CHAPTER 69: NATALIE

Johnstown, Pennsylvania – Monday, April 29, 1889

For only the fifth time in the rainiest April on record, Natalie Carson saw the stars. She saw the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and scores of constellations that filled an otherwise pitch-black Pennsylvania sky. She saw all that and more while sitting next to Sam Prentiss on a wood-and-iron bench in Johnstown's public square.

"Now that is what I call a sky," Natalie said. She scooted a little closer to the man she was not officially dating. "I was beginning to think I'd never see the stars again."

"What happened to the optimist I hired?" Sam asked. "Has she let a few weeks of rainy weather dampen her naturally sunny disposition?"

Natalie offered a sheepish smile.

"Yes."

Sam chuckled.

"Then I will hope and pray that May brings sunshine and warmth. I hate the mere thought of seeing more frowns on your face than smiles."

"I do too," Natalie said.

Sam threw an arm around Natalie and pulled her close in a gesture that was more friendly than romantic. Though he had not hidden his interest in his ace reporter, he had not overplayed his hand. He had given Natalie ample social breathing space.

"Have you heard from Greg?" Sam asked.

Natalie nodded.

"He sent a telegram today."

"What did he say?"

"He said he received my letter and sent one of his own."

Sam tilted his head.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Natalie said. "He didn't say much in the telegram or even use his real name because he didn't want to draw attention to himself. I still don't know whether the police are monitoring the telegrams I send and receive."

"Are you worried about his safety?"

"I'm very worried. I'm afraid if he is arrested and taken to Arizona, he won't receive a fair trial. From what I've read, the locals in Prescott are in a hanging mood."

"Does Greg plan to come here?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. I know only that he wants to see Adam marry Bridget. He wants to see the wedding even if he has to risk his neck to do it. I wouldn't be surprised if he came to the church, unannounced, and then took off before the music stopped."

Natalie wouldn't either. She could just picture her mischievous brother sneaking into the church five minutes before the ceremony, claiming a seat in the last pew, and watching the wedding through Groucho Marx glasses before slipping out a side door.

"When is the wedding?" Sam asked.

"It's still May 18. Adam and Bridget are set on that date. They have reserved the church and the hotel's dining room, but they have informed few people of their plans. They don't want the police to know that Greg Carson's brother is getting married under their noses."

"Will it be a small affair?"

Natalie nodded.

"Adam and Bridget have capped the guest list at thirty."

"I think that's wise," Sam said. "They don't want to draw the attention of the papers, the gossips, or the local busybodies. News travels fast in small towns."

Natalie smiled.

"I know. I live in one."

Sam laughed softly but did not reply. He instead leaned against the back of the bench and stared at Franklin Street, the news bureau office, and the darkened city beyond.

"How are Cody and Caitlin? I haven't seen much of them lately."

"Join the club. Cody spends every waking moment with Emma Bauer, Pastor Bauer's daughter, and Caitlin practically lives at the library."

"She's a woman of letters," Sam said. "I wouldn't be surprised if she became successful and famous someday. She's curious and driven, like her equally ambitious sister."

"She's also persistent."

"How so?"

"She keeps pestering me about the South Fork Dam," Natalie said. "She said she found evidence the other day that relief pipes and valves from the original dam were removed several years ago and sold for scrap. She said the metalwork has not been replaced."

"She's right," Sam said. "It hasn't. A few of us have pushed for improvements to the dam, but our pleas have fallen on deaf ears. As always, it comes down to money."

"Can't your father do something?"

"He could if he thought there was a problem. Like most members of the club, he thinks the repairs made to the dam several years ago are more than sufficient."

"He's probably right," Natalie said. "I just hope the men who regulate the water levels know what they are doing. The reservoir was pretty full when I saw it."

"I'll tell you what. I'll send George to the lake this week to ask some questions. If he finds new problems, I'll report them to the club myself. In the meantime, tell Caitlin I'm looking into the matter. I don't want her losing sleep over something like this."

"She'll lose sleep just knowing that you take her concerns seriously. She's a big fan of yours, you know. She likes you almost as much as I do."

Sam chuckled.

"Then I better deliver on my promise."

Natalie smiled.

"That's always a good idea when dealing with my sister. Caitlin holds people to their word and never forgets a slight. She still holds grudges from grammar school."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sam said.

Natalie pondered the pleasant exchange for a moment and then turned her attention to the future. She thought about all the things she wanted to do in May, including things with Sam, until she became conscious of his silence.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sam paused before answering.

"I'm thinking about us and the night on the lake and the coming weeks. I'm trying to decide how best to spend them."

"You stole my thoughts," Natalie said.

Sam smiled.

"Shall I give them back?"

Natalie laughed.

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"That's good. I kind of like them," Sam said. He looked away for a moment and then returned to Natalie. "Have you given any more thought to making our relationship more personal than professional? Have you given any more thought to us ?"

"I have," Natalie said. "I think about us — and you — all the time. You're all I think about when I'm not dwelling on weddings, persistent sisters, and fugitive brothers."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should. You're very important to me."

Sam met her gaze.

"Am I important enough to see socially?"

Natalie did not respond right away. She instead took a moment to consider the most important question she would ever have to answer in 1889.

"You are important enough. I'm not sure that changes much in the grand scheme of things, but you are. I want to see you."

Sam smiled sadly.

"I suspect there's a downside."

"Oh, there is. I still plan to leave Johnstown with my siblings. Despite Greg's difficulties and the wedding next month, I intend to return to Arizona in June."

"What does that mean then?"

"It means I want to see you every night from now until the middle of June. It means I want to approach each day with an open mind and go from there," Natalie said. "I won't make you any promises, Sam, but I won't rule anything out either. I'll give you all the love and kindness and respect you've given me. I will give you — and us — a chance."

Sam pulled his arm back and turned to face Natalie. Then he clasped each of her hands, took a deep breath, and looked at her like someone he was just discovering.

"I've waited a long time to hear those words."

Natalie met his gaze with watery eyes.

"I know."

Sam studied her face.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"I think so. I just need a moment."

"Take all the time you need."

Natalie laughed through her tears.

"See what you do to me when you're agreeable?"

Sam chuckled.

"Then perhaps I should be disagreeable."

"Please don't. My life is difficult enough," Natalie said. She wiped away a tear. "The last thing I need now is a disagreeable man. I need peace and harmony."

Sam smiled.

"Then let me provide some."

Natalie looked up.

"But we still have so much . . ."

Sam put a finger to her lips.

"Let's speak no more of things we cannot fix. Let's speak only of things we can," Sam said. He put his hands to her face and gave her a gentle kiss. "Let's just enjoy tonight."

CHAPTER 70: ADAM

Wednesday, May 1, 1889

Standing next to his bride-to-be, Adam stared out the front window of the Colbert House and watched rain pound Clinton Street like machine-gun fire. He had done little else since a storm had rolled into town and ruined his plans for a morning walk.

"I think God is taking it out on Johnstown."

Bridget laughed.

"He's taking it out on something. I have never seen rain like this. I just hope the streets don't flood. We don't need a mess on our hands."

Adam turned his head.

"Does it flood here often?"

Bridget nodded.

"The rivers overflow every spring. Sometimes the water reaches our doors. Sometimes it doesn't. When it does, we usually find a way to manage."

"As long as we don't have to sandbag this place on the eighteenth, I'll be happy," Adam said. "I would much rather devote my mind and body to something else."

"Watch your tongue, Mr. Carson," Bridget said. She looked over her shoulders. "We still have guests in the lobby. We don't want them to get the wrong impression."

Adam chuckled.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm getting eager."

Bridget took his hand and smiled.

"I am too."

Adam turned away from his fiancée and gazed again at the street. He wondered how much rain the city could actually absorb and ultimately decided he did not want to know.

At ten thirty on an otherwise pleasant morning, he wanted to think about other things. He gave the rain another moment of his time and then returned to the woman in the crisp white blouse and pleated gray skirt. He noticed that she seemed preoccupied.

"Have you told Frank about our special circumstances?"

"I have not," Bridget said. She sighed. "I've told him only that you are taking me far from Johnstown and that we won't be coming back. That was enough for now. He informed the owners yesterday he would resign as manager on June 1. He's looking forward to coming with us no matter where we go. He's looking forward to an adventure."

"He should be careful what he wishes for."

"Why do you say that?"

"I say it because it's true. We have some challenges coming up, Bridget, including a big one. We have to keep Greg out of the public eye for at least six more weeks."

"Have you heard from him recently?"

Adam nodded.

"He sent a telegram to Natalie yesterday from Oakland, California. He's sending all his letters and telegrams to the news bureau for the time being."

"I hope he's not using his real name," Bridget said.

"He's not. He's going by Brad Pitt now."

"Why Brad Pitt?"

Adam smiled.

"Let's just say my brother has a sense of humor."

Bridget cocked her head.

"Is he planning to come to the wedding?"

Adam nodded.

"He'll be here. I'm not sure about anything else, but I'm sure about that. He'll be here even if he has to walk. Greg is that kind of person."

"Then I should take some precautions," Bridget said. "I don't want any of our guests to know his true identity. What should I tell people?"

"Do any of your friends remember Greg from this winter?"

"I don't think so."

Adam grinned.

"Then tell them Brad Pitt is a college classmate."

Bridget stared at Adam.

"Darling?"

"Yes?"

"Greg looks like you. He looks like Cody. He is a very attractive man. We would have an easier time passing him off as a woman."

Adam laughed.

"Don't give me ideas."

"I'm trying not to," Bridget said. "We have enough problems."

Adam tightened his hold on his bride-to-be's hand and gave the matter some thought. He needed only a few seconds to think of a solution.

"I know what we can do. We can introduce Greg as my cousin. He can be Brad Pitt, my handsome first cousin from Chicago, Illinois. If any of your lady friends take an interest in Mr. Pitt, we'll just show them to the door."

Bridget smiled.

"I can see life with you won't be boring."

"I hope not, Mrs. Carson."

"I like the sound of that."

Adam chuckled.

"Is it too early to order monogrammed towels?"

"No," Bridget said. She leaned into Adam's side. "It's not too early to do anything. The sooner we start our new lives together, the better."

Adam seconded that. He had looked forward to the next chapter for weeks. He wished only that he did not have to wait. He was ready to get the show on the road.

He stared at the monsoon on Clinton Street and then turned again to the appealing woman at his side. He noticed that she seemed deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Adam asked.

"I'm mulling the future. I wish I knew what to expect," Bridget said. She took a deep breath. "I still find all of this a bit unsettling and even frightening."

"You'll be fine."

"You say that like you know me."

"I do know you. Even before I met you, I knew your kind. You'll adapt to the future just like I adapted to the past. You'll make it because you're strong and open-minded and resourceful," Adam said. He turned to face his restless companion and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're a lioness, Bridget O'Malley. That's why I love you."

CHAPTER 71: CODY

Saturday, May 4, 1889

The Union Opera House was no rehearsal venue. With seven hundred upholstered seats on the floor and two hundred more in the gallery, it was plush, spacious, and more than sufficient to accommodate the theatergoers of Johnstown, Pennsylvania.

Cody certainly could not complain about his seat. Thanks to Emma, who had snapped up all ten seats in the fifth row of the center section, he had a perfect view of the stage, the prancing men in tights, and a girl who made his heart skip twenty times a day.

"We have to do something special for Emma," Cody whispered into Caitlin's ear as stage lights announced Act I, Scene II of Romeo and Juliet . "These seats are choice."

Caitlin glanced at her brother and nodded.

"I have some ideas."

Cody returned his attention to the play as the fair Juliet, resplendent in a flowing red gown, joined Lady Capulet and her nurse on the stage. He could not believe how hot she looked in a garment that had been out of fashion for three hundred years.

"How now!" Juliet said to no one in particular. "Who calls?"

"Your mother," the nurse replied.

"Madam, I am here. What is your will?"

Cody watched with interest as Juliet, also known as the fetching Emma Louise Bauer, interacted with her stage mother for the first time. He thought she brought a certain gravitas to the role, though he admitted he was not sure. He had never before seen Romeo and Juliet on stage and had a limited understanding of the word "gravitas."

The others in Cody's party seemed pleased with Emma's performance. Adam, Bridget, Sam, and Natalie, who sat to his left, smiled and nodded. Caitlin, Pastor Bauer, and Mrs. Bauer, who sat to his right, did much the same. So did Mary and Otto Bauer, who occupied the seats at the end of the row. Emma's aunt and uncle had made a special trip from Columbus, Ohio, to watch their niece assume her biggest role in five years of acting.

Cody could understand why they had traveled nearly two hundred miles to see what was essentially a community play. Emma was really good at this. She lit up the stage and uttered each of her lines with clarity, spark, and enthusiasm. Mama Capulet wasn't too shabby either. Cody recognized her as the "Shush Lady" from the public library.

"Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of," Lady Capulet said. "Tell me, daughter Juliet, how stands your disposition to be married?"

Emma gazed at her make-believe mother.

"It is an honor that I dream not of."

"An honor!" the nurse broke in. "Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou had sucked wisdom from thy teat."

Cody bit his lip as hundreds of others broke into laughter. Could people say "teat" in 1889? He guessed they could. The potty-mouthed nurse had just crossed that line.

As Scene II morphed into Scene III and Scene IV, Cody thought about how different the Gilded Age was from the digital age. He could not imagine nine hundred people cramming into an auditorium to see Romeo and Juliet or any Shakespearean play. People in 2017 would demand to see a movie remake on Hulu or Netflix, if they demanded to see one at all.

He also thought about his pending departure from the 1880s, a subject that depressed him to no end. Since Emma had climbed out of her bedroom window on April 3 and locked up his heart for life, he had tried to think of ways he could convince Pastor and Mrs. Bauer to give up their gig in the horse-and-buggy era and give the twenty-first century a spin.

Cody failed miserably. No matter how far he let his imagination go, he could not think of a way he could take Emma with him. He envied Adam and even Natalie, whom he suspected had her own designs on the very independent Samuel P. Prentiss.

He also envied his twin. He did so because she had the ability to make the most of a new experience without getting caught up in it. Like many of the actors on this stage, she could enjoy the spotlight one minute and walk away from it the next. Of all the members of the Carson clan, she would have the least difficulty leaving this time behind.

Cody set Caitlin aside for a moment and then directed his attention to the stage, where a new and unsettling situation had developed. Romeo, aka William Pretty, the college boy, had wandered into Scene V and started hitting on his girl by saying that his lips, his "two blushing pilgrims," were ready to "smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

"He's buttering her up," Caitlin whispered.

"I know," Cody said. "I want to smack him."

"Don't worry. Emma will throw you a bone. You just watch."

Cody laughed. He didn't know whether Caitlin was messing with his head or cheering him up, but he definitely liked her sass. No one knew how to make him smile faster.

He glanced again at the couples in his party and noticed that all the women clung tightly to their men's arms. Bridget and Natalie practically tore them off. Say what you want about Shakespeare, Cody thought, Romeo and Juliet was clearly date-night material.

When he turned back to the stage, he saw that William Pretty was making some pretty good moves on Emma. Romeo was using religious metaphors to soften up the fair Juliet. He was as shameless as an ambulance chaser or a hedge fund manager.

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake," Juliet said.

"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take," Romeo replied. He kissed Emma like he knew her. "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."

Cody frowned. He did not like this part.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took," Juliet said.

"Sin from thy lips?" Romeo asked. "O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again."

Emma leaned forward and kissed William softly.

"You kiss by the book!"

Then Emma grinned, looked directly at Cody, and gave him the wink seen 'round the world, triggering peals of laughter in the large hall. Natalie, Bridget, and Caitlin doubled over. Adam and Sam chuckled and shook their heads. The four Bauers just blushed.

"I knew she would do it," Caitlin said. "I knew it!"

Cody smiled at his twin.

"You set this up."

"I didn't," Caitlin said. She laughed. "I swear I didn't."

Cody didn't press his sister for the truth. He had better things to do, like enjoying a little theatrical history and basking in a truly splendid moment.

Emma Bauer, his Emma Bauer, had not just lifted his spirits and started the play with a bang. She had turned a classic tragedy into a bit of a comedy and given several hundred people something to talk about. Life for the rattlesnake hunter had never been better.

CHAPTER 72: CAROLINE

Mount Shasta, California – Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Tim and Caroline Carson, college professors dressed like Doc Holliday and Annie Oakley, needed only two hours to ride into the town they had left 127 years earlier. Even from a distance, they could see it had changed into something a whole lot different.

Sisson was no longer a rough-and-tumble whistle-stop on the Oregon and California Railroad line. It was the modern city of Mount Shasta, a pleasant and scenic community on Interstate 5. It was also their link to home.

Caroline thought about that link as she followed her husband down McCloud Avenue, a busy east-west street that divided the community of four thousand. In a matter of minutes, she would have the answer to a supremely important question.

"Where do you want to go first?" Caroline asked.

"Let's try a convenience store," Tim said. "We won't look out of place."

Caroline laughed. She loved her husband's sense of humor, especially during times of great stress. She might need a few more snappy lines to get her through the day.

As they rode west through a thickly wooded residential district, Caroline looked for signs and symbols that might provide some clues. She saw several Trump bumper stickers, both pro and con, but none of the stickers offered hints of things to come. Nor did the signs in yards and windows or the pedestrians and motorists she saw along the way.

She and Tim had decided to obtain their answer from a newspaper or a business sign and not from a human being who might give them unwanted scrutiny. They were already getting plenty of that as a result of their not-so-fashionable attire.

As she rode closer toward the center of town, Caroline thought about the figurative road ahead. She thought about the reunion with her children, the questions she would have to answer, and even possible problems with employers and law enforcement. She decided then and there she would seek an amicable divorce from time travel.

Though she had enjoyed her three trips to the past, she had concluded that time travel was no longer worth the risks. Like her husband, she had been foolish to believe that the portals were foolproof. Never again would she invest so much faith in technology or, in this case, a force she did not fully understand.

She started to say something to Tim but stopped when he brought his horse to a halt, raised his right hand, and pointed to a house in the distance. She did not understand the significance of his gesture until she saw a paperboy zip out of the home's driveway and continue down the street toward them. Just that quickly, a knot formed in her stomach.

"Are you going to stop him?" Caroline asked.

Tim nodded.

"I'm going to make his day."

Caroline quickly pulled beside her husband and waited for the boy to come to them. She looked on with interest and apprehension when Tim finally summoned the youth.

"Excuse me, son."

The boy hit the brakes on his bike.

"Are you talking to me?"

"I'm talking to you," Tim said. "I'd like to buy a paper."

The boy looked at him warily.

"I'm not supposed to sell any. It's against the rules."

"I'll give you twenty dollars for one."

The boy smiled.

"You have a deal, mister."

Caroline laughed. She thought the boy's decision was almost as humorous as the speed at which he had made it. Even in the age of rules and regulations, a buck was still a buck.

Tim gave the kid a twenty for a copy of the paper and then sent the carrier on his way. Though he could have glanced at the date on the front page before sharing the paper with his wife, he did not. He clearly wanted to take this important step together.

"Are you ready?" Tim asked.

Caroline nodded.

"Let's do this."

Tim opened the newspaper so that both could see the date at the top and the headlines below. When he saw what he needed to see, he sighed, folded the paper, and handed it to his wife. He appeared as troubled as she was.

"We have work to do."

Caroline frowned.

"Yes, we do. What do you suggest?"

"I suggest we take care of first things first. Let's get out of these clothes, ditch the horses, and find a ride to Redding."

"What about the rest?"

"We'll do that tomorrow and later this week," Tim said. "We need to sort some things out before we head to Flagstaff. After all, we've been dead for six months."

CHAPTER 73: GREG

San Francisco, California – Friday, May 10, 1889

The Painted Lady of Polk Street was one of the most resplendent in the city. Built in 1880 by shipping tycoon Elijah Jamison, the yellow and orange Queen Anne on the west end of Nob Hill was a busy concoction of gables, turrets, and tall decorative chimneys.

It was also nearly bare. Except for a bed and a bureau in the master bedroom and a small dining set Julia had moved to the living room, the house was as empty as a gift box on Christmas morning. Its owner, a stylish woman of forty who wanted to move to the country, had finally sold it for her asking price.

"I can just imagine what this place was like in its heyday," Greg said. He carried a glass of wine from the table to the large living room window. "I can almost hear the ladies gossip, the men discuss business, and a string quartet try to compete with them all."

Julia retrieved her glass and joined him at the window.

"You have a vivid imagination, Mr. Carson."

Greg smiled.

"Have I disparaged your residence?"

"No," Julia said. She laughed. "You've described it to a T. My husband and I threw many lavish parties in this home. Some of them even made the papers."

Greg turned away from the window, which offered a splendid view of the setting sun, and gazed at his charming, cultured, enigmatic companion. He noticed that she seemed particularly wistful as they neared the end of their last night together.

"Do you miss it? Do you miss that life?"

"I do," Julia said. "I don't miss the parties, of course, but I miss almost everything else. Elijah and I did some great things for the city. We created charities, financed the arts, and helped young people like you get a start in life."

Greg frowned.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

Julia tilted her head.

"Do what?"

"I wish you wouldn't think of me as a boy or you as an old woman," Greg said. "We're only fifteen years apart. That's not a big deal. At least it's not a big deal where I come from."

"It's not?"

"No."

Julia smiled sadly.

"Is that why you've never kissed me?"

Greg sighed. There it was. Nearly three months after meeting Julia Jamison for the first time and starting a delightful friendship, the elephant in the room introduced himself.

"I don't know how to answer that."

"You don't have to," Julia said. "I see the answer in your face."

Greg looked at her thoughtfully.

"You don't see a thing. I didn't pursue a relationship with you because I knew it couldn't go anywhere. I'm a short-term visitor to this time and place. You're a long-term resident. It would have been selfish of me to act like a cad."

Julia smiled warmly.

"It wouldn't have bothered me a bit."

Greg chuckled.

"I'm going to miss your wit."

Julia took a deep breath.

"I'm going to miss you."

Greg smiled.

"If you do, it won't be half as much as I miss you. We've had quite a ride, Mrs. Jamison. I'm not sure how I would have managed in this town without your help."

"You would have done fine," Julia said.

"If you say so."

"I say so."

"What's next for you?" Greg asked.

"The quiet life is next. As soon as I find a buyer, I will sell the theater, resign as director, and build a new place in Napa. I hope to be settled by the end of the year, if not the end of the summer. What about you? What do you plan to do?"

"That's easy. I plan to spend the next six weeks avoiding men with badges. From what my sister tells me, their interest in my whereabouts hasn't waned."

Julia looked at him with concern.

"Are you still going to the wedding?"

"I am," Greg said. "I'm going to attend as my brother's first cousin, a cavalier chap from Chicago who has a weakness for wine, women, and sentimental gatherings."

Julia laughed.

"I would love to see you in that role."

Greg studied her face and saw sincerity in her eyes. He also saw a possibility he had never seriously considered until this moment.

"Then come see me in that role. Come with me to Pennsylvania," Greg said. He took a deep breath. "Come with me to the twenty-first century."

Julia frowned.

"I could never do that."

"Why not? There's nothing here to hold you back. Unless you're really set on life in this time, you should join us. I know my family would approve."

Julia smiled and put a hand to his face.

"This is why our difference in age matters. You still have the optimism of youth. You still believe that all things are possible."

"They are ," Greg said.

"They are for you, perhaps, but not for me. I am set in my ways and set in my time. As difficult as it may be for you to understand, I like what I have here."

"Then that's it? This is goodbye?"

Julia nodded.

"This is goodbye."

Greg gazed at his friend and looked again for sincerity in her eyes. He found it in spades, along with a little sadness, regret, and remorse.

"Then I guess I should go."

"I think that would be best," Julia said. She laughed softly. "If you stay any longer, I may change my mind. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Greg offered a sad smile.

"I guess not."

"Before you go, I want to give you something."

"What?"

"I'll show you," Julia said. "Wait here."

The lady of the house stepped away from Greg and disappeared into a dark hallway that led to a bathroom, a study, and the only bedroom on the main floor. A few minutes later, she returned with her something. She handed a porcelain doll to her male visitor.

"What's this?" Greg asked.

"It's an olive branch," Julia said.

"It looks like a doll to me."

"That's because you don't know its history."

"Then tell me," Greg said. "I have lots of time."

"The story is not long. At least it's not complicated. That doll, an heirloom originally owned by my maternal grandmother, is one Martha and I have fought over since we were ten years old. Though my father gave it to both of us, shortly after my mother died, I often kept it from Martha and claimed it as my own when I left home. My sister never forgave me for stealing the doll, just as she never forgave me for stealing her husband. It's as much a symbol of our division as the bitter years that have passed between us."

"Do you want me to give it to her?"

Julia nodded.

"I want you to give it to her in person. Erie's not that far from Johnstown. If you catch the right trains, you could do it all in a weekend."

"Consider it done," Greg said. "What's her address?"

Julia pulled a small white envelope from a pocket in her dress and gave it to Greg. The envelope, unmarked and unsealed, contained at least a few sheets of stationery.

"It's in the letter I put inside."

Greg tilted his head.

"You want me to read a personal letter?"

Julia nodded.

"I want you to read it until you know it by heart. Then I want you to give it to my sister and tell her about the person I've become. I want you to tell her that I'm sorry and wish to mend fences with the only family I have."

"Shouldn't you do that?" Greg asked.

"I would if I knew she would let me in her house."

"What makes you think she'll let me in?"

Julia smiled.

"Call it intuition."

Greg looked at his friend with fresh admiration. He knew now why she could not leave 1889. She had a reason to stay, after all.

"I'll give her the letter."

"Thank you," Julia said.

With that business out of the way, Greg suddenly realized that there was nothing left to do but leave. Like Julia, he had cleared the air, stated his intentions, and taken care of loose ends. He had done all he could do on a side trip in life he would never forget.

"I guess it's time," Greg said.

Julia forced a smile.

"I guess so."

Greg looked at her face one last time and saw it had changed. He saw not a woman at peace but rather a woman who was struggling with doubt. He saw tears well in her eyes and start to trickle down her finely sculpted cheeks.

"Do you want me to stay the night?" Greg asked.

Julia laughed through her tears.

"What I want you to do and what I must ask you to do are two different things," she said. She looked at Greg with wistful eyes, took his free hand, and sighed. "I don't want to spoil things now with some last-minute selfishness."

"I understand."

"I'm glad you do. I never expected to be in this situation. I never again expected to have feelings for a man, much less one like you."

Greg released Julia's hand and carefully placed the doll and the letter on the windowsill. Then he turned to face his friend, put his hands to her face, and gave her a tender kiss.

"That is for neglecting you for several weeks."

He kissed her again, longer and harder.

"This is for not neglecting you tonight."

CHAPTER 74: CAITLIN

Johnstown, Pennsylvania – Tuesday, May 14, 1889

The graduation ceremony for the Class of 1889 was more circumstance than pomp. Only a hundred people came to Conemaugh Valley High School to celebrate the academic achievements of the school's eight graduates, including two time travelers, their significant others, and family members who did not have better things to do on a Tuesday night.

"I'm disappointed," Caitlin whispered to her twin. She looked around the mostly empty gym. "I expected balloons and streamers — and people ."

Cody smiled.

"Quit your bitching."

Caitlin, who sat to Cody's left in the first of twelve rows of folding chairs, stifled a laugh. Emma, who sat to his right, stared at her beau with wide eyes. Caitlin knew it was only a matter of time before Emma asked Cody to put a nickel in the swearing jar.

"Be quiet," Emma said. "Miss Fremont is speaking."

Caitlin looked at Emma solemnly and put a finger to her lips. Then she turned away and barely contained another laugh. She wondered what her prim-and-proper friend would think of the colorful in-your-face profanities of the digital age.

As she waited for her turn to speak, Caitlin thought about what she would say, what she would do now that school was out, and what she would do with a high school diploma from 1889. Though she didn't think she could do much with it in the job market, she thought the diploma might make a cool wall hanging in a 2017 dorm room.

She gazed at Cody, who was discreetly rubbing pinkies with Emma, and then at the three remaining members of the high school faculty. All focused on Millicent Fremont like she was giving the Sermon on the Mount. The teacher waxed poetic about how much her students had learned during the year, including those, like the renegades from Apache country, who had joined her classes at the start of the second semester.

Caitlin tuned out her teacher's monologue until she heard the words "twins," "Arizona," and "seniors" in rapid succession. When Miss Fremont uttered the word "valedictorian," she knew her time in the spotlight was near.

"What's more," Miss Fremont said, "Caitlin assisted me on many occasions. She tutored other students, recommended books for the class, and cleaned the blackboards at the end of the day. In all my years of teaching, I do not remember a more gifted, generous, and intellectually curious student. She has been an asset to the school and the community. For these reasons and others, I am pleased to introduce her as the valedictorian and the featured speaker for the Class of '89. Caitlin, please step forward."

Caitlin got out of her chair and walked toward the front of the gym as the audience clapped and Miss Fremont beckoned her with a hand and a smile. When she reached the lectern, she shook her teacher's hand, waited for her to return to her seat, and then pulled a tri-folded piece of paper from the pocket of her commencement gown.

She placed the sheet on the lectern, flattened it with both hands, and gazed at those in the audience. Adam and Natalie beamed, Cody grinned, and Bridget, Sam, and Emma offered pleasant smiles. Even people Caitlin didn't know gave her their undivided attention. This, she thought, was a pretty big deal. She glanced again at Cody and Emma, who had returned to rubbing pinkies, and then started into a speech she had rehearsed five times.

"Principal Williams, Miss Fremont, Miss Smith, Miss Franklin, classmates, family, and friends, it is my pleasure to stand here tonight and address this gathering. I have to admit I feel a little unworthy to be your valedictorian. It's not because I didn't get the best grades in my class — I did — or because I'm not the smartest kid in school — I am — but rather because I'm kind of an academic carpetbagger."

Caitlin paused as the audience, particularly her family, laughed at her rapid-fire applause lines. She loved seeing their happy faces. Then again, she loved seeing them here . She had never felt more proud to be a part of the Carson clan. When the laughter subsided, she returned to her prepared remarks and continued the rest of her speech.

"What do I mean by 'academic carpetbagger'? Well, I mean someone who moves to Johnstown, Pennsylvania, in the middle of her senior year and takes an honor that would have otherwise gone to someone else — someone like, say, Emma Bauer."

Several people laughed. Emma blushed. Pastor and Mrs. Bauer smiled. Otto and Mary Bauer, who had not yet returned to Ohio, beamed. Cody gave his twin a thumbs-up.

"So to those of you who are not standing at this lectern tonight, because of me and my good grades, I humbly apologize. You deserve better."

Caitlin basked again in the smiles and laughs. Though she did not like to apologize for being a good student and a hard worker, she did so because she thought it was what her audience wanted to hear. She had set the tone for the rest of her speech.

"We are here tonight to celebrate learning," Caitlin said. "All eight members of this class had to demonstrate proficiency in several subjects just to participate in this ceremony. They had to show their teachers — and their families — that they were capable of reading at a certain level, writing an essay, and performing basic computations. They had to prove they were capable of functioning in an increasingly competitive society.

"What they did not have to do was learn outside the classroom. That's because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania does not require it. I wish it did. I wish it did because some of the best learning takes place outside of schools and lecture halls. It occurs in factories and fields and places of business. As I discovered this winter and spring, people can learn a lot simply by listening to those who know more than they do.

"When I came to Johnstown in December, I knew nothing about how coal is extracted from the ground or how steel is forged or how railroads are built. Now I do. I do because I took the time to ask questions and listen to answers. Many of the people I have spoken to on these matters do not have high school diplomas. Some have never attended school. More than a few cannot read. Yet they are among the most intelligent and educated people I know. They are people who have learned a trade and then taken steps to perfect it. Like doctors, lawyers, and college professors, they are masters of their craft.

"I know for a fact that at least a few of these individuals are in the audience tonight. To the tradesmen and workers I have met in person, please know that you have my thanks. Because of you and people like you, I have grown as a student and as a person. You have taught me that education is more than what we read or hear in school. It's more than what we see. It's what we do in the community. It's what we learn from the teachers all around us, including parents, siblings, friends, neighbors, and complete strangers.

"I am grateful to have had the chance to complete my public education in this town. I hope my classmates feel the same and look at school not as something they had to do but rather as something that made them better. We all have a vested interest in encouraging excellence and being the best we can be. Thank you for the opportunity to speak to you tonight. Take care, God bless, and good luck to you all."

As those in attendance stood and applauded, Caitlin glanced at the faculty section and saw what she expected to see. She saw one principal and three teachers smile and clap.

Then she turned to her family and saw something she didn't expect to see. She saw tears in every single eye, including Cody's. She hadn't just crushed the speech. She had hit it into the street. Graduation, she thought, wasn't so bad after all.

CHAPTER 75: GREG

Saturday, May 18, 1889

In most respects, the dining room of the Colbert House was exactly as Greg remembered it. The public space, the largest in Johnstown's finest hotel, was still twenty feet by thirty, with a low ceiling, two paned windows, ornate molding, and striped yellow wallpaper that was almost effective as coffee as a morning pick-me-up.

In other respects, it was night-and-day different. The utilitarian eating area was now a lavishly appointed reception room filled with music, flowers, and nicely dressed guests.

Sitting with Adam, Bridget O'Malley Carson, and Rowena Pritchard, the maid of honor, at a table in the front of the room, Greg sipped a glass of champagne and inspected his surroundings. For the most part, he liked what he saw. He liked it a lot. It was hard not to like a room full of happy people, including four laughing, smiling siblings who had grown and flourished in the past four months and made their mark on a community.

No one, of course, looked happier than the groom, who spoke quietly with his bride a few feet away. Adam had not frowned once all day, even when a baby cried during the ceremony or when a rain shower drenched wedding participants as they walked two blocks from the church to the hotel. The oldest Carson son was in a happy place.

So, apparently, was the oldest Carson daughter. Natalie had done little but laugh and smile since arriving at the hotel in the company of Sam Prentiss. She seemed almost as comfortable and content as the bride and the groom, even though her situation was far less settled. If she had a care in the world, she did not put it on display.

Then there was Cody, who attended to a striking brunette in the corner of the room like she was the Queen of Sheba or a finicky debutante. Like Natalie and Adam, he had found someone special while his prodigal brother had gallivanted around the American West. Like Natalie and unlike Adam, he would almost certainly have to give that someone up.

Caitlin, too, seemed happy, even if she lacked a significant other. The recent high school graduate, fresh off a riveting valedictory speech, educated Frank O'Malley and Father James Bronson on the virtues of land-use planning in a conversation a few feet away.

Greg liked watching his baby sister defy expectations and keep adults on their toes. He had missed her wit, wisdom, and zest for life. For that reason, he had greeted her first when he had stepped off his eastbound train late Wednesday night.

Greg also liked seeing his family, including his new sister, in clothes that brought out their best. Adam and Cody looked dashing in gray tuxes and bow ties. Natalie and Caitlin looked gorgeous in layered blue dresses. All took a back seat to the blushing bride, who was cloaked in white satin, white brocade, and enough lace to fill a factory.

The only thing Greg did not like, or at least understand, was a man near the door who looked at him with unnerving regularity. He addressed the matter when Rowena, a lovely redhead who had quickly taken to "Brad Pitt," left the table to visit the ladies' room.

"Adam?"

"Yes?"

"Who's the guy by the door?" Greg asked.

"I'm not sure," Adam said.

Bridget turned her head.

"He's Thomas Colbert, a local attorney and the son of the man who owns this hotel. I invited the Colbert family as a courtesy. They have done much for Uncle and me."

Greg frowned. When he had walked into the hotel, he was certain only seven people knew his true identity: his siblings, Bridget, Sam, and Frank, who had been brought up to speed on "Brad Pitt" on Thursday. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Can we trust him?" Greg asked.

"I think so," Bridget said.

"I hope so. There's a bounty on my head."

Adam leaned closer to his brother.

"Did you see any wanted signs along the way?"

Greg nodded.

"I saw one in Denver. My name was listed among murderers, thieves, horse rustlers, and other pillars of society. Fortunately for me, there was no photograph."

"What are you going to do in the coming days?" Bridget said. "I don't think it will be safe for you to stay here. Someone is bound to remember you."

"I agree," Greg replied. "That's why I'm going to hole up for a few days at one of the other hotels. Then I'm going to take a train to Erie and try to end a sibling rivalry."

Bridget smiled.

"Is one of the siblings your lady friend?"

Greg chuckled.

"You didn't have to reach far to guess that."

Bridget looked at Greg thoughtfully.

"I can feel her presence. This woman left a mark on your heart. I can see that as clearly as I can see the people in this room."

Greg smiled.

"It seems my sister-in-law is perceptive."

Bridget looked at Adam and then at Greg.

"You men are not that hard to figure out. You don't even attempt to hide your feelings. You wear them honestly, like work clothes. That's what makes you so attractive to the rest of us. We women can simply look at your faces and plan accordingly."

Greg glanced at Adam.

"You have a keeper, bro."

"I hope so," Adam said. "It's too late to throw her back."

Bridget raised a brow.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?"

Adam chuckled.

"I suspect in the alley."

Greg laughed hard.

"Shush, you two," Bridget said. She smiled. "Rowena is coming."

A moment later, the maid of honor reclaimed her seat, sipped her glass of champagne, and directed her full attention to the cousin with the two-syllable name. She seemed eager to catch up on the small talk and gossip.

"So did I miss anything?" Rowena asked.

"No," Bridget said. She gave Greg a playful grin and then looked at her longtime friend. "Mr. Pitt insisted on waiting until you returned before he raised a glass to the groom."

Rowena placed her hand on Greg's.

"You're so kind."

"I try," Greg said.

Rowena looked at him with adoring eyes.

"I believe the best man goes first."

Greg smiled and nodded. Then he got out of his chair, lifted his glass of champagne, and tapped it with a fork. He smiled at the thirty or so guests when he had their attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to recognize a cousin who has been like a brother to me for twenty-five years," Greg said with no trace of irony. "As most of you know, the groom is a very smart man. He built roads and bridges for a living before coming to Johnstown and still scribbles physics formulas on napkins for enjoyment."

The guests laughed.

"What you may not know is that Adam is also very sensible," Greg said. He looked at his audience and saw smiles on every face. "When I was ten years old and he was twelve, I asked him to share his ambitions. I asked him to tell me what he wanted to do when he grew up. Does anyone here want to guess what Adam said in reply?"

Greg scanned the room for takers, like he had so often in his high school classroom. He finally found one in the form of Frank O'Malley, who slowly raised his hand.

"Frank?"

"He said, 'Stop the silly questions. Let's go fishing!'"

The guests laughed again.

"He actually did say that — or something like it," Greg said. He smiled. "We were fishing at the time and focused on other things. Adam did not care much for my question."

"See? I told you," Frank said.

"That's not how the story ended though."

"Oh? There's more?

Greg nodded.

"There's much more. As an impressionable waif from Chicago, I really wanted to know what my older cousin wanted to do when he grew up. So I rephrased my question. I asked him to tell me his number one goal in life. And do you know what he said?"

Several guests shook their heads.

"He said he wanted to find the right girl," Greg said. "That's right, folks. Even though Adam wanted to see the world and conquer countless mountains as a civil engineer, he never lost sight of the prize. Even at twelve, he had his priorities straight. He knew the most important thing he would ever do would be to find the right person to share his life."

Greg took a deep breath.

"Well, I am here today, as a cousin, a friend, and a best man, to report that he succeeded. I can say, without hesitation, that Adam Carson found the right girl."

Greg turned toward the bride and groom and saw from the moisture in their eyes that he had hit the mark. He raised his glass.

"Here's a toast to the happiest, luckiest, and most compatible couple I know. I hope you find the life you seek, take comfort in each other, and continue to serve as an inspiration to others. I know you've inspired me. I love you both. To Adam and Bridget!"

The others lifted their glasses.

"To Adam and Bridget!"

CHAPTER 76: TIM

Redding, California – Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Twenty-four hours after reentering the twenty-first century, Tim Carson reacquainted himself with the modern world. He booted up a cheap laptop computer he had purchased at a nearby store, set a few preferences, and then searched for a wireless connection. He found one just as his wife entered their musty motel room with a tray of coffee and bagels.

"How is the coffee?" Tim asked.

"It's middle of the road . . . as in something you would leave in the middle of the road," Caroline said. She smiled, placed two foam cups and two bagels on top of a round table, and then pulled up a chair next to her husband. "Have you found anything interesting?"

"No. I just turned this on."

"I caught some news in the breakfast bar. Another shooter went on a killing spree. More than a dozen people are dead, including some children."

"Welcome home, honey."

"It's still depressing."

Tim could not take issue with that. Even he had needed some time to get used to the dispiriting signs of the digital age, like sirens, traffic, and endless reports of violence. For a moment, he longed to return to the 1880s, where the world at least made sense.

The time travelers had stayed in Mount Shasta only long enough to change clothes, leave their horses at an animal shelter, and catch a southbound bus to Redding, a city of ninety thousand with motels, stores, libraries, and restaurants. By the time they found a motel that took cash at nine fifteen, they were too tired to do anything but sleep.

Today was a different matter. Today they planned to catch up not only on the world they had left behind but also the world they had never experienced. They planned to learn about the past six months and five children they had presumably orphaned.

Tim opened a browser window, went to a search site, and typed "Carson," "Sedona," and "missing" in the box. When he commenced the search, he expected to find articles on two professors who had disappeared without a trace in September. He did not expect to find articles on five young adults who had disappeared without a trace in December.

"It can't be," Tim said.

Caroline stared at the screen.

"I feel sick."

"There has to be more to this."

"Click a story."

Tim clicked the most prominent of the links and went straight to a story in a Flagstaff newspaper. The article, from December 28, 2017, answered many questions.

SEDONA – State and local authorities continue to investigate the disappearance of five siblings from a popular trail south of here last week. According to the Arizona Department of Public Safety and the Yavapai County Sheriff's Office, the three brothers and two sisters were last seen hiking the Courthouse Butte Loop on December 21.

Missing are Adam Carson, 27, a Flagstaff engineer; Gregory Carson, 25, a Phoenix teacher; Natalie Carson, 23, a consumer reporter for KZYA-TV in Phoenix; and 17-year-old twins Cody Carson and Caitlin Carson, high school students from Flagstaff.

All five are the children of Timothy Carson, 56, and his wife, Caroline Carson, 54, who vanished from the same area on September 22 while on an anniversary trip. No trace of the Northern Arizona University professors has been found, despite hundreds of tips and coordinated efforts by state, local, and federal authorities . . .

Tim closed his eyes and pressed his temples as his head began to ache. Somehow, someway, all five of his children had discovered his secrets, found a temporary time portal, and turned a difficult but manageable situation into a full-fledged nightmare.

"It's not possible," Tim said. "It's not possible unless Toby gave them the letter. I gave him strict instructions not to give anyone that letter unless we had been gone for a year."

"He gave it to Adam. I know he did," Caroline said in an agitated voice. "Can you get into your files? Do you remember the password? We have to see what they saw."

"I'm on it."

"OK."

Tim typed a URL in the address bar, hit ENTER, and waited for a new page to load. When it finally appeared on the eleven-inch screen, he went to two boxes, entered a user name and a password, and accessed another page. Seconds later, a file directory he had not seen in more than six months came into view.

"There's something new here. There's another file," Tim said. His heart raced. "I left exactly a hundred files on this server — and I see a hundred and one."

"Find the most recent one," Caroline said.

Tim refreshed the directory, sorted the files by date, and saw a new file float to the top. He saw a text document, entitled "A Letter to Mom and Dad," he hoped he would not see.

"They left a message."

Caroline frowned and sighed.

"Open it."

Tim did as asked. He clicked the file and waited for the answers to come. When they did, in clear, precise language, he sank in his chair. His life had just gotten complicated.

Dear Mom and Dad,

 

I hope that when you read this letter, we are standing at your side. If we aren't, then we all have a problem that may defy a solution. As you have no doubt concluded, Toby Benson gave me your letter and the means to access this account. He did so on December 1, 2017, when it appeared that the five of us, your loving children, would never see you again.

As you can imagine, your letter shocked us to the core. It's not every day people learn that their parents, the ones they think they know, are time travelers. As a man of science and a skeptic of the first order, I had trouble believing. I had trouble with it all.

Then I accessed this site, saw the evidence, and came to a different conclusion. I knew the second I saw these files that the claims in your letter were true. I studied the files and photos you had left behind, presented my findings to my siblings, and asked them to join me on a mission to find you. Some hesitated. Some did not. In the end, all agreed to go. So on December 21, 2017, we traveled as a group to Sedona, went on a hike near Courthouse Butte, and sought your portal to the past. At this point, you can safely assume that we found it.

You can also assume we went to 1888, the first year of your first scheduled trip to the past. We left home with the intention of finding you in 1888 or 1889 and returning with you, as a family, to this time. We know from a nonfiction book on Mark Twain's life that you visited the author in Hartford, Connecticut, on October 20, 1888, and planned to remain in the past at least through the vernal equinox. We know that you began your journey in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, and planned to continue it in Arizona and California.

We hope to find you before March 20, 1889. If we don't, we will try to find you in 1918 and, if necessary, each subsequent year in your itinerary. We will assume that even if you do not have the ability to return to this time, you will still have the ability to travel to other times. We will do whatever it takes to find you and reunite our family.

If we should fail, please know that we left 2017 with no regrets. Know that we will always stick together and make the most of whatever we find. If this experience has taught us anything, it's that it is important to act as a group. You can rest assured that the five of us, your children, will act as a group for the rest of our lives.

Here's to an early reunion in this world or the next. We hope to see you soon and swap some stories over burgers and beers. I'm sure we'll have a lot to talk about.

 

With deepest affection,

 

Adam, Greg, Natalie, Cody, and Caitlin

Tim sat in stunned silence as Adam's words began to haunt. In his reckless pursuit of knowledge and adventure, he had created a mess he probably could not clean up. He had sown the seeds of a disaster that would affect several people for the rest of their days.

"I really screwed up," Tim said.

Caroline wiped tears from her eyes.

"We screwed up. We did this together."

"Don't give me that. I brought you into this. I dragged you into this. If I had listened to you in the beginning, when you expressed reservations, we would not be in this spot."

"It doesn't matter now."

Tim gazed at his tearful wife.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Caroline said. "I don't want to hear apologies. I don't want to hear excuses or laments either. All I want to hear now is a plan. Tell me how we're going to fix this situation. Tell me how we're going to get our babies back."

"I think the answer to that is obvious."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Adam left us a road map," Tim said. "He signaled his intentions, just as we signaled ours. He gave us the means to find them in case something went wrong."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I suggest we do what they did."

Caroline stared at her spouse.

"I still don't follow."

"We do our homework," Tim said. "We find a library with old books and newspapers and look for answers. We try to find their trail."

"Then what?"

"Then we jump back into the thick of things. We go after them with all the resources at our disposal. We return to the past and find our children."

CHAPTER 77: CODY

Johnstown, Pennsylvania – Monday, May 20, 1889

On a sunny day in an otherwise dreary month, Cody Carson, fisherman extraordinaire, attached a fat night crawler to a barbed hook and cast it into the Stony Creek River.

He did not know if this worm, unlike the last one, would remain on the hook and fulfill its obligation to its human handler, but he remained optimistic. He knew the odds of catching something he could eat — or at least show off — were ultimately in his favor.

Cody slipped his fishing rod into its holder and then returned to the happiest spot on earth, the unoccupied space next to Emma Bauer, who sat on a thick wool blanket near the edge of the river. He plopped down beside her and threw an arm over her shoulders.

"That should do it," Cody said.

Emma smiled.

"That's what you said a minute ago."

"I'm serious this time. We're going to catch the monster that lurks between those rocks and feed half the town."

"Shall I call you Captain Ahab?"

Cody laughed.

"You can. Or you can call me Mr. Optimism."

Emma burrowed into his side.

"I like Mr. Optimism. It suits you."

Cody wished that were true. He had spent much of the past week mired in pessimism as he pondered his pending separation from the girl of his dreams. He envied Adam, who had taken his new bride to New York City, and even Natalie, who seemed to be cooking up something big with Sam Prentiss. They had options and possibilities. He did not.

For the next ten minutes, Cody enjoyed the feel of Emma in his arm, the surprisingly fresh air, and the tranquil sounds of the bubbling river. He spoke when he sensed that the preacher's daughter had something on her mind.

"What are you thinking about?"

Emma looked up.

"I'm thinking about your gift."

"Do you like it?"

"You gave me a hundred dollars for college. Of course, I like it. No one has ever done anything like that for me. Even my parents were impressed. Thank you."

"Caitlin is the one you should thank," Cody said. "She's the one who came up with the idea and wormed the money out of Adam. I was just the delivery boy."

Emma snuggled deeper into Cody's side.

"I'll thank your sister when I get the chance. I'll thank your brother too. In the meantime, I'll just have to settle for the delivery boy."

Cody responded with a smile and then glanced at his fishing pole, which swayed in the warm spring breeze. If Moby Dick had feasted on the night crawler, he had done so quickly and quietly. No fish, big or small, had yet to announce its presence.

Convinced that the inhabitants of the Stony Creek had other plans this afternoon, Cody returned his attention to Emma. Once again, he noticed that she seemed deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about now?"

"I'm thinking about you — and us."

Cody met Emma's gaze.

"Really?"

Emma nodded.

"I do all the time. It makes me sad to think you'll be leaving soon. I don't want you to leave soon. I don't want you to leave at all."

"I don't have a choice," Cody said. "You know that. My brothers and sisters want to go back to Arizona. They can't very well leave me behind."

"Can't they?" Emma asked. "Can't you stay in Johnstown? You could find a job here. You could even go to college. You're smart enough."

"I think you're confusing me with our valedictorian."

"I'm not confusing you with anyone. It's true you're not as smart as your sister, but you're still very smart. You know the difference between a toadstool and a mushroom and an alligator and a crocodile. In most places, that would make you a scholar."

Cody laughed to himself. Only Emma could tear him down and build him up in less than thirty seconds. He wondered what it would be like to listen to her for the rest of his life.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Emma kissed him on the cheek.

"You're welcome."

Cody pulled Emma closer and gazed at the river, a normally slow-moving stream that had come to life in the past few weeks. Though the Stony Creek wasn't quite as fast and full as the Little Conemaugh, it was still a force. It was the kind of river that could create a lot of problems for Johnstown if the community received any more unwanted rain.

"Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Do the rivers here ever overflow?" Cody asked.

Emma nodded.

"They do all the time. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. I've never seen a flood except on TV."

"What's TV?"

Cody turned white.

"It's a . . . it's a picture book."

"I've never heard of it."

"That's because it's new."

"Oh," Emma said. "Well, I don't need a picture book to see a flood. I see one almost every year. One time, the river water came up to our steps. Papa wasn't pleased about that."

"I imagine he wasn't," Cody said. He looked again at the Stony Creek and seemed to see a river rising. The churning water now covered the boulders. "Has the dam ever leaked?"

"I don't think so."

"That's good. Caitlin thinks it's going to rupture unless someone makes repairs. She's obsessed with the dam."

"Are you?" Emma asked.

"Am I what?"

"Are you obsessed with the dam?"

Cody shook his head.

"I'm obsessed with other things."

Emma smiled and blushed.

"That's a good answer."

Cody laughed.

"It also the truth."

Emma pulled out of his embrace and turned to face her suitor. She looked at him with eyes that revealed longing, sadness, and affection.

"I'm going to miss you, Cody Carson."

"I'm going to miss you too," Cody said. He put his hand under her chin, leaned forward, and gave her a tender kiss. "I love you, Emma."

"I love you too."

Cody leaned forward and kissed her again — longer, harder, and with more feeling. As he did, he set his troubles aside and focused on the only thing that mattered.

He wrapped his arms around his girl and tuned out the world, including storm clouds that had gathered in the west, a train whistle that sounded in the distance, and a fish that pulled his pole out of its holder and into the Stony Creek River. For the Rattlesnake Romeo and his Johnstown Juliet, life was never so sweet.

CHAPTER 78: ADAM

New York, New York – Friday, May 24, 1889

To be sure, the Hoffman House was not the Colbert House. The hotel, an eleven-story colossus located on Broadway between Twenty-Fourth and Twenty-Fifth streets, was one of the finest establishments in the city and the kind of place that prompted tongues to wag.

The hotel and its annex boasted three hundred lavishly appointed rooms, private baths, modern conveniences, elevators, meeting facilities, and European cuisine that rivaled anything in Manhattan. Among its more notable features were daring pieces of art that would have sent half the residents of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, into cardiac arrest.

Nude paintings hung on every wall of the male-only Grand Saloon, including one, William-Adolphe Bouguereau's "Nymphs and Satyr," that Adam recalled from an art history class at the University of Arizona. Situated under a red velvet canopy and illuminated by a large chandelier, the masterpiece had become an attraction within an attraction and reminded at least one of the Hoffman House's guests that he was in a different time.

Adam pondered the painting as he rode an elevator to the ninth floor and then quickly put it out of his mind. He had better things to do than think about art on the fifth full day of his honeymoon, including a bride who made Bouguereau's nymphs look like milkmaids.

A few minutes later, he opened the door to his suite, which he had rented for five dollars a day, and stepped inside. When he did not see his wife in the parlor, where he had left her an hour earlier to run an errand, he walked into the bedroom and called her name.

"Bridget?"

"I'm in here. I'm taking a bath."

Adam entered the bathroom, which featured a washbasin, a vanity, and a claw-foot tub, and stepped toward his bathing beauty. He found her enjoying two kinds of bubbles — big ones in her tub and little ones in her champagne glass. He laughed.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I am," Bridget said in a playful voice. "How about you?"

Adam chuckled.

"I am now."

Bridget raised a brow.

"I married a shameless man."

"No, dear, you married a normal one," Adam said. "Don't think for a minute I'm immune to your charms just because I've grown used to them."

Bridget smiled.

"Come scrub my back. I want to talk."

Adam took off his jacket and placed it on a hook by the door. Then he grabbed the chair from the vanity, carried it to the side of the tub, and took a seat. A moment later, he fished a large sponge from the soapy water and gently scrubbed his wife's milky skin.

"Is this sufficient?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Bridget said in a satisfied voice. She reached for her glass, which sat atop a teak bathtub shelf, and took a sip. "I'll recommend you when we return to Johnstown."

Adam laughed.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Bridget looked at him thoughtfully.

"I want to talk about a lot of things, including this trip we're taking next month. I want to know more about it so that I can share the details with Uncle Frank."

Adam sighed.

"What would you like to know?

"Well, for one thing, I'd like to know where we're going," Bridget asked. "Do I prepare Frank for 1918 or 2017? Do I tell him everything you've told me? I think it's only fair that we give him some answers. We're asking him to make a big leap."

"We are," Adam said. "For that reason alone, I think I should talk to him first. I can at least tell him what to expect and answer any of his questions knowledgeably."

"When will you decide on a year?"

"We will decide next month. Everyone will get a say in the matter, including you, and then the six of us will take a vote. I will insist that any decision be unanimous."

"What about Frank?" Bridget asked. "Does he get a vote?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's pretty simple," Adam said. "When I asked my siblings for permission to marry you, I asked them not only to bless our union but also to make you a full partner in our family. They agreed to do that. They did not extend the privilege to your uncle."

"I see."

"Are you disappointed?"

"I am a little," Bridget said. "I imagined a different situation."

Adam stopped scrubbing.

"I don't have the right to give Frank a vote, Bridget. Contrary to what Caitlin sometimes tells others, I am not the absolute dictator of the Carson clan. I am the oldest member of a family that does everything together. I made many promises to my siblings before we came to this time. I am not about to abandon those promises now."

Bridget frowned.

"I understand."

"I hope so," Adam said. "I want you to know how I operate before you get in too deep. I don't do anything without considering the interests of my siblings."

"I can see that."

"Do you regret marrying me?"

"No," Bridget said. She looked at her husband with thoughtful eyes. "I would do it again a hundred times. I would marry you if you took me to the Stone Age."

Adam offered a sad smile.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm glad because life for all of us could get very interesting in the coming months. There is no guarantee we will end up in either 1918 or 2017."

"Why is that?"

"The process isn't foolproof, that's why. I think I've figured it out. I think I can get us to one year or the other with the information and tools Greg brought from San Francisco, but I don't know for sure. Time travel is an art, not a science, and I still haven't perfected it."

"I was afraid of that," Bridget said.

"I'll speak to Frank sometime in early June. I want to give him a chance to finish his job as manager before hitting him with the truth."

"I think that's wise."

Adam squeezed the sponge, soaked it with more soapy water, and then resumed his duties as bather-in-chief. If there was a more pleasant task than washing the back of his breathtaking bride, he was not aware of it. He could not remember a time when he had been happier simply to be alive. This, he thought, was what it was all about.

"What else do you want to talk about?" Adam asked.

"I want to talk about us," Bridget said. She took a deep breath. "We haven't discussed children or religion or roles or expectations. We haven't discussed a lot of things."

"I know."

"I assume these things are important to you."

"They are," Adam said. "I apologize for not discussing them with you before I asked you to marry me. I just assumed we would work out any differences."

"I'm not worried about working out anything. I know you're a fair-minded man. I just want to know what to expect. Natalie told me a little about 2017 the other day. She said most women my age work. She said most mothers work outside the home."

"I wouldn't say most, but I would say many. Many mothers have to take jobs outside the home just to make ends meet. It's just the way things are."

"I see," Bridget said.

Adam realized then and there the price of his neglect. He had asked Bridget to be his wife without addressing some serious and obvious concerns.

"Do you want to stay at home?"

Bridget nodded.

"That's all I want."

Adam smiled.

"That's it? That's everything?"

Bridget gave him a sheepish grin.

"That's almost everything."

Adam chuckled.

"Should I be getting nervous?"

Bridget shook her head.

"I just want a simple life."

"Define simple."

"I want to live in the country. I want to raise several children on a farm where they can work hard, play hard, and breathe fresh air. I want to raise them in the Catholic faith and give them the values I learned as a girl. I want to start our family as soon as we can."

Adam laughed.

"You don't ask for much, do you?"

Bridget looked at him with thoughtful eyes.

"It's what I want."

Adam sighed.

"Then it's what you'll get."

"Do you mean it?"

"I mean every word."

Bridget frowned.

"I feel selfish.'

"Why? You're not asking for anything millions of other women in this country aren't asking for right now. Your requests are pretty reasonable for 1889."

"Are they reasonable for your time?"

"That's the wrong question," Adam said. "Your requests are reasonable to me. That's all that matters. If you want to stay at home and raise a Catholic baseball team, I'll support you. If you want to find a job, I'll support that too. My only interest is your happiness."

Bridget took his hand and kissed it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Adam said. He squeezed the sponge again, shook off the foam, and smiled at his bride. "Shall we get ready for dinner, Mrs. Carson?"

"No."

"No?"

Bridget smiled.

"No."

"I thought you were hungry."

Bridget sat up in the tub and turned to face Adam. Then she reached out with soapy hands, unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, and pulled him close for a lingering kiss.

"I am."

CHAPTER 79: GREG

Johnstown, Pennsylvania – Monday, May 27, 1889

Greg stared out the window of his third-floor room at the Merchants Hotel and watched the puddles form on Main Street. Though he had seen heavy rain showers in his life, he had never seen them for six consecutive days. He had definitely left California.

"What's with the weather?" Greg asked. "This is Johnstown, not Juneau."

"Well, this year, Johnstown is Juneau," Natalie said. She sat with Cody and Caitlin at a door-size table on the other side of the suite. "It's rained almost every day since the end of March. Sam told me yesterday this has been the wettest spring on record."

Greg turned away from the rain-streaked window, gazed at his three youngest siblings, and stepped slowly to the table. Though he was happy to spend time with his family, he was not happy to spend the day in a stuffy hotel room. He sat down and looked at Natalie.

"So what do you have planned this week?"

Natalie smiled.

"I'm going to Pittsburgh tomorrow."

"What's in Pittsburgh?"

"Sam's parents."

Greg tilted his head.

"Are you two getting serious?"

"I don't know," Natalie said.

"You like him, though, right?"

"Oh, I like him."

Greg laughed to himself. He could tell from the twinkle in his sister's big brown eyes that she more than liked Sam Prentiss. He liked seeing her happy.

"Are you planning to pack Sam in your purse?"

"I'd like to," Natalie said. "I would love to take him with us, if only to show him our time. I just know he would never leave his family. I don't think anyone would."

"Tell me about it," Cody said.

Greg took a deep breath.

"I feel for you, sport. Emma's quite a girl. I talked to her a bit at the reception," Greg said. He recalled a conversation he had begun as Brad Pitt and discreetly ended as Greg Carson after Emma started asking questions. "I didn't realize she was a singer as well as an actress."

"She sings in her church choir."

"I hear she acknowledged you at the play."

Caitlin laughed.

"That's the understatement of the year."

Greg looked at his brother.

"How come you're not with her now?"

Cody frowned.

"She went to Altoona with her parents."

"I see," Greg said. "You should take her to dinner when she gets back. Take her to the Pickwick or that new place that opened up."

"I don't have any money."

"I'll spring for it. I'll even pay for a carriage ride if you want to go all out. Just pick a date and a restaurant. I'll take care of the rest. It will be my graduation present."

"Thanks," Cody said.

"What about me?" Caitlin asked. "Do I get a dinner?"

Greg smiled.

"I don't know. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Then I'm not sure I can swing it. I can't finance the date of the century if you don't have a date, can I?"

"That's not fair," Caitlin said. "I graduated first in our class. Cody graduated third out of eight, just ahead of Miss Goo-Goo Eyes."

Greg laughed and looked at Natalie.

"I see nothing has changed."

"You didn't miss a thing," Natalie said.

Greg turned to Caitlin.

"I didn't forget you, kiddo. In fact, I got you something special."

Caitlin's eyes lit up.

"What? What is it?"

"It's a signed, first-edition copy of John Muir's Picturesque California . I picked it up in a used bookstore the day before I left San Francisco."

"Where is it?"

"It's at a book bindery in Pittsburgh. I didn't want to give it to you until I fixed its ratty cover. It was in pretty rough shape when I bought it."

Caitlin got out of her chair and ran around the table. When she reached her brother, the one who seemed to have an answer to every problem, she greeted him with a hug.

"I don't care what it looks like. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Natalie scooted her chair closer to the table as Caitlin returned to her seat. Then she looked at the worldly traveler, rested her chin on her folded hands, and smiled.

"Did you get me something too?"

"No," Greg said. He laughed. "I know. I'm a bad brother."

"That's all right," Natalie said. "I don't need anything."

"I'll tell you what. I'll take you to dinner next week, after I return from Erie. You can pick the time and place. Just make sure you coordinate the particulars with our resident Romeo. I don't think he wants us spying on him during his hot date with Juliet."

"I don't mind," Cody said.

Natalie laughed.

"I don't think he does either."

"I'm serious though," Greg said. He looked at Natalie with thoughtful eyes. "Let's plan on a night out. I think we both have a lot of catching up to do."

Natalie nodded.

"I agree."

"Greg?" Caitlin asked.

"Yes?"

"What really happened in Arizona?"

Greg sighed. He did not want to discuss the shooting incident. He wanted to leave his siblings ignorant of the particulars in case the police came back. Then he looked at three sets of curious eyes and realized he did not have a choice in the matter. He would not be able to leave this table without at least answering the biggest question.

"What do you want to know?" Greg asked.

Caitlin looked at her brother.

"Did you kill anyone?"

Greg nodded.

"I killed two men after they tried to kill me and my riding partner. We were ambushed on a remote trail between Oak Creek and Prescott."

"How come you didn't tell the police?" Cody asked. "How come you didn't tell them that you shot the men in self-defense. They might have believed you."

"They might have," Greg said. "Or they might have given me a quick trial and put a rope around my neck. I couldn't take that chance. I couldn't if I wanted to see you guys again."

Natalie frowned.

"So why are we going back to Arizona again? It seems to me it would be a lot safer to go to Mount Shasta or even return to New Paris. I really don't like the idea of traveling to a place where you are wanted for murder."

"I don't either, but I don't think we have a choice," Greg said. "If we want to maximize our chances of successfully moving forward, we have to play the percentages. We know from the log when Mom and Dad planned to go to 1918. We know when they planned to return to 2017. We know they planned to make both trips from the Sedona portal. We don't have a reliable time for the Shasta portal. We don't have any time for New Paris."

"What if someone recognizes you in Arizona?" Natalie asked. "That merchant would probably remember you. So would those homesteaders."

"They might. That's why I'm going to keep a very low profile when we return to Flagstaff. I'm going to let Adam do all the talking."

"I hope that's enough. I really don't like this."

Greg reached out and touched his sister's arm.

"We'll be fine, Natalie. This is 1889, not 2017. It's a lot harder to find and track people in this time than in our time. We just have to keep our heads and take care of business."

Natalie forced a smile.

"Whatever you say."

CHAPTER 80: CAROLINE

Redding, California – Wednesday, March 21, 2018

The newspaper story, about a runaway rodent on a public stage, opened a dozen doors. Written by Natalie Carson, a reporter for the Pittsburgh Pilot , the article led to another and then another and then another. In less than twenty minutes at the public library, a woman who feared she might not find anything had found the mother lode.

"Tim?"

"Yes?"

"Take a look at this," Caroline said.

"What did you find?"

"Everything."

Tim Carson turned away from his desktop computer, one of thirty in the Redding City Library's technology room, and looked at his wife, who sat at a station fifteen feet away. He seemed intrigued by her one-word answer but not intrigued enough to leave his chair.

"Can you be more specific?"

Caroline scanned the mostly empty computer lab for eavesdroppers and busybodies. When she did not see any, she resumed the conversation in a hushed tone.

"I found our children ."

"What?" Tim asked.

Caroline beckoned him with a hand.

"Come."

Tim answered the call. He left his seat, walked to the other side of the room, and pulled up a chair next to his wife while she rearranged browser windows on her computer screen.

"What do you have?"

"See for yourself," Caroline said.

Tim did just that. He looked at the screen and the first of several articles his wife had found using a database of microfilmed newspapers from the nineteenth century.

"What's this?" Tim asked.

"It's a story about a groundhog who didn't stick around to see his shadow. It's a story that ran in the Pittsburgh Pilot more than a hundred years ago."

"So?"

"Look at the byline," Caroline said. "Look at the date."

Tim leaned closer to the screen and examined a newspaper article that was written by Natalie Carson and published on February 5, 1889. He turned to his wife.

"You're not suggesting she wrote this, are you?"

"I'm not suggesting a thing. I'm telling you," Caroline said. "Natalie wrote this article. She wrote a dozen stories for the Pilot , including one about Mark Twain. She interviewed Sam Clemens in his home the day we bought our train tickets to Mount Shasta."

"How do we know that this Natalie is our Natalie?" Tim asked. He sighed. "It's entirely possible that another woman, with the same name, wrote these articles."

"That's what I thought. Then I found the announcement."

"What announcement? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this," Caroline said. She clicked a browser tab and retrieved a small article from the same Pittsburgh paper. "Tim Carson, I give you Exhibit A."

ARIZONAN JOINS PILOT STAFF

 

JOHNSTOWN — Samuel Prentiss, chief of the Pilot's Johnstown bureau, announced the hiring of Miss Natalie Carson as a general assignment and features reporter. Miss Carson, formerly of Flagstaff, Arizona, joins a bureau staff that includes Edward Mullen and George Gray. She resides in Johnstown with three brothers and a sister.

Tim read the article and then looked at his wife.

"They followed us to Johnstown."

"I think they followed us to a lot of places," Caroline said. "I'm convinced that Natalie went to Hartford to get information on us. I'm also convinced that Greg went to Arizona and California. If he knew about our conversation with Mark Twain, then he knew our travel itinerary in 1889. I think the man I saw in San Francisco was our son."

Tim stared at his spouse.

"Have you searched the Johnstown papers?"

Caroline shook her head.

"I wanted to do that with you."

"Then let's get to it," Tim said.

Caroline nodded and returned to her computer. She opened a new browser window, went to the database's home page, and launched a new search. She entered the name "Carson" in the keyword box, limited the search to three Johnstown newspapers and the first five months of 1889, and clicked the search button. Once again, she hit the jackpot.

The top two results jumped off the page. The first was an article on Conemaugh Valley High School's Class of 1889. The second was a wedding announcement.

Caroline put her hand to her mouth as she stared at the screen. Then she lowered her hand, turned her head, and looked at her husband with anxious eyes.

"Tim?"

"Click the school story," Tim said. "I think we can handle that."

Caroline nodded. She looked again at the computer, took a deep breath, and clicked the first link. Within seconds, a news article from the May 15, 1889, edition of the Johnstown Times loaded on her screen. She swelled with pride as she read the article.

EIGHT RECEIVE DIPLOMAS AT CVHS COMMENCEMENT

 

JOHNSTOWN — Speaking to nearly one hundred students, educators, and guests, senior Caitlin Carson touted the virtues of education inside and outside the classroom at Conemaugh Valley High School's graduation ceremony Tuesday night.

Miss Carson, the valedictorian for the Class of 1889, spoke about the lessons she has learned since coming to Johnstown from Flagstaff, Arizona, in December. She gave a special nod to the tradesmen and laborers of her new community.

"Some of the best learning takes place outside of schools and lecture halls," Miss Carson said. "It occurs in factories and fields and places of business. As I discovered this winter and spring, people can learn a lot simply by listening to those who know more than they do."

Miss Carson is the first female valedictorian in the school's history and the first in three years to graduate with perfect marks in each of the three required subjects. She intends to pursue a college degree and a career in medicine.

Seven other students received diplomas, including Beatrice Adams, Emma Bauer, Cody Carson, David Grant, George Maine, Daisy Miller, and Albert Wood. Three of the graduates will attend local colleges in the fall. The others, including Miss Bauer, recipient of the Cambria Award for excellence in the arts, have not announced their plans . . .

 

When Caroline finished the article, she read it again. She wanted to savor a discovery that was as sweet as the children she had not seen in more than six months.

"Are you reading all this?"

Tim smiled.

"I'm lapping up every word."

"I wish I could have been there," Caroline said. "I'm sure Caitlin knocked their socks off. "I'm sure Cody did too. I am so proud of them."

"That makes two of us."

"Do I dare open the wedding story?"

"You don't have a choice," Tim said. He smiled. "If you don't click that link, you'll obsess over it for the next three months. Let's see who got married."

Caroline looked again around the room before proceeding. When she saw that the other patrons had at least temporarily left the lab, she knew it was safe to read a story that might trigger an emotional reaction. She grabbed the mouse and clicked the link.

Like the graduation story, the wedding announcement came up quickly. Unlike the commencement piece, it offered more than one surprise.

"Adam has a wife," Caroline said. "Oh, Tim, we've missed so much."

Tim sighed.

"So it appears."

Caroline enlarged the story, published on May 18, 1889, and then jumped right into it. She could not remember a time she was so excited to read a newspaper article.

O'MALLEY-CARSON

 

Bridget Mae O'Malley and Adam Eduardo Carson, both of Johnstown, were married May 14 at Saint Mark's Catholic Church. Miss O'Malley, formerly of Dublin, Ireland, is the daughter of the late Sean and Mary Ryan O'Malley and the niece of Francis O'Malley, manager of the Colbert House hotel in Johnstown. Mr. O'Malley gave away the bride. Mr. Carson, formerly of Flagstaff, Arizona, is the son of Timothy and Caroline Carson and the older brother of Natalie, Caitlin, and Cody Carson. The siblings represented the groom's family at the ceremony, along with Brad Pitt, the groom's first cousin and his best man. More than thirty guests and relatives attended the wedding and a reception at the Colbert House, including Rowena Pritchard of Philadelphia. Miss Pritchard, a friend of the bride, served as the maid of honor. Following the reception, the bride and the groom left for a wedding trip to New York City. Mr. and Mrs. Carson intend to return to Johnstown and eventually settle in Arizona.

Caroline read the story slowly. As she did, she went from excited to confused to concerned. She stared blankly at the screen and then looked at her husband.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Tim nodded.

"Something's wrong."

"This makes no sense. Why would Greg call himself Brad Pitt? I know he has a sense of humor, but he would never ruin Adam's wedding story by using a phony name."

"Search the database for 'Greg Carson.' Search the entire country during the winter and spring of 1889. If Greg did something significant, it will come up."

Caroline entered new data and hit the search button again. As she did, she felt a deep sense of foreboding. She wasn't sure she wanted the answer to her question.

She looked away for a moment as the results loaded and then returned to her screen. When she saw the links and story headers at the top of the results page, she knew why Greg had not used his real name. Greg Carson was a wanted man.

"This can't be right," Caroline said. "Greg wouldn't kill anyone. He wouldn't hurt anyone unless he was defending himself or someone else."

"It seems the police think differently."

"I feel sick."

"Take a step back, hon. We don't know how this turned out," Tim said. "What's the most recent of those stories? That's important."

Caroline quickly sorted the results by date. Then she clicked the link to the most recent story, published in the Prescott Courier on April 28, 1889, and learned that Greg was still a suspect in the killings of two ranchers. He had not yet been apprehended. He had not yet faced a criminal trial. He had, from all accounts, eluded the long arm of the law.

"This is the most recent story," Caroline said. "There's nothing after April 28. I'm sure Greg changed his name to throw off the police in case they saw the wedding story."

"What about the others?" Tim asked.

"What about them?"

"Is there any mention of them after the wedding story? Search again. Search for 'Carson' in the Johnstown papers for the rest of 1889. See what turns up."

Caroline did as requested. She revised the parameters and searched the database again, but she found nothing useful. She found only a few references to a bakery and an enterprising Johnstown attorney who shared her last name. She turned to her husband.

"There's nothing."

Tim studied the screen for a moment and then pointed to a link. When Caroline did not respond, he pointed to it again.

"Click that link."

"Why? It's for a lawyer."

"Click it anyway," Tim said. "It says something about a flood."

Caroline clicked the link and called up a story about an attorney offering his services to survivors of the May 31 flood. In the terrifying seconds it took her to read the article, she realized that her life was about to change forever.

"Tim? I can't."

"Do it, Caroline. Do it now. Search for 'flood.' Search in June. Focus just on that. We have to find out what happened."

Caroline entered new search terms and parameters with shaking hands. As she did, she recalled a unit in high school history that dealt with a flood in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. She clutched her stomach when she saw several results appear on the screen.

"I can't do it, Tim. I can't."

"Then I will."

Tim took the mouse out of Caroline's shaking hand and clicked the link to a story from the June 6, 1889, issue of the Johnstown Times . The link opened the door to a nightmare.

RED CROSS ASSISTS RELIEF EFFORT

 

JOHNSTOWN — More than fifty doctors, nurses, and aid workers descended on Johnstown Wednesday morning, bringing much-needed relief to the flood-ravaged community. Under the direction of founder Clara Barton, the American Red Cross set up feeding stations, portable hospitals, and shelters for thousands left homeless by the May 31 calamity.

More than two thousand souls in and around the city perished when the South Fork Dam collapsed, releasing twenty million tons of water and debris into the Conemaugh Valley. Despite the efforts of city leaders and volunteers, fewer than two hundred bodies have been identified at morgues and processing stations throughout the valley . . .

Caroline never made it far beyond the lead. After reading the first paragraph, she felt her heart race and her anxiety rise. After reading the second, she felt her head swim and her body grow weak. After reading the third, she felt nothing but the floor.

CHAPTER 81: NATALIE

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania – Wednesday, May 29, 1889

Strolling with Sam in a gentle rain through one of the richest neighborhoods in America, Natalie Carson took a moment to admire the opulence around her. On both sides of Fifth Avenue, she found sprawling brick mansions, richly landscaped grounds, and numerous reminders that Gilded Age America was not her America. When the estates began to overwhelm her senses, she appealed to the man holding their large, black umbrella.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Sam turned his head and smiled.

"Is it a question I'll enjoy answering?"

"I think so," Natalie said.

"Then ask away."

"How did you turn out to be so normal?"

"I don't follow," Sam said.

Natalie tightened her hold on his arm.

"Let me rephrase. How did you grow up in this neighborhood, surrounded by all this wealth and power, and manage to hold onto values that anyone could admire?"

Sam chuckled.

"I had a mother who did not let me stray."

Natalie gazed at her companion.

"That's a lot of credit to give one person."

"She deserves it," Sam said. "While Father was out conquering the world with the other squires of Squirrel Hill, as I call them, Mother was laying down the law at home. She made sure Jo and I went to church every Sunday, studied hard in school, and treated every person we met with kindness and respect. She often took us into the poorer sections of the city to show us how other people lived. She wanted us to appreciate what we had."

"I think she succeeded."

"I'll tell her that at dinner tonight. She'll be delighted to know that the woman who charmed Mark Twain thinks she is the world's greatest mother."

Natalie smiled.

"You're teasing me."

"I'm doing no such thing," Sam said. "I'm merely stating a fact."

"Does your mother like me?"

"She adores you."

"How about your father?"

"He likes you, too, though for different reasons. To him, you are a curiosity, a rose in a field of poppies, something to be admired if not fully understood."

Natalie gave Sam a sidelong glance.

"Do you think I'm a curiosity?"

"What I think is of no relevance," Sam said in a matter-of-fact voice. "You are worthy no matter how far you stray from the norms of society."

Natalie laughed.

"Thank you for answering my question."

Sam smiled but did not reply. He did not speak again until they came upon Woodland Road and an opportunity to head in a different, more private direction.

"Would you like to see more of the neighborhood or continue to the house? I would be happy with either choice."

Natalie turned to Sam.

"How much time do we have?"

Sam released her arm. Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a watch that looked a lot like the ones Greg had brought back from San Francisco.

"We have an hour. My mother, the one who raised me right, wants us back by six. That gives us enough time to walk through the campus."

"Let's walk then," Natalie said.

"OK."

Sam offered his arm, turned his back on the bustle of Fifth Avenue, and escorted his companion down Woodland Road, a narrow, gravelly lane that ran through the heart of Pennsylvania Female College. As he did, he commented on the college's history, the flora and fauna of the campus, and even Berry Hall, a massive administrative building that was once the largest private residence in Allegheny County.

Natalie enjoyed the guided tour until her dashing guide stopped talking and seemed to turn his attention to other things. When five minutes of awkward silence turned into ten, she revived the conversation with an observation.

"You seem preoccupied."

"I guess I am," Sam said.

"What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about a telegram George sent this morning. It came around ten, when you and Mother were having tea and waxing poetic about Renoir and Monet."

Natalie looked at Sam.

"Is he holding up in your absence?"

"He is. So is Eddie, for all I know. The South Fork Dam is another matter."

"What's going on?"

"George wrote that the dam is leaking in places," Sam said. "He also informed me that the water level is rising and getting dangerously high."

"Is this a crisis situation?"

"I don't know. If the water level stays where it is, then no, it's probably not. If it rises any higher, then all bets are off. The dam was not built to handle much more stress."

"Should I notify Adam?" Natalie asked.

"I would. I would as a courtesy. Tell him to keep on top of the situation. If the rivers rise quickly, he may have to act quickly."

"I'll send him a telegram tomorrow."

"I think that would be wise," Sam said.

Natalie pondered the dam as she strolled with Sam to the east end of the campus and then began the long walk back. She hoped that the men who managed the dam had the experience and wisdom to handle a crisis should one emerge.

She gave dams and floods a few minutes of thought and then turned to another pressing matter, one that had hounded her for days like a persistent salesman. When she and Sam passed Berry Hall the second time, she decided to address it directly.

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

Natalie met his gaze.

"Have you ever faced a serious dilemma?"

"I once had to choose between a thirty-year-old bottle of scotch and a thirty-year-old bottle of cognac," Sam said. He smiled. "Does that count?"

"I take back what I said. You're not normal."

"Don't tell that to Mother."

"I won't. She thinks you're God's gift to Pennsylvania and maybe the human race," Natalie said. She laughed. "I don't want to spoil the illusion."

Sam chuckled.

"You're too kind."

"I'm just prudent. I'm still a guest in her home."

"That you are."

"I'm serious about the question though," Natalie said. She took a deep breath. "Have you ever faced a serious dilemma? Have you ever had to make a choice that might profoundly affect the rest of your life? Have you ever had to make it in a matter of days?"

"I can't say I have."

"What if you had to make such a choice now? What would you do? How would you approach a problem that may not have a solution — or at least a good one?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "I guess I would gather as much information as I could and then make a decision based on that information."

"You sound like a businessman."

"I am a businessman."

"I know," Natalie said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It isn't in most situations. It's a good thing, in fact. It's just that I need to hear from your heart right now and not from your head."

Sam slowed his pace.

"Can you elaborate?"

"I can," Natalie said. "It's real simple, Sam. If you had to choose between a person you love and the life you've always known, could you give up one for the other?"

Sam stopped and turned to face Natalie.

"Is that the right question? Do we have to make that choice? I think two people can overcome any problem, even a dilemma, if they put their minds to it."

"This is different," Natalie said.

"How so?" Sam asked. "Are we so different that we cannot bridge any divide? I like my life. I like my job. I love my family. I would hate to give them up or even set them aside for a while, but I would do it for someone I loved. I would do it for you."

"Would you give them up knowing you would never see them again?"

"If you're asking me to choose between Pennsylvania and Arizona, rest assured I would choose the latter. I would give you the moon to stay in your life."

"That's good to know," Natalie said.

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm asking for the moon."

CHAPTER 82: ADAM

Johnstown, Pennsylvania – Thursday, May 30, 1889

From Main Street to Bedford Street and south to the Sandy Vale Cemetery, they marched. They marched three miles past thousands of their countrymen and at least three time travelers who could not pass up an early edition of an American tradition.

Standing in a group that included Bridget, Cody, Caitlin, and the Bauer family, Adam watched the parade participants move down Main. From his vantage point near the corner of Clinton Street, a half block from the hotel, he could see and appreciate them all.

Veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic, twenty-four years removed from the Civil War, marched with other veterans and civilians. So did the Ancient Order of Hibernians, the Austrian Music Society, the Odd Fellows, and three local fire companies.

Five marching bands brought music and color to the streets, including the scarlet-and-black-clad Austrians, the red-coated Hungarian Hussars, and the Hibernians dressed in green. The Hornerstown Drum Corps, attired in blue, brought up the rear.

Marching girls, decked out in red, white, and blue, gave the procession a patriotic stamp. Some hoisted flags with thirty-eight stars. Others celebrated a century of freedom by carrying a banner that announced the one-hundredth anniversary of the U.S. Constitution.

Heavenly smells complemented the sights and sounds. On both sides of the street, enterprising men and women, sitting at tables, sold everything from cakes, pies, and cookies to meats, pickles, and potato salads. Others offered lemonade and homemade beer.

"I'm impressed," Adam said to Bridget in a hushed tone. "This city knows how to throw a party. I can't imagine what the Fourth of July is like."

Bridget smiled.

"Perhaps you should stick around to find out."

"You're funny, Mrs. Carson."

"I'm just adding sunshine to your day."

Adam threw his arm around his wife and pulled her close. He liked her sass. He liked everything about the woman who had brought joy to his life.

As Adam returned his attention to the parade, he thought about Bridget's suggestion. He did not think it was as crazy as it sounded. Under different circumstances, he would stick around to see what the Fourth of July in Johnstown was like. He would stick around to enjoy more of the nineteenth century and his temporary home. He had grown to love the people and places of this time and was not all that eager to let them go.

He knew that he would though. In twenty-two days, he would let all of this go and hopefully find the life he had left behind. He looked forward to returning to 2017, even if it meant taking a pit stop in 1918. He looked forward to a normal existence.

As the less prominent groups marched down the street, Adam took a moment to consider whether his siblings felt the same way. He was certain that two were ready to leave immediately. He was less certain the others were ready to leave at all.

Greg had left no doubt that he was ready to go. Though he had enjoyed his time in San Francisco, he did not enjoy having a price on his head. He wanted to leave 1889 as soon as he returned from Erie and had let Adam know this on several occasions.

Caitlin had also expressed a desire to go, despite achieving much as a high school senior and a member of the community. She missed the trappings of 2017. She also missed her parents, even more than her siblings, and wanted to find them as soon as possible.

Cody had been less vocal. Though he had told Adam in February and March that he desired to leave, he had grown quiet in April and May. His eagerness to return to the digital age had been tempered by his affection for a person from the Gilded Age.

So had Natalie's. She had informed Adam before leaving for Pittsburgh that she hoped to persuade Sam Prentiss to join the time-travel group. For that reason, she had asked for his blessing the moment he and Bridget had returned from New York Monday night.

Adam had given his support without reservation. He liked Sam as much as any man he had met in the 1880s. He liked what he had done for his sister.

Adam watched with interest and amusement as men with wheelbarrows and shovels cleaned up messes left by the horses. Some things, he thought, never changed.

He looked less favorably on a group of dark, churning clouds that approached the city from the southwest. He knew the last thing Johnstown needed now was a storm that might feed its already swollen rivers.

Adam started to mention the clouds to Bridget when he sensed movement. He turned to his right just as Frank O'Malley, carrying an envelope, approached in a hurry.

"There you are," Frank said. He stopped to catch his breath when he finally reached Adam's party of seven. "I was afraid I wouldn't find you."

"What's going on?" Adam asked.

Frank held up the envelope.

"This is going on. A messenger boy brought it to the hotel ten minutes ago. He said it was urgent," Frank said. He handed Adam the envelope, which contained a Western Union telegram. "That's why I decided to leave the desk and try to find you."

"Thanks," Adam said. "Did the boy say anything else?"

Frank shook his head.

"He just said it was urgent."

"OK."

Bridget looked at Adam.

"Well? Are you going to open it?"

"Be patient, dear," Adam said. He smiled at his curious spouse. "If our ship has come in, I'm sure it will wait for us."

Adam glanced at the others, who still watched the parade, and then at his wife, who still watched him. He knew right then that procrastination was not an option.

He opened the telegram as Bridget and Frank looked on and looked first at the top of the message. He could see at a glance that the telegram had come from Natalie in Pittsburgh and not Greg in Erie. He quickly jumped into the text.

GEORGE GRAY REPORTS TROUBLE AT THE SOUTH FORK DAM. INVESTIGATE THE SITUATION FURTHER, IF YOU CAN. TAKE MEASURES TO KEEP THE FAMILY SAFE. SAM AND I WILL RETURN ON FRIDAY MORNING. A MAJOR STORM IS COMING.

Adam frowned as he considered the message.

"What's the matter?" Bridget asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Adam said. He sighed. "I'm just not sure."

CHAPTER 83: NATALIE

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Natalie pulled the classic book from the walnut shelf, opened to a middle page, and read a few passages from the Great American Novel. Though she had read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn many times, she had never read a leather-covered first edition. The book by Mark Twain, the first of six on the shelf, was one of just many gems Natalie had found in the expansive library Louise Prentiss called her reading room.

"You never told me she liked Mark Twain," Natalie said. She turned around and looked at Sam, who stood a few feet away. "She never told me she liked Mark Twain."

"Mother keeps her sordid secrets to herself, including her love of popular literature," Sam said. He chuckled. "She likes Dickens, too, for what it's worth."

"Does she like poetry?

"She does."

Natalie returned Huckleberry Finn to its rightful place. Then she turned around again and joined her friend and companion in the middle of the third-floor room.

"Let me guess. She favors Whitman, Dickinson, and Thoreau."

Sam smiled and pointed to some shelves by the door.

"The poetry collections are over there."

"I'll stop while I'm ahead," Natalie said. "I think it's obvious your mother is a well-read woman. I admire that. I admire it a lot."

Sam stepped away from Natalie and walked to a large paned window that overlooked the lush grounds of the estate. He stared blankly through the rain-streaked glass.

"Mother says that books are windows to the soul. She says she can determine a person's character and values by considering what they read — and write."

"Then I wonder what she thinks of me," Natalie said with a laugh. She joined Sam by the window. "She said she read my article on the groundhog. I'm not sure that story provided much of a glimpse into my soul — or the groundhog's, for that matter."

Sam looked at Natalie.

"I disagree. I think that article revealed a lot about the writer. It said she was a creative, sensitive, spirited woman with a sense of humor no mortal could resist."

Natalie smiled.

"You got all that from a story?"

"No," Sam said. He looked at her with thoughtful eyes. "I got all that from spending five months with the woman herself. I didn't need to read the article to see those virtues."

Natalie met his gaze.

"That's a lovely thing to say."

Sam took her hand.

"I mean it."

"I'm sure you do," Natalie said. "You don't say things you don't mean, Mr. Prentiss. That is what I love most about you. You're honest and speak from the heart."

Sam smiled sadly and stared again out the window.

"So I'm told."

Natalie frowned.

"You seem kind of sad. Have you not enjoyed this week?"

Sam took a deep breath.

"I have. I've enjoyed it immensely."

"Then why the long face?" Natalie asked. "Are you sad?"

Sam shook his head.

"I'm deep in thought. I've been thinking all day about the things you said yesterday. Something tells me your dilemma involves more than a desire to return to Arizona."

"It does," Natalie said. "It involves something I've been afraid to talk about for months, something that would test the limits of your imagination."

"Why won't you just tell me what it is?"

"I won't because I'm a coward. I'm a coward who needs a few more days to think about her situation. I promise I'll tell you everything by Monday. I just want some time to talk to my family, particularly Adam, before I bare my soul to you. Can you wait four days?"

Sam turned toward Natalie as she turned toward him. He took both of her hands, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I can wait four years."

"Thank you," Natalie said. "You're much too forgiving."

"It's another of my weaknesses."

"It's one I can live with."

"I'm glad you think that," Sam said. "It makes it easier for me to say something I have wanted to say for a long time."

"What's that?"

Sam did not reply. He instead released Natalie's hands and reached into his jacket pocket. He started to lift something out of the pocket when his mother entered the room.

"There you are," Louise said to her son. "I've been looking all over for you. Most of our guests have arrived, including our neighbors, and more than a few want to meet Natalie."

Sam dropped the small object back into his pocket. He stared at his mother for a moment, turned to face Natalie, and forced a smile.

"Then we shouldn't keep them waiting."

Natalie frowned when Sam frowned. She did not have to guess why he was down. She took his hand, squeezed it, and gave him the most uplifting smile she could find.

"We'll continue this conversation soon," Natalie said. "I'm looking forward to hearing what you've wanted to say for a long time."

Louise appeared completely oblivious to what she had done. She gazed at the two young adults like an artist might look at her handiwork.

"Shall I tell them you're coming?"

Sam nodded.

"You can tell them."

"All right then," Louise said. "I'll see you both in the parlor."

With that, Louise Prentiss, wife, mother, and well-read woman, left her reading room and headed downstairs. She left with a smile on her face.

Louise had every reason to smile. She had succeeded in getting Sam and Natalie, the main attractions at a dinner she had set up, to join the others and get the show on the road. Whether she had succeeded at anything else remained an open question.

Natalie thought about opportunities missed and opportunities lost as she led Sam down several flights of stairs to the main floor of the mansion. On her last night in Pittsburgh, the difference between the two never seemed more relevant.

CHAPTER 84: ADAM

Johnstown, Pennsylvania – Friday, May 31, 1889

Natalie's storm, the one she mentioned in her telegram, came Thursday afternoon. It came just as the parade ended and did not let up. For sixteen hours, it had dumped several inches of rain on the Conemaugh Valley, swelling rivers, flooding streets, and making life miserable for thousands of travelers, residents, and business owners.

It also made life interesting for Adam, Cody, Caitlin, Bridget, and Frank, who tried to keep things dry at the Colbert House. For the better part of an hour, they stacked chairs, lifted boxes, pulled carpets, and helped anxious guests leave the hotel and the city before the situation got worse. More than an inch of water covered the lobby floor.

Adam carried a box across the lobby, placed it on a corner table, and then approached Bridget and Frank, who filled out papers at the front desk. He noticed that both seemed focused and driven on their last day as employees of the hotel.

"That's the last box. The rest are off the floor," Adam said to Frank. "Is there anything else I can do before I go? I still have thirty minutes."

"I can manage for now," Frank said. He looked up from his paperwork. "Go catch your train. I'm sure I'll have plenty more for you when you get back."

Adam looked at Bridget.

"How about you? Can I do something for you?"

Bridget looked up from her paperwork and frowned. She looked less like a focused and driven hotel clerk than a worried and watchful wife. She untied her apron, placed it on the counter, and joined her husband on the other side of the desk.

"Yes, you can do something," Bridget said.

"What?" Adam asked.

Bridget glanced at Frank, who continued to fill out forms, and then at her husband. She took his hand and led him to a private corner of the lobby.

"You can return in one piece. Do what you must at South Fork and then come back. Don't take any unnecessary risks. It's getting scary up there."

"That's why I want to check it out," Adam said. "If the situation is as dire as George Gray says it is, I want to know. If it's worse, I want to know that too. Be prepared to leave on short notice. I don't want to stay in town if there's even a tiny chance the dam will break."

"What about the hotel? What about our guests?"

"Are any left?"

Bridget nodded.

"Several people checked in last night, including three salesmen. Two are leaving this morning. I'm not sure about the third. He said he would tell us his plans by ten thirty."

"I'm guessing he'll hightail it, like the others, when he sees the water in the street," Adam said. "No one in this town is going to do business today."

"You're probably right."

"What about the new managers? Are they here?"

Bridget shook her head.

"They won't be here until at least eleven. If I'm not mistaken, they are coming to town on the Day Express from Pittsburgh."

"That's Sam and Natalie's train," Adam said.

"I know."

"What will you do when they get here?"

"Uncle and I will give them a tour of the place, show them the books, and then move them into the manager's quarters," Bridget said. "We should be finished by five."

"They want the apartment today ?"

"They want it tonight. We told them they could have it."

"Then I hope this place doesn't fill up," Adam said. He smiled. "It might get kind of cozy if you and Frank have to move in with us."

"You need not worry. I have already taken care of that delicate matter. Uncle will stay in one of the single rooms on the second floor until we leave for Arizona. Cody, Natalie, and Caitlin can keep their rooms. You and I will have to settle for the bridal suite."

"It seems I married a spender."

Bridget stared at her husband.

"I can always bunk with your sisters."

Adam laughed.

"No, no. That won't be necessary. I like the arrangements."

"I thought you would."

Adam started to say more but stopped when he saw Cody and Caitlin walk down the stairs and into the lobby. He turned toward his siblings as they walked his way.

"How are the rooms?"

"They are spotless, Captain," Caitlin said as she saluted Adam. "We even made the beds, sorted the clothes, and organized Natalie's closet. It was a bigger mess than this floor."

"I believe it," Adam said.

"Can we go to Emma's house?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Have you looked outside?"

"We've been outside," Caitlin said. "We went outside when we got up. Remember? It's not that bad. If we mess up our clothes, we'll just wash them when we get back."

"I don't know."

Bridget jumped in.

"Let them go. There's nothing more for them here. If the water gets higher, they can always come back. Frank and I aren't going anywhere. We'll be here all day."

The twins smiled at Bridget and then looked at Adam. Each seemed pleased to have a new big sister who had their back.

"See? Even Bridget agrees," Caitlin said.

Adam sighed.

"OK. You can go to Emma's, but I want you back here no later than five. If we have to leave tonight, I want you ready to go by the time Bridget and Frank are done."

Caitlin beamed.

"We'll have our bags packed."

Adam looked at his brother.

"Cody?"

"We'll be ready," Cody said.

Adam glanced at Bridget, who gave him an I'm-ready-to-be-a-mother grin, and then watched the twins rush out the door. Though he knew Cody and Caitlin could take care of themselves in almost any situation, he still worried about their welfare. Like the rest of the Carson clan, they had no experience with floods. If the South Fork Dam broke while they were at Emma's, returning to the hotel by five would be the least of their problems.

"I hope I did the right thing," Adam said.

Bridget took both of his hands.

"You did. If I know those two, they'll be back here by four, looking for something to do, and wondering where you are. They'll be fine."

Adam smiled.

"You're going to be a great mother, Mrs. Carson."

"I hope so," Bridget said. She kissed Adam on the cheek. "Now go catch your train, take care of your business, and return as soon as you can. We have a bridal suite to enjoy."

CHAPTER 85: NATALIE

For all practical purposes, the four-block carriage ride from the B and O station to the news bureau to the Colbert House was a boat ride. Though the wheels of the wagon touched Franklin, Main, and Clinton streets, they did so through two feet of water. At eleven thirty in the morning on the last day of May, Johnstown, Pennsylvania, was a lake.

Natalie felt fortunate even to be dry. She and Sam had hired the last of six drivers who had parked in front of the depot and done so for the reasonable sum of five dollars. For an extra five bucks, they had managed to retain the driver for a full hour.

Natalie did not need the full hour to see how the town had changed in three days. She needed only the fifteen minutes it took to go to her first two destinations.

On Franklin Street, where Sam stopped at the bureau to speak with Eddie and George, Natalie saw sights that were both sad and amusing. Children splashed about in the town square like it was the world's biggest water park. Men pulled rowboats carrying their wives and children. Teenage boys fished from the steps of the Methodist church.

On Main Street, where the water was almost three feet deep, Natalie saw business owners try to move merchandise and equipment to higher floors. Some merchants simply gave up and closed their doors. Others piled goods into wagons and drove away.

The scene on Clinton Street was no less chaotic. Shop owners boarded up doors and windows, pedestrians sloshed from place to place, and whole families piled into buildings with more than one floor. Foremost among these presumably dry places was the Colbert House, which, for four time travelers, anyway, was still Home Sweet Home.

When the driver stopped in front of the hotel, Sam climbed out of the wagon, stepped into the waist-deep water, and held out his arms. Even when it was obvious he was fighting a losing battle, he seemed bound and determined to keep his lady dry.

"Let me carry you to the stairs."

Natalie laughed.

"Are you serious?"

"I certainly am," Sam said.

"That is the sweetest offer I've had in years, but I'm going to take a pass. If the rest of the women in this town can walk through water, then so can I."

"Suit yourself."

Sam helped Natalie out of the wagon and gently lowered her into water that was surprisingly warm. Then he opened the door and followed her into a lobby that looked more like a swimming pool than a gathering spot for hotel guests.

Natalie looked around the room for familiar faces. When she saw her Irish sister-in-law standing behind the front desk, she grinned and slowly sloshed her way.

"What happened to this place?"

Bridget offered a weary smile.

"Someone left the water running."

"I guess so," Natalie said with a laugh. "It looks like you're busy. I saw several families run in here just a few minutes ago. Are they guests?"

"I suppose they are. Everyone's a guest now. Uncle Frank opened our doors an hour ago. He didn't think it was humane to turn people away."

"What do the new managers think?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen them."

"Weren't they supposed to arrive today?"

Bridget nodded.

"They were supposed to arrive on your train. I'm beginning to think they turned around and went back to Pittsburgh."

Natalie could believe it. She had seen at least two families do just that when they had arrived at the station and seen all the water. She looked at Sam, who wandered around the lobby inspecting the damage, and then returned to Bridget.

"Where's Adam?"

"He's in South Fork. He went there to inspect the dam."

"He's there now?"

Bridget nodded.

"He did as you asked. He went there to investigate."

Natalie pressed her temples.

"I didn't want him to check out the dam in person. I only wanted him to ask a lot of questions and remain aware of the situation. When did he leave?"

"He left on the eight-thirty train," Bridget said.

Natalie sighed.

"That means he's stuck up there."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they have halted all rail traffic coming into and out of Johnstown. The train that left for Pittsburgh a few minutes ago was the last one to move."

Bridget frowned.

"I didn't know that."

"I'm sorry, Bridget. I didn't mean to send him there. I should have worded that telegram more carefully. This is all my doing."

"What's done is done."

"Where are the others?" Natalie asked.

Bridget grabbed a stack of papers and put them in a drawer. When she looked again at her sister-in-law, she did so with eyes that revealed concern and regret.

"Cody and Caitlin are at Emma Bauer's house in Kernville. They asked to go there this morning after helping us clean up."

"Adam let them go in this mess?"

"He did after I convinced him they would be all right. The water was only a few inches deep at eight o'clock. I'm afraid their situation is my doing. I should have known better. I've seen these floods before. They always get worse before they get better."

"Don't beat yourself up," Natalie said. "I would have made the same call. You can't keep teenagers cooped up in a place like this for more than a few days."

"I suppose."

"When are they coming back?"

Bridget took a deep breath.

"I hope by five o'clock. Adam told Cody and Caitlin to return no later than five. That's when Frank and I are officially done with our duties here."

"Is there anything we can do to help you?" Natalie asked.

"I can't think of anything. We don't have much to do now except help people who want to escape the water. This isn't a hotel anymore. It's a refugee center."

"Where is Frank?"

"He's upstairs," Bridget said. "He opened all the rooms except yours. He figured if we were going to open this place to others, we might as well make them comfortable."

"I think that's the right thing to do."

"I do too."

When the conversation hit a lull, Natalie turned around and looked for her significant other. She found him holding a painting he had scooped out of the water.

"Did you find your Rembrandt?" Natalie asked.

"I found something," Sam said. He frowned. "I'm afraid this flood is going to do much more damage than the ones in the past. It's going to ruin a lot of homes, including mine."

Natalie stepped toward him.

"Do you want to go check your house?"

Sam nodded.

"I think that would be wise under the circumstances. There's a river rising out there. We should at least try to save some of my belongings before it washes them away."

"Let's do it then," Natalie said. "Let's go to your place now. Let's rent the carriage for the day before our driver drives away."

CHAPTER 86: ADAM

South Fork, Pennsylvania

Adam saw trouble the minute he arrived. When he stepped off the train in South Fork at nine fifteen, he saw a dam under stress and a community on edge.

No matter where he looked, he saw signs of anxious times. Those who lived below the lake moved animals and belongings to higher ground. Men on horses carried equipment and news to and from crews that worked on the dam. A few rushed into and out of a telegraph office that presumably provided other communities with pertinent updates.

Still more watched the activity from the safety of their homes. For them and many others who lived on a hill that overlooked the Little Conemaugh River, nature's unrelenting assault of the South Fork Dam was a mesmerizing spectacle. It was the latest act in a drama that had played out over forty years and had maybe one more act to go.

For more than four hours, Adam did what he could to help and learn. He conveyed messages, carried supplies, and asked questions of almost everyone he met, including two men in their seventies who filled him in on the history of the area. Each told the visitor he could not remember a wetter spring or higher public anxiety about a major flood.

Adam also went to the dam itself. Though he had no reason to doubt the statements and opinions of the people he had met, he knew there was nothing like a personal inspection to confirm suspicions or alleviate fears. In the end, Adam Carson, civil engineer, needed only a few minutes to determine that George Gray, reporter, had reason for concern.

Water that once flowed only from a spillway now oozed and sprayed from the earth and rock in a dozen different places. Some of the leaks were large enough to send small rocks and debris tumbling down the steep ridge of rubble and further dampen a muddy base that was already saturated from weeks of wild weather. At one thirty in the afternoon, as rain began to fall, a dam designed to tame a lake was sweating through its seams.

Adam took notes of the things he saw and then followed South Fork Creek to South Fork town, where he expected to find everything from human activity to news from Johnstown to a train that was ready to travel. He found one of the three.

Though pedestrians and drivers still moved through the town, the westbound train from Altoona did not. Fully loaded with impatient passengers, it remained parked in place near the depot, sidelined by a mudslide near Mineral Point that had not yet been cleared.

Frustrated, concerned, and angry with himself for making this ill-advised trip, Adam walked out of the depot at two o'clock and headed for a supply store on the other side of the tracks. Owned and operated by a man named George Stineman, it had served as the unofficial headquarters of the relief effort and a place to get news and information.

Adam stepped onto the uncovered porch just as Bill Young, an engineer he had met for the first time that morning, walked out of the store. He knew the second he saw the frown on Bill's face that the situation, already bad, had taken a turn for the worse.

"What's the latest from the lake?" Adam asked.

"The reservoir has crested," Bill said.

"Tell me more."

"All right."

Adam and Bill stepped out of the way of three customers leaving the store and walked several feet to the edge of the weathered porch. They found a bench that faced the tracks, sat down, and resumed their conversation.

"Has the lake overflowed?" Adam asked.

Bill shook his head.

"It will though. The water level is rising a foot an hour. Even if the rain stops, the streams feeding the lake will push it over the top."

"Can't someone do something?"

"There's nothing anyone can do. The crews started to dig a second spillway on the west end of the dam, but they stopped when they saw the condition of the ground. They were concerned that a new passage in that location would make things worse, not better."

"Do you agree?" Adam asked.

"I do," Bill said. "The ground there is soft, too soft to support a new spillway. If the crews cut a gap on that side to relieve the pressure on the middle of the dam, it would not hold long. It might not hold at all. There is nothing we can do now except wait and pray."

Adam stared at his new acquaintance.

"Does Johnstown know this?"

Bill shrugged.

"I don't know. Miss Ehrenfeld, the telegraph operator, has been sending messages all morning, but she doesn't know how many have gone through. The lines are down near Mineral Point. As far as I can tell, no messages have reached the city."

That was all Adam needed to hear to decide on a course of action. If no one in South Fork could reach Johnstown by train or telegraph, he would try to do so on foot. He thought about the matter for a minute and then turned to face his fellow engineer.

"What's the fastest route to Johnstown?"

Bill pointed to the tracks.

"It's right there."

Adam tilted his head.

"What's the fastest way to get there on foot ?"

"You're looking at it," Bill said.

"There's no road?"

"There's no road I would take in this weather. There is only one way to get to town, my friend, and that way is right in front of us."

Adam stood up and offered his hand.

"Thanks for the information."

Bill got up and shook the hand.

"Where are you going?"

"Johnstown."

"Johnstown? You won't get there for hours."

"I know," Adam said. He sighed. "That's why I'm leaving now."

CHAPTER 87: GREG

Erie, Pennsylvania

Greg smiled as a ten-year-old girl, trapped inside a forty-year-old woman's body, took a porcelain doll out of his hands and held it to her chest. He knew the moment he saw a smile appear on her face that he had succeeded in his mission.

"Have I made someone's day?" Greg asked.

Martha Jamison gazed at her guest.

"You have. I treasured this doll as a child."

"I gathered it was important."

"Did Julia tell you the story behind it?"

"She gave me a short version," Greg said. "She said the doll was an heirloom originally owned by your maternal grandmother, an heirloom the two of you fought over as girls."

Martha smiled.

"She's right about that. We fought over this from the start, in part because we knew its story. We each wanted a piece of royalty."

"I don't follow."

"The original owner of this doll, Mr. Carson, was not Victoria Hayes, my grandmother. It was Victoria Hanover, the Queen of England."

Greg turned to face the woman who sat on the other end of the upholstered Italian chestnut sofa. He now had a story for his granddaughters.

"You have my attention."

"The story goes back to the 1840s," Martha said. "Before my grandfather, Patrick Hayes, bought a farm outside Erie and settled for the quiet life, he was President Tyler's trade emissary to Great Britain. He and my grandmother lived in London for three years, shortly after the queen began her reign and married Prince Albert. They saw the royals frequently, in both business and social settings, and came to be their friends."

"Is that so?" Greg asked.

Martha nodded.

"In any case, the queen gave my grandmother the doll as a gift when she and my grandfather left London in 1845. My grandmother, in turn, gave the doll to my mother, who held onto it until she died from pneumonia in 1859. Julia and I were ten at the time."

"What then?"

"My father gave the doll to Julia and me. He could not choose one daughter over the other, so he gave the doll to both of us. He hoped that the gift and the shared responsibility of taking care of it might bring us together, but in fact, it drove us further apart."

"That's sad," Greg said.

"Life is sad, Mr. Carson. It's nothing more than a series of heartbreaks, disappointments, and tragedies. I cannot remember the last time I was truly happy."

"Julia told me a little about your history."

"I'm sure she did," Martha said. "She's never been one to keep things to herself, except for porcelain dolls and husbands, that is."

Greg winced but did not respond to the loaded comment. He instead took a moment to study his new acquaintance. As he did, he noticed things he had not noticed when he first walked into the Colonial Revival mansion on West Twenty-First Street.

Martha Jamison, like her twin sister, was a strikingly attractive woman. With long, thick red hair, green eyes, and a figure that could give younger women a run for their money, she looked more like a debutante than a matron. She was also an educated and cultured woman who had filled her home with books, paintings, and sculptures.

Greg had noticed some of the works when he had first entered the home around noon, but he was most drawn to a photograph that sat atop a corner table in the parlor. Housed in a simple oak frame, the photo was an image of two sisters, maybe eighteen years of age, who smiled as they stood on opposite sides of a fortyish man in a rocking chair.

"May I ask you a question?" Greg asked.

Martha smiled.

"Isn't that why you're here?"

Greg chuckled.

"It's one of the reasons."

"Then ask away," Martha said.

"How did you all end up in Erie and San Francisco? Julia never provided the particulars on all that. She clammed up, in fact, the one time I asked her."

"That surprises me. She's always been proud of her roots."

"Are her roots in Erie?" Greg asked.

Martha nodded.

"As I mentioned earlier, my grandfather bought a farm near here shortly after he retired from government service. He had grown up in Erie and wanted to return to the people and places he had known as a boy. So he purchased some property, built a house, and traded one life for another. He raised apples the last ten years of his life."

"I see," Greg said. "Did your mother grow up on the farm?"

Martha shook her head.

"She grew up in Washington, New York, and London. She was twenty when my grandparents purchased the farm and wanted to marry a city boy. Then she spent a few weeks on the farm that summer and met the boy next door. Just that quickly, the emissary's daughter, a debutante of the first order, decided that raising apples was her calling in life."

"That's funny," Greg said with a laugh. "So did you grow up on your father's farm or on your grandfather's farm?"

"Both."

"Both?"

Martha nodded.

"My father, Jack Sanders, purchased my grandparents' farm after they passed away and then consolidated it with the land he inherited. So Julia and I grew up on a property that was larger than some counties. That's how we came into our wealth."

"I see," Greg said. "Then what?"

"Then Elijah entered the picture. I met him one spring in New York, where I attended a women's college and he was a manager in a shipping firm. We married right after I graduated and lived in the city for a few years while he secured his place in the company."

"When did he meet Julia?"

"He met her at our wedding," Martha said. "He started seeing her shortly after Julia moved to New York to pursue a career in acting. Elijah was so taken by my sister's performances that he started seeing her behind my back. He divorced me within a year, married Julia, and took a position with a larger shipping company in San Francisco."

"What about you?" Greg asked.

"I returned to Erie to take care of my father. When he died in the spring of 1880, I sold the farm, moved into this house, and started a new life. I have lived in this mansion, alone, for the past nine years. I never remarried. I have no children. That, Mr. Carson, is my story."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault I'm here," Martha said. "I'm not even sure it's Julia's. She did what many women would have done in the same situation. When love and happiness knocked on her door, she invited them in and kept them around. She gave Elijah the comfort and companionship he sought, the comfort and companionship I was not able to provide."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say a thing. You did not come here to console a woman who has made some bad choices. You came here to deliver a doll."

"I did. I also came here to deliver a letter."

"She gave you a letter?"

"It's right here," Greg said. He reached inside his jacket, retrieved an envelope, and handed it to Martha. "Julia gave this to me when I left San Francisco."

"I can read it later."

"I think you should read it now."

Martha sighed.

"I don't want to waste your time."

"You're not wasting anyone's time," Greg said. "Please read the letter. If you won't do it for Julia or yourself, then do it for the messenger."

Martha nodded. Then she opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and read it from beginning to end. When she finished the message, she gazed at Greg and smiled.

"Julia wants to see me."

"She wants to see you this fall," Greg said. "She wants to bury the hatchet and start a new relationship with her sister. She loves you, Martha. She said so to my face."

Martha wiped away a tear. Then she took a deep breath and studied the face of the man who had ended a long and bitter feud.

"I can see she got to you."

"What do you mean?

"Oh, come now, Mr. Carson. Don't be coy. For the past hour, I've tried to figure out why you came here. I could not understand why a stranger, much less a young, handsome man with better things to do, would go out of his way to bring two estranged sisters together. Now I understand. Julia worked her magic on you as well. I can see it in your face."

"She opened my eyes," Greg said. "She reminded me that life is too short to dwell on the things we cannot change. She reminded me we are never too old to live . For those things and others, I will always be grateful. She's a special lady — and so, may I say, are you."

"You need not flatter me. I will visit my sister."

"You'll see her this fall?"

"I'll see her this summer," Martha said. She placed her hand on Greg's. "As you said, life is too short to dwell on the things we cannot change. I think it's time for me to let go of the past and start embracing the present. It's time I paid a visit to California."

CHAPTER 88: ADAM

Cambria County, Pennsylvania

In the first hour of his journey from South Fork to Johnstown, Adam did not walk. He did not even saunter. He tripped, stumbled, and tiptoed his way over thousands of uneven railroad ties that were wholly unsuited for pedestrian traffic.

He had hoped to find a trail or a road that paralleled the tracks and made at least part of his trip more bearable, but he found nothing of the kind. In the first mile between South Fork and Mineral Point, where telegraph operators presumably waited, he found nothing but the river, the tracks, and steep hillsides that formed a lush but forbidding ravine.

Despite the unfavorable terrain and a steady rain that drenched him in the first fifteen minutes, he was happy to be moving. He knew that, even at this pace, he would reach Johnstown by dark and have ample opportunity to get his family out of harm's way.

He was reasonably confident he would make it before the dam gave way, if it gave way at all. Unlike Bill Young and some of the pessimists in South Fork, he thought the dam had some fight in it. Though earthen dams were not as reliable as the concrete wonders of the twentieth century, like Hoover and Grand Coulee, they were still formidable.

At three o'clock, as he walked west, with the dam at his back, Adam thought only good thoughts. He was sure this chapter in his life, like the rest in 1889, would turn out all right.

Foremost on his mind was his delightful wife of thirteen days. He looked forward to spending the night in the bridal suite and then whisking Bridget away from Johnstown, Pennsylvania, and the nineteenth century. Though he still had concerns about the next step in the time travel process, he was confident they would be in a better place by July.

Adam also thought about his siblings, their situations, and the struggles at least one of them faced as the family's time in the 1880s neared an end. As he had already discovered, it was one thing to ask people to leave the only life they had ever known. It was another to actually convince them to do it. He did not envy Natalie — or Cody, for that matter.

Adam slowed his step as he slipped on a greasy board and almost tripped on another. He wondered how many people had ever walked this route and guessed that the number was small. Only someone in a serious hurry would take on this obstacle course.

He thought about this and other things as he approached an anomaly in the Little Conemaugh River, which flowed swiftly to his left. At the halfway point between South Fork and Mineral Point, the river turned south, then west, and finally north, creating a nearly closed oxbow that was as troublesome as it was conspicuous.

The commonwealth had addressed the bend in the river in the early 1830s by cutting through a hundred feet of hilltop and building a seventy-five-foot-high sandstone viaduct near the top of the oxbow. Comprised of a single eighty-foot arch, the bridge spanned the river at a logical location and allowed trains to avoid the oxbow altogether.

Adam mentally saluted the men who had designed and engineered the solution as he approached it from the east. They were as creative and resourceful, he thought, as any professionals he had worked with in the twenty-first century.

When he finally reached the narrow cut, he glanced at the raging river below, looked and listened for oncoming trains, and stepped forward. Then he heard a boom.

The sound echoed through the valley like a distant cannon shot, a dull but distinctive noise that sent a shiver through his body. When he turned around to face the source of the sound, he saw the sum of all his fears. He saw a monster, a moving mass, a wall of water that crashed into South Fork's hillside, shifted direction, and roared his way.

Paralyzed by fascination, fear, and indecision, Adam stared at the wave as it gained speed and strength through one of the narrowest parts of the valley. Then his survival instincts took over and he ran. He ran through the cut and onto the viaduct without giving a second thought to tripping, falling, or running into an eastbound locomotive.

Adam slowed to a stop as he reached the middle of the bridge and the thunderous noise dissipated. For more than five minutes, he heard nothing except the wind, the rain, and the normal sounds of the rapids below. Doubt set in. Fears eased. For a moment, Adam Carson, a man of sound mind, began to believe he had imagined the whole thing.

Then he heard a roar, felt a strong gust of wind, and saw that his usually steady mind had not failed him after all. At three thirty, seven hours after he had hopped a train in Johnstown, Adam saw a fifty-foot wall of water roll into view, carom north, and take aim at a fifty-six-year-old viaduct. He saw the Grim Reaper with a watery face.

This time Adam did not hesitate. He ran to the west end of the bridge, the one that loomed highest over the river, and watched in horror as the irresistible force demolished everything in its path and carried tons of debris toward a presumably immovable object.

The wall struck a minute later with the force of a thousand locomotives, slamming the viaduct directly from top to bottom. Trees, rocks, houses, and even damaged railroad cars crashed into the bridge and formed a wall of debris that, for a time, held the water back.

For more than two minutes, the immovable object did not move. The engineering feat that Adam so admired held tons of water at bay and gave twenty thousand people in the valley below a new lease on life. An iconic bridge designed to support the heaviest trains had taken on a more important role. Somehow, someway, man had defeated nature.

Then, just that quickly, man lost. A bridge made of Pennsylvania's finest stone exploded into hundreds of pieces. Water that had been denied or delayed rushed through the newly created space quickly and violently. The viaduct had not stopped the monster. It had allowed it to rest, recharge, and approach its most vulnerable prey with added strength.

Adam threw his hands to his head as he watched what was once Lake Conemaugh race toward Mineral Point. He could only hope and pray that the telegraph operators there had received and relayed any warnings to the more populous communities downstream.

Adam fought back tears as he began to consider what this meant for him. Most of his loved ones, including his wife and his youngest siblings, were now in the path of the flood. All were undoubtedly oblivious of the danger to come. If they received any warning of the pending doom, it would probably come too late. Only God could save them now.

CHAPTER 89: NATALIE

Woodvale, Pennsylvania

Sam and Natalie did not waste a minute trying to save his belongings from a river rising six inches an hour. For more than three hours, they carried carpets, tables, and chairs from the first floor to the second and did what they could to prepare for the worst.

Fortunately for the bureau chief, the reporter, and the residents of Woodvale, the worst had not yet come to Johnstown's most-fashionable suburb. Though the Little Conemaugh had overrun its banks and flooded lawns, it had not yet swamped the houses of the tidy borough, including Sam Prentiss' white frame house at the east end of Maple Avenue.

Woodvale could thank geography for its good fortune. Because it lay nearly fifty feet above Johnstown, which Sam often called the "bottom of the tub," it had managed to keep the waters at bay. Unlike its larger neighbor, it was in relatively good shape.

Natalie thought about good fortunes and good shapes, including her own weary body, as she walked down the stairs and stepped into a nearly empty living room. She watched with amusement as her friend stared at a sofa that was bigger than a boxcar.

"Don't even think about it," Natalie said, drawing out each word. "I'm serious. If the river reaches this room, then that couch is going to have to take it for the team."

Sam smiled.

"I agree."

Natalie joined him in the middle of the room.

"We could ask the driver to help us when he comes back. I'm sure for an extra twenty he would be happy to break a hip or throw out his back."

"No," Sam said. He laughed. "We've troubled him enough."

"You're probably right."

"Can I get you anything?"

Natalie shook her head.

"All I want now is fresh air."

"Then let's get some."

"OK."

Sam motioned toward the open front door and followed Natalie out of the house and onto a long covered porch that faced Maple Avenue. A moment later, at three thirty, he joined her on a porch swing they had enjoyed on just two previous occasions.

"You look tired."

"I am. I'm exhausted," Natalie said. She settled into her seat and let her free arm fall to the side. "I haven't done this much lifting in years."

Sam took a deep breath.

"Neither have I. Thanks for helping out."

"You're welcome. Let's do it again soon."

"Let's not."

Natalie laughed.

"OK. You win."

Sam gazed at her with adoring eyes.

"You continue to amaze me. I don't know many women who would offer to move furniture around a house, much less enjoy it. You really are something."

Natalie offered a playful smile.

"Is that a compliment, Mr. Prentiss?"

"It is."

"Then I'll take it."

Sam chuckled.

"I hoped you would."

Natalie leaned into his side and gazed at the lawn, the street, and a river that continued to slowly rise. Floodwaters now spilled from the street onto the yard.

"When does our driver come back?"

"I asked him to return no later than four. He said he would come back as soon as he completed some errands in East Conemaugh. He shouldn't be long."

"That's all right. I'm in no hurry."

Sam nodded. Then he stretched his arm over Natalie's shoulders and pulled her close. He seemed as relaxed and content as his love interest and fellow furniture mover.

"It looks like the rain is letting up."

Natalie sighed.

"Thank God for that. I'm done with rain."

Sam smiled.

"Then I'm afraid I have bad news. June is wetter than May."

Natalie stared at Sam.

"June is wetter than this ?"

Sam laughed.

"July is wetter still. We get a lot of rain."

"Then I'm glad I'm moving."

Natalie regretted the comment as soon as it left her lips. Though she was more than ready to give up Pennsylvania's wet weather, she was not ready to give up Sam.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I know you didn't," Sam said. "Even if you did, I couldn't blame you. After all the rain we've had this spring, I'm ready to move too. I would even move to the territories."

Natalie raised a brow.

"Are you trying to restart a conversation we shelved?"

Sam smiled sadly.

"If I am, I'm doing a poor job."

Natalie took his hand and kissed it.

"I'm not putting you off for sport, Sam. I really do need time to talk to my siblings before I can share any particulars with you. Greg will return from Erie on Sunday. I'll speak to him and the others then and get back to you on Monday. I won't hold anything back."

Sam looked at her thoughtfully.

"Perhaps we can run away for a day or two."

 "Do you have something in mind?"

"I do. I'd like to go back to Pittsburgh."

"Pittsburgh? We just left Pittsburgh," Natalie said. She looked at Sam with amusement. "Wouldn't you rather go to someplace exotic and romantic, like Ebensburg or Altoona?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. Then he answered the question.

"I would rather go to Pittsburgh. I know we just left, but I would like to go back. I would like to take care of some business I didn't finish last night. Does that make sense?"

Natalie nodded.

"It makes all the sense in the world."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Sam said.

Natalie tightened her hold on his hand.

"I'll tell you what. Let's spend Monday and Tuesday in Pittsburgh and pick up where we left off. Let's take care of unfinished business, clear the air, and see what happens."

"You'll really clear the air?" Sam asked.

"I'll scrub it clean."

"Then I believe we have an engagement."

Natalie smiled as she considered his choice of words. Sam was as transparent as a time portal in Sedona. He would probably propose marriage before his mother had a chance to interrupt him a second time. Natalie, in turn, would accept his proposal, if only he agreed to do one little thing. He would have to leave his world behind.

For the next five minutes, the lovebirds enjoyed a spring drizzle, a soft breeze, and each other's company. They put families, floods, and problems aside and took pleasure in the moment. They celebrated life as only they could.

Natalie burrowed into Sam's side and let time slip away. She tuned out the world and drifted to a happy place until a splashing sound brought her back to the here and now.

"Do you hear something?"

Sam lifted his head and cupped his ear.

"I do. It's coming from the street."

Natalie glanced east, toward the end of Maple Avenue and the edge of the borough, and saw a horse-drawn wagon almost hydroplane through the flooded street. She got up from the swing, stepped to the edge of the porch, and saw a familiar sight.

"I think that's our driver."

Sam got up from his seat and joined her at the rail. He needed only a quick glance at the fast-moving carriage to see that it was their ride to Johnstown.

"It is our driver. He's early."

"Shall we go out to meet him?" Natalie asked.

Sam nodded.

"Flag him down. I'll lock the door and join you."

"All right."

As Sam stepped toward the door, Natalie rushed down the porch steps, waded into the flooded front yard, and threw up an arm. She figured that alone would be sufficient to grab the driver's attention and get him to stop in front of the house. As it turned out, it wasn't sufficient to get him to stop at all. He rode past the property like Ben-Hur.

"Hey!" Natalie shouted. "Come back!"

Sam did not wait to lend a hand. He leaped off the porch, ran across the yard, and chased the carriage in the street as far as he could. He shook a fist at the driver as he drove two horses and a wagon at breakneck speed toward the bridge and Johnstown.

"Come back here!" Sam yelled.

When it became clear that the driver was not going to return anytime soon, Natalie sighed, turned around, and peered down the street. She hoped to see another coachman or a horseman or even a person in a rowboat willing to take two journalists to town. What she saw instead brought a lump to her throat. She saw a nightmare in motion.

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"We have trouble," Natalie said.

The nightmare, which loomed in the east, was a black, misty, formless wave that rolled through the valley at maybe thirty miles per hour. Forty feet high and two thousand feet wide, it snapped trees, crushed buildings, and swept away everything in its path.

Natalie knew she should run, but she did not. Mesmerized by the avalanche of violence headed her way, she stood her ground like a single soldier facing an advancing army.

Sam did not hesitate to act. He rushed to Natalie's side, grabbed her left hand, and pulled her northward before she had a chance to process the horror around her.

"Let's go! We must hurry!"

Natalie snapped out of a daze and looked at Sam. When she saw his ashen face and panicked eyes, she knew they were going to die.

"Sam?"

"Save it."

Natalie said no more. From the moment she and Sam left Maple Avenue, she did nothing but listen and follow as they raced four blocks toward higher ground.

As the two ran through a flooded side street toward a home perched on a hill, Natalie thought of her siblings and the perils each now faced. Had Adam survived this calamitous wave? Would Cody and Caitlin? Like her new sister-in-law, Frank O'Malley, and thousands of others, they were bowling pins in a fourteen-mile-long alley of destruction.

Natalie did not doubt that the South Fork Dam had failed. She knew that only a sudden and catastrophic release of Lake Conemaugh's twenty million tons of water could create a wave this high in a valley this broad. She thought of Caitlin's warnings, George Gray's telegram, and the concerns of others throughout the years. This, she concluded, was not an act of God or a product of nature. It was a failure of man.

Natalie glanced at the wave as she followed Sam over four sets of tracks and noticed that it had grown. She saw not a danger in the distance but rather an immediate threat. She saw a shifting mass that threatened to reach them before they could reach the residence.

"We're not going to make it," Natalie said.

Sam looked back.

"Yes, we are ."

He tightened his hold on her hand and as they ran through the last intersection and headed for the house. He knew, as she did, that the residence, a Stick-Eastlake mansion that rose forty feet above the street, offered their best chance for survival.

Natalie did her best to set aside the noise and focus on the sight ahead. She tuned out the sounds of trees snapping, buildings imploding, and glass breaking. It was white noise, she thought, a special effect that was secondary to the wave itself.

Then the white noise grew more ominous. As Sam and Natalie reached the edge of the mansion's front lawn, snaps became shots, implosions turned to thunder, and a special effect became a cacophony of doom. The two released hands, broke into a full sprint, and raced toward twenty concrete steps that led directly to the porch.

Natalie reached the stairs first and grabbed a sturdy iron handrail as water rushed through the trees and swept over the property. For a few seconds, she did nothing but hold on and wait. Then Sam reached the steps, grabbed the rail, and nudged her forward.

The journalists climbed the first ten steps with relative ease. They moved quickly through the cold, churning, knee-high water until they reached a four-by-four-foot landing, caught their breath, and gathered their strength for the push to the top.

Then their luck changed. The water rose two feet in ten seconds and knocked Natalie and Sam off their feet. For more than a minute, the friends struggled to hang on as they battled a strong current and debris that included boxes, branches, and boards.

"I'm stuck," Natalie said. "I can't move."

Sam urged her to act.

"Yes, you can. Keep trying. Just keep trying."

So Natalie did. She regained her footing and slowly pulled herself toward a porch that marked the northern edge of the flood zone. Ten difficult steps later, Natalie Carson, soaked from head to toe, climbed onto the dry porch, turned around, and reached out to her partner. She barely managed to touch his hand when a beam the size of a small church pew struck him in the side, pushed him under the lee rail, and sent him into the flow.

"Sam!"

Natalie rushed down the steps as Sam, completely horizontal, floundered in the current and clung to the rail with a single hand. She could see from the grimace on his face that he was badly injured and would not make it without immediate assistance.

"Hold on, Sam. Just hold on!"

Natalie wrapped her right arm around the rail and reached out with her left as the rising water pinned her to the iron bar. She sighed with relief when she grabbed Sam's left hand, the one holding the rail, and screamed when he lost his grip.

For several agonizing seconds, Natalie clung to her companion with four fingers as small debris hit her back and the river spilled onto the porch. She pleaded with Sam to reach for the rail and give her a chance to save him, but her pleas had no effect.

As the torrent raged around them, Sam Prentiss, a man of considerable strength and courage, gave up his struggle and gave up on life. He lifted his head above the water, gazed at Natalie with tired eyes, and spoke the words of a regretful man.

"Remember me."

Then he released Natalie's hand, drifted away from the house, and disappeared into the mist. Just that quickly, a noble man, the love of someone's life, was gone.

CHAPTER 90: BRIDGET

Johnstown, Pennsylvania

Bridget turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped aside as a family of six spilled into a room with a canopy bed, antique dressers, and a vanity. Though she did not care much for the circumstances that had forced her to open the room, she admitted she did like looking at four smiling girls — ages three to eight — as they sat on the bed.

"I hope this is suitable," Bridget said.

Molly Perrine, wife of Mark and mother of Penelope, Abigail, Beatrice, and Eleanor, turned away from the fourth-floor window and gazed at her hostess. A slim, pretty redhead in her late twenties, she looked like a woman whose ship had come in.

"This is perfect," Molly said. She joined Bridget and Mark in the middle of the room. Like everyone else, she was soaking wet. "Did you say this was your best room?"

Bridget nodded.

"It's our bridal suite. We rent it out maybe ten times a year."

"We should give you something," Mark said. He reached for his wallet. "We can't take this room in good conscience without at least paying for it."

Bridget held up her hand.

"Please keep your money, Mr. Perrine. I have been instructed by the owner of this hotel to open our doors to all today. You and your family are our guests."

"Thank you," Mark said.

"You're welcome."

"Do you know where we can find a meal tonight?" Molly asked. She looked at her girls and then at Bridget. "All the restaurants and stores are closed. Everything is closed."

"I'm not surprised," Bridget said. "It's hard to do business in three feet of water. We're going to try though. We managed to save most of our stores this morning and will distribute them to our guests in about an hour. If I'm not mistaken, we still have some ice cream in our iceboxes. We received a shipment yesterday. Do your girls like ice cream?"

Molly laughed.

"That's a silly question."

Bridget smiled.

"I imagine it is. I will bring some up myself."

"Thank you," Molly said. "You're too kind."

Bridget turned to Mark.

"Can I get you anything else before I go?"

Mark shook his head.

"I think we're set."

Bridget handed Mark the key to the room.

"Then I will take my leave, Mr. Perrine. Please let me know if you need anything. I will be downstairs swimming with the rest of the staff."

Mark laughed.

"I will call if I need you. Thank you again."

"You're welcome," Bridget said.

With that, Bridget O'Malley Carson, outgoing desk clerk at the Colbert House and giver of bridal suites, took her leave. She stepped out of the room, entered a stuffy hallway, and walked toward a linen closet in the middle of the carpeted corridor.

As she did, she thought about Adam, Greg, Natalie, Cody, and Caitlin, the members of her new family. She wondered where they were at this moment and hoped they were safe. She worried most about her husband, of course, and secretly wished he had never left. She did not like the idea of him wandering around the porous South Fork Dam on a day like this.

Bridget retrieved some sheets and towels from the closet, gave them to two couples in nearby rooms, and then walked to the end of the hallway and the entrance to the stairs. At five minutes after four, she was hot, weary, and more than ready to call it a day.

As she started down the stairs, she thought about the girl who had left Ireland in 1883, the music student who had become engaged, the hotel employee, the dutiful niece, and the wife of a man who claimed he was from the twenty-first century. She also thought about the woman who would raise her children in a time she had never seen.

Would she cope well with the changes to come? Would she like her new life? She did not know. On what was presumably her last day as a working girl, Bridget knew only that she was ready to take on new challenges as a member of a family she adored.

When she reached the second-floor landing, she stepped into the hallway, walked to the end of the corridor, and opened a window that provided a view of Main Street. She shook her head as she saw people walk, stumble, and swim through three feet of water. Not once in her twenty-three years on God's green earth had she seen such a mess.

Bridget stuck her head out the window, inhaled some fresh air, and then stepped back. As much as she wanted to stand in this spot and take a break from her duties, she knew she could not. She had work to do and guests to look after.

She turned around and started down the hallway but stopped when she heard a dull, loud, rumbling noise outside. She ran back to the window and looked at the street just as the water began to rise and dozens of boards, boxes, and books floated past the hotel.

Then she stuck her head out the window again, looked to the east, and saw a churning black-and-gray mass move its way down Main Street. In that instant, Bridget knew that her life — her relatively brief, uninteresting life — was about to take a turn for the worse.

She pulled back from the window, turned around, and ran down an empty hallway to the only stairway in the hotel. Then she raced down two flights of stairs and stepped into a lobby filled with at least four feet of water. She panicked when she saw it was empty.

"Uncle? Where are you?"

"I'm here," Frank said. He poked his head through the doorway on the far side of the lobby. "Just give me a minute. I have to get something."

"Please hurry," Bridget said. "There's something . . ."

Bridget never finished her sentence. Before she could utter another word, the building shook and water crashed through the front door and the windows facing Clinton Street.

In a matter of seconds, four feet of water became five, five became six, and six became a nightmare of unimaginable proportions. Before Bridget could even process what she saw, rushing water filled an entire room from floor to ceiling. She screamed.

"Uncle!"

Frank did not reply. Nor did he stir. Whether dead or dying, he was already gone. He was as lost to this world as his wife, his brother, and his parents.

Bridget set aside her shock and grief and scrambled up the stairs as water that rose six inches a second threatened to claim her too. She reached the second-floor landing just as a man opened the door to the hallway and started to lead his family into the stairwell.

"Go upstairs," Bridget said to the man, his wife, and their three children. "Go to the top floor, alert others if you can, and wait for me. Please hurry. We have no time to waste."

Bridget allowed the frightened family to pass and then raced into the dim and empty corridor. She knocked on doors, issued orders, and did everything she could to move frantic people from the second floor to the third and the third floor to the fourth.

When she finally reached the top level, she went first to the bridal suite. She wanted to make sure that the most vulnerable of her guests had at least a decent shot at survival.

"Please follow me," Bridget said to Mark and Molly Perrine. "Gather your girls and leave your belongings. We must all get to the roof. We must all get there now."

She ran to a door near the end of the hallway, opened it wide, and stepped inside a bare, closet-like chamber that was nine feet square. Then she scaled a ten-foot iron ladder, pushed open a hatch, and stepped onto a roof she had not accessed in weeks.

For the next few minutes, Bridget helped people climb to the top of the ladder, pass through a narrow opening, and step onto a flat, open space forty feet above the street. She lifted the young, pulled the arms of the weak, and encouraged the reluctant. She did what she could to get at least some of the people in her charge to safety.

As she managed the chaos on the roof, she ignored the chaos in the streets, where a wave of water at least thirty feet high had toppled buildings and swept away people, animals, and property like sawdust on the floor of a shop. She ignored the shouts, screams, and pleas of people who were dying all around her. She ignored a hell on earth.

Bridget took comfort in only one thing. The building beneath her feet had withstood the forces threatening to take it down. Even in deep, swirling water that pressured its sides, it stood firm. For the first time in minutes, Bridget began to think that the people scrambling to the top of the hotel would live to see another day.

Then disaster struck. The east side of the Colbert House, the one bearing the brunt of the deluge, imploded. Within seconds, the roof, the sturdy platform on which so many depended, descended into the raging waters like a raft that had been dropped from the sky.

Most of the thirty people on the roof fell into the water right away. A few joined them seconds later. At least eight clung to eaves, vent pipes, or each other.

The Perrine family struggled with the rest. Molly Perrine held a vent pipe with one hand and her youngest daughter with the other. Two other children, Abigail and Beatrice, clung to her legs. Mark and Penelope, the oldest daughter, clutched eaves on what had been the west edge of the roof. All bore the faces of people knocking on death's door.

Bridget held onto the hatch as the roof rose and fell and spun wildly like a rudderless ship in a stormy sea. She clutched her stomach when the roof tilted forty-five degrees and vomited when she saw Mark and Penelope Perrine disappear over the side.

For the next minute, Bridget held on for dear life as her makeshift raft crashed into other buildings, took on water, and drifted violently toward the stone bridge, which loomed on the horizon perhaps two hundred yards away. She cried when she saw Beatrice Perrine, the second youngest daughter, slide off her mother's leg and roll off the roof.

When Abigail, the second oldest, started to do the same, Bridget rushed into action. She let go of the hatch and crawled across the surface to Molly Perrine's aid. She reached the frantic mother just as more water swept over the roof and washed her daughter away.

Deciding it was better to die as a hero than live as a coward, Bridget Carson, a strong swimmer, followed Abigail over the edge and swam frantically toward the screaming six-year-old. She reached the girl just as she threw her hands up and started to go under.

"I've got you, sweetheart," Bridget said. She pulled the child close. "Just hold me tight. Don't let go. Whatever you do, don't let go."

Bridget looked on in dismay as the roof of the Colbert House, now completely free of people, drifted closer to the bridge, where debris had begun to collect and pile up. She cried as she thought of how this flood, this violent, heartless flood, had turned a family of six into a family of one in mere minutes. She could not believe that fate could be so cruel.

Bridget looked for help and found it in the form of two scrawny men, who floated toward her on a raggedy raft. When they came within shouting distance, she called out to them, raised her right arm, and waved it around. Within seconds, the men were upon her.

"Please take her," Bridget said. "I'm getting weak."

The men responded quickly. Each grabbed one of Abigail's arms and pulled her onto the raft, which resembled the roof of a small house. One man attended to the girl immediately. The other tried to help Bridget. He extended a hand and urged her to grab it.

Bridget could not do it. Exhausted and sore, she could not even lift a hand. She could do no more than stay afloat as the raft, her lifeboat, began to drift away. She started to sob when it became clear that the men could not swim and would not come after her.

Then she made one more attempt to save herself. Gathering what was left of her limited strength, she lowered her head, brought her arms forward, and swam toward the raft as fast as she could. Swimming through swells and a field of debris, she cut a twenty-yard gap in half in just a few seconds as the men urged her forward. For the first time since leaving the safety of the Colbert House roof, Bridget O'Malley believed she would survive.

Then a floating chest, barely visible in the churning water, struck her from the side. The chest crushed her left arm, stopped her momentum, and pushed her away from the raft.

Bridget looked at the men as they called out to her and motioned her forward. She hadn't the strength to tell them she could not continue. She hadn't the will. All she could do as she drifted farther from the raft was think of the sharp, relentless pain.

Bobbing in the water like so much debris, Bridget raised her right arm one last time. When this final, futile gesture failed to draw the attention of others, she lowered her arm, closed her eyes, and reluctantly accepted her fate. She buried her face in the dirty, swirling water, let her body go slack, and gave herself back to her maker.