The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 1): First Time (44 page)

"But how could I be?"

She paused, then a light came on in her head and she explained, "Didn't you say a minute ago that, when you married Sarah you should have destroyed yourself because you would have changed that one gene or chromosome, or whatever?"

"Yes."

"There's your answer. There
was
another progenitor of your line and your father is the proof."

"Huh?"

Heather pointed out, "You told me that both you and your father were only children, right? But you're not now. Your grandfather and father from your other time line must have carried some gene that made it difficult for them to produce children. Low count, or something," she hypothesized uncomfortably. "But when you married Sarah—instead of whoever was supposed to marry Sarah—you provided a different gene, one that wasn't going to break down in two hundred years."

"So how did I get the name 'Fitch.'"

"From Sarah's first husband," Heather replied, then wished instantly she hadn't said it quite that way, realizing it hurt him to think of it as much as it hurt her to think of him being married to Sarah. She quickly added, "His name carried down to you, then got carried through the line again when you went back."

"I agree most of all on one point," Garison finally said after a long pause.

"What's that?"

"Our small minds cannot comprehend what has happened here."

Chapter Twenty-five

Garison and Heather talked until the wee hours of the morning, though they stopped understanding what they were talking about long before they ceased conversing. When they finally did turn off the lights and lay down in their separate beds to sleep, it had taken them both nearly an hour to drive the myriad thoughts from their minds. Both had slept fitfully at first, though Heather eventually relaxed enough to actually rest.

Garison found himself awake at his usual time of six-thirty and, unable to go back to sleep, took his cousin's book into the bathroom where he could turn on the light and read. It was a chilly morning, so he continually restarted the timed heater as he read through the book as quickly as he could.

In the back of the book, Maureen Carnes had provided several charts which chronicled all the branches of the Fitch family she had been able to find in the early nineteen fifties. While she only went into detail about the "Colorado branch" she was from, she had gone beyond yeoman's work in putting together the extended tree. Garison scanned the later names out of curiosity and was surprised to find that—as of 1955, at any rate—a family of Fitchs was living in nearby Alexandria. Garison slipped into the bedroom and pulled out a Greater Alexandria phone book then crept back into the bathroom and looked for "David Fitch" or "Donnell Fitch." He was surprised to find both.

Heather knocked on the bathroom door just then and asked sleepily, "Garison, are you all right?"

"Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Because you're hanging out in the bathroom." Touching her tummy lightly, she told him, "I'm the one who's supposed to be doing that at this point in the pregnancy."

He opened the door just then and almost blinded her as the light from the bathroom spilled into the still shade-darkened bedroom. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, he told her, "You're not going to believe this, but I think I found one of my descendants living right here in Alexandria."

Still trying to adjust to the light, and feeling as if the previous night's discussion had left her with a hangover, she only replied, "Really?"

He nodded and anxiously went over to the bed, turning on what was to her another blinding light. He put his hand on the telephone and told her, "I'm going to call and see if there's anybody home—and if it's the right person."

"Isn't it kind of early to be calling strangers?"

"You're still on Colorado time. It's eight o'clock, here. I'm going to call."

"You do that. I think I'll throw up and then take a shower."

He looked up sympathetically, but commented, "I thought you said all you ever got was nauseated."

Just before darting into the restroom, closing the door, and turning on the vent fan to drown out any noise she might make, she told him, "I guess the rules have changed."

Garison dialed the number in the book and was quickly answered by a low but friendly voice. Garison said, "You don't know me, but my last name is Fitch, too. I got a hold of an old book about the family and it listed a David Fitch living in Alexandria, Virginia, and I was wondering if you were the right David Fitch." After the man's reply, Garison asked, "Was your father Wesley Allen Fitch? Great! I know you don't know me from Adam, but could I come visit you this morning? I'm in town." After Garison had gotten the directions, he thanked the man and hung up.

When Heather came out of the restroom, already dressed for the day though her hair was still wet, Garison told her where they were going as soon as he had showered. With concern, she asked, "Why are you trying so hard to delay reading Sarah's letter?"

He shrugged and replied, "I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm afraid the letter might not be there after all this time. It has been two hundred and nineteen years. But really, I think the 'deep down reason' is that I know this letter will be the last contact I ever have with Sarah and I want to make it last."

Heather shook her head, "This won't be your last contact with her." At his puzzled glance, she put her hand over his heart and assured him, "She'll always be right here with you."

He took her hand in his, then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He whispered, "I'm remembering why I married you. I'm also really sorry that I haven't done a good enough job of telling you these last three years."

She looked him in the eyes and smiled, "These last couple days, when I started realizing my Garison—you—you were still in there somewhere, " she touched his head, "I started telling myself that this would be a new start. But maybe I need to tell you that, Garison. I need to tell you that I love you and that I'm making a new start and I don't want to repeat our old—my old mistakes."

After a hesitation, he said, "I can't even tell you what I've been thinking over these last few days. I'm not even sure myself. And, well, this isn't going to make much sense, but, well, the me that has been married to you for three years really wants to do a better job of being a husband—and start a good job of being a father."

He was a man in his late eighties and he lived in a fairly large house just to the south of town and his name was David Bryan Fitch. He was sitting on his front porch in a rocking chair when Garison and Heather had shown up in their rented car. He smiled and waved, although he looked a little suspicious.

"Hello," he said cheerfully, although still with a little bit of suspicion in his voice. "I assume you're the person I talked to on the phone a little while ago?"

Garison replied, "Yes sir, I am. My name is Garison Fitch and this is my wife Heather." They shook hands all around and exchanged amenities.

The man gestured to a porch swing and said, in the southern accent one still found in a few of Virginia’s older families, "Light and set. Don't have many visitors when my grandchildren are gone. Went down to Florida while my great-grandchildren were on spring break down there. Chaperoning a bunch of high school band kids isn't my idea of a vacation, but they like doing stuff like that. They go to all the band camps and competitions and everything.

"Say your name is Fitch?" he asked. "You don't look familiar, but if you're family I should know, I apologize. Lord knows there's a passel of us around."

"No," Garison told him, "You wouldn't know us. We come from over in Colorado, although we are...ah, distant kin. I mean, I am. Heather would only be kin to you by marriage."

"You don't say?" David smiled. Either he has all his teeth, Heather mused, or he has the most authentic implants I have ever seen. He smiled playfully at Heather, a child of an era before harassment suits, and quipped, "Now that I know you and I aren't blood kin I wish I had met you before you married him."

"Thank you," was all Heather could think of to say as she blushed. He struck her as a nice old man rather than a dirty one.

"Yes, well, you see," Garison fumbled as he was trying to explain what he was about, "We have been researching my family tree, and we ran across your name. We had traced down to your father, Wesley Allen Fitch, and—when I saw that in that book it listed you as still living—we thought we would like to hunt you up. Meaning no offense, but you are the oldest member of the Fitchs we have yet found alive."

"None taken," David dismissed with the wave of a hand. "You're probably right. My oldest brother, he passed away a year ago at the age of ninety-three. That left me as the senior statesman—so far as I know.

"You say you're from the Colorado branch of the family? I never even knew there was one until a few years back when some lady came through researching the family. What was her name? Must have been back in the fifties." He chuckled, "That was before either of you were born, wasn't it? More than just a few years, then." With a wink at Heather, he added with a smile, "Shoot, I was young and good-looking then."

Heather asked, in answer the man's question, "Was her name Maureen Carnes? Maiden name Fitch?"

"Believe that's right. It's been a long time. Still, I think I had a copy of that family history she wrote up. I reckon you've seen it or you wouldn't have found me. Now, why did you come all the way from Colorado to look up an old man like me?" he asked. "If you're hoping for some buried Fitch treasure, you're out of luck. You hoping to find some old stories, or maybe fill in a couple holes in the family history? I know some of that stuff and will be more than happy to help you. Won't make you rich, I'm afraid, but it might be entertaining."

"Well, that's not exactly what we're looking for, anyway," Garison said, still fumbling for words. "Although sometime I would like to come by and hear anything you have to say about the family, or my—your grandkids."

Heather injected, "Actually, Mister Fitch, when you hear what Garison has to say about the family tree, you're probably going to think he's the nuts."

Garison and David both looked at her strangely, but then the old man turned to Garison. "You found some skeletons in our closet, Son? I wouldn't doubt that there are a few. All families have at least one black sheep or a few that are more red-blooded than blue. I have heard some odd tales about the Fitchs, passed down by my father."

"Well then," Garison said, "I wonder if you have heard this one I, um, recently heard. How far back does your knowledge of our family history go?"

The old man thought a minute, then replied, "Pretty far. I don't know every person between here and there, but I have heard stories of as far back as a woman named Sarah Fitch. They say George Washington was a pall bearer at her funeral." He hesitated, then added, "I've even heard a legend about her husband—he died a long time before she did—but I never believed it."

He looked around and, motioning them to lean in, said, "Some people say he never died. It's a story my daddy passed to me and his daddy before him and so on back. They say it's a family secret, but it's too crazy to be true. It's probably been kept a secret because anyone caught telling it would be thrown in the loony bin."

Heather and Garison looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then Garison told David, "I'm pretty sure the story you're referring to is the story I'm thinking of and, well, it's not as crazy as you think. I take that back—it is crazy. But it's true."

The man eyed them suspiciously, then said, "Are we talking about the same story? The one I am talking about is a legend so...far out it has to be crazy. Personally, I've always thought it sounded like whoever made it up borrowed or stole it from the Bible story about Elijah. Just what story are you talking about?"

Garison took a deep breath then began, "Like I said, I am Garison Fitch. I built a machine..." He then went on to tell the whole story to David Fitch.

When he had finished, David looked him in the eye for a moment, then said, "I admire you for saying all that straight to me—eye to eye. I'm not saying I believe it, but I think you do."

"That's what everyone says," Garison grumbled.

"I think this girl here believes it, too—and neither one of you seems crazy."

"I can assure you, we're not," Heather told him. "Well, at least not about this, anyway. As near as we can figure, it's all true."

Garison mentioned, "Those grandkids of yours? They're my grandkids, too. Give or take a 'great-great' or two."

David shook his head and smiled, "You know, maybe I do believe you. I need something like that to believe in. Makes this whole world seem a little bit stranger.

"But why did you tell me? You took a great risk, you know? What if I was to call the loony bin on you?"

"You can," Garison said. "But I think you know I'm telling the truth. I...I really am your ancestor—and your cousin."

"You know," David said, "My daddy said the legend said he—you might come back some day. Old Mother Sarah, she always thought you would, they say. Maybe not in her time—but some day. Supposedly she even left a letter for you somewhere, but no one ever knew what it said." The man smiled, and chuckled, "You're kind of like King Arthur, you know it? So where's Excalibur?"

"I'm afraid it melted on arrival," Garison replied with a shrug. "You come to Colorado, though, and I can show it to you. Doesn't look like much anymore—and I can't open the housing for another two thousand years, but it's there."

They talked all morning long before Heather and Garison excused themselves. David had asked them to stay at his house until his grandchildren got back, which was expected to be early that afternoon. After that, David said, it might be best for Garison and Heather to leave. "These young kids, they'd think their grampa was foolish, believing this nonsense. Kids today just don't understand. They've grown up with too much television and not enough Brothers Grimm or H.G. Wells."