The Willard (6 page)

After reading the name on the house she had taken off walking aimlessly. She’d been walking for some time and just taking in what she saw. She walked to the White House and was surprised at how small it looked without the east and west wing additions. Even more shocking was the casual way people came and went from the mansion with no discernible security to stop them. She got a closer look at the Washington Monument and found that her eyes had not deceived her when she had looked out her hotel window. It was short and stubby and there were
hundreds, if not thousands, of cattle grazing in the field around it. The smell was terribly unpleasant and Catherine used the white handkerchief she had found in the tiny purse that had also been in her closet. She vaguely remembered that purses like this were called reticules.

What a random and utterly useless fact to recall. I have no idea what’s going on with the world or my own life but I know this thing is called a reticule. Perfect
.

Catherine walked and walked until her feet were sore and she was no closer to understanding anything that was happening. She thought perhaps she’d had a medical crisis and was in a coma. Maybe it was a long and detailed dream like Bobby Ewing had on
Dallas
. There weren’t any good explanations and she was about to give up and head back to the hotel when she heard a commotion coming from an alley.

“Well, I don’t care for your attitude either, missy, and I was just doing this as a favor for Minnie Maxwell anyway. I can’t for the life of me figure what she sees in you, but she got it in her head that you were somebody worth knowing. Well, Minnie can just find something else to brag about to those gossipy, bandage-rolling biddies!”

The screaming woman laid the whip on her horse’s back and her carriage raced out of the alley and nearly over the top of Catherine, splashing her with muddy water.

The woman who had been on the receiving end of the screaming diatribe saw what happened and disappeared into a doorway in the alley. A moment later she came running out with towels and did her best to clean up the mess that Catherine had become.

“I’m awfully sorry you were caught up in our little drama.” The woman spoke with a lilting voice. It was a captivating sound. She was dressed in a fine gown of heavy emerald green fabric that might be better suited for evening, but she carried off the look with ease.

She looks a little like Scarlett O’Hara after she made a dress of her mother’s drapes. Excellent, another useless recollection. Reticules and drapes
.

Catherine could see faint lines around the woman’s eyes, which were deep pools of amber-flecked brown. There was a quiet maturity about her that was strangely soothing. She looked at Catherine and saw the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. “There, there dear; it’s just a little dirt and grime. A girl can’t spend time in a city like this and not get her pantaloons a little muddy, now can she?”

Catherine was taken with her kindness, but the ordeal of the afternoon had caught up with her and she was at a loss for words. The woman seemed to take her silence as proof that some delicate female sensibilities must have been offended because she led Catherine to a stoop and told the skinny girl who had followed her from the alley to run and get her salts.

“I’m not going to faint,” Catherine finally managed to say. “I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

“Yes, I can see that. Is your husband nearby?”

“My husband? I don’t have a husband.”

“Your driver, then?”

Catherine stared blankly at the woman.

“Ma’am, I can tell from your appearance that you’re a lady so I’m sure you aren’t here in this part of town by yourself. You must be in shock. Where is your carriage?”

“I walked here from the hotel,” Catherine said.

“What is the name of your hotel?” the woman asked.

“I’m staying at the Willard.”

“Ah, the Willard brothers run a fine establishment. I’m staying there myself. Shall I see you home, then? Edward can help us sort everything out,” the woman assured her.

“Edward?”

“Yes my dear, Edward Chase. He’s the concierge. I’m sure you met him when you checked in.”

“You know Mr. Chase?”

“Of course.” The girl returned with the smelling salts and the woman said to her, “Go and tell Desmond to bring the carriage. We’ll be going to Mr. Willard’s for the evening. And bring my bag and green wrap.”

For the first time since she woke up from her nap, Catherine began to hope that everything was about to get straightened out.

This woman knows the concierge! I don’t have the slightest clue how that can be, but finally I can get some answers
.

“I’ve been so rude,” the woman said. “I haven’t inquired of your name or introduced myself. I’m Laura.”

“My name is Catherine Parker.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker. Here is my driver now. Let’s get you back to the hotel and into some clean clothes. I believe you’ll feel much better when you’ve had a chance to freshen up.”

Laura, you have no idea how much I hope you’re right
.

C
HAPTER 7

TOM KELLY

1962

The driver opened the door for Tom after a ride of about a minute. There was no traffic jam this morning and as he stepped onto the sidewalk he found he was indeed looking at a guard station just outside the White House. The guard seemed to expect him and after a few cursory security checks he was handed off to a harried-looking staffer who had either slept in his clothes or not slept at all.

He was rushing Tom down a hallway and into the West Wing. Before he could catch his breath he heard his escort speak.

“This is Tom Kelly, Mrs. Lincoln.”

The dark-haired woman barely glanced up as she worked the blinking phone lines, but he noticed she gave a barely perceptible nod toward a door Tom had seen in photos. He knew that door led to the Oval Office. His escort opened the door a crack and after a short pause said, “He’s here.” The door opened wider and Tom Kelly found himself looking into the world’s most famous office space. A file folder was passed from a man seated with his back to the door to another man who ran it over to Tom’s escort and as quickly as the door had opened, it closed and once again they were walking quickly down a hallway.

“Read this,” the escort said, handing Tom the file. “Talk to no one in this room about it. He doesn’t want you to be
influenced by anyone else’s thinking until he can hear from you directly.”

Tom entered a room with a long conference table surrounded by chairs, one of which was taller than the others. The Cabinet Room.

Around the table was an array of tired-looking men in shirtsleeves devouring reports and filling ashtrays with nubs sucked clean of their nicotine loads. There was little talking, but the frenetic atmosphere of the room was electric. There was volatility in this room. And anxiety. And fear.

Tom pulled out a chair and started to read.

C
HAPTER 8

CALVIN WALKER

1963

“Dr. King?” Calvin asked, scarcely believing the words were coming out of his mouth.

“Yes, I’m Dr. King,” the man said, extending his hand. Calvin shook his hand but said nothing. He was too stunned to speak. “And you are?” the reverend asked.

“I’m sorry. I’m Calvin Walker.” He kept examining the man before him. “It’s extraordinary, the likeness,” Calvin said. “You really do look just like all the photos I’ve seen.”

“Well, I’ve been told the camera doesn’t lie although I wouldn’t mind a fib or two from time to time,” Dr. King said with a smile. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. “Are you going down?” he asked Calvin.

“Um, no. I forgot something in my room,” Calvin answered.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Mr. Walker. I hope to see you at the march tomorrow.”

Calvin said nothing further and the doors closed, taking the best Martin Luther King, Jr. impersonator he had ever seen down to the lobby. He went back to his room to call his wife and tell her about the experience he’d just had. It had literally shaken him up because it felt so real.

Why didn’t I pull out my phone and ask for a picture? Nobody will believe how much this guy looked like the real thing
.

Calvin reached in his pocket for his cell phone but couldn’t find it. He didn’t remember picking it up this morning
at all so he walked over to the nightstand to get it and noticed the rotary phone on the table, but no cell phone.
This phone is a little old school for such a fancy hotel
.

Outside there was a commotion of some sort at street level and he could hear raised voices and an intermittent siren. He went to the window and everything looked surreal. The cars were all old and everyone was dressed in what looked like vintage-wear. The women on the street had little hats on their heads and proper pocketbooks on their arms. It looked like a Hollywood back lot for a period film. Maybe that was it. They must be shooting a film outside today and the man he met is an actor playing the part of MLK. Now he really wanted to find his phone so he could snap some photos on his way out. Who knew what big-name actors might be out there? His son would be really impressed if he came home with a football jersey AND a photo of Will Smith, or maybe Denzel Washington would be there. That shot would win him points with his wife for sure. He was still looking for the phone when he heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find an impeccably dressed man standing there.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Walker. My name is Edward Chase and I’m the hotel concierge. I understand you made the acquaintance of Dr. King this morning.”

Calvin smiled. “Yes, I met the illustrious ‘Dr. King.’ It looks like they’re shooting a movie outside. It must have been a no-brainer to hire that actor. He could be the man’s twin. What can I do for you, Mr. Chase?”

“Mr. Walker, I’m afraid you have misunderstood what you’ve seen this morning. That man was not an actor and this is not a film location. The man you met is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the famous civil rights leader.”

Calvin stood there waiting for Chase to say something else but nothing was forthcoming. “What’s the punch line, Mr. Chase? Is this a reality show or something?” He looked into the
hallway, both left and right, but there was no crew there and no cameras.

“Mr. Walker, if I could come in for a moment I can explain everything.”

Calvin stepped aside and let the concierge enter.

“First, let me start by giving you this morning’s paper.”

Chase handed him a newspaper and Calvin saw the date on the masthead.
August 27, 1963
.

Calvin looked at Chase questioningly. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

“Mr. Walker, most of what I’m about to say you’ll have to take on faith because we don’t have much time. Today is August 27, 1963. There is a march scheduled for here in the city tomorrow. I believe you know it as the March on Washington. Dr. King is one of several prominent civil rights leaders heading up the event. As you know, the march is historically known as one of the great moments in the quest for equal rights.”

“I’m very well-versed on the March on Washington, Mr. Chase. What I’m less sure of is why you seem to think we’re fifty years in the past here.”

“There has been a disturbance in the fabric of history, Mr. Walker. You are not here at this time and place by accident. You possess a unique ability to interact with the people of this time to see that history is preserved. For reasons we don’t understand, there are, from time to time, disturbances or “tears” in the fabric of our history. Across the centuries there have been people like you who have been tasked with extraordinary opportunities to travel back to these places in time and see things with your own eyes that most people will only ever read about. At the same time, you have a responsibility to every person who comes after you to make certain that things happen as they are recorded in history.” Calvin sat down and invited Chase to join him as the concierge continued his story.

“You may notice I didn’t say ‘as they should happen’ and there’s a very good reason for that. History is made up of both the sublime and the tragic, the glorious and the horrendous, the good and the bad. With benefit of hindsight we can look back and say ‘Why didn’t someone put a bullet in Adolf Hitler before he could take power?’ or ‘Why don’t we tell Bobby Kennedy’s security detail not to go through the kitchen?’ And we want to do those things, to right the wrongs when we have this chance. But we cannot. History must play itself out in the way that it happened, no matter how much we wish it could be different. Good or bad, it’s up to you to make sure it doesn’t change from the original.”

Calvin vacillated between thinking Chase was out of his mind and thinking he was playing a practical joke on him. Either way, he didn’t have the time or the patience for it. “I think you’d better leave if you don’t mind, Mr. Chase. I’m not sure what kind of game this is but I’ve had enough of it. This isn’t funny and I have places I need to be,” Calvin said as he urged Chase toward the door.

“With all due respect sir, where you need to be is up for debate right now, but I have a couple of leads for you.”

“Seriously man, you need to go.”

“Mr. Walker, I realize this is very hard for you to believe so I’ll cut to the heart of the matter. In twenty-four hours, without your intervention, the peaceful March on Washington that is best known for the eloquent ‘I Have A Dream’ speech Dr. King is currently working on in this very hotel will be known for something much different and it will likely set the course of civil rights back a hundred years.” He could tell he had Calvin’s attention now.

“Everyone in America knows about that speech. It was a brilliant moment in American history. What could possibly overshadow what happened that day?” Calvin asked.

“Bloodshed, Mr. Walker. Tremendous bloodshed.”

C
HAPTER 9

EDWARD CHASE

It wasn’t surprising that Calvin Walker was having trouble believing what he was hearing. Chase remembered so clearly how he had felt when he sat in Walker’s shoes all those years ago. As a twenty-two-year-old student at Cambridge University, he’d been burning the midnight oil in the library preparing a presentation for a notoriously difficult professor of philosophy. He had read and read until his eyes burned and his brain threatened to overflow with complicated theories when he decided to just close his eyes for a few minutes. He had a short, but deep nap and awoke to find himself in a most undignified state of drooling on his journal. Straightening up, he noticed a change around him. He still felt groggy and decided a quick walk in the brisk night air might revive him. When he exited the library that’s when his odyssey really began. His whole world had changed. When he had closed his eyes for that brief rest it was 1812 and when he awoke the year was 1587. Over the next five days he found himself involved in an unbelievable adventure, a date in the past reborn for a second run.