Fire, The (8 page)

When Kevin asked how Maude had become the "richest woman in town," she told him a story she had told often. She recalled how Marcus Duvalier, silver tycoon, had wooed her away from a Denver stage in 1896 with silk, emeralds, and a promise of a house that would be the envy of the up-and-coming mining community of Wallace, Idaho.

She added that her husband's sales pitch hadn't included a promise to remain faithful or to even provide her with children. Maude Parker, daughter of a Colorado wheat farmer and one-time vaudeville performer, had been a mere ornament to a man who'd had many.

As Maude replayed the phonograph record that was her life, she noticed that Kevin was a good listener. He smiled and nodded at the right times and asked questions when appropriate.

She also noticed that he said little about himself. She couldn't remember a man who had spoken less about his past than the one who wanted to teach the children of miners and merchants.

Kevin gave Maude his undivided attention for the better part of an hour, even as Andrew drifted to other places. As the evening wore on, however, he began to shift his sights to a nearby table, where a well-known businessman entertained an attractive young woman.

Maude decided to reel in his wandering eyes at seven thirty, when Andy headed off to the men's room and Kevin again glanced at the other table.

"I see I have competition," she said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," Kevin said. "It's just that the woman sitting at the other table looks very familiar. Do you know who she is?"

Maude smiled.

"I know everyone in this town, Mr. Johnson."

"I figured you did."

"The woman is Sarah Thompson, a teacher at the high school. She came here last summer from Indiana and has been residing with George and Bertha Marshall. They are an elderly couple who live in that magnificent house on Seventh and Garnet."

"I see. Who's the gentleman?"

"The man is Preston Pierce, the owner of the Intermountain Bank. He's a very important and powerful figure in this town, but I wouldn't call him a gentleman."

"Why is that?"

"I'll tell you why. Mr. Pierce is a lot like my deceased husband. He is greedy, thoughtless, and cruel. He is a man who treats women as property and not people. My guess is that Miss Thompson has not yet been treated to his charms."

Kevin nodded. He put a hand to his chin and lowered his eyes.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Maude asked.

Kevin chuckled.

"It seems you and Andy attended the same school of thought. He can read my mind too."

"I can read men, Kevin. That's one reason Andrew and I get along. I know when he desires conversation and when he does not. I've found it to be a useful skill."

"I believe it. You certainly have me figured out. I'm sorry for drifting off."

"There's no need to apologize. You admire beautiful women, and Sarah Thompson is as beautiful as they come. She reminds me of someone I used to know."

"That sounds like an endorsement."

"It's more like an idle reflection," Maude said with a sad smile. "I hope you enjoy your time in Wallace, Mr. Johnson, but I advise you to stay away from the teacher."

"Why do you say that?"

"I say that because Preston Pierce is a nasty man, and nasty men do nasty things when someone gets between them and something they want."

CHAPTER 13: KEVIN

Friday, February 18, 1910

Five days into his alleged trip to visit schools in northern Idaho, Kevin finally visited a school in northern Idaho. He walked a few blocks from Maude Duvalier's house to Shoshone County High, proceeded to the school office, and asked to see Principal Edward Morrison.

Kevin had no intention of applying for a job or even inquiring about a job. A time traveler planning to return to his time in five days didn't make or even seek extended commitments. But if he wanted to catch another glimpse of a beautiful woman who worked at a school, a woman who had haunted his mind for days, he went to that school with an open mind.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson," a large man said as he stepped into the office and extended a hand. "I'm Ed Morrison. I'm told you're interested in teaching in the county."

"I am," Kevin said. "I know you don't have any current vacancies. I'm just here to see the local schools and decide whether I want to return in the spring."

The principal looked at his watch and then at Kevin.

"We have about an hour before school ends today. If you'd like a quick tour of the building, I'd be happy to give you one."

"I'd love it. Lead the way."

Kevin followed Morrison down a long hallway to a large chamber that he immediately recognized as a gymnasium. With wooden rafters, balcony seats, and a parquet floor, the facility looked more like a mini Boston Garden than a high school gym.

Kevin peeked inside the door and saw several boys work a high bar, a vault, and a balance beam. They weren't as graceful as the girls he remembered at Unionville High, but they appeared no less skilled. He wondered how far other sports, like football, baseball, and basketball had developed in small American towns by 1910.

"As you can see, our physical education program includes gymnastics," Morrison said. "Most of our students are involved in school sports or intramurals. We place a premium on physical fitness here in Wallace. Our girls basketball team, in fact, is quite good."

"That's impressive," Kevin said.

"What is your academic specialty, Mr. Johnson? Perhaps I can take you to the appropriate section of the school."

"I majored in astronomy and earth sciences at the university in Seattle, but I would feel comfortable teaching any of the physical sciences. Do you expect to have any vacancies in those areas next year?"

"I don't expect a vacancy of any kind," Morrison said. "None of our current instructors are planning to retire or to marry, to my knowledge. The teachers here are very committed to the mission of our school. The turnover rate is relatively low."

Kevin felt better when he heard the words. He knew now that he wasn't doing anything more than taking up one principal's last hour on an otherwise uneventful Friday afternoon in February.

"Would you like to see the science classes?"

"I would. Thank you."

Kevin followed the principal to three science rooms, where students engaged in a variety of lab experiments, and also to the shop classes, where future wood- and metal-workers created everything from candleholders to letter openers. Though some things had changed in a century of public education, others – many others – had not.

Morrison then guided his guest past the math and music rooms to the English and literature section. When they reached the last of three rooms in this area, they found the door open. The principal lowered his voice as they stepped into the doorway.

"This is an upper-level English class, taught by Miss Sarah Thompson," Morrison said, barely above a whisper. "Miss Thompson came to us from Indiana. She was our only new hire last year. As I said, vacancies at this school are few and far between."

Kevin heard Morrison speak but otherwise ignored him. The second he laid eyes on the new instructor with the Jane Seymour face and Gibson-girl hair, he mentally checked out of the school tour. He saw the woman he had wanted to see and, just as importantly, she had seen him.

The exchange of glances continued as Sarah tried to diagram a sentence on the blackboard for her class of twenty. She turned toward the door, nodded at the principal, and shifted her soft green eyes to Morrison's guest. A gentle smile followed the gaze, a smile and a gaze that Kevin had seen from a city street and again from a restaurant table.

"Has Miss Thompson adjusted well to life here?"

"I believe so. She's made many friends and seems happy with her work," Morrison said. "Wallace is a fine town, Mr. Johnson. If you are the kind of man looking to settle down and invest yourself in a school district and a community, you can't do much better than here."

Kevin met Sarah's eyes one more time as Morrison led him back to the hallway. She smiled again, ever so slightly, before returning to her students.

He didn't know what the smile meant or what he could do about it even if he did. He was a time traveler, for Pete's sake, a person who had no business wandering the corridors of a high school during the time of his great-great-grandfather.

Kevin knew only that his simple field trip to the Edwardian Era, a journey that still boggled his mind, was getting increasingly complicated. He was doing more than having fun in 1910. He was getting attached to 1910, and that was potentially a troubling thing.

CHAPTER 14: KEVIN

Monday, February 21, 1910

As he sat on a favorite stool in what had become his favorite place, Kevin thought about a comment by Walt during his seemingly distant walking tour of Wallace. The guide had said he could measure a community's wholesomeness by comparing the number of churches to saloons.

Using that standard, Wallace was very much a work in progress. With seven churches, thriving service organizations, and a growing family class, it wasn't Sodom and Gomorrah or even the rough-and-tumble mining camp of the 1880s, but with thirty-eight saloons, six brothels, five card rooms, and four dance halls, it wasn't a convent either.

Kevin knew the numbers of "good" and "bad" institutions in town because the city reporter for the
Wallace Standard
had told him. He glanced at Andy O'Connell as he finished his fourth whiskey in the Shooting Star, one of the bad institutions he now thought of as good.

"You sure drink a lot," Kevin said, slurring his words. "I never drink this much, but now I do. I'm becoming Irish."

"Indeed you are," Andy said. "Your mother would be proud."

"My mother would whip me upside the head if she saw me now. She hates drinking."

Andy raised his glass.

"She sounds like a good woman."

"She is," Kevin said, wondering what Shelly Johnson would think of her son getting drunk in
1910
. "What about your family? What do they think about you and Wallace?"

Andy's smile morphed into something that resembled a thoughtful frown.

"They don't think much, being dead as they are. My mother, bless her soul, succumbed to consumption when I was six. My father died in a factory fire five years later. I raised my brother and got out when I could. Idaho seemed like a good place to get lost."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've had a good life, all things considered. I matter here. I didn't matter in Boston. I have goals now, even dreams," Andy said. He smiled again as he turned to face Kevin. "What about you, gallant traveler? Do you have goals? You've been here a week and haven't done much but take in the shows and drink with me."

Kevin pondered the question before answering. Yes, he had goals. He wanted to be a college professor and a pioneer in his fields, not to mention a husband and a father. He wanted to make a difference in the world. He also had a more immediate goal. He wanted to enter Asa Johnson's chamber of stones Wednesday evening and successfully return to a time that made sense.

That didn't mean he regretted the decision to return to the past. He had enjoyed his second tour of turn-of-the-century Wallace and very much enjoyed the company of his new companions.

Kevin had spent a lot of time with Andy and Maude since moving into her house Wednesday night and found them as interesting as anyone he had met in four years of college. He'd been tempted on several occasions to ask Andy if he and Maude had something going on, but he had remained silent each time. Their relationship was none of his business and didn't matter anyway. He would be gone from their lives soon enough.

He gazed at the Shooting Star's brass cash register and then at the photo of the beautiful woman. She had not changed in five days. She still taunted him with the same beguiling smile, a smile that reminded him of an unhealthy obsession.

Kevin knew he had to get over Sarah. Like the woman in the photo, she was something that existed mostly in his mind. She was a stranger in a strange time, a woman he could never have, but that didn't stop him from thinking about her.

"It's the girl again, isn't it?" Andy asked, interrupting Kevin's whiskey-fortified daydream. "You're thinking about her."

Kevin laughed.

"I see you're back to mind reading."

"It's what I do," Andy said. He looked at Kevin thoughtfully. "Have you seen her?"

"I've seen her."

"Then why aren't you with her now instead of hanging around with the likes of me?"

Kevin smiled sadly and studied his nearly empty glass.

"I'm not with her because she's not mine."

"So make her yours. You're a fine-looking lad, educated too."

"It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," Andy said. "If there's one thing I've learned in twenty-five years, it's that life is as bloody simple as you make it. When I came here, I had no money, no experience as a journalist, and only a year of university. I'd never done more than move freight in Southie, but that didn't stop me from getting on a train and taking a chance. We make our own way, friend."

"I guess you're right."

Kevin sighed and gazed again at the picture on the wall. He kept to himself for nearly a minute before his companion broke the silence.

"Tell me something," Andy said. "How long's it been since you've had a lassie on your lap?"

Kevin spit out his drink and laughed. He couldn't relax for a moment around this guy. He thought about the question and considered a face-saving answer but ultimately went with the truth. If Andy could read his mind at other times, he could surely read it now.

"It's been eight months."

"Eight months? Oh, Blessed Mary, no wonder you're feeling down."

"I've been in sort of a rut this year."

"I should say so," Andy said. "Eight months is entirely unacceptable. We'll have to do something about your lady problem and do it soon."