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Jack woke from the first good night's sleep he’d had in a long time, feeling relaxed and content. There was something to be said for waking up in your own bed in the home where you grew up. More importantly, the fact the woman he loved had accepted his marriage proposal the day before certainly brought the comfort and contentment required for a good night’s rest.
Pleasant dreams of Gwennie filled his night. He recalled how those beautiful caramel eyes of hers with specks of bright green lit up every time her sweet, bow-shaped lips pulled into a smile. Still fresh in his mind, the memory caused his fingers to tingle at the thought of touching her smooth peaches and cream skin like he'd done the night before.
He fluffed his pillow and rolled onto his side all the while hoping to fall back asleep to indulge in more dreams of his love. His body heated. Soon she would be sharing a bed with him, and rather than dreaming of the love they’d share, they’d be sharing it.
Soon.
The aroma of coffee teasing his nostrils caused him to roll off the mattress onto the cool wood floor. He slipped into jeans and a T-shirt, then pulled on a pair of socks and padded downstairs for a coup of joe.
Stopping outside the kitchen doorway, he secretly listened to his parents’ banter. He’d forgotten exactly how much he missed this—them—the simple life. The lifestyle he’d endured before he’d shipped off to war.
His parents spoke comfortably with each other. Years in the making he supposed. His mom mentioned a sale on ground beef at the grocery store, and his dad made mention of the weather forecast. Completely uneventful conversation, yet, he couldn’t wait to get in there and join them.
He smiled at the thought of him and Gwennie sitting at their own kitchen table, holding a similar conversation as their son sat in a highchair between them. Actually, he could see them with a handful of kids. Maybe three or four. Having been an only child, he recalled how lonely he was at times and often wished for a brother or sister. In his opinion, his buddy, Marvin, had it made with both a brother and a sister.
Jack sighed. Marvin. If only his best friend had made it home, he’d be the best man at his and Gwennie’s wedding.
Best man. Who on earth was he going to ask to fill that role? He hadn’t seen most of his hometown buddies in over two years.
Jack swallowed hard at the thought of how many of them went to Vietnam and probably didn’t make it home. He could ask Gary, Gwen’s twin. Out of respect for his best friend, and the entire Tebon family, that might be a nice gesture. A lump caught in his throat. That is if Gary makes it home from this awful war.
“Jack?” his mother questioned.
He stepped around the edge of the doorway into the kitchen, catching her cheery gaze. She was a morning person, always had been. Early to bed, early to rise.
“Good morning.” Jack leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. Looking across the table, his dad’s smile let him know he was pleased with his show of emotion toward his mom.
His mother rose from her seat. “I’ll make you some eggs. Scrambled with cheese?” she asked.
He nodded and smiled. She remembered how he liked them.
Snagging the newspaper section his mother had left behind, he skimmed over the news. Still, in need of a break from this reality, he skipped over any section that referred to the war.
Within minutes, she’d set a plate of eggs and toast in front of him then took her seat at the table.
“So, I didn’t want to hound you too much last night when you got home because it was late...”
He grinned, knowing what was coming. She wanted wedding details.
While he waited out her pause, he forked a mouthful of eggs.
“Do you and Gwen have a date in mind? Any plans at all yet?”
He chewed slowly just to mess with her. The impatience emitting from her gaze was toe-tapping. He almost laughed out loud. “She wants a big, traditional wedding. But, as soon as practically possible. So a few months, I guess.”
“Well, they do have a large family to call together. Ours, on the other hand, being so small, shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.”
“Yeah. I’d be happy going to the courthouse today, but she wants traditional.”
His mother’s smile stretched. “Every girl dreams of a big wedding with all the bells and whistles.” She reached across the table and place her small hand on his forearm. “And a handsome groom.”
“Just let us know what you need us to do,” his dad chimed in.
“Thanks.” He savored a bite of eggs as he thought about holding another conversation with his dad about this time travel and Preserver and Protector business.
He had so many questions. For one, did he know he’d traveled yesterday? Let alone, met him—preserved history on Omaha Beach? Was he allowed to tell him this information? How far did the secrecy rule among Preservers and Protectors go? But, since his father had been Preserver, could he talk to him about specifics? Or no?
In any case, he’d have to wait to hold this conversation until he was alone with him, assuming his mom hadn’t a clue about this.
Jack bounced his gaze between his parents, appreciating the moment. This was the life. Right now, in this very moment, his life was as perfect as it could be. Sitting at the table with two of the three people he loved most. Soon, when Gwennie finished her shift at the hospital today, they’d start making wedding plans. That is, if she and her mother didn’t stay up through the night to do so.
The thought made him chuckle as he forked another mouthful of eggs. Then he caught his dad peeking from around the newspaper he read. His gaze focused on his stitched-up ear. Preoccupied with his new engagement, and the actual time travel, he'd forgotten about his injury. He turned slightly to face his father more directly in an attempt to hide the wound from his mom, as he was unsure how he'd explain it to her.
His dad's gaze met his. "I need to run to the hardware store, and I have a couple of other errands to do this morning. Do you want to come with me?"
Truth be told, it was more than an ask. His father knew he'd time traveled and the stitches on his earlobe were proof.
"Yes. Sounds great."
"Ruth, do you need anything while we're out?' his dad asked.
His mom glanced over her shoulder at them, her hands still wringing out a wet washcloth over the sink.
"I can't think of anything."
Jack stood and handed his mother his empty plate, all the while intentionally averting his wound from her. Surely, she would notice it eventually so he'd have to come up with a good cover story—lie.
Not a fan of lying, his chest tightened.
He glanced at his dad. "I'll be ready in a jiffy."
His father folded the newspaper, rose from the chair, stepped toward his wife, and kissed her on the cheek. "We won't be too long."
She smiled warmly. "Take your time. Get caught up."
Jack grabbed his jacket off the coat rack by the door and slid into it as his dad did the same. Then he exited through the side door of their home and stepped onto the driveway as he waited for his father to back the car out of the garage. He stared out over the large front lawn covered in snow. Looking beyond the street, he took in the sight of the frozen-over bay. Unlike summer, when the bay was full of sailboats, fishing vessels, and pleasure crafts cruising by or docked at the shoreline, it looked desolate. Fond memories of summer days spent on the water warmed him even as the chilly air nipped at his face. He looked forward to next summer with Gwennie at his side on his dad's small sailboat. The fun they would have as they started their life together.
The rumbling engine of the Pontiac drew his attention as it stopped an arms-length away from him. After Jack climbed in, his dad backed out the driveway and headed toward the hardware store.
"What do we need to pick up?" he asked.
His father chuckled. "Nothing really. We'll just see what's going on."
Jack smiled. Some things never changed. The downtown hardware store was a place where men congregated to get the scoop on local gossip and solve the world's problems while drinking coffee and enjoying pastries from the local bakery up the street. His mouth watered at the memory of custard-filled donuts from Knapp’s Bakery. It had been a long time since he'd indulged in that pleasure.
Unusual, but his dad scored a parking spot right in front of the store.
As he pushed through the front door, the bells dangling from the frame clinked against the glass drawing the attention of everyone who congregated at the coffee station.
Mr. Anderson, the owner of the store, took a double-take, then set his coffee mug down, wiped his palm over his red vest, and hurried toward him with his hand outstretched. "Jack, welcome home."
The gentleman gripped his hand so tight he thought his bones might break. Emotion constricted his chest. Did he dare ask about his son? Had Ken survived the war? Ken had been a year ahead of him in school; they weren't friends, but in a small town, everybody knew everyone.
Jack studied the guy's watery eyes. Mr. Anderson cleared his throat and swung his glance around the group of men standing with him. "We're so happy to have you home. Every time one of you returns it's like a huge weight is lifted.” No mention of his son.
A lump of guilt rose in his throat at the thought of making it out alive when so many others hadn’t.
Pats on the back ensued from the other men making him feel even more uncomfortable, but they seemed so genuinely pleased and happy for him.
"Jack," a familiar voice sounded from behind the men.
The group parted like when Moses held out his staff and God parted the Red Sea, splitting in the middle, each lining a side. Silence filled the room as Ken wheeled his way forward. The expression he wore was grim, weathered, but he managed the slightest of smiles. Glancing down, Jack couldn’t help but notice the missing limb, a couple of inches or so below his knee.
He nearly choked on the recurring lump in his throat. Would he ever not feel guilty for making it home with barely a scratch to his temple when others ended up with life-altering injuries, or didn’t make it back at all?
Lifting his gaze, he noticed Ken wore a red vest that matched his dad's, letting him know he worked in the hardware store. That had to be a good sign, right?
Reaching up, the man outstretched his hand and Jack shook it.
"It's good to see you," he said for lack of something better.
"You, too," Ken replied in a tone that made it sound like he actually meant it.
A tinge of relief sifted through him.
After downing a cup of coffee and a donut, he and his father went on their way. His dad drove out of town, down a county road they didn't travel often, but he knew where they were headed. Why his dad decided to visit the old, overgrown, county-owned cemetery today was beyond him. But, he was sure he had a reason in mind—the man of few words would inform him when the time was right.
His father turned down the narrow, plowed gravel road, and parked in the small lot that housed the trailhead leading to the cemetery. They slid out of the vehicle and started down the half-mile, lightly snow-covered trail. The unseasonably warm sun peeking through the overcast sky had begun to soften the frosty ground. Hardwoods bordered the trail to the left and cedars to the right. Looking ahead, slightly beyond the end of the cedar tree-lined lane, he zoned in on the sumac surrounding the old cemetery that looked like a little island of dead trees and brush between two distinctive forests of cedar trees.
Crisp, cool, yet refreshing air stung his nostrils. Any breath of home was better than any breath of war—any breath he'd taken in the past couple of years. Also, better than the hot, fiery air he’d experienced during his first time travel episode.
He followed his father to the barely noticeable entrance of the cemetery. If one didn't know the graveyard existed, they certainly wouldn't realize it when walking by because of the dead trees and tightly woven mangled brush surrounding it.
Jack studied the plot. Weathered old stones within the cemetery poked out of the weeds and brush, and the inch or two of snow. Years of settling had them leaning slightly in all directions. Long ago, these stones probably stood tall and proud, and tight to one another, to stand watch and protect those war heroes and their families buried there.
Returning his gaze to the entrance before him—two taller stone pillars separated by a four-foot gap—he strained his eyes to look through the spindly brush to find his great-grandfather's grave marker. He knew exactly where it was but had a hard time seeing it through the mangled shrubbery even without the foliage that had disappeared for another season.
Stepping forward, his dad gripped a handful of brush, pulled it aside, and stepped through the entrance. He held the branches in place until Jack passed through.
Jack looked down to his immediate right, to the first grave marker on the plot. Though the flat headstone was covered with snow, he knew it was there. It was that of his great grandfather Ben's first cousin, Simon Dupont.
His father didn't pay much attention to Simon's marker. Rather, he moved in the opposite direction toward where his great grandfather was buried.
"What a mess," his dad said. Disappointment laced his tone. "I don't understand why the county won't let us clean this up. Make it more respectable."
"I know. Maybe we can petition them again," Jack replied.
The exasperated puff his father blew out fogged in the cool air.
"Just look at this," his dad said as he pointed to the short path leading to Ben and the other veterans’ graves. "It won't be long and we won't be able to get through at all to pay our respect."
Jack stared at the brush that through the years began to close the gap between the entrance to the cemetery and most of the graves. The spindly branches had begun to form an archway several feet wide and slightly short of six feet tall. For as far back as he could remember, he and his father generally only came to this cemetery on Decoration Day to place flags on the graves of the veterans, so curiosity had begun to build as to why they were here today, in February.
He ducked slightly as he followed his dad through the archway which then opened up a bit as they approached his great grandfather's burial site.
His father squatted down and brushed the snow off the flat, weathered marker engraved with Jack's great grandfather's name and information—Ben Cornelis, Civil War, 1848 - 1907.
"You were a brave soldier. A true war hero and I will forever be proud of you," his dad said, his gaze focused on the marker as he rose.
His dad was only six years old when Ben, his grandfather, died, yet, when he’d spoken of him through the years, he seemed to have clear memories of the man. Jack couldn't help but wonder if that was because his father had traveled back in time and got to know his grandfather better. What a crazy, yet intriguing, thought—circumstance.
Curiosity had him wanting to ask questions, but he didn't, figuring his dad would release such information when he saw fit. Everything he did and said was with great caution and timing.
"I sometimes still can't believe his story." His father glanced over his shoulder toward him then bounced his gaze between the headstone and him.
He knew what his dad was about to say; he told the same story every time they visited this cemetery.
"Sneaking away from home at the young age of fourteen and lying to the military about his age so he could join the Army and fight for the North," his dad said, then shook his head. "Some say he was just a drummer boy, but the silver medal he was awarded proved differently." His father re-focused on him. "A true war hero he was. Throwing down his drum, pulling a pistol from a fallen soldier, and..." His dad swallowed hard. "...killing a confederate soldier as the man aimed at his commanding officer, saving him." The pride laced in his gaze diminished as he looked back toward Simon Dupont's grave. "We can't let those thieving relatives steal our history. We just can't. Our ancestors worked so hard, fighting for what they believed in, protecting our great country."
Jack’s heartbeat raced. This was it. This was what he hoped his father brought him to the cemetery today. To talk about—prepare him more thoroughly for—his role as a Preserver.
"We must do everything in our power to preserve history. One slight change. One little misstep could alter everything. And not only for us—our family. Everybody—the world. If we fail to preserve history the collateral damage..." his eyes darkened and his gaze drifted away.
Jack waited him out in silence, though eager for more details.
Moments later, his dad refocused.
"The Duponts are formidable foes and don't care about anyone but themselves. They'll do anything to steal our family's decorated military history to hold as their own. Anything. Not caring about the consequences. Because they'll stop at nothing, it requires unremitting vigilance on our part to preserve history. Not preserving it could create a ripple effect...butterfly effect, possibly causing more chaos to others—the world—than we can get control of if we fail. There’s a larger cause, greater good at stake with preserving history than just our family line. Because the Duponts are willing to do anything to change history, we need to be willing to as well. Do you understand what I'm saying, son?"
Jack swallowed hard. He’d basically had told him that come hell or high water, he'd better find a way to fend off the Duponts no matter what it takes. Focus. Stay on the ready.
Jack stood tall. "Yes. I understand."
His father reached out and patted him on his shoulder blade. "The good news is that we don't have to do this alone. The Gods provide Protectors to help."
His dad told him this as if it was new information to him. Did he not know he'd time-traveled yesterday to WWII? Did he really not recall seeing him? Or Blake, his grandson? Was it some sort of fluke that two groups of Preservers, Protectors, and evil, thieving relatives traveled at the same time to the same place?
"So, the Protectors, like us, fully understand what's at stake, right?" Jack asked, knowing full-well they did, but he needed it confirmed.
"Yes. They do. They know it's their destiny."
His dad returned his gaze to Simon Dupont's gravesite. His tense facial muscles eased slightly. "As a child, I had heard the horror stories about Simon, his son Edgar, and grandson, Lewis—the Dupont about my age. At times, I felt sorry for that side of the family, thought maybe they just had a run of bad luck. But as I traveled through the years, I came to understand luck had nothing to do with it." His jaw set then loosened a few seconds later. "They are just pure evil. Selfish. They have no desire to put anyone, or the common good of our great country, before themselves."
Jack furrowed his brows and studied his father’s taut facial muscles. It was uncommon to hear his father speak ill of anyone. Let alone go on about it for so long.
"It probably started before Simon, but who knows for sure. But anyone who would do what he did, even at the young age of fifteen, should have spoken up, tried to find a way to get help, but instead, he just went along with...well, he was young and only did as his commanding officer ordered."
He knew what his dad meant. He'd heard Simon's story before. A war criminal. He'd been part of a Union Prisoner of War camp for Confederate soldiers. They tortured the prisoners, mainly by starvation. They were fed barely enough to keep them alive, and they weren’t allowed any fruits or vegetables to help ward off infection. They’d even been made to drink from the same creek from which they bathed. It was a horrible situation.
Eventually, Simon's commanding officer was tried, court-martialed, and hanged for murder. A few of the other men under his command were imprisoned, but Simon and another young boy were simply sent home. They’d been just kids.
As the story goes, Simon never recovered from his part in the torturing. He turned to booze for comfort and lived the life of an abusive alcoholic. And started that ripple effect on the Dupont side of the family.
Next to him, his father closed his eyes and sighed. His shoulders slumped.
Jack was exhausted, too.
"So, this brings me to now.” His dad pointed at his head. "The spirit is willing but the body is too weak to keep fighting these battles." He let out a deep chuckle. "Though, I will say the ride has been an interesting one. At any rate, rest assured, the power doesn’t pass until both parties are ready." A little glint shone in his dad's dark eyes as his gaze drifted over to Jack’s left ear. "That's a nice stitch job to your ear. I couldn't have done any better myself. Scars make memories and lend to reminders of what is important."
That confirmed it. So, he did know.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but his father held his hand up.
"It is yours now, son. The secrets are yours to hold. Do your best is all I ask."
Thrill snapped through him like a whip followed by a tinge of apprehension at the secrets he needed to keep, and the lie he'd already told to the person he was about to marry.
And so it begins, a life of secrets and lies.