitalizing his mind and body, the more he wanted to return to his wheels and start peddling.

The one thing he
didn't
want to do was return to Roger Johnson's house and think about the past. He didn't want to mentally revisit the past ten days or the people he had met or the places he had seen. He didn't want to think about the ripples or messes he'd left behind. He wanted to think about something else, something in the here and now, and begin the process of moving on.

The problem was that he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't purge the images in his mind and in his camera. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had done. He couldn't get past the
note
. Sadie's words haunted him as surely as a spider on a ceiling.

Paralyzed by indecision, Kevin continued his way toward a mansion that had once been owned by the richest woman in town. When he reached his destination, he sat on a utility box and took stock of a residence that had been his home just a few hours earlier.

The house had changed surprisingly little in a century. Though the doors and windows had been updated and the siding redone, the mansion appeared much as he had left it. Even the black wrought-iron fence that ringed the property seemed untouched by more than a hundred winters.

Kevin lifted his eyes to the north dormer, his dormer, and saw a middle-aged man throw open a window and stare at the ne'er-do-well sitting on his utility box. He considered asking the man if he had found a strange pair of socks in the dresser but decided to remain silent. There was no need to invite calls to the police on such a nice day.

Kevin studied the house for another moment and then looked again at the letter. The words seemed bigger now and bolder. They jumped off the page and hit him in a whole new way.

Sadie may have been a mere high school graduate, but she was no dummy. She knew the power of words and knew that this note would stir his heart and maybe a few other things. She didn't want to part with Kevin and was willing to pull every string to get him back.

Kevin got off the utility box and put the letter away. He had to stop thinking about her. She was just a girl, for crying out loud – one who had already lived and died and made her mark on the world. She was gone. It was time to leave well enough alone.

As he walked back to his grandfather's house, however, Kevin realized that well enough would never be good enough. He would never be at peace until he exorcised his ghosts and tied up loose ends. Suddenly, the unthinkable became thinkable.

What was the harm, he reasoned, in making one last visit? He could settle his affairs, clean up any messes, and still return to 2013 before his family came back from Spokane. Though the chamber of stones might not send him to February 23, 1910, it would almost certainly return him to June 21, 2013. The portal had proved extraordinarily reliable in reentry mode.

Kevin weighed that important consideration as he crossed a street and started down another block. He knew it was crazy to even consider another trip because any trip might turn out badly. Prudence dictated that he turn away now.

The time for prudence, however, had come and gone. He wanted more than a careful life where he checked his shadow each step of the way. He wanted adventure, fulfillment, and love. If that meant finding them in another century and bringing them back, he would do just that. If it meant finding them now, he would do that too.

He smiled as he turned onto Garnet Street, approached Roger Johnson's house, and thought of the suit he had left lying on the back of a chair. Stan Laurel would perform again.

CHAPTER 24: KEVIN

Kevin packed a bigger suitcase for his third trip to 1910. He packed it with more socks, more underwear, more toiletries, and more stuff. He didn't care this time if any of the items stood out. As far as he was concerned, anachronisms were now the latest in cutting-edge technology. He cared only about comfort and convenience on what would surely be his longest stay.

He also packed more loot. He grabbed several handfuls of golden eagles, diamonds, and convertible cash and stuffed the goods in three zippered freezer bags. If someone managed to mug him outside the chamber of stones, he would, in effect, win the lottery.

As it turned out, no one greeted him when he walked out the chamber door – not a mugger, not Asa Johnson with a shotgun, no one. What did greet him was a cold winter afternoon.