Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1) (27 page)

“But I don’t—”

“I have money.” He led her back toward the dresses, but she held back. “Come on.” He took her hand. She hesitated. “Consider it a hostess gift,” he said.

“Boarders don’t give hostess gifts.” She looked down at his hand clasped around hers, but didn’t pull away.

“Too bad. I’m going to. Now go find something you like.”

He found a chair and sat while she asked a clerk about the dress in the window display... something about violets. When she returned, her step had lost its spring.

“They don’t have your size?” Tony asked.

“It’s over twenty-five dollars,” she whispered.

“So?”

“It’s much too expensive. I don’t need it.”

He ran a mental calculation. If coffee was a nickel, the dress would cost over two hundred dollars in his time.

Dora wouldn’t have given it a thought. “Go get the dress.” She started to open her mouth, but shut it at his resolute gaze.

She came back holding a filmy white dress with a leafy floral print. Violets. Funny how a woman with such a strong resemblance to his friend from work would choose a dress bearing her namesake. “It’s pretty. Don’t you want to try it on?”

“It will fit.” She beamed. They walked to the cashier. “Thank you, Tony,” she said as the clerk rang up the sale.

“You deserve it.” Tony pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it. As he yanked out a couple bills, something slipped out and hit the floor with a light snap.

“Shit.” A credit card-sized calculator a trade show vendor had given him. He ignored the cashier’s frown, grabbed the calculator and shoved it in his pocket.

“What is it?” Charlotte lowered her voice, glancing sideways at the clerk, who was folding the dress. “Is it a telephone?”

Tony chuckled as she took the bag from the cashier. “No.” He’d left his cell phone in the car before he’d warped.

“Then what is it?” She moved toward the doors.

“It’s called a calculator—like an adding machine.” He pushed the door open as another shopper entered, then held it while Charlotte walked out.

“You’ll show me later, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Why hadn’t he cleaned out his wallet when he put in his 1929 money? For that matter, why hadn’t he pitched the darn thing? His phone had a calculator on it. If he’d dropped the rubber Bernie had given him at Mulroney’s, he might come across as immoral, but the calculator was more problematic. Showing a cell phone with a dead battery to a child hadn’t seemed like a big deal. No one she told about it would have believed her. Was he tempting fate now by showing her the future?

At least the store clerk hadn’t seen it. Hopefully, Charlotte would forget about it by the time they got to her home—

Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?

He tried to come up with another subject to divert her attention from the calculator, but her presence beside him muddled his thoughts.

He couldn’t help sneaking glances at her as they walked down the street. They carried their bags in their outside hands, and it seemed natural to take her arm with the other.

She slid her hand down his arm and gave him a quick squeeze. “Thank you again for the dress. It’ll be lovely for the dance Saturday.”

A dance. He wasn’t much of a dancer, he preferred to sit and drink beer while the women danced. But the thought of walking into a crowded room, arm in arm with her in that filmy dress sent warmth through his body. As did his mental picture of her wearing it, for it was lower-cut than the frock she wore now.

“Oh dear,” she said.

“What?”

“The dance. I told Elmer I’d go—”

“So?” The boyfriend. Tony dropped her arm, a sinking feeling sliding down his gut at the reminder.
It doesn’t matter.

“But I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Do you usually stay home to entertain your boarders?”

“Of course not.” She pretended to study a white picket fence flanking the sidewalk. The remains of the lightness in Tony’s chest dissipated. He was there to get information, not have a fling. God knew Charlotte wasn’t the kind of woman for a short-lived affair. She deserved someone who could give her a forever, not someone who’d get yanked to almost a hundred years in the future in a week or so. He pushed the unwelcome feelings aside and told himself he genuinely hoped Charlotte had a good time at the dance, though he had trouble believing it.

She deserved a regular guy who’d always be there for her. Not one who’d get her killed if he came back.

When they got home, Charlotte could barely restrain herself from snatching Tony’s hat off and flinging it onto a hook for him. “Please, may I see your calculator now?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, how rude of me!” She pressed her palm to the neckline of her dress to brush the tip of her finger over her quarter. After his bath, he’d had no choice but to don the clothes he’d jumped in, recovered in, then worn all day. “You probably want to change clothes, don’t you?”

“I do feel pretty grungy,” he said.

“Grungy... what an interesting word.”

She waited on the sofa. As soon as he changed, she should tell him about the Saturn Society and start working on getting him to go to the House. But Theodore had waited this long. He could wait a little longer while she got a look at the fascinating device called a calculator.

After a minute she rose, paced to the window, gazed out at the street as Andy rode past, then returned to the sofa. Her eyes lit on the letter from her landlord, lying on top of the radio, no doubt regarding her overdue rent. She jumped up, grabbed it, and stuffed it between a couple magazines.

She sat again. If she could figure out what made the wondrous device work, she would be a woman ahead of her time. Smaller than a playing card. She’d create things that would make the world a better place, make life easier for others. Not to mention herself. She’d no longer need to suffer Irving’s attentions. She’d be able to pay the rent on time, and then some—why, she might even have money to spare, to help Dewey and his family, who’d been struggling since his hours had been cut at the factory.

But it’s wrong!
a voice inside her head shouted.

It is not
, she argued with herself. She wouldn’t be altering the time stream, not if the calculator happened to fall into her lap.

But it could be why Tony was in the Black Book.

She pushed the thought into the dim recesses of her mind and glanced at the guest room door. How long did it take a man to change clothes? She forced herself to listen to the radio in an effort not to think about what she might see if she went in—and worse, the fact that she
wanted
to. Finally, the door clicked. She jumped up. “Can I—”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” His expression was wary, like in his photo in the Black Book.

Her face went slack. “Why?”

He walked to the sofa and sat. “You’re a woman of science. An inventor. What’ll you do with this knowledge?”

She sat next to him, uncaring that it wasn’t proper. “Your concern is well-founded. The possibility of me developing technology before its time has serious implications, it’s true. But how much knowledge could I gain from a brief look? What could be the harm?”

What could be the harm indeed, she could hear Theodore say, in a critical, sarcastic tone of voice. Or his favorite, “Learn—Observe—Preserve,” the Saturn Society motto. As good a rule for dealing with the future as the past. Which was all she’d do.

Tony stared down at his hands. “I guess you’re right.” He slipped the calculator out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She ran her fingers over the tiny, numbered buttons, and the smooth, shiny black casing, then tapped it with her fingernail. Plastic. “How does it work?”

“Press where it says ‘on.’”

She gasped. “It says zero!” Then she pressed the button with a number one on it. “Why... it’s like a tiny typewriter! Except with numbers.” She pushed the plus sign, some more numbers, then the equals sign. The little machine displayed the result instantly. “It’s like magic!” She jabbed more numbers. “It’s absolutely right, every time. It even figures square roots!” She stared at him in amazement. “How does it do that?”

“You mean how does it do the math?”

“Yes, and what makes the numbers? And what’s this red panel?” The calculator wasn’t the simple gadget it appeared. The tiny package contained a wealth of knowledge.

He tapped the numbers. “These are called liquid crystal displays.” As he moved his arm, his hip brushed hers and sent a spark of awareness racing up her side to mingle with her excitement over the calculator. “Electricity makes the segments turn on and—”

“But how does it get electricity without a cord? Or batteries?” She squirmed.

“The batteries are very small. But it also uses light for power.” Tony touched the shiny, dark red rectangle. “This is where it collects the light.”

It was the answer she’d been searching for. “It’s amazing! And we’ll get these... when?”

“Maybe thirty, forty years from now. And not this small until several years later.” He held out his hand, and she slowly placed the machine in his palm. “You said you’d show me your project?”

She led him into the cellar, scarcely able to concentrate enough to describe the sun-powered radiator as the calculator’s possibilities pummeled her brain.

If she could unravel the mystery of how it stored energy, then she could solve the real challenges of her sun-powered furnace. How to regulate its temperature. How to make it usable at night, or on cloudy days.

Tony followed her into the basement, her favorite room in the house despite its constant, damp chill. Her favorite because of the workbench that ran along an entire wall, a place she could lose herself for hours. She snapped on the two metal clip lights above her creation, a welded, metal cabinet with foil-covered panels. Tony craned his neck to study the water tanks and the pipes she’d twisted around it. “I’m experimenting with water to store the sun’s heat,” she explained.

“I’d say you’re on the right track.” She searched his face. Not a hint of the veiled reservations Dewey always tried to hide when she showed him one of her projects. She seldom mentioned her work to Mabel, whose usual response was to chide her for wasting time she could better spend on something constructive, like quilting or working in the garden.

Louie had gone beyond skepticism to outright derision. Among other things, it proved he wasn’t the man for her. If he hadn’t broken their engagement, she would have. Elmer’s lack of enthusiasm confirmed she’d best keep her activities to herself, should they eventually marry.

That prospect grew less likely the longer she spent with Tony. She let her eyes travel over him and remembered the bubbles of joy she’d felt when he took her arm in his on the way home from Rike’s. So different than Elmer. Tony opened the cabinet’s sealed door and ran his fingers around its smooth edges. “You might be onto something here.”

“You think so?” She clasped her hands.

“Oh yeah, this is cool.”

“Cool?” Her shoulders slumped. “But it’s supposed to get hot. Or at least warm.”

He laughed, and heaviness fell over her body like a lead jacket. It was worse than Louie’s scorn. She started to turn away. “Oh, no, I mean it’s neat,” Tony said. “Good.
Swell.
” His face settled into a grin. “In my time, cool has another meaning besides temperature. It’s a good thing.”

The heaviness lifted and her lips formed a smile, as if she were a young child who’d finally learned her addition, or her poetry recitation, and he was the teacher offering praise. “Do people use these in your time?”

He hesitated. “Well...”

Her exuberance deflated. “They don’t, do they?” She rested a hand on the sun-powered radiator’s stainless steel top, its surface suddenly cold to the touch.

“Well, people begin to take an interest in solar energy for heating their homes in the seventies and eighties, but it doesn’t really take off until twenty-ten or so.”

Dejection settled over her again. “I’ll never amount to anything as an inventor.” She sighed.

He lay a hand on her shoulder and drew her around to face him. “I wouldn’t say that.” His touch sent a tingle up her arm. He slid his hand away as her eyes met his. “You could be laying the groundwork for developments that won’t come until after my time.”

Her sun-powered furnace wouldn’t catapult her into fame and fortune—or at least away from the likes of Irving—but Tony went on about all the potential it had. Related projects and technology to which she could contribute. The kinds of companies she could approach now who might have an interest in her ideas.

Anticipation warred with unease, and she figured out why as they trudged back upstairs to start dinner.

She’d finally met a man who believed in her. Not only believed in her work, but wanted to help her. A man who could take her ideas and sell them. Do the part she hated and, she had to admit, was hampered in by the fact she was a woman. Tony could cross barriers she couldn’t. He could solicit interest in her work from men who couldn’t see the innovator beneath her feminine form.

He intrigued her, intellectually. And otherwise, she had to admit. If it weren’t for the fact that he belonged decades in the future, she’d want Tony to take her to the dance, not Elmer. Tony to be the one who spent his evenings with her. Tony who might ask her to marry him—