Chapter 13

 

Clara took urgent steps to the door but instead of opening it, gave three soft, even raps to her side.

After a few harrowing seconds, three responding knocks issued from the person outside.

Instantly, Clara threw open the door and stepped back only long enough to let the caller over the threshold before flinging her arms around his neck.

He was slightly taller than Clara, with dark hair fixed perfectly in place, except for a few thin locks that fell onto his forehead at the abrupt receiving of his sister's embrace. He wore a black coat that hung down, stopping just at the top of his worn but neat riding boots. I only saw the profile of his face, but he looked different from his only photograph. Still handsome, but the perspective gave me a startlingly skewed image of the man whose name I had read and written hundreds of times.

Gil Ezra stood merely five feet from me, and I was speechless. Already, his true likeness shattered the frozen moment of time that hung in the museum decades after his death. It was a haunting breath of realization, like I’d seen him before, somewhere on the streets at night, just beyond the headlights. But once I’d glimpsed him, he was gone.

Now simply looking at him, I understood how his energy could radiate through Centuries in a copied image of his likeness.

"Clara." He spoke softly, bringing his hands up to the back of her shoulders. "So good to see you."

Being an abolitionist in the territories wasn't exactly the safest career move. I wondered how many times either one of them had thought that Gil would never walk through the cabin's door again. There would be plenty of occasions for that thought in the future.

He stepped back from Clara, and, as she reached around to close the door, he scanned the room and spotted the Ninjas of History in its midst.

In all my time at the museum, in all my tours, research and musings about the man that stood in front of me, my mind could never imagine what his first words toward me ¬¬¬– or as it was, toward Walter, Talan and me – would possibly be. What they were was a mix of confusion, concern and sincerity.

"Ah... Good morning?"

His hand seemed to instinctively find a place on the left side of his waist, as if guarding something that lay beneath the layer of wool coat.

"Gil…" Clara stepped in, a sense of authority in her quiet voice. "They're travelers… passed through about a month ago heading toward Kansas. They were of some help to Edgar and to me. They're... vegetarians."

He looked from us to his sister. "Truly?"

She didn't even nod, just gazed at him. In the less than a minute they had been in the same room I felt as if they communicated in a secret language that involved no verbal cues. His hand hovered then fell from his waist. He turned to us.

"Well, outstanding, then."

"Sir." Walter stepped forward, head up, voice strong. It was slightly more shocking than time travel. "My name is Walter Owens. It's an honor to meet you." They shook hands. "I have been committed to the abolition of slavery for many years now." Walter shifted but his voice did not waver. "These are my friends and comrades Talan, and his sister, Sophie." He nodded and Talan reached out his hand toward Gil. "Talan was the first to accompany me in my endeavors and Sophie... Um..."

I held out my hand to him. "I do the writing."

"Yes!" Walter nodded. "She takes care of all our… correspondence."

"She's even been in the newspaper," Talan added, his tone scraping sarcasm.

Gil's eyebrows rose at this point and he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "My pen name is Roger."

His handshake closed even firmer at this, and a genuine smile came to his face. "Excellent."

Clara found this moment to speak, fortunately for Walter, whom I sensed had realized his lie could soon have to take an even larger complexity with this introduction.

"They were ambushed in Kansas and have just made their way back from there with nothing. I was hoping you would be in need of their assistance."

"Of course." He nodded to the three of us, "I would be more than obliged if…"

Gil's sentence was halted by the creaking of the front door.

"I need my folding knife, Clara, I left… Oh. Gilbert."

The man I saw walking with Edgar had entered. Up close I could see how deeply blue his eyes really were.

"I saw your horse," he added, so that Gil would know he hadn’t been taken by surprise.

"Benjamin!" Gil's voice came out forced, slightly higher in pitch and injected with a somewhat strained enthusiasm. "Yes, I just rode in."

A look of annoyance crossed the husband's face. I had a feeling if he had known Gil would be riding in, Benjamin would have been inside the cabin, not distracted out of it. "Staying in town? Camping out?"

"Oh, no. I'll be leaving directly. I'm heading for Iowa." Gil looked toward Clara. "Just had to stop and check on my dear sister and nephew. I see you're all doing quite fine."

Clara gave a weak smile. "We are."

"Well, I hate to impose." Gil spoke hurriedly. "Cabin's only sufficient for about four bodies and you have visitors. Take care." He nodded, his hand returning to the spot on his waist. "Benjamin." He then nodded to us, and, lastly, his eyes flashed to Clara, then pointedly to Talan, Walter and I. With one last sweep of his long coat, Gil was gone.

The energy that resided where Gil had stood was sucked into oblivion by the presence of Benjamin. Clara had retrieved the knife from a shelf and handed it to Benjamin, who slid it open and examined the blade, then said quietly, "I'll be working below."

He turned and left, closing the door with a slightly extra amount of force than was necessary.

I had stopped breathing, and I could feel Walter’s disappointment at Gil's sudden departure.

When it seemed all hope was lost, Clara leaned over to us, speaking in a stage whisper, voice brimming with urgency. "Follow the creek South, through the trees about a quarter of a mile until you come to a hill. Gil and his men are camped right over it. Meet up with him there. He wants to help you." Her eyes looked around the walls again. "Just go quietly, Benjamin's working in the cellar. I'll see you again. Later."

I looked over to Talan, then Walter, who moved first, as we hastily shuffled out of the cabin and out into the yard, heading up the way we had come. We were quite a few yards away from the log home before I inhaled cold oxygen fully into my lungs and started breathing normally again.

Once we were out of earshot from the cabin, Talan voiced his thoughts. "Don't you think if he's helping us... that means... He wants us to help him."

Walter looked far too happy at this statement, "Precisely." He then shot me a comically quizzical look. "Nice threads... Roger."

"Shut up." I wish a better male name had come to my mind in that moment, but now I had to work with it. "What? You expect some random tribune to run liberal anti-slavery charged articles by Sophie?"

Walter grinned. "This is true, but now I think he likes you more than me."

"He should. The pen is mightier than the sword."

"Whoa, whoa." Talan stepped in between Walter and me, stopping us. "If you haven't noticed, they don't have swords here, they have pistols and they shoot them! At people in some cases. This is our chance to escape, go hang out in the woods until we go back to the 21st Century."

Walter looked stunned by this idea. "But... We're helping Gil."

"I think Gil can help himself!" Talan stood as a barrier between Walter, me, and our path up the hill. "Look, you both already made goo-goo eyes over the guy once. He shook your hand. We'll be teleporting outta here any second now you guys, come on!"

Walter looked him square in the face. "No."

"No?"

I stepped forward. "This was your idea." I pointed at Talan.

"I changed my mind. Besides, I didn't think we'd be here this long."

Walter crossed his arms. "Right. You brought an extra pair of pants for ten minutes."

"Fine.” Talan threw up his arms, but did not surrender the fight. "Curiosity killed me. Yeah, maybe I did want to see what would happen. Maybe I thought it might be a little adventure, that I could learn something, that it would be good for us. But, I didn't plan on Mr. I Lead Skirmishes and Make People With Guns Angry to show up and distract you!"

"Talan," I interjected, trying to keep my voice as calm and reasonable as I could manage. "It's cold. Whatever our original plans were, we are now far away from home with nothing. We need a place to stay. How much trouble can we get into tonight?"

There was silence, but Walter and Talan were still duking it out with glowers and glares.

"You guys. Please."

"Fine." Talan's voice was short and angry, "One night. One." He pushed past Walter up the hill, calling over his shoulder. "I'm just glad I won't be around tomorrow morning to explain why we disappeared from our tents!"

I sighed, but started to follow, stopping when Walter touched my arm. "What's today's date again?" he asked.

"January 20th, 1857."

"About that..." He looked up the hill, back toward where the cabin was, then rested his gaze on me. "The skirmish... It's in four days."

I didn't have time for the shock of realization to set in as Talan, having reached the top of the hill, called down to us, his voice cynical. "You guys. I found the camp." He folded his arms, "It's not exactly the YMCA."