CHAPTER 95: NATALIE

USS Echo, North Atlantic Ocean – Wednesday, November 27, 1918

Natalie approached the wounded warriors with caution. Though she wanted to speak to both, particularly the one with the killer blue eyes, she did not want to disturb a private conversation between brothers. She wanted to give Army lieutenants Tom Jackson and Cal Jackson as much space as possible as they coped with the loss of their father, recovered from gunshot wounds to their thighs, and made the difficult transition to civilian life.

As she walked on the slick deck toward the stern railing, she observed the men closely and looked for helpful signs. She picked up her step when she heard a laugh. She figured that even a nosy reporter could not ruin a moment marked by laughter.

"Hi, guys," Natalie said. "How are you this morning?"

Tom and Cal turned to face the cheerful newcomer. Each of the brothers wore an olive drab Army uniform, a garrison cap, and a smile. Each clung to a pair of wooden crutches.

"I'm fine," Tom said. "How are you ?"

"I'm fine now. I've been looking for both of you since I got up at six. Have you been hiding in the back of the ship?"

"I have," Cal said. "Tom just arrived. He's been in the mess all morning badgering the cooks and eating eggs and sausages. Rumor has it he cleaned the place out."

Natalie turned to Tom.

"Is the rumor true?"

Tom shook his head.

"My brother is spreading faulty intelligence. I ate my share and nothing more. I would not dream of hoarding the vital resources aboard this vessel."

"If you didn't, that would be a first," Cal said with a laugh. "I'm going to find out for myself whether you're telling the truth. I'm going to get some breakfast now."

"You do that," Tom said.

Cal looked at Natalie.

"Would you care to join me?"

"Can I take a rain check?" Natalie asked. "I just ate."

"How about dinner?"

"Dinner would be nice."

"Then I'll see you tonight," Cal said. "Tell Tom he can come along too as long as he doesn't monopolize the conversation. He has a habit of doing that with pretty ladies."

Natalie smiled.

"I'll tell him that."

Cal tipped his hat to Natalie, gave his brother a scolding glance, and then hobbled away from the scene. He disappeared through a hatch a moment later.

"I think my brother likes you," Tom said.

Natalie raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you did."

"Oh, I do. My ardor hasn't cooled since Vittel."

"You're such a flirt."

Tom sighed.

"Flirting keeps my mind off other things."

Natalie frowned.

"How are you really doing, Lieutenant?"

"I'm coping, Miss Carson. Like Cal and every other man on this ship who has lost a comrade or a family member lately, I'm coping. I'm making the best of a bad situation."

"I am so sorry about your father."

"So am I. He was a great man."

"Have you heard from your mother?"

Tom nodded.

"She sent me a telegram on Friday, the day I left the hospital in Le Havre. She said two hundred people attended my father's funeral in Gettysburg, including several of your relatives. It seems your family and mine have become rather close in the past few weeks."

"Is that a bad thing?" Natalie asked.

"It's a mysterious thing."

"How is that?"

"My mother rarely mentioned your family before this year," Tom said. "Except for a few passing references to your father and your aunt, she never mentioned them at all. Now she mentions them in every letter and telegram. I'm still trying to figure that out."

Natalie smiled.

"Maybe we're just nice people."

Tom chuckled.

"I could have told you that."

"I know it's odd. I can't explain it either," Natalie said. "Perhaps your mother sees my father and aunt when she sees my brother and sister. You can't really blame her for embracing the past after all she's been through. We all need crutches at times."

Tom smiled.

"In my case, I need two."

Natalie laughed.

"You, Lieutenant Jackson, are a pill!"

"That's what my mother says."

"Are you looking forward to seeing her?"

"I am," Tom said. He gazed at the choppy ocean and then turned again to the reporter in the dark green dress. "I'm looking forward to seeing all my family and resuming my life."

"That's good."

"I'm also looking forward to exploring possibilities."

Natalie blushed.

"I was afraid you would say that."

"Why would you be afraid?" Tom asked. "Don't you want to see if we have more in common than a love of French wine, Dutch paintings, and Pennsylvania apples?"

"You know I do."

"Then give me a chance."

"I wish I could," Natalie said.

"Why can't you?"

"I just can't."

Tom smiled.

"Will you at least tell me why I'm unworthy?"

"You're not unworthy. You just live in the wrong time zone."

"I don't understand."

Natalie paused before proceeding. As much as she wanted to put the matter to bed and do so as soon as possible, she did not want to create more trouble for herself.

"Let me ask you a question."

"Fire away."

"Would you still want to see me if seeing me, at least for a long time, meant leaving your mother, your brothers, your sister, and everything you have ever known?"

Tom furrowed his brow.

"Do you mean for months or years?"

"I mean forever ."

"Of course I wouldn't."

Natalie offered a satisfied smile.

"Then you know why I can't see you."

Tom laughed.

"My mother warned me about women like you. She said that ladies who speak in riddles are the most dangerous ones of all. She said they keep men on their toes."

"She's right."

"So are you going to explain your situation?"

Natalie shook her head.

"I'm going to leave that to your wise and gracious mother. I will ask her to tell you all my sordid secrets after I leave Gettysburg with my family."

"It appears I've lost the fight."

"Yes and no."

Tom cocked his head.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I won't leave you until December 8," Natalie said. She took his hands, kissed him lightly on the lips, and smiled. "Until then, I'm all yours."

CHAPTER 96: ADAM

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania – Tuesday, December 3, 1918

Like animals approaching Noah's Ark, a dozen members of the Jackson and Carson families, moving in pairs, marched toward the Memory Tree. Some of the pairs were old. Some were new. A few were temporary. All made sense in the grand scheme of things.

Emma and middle son Calvin led the menagerie, followed by Greta and Freddie, Caitlin and Cody, Natalie and Tom, Patricia and Greg, and Bridget and Adam. Each duo walked down the slushy driveway with purpose, pride, and determination.

Adam did not mind bringing up the rear. Walking in the back of the pack gave him the opportunity to observe the others and speak privately to his wife of six months.

"How do you feel today?" Adam asked.

"I feel heavy," Bridget said.

"Well, I think you look beautiful."

"You're just saying that because you have to."

Adam smiled.

"I'm saying it, Mrs. Carson, because it's true. It will be true next month and even in February when you will really want to strangle me for putting you in this position."

"I don't want to strangle you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Bridget said. "My child needs a father."

Adam laughed.

"I suppose he does."

"He?"

"I'm an optimist."

"Well, we'll see how far optimism gets you," Bridget said. "My family, on both sides, has produced far more girls than boys. I suspect I will be no different."

"That's the spirit, hon."

"I'll deal with you later."

"I'm sure you will," Adam said with a smile. He tightened his hold on Bridget's hand and then glanced at the front of the pack. "What does Emma have up her sleeve?"

"I don't know."

Adam didn't either, but he had a pretty good idea. He suspected that his friend, who was as superstitious as Caitlin and as sentimental as Natalie, had a presentation in mind. He knew that the matriarch didn't drag eleven people out of a warm house for nothing.

As the group moved ever closer to the special spruce, Adam let his mind drift to Sedona, the solstice, and a reunion he had dreamed about for months. Though he did not know for certain he would find his parents in nineteen days, he was reasonably sure he would. He knew Tim and Caroline Carson like the back of his hand and knew they would do everything in their power to keep an appointment they had announced in advance.

Adam, in turn, would do everything in his power to get his party to Arizona and the portal before autumn turned to winter and a seemingly endless game of tag drifted from its second round to its third. He was confident he would get it done.

Two minutes later, Emma dropped Calvin's hand, stepped away from the group, and asked her family and friends to form a circle around the Memory Tree. When the circle was complete, she stuck her hand in her deep coat pocket, retrieved a large yellow ribbon, and asked the others to join hands. Then she spoke to them in a soft but clear voice.

"As most of you know, this tree, a gift from my beloved husband on our fifteenth wedding anniversary, is very special to me. It represents love, hope, forgiveness, remembrance, and all the things that tie us together as people. For many years, I have tried to honor those I love, respect, and admire by tying ribbons to its branches. Though some may consider such gestures empty and ineffective, I do not. I have continued to decorate this tree through the years because I believe I am accomplishing something meaningful and important. I am feeding my soul, if not providing an example to others."

Adam scanned the faces in the circle and saw several sets of moist eyes. He did not need to see more to know that Emma Bauer Jackson, former stage actress, had already wowed her audience with her latest and most important performance.

"I love this tree, but I am not the only one who reveres it. Someone else in our extended family, a young woman with the wisdom of the ages and the compassion of a saint, thinks it is pretty special too. For more than three months, she has come to this sacred place nearly every day to remember the dead, pray for the living, and honor the brave. She has done so because she believes it is our obligation as human beings to think of others and do what we can, when we can, to make this world a better place," Emma said. She turned to face Caitlin, who stood between Freddie and Cody four places away. "Caitlin, can you come here?"

Caitlin stepped forward. Even with blubbery eyes and wobbly legs, she managed to walk several feet to the mistress of ceremonies and the keeper of memories.

Emma embraced her old friend like a mother might embrace a child. For more than a minute, she held Caitlin close, kissed her head, and let her tears flow. She showed all the emotion she did not show at her husband's funeral and a whole lot more. When the hugs and tears and suppressed emotions of twenty-two days had run their course, Emma released Caitlin, wiped her eyes, and handed her protégé the belt-sized streamer.

"As you can see, I did not pick a red, white, or blue ribbon," Emma said. "I picked a yellow ribbon instead because I want to remember Tom as a family man and not a military man. He was a person who would have surely loved your family as much as I do. So please do him the honor of making him a Carson. Nothing in this world would make me happier."

Caitlin nodded, dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and approached the tree. She tied the ribbon to a large middle branch, one that could be seen from the driveway, and then stepped back to admire her handiwork. She seemed pleased with the sight.

"Is that good?"

"It's more than good. It's perfect," Emma said. She smiled, opened her arms, and invited Caitlin back for another hug. "It's absolutely perfect."

Adam wiped away a tear of his own as he witnessed one of the most moving moments in his twenty-eight years. If he could paste only one snapshot in his time-travel scrapbook, it would be this picture of his unappreciated baby sister getting her due.

Emma let the good feeling linger for a moment as the others dropped hands, broke ranks, and reassembled in front of the tree. Then she released Caitlin, reached into her coat pocket a second time, and pulled out a small paper bag.

"What's that?" Caitlin asked.

"It's a gift for you," Emma said. She handed Caitlin the bag, hugged her again, and then turned to face the entire Carson clan. "It's a gift for each and every one of you. It's a bag of seeds I have collected from this tree each September for the past five years."

Caitlin held up the seeds.

"What do you want us to do with them?"

Emma smiled.

"I want you to plant them, of course. I want you to plant Memory Trees in Arizona and wherever else you go in life."

Cody spoke up.

"They won't grow in Flagstaff. The soil's too rocky."

Emma laughed and opened her arms.

"Oh, come here, you silly boy!"

"OK."

Adam joined others in hearty laughter as Cody Carson, botany expert, clueless teenager, and unwitting comic, fell into Emma Jackson's loving embrace. He wondered if it were even possible for the moment to get more poignant. Then, just that quickly, it did.

Emma released Cody for a second, pulled Caitlin close, and then threw her arms around both of the twins. She started to cry as she began to address the others.

"This has been a stressful year. It has also been a beautiful year. Thanks to these two precious souls, I have learned and grown and become a better person. Because of the rest of you, I have managed get through three difficult weeks. I will never forget what you have done for my family. Nor will I forget what you have done for me. You are the family I will always hold in my heart and remember in my prayers. I love you all."

CHAPTER 97: TIM

Mankato, Minnesota – Saturday, December 7, 1918

Elsie Anderson had worried for nothing. Though the guests on the bride's side of the aisle at Green Valley Lutheran Church did not outnumber those on the groom's side, they showed up in force. More than eighty of Elsie's relatives, colleagues, and friends, including a couple born in the 1960s, braved a nasty blizzard to see two survivors tie the knot.

Tim looked around the dimly lit sanctuary as the pianist played Protestant hits from the 1880s and the assembled guests talked quietly. Though he saw a number of young adults, including a nurse he recognized, he did not see any of his children, his Irish daughter-in-law, or the former Tijuana barkeeper who had won his second son. He looked at his wife.

"It looks like we struck out again."

Caroline gave him a pointed glance.

"Did you really think they would show?"

"I thought they might," Tim said.

"Well, I didn't. I'm beginning to think we will never see them again. I don't know how much more of this I can take, Tim. I need some good news."

"You'll get it. I don't know when, but you'll get it."

Caroline forced a smile and took his hand.

"I hope so."

Tim frowned as he tried to reconcile his optimism with the facts. Though he believed he and Caroline would see their children again, he had begun to doubt they would see them soon. He knew if they did not find their offspring before December 22, when the time portals reappeared, they might not find them for weeks, months, or even years.

As groomsmen in gray escorted bridesmaids in blue to the front of the church, Tim pondered the days ahead and concluded that he and Caroline had only one card left to play. They had to pick one of the portals Tim had identified in his time-travel log and intercept the children and their significant others before they traveled to 1943 or even 2017.

Though Sedona, Arizona, was the obvious choice and the one Tim and Caroline had used most often, it was not the only choice. New Paris, Pennsylvania, was also a contender, as were Mount Shasta and Santa Cruz in California and Columbia Falls, Montana.

Adam knew about all of the sites and how to access them. If he did not believe his parents were headed to Sedona, as suggested in countless personal ads, he might select the most convenient portal and go from there. Unless he had read the right newspapers, he had no reason to think that Tim and Caroline were on their way to Arizona.

Tim gave the situation a few minutes of thought and then turned his attention to the altar, where U.S. Army Lieutenant Charles David Carson stood with his groomsmen and waited for his bride. He thought his grandfather looked sharp in his dress uniform.

He also thought he looked happy. Tim considered that important. Like every other time traveler who obsessed about the grandfather paradox, he wanted his grandpa to be happy. He wanted his father's father to live the life he was meant to lead and do all the things he had done the first time his life had played out. He wanted no wrinkles in the fabric of time.

A moment later, Tim rose to his feet, along with Caroline and two hundred others, as Randall Young, Elsie's uncle, escorted the bride up the aisle to the sound of Mendelssohn's "Wedding March." He sighed when the main attraction, wearing a smile and an avalanche of silk and lace, approached his pew. He wiped an eye when she winked at him.

For a few splendid, sentimental seconds, Tim Carson was not a fifty-seven-year-old man traveling through the back roads of time. He was a ten-year-old boy, sitting on the porch of a house in Duluth, drinking his grandmother's lemonade. He was a boy swimming in the memories of a time that had come and gone and would come again. He was exactly where he wanted to be on a frigid Saturday afternoon in the hills of southern Minnesota.

CHAPTER 98: EMMA

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania – Sunday, December 8, 1918

The long goodbyes began with a few short hugs. Emma was not quite sure how to greet a Texas cowgirl who had hitched her wagon to Greg Carson's star, but she did know how to say so long to an engaging new friend. She hugged her until Greg laughed and suggested that Patricia stay another week to ease the matriarch's separation anxiety.

"You shouldn't joke like that."

Greg chuckled.

"Who's joking?"

Emma hugged the wisecracker.

"I'm going to miss you too."

"That makes two of us, Mrs. Jackson."

"I hope you don't think less of me for making you sleep in separate rooms. I did it only to set an example for Freddie and Greta and to make your coming nuptials more meaningful, though I suspect that horse has left the barn."

Greg laughed.

"It's galloping in New Jersey."

Emma blushed and put a finger to her lips.

"Hush, Mr. Carson. There are children present."

Greg smiled and hugged her again.

"Goodbye, Emma."

Emma said farewell and then watched with interest as Greg and Patricia walked out of her house and headed for the first of two taxicabs that sat in her driveway. She would miss them as much as she missed the carefree days of her youth. They had brought comfort and joy to a family that needed both in the wake of a wartime tragedy.

When Greg and Patricia vanished from view, Emma turned to her right and eagerly awaited the next member of the departing Carson clan. She cleared her throat when her oldest son, who stood closest to her at the end of the receiving line, took his sweet time saying so long to the prettiest journalist west of the Susquehanna River.

"Hurry up, Tom. Natalie's cab is waiting."

Tom Jackson smiled.

"Settle down, Mother. It won't leave without her."

Natalie laughed.

"I'm going to miss this. I regret leaving this place in September. I think I would have enjoyed spending the summer and fall in Gettysburg. I know the twins did."

"Perhaps you can visit sometime when the seasons change," Emma said. She smiled. "I understand that solstices and equinoxes are ideal times to travel to Pennsylvania."

"They are," Natalie said.

Tom tilted his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"That's for your mother to know and you to find out," Natalie said. She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Goodbye, handsome. I'll see you in my dreams."

Tom sighed.

"Take care."

Emma waited for Natalie to leave Tom, at least mentally, before saying goodbye. She wanted to say a few words to the reporter in private before releasing her into the wilds of Arizona, the future, and the great beyond. Like Natalie and most of the others, she regretted that the two families had not spent more time together. She spoke to the oldest and most enigmatic of the Carson girls as soon as Tom moved on to Adam and Bridget.

"How are you doing? The reason I ask is because I know that your year has been almost as traumatic as mine. I want to know that you will be all right."

"I'll be fine," Natalie said. "That's the thing I learned after Sam Prentiss died. I'll always be all right. I'll always find a reason to get out of bed and make the most of each day."

"I admire that attitude."

"I should hope so. You embody it."

"You're kind," Emma said.

"I'm truthful. You're a model survivor. I have never seen a person handle adversity like you have in the past few weeks. You have been an inspiration to all of us."

"Thank you."

"You're more than welcome."

"What's next for you?"

Natalie looked at Tom before answering the question. She spoke again when it became clear that he was not listening in on the conversation.

"That depends on where we go. If we go back to our time, I'll resume my career as a consumer reporter. If we go to 1943, I don't know what I'll do. I may take up knitting or welding or visit my friend Emma Jackson in her old age."

Emma smiled.

"I'd like that."

"Then I'll put it on my calendar," Natalie said. She stepped forward and gave her friend a meaningful hug. "Take care, Emma. Take care of your kids. They need you now."

"I know," Emma said. She patted Natalie's back. "Goodbye, Natalie."

As Natalie exited the residence and walked toward the lead cab, which was visible through the living room window, Emma thought about the reporter's parting words. She agreed with them. Tom, Cal, Freddie, and Greta did need her now. Even as young adults, they needed the kind of guidance that only a parent could provide. Emma vowed right then to provide that direction and be the best mother she could be in the years to come.

A moment later, as the clock on the wall struck three, she greeted a young couple just beginning their parental journey. She laughed when Bridget placed her hand on her stomach, looked at Adam with wide eyes, and told him she thought she felt a kick.

"Get used to it," Emma said. "Babies like exercise."

Bridget smiled.

"It seems so."

"I remember those days. I remember every kick and twist. Cal was so bad I didn't think I'd get through my term without a broken rib."

"That sounds awful."

"It was in one respect," Emma said. "It was beautiful in others. Every time one of my babies moved, I felt closer to him or her. I felt alive. I envy you now."

"I'll remember that in February."

"Please do. I'll envy you even more."

"Thank you," Bridget said. "That means a lot."

Emma looked at Adam.

"I gather from speaking to Natalie that your plans are still fluid. She seemed to suggest that the 1940s are still in play for your family."

"They are," Adam said. "If we don't find my folks in Arizona, we'll have to extend our 'vacation' another six months. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"If it does, please know you are always welcome here. Even if I am old and frail, I will open my doors to all of you. It would be a pleasure to see you again."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Emma met his gaze.

"I hope you do."

"I'll see you," Adam said. He embraced his friend. "Thanks again for giving us a home when we needed it most. If we ever have the chance to return the favor, we will."

"I may take you up on that."

"Please do."

Emma released Adam, gave Bridget a motherly hug, and then sent both on their way. Though she did not believe for a minute she would see them again, she held out hope that she would. She loved this family and did not want to see them go.

She paused for a moment and then turned to face the next person in line. She did not have to turn far. The next person, the girl most likely to plant a forest of blue spruces, had already stepped in front of her. Like her surrogate mother, she had watery eyes.

"I hate this," Caitlin said.

"I hate it too," Emma replied. She laughed through her tears. "If I had my way, I would lock you in a room upstairs, just like a mean old stepmother."

"I think I'd like that."

"She would," Cody said.

Emma laughed again and then gazed at the twins. She noticed for the first time that they stood alone in the room. Tom, Cal, Freddie, and Greta had left for other places.

"It seems we're all alone."

"That's all right," Caitlin said. "We can speak freely now. I don't have to worry about explaining cell phones and televisions and other gaffes to Greta."

"Are you saying it's difficult leading a double life?"

"I would rather swim naked with piranhas."

Emma laughed and hugged Caitlin.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss our visits. I will think of you every time I pass our special tree. You really have changed me."

Caitlin wiped her eyes.

"Ditto."

Emma gazed again at her young friends and frowned. Though she did not want to show unhappiness today, she couldn't help it. She wasn't happy. She looked at Caitlin.

"I got you a book."

"What book?" Caitlin asked.

"Wait here," Emma said. "I'll get it."

"OK."

Emma retreated to the back of the living room, retrieved two books from a table, and brought them back to the twins. She handed the first book, a plain-covered title, to Caitlin.

"I picked that up in Harrisburg last month."

"What is it?" Caitlin asked.

"It's a signed first edition copy of Madame Bovary ."

"No."

"Yes," Emma said. "Your brother Greg said you liked rare books, so I found one for you in a used book store. That, my dear Caitlin, is as rare as they get."

Caitlin hugged Emma.

"Oh, thank you."

Emma smiled.

"Just don't let the others see it. It's a racy book."

Caitlin laughed.

"That's the best kind."

Emma giggled.

"I wouldn't know."

Caitlin opened the novel and smiled as she flipped through the pages. Then she spotted the other book in Emma's hands, looked at her friend, and spoke.

"Is that for me too?"

Emma shook her head.

"It's for Cody."

Caitlin looked at Cody and then at Emma.

"Then I'll let you give it to him," Caitlin said. She stepped forward and gave Emma a loving embrace. "I'll never forget you. Thanks for being my friend."

"It was my pleasure," Emma said. She released Caitlin, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and smiled at the smartest girl in Pennsylvania. "Now go conquer the world."

Caitlin nodded.

"I will."

With that, Caitlin Carson, valedictorian of the Conemaugh Valley High School Class of 1889, left to conquer the world again. She hugged Emma one last time, nodded to her twin, and gave two former sweethearts the chance to say goodbye.

"I'm not kidding about that book," Emma said to Cody. "It's naughty. Caitlin might have to put it in a paper bag when you board the train."

Cody smiled.

"It's no big deal. She read it in school."

Emma laughed to herself. She could not imagine a future where teachers encouraged students to read Madame Bovary . She wondered if that future was exciting.

"I got you a book too," Emma said. She handed Cody a thin, unmarked volume. "It's a little shorter than Madame Bovary and a lot more tame, but I think you'll like it."

"What is it?"

"Don't you recognize it?"

Cody shook his head.

"It's a script of Romeo and Juliet ," Emma said. "It's the one I carried into the Johnstown library the day we met, the day I fell in love with a boy with big brown eyes."

Cody wiped his eyes and turned away.

"I can't take it."

"Yes, you can," Emma said. She placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him toward her. "I would be very sad if you did not take that book, read the message I wrote in the back, and remember me fondly for the rest of your life."

Cody looked at her with watery eyes.

"I don't want to leave."

"You have to," Emma said. She took his free hand. "You have to leave because your destiny is not in this time or this town. It's somewhere else."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, yes I do."

"Then what is my destiny?" Cody asked. He glared at Emma. "What is it? Where is it? When is it? If you know so much, then tell me."

Emma smiled sweetly.

"Your destiny is not a what, a where, or a when. It's a who."

Cody softened his gaze.

"A who?"

Emma nodded.

"I don't know her name or what she looks like or where she lives, but I can tell you a hundred things about her. She's a cheerful soul with a tender heart, a fondness for plants and animals, and a smile that will turn you to putty the first time you see it."

"Don't do this to me."

"I have to. I have to let you go, just like I had to let go of my parents, my husband, and the past. You, in turn, have to move on with your life. You have to walk out of this house, step into that taxi, and do all the things you were meant to do."

"It's not fair," Cody said. "I never wanted to leave you."

Emma smiled sadly.

"I know. I knew it then. I know it now. That's why you will always have a special place my heart. But you have to go. You have to find your way in the world."

Cody nodded.

"I know."

"Find your destiny, Cody. Climb a mountain. Sail the seas. Fulfill every dream you've ever had and then dream some more. Be the person I know you can be," Emma said. She hugged him warmly, stepped back, and smiled sweetly. "Make someone happy."

CHAPTER 99: NATALIE

Minneapolis, Minnesota – Tuesday, December 10, 1918

Natalie cringed when Everett Timmons frowned. She had hoped he would maintain the smile he had flashed when she had walked into his office for the first time in three months, but she saw now that was not going to happen. Editors did not maintain smiles when their ace foreign correspondents told them they were not sticking around.

"What if I double your salary? Would you stay then? I could even create a position around your interests and skills. I could do a lot of things."

Natalie smiled.

"Could you give me a job in the future?"

"What?" Timmons asked.

"It's a joke, Mr. Timmons. It's the kind of joke that sustained me in France, where I saw more amputated legs than typewriters. The question — or at least the answer to that question — is also the reason I can't stay here. I need something you can't provide."

"Do you know what you're turning down?"

"I do," Natalie said. She sat up in a chair that faced the editor's desk. "I know I'm turning down something others would kill for. I know I may never get an opportunity like this again, but I still can't take it. My future as a journalist belongs in another place and time."

"Then I guess that settles that," Timmons said. He smiled. "I would be lying if I told you I wasn't disappointed. No one here has ever refused a promotion."

Natalie frowned.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Timmons. I wish things were different. For what it's worth, I have enjoyed every minute I have worked for the Post . I won't forget my time here."

"Then I suspect you'll like my gift."

"What gift?"

"Let me get it."

Natalie watched with curiosity as Timmons got up from his throne, stepped to a nearby bookshelf, and pulled a large gray volume from the top shelf. She smiled when he returned to his desk, reclaimed his seat, and slid the book toward her.

"What's that?"

"That, Miss Carson, is your gift," Timmons said. "It's also your legacy."

Natalie picked up the book, entitled Portraits of Our Fighting Men , and flipped through the pages like a kid discovering Dr. Seuss. Even from a glance, she could see that Timmons, publisher Forrest Robinson, and others had compiled every vignette she had ever written.

"This is incredible."

"We published it yesterday," Timmons said. "We hope it will find its way onto coffee tables across Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa, if not the country."

"Thank you," Natalie said. "I will treasure this."

Timmons leaned back in his chair.

"I hope you do. You made a lot of people happy, Miss Carson, including widows trying to make sense of a senseless war. I want you to remember that."

"I will."

"So what's next for you?" Timmons asked. "What's next for the woman who is turning down all the tea in China? What are your immediate plans?"

Natalie took a deep breath.

"I plan to return to Arizona and sort out my life. I leave on a train tonight with my siblings, my sister-in-law, and a woman who will be my sister-in-law next week."

"Your life is busy."

"My life is complicated."

Timmons laughed softly.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing."

It is when you're a time traveler.

"I suppose it isn't," Natalie said. "All I know is that I have a lot of thinking to do and a lot of problems to sort out. I think some time in the sun will be good for me."

Timmons forced a smile.

"I suspect it will."

Natalie studied her boss, her former boss, and noticed sadness in his eyes that she had not noticed in September. Something, she thought, had changed.

"You seem sad, Mr. Timmons. Is something wrong?"

"Something is always wrong, Miss Carson."

"I don't understand."

"My wife died in October," Timmons said. "She succumbed to the flu. Like so many others around the world, she fell to an enemy she could not see or fight."

"Oh, no. I am so sorry."

"Thank you."

Natalie paused before continuing the conversation. She wanted to show proper respect to a man who had already lost a son to combat in the early days of World War I.

"Are your daughters all right?"

"Both are fine. One is even expecting a child."

"That's something. I know it won't make up for your loss, but it's something. I know a little about love and loss, Mr. Timmons, and I know that things always get better."

The editor gazed at his ace.

"I hope so."

"I know so," Natalie said. "Things do get better."

"I suspect you're right. In any event, I won't take up any more of your time. I'm sure you are eager to rejoin your family and start your next adventure."

"I am."

"Then I guess it's time to say goodbye," Timmons said. He got up from his chair, walked around his desk, and met Natalie by his open door. Then he shook the hand of the most popular journalist in the state of Minnesota. "So long, Miss Carson. Good luck in Arizona or wherever life takes you. It has been a pleasure working with you."

Natalie held onto his hand when she felt it tremble. She did not want to rush a goodbye that probably meant the world to the hardened newsman.

"Take care, Mr. Timmons. Take care of this paper, take care of your family, and take care of yourself. The world needs more men like you."

Timmons smiled.

"Goodbye, Miss Carson."

Natalie released his hand.

"Goodbye."

CHAPTER 100: CAROLINE

Duluth, Minnesota – Saturday, December 14, 1918

Caroline did not walk from the post office. She ran. As soon as she opened the letter and read the contents, she ran as fast as she could to the Spalding Hotel.

For three exhilarating minutes, she did nothing but run and dodge pedestrians and imagine sweet possibilities. When she finally reached Room 208, she opened the door, saw her husband snoozing on the sofa, and woke him with a shout.

"He wrote!" Caroline said. "He wrote!"

Tim opened his eyes and sat up.

"Who wrote?"

"Sylvester Scott wrote. He sent us a letter from Florida. He knows Cody and Caitlin. He met them in September. He wrote all about it. It's all right here."

Caroline shut the door, walked to the couch, and sat beside her spouse. She could see from his eyes alone that he was still in a state of shock. She handed him the letter and looked on with excitement and interest as he read a letter that unlocked a mystery.

"They were in Gettysburg," Tim said. He put down the two-page letter and stared at his wife with wide eyes. "They were there for weeks. They could be there now ."

"I know! I know!"

"This is incredible."

Caroline threw her arm over Tim's shoulders and pulled him close. She wrestled with many things, including anticipation, joy, and fear, as she processed the biggest break in her long, frustrating, and so far fruitless quest to reunite with her children.

"Did you read the last paragraph?"

"No," Tim said. "I'm too excited."

"Tim? That's the best part. Read it now."

"All right. All right."

Tim retrieved the second page of the letter, which he had set to the side, and held it out with both hands. When he started perusing the relevant passage, Caroline did the same. She found the paragraph as thrilling on the second read as she had on the first.

I wish I could tell you more. I know only that Cody and Caitlin resided with Emma Jackson and her youngest children when Louise and I left for Florida on November 18. I imagine they stayed with the family through the colonel's funeral, but I don't know for sure. I do know that the twins loved living on the farm and formed a strong bond with the missus. In any event, I hope I have been helpful. I know I speak for many when I say your children added spark and sparkle to my community this year. They are treasures you should be proud of.

"They were at the funeral," Caroline said. "I know they were. They were probably in one of the cars that drove in front of us. We came within feet of finding our babies."

Tim smiled.

"It appears so."

"There's still something I don't get though."

"What's that?"

"Why would Cody and Caitlin stay at a stranger's farm, for months, no less, and not at a hotel or even with the Scotts?" Caroline asked. "They could not have possibly known Emma Jackson, her husband, or their children. They could not have possibly known anyone in Gettysburg or any town before they arrived. Something doesn't make sense."

"Maybe they knew someone from Johnstown. Maybe they knew Emma or her husband as a young person in 1889. Maybe they paid a visit to a much older friend."

Caroline rubbed her temples as she tried to think of an answer. She searched her mind until the answer, contained in the memory of a microfilmed newspaper article she had read in 2018, finally came to her. She could picture every word.

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 . . .

 

"That's exactly what they did," Caroline said. "They went to see Emma, Emma Bauer, their high school classmate. They went to see someone who would have remembered them from 1889 and someone who lived close to the Scotts. I wonder how many other critical clues we left behind at the Redding library. We've had the twins in our sights all along."

"It doesn't matter," Tim said. "All that matters now is that we have the information we need to find them and find the others. What we don't have is a lot of time."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we have just eight days to find them. If the kids are in Pennsylvania, they are a long way from Sedona. We don't have time to crisscross the country now."

"Do you think she has a phone?"

"Who?"

"Emma," Caroline said. "Do you think she has a phone?"

"I don't know, but I do know this hotel has one," Tim said. He took Caroline's hand and offered a comforting smile. "I think it's time we called a widow."

CHAPTER 101: NATALIE

El Paso, Texas – Sunday, December 15, 1918

Natalie hummed up a storm. Possessed by something weaker than the Holy Spirit and stronger than a glass of gin, she hummed a 1959 country and western ballad that seemed oddly appropriate on an afternoon stroll with Patricia O'Rourke.

"What are you doing?" Patricia asked.

"I'm humming my brother's theme song."

"What song is that?"

Natalie smiled.

"Look up Marty Robbins in forty years or hang out with Greg for a week. You'll get your answer in no time."

Patricia shot her a sidelong glance.

"You're a strange one."

"You have no idea," Natalie said. She laughed. "I guess all this fresh air is making me a little silly. I like this place. I can see why you wanted to come back."

Patricia smiled.

"I'm like a lot of people, including your brothers, your sister, and maybe you. I like large ranches. I like everything about them. They're a little slice of heaven."

Natalie mostly agreed. Though James and Rebecca O'Rourke's twenty-thousand-acre spread in the shadow of the Franklin Mountains was not as inviting as the Ponderosa or a dozen other made-for-TV ranches, it was pretty. A fusion of rugged peaks, grassland, and arid landscapes, it was easy on the eyes and soothing to the soul.

Natalie enjoyed a few minutes of splendid silence, as the two women walked away from James and Rebecca's sprawling ranch house, and then turned again to Patricia, who seemed lost in her own thoughts. Though she did not want to disrupt those thoughts or the beauty of the tranquil moment, she did want to talk. She had come on the walk to bond with her future sister-in-law and not to commune with nature or think to herself. So she resumed the conversation when the opportunity arose.

"What was it like growing up here?"

Patricia sighed.

"It was lonely. Even though my grandparents smothered me in love, they could not replace the parents I lost or the siblings I never had. When I was a teenager, I would come out here several times a week to have conversations with imaginary sisters. We had nice conversations too. We talked about all sorts of things!"

"Well, you have two sisters now — three counting Bridget — and you may have more before we find our way back to 2017," Natalie said. She laughed. "My brothers are proving to be remarkably adept at picking up wives along the time-travel trail."

Patricia smiled.

"You make me sound like a souvenir."

"If you are a souvenir, you're a good one. I have known every one of Greg's girlfriends since grade school and must say that you, by far, are the most interesting."

"Are you comparing me to sixth-graders?"

"Yes!" Natalie said.

Patricia laughed.

"Well, I guess a girl has to start somewhere."

"Don't let my teasing give you the wrong impression. Greg loves you like no other. He thinks you're Helen of Troy with a Texas twang. He's positively smitten."

"I hope so. I'll have enough challenges."

Natalie tilted her head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm getting nervous about all this future stuff. Y'all are going back to a time that makes sense to you. I'm not. Only Bridget knows what I'm feeling now."

"You'll be fine."

Patricia forced a smile.

"I hope you're right."

"Is there anything in particular you want to know?" Natalie asked. "If there is, just ask. I would be more than happy to educate you on the twenty-first century."

"I guess there are a few things."

"Then ask."

"All right," Patricia said, "I will. Let me start with work. What's it like for women in the working world? Do you think someone like me would have difficulty finding a job?"

"I don't think so. You would have to build a new resume, of course, and update your skills, but we could help you with that. We could help you with a lot of things."

"I feel better already."

Natalie smiled as she considered Patricia's reply and her situation, which she knew could be easily remedied. She looked forward to bringing her new sister into the digital age.

"What else do you want to know?"

"Are most people like you?" Patricia asked. "Are most people in your time cultured and considerate or are they backward and uncouth like the feral dogs I grew up with?"

Natalie laughed.

"That's a tough question to answer."

"Why?"

"Because it forces me to generalize, that's why."

"Try anyway."

"OK. I will. To be perfectly honest, people in 2017, like people in most times, are a mixed bag. They are better in some ways and worse in others. They are more cultured, in my view, but far less considerate. That is one thing I like about 1918. People here are more polite and civil — at least in conversations and public discourse. They know how to get along."

Patricia raised a brow.

"You haven't been to Tijuana."

"No, I haven't," Natalie said, "but I stick to my opinion. I think people are nicer and more respectful in this time. I'm going to miss that. I'm going to miss it a lot."

Patricia smiled.

"You miss your soldier boy, don't you?"

Natalie didn't struggle with that one. She did miss Tom. She missed the charming lieutenant from Gettysburg almost as much as the charming journalist from Johnstown, who sadly was becoming little more than a memory. She missed the easy manner and sense of humor of both of her suitors and hoped she would have similar luck with men in the future. In Tom Jackson and Sam Prentiss, she had stumbled upon two of the best.

"I miss a lot of things."

Patricia grinned.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Natalie laughed.

"You should."

For the next thirty minutes, the twenty-four-year-olds, dressed in white blouses, long gray skirts, and wool coats that fell to their knees, discussed big things and small. They conversed like two not-so-imaginary sisters who suddenly realized they had much more in common than a deep affection for Greg Carson, equal opportunity, and good manners.

"I like this," Patricia said. "It's been a long time since I could talk like this to another woman — or at least another woman my age. I wasn't sure if you would be kind and pleasant like Bridget or mean and unpleasant like that snake over there."

Natalie froze.

"What snake?"

Patricia laughed.

"I'm just kidding."

"You're just like my brothers."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," Natalie said. She smiled sweetly. "I like my brothers. Even when they pull pranks on me, as they did often growing up, I like them."

"Did Greg pull pranks on you?"

"He pulled most of them. When he was in the eighth grade and I was in the sixth, he would often shake soda cans, intended for my friends, right before I entertained them at parties and sleepovers. He would also do things like replace the cream in donuts with mayonnaise and put food coloring in my bottles of shampoo and conditioner."

Patricia laughed again.

"Are you sure I should marry him?"

"I'm sure."

"That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement."

"It is," Natalie said. She laughed. "Even though Greg was a holy terror as a teenager, he has turned out to be a pretty nice guy. You picked yourself a winner, woman."

"I hope so."

"Do you have any more questions?"

"I guess I have one."

"What's that?"

"Will you stand with me on Tuesday? Molly Pierce, my best friend in high school and my intended maid of honor, telegrammed me on Friday and said she will not be able to attend the wedding. She's in London now and won't be back until after Christmas."

Natalie stopped and turned to face her friend. She realized now that the walk through the ranch was not simply a get-acquainted session. It was an audition.

"I would be honored to stand with you. Even though I don't know you very well and brought nothing special to wear, I would be happy to be your maid of honor."

"Even if I marry your brother?"

"Especially if you marry my brother."

"Then I'll find you a suitable dress," Patricia said. She took Natalie's hand and smiled. "In the meantime, let's think of some pranks we can pull on the groom."

CHAPTER 102: TIM

Duluth, Minnesota – Monday, December 16, 1918

The storm of the century, which began on Saturday morning, did more than dump three feet of snow on Gettysburg. It clogged roads, buried vehicles, downed power lines, and forced tens of thousands of Pennsylvanians to remain in their homes. In the process, it seriously complicated the lives of two parents who now had to rethink, reexamine, and re-explore options they had taken for granted only forty-eight hours earlier.

Tim lowered the latest edition of Duluth's evening paper, which reported the storm in great detail, and looked at his wife, who sat opposite him at a small table in their hotel room. At nine thirty on this frigid evening, he was tired, frustrated, and angry.

"We have a decision to make and don't have a lot of time to make it," Tim said. He glanced at his watch. "In fact, by my calculation, we have twelve hours and thirty minutes to consider our options. That's when the next train east leaves the station."

Caroline met his gaze.

"We can't risk it, Tim."

"What choice do we have? We don't know that any of the kids, much less all of them, will be in Sedona on Sunday. We don't know that any of them saw the ads. All we know is that Cody and Caitlin were in Gettysburg last month and that Adam and Bridget were headed to Pennsylvania to see 'an old friend' when they left Duluth in October. None of the kids actually said they were going to Arizona. We have to go with what we know."

"I still don't like the idea of traveling to Pennsylvania. I think we should stick to the original plan and go to Sedona. We should take the long view and play the percentages."

Tim could not punch a hole in Caroline's logic. He knew that her guess was as good as his and probably better. In all likelihood, the kids, Bridget, and Patricia O'Rourke were on their way to Red Rock country, a familiar portal, and a new date with destiny.

"Here's the thing that's eating me," Tim said. "If the kids had gathered in Gettysburg, they would have planned to stay there at least through the weekend. They clearly like Emma Jackson and would have wanted to spend as much time with her as possible before leaving her forever. Even had they planned to delay their departure until today, they would have known that they had at least six days to make a three-day trip to Arizona."

"That doesn't mean they are still in Gettysburg. The kids could have left town a week ago or even a month ago. They could be in Arizona now."

"Or they could be in Emma's snowbound house, staying warm by the fire, and waiting for their chance to travel to a much closer destination."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that New Paris, Pennsylvania, is a lot closer to Gettysburg than Sedona. If the kids really wanted to extend their visit, they would bag Arizona entirely. They would stay at Emma's farm until Friday or Saturday and puddle jump to the closer portal."

Caroline frowned.

"Can we do both? Can we go to Gettysburg, see if the kids are there, and still travel to Sedona, if necessary, before Sunday? I want options, Tim. I need them."

"I do too."

"Well?"

"Well, I think we can do both," Tim said. "If we leave tomorrow and the weather does not affect train travel, we could be in Gettysburg as early as Thursday morning. That would leave us with three days, if we needed them, to get to Sedona."

"That's cutting it close."

"It's cutting it real close, Caroline, but if we want to hedge our bets, we have to leave in the morning and hope for the best. We have no other options right now."

Caroline smiled and took Tim's hands.

"Then let's do it. Let's get on that train tomorrow and go to Gettysburg. If we're lucky, we won't even have to consider Arizona. We can enjoy an early Christmas by the fire."

CHAPTER 103: GREG

El Paso, Texas – Tuesday, December 17, 1918

The bride wore white. Standing before her groom, a minister, Adam, Natalie, and thirty guests on a spacious patio that faced the mountains, she wore a white cowgirl dress, a white cowgirl hat, and white cowgirl boots that shimmered in the afternoon light.

Greg laughed to himself as he stared at his beaming, pint-sized wife-to-be. Though he thought her Annie Oakley getup was a little over the top, he did not complain. He thought Patricia O'Rourke was the most adorable thing on earth.

The groom, dashing himself in a black Stetson, a white Western shirt, a black silk vest, and matching slacks, looked away for a moment to see if the others agreed. From the smiles on their faces and the sparkle in their eyes, he could see that they did.

Adam and Natalie, the principal witnesses, grinned at the groom like cats that had just swallowed the family canary. They signaled to their wisecracking brother that they would have plenty to say when the whiskey flowed freely at the reception.

Bridget, Caitlin, and Cody, who sat together in the second of four rows of folding chairs, showed more respect, or at least did a better job of hiding their thoughts. Each gazed at the cowboy groom with affectionate eyes and offered a supportive smile.

A moment later, as Reverend Theodore Greer, a Presbyterian minister, continued his homily on love and obedience, Greg glanced at the others on the patio and saw what he expected to see. He saw smiles, tears, and a whole lot of love for a granddaughter, friend, and neighbor who had obviously made her mark on this dusty corner of the world.

Yet even as he looked at the happy faces on the happiest day of his life, Greg felt a pang of sadness. He felt sad because Tim and Caroline Carson, who lived for weddings and receptions, were not in attendance. He looked forward to the day he could renew his vows to Patricia before his parents, extended family, and twenty-first-century friends.

He did not look forward to telling James and Rebecca O'Rourke that he was taking their granddaughter to Australia — to live on a ranch — and that they might not see her again. Though Greg hated to lie, he knew that time travelers had to lie on occasion to cover their tracks or achieve a greater good. The Carson siblings had already told wedding guests that their parents were dead. All were prepared to lie again to stave off questions.

The newlyweds planned to speak to the elderly couple on Thursday afternoon and then board a train to Arizona, with the others, the next morning. They planned to leave behind as few loose ends as possible before leaving the ranch, El Paso, and the 1910s.

Greg gazed at James and Rebecca, who wept quietly in the first row, and then returned his attention to Patricia as Greer, a folksy fusion of Billy Graham and Johnny Cash, finished his homily and proceeded to the vows. He smiled at his bride as she repeated words that were as old as the surrounding mountains and familiar as the West Texas sky.

"I, Patricia Anne O'Rourke, take thee, Gregory Emilio Carson, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part."

Patricia turned to the pastor.

"Do I really have to obey?"

Greer nodded.

"It's standard practice."

Patricia offered Greg a wary smile.

"Well, I guess I can just this once."

Greg grinned as the guests laughed, the pastor shook his head, and the blushing bride, taken aback by the laughter, turned fifty shades of red. This, he thought, was just a taste of things to come. He knew that every day with Annie Oakley was going to be a treat.

He held onto that pleasant thought for the next several minutes as he recited his vows, participated in the exchange of the rings, and listened to Greer say some words. Though he knew he should focus on the matters at hand, he did not want to. He wanted to jump ahead to the time portal, the world beyond, and his new life as a happily married man.

Others seemed no less eager to move on. Though Cody and Caitlin had mostly moped and kept to themselves since leaving Emma Jackson, they seemed upbeat now. Their supportive smiles had morphed into grins. Their sagging spirits soared.

Bridget, too, seemed to have her mind on the road ahead. When the laughter subsided, she gently rubbed her expanding belly, looked at Adam, and smiled. Apprehensive and tense in the days following the Cloquet fire and Colonel Jackson's death, she now appeared upbeat, relaxed, and composed. She seemed fully prepared for the changes to come.

Greg soaked up the good vibes and then turned his attention to the pastor as he departed from the script and made some personal observations. He knew when he heard the word "closure" that the twenty-minute ceremony was speeding toward an end.

"Let me say it is a privilege to stand here today, in front of so many friends, neighbors, and parishioners, and join this couple in marriage," Greer said. "I had the honor of baptizing Patricia as a toddler, raising her in the church, and watching her grow from a rambunctious girl to a sophisticated woman. Though I did not meet Gregory and his family until this past week, I can honestly say they are among the finest people I have ever known."

Greg did not know if he agreed with that assessment, but he liked it nonetheless. He hoped that the pastor, James and Rebecca O'Rourke, and others would still think highly of the Carson family when it disappeared without a trace in less than five days.

"Some folks view the matrimonial process with a jaded eye," Greer said. He looked at the guests. "When they see weddings, even lavish ones, they see perfunctory events that are best left to civil authorities. I do not. When I stand before couples like Patricia and Gregory, I see something else. I see a chance to build communities. I see an opportunity to unite not only two people but also two families. So it is with great pride today that I unite two families by uniting a couple that is surely eager to hear me stop talking."

The guests laughed.

Greer addressed the bride and groom.

"Please face each other and join hands."

The participants obliged.

"Inasmuch as you, Patricia, and you, Gregory, have thus consented in holy matrimony and have witnessed the same before God, then it is by the authority vested in me by the sovereign state of Texas that I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder," Greer said. He lowered his Bible, turned to the man in the Stetson, and smiled. "I'm done blathering, Mr. Carson. You may kiss your bride."

Greg did not wait for further instruction. Nor did he delay. He smiled at his bright-eyed cowgirl, gave her the smooch of the century, and got on with the business of living.

CHAPTER 104: CAROLINE

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania – Thursday, December 19, 1918

Seventy-two hours after committing to the riskiest side trip of her life, Caroline Carson settled into a comfortable sofa beside her husband, took his hand, and stared at a woman who had mothered her children for weeks. She found the experience overwhelming.

"Did they come here together?" Caroline asked.

Emma Jackson shook her head.

"They came here at different times. Cody and Caitlin arrived on August 12, Adam and Greg on November 1, and Natalie on December 1. I know this for sure because I checked the dates right after you called from the train station. Your children came here at different times and for different reasons, but they all left together. They left the farm eleven days ago with Adam's wife and Greg's fiancée. I have not seen or heard from them since."

Tim jumped in.

"Do you know where they went?"

"I do," Emma said. She got up from her rocking chair, added a small log to the fire, and then returned to her seat. "They went to Sedona, Arizona, to find a time portal. I think that's what you call them. I'm still coming to grips with all this time-travel business."

Caroline smiled.

"Join the club."

Tim looked at Emma.

"Did they plan any stops along the way?"

Emma nodded.

"I know of at least two. The first was Minneapolis. Natalie wanted to stop there to see her editor, collect her last royalties check, and see some soldiers. She made friends with quite a few as a military biographer. She even interviewed my oldest son."

"What about the second stop?"

"That was El Paso. Greg and Patricia wanted to stop there to see her grandparents, visit their ranch, and get married. I believe they were married on Tuesday."

Caroline closed her eyes. She wondered if it was even possible to miss more in the span of a year. Since trading the present for the past, Caitlin and Cody had graduated from high school, Natalie had lit the world on fire as a journalist, and Adam and Greg had married women from the 1880s and 1910s. Adam and Bridget had also conceived a child that was due in a matter of weeks. The kids had moved on with their lives.

"There's still something I don't get," Caroline said. "How did you explain all this? How did you explain my children to your children? They must have had questions."

"Oh, they did. They had plenty," Emma said. She glanced at the entrance to the living room, as if looking for eavesdroppers, and then returned to Caroline. "They wanted to know why I took in Cody and Caitlin like stray cats and then welcomed the others into our home sight unseen. I know Freddie and Greta, my youngest, still have questions."

"So what did you tell them?"

"I told them that Natalie, Cody, and Caitlin were the children of Cody Carson, my high school beau, and that Adam and Greg were their cousins from Arizona. I worked out a plausible tale, with the help of your children, over the course of an afternoon."

Caroline tilted her head.

"Cody was your beau ?"

Emma smiled wistfully.

"He was my first love."

Caroline took a closer look at the woman in the chair. She no longer saw a war widow or a mother or even a person pushing fifty. She saw a pretty high school senior with a bow in her hair and a smile on her face. She saw a thoughtful young woman who liked to laugh, sing, and play in the mud, a girl who owned her son's heart lock, stock, and barrel.

"What about Caitlin?"

Emma laughed.

"She was pretty special too. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Carson, I loved and adored your twins like my own children. I had a very difficult time letting them go."

"I'll bet you did. I can see the affection in your eyes. I can see a little wistfulness and regret too. It warms my heart to know that you loved them."

"Thank you."

Caroline smiled at the mother, the other mother of her children, and then looked around the brightly lit living room, a fifteen-by-twenty-foot tribute to the 1910s. Though she loved the antique sewing machine, the walnut grandfather clock, the Tiffany lamps, and the Victor VI gramophone that sat on a table in the corner of the room, she was drawn most to three large photographs that hung on a wall. Each portrayed a U.S. Army officer in uniform.

"I like your pictures."

Emma smiled sadly.

"Those are my soldiers."

"I gathered as much," Caroline said. "I read about your husband on the train. I am so sorry to hear about his death. I understand he was quite a figure in this town."

"He was quite a figure in this house . To my children, Thomas was not a war hero or a civic leader or a church elder. He was their father. He was a person they looked up to."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing all right," Emma said. "Thanks to your children, I managed to get through the first four weeks. They provided me with love and assistance when I needed them most."

"That makes me feel good."

Tim smiled.

"Me too."

"You should feel good," Emma said. "Children, I am told, are a reflection of their parents, and yours, Mr. and Mrs. Carson, are treasures. You must miss them terribly."

"We do," Caroline said.

"How long has it been since you've seen them?"

Tim frowned.

"It will be fifteen months on Sunday."

Emma shook her head.

"I can't imagine how you must feel. I barely got through eight months without Tommy and Cal, and even then, I was able to write to them and send them telegrams."

"It's been a challenge," Caroline said.

"Is there anything I can say that might give you some peace? If you have any questions about your children, the others, or their time here, I would be happy to answer them."

"I guess there is one thing."

"What's that?" Emma asked.

"What are Bridget and Patricia like? Are they nice? Are they smart? Are they pretty? Are they suitable companions for my sons? I must admit I have asked myself these questions a hundred times in the past few weeks and come away wanting."

"Then let me fill in the blanks and put your mind at ease. Bridget and Patricia are all of the things you mentioned. They are among the finest people I have ever known. In November, when I found it impossible to get out of bed, they took over the household and even looked after Freddie and Greta. Even though they did not know me well and certainly had better things to do, they came to my rescue. I am forever indebted to both of them."

Caroline smiled.

"That sounds like an endorsement."

"It is," Emma said. "I watched Bridget and Patricia interact with the others for five weeks and never saw anything troubling. You will love your daughters-in-law."

"You're assuming we'll meet them in the first place," Tim said. "I'm not as confident of that as I was before we called you from the station. We rolled the dice on finding the kids before the last connecting train left Gettysburg at noon. Now that we missed both the train and our children, we find ourselves in a spot. There is no way we can get from Gettysburg to Sedona by one thirty Sunday afternoon. I have already done the math. Our only option now is to access the portal in New Paris on Sunday and try to find the kids in the forties."

"What if you left from Harrisburg tonight? What if you caught a midnight train that put you in Pittsburgh early tomorrow? Would that do the trick?"

"It might."

Caroline looked at her husband.

"I don't know, Tim. We would have to leave Pittsburgh by noon to even have a shot. I think I would rather play it safe and go to New Paris. I don't want to screw this up."

Tim looked at Emma.

"Are there any westbound trains? Are there any that leave by noon? I don't want to commit to a trip to Pittsburgh unless we know for certain."

"Then let me check."

"Check?"

Emma nodded but did not speak. She instead walked to a hutch on the far side of the room, opened a drawer, and retrieved what looked like a brochure. She examined the item for a moment, tossed it back in the drawer, and smiled as she returned to her guests.

"There's a train that leaves at ten."

"Are you sure?" Tim asked.

"I'm positive," Emma said. "There is a westbound train that leaves Pittsburgh at ten and another that leaves at noon. Would either be early enough?"

"I think so. We would still have to make our other connections, but I think we could do it. I think we could get to Sedona with an hour or two to spare."

"Then let me get my coat."

"Your coat?" Tim asked. "You can't—"

"Yes , I can. I can and I will drive you to Harrisburg."

"But the roads are a mess."

"So is your situation."

"But—"

"Let me do this," Emma said. "Let me drive you to the station. Your family supported me in my time of need. Let me return the favor."

CHAPTER 105: GREG

Yavapai County, Arizona – Sunday, December 22, 1918

Greg Carson felt like a million bucks. Sitting next to Patricia on a flat boulder in the shadow of Courthouse Butte, Bell Rock, and a few other sandstone products of the Permian Period, he mentally revisited the past six months and counted his blessings.

He had a lot to count. Since last visiting the magic membrane, which flapped and shimmered about thirty feet away, he had gained wisdom, experience, knowledge, and a smoking-hot wife with a quick wit and a razor-sharp mind. Though he could have done without the jail time in Tijuana and the sadness of the past few weeks, he did not regret his experience in the age of doughboys and Model T's. He had done a lot in 1918 and looked forward to taking his blessings and memories from this time to the next.

Greg soaked up a few rays from the solstice sun, which loomed high in the southern sky, and then turned to his bride, who stared at the time portal with wary eyes. He noticed that she had become increasingly quiet in the past ten minutes.

"What do you think, Mrs. Carson?" Greg asked. He threw his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her head. "Are you ready to walk through the gates of hell?"

Patricia glared at him.

"I'm ready to walk out on you ."

Greg laughed.

"Don't do that. We're just starting to have fun. On the other side of that flapping sheet are monster truck rallies, football tailgaters, and snobby wine receptions. Why would you walk out on me today when you can have all that tomorrow?"

"I don't know," Patricia said. "I just know that thing makes me nervous. Are you sure we can't take a train to the future? I would much rather go in a club car."

Greg smiled but did not speak. He instead tightened his hold on his nervous wife, kissed her again, and then looked at the others in their party. He saw an older brother and a sister-in-law who talked quietly a few feet away, two teenagers who dueled each other with pointy sticks, and a sister who stared at the portal and the vast beyond.

"Hey, Lois Lane, what are you thinking about?"

Natalie turned around, looked at Greg, and smiled. She wore the face of a woman who had done a lot and seen a lot and wanted to do and see a whole lot more.

"I'm thinking about the future. I'm also wondering if this is the last time we will step through this thing and play with the matches of time. I'm almost wistful."

Greg grinned.

"Are reporters allowed to be wistful?"

"Yes, Gregory , they are," Natalie said. "They are also allowed to be sentimental, regretful, idealistic, nostalgic, weepy, maudlin, and all the things you dismiss as mush."

Greg laughed to himself. He knew he had crossed a line when his sister, his closest sibling and occasional confidante, used a name that was usually reserved for preachers, grandparents, future employers, and old girlfriends with chips on their shoulders.

"No worries, sis. I just had to check."

Natalie glared at her cocky brother, the one who used to shake her sodas and color her conditioner, and then turned to the one who was running the show. She appeared more concerned than wistful when she spoke to the family leader in a soft, measured voice.

"I'm getting worried, Adam. They should be here by now."

"They should," Adam said. He glanced at his Waltham wristwatch. "I admit I'm getting a little worried myself. I thought they would be here when we arrived."

Greg did too. He had been shocked, in fact, to find nothing but rocks, sagebrush, and dusty trails when two taxi drivers, whom Adam had hired in Flagstaff, had dropped the family off near the portal at eleven o'clock. He had been dumbfounded.

Tim and Caroline Carson, after all, had planned this party. They had announced it in at least two newspapers on several occasions. Unless they had run into trouble in their travels through 1918, they should have had no difficulty keeping the appointment.

"What time do you have, Chief?" Greg asked.

Adam looked at his watch again.

"I have one oh five. If Mom and Dad are not here by one thirty, we will say so long to 2017, at least for now, and wait an hour to go to 1943."

"I don't want to go to 1943," Caitlin said as she poked Cody in the chest with her "sword" and threatened to do him in. "I want to go home."

"We all do, Caitlin."

"What if they don't show by two thirty?" Cody asked. He dropped his stick and looked at his oldest brother. "What then? Will we still go to the forties or just stay here?"

Adam frowned.

"That's a question I don't want to answer."

"I'll answer it," Greg said. "We'll follow the itinerary, go to the next stop, and continue our search there. We can't freelance, kids. We have to stick to the script and assume Mom and Dad will do the same. To do otherwise is to say goodbye to them for good."

"I still don't like it," Caitlin said.

"You don't like anything."

"That's not true. I like beating Cody at swords."

Greg laughed at his petulant baby sister. Then he returned his attention to his unusually quiet wife, who looked over her shoulder and gazed at something in the distance.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

"Someone's coming," Patricia said.

"Someone's what?"

"Someone's driving this way."

Greg turned around and saw she was right. Even from a mile away, he could see a shiny black automobile kick up a cloud of dust as it approached from the west. Though he did not know who was crashing the party, he suspected it was the parents he loved.

"I think we have company."

Adam turned to the west and shielded his eyes.

"So it appears."

Greg looked at Patricia, who still seemed a bit on edge, and then at a holster and a carpetbag he had placed near their sandstone sofa. The holster held two Colt Model 1917 revolvers he had purchased in El Paso and wanted to keep as souvenirs. The bag, his trusty friend since the first time-travel trip, contained the rest of his worldly belongings.

Greg slid off the rock, walked a few feet to his pile of possessions, and pulled one of the revolvers from the holster as the others drifted toward the approaching vehicle. He loaded the pistol and then turned to face his wife.

"I'll be back in a second."

"Greg?"

"Yes, dear?"

Patricia met his gaze.

"Why did you grab a gun?"

"Let's just say I'm feeling protective today," Greg said. He smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, I promise not to shoot my parents before you have a chance to meet them."

Patricia shook her head.

"You're impossible."

Greg grinned.

"That's why you married me."

Patricia sighed.

"Go say hi to your folks. I'll be there in a minute."

Greg nodded and then went off to join the others as Patricia pulled a compact from her skirt pocket and attended to her appearance. Though he thought she looked gorgeous on this sunny afternoon, he could not blame her for wanting to look her best. She was not about to meet a business client or an old school chum. She was about to meet her in-laws.

A moment later, Greg joined Adam, Bridget, Natalie, and the twins in a small clearing about fifty feet west of the boulder and the portal. As he did, he gazed at the car, a late model sedan, and noticed that it moved at a suspiciously slow pace.

"Do you think it's them?" Natalie asked.

Adam put his arm around his sister.

"I guess we'll find out."

Greg ignored the chitchat and curious looks from the others, who saw the revolver in his hand, and focused on the approaching car. Though he still expected to find his parents inside the automobile, he began to have some doubts. He could tell, even from a hundred feet away, that the new sedan was a private vehicle and not a cab.

"Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you packing?" Greg asked.

"No," Adam said. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't feel good about this, that's why."

"We'll be fine."

Greg was not so sure. As the sedan, an Oldsmobile, reached the scene, slowed down, and began a sweeping turn, he fixed his gaze on the vehicle and he saw at least four people sitting in the seats. Three looked like men. None looked like his parents.

"Adam?"

"Hang tight."

Greg cocked his revolver and fingered the trigger as the auto rolled to a stop and the people inside exchanged some words. He became anxious as he waited for the newcomers to exit the car and fearful when Patricia approached him from behind, placed her hand on the small of his back, and leaned into his side. Something, he thought, was very wrong.

Greg lifted his Colt as the driver and a passenger on the far side of the sedan opened their doors and the man in the front right seat did the same. He lowered the gun slightly when he saw that the latter man, wearing a cowboy hat, was unarmed.

The cowboy slowly exited the vehicle, shut his door, and then turned to face the family standing twenty feet away. He tipped his hat to the ladies and smiled at Greg.

"Good day, old friend."

Greg stared at the cowboy as the driver and the other passenger, a lean man in his middle twenties, stepped out of the car. When he could not put a name to the cowboy's vaguely familiar face, he hardened his stare, raised his Colt again, and spoke.

"Who are you?"

"Why, Mr. Carson, that's simple." The cowboy grinned as the others lifted rifles, turned to face the family, and trained their weapons on Greg. "I'm your worst nightmare."

CHAPTER 106: GREG

Greg did not give up without a fight. He pointed his Colt at the nightmare without a name and demanded that the men with rifles give up their guns.

"You have ten seconds, gentlemen," Greg said. "If you don't drop your rifles by the count of ten, I'm going to give your boss a third eye."

The cowboy stepped into the open.

"Don't listen to him, boys. He's not going to shoot. He knows if he puts a bullet in me, you'll put ten in his ladies. Even he's not that callous."

Greg knew he was right. He wasn't that callous. He wasn't callous at all. He was a caring, compassionate man who wasn't going to risk the lives of four women, much less his entire family, to win this Mexican standoff. He lowered his revolver and tossed it in the dirt.

"You're a good man, Mr. Carson." The cowboy, a trim man in his late forties, motioned to the driver. "Get his gun. Then check the others for weapons. I don't want any surprises."

The driver, a haggard man with bloodshot eyes and a face of stone, stepped around the front of the car to the passenger side, handed the cowboy his rifle, and approached the suddenly defenseless family. He picked up Greg's revolver, tucked it under his belt, and proceeded to pat down Greg, Adam, and Cody. When he finished checking the men for knives and guns, he moved on to the women. He started with the older of the two brunettes.

"Ma'am."

Natalie glared at the driver.

"If you touch me, I'll castrate you."

The cowboy intervened.

"Leave the ladies alone, Buck."

Buck did as instructed. He walked back to the boss, reclaimed his rifle, and took his rightful place next to Satan himself.

"Who are you?" Greg asked.

The cowboy laughed.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"No, mister, I don't."

"Then let me introduce myself. I'm the son and brother of the men you killed on a cold mountain trail in the Year of Our Lord 1889. I'm also the man who chased you through that bubble over there and tried to bring you to justice."

"Cecil Jones?"

"That's right. I'm Cecil. Only I'm not the Cecil you remember. I'm the new and improved version with a different name, a different family, and a much different disposition."

"What do you mean?"

Cecil walked up to Greg.

"I mean that when the other fellows and I rode through the rabbit hole hoping to return to 1889, we didn't return to 1889. We went to 1896."

Greg winced when he heard the words. Though he did not yet know the particulars of Cecil Jones' life, he had a pretty good idea of how that life had turned out.

"Continue."

"You see, Mr. Carson, when the four of us, counting Cole Murphy, rode through that time portal of yours, we found a whole different world waiting for us."

"Really?"

"Yes, idiot, really," Cecil said in a testy voice. "Do you know what happens to a man when he leaves home in the morning and comes back seven years later?"

"No."

"Well, I'll tell you. The territory declares him dead, his wife inherits his ranch and runs off with a San Francisco banker, and no one believes he is who he says he is."

"I'm sorry, Cecil."

"Don't apologize to me. I'm the lucky one. I remarried, started a family, and rebuilt my life. That's more than I can say for the rest of my crew."

Greg bristled.

"They look fine to me."

Cecil laughed and looked at Buck.

"Are you fine, Buck?"

The driver shook his head.

"I ain't been fine in a long time, boss."

Cecil returned to Greg.

"He's not lying either. Truth be told, Old Buck didn't adjust well to losing all those years. He didn't adjust at all. He crawled into a bottle in 1897 and never came out."

Greg glared at the cowboy.

"That's not my problem."

"It is, though. It is. You drove Buck Young to drink just as surely as you drove Cole Murphy to an early grave. Cole's not here today because he killed himself. He put a gun in his mouth shortly after learning that his wife killed herself in 1890."

Greg pointed at the other man.

"What about him?"

"You mean Earl? His story is the best of all. Earl, you see, didn't do what Buck and I did. He didn't cut his losses and get on with life. He did something else. He ran through the bubble in June of ninety-seven and popped out in June of seventeen. He popped out just in time to get drafted and go to war," Cecil said. He looked over his shoulder and motioned to the younger man. "Come on out and meet the folks, Earl."

Greg frowned as Earl limped from one side of the car to the other. He knew even without knowing that Cecil's second man had sustained a serious war wound.

"Like a lot of men, Earl Pierce served our country with distinction. Unlike a lot, he didn't come back in one piece," Cecil said. "He left a knee and a spleen in France."

"Are there more?" Greg asked.

"More what?"

"Are there more kangaroos in your kangaroo court? Surely you can blame me for a few more things. Come on, old man. Don't disappointment me now."

"I'm afraid I must," Cecil said.

"That figures."

"You sound disappointed, Mr. Carson."

"I am, Cecil. I am. I'm also baffled. How did you know I would be here today? How did you know I would be at this place at this time with my family?"

Cecil smiled.

"My daughter told me."

"Who?" Greg asked.

"I guess I should explain that too," Cecil said. He turned to face the car. "Cecilia, dear, you can come out now. An old friend would like to see you."

Greg felt his stomach sink as the last passenger opened the door. Then he watched in disbelief as a redheaded library assistant, a woman he had admired and loved, stepped out of the Oldsmobile, stared at him, and then joined her party by the side of the car.

"That's not possible."

"I assure you it is," Cecil said. "You see, Mr. Carson, when I emerged from that thing over there in ninety-six, I couldn't go back to being Cecil Jones. So I changed my name to Cecil McCain, married a pretty gal in Winslow, and raised four kids, including Cecilia."

Greg stared at Cecilia and looked for anger in her eyes, but he didn't find it. Nor did he find satisfaction or contempt. He found only hurt and pain.

"Why? Why did you do it?"

"I'll tell you why," Cecil said. "You hurt her. You hurt her real bad. That was your big mistake. Had you treated my daughter with kindness and respect, I might have put the past behind me. I had already stopped coming out here each June to see if I could catch you sneaking around this place. Like I said, my friend, I rebuilt my life.

"Then you came along one day and wined and dined my little girl. You gained her affection without offering anything in return and then left her to rot like you did my father and my brother. You used her, mister. You used her in the worst possible way."

"That still doesn't explain how you made the connection," Greg said. "Cecilia knew me as Emilio Garcia. You knew me as Greg Carson. There has to be more."

"Oh, there is. There's a lot more," Cecil said in a smug voice. "When Cecilia came to me in October and told me that a dashing young man had broken her heart, she didn't just tell me what you did in Flagstaff and Tijuana. She told me you had a keen interest in newspapers from 1889. Then she showed me a photograph of two people named Tim and Caroline Carson — two people who looked a whole lot like the man I chased in June. I didn't need much more to make the connection. Then when Cecilia told me you planned to meet these folks in Sedona this month, I knew I had a party to plan."

So there it was, Greg thought. There it was in a nutshell. He had finally succeeded in putting a noose around his own neck and putting his family at risk in the process.

"So what's the end game here?" Greg asked. "Are you going to punish me for spurning your daughter in an adult relationship? Or are you going to bring me to justice for shooting your relatives in self-defense? There's not a jury in the country that would convict me of a crime committed in 1889. They would acquit me with one look at my face."

"You're right. That's why I have other plans for you."

"Are you going to kill me? Is that it?"

Cecil laughed.

"You disappoint me, Mr. Carson. I'm not going to kill you. Why would I kill you when I could derive much more satisfaction from seeing you suffer?"

"Stop babbling, Cecil. Speak plainly."

"All right then, I will. Before I leave today, I'm going to strip you of everything you have ever owned and everyone you have ever loved. I'm going to do to you what you did to me and send you, by yourself, on a one-way trip to the past."

"No!" Natalie cried.

"Yes, Miss Carson, I'm going to punish your brother. Then I'll decide whether or not to send the rest of you to some exotic destination as well."

Greg seethed when he saw Natalie and Caitlin weep and Adam restrain Cody. In that one moment, he wanted to end it all by strangling Cecil McCain with his bare hands. He started to say something to his tormenter but stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

"Keep me out of this," Patricia said. She stepped toward Cecil. "I don't want any part of your petty squabble. I may like Mr. Carson, but I don't like him that much. If you're going to send people to the 1400s to mingle with the Aztecs, then I want off this carousel now."

Natalie glared.

"You bitch ."

"Don't listen to her, Mr. McCain. Listen to me. I have done nothing to you or your family. I mean you no harm. Please take me with you."

Cecil sniffed.

"I have no use for you."

"Then maybe he does," Patricia said. She smiled at Earl. "I would rather spend time with a handsome hop-along in 1918 than fend for myself in the dinosaur days."

"I don't care what you'd rather do."

"Well, I do ," Earl said. He pointed his rifle at Cecil. "If the lady wants to come with me, then she's coming with me. You've had your fun, boss. It's time for me to have mine."

Cecil glared at Earl for a moment and then glanced at Buck, who kept his rifle trained on the Carson family. When it became clear that Buck was not going to intervene on the big man's behalf, Cecil returned to Patricia and motioned with his head.

"Get over here."

Greg looked at Patricia with pure contempt as she crossed over to the dark side and found a place between Earl and Cecilia. He could not believe that his loving wife had betrayed him like a female Judas. He glared at her as she kissed Earl on the cheek, threw her arm around his waist, and looked at her husband with gleeful eyes.

"Are you happy?" Greg asked.

"I'm ecstatic," Patricia said.

Cecil laughed.

"Oh, Mr. Carson, this is just not your day. You really must exercise more care when selecting your lady friends. Perhaps you'll have better luck in the 1700s."

Greg hissed.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm afraid you are," Cecil said. He looked at Earl. "Please escort Mr. Carson — and only Mr. Carson — to the portal. I think it's time he got a taste of his own medicine."

Earl nodded in agreement. He gave Patricia a salacious smile, moved toward Greg, and aimed his bolt-action M1903 Springfield rifle at the captive fugitive.

"Let's go, mister."

Greg took a deep breath as he stepped away from his family and came to grips with his dire predicament. He had run out of escape hatches and exit strategies. After surviving ambushes, imprisonment, manhunts, and other serious challenges for exactly a year, he had finally run out of luck. He looked back at his brothers and sisters, noted the fear and helplessness in their eyes, and then turned to the man pointing a rifle at him.

"Be good to them."

"No!" Caitlin screamed. "Don't take my brother!"

"Get him out of here," Cecil said. "I want him gone."

"Well, I don't ," Patricia said as she grabbed Cecilia from behind. She pulled a Colt revolver from her deep skirt pocket, pointed the gun at her captive's head, and looked at Cecil with smug satisfaction. "I like my husband and want to keep him around."

Greg smiled at his bride when she smiled at him. He should have known from the start that she had something up her sleeve. He should have never lost faith in her.

Cecil sneered at Annie Oakley.

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not," Patricia said. She grinned. "I'm being practical. I figure I'm going to lose my husband no matter what I do, so I might as well go out with a bang."

"You're bluffing."

"No, Mr. McCain, I'm not. If you and your men don't give up this nonsense by the count of five, I'm going to spill your daughter's brains fifty ways to Wednesday."

Cecil walked up to Buck.

"Give me your rifle."

"What?" Buck asked.

"Give me your gun, idiot. Do it now."

"All right."

Cecil took the rifle from the older man, checked to see if it was loaded, and then turned to face the woman holding his daughter. He raised the Springfield and pointed it at Patricia.

"Listen to me, Mrs. Carson. Listen very carefully. I can pick a bird off a fence from a hundred yards with this gun. I can kill a man from a thousand. So I'm fairly confident I can send you to your maker from ten feet. Lower your gun or die."

Patricia cocked the Colt.

"I'm not going to lower anything, mister, but I am going to repeat myself. If you don't give up this nonsense by the count of five, I'm going to shoot your little girl."

Cecil stared at the crazy woman.

"You don't have it in you."

Patricia looked him in the eye.

"I guess we'll find out."

Cecil grinned.

"I guess we will."

"One . . ." Patricia said.

Cecilia screamed.

"Daddy! Don't do this!"

"Two."

Cecil cocked his rifle.

"Lower your gun."

"Three."

"I don't want to die !"

"Four."

"Daddy!"

"All right. All right."

Greg sighed with relief as Cecil McCain, time traveler, rancher, and father of the year, lowered his rifle and gave up the fight. He could not believe what he had seen.

"Drop your rifle," Patricia said.

Cecil released his gun.

"Now let her go."

"I'm not letting anyone go just yet."

"You bitch."

"I'm getting kind of tired of that name. I suggest you show better manners if you want to leave here intact," Patricia said. She glanced at her oldest brother-in-law. "Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Get the rifle."

Adam did as requested. He walked briskly toward Patricia and her hostages, retrieved the rifle Cecil had dropped to the ground, and then stepped back.

"What else?"

Patricia looked at Earl, who trained his rifle on Greg, and then at Buck, who pointed the confiscated Colt at the other members of the Carson family. When she was convinced that the hired hands were not planning anything stupid, she returned to Adam.

"Shoot the first man who misbehaves."

Adam smiled.

"You got it."

Greg laughed to himself as he watched his fortunes move from south to north in a New York minute. He chided himself again for doubting the woman he loved.

Cecil glared at Patricia.

"Let her go."

"I will when we're done. I don't trust you just yet," Patricia said. She turned her head. "Cody? Greg? Collect the other guns on Mr. McCain's command."

"I can't force them to quit," Cecil said.

"Oh, I think you can. Tell Prune Face and Hop-Along to give up their guns and do it nice and easy. Tell them to do it now or I'll send them through the bubble."

"You heard the lady," Cecil said.

Buck and Earl surrendered without a fight. Buck handed Greg's revolver to Cody. Earl gave up his Springfield to Greg. Each submitted to a quick inspection.

"I think that will do," Patricia said. She released Cecilia to Cecil and then pointed her pistol at the father and daughter. "Now move!"

Greg aimed his gun at Earl and nudged him to a spot near the front of the car as Adam, Cody, and Patricia did the same with Buck, Cecil, and Cecilia. Though he did not know how this situation would end, he liked where it was headed. For the first time in more than thirty minutes, he saw a positive outcome, an intact family, and the future he wanted.

"What next, Chief?"

Adam glanced at his watch.

"We execute Plan B."

Greg looked at the McCain Gang.

"What about our friends?"

"We send them on their way," Adam said. He walked toward the Oldsmobile, lifted his rifle, and shot out the front left tire. "We send them on a slow car to Sedona."

Cecil hissed.

"This isn't finished."

"Oh yes it is," Greg said. He got in the cowboy's face. "Go back to your wife, Cecil. Go back to your kids. Go back to that rock you live under and never come back. If I see you again, I'll do more than rearrange your social life. I'll rearrange you ."

CHAPTER 107: TIM

New Paris, Pennsylvania

One day after getting cold feet in southern Illinois, Tim Carson got them again in southern Pennsylvania. Only this time, he and Caroline, his equally reluctant travel companion, got them by walking through slushy snow and not doubt and uncertainty.

Tim checked his analog watch as he and his wife, dressed for train travel and not winter adventure, moved through a barren field they had not seen since a portal in Arizona had flung them here fifteen months earlier. When he saw a time of two thirty, he knew that time, once his trusted ally, was now an enemy holding a blade to his throat.

"Hurry, honey. We have to hurry."

"I know ," Caroline said. "I'm going as fast as I can."

As Tim trudged through shin-high snow and tried to pull Caroline toward a magic membrane a hundred yards away, he thought about how they had gone from Point A to Point B and back toward Point A in the span of two and a half days. The mental exercise, called Listen to Your Wife 101, was as frustrating as it was pointless.

The trip had started well enough. The time travelers had caught their midnight train in Harrisburg, their ten o'clock connection in Pittsburgh, and even a later connection in Columbus they were sure they were going to miss.

Then they hit Effingham, Illinois, and a weather-related derailment that threw five monkey wrenches into their best-laid plans. By the time maintenance crews had cleared the wreckage and repaired the tracks late Saturday afternoon, Tim and Caroline realized that New Paris was their only viable option to reach 1943. So they caught the first train east and raced to reach the tiny community before even that possibility disappeared.

As they traveled from Effingham to New Paris and stopped in Indianapolis, Columbus, and Pittsburgh, they also weighed another option. They considered picking up a telephone, dialing authorities in two Arizona counties, and asking local law enforcement to intercede on their behalf. They rejected the option only when they concluded that asking the police to detain a murder suspect — their son — carried more risks than benefits. They remained confident they could find all of their children in the forties if worse came to worst.

So now it came down to a footrace. If the harried hikers reached the shimmering sheet in the next three or four minutes, they would probably make it. Though time portals involved more science than art, they were occasionally forgiving.

Tim remembered missing his transit time by four minutes on one trip and still making it home in time for dinner. Even so, he did not want to push his luck today.

A few minutes later, Tim and Caroline Carson, a middle-aged couple that had not seen the inside of a gym in more than three years, huffed and puffed their way to a portal that flapped in a soft breeze. They stopped when they reached the moment of truth.

"Two thirty is the transit time," Tim said. He checked his watch as he caught his breath. "It's two-thirty five now. Do we risk it? I'll let you make the call."

"Let's go. I don't care about risks. We've come too far to stop."

"I agree."

"Then let's do it," Caroline said.

Tim did not consider other possibilities. He did not have time. He had time only to clasp his wife's gloved hand, take a deep breath, and step through a portal to the 1940s.

CHAPTER 108: GREG

Yavapai County, Arizona

Nearly an hour after stunning two families and two hired hands with a display of imagination, gumption, and courage, Patricia O'Rourke Carson, pistol-packing newlywed, settled herself on a familiar rock. Then she looked at her husband of five days and smiled.

"I had you going, didn't I?"

Greg threw his arm around her shoulders.

"Mrs. Carson, let me answer that question with a statement. In about ten years, a motion picture academy in Los Angeles is going to start handing out awards to actors who turn in the best performances for a given year. One of those awards will to go the best actress in a leading role. If you were an actress and I had a vote, I would give you the keys to the city."

Patricia laughed.

"I accept your endorsement."

Greg smiled at her comment. Then he looked thoughtfully at his blushing bride, placed his free hand on her smooth milky cheek, and gave her a tender kiss.

"I really thought I had lost you."

Patricia took his hand.

"Have you already forgotten my vows, Mr. Carson? I promised to stick with you through thick and thin. The thought of leaving you never crossed my mind."

Greg took a deep breath.

"Can I ask you a tough question?"

"Of course."

"Would you have done it? Would you have shot Cecilia McCain in cold blood? Would you have put a bullet in the brain of a woman who never harmed a fly?"

Patricia nodded.

"I'm glad I didn't have to, but I would have done it. I would have done it and then gone from there. There was no way I was going to let those men take you without a fight."

Greg wiped away a tear.

"I believe it."

"What's wrong?" Patricia asked. "You're getting misty."

Greg sighed.

"I just realized something for the hundredth time."

"What's that?"

"I married the right girl."

"I hope so," Patricia said. "I've tried hard to be a good wife, a loving companion, and a loyal member of this family. You're my business now. I hope you know that."

"I do now, lady. I do now."

Greg pulled Patricia close, kissed her head, and gazed at the other members of his family as they waited for their next opportunity to travel. He battled mixed emotions when he saw Adam and Bridget share a laugh and Cody and Caitlin duel with their "swords." The four seemed relaxed, composed, and almost indifferent to what had transpired. The Carson family, he concluded, was getting all too comfortable with violence, hardship, and death.

Greg looked around for the missing member of the clan and finally spotted her as she approached the rock from the right. He addressed her when she drew near.

"Where have you been?"

"I went for a walk," Natalie said. "Unlike Cody and Caitlin, I didn't have a fencing partner to help me work out my anxiety, frustration, and fear, so I went for a stroll."

Greg studied her face.

"Do you feel better?"

Natalie nodded.

"I'm still coming to grips with what I saw, but yes, I feel better. I just hope that's the last time we see men with guns on this trip. I could use a change of pace."

"I could too," Greg said.

Natalie hemmed and hawed for a moment, as if she were thinking of something to say, and then finally sat beside Patricia on the sofa rock. She put her hand on her knee.

"I'm sorry for calling you a bitch."

"That's all right," Patricia said. She laughed. "I deserved it at that point. I was in the middle of my award-winning performance."

"Your what?"

"I'll explain it later."

"All right," Natalie said. "In any case, I'm sorry. Like everyone else in this family, I rushed to judgment. I assumed the worst when I should have expected the best."

Patricia took Natalie's hand.

"Your apology is accepted."

Greg smiled at the love fest. If there was one thing that warmed his heart, it was the sight of two of his favorite females making up over nothing. He started to say something to Natalie but stopped when he heard Adam call his name from twenty feet away.

"What's up?" Greg asked.

"It's time," Adam said.

Greg nodded in agreement. Then he looked at Patricia and Natalie, who had finished their conversation, and turned to the matter at hand.

"That's our cue, ladies."

Greg helped Patricia and Natalie off the rock, strapped on his holster, and picked up his bag of goodies. Then he escorted the women toward the familiar and mysterious time portal that had changed all of their lives. He spoke to Adam the moment they arrived.

"What did you do with the rifles?"

"I buried them," Adam said. "If law enforcement wants to dig them up, check for prints, and come after us in the forties, then let them. I'm done with guns for a while."

"I hope we all are."

"Are you ready to go?"

"I think so," Greg said.

"That's good because I'm giving you the reins. It's the least I can do for failing to heed your warning today. Are you up for making the call?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Then let's assume our positions," Adam said. He looked at the others as they gathered by the portal and awaited further instruction. "That goes for everyone. Fall in, folks."

Greg carried his carpetbag to the far left side of the shimmering sheet and looked on as Patricia, Natalie, Cody, Caitlin, Bridget, and Adam collected their belongings, which they had left in front of the portal, and formed a line to his right. Then he checked his watch, noted a time of two twenty-nine, and addressed the Brother-in-Chief.

"Do you have less than a minute?"

Adam nodded.

"I have T-minus twenty seconds."

Greg did not check his watch again. He did not need to. He already knew it did not differ from Adam's by more than two or three seconds.

He waited for a gust of wind to die down, gazed at his family one more time, and stared at the magic membrane that called to him like a siren. He paused a moment to think about the people who had died since his last visit to this hallowed place. Then he took a deep breath, clasped his wife's hand, and made the call of his lifetime.

"Forward!"

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It has been many years since I worked on my first collaborative project, but I have never forgotten the project or the value of teamwork. When you seek and use the input of others, you end up with a better product. It was true when I was a student. It is true now.

I am deeply indebted to several individuals, men and women from different walks of life, who contributed to this work. Without these people, who freely offered their time, insights, and knowledge, I would have faced many more obstacles and challenges.

Once again, I am most indebted to my beta readers. They are the first responders of literature, the people who put out small fires before they grow into large ones. These fine folks include Morgan Coyner, Bryant Giles, Cheryl Heldt, Judy Hudgins, Jon Johnson, and Christine Stinson, who read the early drafts, and Mary Heldt, Cathy Hundley, Esther Johnson, Leslie Teske Mills, Becky Skelton, and Neal Wedum, who read the later ones. All contributed something unique and essential to this book.

I am also grateful to Aaron Yost, who has edited all twelve of my novels, and illustrator Laura Wright LaRoche, who has created or modified all but one of my covers. Each played an important role in helping me bring this book to the reading public.

Many others offered vital research assistance and guidance. They include staff from the Arlington National Cemetery, Copley Library (University of San Diego), Duluth (Minnesota) Public Library, Minnesota Historical Society Library, National Park Service, San Diego State University Library, U.S. Army Center of Military History, and U.S. Forest Service.

When researching this novel, I consulted several nonfiction books, dissertations, and reference works. They include Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour by Joseph E. Persico; The Fires of Autumn by Francis M. Carroll; From the "Mexicali Rose" to the Tijuana Brass by Eric Michael Schantz; The Greatest Day in History by Nicholas Best; A History of the Transport Service by Albert Gleaves; A History of United States Army Base Hospital No. 36 ; The Mexican Border Cities by Daniel D. Arreola; Tijuana: The History of a Mexican Metropolis by Thurber Dennis Proffitt; and The U.S. Army on the Mexican Border by Matt M. Matthews.

I also perused many journals, newspapers, and web sites while preparing this novel. Some of the most important include the Arizona Daily Sun , Duluth Herald , Duluth News Tribune , Gettysburg.edu, HistoryNet.com, Journal of San Diego History , Legal Genealogist, Los Angeles Times , Minnesota History , Minnesota Public Radio News, San Diego Union-Tribune , Shoe and Leather Facts , Social Education , Today's Parent , and Washington Post .

I would recommend these sources and others to readers wishing to learn more about the notable persons, places, and events of the early twentieth century.

Though nonfiction books, academic papers, and journal articles proved invaluable to me as the author of this novel, no published source could match the stories handed down to me by my maternal grandfather, who lived in Baja California in 1918 and 1919. Along with his wife and infant daughter, Andy Hoeme (1893-1992) saw and experienced many of the things described in The Memory Tree . His stories, captured on audiotape in 1989, became the inspiration for many of the chapters set in Mexico, Southern California, and beyond.

 

CARSON CHRONICLES CONTENTS

Carson Chronicles Home Page

River Rising (Carson Chronicles Book 1)

The Memory Tree (Carson Chronicles Book 2)

Indian Paintbrush (Carson Chronicles Book 3)

INDIAN PAINTBRUSH

A novel by

John A. Heldt

Copyright © 2018 by John A. Heldt

Edited by Aaron Yost

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Natalie

Chapter 2: Natalie

Chapter 3: Natalie

Chapter 4: Natalie

Chapter 5: Tim

Chapter 6: Adam

Chapter 7: Tim

Chapter 8: Adam

Chapter 9: Greg

Chapter 10: Caroline

Chapter 11: Adam

Chapter 12: Greg

Chapter 13: Natalie

Chapter 14: Greg

Chapter 15: Caitlin

Chapter 16: Cody

Chapter 17: Adam

Chapter 18: Tim

Chapter 19: Natalie

Chapter 20: Cody

Chapter 21: Natalie

Chapter 22: Caitlin

Chapter 23: Cody

Chapter 24: Caitlin

Chapter 25: Bridget

Chapter 26: Adam

Chapter 27: Cody

Chapter 28: Natalie

Chapter 29: Adam

Chapter 30: Adam

Chapter 31: Caitlin

Chapter 32: Cody

Chapter 33: Natalie

Chapter 34: Adam

Chapter 35: Caitlin

Chapter 36: Patricia

Chapter 37: Tim

Chapter 38: Cody

Chapter 39: Adam

Chapter 40: Tim

Chapter 41: Caitlin

Chapter 42: Natalie

Chapter 43: Caitlin

Chapter 44: Cody

Chapter 45: Natalie

Chapter 46: Caroline

Chapter 47: Nick

Chapter 48: Cody

Chapter 49: Tim

Chapter 50: Cody

Chapter 51: Adam

Chapter 52: Natalie

Chapter 53: Patricia

Chapter 54: Caitlin

Chapter 55: Adam

Chapter 56: Caitlin

Chapter 57: Adam

Chapter 58: Cody

Chapter 59: Natalie

Chapter 60: Tim

Chapter 61: Natalie

Chapter 62: Cody

Chapter 63: Caitlin

Chapter 64: Caitlin

Chapter 65: Natalie

Chapter 66: Natalie

Chapter 67: Greg

Chapter 68: Cody

Chapter 69: Adam

Chapter 70: Natalie

Chapter 71: Cody

Chapter 72: Cody

Chapter 73: Caitlin

Chapter 74: Natalie

Chapter 75: Greg

Chapter 76: Tim

Chapter 77: Cody

Chapter 78: Natalie

Chapter 79: Nick

Chapter 80: Nick

Chapter 81: Nick

Chapter 82: Greg

Chapter 83: Adam

Chapter 84: Adam

Chapter 85: Adam

Chapter 86: Tim

Chapter 87: Natalie

Chapter 88: Natalie

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER 1: NATALIE

Yavapai County, Arizona – Sunday, December 22, 1918

The call to assemble came at two twenty-two. Though it was issued in a voice that was soft, informal, and matter-of-fact, it carried the weight of a presidential order.

"It's time," Adam said.

Natalie Carson greeted the call with both gladness and relief. After a journey filled with misery, disappointment, and death, she was ready to move on. She was ready to trade a world of heartbreak for a world of hope and get on with the business of living.

So, apparently, was Greg. When the second Carson son heard the directive from the first, he nodded his approval. Then he looked at Natalie and his wife, Patricia, who sat with him atop a flat sandstone boulder, and offered a hopeful smile.

"That's our cue, ladies."

Natalie responded in haste. She slipped off the rock, with Greg's assistance, and then followed her brother and sister-in-law to a spot about thirty feet away. She stopped when they reached several duffels and purses Adam had neatly arranged in a row.

Filled to capacity, the bags contained more than clothes, documents, and souvenirs from two memorable trips. They held most of the worldly belongings of seven young adults, including five siblings who had not seen their parents or their home in more than a year.

Natalie watched with interest and curiosity as her older brothers came together at the gathering place, a familiar clearing in a vast and unforgiving desert. When Adam and Greg began discussing guns, regrets, and protocol, she turned her attention to the other members of their diverse and unlikely group. She noticed that they seemed remarkably relaxed for people who had just survived a tense encounter with three gunmen.

Patricia O'Rourke Carson, who had saved the family from the armed intruders with cunning and courage, stood stoically at her husband's side. She appeared as calm as a summer pond as she waited for Adam and Greg to finish their businesslike conversation.

So did Bridget O'Malley Carson, Adam's pregnant wife of seven months. Blond, beautiful, and Irish to the core, she wore the defiant smile of a woman who had faced death, hardship, and other serious challenges and conquered them like a champion.

Cody and Caitlin, the youngest members of the Carson clan, looked no less composed. The eighteen-year-old twins, classmates and best friends, stood quietly next to each other as they awaited further instruction from the family leaders.

That instruction came a moment later when Adam finished his chat with Greg, turned to face the others, and asked everyone to "fall in." Like the rest of his traveling band, he seemed at peace with the current situation and the sobering task at hand.

Natalie certainly was. Despite the frightening encounter with the gunmen, who had followed the family into the desert to settle an old score with Greg, she was finally at ease with where she was and what she had to do. After spending twelve months in places she had only seen in movies and books, she was ready to proceed to the next destination.

Natalie collected her belongings and then did what she had done twice before on the family's eventful odyssey. She took her place in front of a translucent membrane that flapped and billowed in the soft breeze like a plastic sheet hanging on a clothesline.

She looked at Greg and Patricia, who stood at her immediate left, and then at Cody, Caitlin, Bridget, and Adam, who had assembled in that order to her right. She noticed that all had picked up their bags, turned to face their favorite atmospheric anomaly, and at least visibly prepared for another expedition into the great unknown.

Convinced that the others were ready to take the plunge, Natalie turned again to her second brother, who had assumed temporary command of the mission. She sighed when Greg checked his watch, offered a satisfied expression, and spoke past the others to Adam.

"Do you have less than a minute?"

Adam nodded.

"I have T-minus twenty seconds."

Natalie smiled. She needed to hear no more to know that her brothers, experts of sorts on this particular kind of travel, had their ducks in a row. If she had faith in any human beings, it was in the two men who occupied opposite ends of this family formation.

She looked again at the flapping sheet and waited for Greg to utter a command that all but Patricia had heard at least once. As a steady breeze picked up and then died down, she thought about all the things she had seen and done since leaving home. She thought about a dashing journalist she had loved and lost, a charismatic soldier she adored, and her prospects for happiness in the days to come. She pondered an uncertain future.

Then she cleared her mind and waited for the signal. When it finally came, in the form of a single word, Natalie moved forward with confidence and grace. She did what cynics and skeptics dismissed as impossible and others wrote off as madness. She took five brave steps toward the shimmering sheet and disappeared into thin air.

CHAPTER 2: NATALIE

Wednesday, December 22, 1943

Natalie emerged from the portal unscathed. With a canvas bag in one hand, a purse in the other, and a lump in her throat, she walked through the translucent membrane in the middle of Red Rock country and traveled from one turbulent era to another.

Or at least she hoped she had. Though she had every reason to believe she had passed from 1918 to 1943, she knew that nothing was certain. When people stepped into time portals that appeared out of nowhere four times a year, they played a round of roulette.

Once on the flip side of the sheet, Natalie lowered her bags, peered over each shoulder, and performed a head count. Every member of the group, including Adam and Greg, who carried all of the vital documents, had made it. From a numbers standpoint alone, the time-travel journey, the siblings' third in twelve months, was a roaring success.

Natalie briefly inspected her hands. Then she glanced at Greg as he offered his nervous bride — a newbie time traveler — a comforting hug.

"I still have ten fingers. How about you?"

"I'm whole," Greg said. He grinned. "I don't know if my mind took a hit, but it appears I still have all my body parts. I suppose that's a good thing."

Patricia stifled a laugh.

"We can debate that later."

Natalie loved hearing the newlyweds banter almost as much as she loved seeing the others smile and sigh. She thought Adam, Cody, Caitlin, and Bridget, whom Adam had married in May 1889, looked happy and relaxed. She vastly preferred this sunshine and light to the gloom and doom that followed the first crossing, when the siblings had traveled to 1888 Pennsylvania and not 1888 Arizona, and the second, when armed horsemen from 1889 had chased the family through this very portal to 1918.

"Did we get it right this time?" Natalie asked.

"I think so," Adam said. "We won't know for sure until we reach civilization, but I think we made it to the forties. I can already feel a more modern vibe."

Natalie smiled as she pondered the word "modern." The term had taken on many meanings since the Carsons had traveled from 2017 to 1888, 1889 to 1918, and 1918 to what they hoped was 1943. In the span of a year, the daring siblings, products of the digital age, had visited worlds where the incandescent light bulb and radio were cutting edge.

Now, as Natalie stood among thistles, sagebrushes, and prickly pears, she considered the word again. If she and the others had indeed traveled to December 22, 1943, their target date, they would have to adjust once more to new surroundings. They would have to adapt to a world where "modern" meant cathode ray tubes, synthetic rubber, and aerosol spray cans. They would have to do what they had done many times since their parents, time travelers themselves, had plunged into the past on September 22, 2017.

When she finished mulling the big question — whether her party of seven had traveled to 1943 or another year — Natalie turned to a more immediate concern. She and the others were five miles from the village of Sedona and at least that far from the nearest paved road, telephone, and motel. None of the travelers, attired in suits and skirts from the Progressive Era, had dressed for a long hike through the desert. None had prepared for a hike .

"What do we do now?" Natalie asked.

"We walk," Adam said. "We head west until we find someone who can provide us with a phone or a ride. We shouldn't have to walk more than a couple of miles."

"Sedona is north of here, Adam, not west — and it is five miles away, not two. We'll be lucky to get there before dark, if we get there at all."

"We're not going to Sedona."

"We're not?" Greg asked.

Adam shook his head.

"We're going to a school. There's a schoolhouse a little west of here on the road that connects Red Rock and Oak Creek. It wasn't around in 1918, but it is now. I noted its location when I read Dad's files. It's one of the few tidbits I remember about 1943."

Natalie had to give Adam credit. While she and the others had focused solely on 1888 during the original planning phase, he had looked ahead. He had anticipated the possibility that the siblings might have to travel again and again. He had attended to business.

Then again, Adam, a twenty-eight-year-old civil engineer, had done that for months. He had attended to a lot of things since learning in December 2017 that his parents were not the victims of foul play but rather time travelers who had become stuck in 1888.

Adam had learned the truth in bits and pieces from the family attorney, a sealed letter, and a hidden web site his father had maintained for years. Like his grieving brothers and sisters, he found the revelation shocking, unsettling, and even maddening.

On at least three occasions in 2017, Tim and Caroline Carson had risked life and limb in the pursuit of knowledge. Tim alone had traveled fourteen times after translating some native writings about supernatural portals in early 2014. Both of the Baby Boomers, professors at Northern Arizona University, had traveled without incident until they headed for the Gilded Age on the eve of their thirtieth wedding anniversary.

Among the items the couple had left behind on the encrypted web site was a travel itinerary for trips to the 1880s, 1918, the 1940s, 1972, and 1983. The document revealed the confidence of two people who had expected to leave their home in Flagstaff, Arizona, and return to their children and jobs as if they had been gone for days instead of months.

Natalie reflected on the past for a moment and then turned again to Adam, who shielded his eyes from the sun as he inspected the western horizon. As was the case following the first two trips through the portal, she had more questions than answers.

"What makes you think we'll see anyone?" Natalie asked. "If this really is December 22, 1943, it's three days before Christmas. I doubt we'll find anyone at the school this time of year, particularly in the afternoon. I'm sure the teachers are gone."

"They might be," Adam said. "Or they might be teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic to kids who would rather be hunting rabbits. Either way, we need to check it out."

"Then let's go."

"Is everyone else game?"

Greg said yes. Cody muttered his assent. Patricia and Caitlin nodded. Only Bridget, who sported a serious baby bump, did not reply to Adam's question. She did not appear particularly eager to walk a long distance through the desert in her condition.

Adam seemed to sense this right away. When he looked at his wife, he did so with eyes that reflected more remorse and regret than confidence and optimism.

"How about you? Are you up for a walk?"

Bridget stared at her spouse.

"Do I have a choice?"

Adam offered a sheepish smile.

"No."

"Then lead the way, dear."

Natalie smiled.

"If my brother were a true gentleman, he would sweep you off your feet, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and carry you the entire way."

"I agree," Bridget said. She looked at her husband with playful eyes. "I should insist that you at least give it a try, but I won't. I don't want you to drop me."

Adam chuckled.

"Thanks, hon."

Natalie started to needle her brother again, but she stopped in midsentence when she heard a faint buzzing sound overhead. The former television reporter shielded her eyes, looked up, and scanned the skies for aircraft. She found one almost immediately.

A moment later, a large, silvery, propeller-driven plane approached the Carson party. Flying from east to west at an elevation of three thousand feet, it moved with purpose, style, and grace, much like a famous actress stepping onto a lighted stage.

"We have company," Natalie said.

Adam looked skyward.

"Yes, we do."

"Where do you think it's headed?"

"I don't know."

Greg smiled.

"I know."

Natalie cocked her head.

"You do ?"

"I do," Greg said as the plane flew overhead. "Or at least I think I do. That plane is headed to an Army air base in Kingman, Yucca, or Southern California."

"How do you know that?"

"I know it, dear sister, because I know aircraft, markings, and history. That big bird is a brand-spanking-new Douglas C-47."

"It's a what?" Natalie asked.

"It's a sixty-foot-long, eighteen-thousand-pound military transport plane with a range of sixteen-hundred miles," Greg said. He grinned as everyone in the family gave him their undivided attention. "It's also the answer to our biggest question."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the C-47 was the workhorse of the Army Air Force during World War II. Unless that plane is a fully restored classic, we're standing in the 1940s."

CHAPTER 3: NATALIE

The two miles felt like four, the skies grew darker, and a soft breeze, once comforting, took on a chilly edge, but the family reached its destination. An hour after leaving the time portal for what amounted to civilization in the farthest reaches of Yavapai County, the Carson clan, made up of young adults from 2017, 1889, and 1918, approached a country schoolhouse on what they believed was the second-to-last Wednesday in 1943.

Natalie noted the particulars as soon as she came within viewing distance of the school, a simple brick structure that stood between a groomed dirt road and a grove of scraggly cottonwood trees. She noticed lights in the windows, smoke from the chimney, and what looked like a 1940 Ford coupe parked in the adjacent gravel lot.

"It looks like school is still in session," Natalie said. She glanced at Adam as he led the party of misfits through the arid terrain. "You were right."

Adam looked over his shoulder.

"So it appears."

"What should we tell the people inside?"

"I don't know."

"I know," Greg said. "We can tell them we had car trouble on Route 179 on our way to an acting gig in Williams. Then we won't have to explain why seven people, dressed like extras from Downton Abbey , are strolling through the desert."

"I like it," Adam said. He smiled. "It's original."

Natalie laughed. She recalled that the siblings had offered similar stories when seeking help from locals on their trips to 1888 and 1918. On both occasions, they had passed themselves off as traveling actors who had been abandoned by their handlers.

"Original or not, I like it too," Natalie said. She looked at Adam. "Do you want me to talk to the person in charge? If you do, I can. I'm pretty good at spreading manure."

"Yes, you are."

"So should I go in now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You'll see," Adam said. He led his group to the edge of the grove. Then he turned to face the others and explained his position. "I have a feeling that school will be out very soon. Let's wait here for a moment, see what develops, and go from there."

So the time travelers did just that. They gathered behind several large trees, lowered their bags, and waited for something to happen. They did not have to wait long. Ten minutes after they arrived on the scene, a school bus, a classic yellow-and-black model that looked more like a movie prop than a functioning vehicle, did the same.

"Our chariot has arrived," Greg said.

Adam nodded.

"It's a big one too."

Natalie started to make an observation but stopped when she saw more than twenty students push open the school's front door and spill into the parking lot. She noticed that all of the children, mostly teenagers and preteens, wore forties attire.

"Greg's right about one thing."

"What's that?" Adam asked.

"We are in the 1940s," Natalie said. "I haven't seen this many cuffed slacks, plaid skirts, and saddle shoes since I watched an Andy Hardy movie marathon in high school."

"Neither have I."

"I wonder where the teachers are."

"I think you mean teacher, as in singular," Adam said. "I see only one car. I imagine he or she is cleaning blackboards, straightening desks, or grading papers."

"What should we do now?"

"Let's take a closer look."

"All right," Natalie said.

Adam picked up his carpetbag, which contained cash, documents, tools, and other essentials, and led Bridget, Natalie, and the rest of the family down a trail that led directly to the parking lot. He seemed a bit uneasy when the group drew the attention of some of the students, who stood in a line as they waited to board the bus.

Seconds later, a woman in a dark blue dress, maybe fifty years of age, exited the school, closed the door, and stepped away from the presumably empty building. She walked toward the Ford like a person eager to start a lengthy holiday break.

Adam stopped when he reached the lot. Then he turned to face his party, paused for a moment, and spoke to the sister who fibbed better than Fibber McGee.

"Are you up for this?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Natalie said. "I'll think of something to say. If the woman screams or faints or calls the police, I'll walk away. We don't have to stay here."

Adam extended his arm.

"Then have at it."

Natalie lowered her bags to the cold ground, stepped to the head of the family line, and gazed at the woman as she answered "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Thompson!" and similar greetings with smiles and waves. Then she took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and walked briskly toward the instructor. She intercepted her a few feet from her car.

"Excuse me," Natalie said.

Mrs. Thompson stopped and turned.

"Can I help you?"

"You can. Or at least I hope you can."

The woman glanced at the rest of the Carson family, furrowed her brow, and then returned to Natalie. She spoke to the visitor in a guarded voice.

"What can I do for you?"

"You can help us contact a tow-truck driver," Natalie said. "We need to find someone who can tow our car to a repair shop. Our vehicle broke down on Route 179."

The woman tilted her head.

"You walked a mile to get here?"

Natalie smiled.

"We walked two. We had hoped to hitch a ride to Sedona, but when we didn't see another car, we left the road. We came here when we saw the smoke from your chimney."

"Where are you folks headed?"

"We're on our way to Williams. We would like to get there by evening, but given our circumstances, I don't think we'll succeed. So we may need to find a hotel and a restaurant, in addition to a tow-truck driver and a capable mechanic. Can you help us?"

"I can try," Mrs. Thompson said. She looked again at the oddly dressed family and focused on the member who was seven months pregnant. "How many are in your group?"

"Seven."

"Stay here for a moment."

"OK."

Natalie watched with interest as the woman walked toward the fully loaded bus, stepped inside the vehicle, and spoke with the driver, a stout fortyish woman who looked like she, too, had better things to do. She could only imagine their conversation.

When it appeared the conversation might drag, she turned around, looked at her clan, and saw several expressions of support, including a thumbs-up from Greg. She could tell from the smiles alone that the others were more than happy to watch from the sidelines.

Natalie waved at her siblings and then returned her attention to the idling bus, which spewed noxious clouds of diesel into the air. She braced herself for some news when the teacher said goodbye to the driver, exited the bus, and walked toward her car.

Mrs. Thompson, who looked like the French chef Julia Child and spoke like the actress Katharine Hepburn, did not look happy. She frowned when she met Natalie's gaze.

"I have some good news and some bad news."

"Give me the worst first," Natalie said.

"The bad news is that there is nothing in this immediate area. You won't be able to find a tow-truck driver or a certified mechanic in Sedona until at least next week."

"I see."

"The good news is that you can find both this week in Cottonwood, along with hotels, restaurants, phones, and a bus station," Mrs. Thompson said. "Two buses roll through town every day. One goes to Flagstaff, the other to Prescott. Both can take you to Williams."

"How can we get to Cottonwood?"

"Mrs. Tidwell, the bus driver, can take you. If you don't mind riding in a rickety old crate for the next hour and a half, she can take you there now. Cottonwood is just three miles from the end of her route. She can take you there as soon as she drops off the children."

Natalie considered discussing the matter with her siblings before giving Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Tidwell an answer, but she decided against it. With options, prospects, and daylight diminishing by the minute, she opted to make an executive decision.

"Are you sure it's no bother?"

The teacher smiled.

"I'm positive, dear."

"Then tell Mrs. Tidwell we accept her generous offer," Natalie said. "She just gave seven people the best Christmas present they could ask for."

CHAPTER 4: NATALIE

Cottonwood, Arizona – Thursday, December 23, 1943

If there was ever a doubt that the Carsons had traveled to 1943, it was dispelled when they purchased three issues of the Phoenix Gazette . They needed only to glance at the paper's front page to know they had migrated from one world to another.

Natalie scanned the headlines a second time as the others enjoyed breakfast at Carol's Café, a popular greasy spoon on Main Street. She sighed as she read about the Second Battle of Kiev, a military coup in Bolivia, Hitler's order to draft sixteen-year-olds, and the death of Beatrix Potter, author of the Peter Rabbit series of children's books.

"I see nothing has changed since 1918," Natalie said. She lowered her paper, folded it in half, and placed it on the floor. "The world is still a busy place."

Adam frowned.

"It's still a violent place."

Greg put away his paper.

"You've got that right."

Natalie sipped some bitter coffee and then studied the faces around her long table, a retro gem with chrome sides and a sticky Formica top. She smiled as the members of her family, including some with dietary restrictions, threw caution to the wind and devoured plates of bacon, eggs, sausages, pancakes, and hash browns like ravenous wolves.

"Are we all a little hungry today?"

Cody lowered his fork, wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, and stared across the table at his oldest sister. He did not appear amused.

"I haven't eaten in twenty-five years. Yeah, I'm hungry."

Bridget, Patricia, and Caitlin, who sat with Natalie on one side of the table, stifled laughs. Adam and Greg, who sat with Cody on the other, didn't stifle a thing. They chuckled and shook their heads. Greg raised a tall glass of orange juice.

"Here's to honesty."

Caitlin grinned and raised her glass.

"Here's to bacon!"

Natalie laughed. She loved the exchange almost as much as the artery-clogging food, which tasted heavenly after more than twenty-four meal-free hours in the desert.

She gave breakfast another moment of thought and then turned her attention to a far more pressing subject. She had pondered the matter for hours.

"Adam?"

The family leader sipped his coffee.

"Yes?"

"Have you given any thought to our next step?" Natalie asked. "I know we talked about staying in one place this time, but we never discussed specifics. Unless you want to stay in Cottonwood for the next six months, we need to come up with a plan."

Adam gazed at his sister.

"I agree."

"Do you have something in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I think we should take a bus to Flagstaff, rent a house in town, and remain in Arizona. We should wait for Mom and Dad to come to us . If there is one place our parents are most likely to visit in this or any time, it's our home state."

Natalie looked at Greg.

"Do you agree?"

"I do, for the most part," Greg said. "I think we should settle in Arizona and stay here for the duration of the trip, but we should do it in Phoenix instead of Flagstaff."

"Why?"

"Why? Because we can monitor the state just as easily from Phoenix — and I, for one, would rather spend the next six months in a big town than a small one."

"So would I," Caitlin said. She put her napkin on her lap. "I want to find Mom and Dad as much as anyone, but I don't want to spend all my time checking hotels, post offices, and train stations. I want to do something different. I want to do something important."

"I do too," Cody added. He looked at Caitlin and then at Natalie. "I want to find a job, a real job, and make some money for once. I want to contribute to the war effort."

Natalie frowned.

"Just don't do it in Okinawa."

Cody stared at his big sister.

"I'm not stupid, Natalie. I know my situation is dicey."

"It's more than dicey. It's downright dangerous. The Selective Service System, in case you didn't know, revised its policies this year. As an eighteen-year-old, you are now eligible for the draft. So are Adam and Greg," Natalie said. She looked at her brothers. "If all of you aren't careful, you could end up on a battlefield before we pay off a lease."

Adam jumped back in.

"You're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"We don't exist, at least not officially. Unless we register for the draft, it's highly unlikely the feds will look for us. Cody, Greg, and I are, for all practical purposes, invisible."

"That can change."

"Yes, it can. That's why I think we should keep a low profile in Flagstaff rather than make a big splash in Phoenix or someplace else. Don't forget why we came here. We came here to find our parents — not to participate in a war the Allies will win without us."

Natalie looked around the café before saying another word. When she was convinced that the diners at nearby tables weren't FBI agents or military police, she took another sip of coffee, gathered her thoughts, and resumed the conversation.

"You make a strong case, Adam, but so do Cody, Caitlin, and Greg. Do you really just want to sit around for six months waiting for something to happen? I don't."

Adam leaned forward.

"I don't either. Like you and the others, I would much rather do something constructive, but I don't want to invite trouble we don't need. We have done nothing but flirt with danger and death since leaving home. Maybe it's time to take a break."

Natalie nodded. She could not disagree with a single word, but she did not want to come down forcefully on one side or another until she heard from the others. She took a deep breath, looked to her left, and gazed at the newest addition to the family.

"What do you think?"

Patricia smiled.

"Do I really get a vote?"

"Yes," Natalie said. "You're a Carson now. As a member of this family, you have an equal say in everything we do. Your input is as important as anyone's, including Greg's."

Patricia turned to face Greg, who sat opposite her, and studied his face. She clearly wanted to gauge his mood before offering an opinion on the matter. Then she returned to Natalie, grinned, and cheerfully told the others what she thought.

"I agree with Adam. I think we all have had enough excitement for a while and should take a breather. Let's not forget, as well, that one of us is carrying a child, a child who will be born in February. We need safety and stability now, not danger and doubt. I vote for going to Flagstaff and spending the next six months in the mountains."

Natalie sank in her chair. She did not see that coming. She had assumed that her sister-in-law, a daring, independent, and adventurous woman from 1918, would jump at the opportunity to experience the 1940s in a more active setting, but she had not.

That meant that she would probably have to cast the decisive vote. The oldest Carson daughter did not doubt for a second that Bridget, who loved mountains, trees, and cabins, would take the cool and calm of Flagstaff over the heat and bustle of Phoenix.

Natalie turned to her right, looked at her pregnant sister-in-law, and saw a subtle smile form on her face. She did not know whether that was good or bad.

"What say you, Bridget?"

The Irish blonde, a former music student and hotel clerk who had met the Carson clan in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, paused before offering an answer. Like her redheaded sister-in-arms, a one-time Texas cowgirl, Vassar College dropout, and Tijuana cantina owner, she seemed to savor the spotlight and the chance to influence a major family decision.

"I say we should go to Phoenix."

Adam stared at his wife.

"What?"

"You heard me. I think we should go to Phoenix."

"Why? I thought you liked the mountains."

"I do," Bridget said, "but I also like pleasing my new family. I also like the idea of being close to a large hospital and emergency services. I don't want to be stuck in the snow when our baby is born. I want to be near doctors and nurses if I need them."

Natalie laughed.

"What's so funny?" Adam asked.

"My sisters-in-law are funny. I love it every time they think and act independently of their controlling husbands," Natalie said. She looked at Bridget. "You rock."

Bridget blushed.

"Thank you, I think."

"You're welcome."

Adam frowned.

"That settles it then. I count four votes for Phoenix, two for Flagstaff, and one for gratuitous and wholly unproductive male-bashing."

Natalie beamed.

"Make that five votes for Phoenix."

Adam shook his head.

"I smell a cabal."

Bridget reached across the table and took Adam's hand.

"This is what happens when you let women vote, dear. We create havoc for no reason at all."

The others broke into laughter.

Adam stared at his wife.

"It's a good thing I love you."

Bridget offered a playful smile.

"I'll let you pick the house."

Natalie caught her breath.

"Oh, I wish I had a camera. I've waited years to see this."

Patricia put down her napkin.

"If it makes you feel better, Adam, I still like you."

The others laughed again.

"Thanks, Patricia," Adam said. "You're still in my will."

Natalie reveled in Adam's misery, but she did so only for a moment. She knew that her brother, a clear thinker, was more right than wrong. She realized that the family would have to keep a low profile no matter where it settled in the next six months.

"So what's next?" Natalie asked.

"Phoenix is next," Adam said. "Unless you want to hang out here for a while, we should head south, find a house, and start looking for jobs. I think that makes the most sense."

"I do too."

"Does everyone else agree?"

Bridget and Patricia nodded. Greg and Cody muttered their approval. Caitlin grinned at Big Brother like a Cheshire cat. She, too, was enjoying the moment.

Natalie gave Adam a comforting smile.

"I think it's unanimous."

"Then we should go now," Adam said. "The bus to Prescott leaves in an hour. If we're lucky, we can catch the connecting bus to Phoenix and get there by dark."

Natalie studied her brother's face as the others finished their breakfast, tossed their napkins on their plates, and pushed back their chairs. She saw a strange mix of doubt and determination in his eyes as he stood up and placed a twenty by the meal check.

"Are you really all right with this?" Natalie asked. She waited for the others to leave the table and head for the exit before resuming. "If you're not, we can discuss it some more. We don't have to go to Phoenix. We can consider somewhere else."

"There's no need. Phoenix is fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Adam said.

Natalie watched with interest as Adam pushed back his chair, walked around the table, and joined her and Bridget on the other side. She looked at him with curiosity when he helped his wife out of her chair, placed his hand on her shoulder, and grinned.

"What's with the grin?" Natalie asked.

"It's nothing."

"People don't grin for nothing, Adam."

Adam chuckled.

"I guess they don't."

Natalie cocked her head.

"Then what's with the grin?"

Adam exchanged knowing glances with Bridget. Then he turned to face his sister and answered her question in a soft and humble voice.

"After I scooped my ego off the floor, I remembered something Bridget had said in 1918 when we considered your request to travel to France. Do you recall that discussion?"

"You know I do," Natalie said.

"Then you recall what she told us. She said that life was meant for living. She was right then. You're right now. We need to do more than wait for Mom and Dad to knock on our door. We need to do more than go through the motions. We need to live ."

CHAPTER 5: TIM

New Paris, Pennsylvania – Thursday, September 23, 1943

Tim saw trouble in spades. From the second he and his wife emerged from the portal, he saw things he did not expect to see on what was supposed to be a winter day.

Stalks and cobs littered the familiar ground. Birds and squirrels played. A summerlike breeze rattled leaves that had just begun to turn. If Tim and Caroline Carson had traveled from December 22, 1918, to December 22, 1943, their intended destination, they had traveled to the warmest, greenest, and unlikeliest winter solstice in Pennsylvania history.

Tim took Caroline's hand and led her through the harvested cornfield to a paved rural road about fifty yards away. He scanned his surroundings and sighed.

"It appears we missed the mark."

Caroline did not reply. Nor did she stay. She dropped Tim's hand, walked a few feet down the narrow country lane, and stopped to inspect the setting. For more than a minute, she did nothing but stare at the forests and fields and the advent of autumn.

"Honey?" Tim asked. "Are you all right?"

Caroline slowly shook her head. Then she turned around and gazed at her husband with watery eyes. She wore the face of a mother who was a mother no more.

Tim did not need another cue. He stepped forward, embraced his wife, and held onto her for several silent minutes. Though he did not share Caroline's feelings of despair, he certainly understood them. He understood what had slipped through their fingers.

"I'm not giving up," Tim said. "I'll find the kids if it's the last thing I do. I promise you now I'll get it done. I will do whatever it takes to reunite our family."

Caroline forced a tearful smile.

"I know you will."

Tim did not even try to hide his disgust. He knew now that the decision to rush through the portal five minutes late on December 22, 1918, had been a horrendous mistake.

Standing once more in a sea of failure, he began to wonder whether he would ever again get it right. For the third time in fifteen months, the anthropology professor, an expert of sorts on time travel, had dropped the ball and put his family in a bind.

His first misstep needed no introduction. On September 22, 2017, Tim had led Caroline through a portal near Sedona, Arizona, with the intention of taking her to 1888 Arizona. He took her to 1888 Pennsylvania instead. By underestimating the effect of dwindling daylight on the time-travel process, he had overshot his mark by two thousand miles.

Six months later, in an alpine field on the south slope of Mount Shasta, he did it again. He underestimated the effect of cold weather on an 1889 timepiece that was presumably as reliable as an atomic watch. As a result, he and Caroline traveled to March 2018, not September 2017, and set into motion a game of time-travel tag that continued to this day.

Tim took a moment to reflect on those failures and then pondered the particulars of his current fiasco. He had stepped in it all right. He had further worsened a situation that was already a mess. On this sunny autumn afternoon, he had nothing more to offer.

"I'm sorry," Tim said. "I knew this might happen."

"So did I," Caroline replied. The literature professor, the oldest child of Mexican immigrants, withdrew from her husband's embrace and reclaimed his hand. "I'm as responsible for this situation as you are. You didn't force me to do anything."

That much was true, Tim thought. Though Caroline had been a late and initially reluctant partner in his enterprise, she was not a junior partner. She had an equal say in all decisions, both big and small, and had taken to time travel like a lost soul might take to a new religion or philosophy. She had been all in since the spring of 2017.

None of that mattered now, of course. All that mattered now was that the fiftyish instructors, partners in adventure, righted their ship. They had three months, maybe six, to get their bearings, plot a new course, and make the best of a bad situation.

Caroline gazed again at the forests and fields, as if looking at them for the first time, and then wiped the remaining moisture from her eyes. When she finished coming to grips with her new situation, she tightened her hold on Tim's hand, offered a comforting smile, and spoke to her spouse in a steady and more optimistic voice.

"Do you think we at least made it to 1943?"

"It's possible," Tim said. He pointed to the east. "The road is paved, the utility poles are modern, and that tractor in the distance looks like my grandpa's John Deere, but we won't know for sure at until we walk into town. We have to find a newspaper."

"I agree."

Tim glanced at the sun, which loomed high in the western sky, and then at his watch, which showed a 1918 time of two forty. Though he knew that he and Caroline had at least four hours before Old Sol dropped behind the Allegheny Mountains, he did not want to waste that time wallowing in guilt or looking for answers in an isolated setting.

"Are you ready to go to town?"

Caroline frowned.

"I'm ready to go . I'm not sure I'm ready to walk."

Tim laughed to himself as he considered their plight. Wearing a three-piece brown tweed suit and patent leather shoes he had purchased the day World War I ended, he was as prepared for a long walk as his spouse, who wore a ruffled ankle-length dress.

"We shouldn't have to go far. Unless the residents moved New Paris farther to the east, we shouldn't have to walk more than a mile or two. I think we can manage that."

Caroline glanced at her husband.

"I'd rather hitch a ride."

"That, dear, would require a car," Tim said. "The only vehicle I see is an idle tractor that may not even run. We should leave now before it gets dark."

"I'd still rather hitch."

"There's nothing to hitch."

Caroline covered her eyes, gazed at the western horizon, and smiled when she saw something of interest. She pointed to the sight and turned to Tim.

"There is now."

Tim looked west just as a car, a blue Packard 180 touring sedan, started down a slight incline and came into full view. Even from a distance of a hundred yards, he could see that the stately vehicle was a product of the early 1940s. He laughed.

"How is your thumb working?"

Caroline stuck out her thumb.

"It's working just fine."

Tim grinned as his better half took command of the situation. If there was one thing he had learned since meeting Caroline Martinez at a summer camp in Maine in 1983, it was never to question a woman who had made up her mind.

A moment later, the driver of the Packard, a fiftyish man in a suit and a fedora, slowed to a stop on the far side of the road, rolled down his window, and gazed at the castoffs from the Progressive Era. He smiled as he spoke to the hitchhikers.

"Aren't you two a sight?"

"That we are," Tim said.

The driver studied the couple.

"Where are you folks headed?"

Tim resisted the temptation to say "nineteen forty-three," "the Twilight Zone," or "a suitable time stream." He had enough problems on his hands without inviting additional questions and scrutiny. So he offered the man an answer that made sense.

"We're headed to any town with a restaurant, a hotel, and a library."

The driver smiled.

"Will Bedford do?"

"Bedford would be perfect."

"Then hop in. I'm headed there now."

Tim turned to Caroline.

"What do you think?"

Caroline met his gaze.

"I think we have our ride."

CHAPTER 6: ADAM

Phoenix, Arizona – Saturday, December 25, 1943

On the morning of his twenty-ninth Christmas, Adam Carson walked to the window of his hotel room, gazed through the glass, and viewed an old friend in a new light. Though he had seen Arizona's capital countless times, he had never seen it in boomtown garb from the twelfth floor of the Westward Ho. Phoenix, he thought, almost looked inviting.

"It's amazing," Adam said.

Bridget sat up in their bed.

"What's amazing?"

Adam turned to face his wife.

"Everything out there is amazing. I recognize many of the streets and buildings, but they are so much different now. Looking out this window is like looking at an old photograph hanging in a museum. I'm viewing the past through the lens of the present."

Bridget got out of bed, put on a silky robe, and stepped toward her husband. When she reached him at the window, she placed her hand on his back, and gazed out the window.

"Haven't you done that for the past year?"

Adam chuckled.

"I guess I have."

Bridget looked at Adam

"So what's different this time?"

"What's different is that I recognize this place."

"Didn't you recognize Flagstaff?"

"I did and I didn't," Adam said. "The Flagstaff we saw in 1889 and 1918 was, for the most part, a completely foreign town. Phoenix, this Phoenix, is still familiar to me."

Bridget smiled.

"I'm glad it's familiar to you. It's as unfamiliar to me as Duluth, Cloquet, Gettysburg, and every other place we've lived in the past six months."

Adam laughed.

"Is my precious wife getting homesick?"

Bridget scolded him with a glance.

"I'm getting something."

The wistful family head extended his arm around Bridget's back, pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. If he lived to be a hundred and ten, he would never tire of his Gilded Age wife's cutting honesty and playful sense of humor. He gazed again at the city beyond the window and then looked at Bridget as she massaged her bulging belly.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm feeling pretty good," Bridget said. "I'm as hungry as a bear, but I'm feeling better than I have for weeks. I'm glad we came here. I'm glad you picked this hotel."

Bridget wasn't the only one to express that opinion. Every member of the family had sung Adam's praises since he had checked them into the establishment Thursday night.

The Westward Ho was not just a first-class hotel. The sixteen-story Renaissance Revival beauty, on the corner of Fillmore and Central, was a Phoenix institution. The hotel would host countless celebrities, including Marilyn Monroe, Bob Hope, Elizabeth Taylor, and President John F. Kennedy, before morphing into a residential property in 1980.

Though Adam had not seen any celebrities, he knew he probably would. Jack Benny lived in the building, according to a bellhop, and recorded many of his shows in one of the hotel's 350 rooms. Other glitterati came and went. A desk clerk said the Westward Ho was a magnet for actors and entertainers fleeing the glare and scrutiny of Hollywood.

As he had done in 1918, when he had booked three rooms at Duluth's Spalding Hotel, Adam offered his siblings a vacation of sorts before asking them to begin the tedious work of searching for their parents. He knew the surest way to acclimate them to a new era was to ease them into it. He picked the Westward Ho because it was just what the family needed after hiking through the desert in street clothes, riding stuffy buses from Cottonwood to Phoenix, and walking several blocks from the bus station to the famed hotel.

Greg and Patricia, who occupied the adjacent suite, had made the most of the bonus time by keeping to themselves. The newlyweds had ventured from their room just twice in the past twenty-four hours. On each occasion, they left their suite, unannounced, to sample the fine cuisine of the Top of the Ho, the hotel's posh sixteenth-floor restaurant.

Natalie, Caitlin, and Cody, who shared a room at the end of the hallway, had unwound by leaving the hotel. They had exited the building shortly after breakfast Friday and spent most of Christmas Eve shopping, sightseeing, and sampling the world of World War II.

Caitlin had enjoyed the day like a kid in a candy store — or a curious teen finding delight in everything from pattern dresses and cotton mesh stockings to green stamps and steel pennies. Unlike her twin brother, a student of history, she did not know that the United States produced steel cents in 1943 because of a serious shortage of copper.

Adam pondered the past for a moment and then turned his attention to the days, weeks, and months ahead. He looked forward to Monday, when he and the others would begin searching for a rental house, and January, when they would begin searching for Tim and Caroline Carson. He also looked forward to that magic day when his wife, now thirty-one weeks along, gave birth to their first child. He looked forward to that day a lot.

"What are you thinking about?" Bridget asked.

Adam smiled.

"I'm thinking about our little shortstop."

Bridget gave him a pointed glance.

"I see you are still betting on a boy. Just be sure to hold onto something solid when I deliver a girl. I don't want you to hurt yourself. My baby needs a father."

Adam laughed softly. Then he took Bridget's hands, turned her toward him, and gazed at her for several seconds. When he was done studying her bright and beautiful face, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips.

"You're going to be a great mother."

"I hope so," Bridget said.

"I know so."

"Thank you."

Adam looked at his wife thoughtfully.

"Are you still as 'hungry as a bear'?"

"No."

"No?"

"No," Bridget said. "I'm as hungry as two bears."

"Then let's do something about it. There's a special breakfast at the Top of the Ho in ten minutes. If we hurry, we can catch Santa and his elves."

"What about the others?"

"I'll knock on their doors and insist that they join us," Adam said. He grinned. "It's about time the serial shoppers and newlyweds rejoined the family."

Bridget smiled.

"Be careful. Greg still has his guns."

Adam laughed.

"Then I'll knock gently."

"You do that."

"I will ."

Bridget tightened her hold on his hands.

"Adam?"

"Yes?"

"Merry Christmas."

Adam kissed Bridget again.

"Merry Christmas to you too."