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Hearts Flight ISBN 9781419908002 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Hearts Flight Copyright© 2007 Barbara Goodwin Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: March 2007
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®
HEARTS FLIGHT Barbara Goodwin
Dedication To my father, Sidney Goodwin. You were the best dad in the whole world and the most honorable man I ever knew. I love you and miss you every minute of every day.
Acknowledgements I dearly wish to thank my family for their love and support. Mom, thanks for always being there for me. Sisters Judy and Patti, I love you. Thank you Bob, my brother-in-law and Doug, my nephew for your unwavering support. My love to my second parents Ted and Lavoy Masters. Kathy Masters, you are my sister in spirit. I’d also like to thank Mary Rosenblum and Barbara Stretton for their guidance. Thank you to my flight attendant co-workers: Lisa Coghlan, Pat Ross, Sam Schoenfeld, Ellen Rothe and Patti Mocella.
Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Arsenic and Old Lace: Warner Brothers B-17 Flying Fortress bomber: Boeing Aircraft Company Baker’s chocolate: Kraft Foods Bank of America Card: Bank of America Corp. Beretta: Fabbrica D’Armi P. Beretta, S.P.A. Corporation Boeing 737: Boeing Management Company Boeing: Boeing Management Company “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”: The Andrew Sisters C-47: Boeing Corporation, Douglas C-47 Skytrain Cessna Citation X-Live: Cessna Aircraft Company Corporation The Cheesecake Factory: The Cheesecake Factory Incorporated Cheetos: Frito-Lay North America, Inc Chevy Corsica: General Motors Chianti: Consorzio Vino Chianti Classico Consortium Coke: The Coca-Cola Company Corporation Cold Stone Creamery: Cold Stone Creamery, Inc. Currier and Ives: Fourstar Group Inc. Curtiss SC Seahawk seaplane: Curtis-Wright Corporation DC-2: Boeing Aircraft Company DC-3: P. & H., Inc. Corporation Diet Coke: The Coca-Cola Company Doc Martens: Dr. Martens International Trading GmbH Corporation Double Indemnity: Paramount Pictures Enterprise Car Rental: Enterprise Rent-A-Car Company Patent Pending Ford: Ford Motor Company Ford Escape: Ford Motor Company Gaslight: Metro Goldwyn Mayer Going My Way: Paramount Pictures Groucho Marks: Groucho Marks, The Marks Brothers Hostess Cupcakes: Interstate Bakeries Corporation Hostess Twinkies: Interstate Bakeries Corporation
JC Penney’s: JCPenney Company, Inc. Keds: SR Holdings Inc. KIDO, 630 AM: Clear Channel Communications KIVI in Boise: Journal Broadcast Group Leave It To Beaver: Viacom International, Inc. MasterCard: MasterCard International Incorporated Corporation Meet Me in St. Louis: Metro Goldwyn Mayer Nordstrom: Nordstrom, Inc. Corporation Royal typewriters: Royal Consumer Information Products, Inc. Seduction perfume: Andre Van Pier Patented Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation Swinging On A Star: Bing Crosby TBM Avenger Torpedo Bombers: Grumman TBM Avenger Torpedo Bomber The Battle of the Bulge: Warner Brothers The Donna Reed Show: Viacom International, Inc “Trolley Song”: Artist Judy Garland TVLand: Viacom International, Inc. Twilight Time: Les Brown Ugg boots: Deckers Outdoor Corporation United Airlines: United Airlines, Inc. Visa: Visa International Service Association Corporation
Hearts Flight
Chapter One Emma McDaniel sat in the Douglas Commercial 3 and listened to the droning, rumbling noise of the piston engines. She looked out the curtained window past the propellers and stared at the brown mountains dotted with blue lakes. A little black spot moved along the curving roads. Someone drove in solitary silence. It seemed to echo her mood. Lonely, sad, depressed. How had she come to be on this terrible airplane ride? She’d give her soul to change her future. Why had her life come to this point? Emma wondered. She pictured her little ranchstyle home in the suburbs of Los Angeles and felt very lucky that she and her husband could afford it. After all, eight thousand six hundred dollars was a lot of money to spend on a two-bedroom, one-bath house. Luckily, Emma’s husband’s large four thousand dollar yearly salary selling airplane parts at Douglas Aircraft Company gave them the ability to live comfortably. Especially now. There was nothing like a war to boost the sales of airplane parts. And this war had been raging for just over two years now. Once the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, the Americans finally had to enter World War II. Now the unpressurized airplane bounced along at one hundred seventy miles per hour through the darkening clouds. Odd little flashes of lightning flitted through the gray puffiness. Sparkly, multicolored lights and an odd circular rainbow glinted off a nearby cloud. A strange feeling of electricity hung in the air. The ten passengers onboard were silent in the spacious twenty-one-seat cabin. Emma looked around the interior of the airplane. Her comfortable seat was next to one of the seven windows on her side. The seat next to her remained empty, something she felt extremely grateful for, considering why she had to make this lonely trip. The smartly dressed stewardess walked down the aisle, comforting her passengers. “May I get you anything to drink, Mrs. McDaniel?” “No, thank you. How much longer before we reach Chicago?” “About three more hours.” The stewardess started to walk away then turned back. She sat in the empty seat next to Emma. “You look so worried. Are you frightened of the weather?” Tears formed in Emma’s eyes. “No.” As the stewardess got up, Emma grabbed her hand to pull her back into the seat. “Wait. Please. I…uh…need to talk to someone. Do you have a minute, Miss Andrews?” Emma saw her name embroidered on her royalblue coat, just under her wings.
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“Certainly. And please call me Dorothy.” She sat back down, turned and gave her full attention to her passenger. “My husband was killed in a bombing raid in London.” Emma couldn’t stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. “He had gone to England to do business.” “I’m so sorry,” Dorothy said. “This war is awful!” “Yes. We’d been married for thirty years. He’d left upset with me.” Emma thought back to the day her husband had left for his business trip. She hadn’t wanted him to go that January day. The latest news reels had said that Hitler had started bombing runs over London. Emma had had a premonition that something terrible would happen to James. And it had. The stewardess squeezed Emma’s hand for comfort. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.” “Thank you, dear. You’re very kind to listen to me.” Emma suddenly felt all of her fifty years. She decided to go to the restroom, freshen up and then take a nap. The airplane lurched up and down, so she cautiously got up, holding on to the seatback in front of her. She stepped into the aisle and carefully proceeded to the bathroom. Once she was finished Emma stepped back into the narrow aisle. Having only taken a few steps, the DC-3’s propellers changed to a high-pitched whine. Immediately, the little airplane dropped. Emma’s stomach flipped over. Caught off guard, she felt the floor drop out from under her as she rushed up to meet the ceiling. With a scream, she tried to protect herself, but her head hit the ceiling before she could steady herself. Her last thought was how funny that odd-shaped funnel cloud outside the airplane had looked. Pain rushed through her head. Time stopped. Then all went black.
***** Emma heard the noise first. A strange, steady whine, like nothing she’d heard before. The floor vibrated, almost soothing in its rhythm. Slowly she came back to the present. She realized that the airplane headed downward in a gentle descent. Landing. She opened her eyes and looked around. The stewardess bending over her looked different. Her furrowed brow indicated her concern as she looked at Emma. In a rush, Emma remembered the funnel-shaped cloud, almost like a vortex, that she’d seen outside the window. Her head ached. “Here, drink this,” the stewardess said, handing an aspirin and water to Emma. “Thank you.” Emma sat up. Then she gasped. “What happened to the airplane?” Her eyes widened, her vision blurred as she looked wildly around. Where was she? Everything had changed. The seats were three across on each side instead of two, with a narrow aisle in the middle. Bright lights glowed over strange compartments that lined the upper walls. The windows didn’t have curtains anymore, but strange, flat coverings. People sat side-by-side, crowded in the long, wide cabin. A few stared at her with concern. 8
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Emma glanced around and didn’t see one passenger she recognized. Where’d they go? Maybe they were seated among the other passengers. There were so many of them that Emma couldn’t tell. “Miss, did you see the strange cloud formation outside the window a minute ago?” “Yes, Ma’am,” the stewardess replied. “It came and went so fast you wouldn’t know it’d been there except for the turbulence. Cups and glasses went everywhere. I’d still be cleaning up the mess if you hadn’t hit your head on the ceiling.” The stewardess gathered up the medical equipment that surrounded Emma. “Are you feeling better now? Would you like a glass of water?” Emma realized she still sat on the floor of the strange airplane. Passengers were staring at her, some even seemed irritated. “Why are those people looking at me like that?” she whispered. She wrung her hands and smoothed her skirt, nervous from all the attention. The stewardess glanced around then leaned forward and whispered back, “Most people only notice the person sitting next to them. But when there’s a medical emergency they all stare and wonder if the airplane will divert. No one wants to be late to their destination,” she said with a rueful laugh. “The world’s pretty caught up in themselves nowadays.” Agitated, Emma stood up. What did the stewardess mean by that comment? The world was at war. Of course people were caught up in their own lives. Dizziness caused her to stumble. Strong hands steadied her from behind. Turning to thank the person for helping her, Emma’s breath caught in her throat. The blood rushed from her head, causing her to sway. Incredible sky-blue eyes bored into hers. She felt the tall man’s hands slide familiarly up and down her trim waist, almost touching her breasts. Jerking away, Emma turned back to the stewardess. “What happened to the airplane?” she asked again. “Where am I?” Deep and husky, the sexy voice from behind her whispered in her ear. “You’re on an airplane descending through thirty-thousand feet. Don’t you remember hitting your head on the ceiling?” Emma spun around to the gentleman. “Of course I remember!” She winced in pain. “Since it still throbs, I’m hardly able to forget it.” How dare he speak to her like that? Besides, she hadn’t asked him the question. Where she came from, men didn’t interrupt conversations they weren’t involved in. His hands roamed over her shoulders, kneading them, trying to soothe. His touch sent shivers racing along her spine. Sparks of electricity shot through Emma. Her hands trembled. His touch felt familiar. She looked into his eyes—eyes that exactly matched the blue sky outside the funny-looking oval-shaped windows. Emma pointed her finger in the man’s chest. “Don’t touch me!” She jabbed at him. “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the stewardess.” “Stewardess.” The man laughed. “Lady, what century are you from?” “What?” The offhand remark struck a chord in Emma. The look of the cabin interior had started to sink in. Rows of streamlined bins clung to the ceiling with some kind of
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lights hidden underneath them. Bluish-gray carpet ran up the aisle. Carpet? This didn’t look like any carpet Emma had ever seen. She glanced out the window. All she saw were brownish-green, flat squares of land. They seemed so high up. Thirty-thousand feet. Is that what the man said? Impossible. Airplanes didn’t fly that high. What happened to the mountains, lakes? Where was the car she had seen on the twisting road below? “Lady, this is the twenty-first century. We don’t call them stewardesses anymore. They’re flight attendants.” The man shook his head. Emma craned her head as she looked him up and down. He wore a uniform. Dark blue suit, white shirt, wide, dark tie. There were four white stripes on his sleeves and he had a set of wings clipped to his left breast pocket. A pilot. A pilot? “Excuse me, but…who’s flying the plane?” Emma’s head pounded. “And what kind of an airplane is this?” Shaking his head in exasperation, the pilot chuckled and said, “I’m not, that’s for sure. There are already two guys in the cockpit doing a fine job of flying this Boeing 737. I’m just deadheading on this flight.” He stuck out his hand. “Thomas Wells, at your service.” And, oddly, he bowed an old-world courtly bow. Emma sank to a seat. Deadheading? What did that mean? Twenty-first century? She lived in the twentieth century. She lived in 1944. World War II. Hitler. Japan. She glanced at the stewardess. They weren’t called that anymore? A feeling of foreboding flooded Emma. Her head pounded. Her heart raced. The extra-bright light in this strange airplane hurt her eyes. Captain Wells leaned closer to talk to Emma, eye to eye. “Look, you hit the ceiling pretty hard. I’m sure you have a nasty bump on your head.” He’d leaned in so close to her that Emma felt his breath tease her hair. She saw the crinkles around his eyes. He smelled of coffee and soap. The masculine scents wove around Emma and embedded themselves inside her. She felt her pulse race, her breathing quicken. Nothing made sense. Frightened, Emma asked, “What year is this?” “What year—?” Tom Wells chuckled. “Lady, you’re a piece of work. Where have you been? It’s the year 2006.” 2006! Sixty-two years in the future? How can that be? Emma sank into the nearest seat. Yet everything looked different, felt different, sounded different. The pilot crouched next to her. He stroked her hand. Tendrils of smoke seemed to rise up her arm. She pulled it away. “Look. Really…this is some kind of a joke.” Her voice wobbled. “No joke.” Emma watched Captain Wells’ eyes roam her clothing. She smoothed her sharp, slim, knee-length skirt and straightened her tailored coffee-colored jacket. Emma’s starched white blouse matched the tiny white wrist-length gloves she wore on her hands.
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“You’re quite the beauty,” he whispered. Captain Wells reached out to touch her hand. “Stunning.” Why would this stranger say those things to her? Anxiety and fear blazed through her. “It can’t be the year 2006,” she whispered. “I live in Los Angeles. In 1944.” Shock rippled across Tom’s face. He glanced around before leaning closer to whisper, “What? Are you sure?” “Positive.” She stared back at him. Tom slid into the empty seat beside Emma. Leaning very close, he asked, “What’s your name?” “Oh. I’m sorry. Mrs. Emma McDaniel.” It all became too much and she cried. Thomas Wells pulled her to his chest and wrapped his muscular arms around her. “I feel this strange connection to you,” he murmured. “Do you feel it too?” Light puffs of breath tickled her ear. Emma’s tears slid down her face. “Don’t worry, Mrs. McDaniel, we’ll work this out,” Tom muttered. He wiped away a stray tear as it neared her mouth. Emma shook from his tender touch. Or was it the strangeness of the situation? “How is that possible?” Too much had happened to her. It had only been one month since she’d heard the news about James. Everything seemed so unreal. He couldn’t be gone. James. Her life-long partner, her boyhood love. Her difficult, distant spouse. She remembered when they’d met in college. He’d been on the varsity football team—she a cheerleader. One afternoon, during a football game, he’d run a touchdown pass. With the football tucked under his arm he whooped and hollered and ran out of the end zone straight over to the cheerleading squad. He threw down the football, grabbed Emma, picked her up and twirled her around. With her legs flying out behind her, he kissed her. Emma had fallen in love, right then and there. They married two years later. Over time Emma realized what a difficult man James was. Controlling, demanding, harsh. Emma chalked it up to his parents’ death in a carriage accident when he was seven, in 1901. Shipped off to an orphanage in Germany, James was left with no family and no love. Eventually a couple from the United States had adopted him. They brought him back to Los Angeles where he grew up. During their early years Emma wanted children, but James said no. That caused a deep rift between them. He’d become distant, remote. He didn’t hug, kiss or even laugh with her and their life together turned to drudgery. A voice started speaking. Emma looked up startled. Where had it come from? It sounded loud—distant, yet close. Pulling away from the captain’s strong, steady arms, she glanced around, looking for the stewardess. A young lady came by, dressed the same as the first one. There’s more than one stewardess on this strange airplane? On her flight, there had only been one. Emma peered at the outfit the girl wore. Dark, navy-
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blue skirt, way too short, above the knees. A white blouse, with a funny design embroidered on the front, just above the top button. She wore a matching jacket, but it wasn’t fitted in the style she was used to. It didn’t tuck in at the waist or have broad, padded shoulders. Instead, it just hung loosely, almost straight. Emma grabbed the girl’s shirt sleeve. “Miss? Miss?” “Yes, ma’am?” “What’s that noise?” Emma glanced around. “Where’s that voice coming from?” Tom Wells frowned at Emma. “Calm down, Mrs. McDaniel,” his voice soothed. “It’s the P. A. system, ma’am,” the stewardess said. “The what?” “You know…the public address system.” Emma sat stunned. She’d thought public address systems were only for outdoor events with large gatherings. She wasn’t outdoors, but this qualified as a crowd to her. In fact, she noticed most of the seats seemed filled. A young man from a nearby seat got up and walked past her. He wore funny, faded, ripped blue jeans. She’d only seen farmers wear pants like that. And never old and worn. Nobody in their right mind would go out in public looking like that. And what kind of a shirt did he wear? It looked like cotton, short sleeves, no collar. But it had a picture and writing all over it. Something with a dragon spewing flames out of his mouth and the words, “We light up your life”. “Please fasten your seatbelt,” the young stewardess asked Emma. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes.” Emma fumbled with the belts. The captain next to her noticed and he reached across her to grab the end farthest from him. His arm brushed her breast. Her nipples tightened, sending chills racing through her. Emma straightened up in the seat, leaning back to get as far away from his powerful arm as she could. Captain Wells grinned. His face was only an inch from hers. Emma watched a spark flare in the golden flecks of his blue irises. A moment later his eyes fastened on her lips. Her breathing quickened, her mouth fell open. She heard the pilot catch his breath and watched his face come closer to hers. When their lips touched, the electric flash burned her. Stunned into immobility, Emma’s body reacted by weakening and softening. Moaning, she plastered her lips to his, opening her mouth for more. Never had she been kissed like this. Never had she felt like this. The captain shoved his tongue into her mouth, tasting the delicate flavor of her. Emma soared like the airplane she sat in, flying through space and time. The bump of touchdown woke Emma from her magical bubble. The pilot pulled away and she realized she’d thrown herself at him. Shocked and mortified, Emma looked out the windows. She needed to think. But the scene that she saw stunned her. “What happened to the cars?” Emma asked. “Are those trucks? Why are they shaped so funny? What are those long, square arm-like things stretching from the
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buildings?” She leaned closer to the window and spoke faster with every strange new sight she saw. Her voice raised an octave. Everywhere she looked she saw a different world from the one she’d awakened to this morning. Without thought she stood up. Her face white, she searched for anything familiar. Not seeing what she wished for, Emma realized that she had indeed entered another world. Another time. Her face drained of any residual color and she slumped to the airplane floor.
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Chapter Two Emma awoke on the floor of the airplane. Someone had put a yellow mask over her face. She felt a slight wind as she breathed in and knew it was some kind of oxygen mask. Strong arms helped her sit up. A familiar clean, musky scent wrapped around her, comforting and soothing her. The captain. He stayed right by her, kind enough to help her through the terror of the unknown. The pilot guided her to a seat, allowing the staring passengers to deplane. “Mrs. McDaniel? Are you feeling better?” one of the young stewardesses asked. Pulling the yellow plastic mask off her face, Emma answered, “Yes, dear. I’m feeling a little better. Thank you.” “We could get you a paramedic, if you wish.” What’s a paramedic? Emma didn’t want to show her ignorance. “Uh, no…thank you.” She stood up. “I’ll just leave you all now. I appreciate your kindness.” Emma started to leave the airplane when a large hand clamped onto her wrist. Startled, she frowned at the long, graceful fingers. Captain Wells seemed to touch her a lot. Were all men like that now? It’d been years since her husband showed her any affection. Emma had missed the intimacy of two people hugging. “Mrs. McDaniel, let me escort you into the terminal,” Tom Wells said. “I’ll help you find your way around. Chicago is one of the world’s largest airports.” He intertwined his large fingers between her gloved ones and led the way off the airplane. Well, at least she’d ended up in the first city she’d planned on going to, Emma thought. They walked through a long, square tunnel and followed the passengers into the building. When they emerged, Emma gasped. “Oh my God!” Masses of people, bright lights, loud announcements and squalling children assaulted her senses. Square, black boxes with writing in them hung from the ceiling. People carried and rolled suitcases. Rolled? Emma looked more closely and saw they had tiny wheels on them and were dragged by long black handles. For a minute, she stared. What a great idea. Who would have thought of that? A loud speaker announced a flight departure and Emma jumped. “Don’t worry, Mrs. McDaniel,” the captain murmured in her ear. “Take a moment to get used to your surroundings yourself. I’m sure this seems terrifying to you.” Grateful for his kindness, Emma nodded. He directed her over to some chairs that faced the streaming people going in different directions. He settled her in one and sat down next to her. Emma saw worry cross his handsome, expressive features. Her hands shook and she clasped them together to hide the shaking. “Captain Wells?”
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“Please call me Tom.” “You’ve been so kind…please call me Emma.” She sat, dazed. “I don’t know what to do…I’m so frightened.” Tom leaned close to Emma. She heard him inhale. “I love the way you smell.” What kind of a man would say that to a stranger? First he’d commented about her looks, now her scent. How odd. “If your claim is true, Mrs. McDaniel, then you must be out of your mind with fear and worry. More likely, you’re probably suffering from some kind of mild dementia. Can’t a trauma to the head do that?” Emma sent him a sharp glance. “Do you have a place to go to?” Tom asked, changing the subject. “Any friends or family?” “I told you. I live in Los Angeles. In 1944. And even there, I have no one.” “What about your husband?” “He was killed last month.” Emma’s voice caught. “A bombing raid in London.” Even though the attack had been considered a failure for Hitler, it had wreaked havoc on Emma’s life. Emma saw a look of relief cross Tom’s face. Why? Then almost immediately she saw compassion cross his features. For Emma, her husband had been killed only the month before. Not sixty-two years ago. “Why don’t you come with me? I have a nice home here in the suburbs and we can sort through this situation.” “Oh I can’t impose on you.” She looked at the handsome man. Even at his age, which she figured to be around fifty, she saw health and vigor. Something compelled her to remain at his side, though. His blue eyes radiated compassion, tinged with a little skepticism. “Your wife might be upset when you bring home a very strange woman.” “I’m not married, Emma.” “I’m sorry, Tom. What about your children? I’m sure they wouldn’t be happy when you bring home a weary, mixed-up woman.” A woman who’s out of her time and place. “My daughter won’t be upset. She’s grown and out of the house now,” Tom said. “That’s a story for another time.” A strange young couple walked by as Emma pondered this. They were probably in their twenties, but Emma wasn’t sure. The young man had on those ripped and faded jeans, torn at the hems, similar to the pants the man on the airplane had worn. A sleeveless undershirt like the kind her husband wore under his business shirts seemed to be the only apparel covering his chest. Emma had never seen a black undershirt before. The young man’s jet-black hair stuck straight up, creating a strange, pointed look. Like one of those Indian tribes, she thought. But, strangely, he didn’t look Indian. The young woman with him had blue-black hair, long and straight, parted down the 15
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middle. Her floor-length dress, all black, clung to her skinny frame. Strands of long beads hung around her neck and wrapped her forearms. She jangled as she walked by Emma. What an odd new world this was. Emma wished she was dreaming, but she knew this to be real. How had she ended up in this time? 2006. It sounded like some fantasy. A futuristic time period. A time Emma had never thought she’d see. Yet here she sat. Thinking back to her morning flight, Emma decided that something must have happened during that turbulence they’d encountered. The strange, swirling, horizontal funnel cloud might have had something to do with it. All of that electricity surrounding the vortex seemed odd too. No matter. Always a realist, Emma knew she was here and must deal with it somehow. “Tom,” Emma sighed. “If you really mean it and it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take you up on your kind offer.” What else could she do? Emma saw Tom’s face light up. He seemed genuinely happy to have her with him for a while longer. “It’s no trouble, Emma.” He helped her out of the seat and took her to the front of the terminal. Emma goggled at all of the strange sights. “I have to drop you at the front of the airport. I’ll go around to the employee parking lot, get my truck and bring it around to pick you up. Wait right here, it’ll take about twenty minutes.” Her eyes searched his face. “You’ll come back and get me, won’t you?” Emma panicked at the thought that Tom would leave her alone. How would she manage? Where would she go? Who would believe her? Tom pulled her close to his chest. She felt him take a deep breath. “Yes. I’ll be back. When we get to my house, we’ll sort this out.” He kissed Emma on her temple. “Something about you intrigues me,” he whispered and walked away. Emma knew she could trust Tom. He hadn’t made fun of her outlandish comment about living in 1944. There was a silent connection between them. She stepped outside the airport and sucked in another breath. All she’d been doing was gasping and trying to breathe. Every new sight amazed and startled her. Emma stood under a roadway in the dark arrivals area. Futuristic cars zoomed by at alarming speeds, considering the amount of pedestrian traffic in the area. Buses coughed brown exhaust into the air, choking her. Long, black, stretched-out cars with many doors on each side coasted along the roadway. A sea of yellow taxis lined up by the curb. The noise was deafening. What kind of a world had she entered? Weariness overcame her and she slumped onto a low retaining wall. Emma wanted to go home. To her time, her place. Even with a war raging, she knew where she belonged. Knowing that her husband wouldn’t be there to order her around, demand his dinner and ask her to starch his shirts was almost a relief. Feeling guilty for her thoughts of reprieve, Emma watched the amazing show of life teeming in the twenty-first century. People rushed everywhere. Carts full of bags were pushed and pulled, luggage was piled up on the sidewalk. A man in a suit—something she was used to seeing—had 16
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finished reading a newspaper and started to throw it away in the nearby trash can. “Excuse me, sir. May I have that?” Emma asked. “Sure. Here.” He handed her the Chicago Tribune and went to stand in the taxi line. “It’s all bad news anyway.” The first thing Emma did was check the date. February 20, 2006. So it was real. A sinking sensation in her stomach preceded a wave of depression so strong that Emma felt twenty years older. She didn’t know anything about time travel, but now she suspected she had taken a route that many others hadn’t thought existed. Emma sat with her shoulders slumped, mired in her thoughts. She wished she could curl up into a fetal ball. She didn’t notice the black truck pull up to the curb or hear Tom honk his horn. There were too many other noises blaring. “Emma! Over here!” He waved his arm. She turned at her name and watched Tom get out of the car and hurry toward her. A feeling of such profound relief washed over her that her knees weakened. For a moment she didn’t think she could stand up without falling. “Tom, thank God! I didn’t think you’d come.” Emma drank in his handsome, chiseled face and his endearing dimpled grin. She wished for things that couldn’t be. “I feel as if I’ve awakened in one of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation Series short stories.” “I told you I’d be here. I keep my word, Emma.” Tom’s gaze searched her face. “You’re so pale. Are you feeling okay?” “A man gave me his newspaper…” Emma voice faltered. “I looked at today’s date…”
***** She must feel one hundred years old, Tom thought. He could see her exhaustion and the dark shadows under her eyes. Tom took her by the arm and walked her to his truck. “Here, let me help you in.” He lifted her up by her waist, letting his hands linger too long before he let go. As Tom fastened her seatbelt her light flowery scent swirled around him. Tom stiffened. He frowned then slammed the door. As he walked to his side of the truck he muttered to himself, “Really disgusting for a fifty-two-year-old man.” Once they exited the airport, Tom took the Northwest Tollway toward his home town of Schaumburg. He exited south on Highway 53 and got off on East Higgins Road. Turning west, Tom then drove to Arlington Street. He turned right then two blocks later turned left onto East Bluebonnet Lane. Halfway down the street, Tom turned into his driveway. “Oh it’s lovely!” Emma said. “Your house looks like a bigger, modern version of the type of home I live in.” Tom looked at his home with new eyes. He hadn’t really looked at it in years. He liked the blue siding and white trim. He stopped in front of a two-car garage and
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studied the house. The shake roof needed some minor repair, but a light dusting of snow covered it for now. A dormant flower bed lay under the front windows and followed a winding path to the front door. “Have you lived here long, Tom?” “Yes, about ten years.” He punched the remote and the garage door opened. Emma’s mouth dropped open. She’d been looking at the neighborhood but the sound of a motor caused her to turn back. “How did you do that? You didn’t get out of the car.” Tom chuckled. “This device is called a remote control, Emma. All I have to do is touch this button and the garage door will open and close without me leaving the car. It comes in very handy during the winter and snowstorms.” “What will they think of next?” Emma said. “What other marvelous inventions will I see in this world?” “Oh you’ll be amazed.” Tom pulled the car into the center of the two-car garage and pushed the button to close the door. “Here we are.” Emma swung around to watch the door come down. Her open delight at the invention was infectious. Once it had touched the ground, Emma got out of the truck and shivered. “Gee, it’s cold here. I’m used to a more moderate climate.” “Come on, we’ll go inside. The house will be warm.” He escorted her through the connecting door into the kitchen. “Your kitchen is huge,” Emma said. “What kind of cabinets are these? They’re so pretty.” “Maple. It was popular a few years ago to use maple instead of oak.” “I love the frosted glass. Gives the room a nice touch.” Tom watched Emma wander through the kitchen, dragging her hand along the butcher-block countertop on the island. Her forehead creased as her fingers traced the scarred lines in the wood. “Who would carve marks in this beautiful wood?” Tom laughed. “I would. It’s meant to be like that. That’s a wood chopping block built into the counter. It makes it very easy to cook in the kitchen. . “I feel like Alice in Wonderland.” Emma said. “Everything is so new, so different. “Why, that’s the biggest refrigerator I’ve ever seen.” With a squeal she pulled open one of the side-by-side doors. “You’ll have plenty of time to check out the house and the fridge. Let me show you to your bedroom.” He led her through a large family room, then upstairs to one of the bedrooms. “Here you go.” With a wave of his hand, Tom let Emma precede him into the room.
*****
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“Thank you.” She entered and stared at the large bed in the center of one wall. It was the largest bed she’d ever seen. “When did everything get so big?” Pine end tables flanked the bed and a cherry nine-drawer dresser with a beveled mirror hung over it stood against one wall. She looked at the “drapes”. They hung vertically, like standing rows of white Venetian blinds. “Clever,” she thought. Emma sank on to the bed. Weariness stole over her, bringing her headache to full force. “You must be exhausted.” Tom stepped up to her. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? When you wake up, we’ll discuss this predicament you find yourself in.” “I think I will, Tom. So much has happened, I can hardly process it.” She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tom bent over and stroked a lock of her russet hair back from her face. His fingers skimmed her skin, causing shivers to run up and down her spine. She stared into his mesmerizing blue eyes and sighed. Why did this stranger feel so comfortable to her? There was no denying the electric current that ran between them. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. You’ve taken a strange woman, with a strange story, into your home. I’m grateful to you, Tom, and if there’s anything I can do to repay you, please let me know.” “There is one thing you can do, Emma…” Tom leaned over and kissed her. The kiss started gently then became more demanding. Passion leapt between them, scorching Emma’s lips then moved down to her throat. A tiny moan escaped her. Her husband had never kissed her like this. Not this open-mouthed, tongue-searching, wet kiss of fire. Emma’s world tilted and spun out of control. Tom pulled back. “Take a nap, Emma. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He left the room and closed the door with a thud.
***** Emma woke to bright sunshine pouring through the vertical blinds. She had no idea how long she had slept, but the smell of bacon frying made her mouth water. She threw back the covers and cried out. She wore a long baggy shirt that came down to just above her knees. Tom must have undressed her. Who did he think he was? Anger raced through Emma. She stormed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Following the scent of the bacon, she found her way back to the kitchen. Tom stood with his back to her, flipping pancakes. Emma stepped up behind him and pushed his broad shoulder. “Who do you think you are? I can’t believe your nerve!” Tom whirled, flinging pancake mix all around from the batter-covered spatula. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on someone like that?” But he grinned at her sleeptousled look. “Well, you look much better today. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” “Don’t try to distract me. You undressed me!”
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Tom’s eyes drifted to her t-shirt clad body. “I sure did. You were out. I felt that you’d sleep better without that restricting suit you were wearing. I like my t-shirt on you,” he said. “Very much.” His eyes glittered. “No man has ever undressed me. My husband didn’t even do that until we were married.” Emma paced around the kitchen. “Have a seat. Want some coffee?” He pulled a glass container out of a square machine. He poured dark, black coffee into a mug. “Cream, sugar or sugar substitute?” “What’s sugar substitute?” Emma asked. “You really did come from the past, didn’t you?” Tom paused for a minute. “Otherwise, you’d know about all the new inventions made since the forties.” He turned back to the pancakes, expertly flipping them on the griddle. “There’s an awful lot to explain to you. Sugar substitute is fake sugar. It’s made from chemicals. It tastes similar to sugar but has no calories. It’s so people can lose weight but still get the taste of something sweet.” “Why not just eat regular sugar? Who wants to lose weight?” “Emma, in 2006 two-thirds of the population is overweight. Almost everybody wants to lose weight without watching their food intake.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma grimaced. Too strong. “Maybe I will have a little milk and sugar.” She watched Tom walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a carton. “What? No milk bottles anymore?” Tom laughed. “No. They’ve gone by the wayside. Now it’s milk cartons. Easier to dispose of.” He poured the nonfat milk into Emma’s coffee and added two teaspoons of sugar. “There is so much that’s different today. You’ll be amazed.” Emma sat for a few moments, staring into the white coffee. She picked at the handle on the mug. “Tom, I have a question to ask you. A really important question.” “Yes?” “Did we win the war?” Emma held her breath while she fiddled with her coffee mug. She thought the Allies must have won since she hadn’t seen any swastikas hanging around. She knew if they’d lost, the United States would be under Hitler’s rule. Tom looked startled. He stared at her for a long moment. Emma wondered what he thought. He sat down next to her and said, “Yes, Emma, we won. The war ended in Europe on May 8, 1945, and it ended in Japan on August 15, 1945.” A feeling of such profound relief flooded Emma that she couldn’t speak for a few moments. Tears pooled in her eyes. She thought of freedom and beliefs. She’d never been so afraid. The newspapers were filled with bad news because of the war in Europe and the Pacific. Finally she said, “Thank God. We lost so many young men. Families shattered, lives changed forever. At least it wasn’t all in vain.” “No it wasn’t. We fought to keep our way of life and won. At a great cost, but we won.” Tom got up and checked the pancakes on the griddle. Emma looked at the milk carton. How much had changed? It seemed a great deal.
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“What other changes will I notice?” she asked. Giving her a mysterious glance, he said, “You’ll see.” He placed a stack of pancakes on her plate and a rasher of bacon next to it. “Now eat.” The way Tom talked, Emma thought he might believe her outlandish story. How could he? She didn’t believe it herself. But the proof stared her in the face. Nothing here was the same. The air even felt different. Going back to her first thought when she awoke, Emma asked, “What did you do with my clothes?” “I hung them in the closet. You’ll be much more comfortable when you have other clothes to wear. After breakfast I’ll run to the department store and grab a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts for you.” Emma had taken a bite of the pancakes. “I’ll go to the store with you. Then I can try everything on.” She crunched on the perfectly cooked bacon. “Oh my. This is delicious. Wait! How will I pay for the clothes?” “Don’t worry, Emma. We’ll work everything out.” Tom poured sugar-free syrup onto his pancakes. “I’ll loan you the money and you can pay me back later.” “Why are you doing all of this for me, Tom?” An inscrutable looked crossed Tom’s face. He answered, “Your clothing is odd. Your surprise at the world around you seems genuine. Your delight in the garage door’s remote control was infectious. I tend to believe you, Emma.” A bright wetness formed in Emma’s eyes. She hadn’t realized how frightened she felt until this man had come to her rescue. And he believed her. How remarkable was that? “I never thought about time travel before. It just didn’t seem possible. Now here I am…” she choked. Tom pushed his chair back and came over to Emma. He pulled her up and led her to the family room couch. Gently pushing her onto the sofa, he sat next to her and held her hand. “Look, something weird happened. You say you left 1944 yesterday morning. Now you’re sitting here in my house sixty-two years later.” He stroked her hand, spreading her fingers and running his forefinger between each of hers. “We have so many modern conveniences that are different from your time. You see the way houses have changed, appliances, cars.” He sighed. “You know it happened. How or why are the questions we’ll look into. But be prepared to accept that you’re here and that you might never be able to go back.” That thought frightened Emma. She pulled her hand away from Tom’s gentle stroking and wrapped her arms around her waist. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth. Small keening sounds came from her. Tears leaked out of her eyes, one river streaming down each side of her face.
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Tom wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace. Without a word he lifted her up and set her on his lap. He rocked her back and forth, murmuring soothing words. Emma gave in to the feeling of being protected and cried. A long while later, Emma straightened up and wiped the tears from her face. Life wasn’t always easy and it certainly wasn’t fair. Right now it was downright odd. Always a realist, Emma knew she had to face the facts and deal with her predicament. She looked into Tom’s face and saw gentleness in his eyes. Before she had time to think, she reached up and stroked the hollows in his cheeks. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. What started out to be a gentle thank-you kiss exploded into a raging-furnace kiss. Passion mixed with fear and anxiety fueled a blaze of intense desire. Emma’s hands stole through Tom’s hair, finding the coarse texture intriguing. His soft tongue licked the outside of her mouth then invaded hers, probing past her teeth to the molten depths beneath. Emma groaned. She couldn’t get enough. Starved for affection for thirty years, Emma felt as if she’d reached the end of the rainbow. Purple, pink, yellow and orange colors floated behind her eyes. Her body felt light, as if she could fly. Tom’s masculine, clean scent drove her wild. Grasping his shirt to pull him closer, she pressed her breasts to his chest. With a sudden, harsh jerk, Tom pushed her away. “No, Emma.” There was something so elemental between them that for a moment, Emma thought the universe meant for them to be together. But through space and time? She watched dumbfounded as Tom got up and walked into another room.
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Chapter Three Emma sat there stunned, reeling. Tom must think her repulsive. He’d shoved her away. His kisses were heavenly. Her whole body had flooded first with chills, then rising heat. Her mind went blank and she still shook from head to toe. She’d never felt tingles race through her like that before. She’d never become mindless with need. Emma felt a strange connection to him. That’s all fine and dandy. But this man didn’t like her. Emma sighed. She decided he felt an unwanted attraction, probably just lust. Emma stood to go upstairs. The front door opened and in walked a beautiful, young woman. “Who are you?” the woman asked. Her long blonde hair, striking blue eyes and quirky full lips told Emma who this was. Tom’s daughter. “Hello, I’m Emma.” Smiling, she stuck out her hand. Ignoring Emma’s handshake, the daughter said, “What are you doing here?” Emma dropped her hand to her side. The harsh words felt like a slap. She had expected a kind woman, someone like the father. “I’m visiting.” “Yeah? For how long?” the woman snarled. “A while.” Dressed in gray slacks, a black turtleneck sweater accented with a black, white and gray scarf and wearing black high-heeled boots, the woman stepped up to Emma. Eye to eye, she leaned close and pushed Emma in the chest with one pointed, blood-red tipped nail. “Don’t stay too long. Dad doesn’t have ‘lady friends’. He works to keep Mom and me happy.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name…” Emma’s heart pounded and she took a step back. The closeness of the woman along with the angry words frightened her. Who were these people anyway? She didn’t know anything about Tom and now his nasty daughter stood here threatening her. She realized she still wore Tom’s baggy t-shirt. Emma felt naked and exposed. With her hair in disarray, she must look like she just got up from Tom’s bed. “My name is of no importance to you.” The woman shoved Emma with her hand. “I suggest you go back to where you came from.” The woman looked Emma up and down, taking in every detail of her appearance. “She won’t do that, Beth,” Tom said as he walked into the room. “And I suggest you apologize to Emma for your incredible rudeness and lack of manners.”
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A muscle ticked in his jaw. Blue sparks spit from his eyes at his daughter. He’d showered, shaved and now wore sexy tight blue jeans that outlined his very long muscular legs. A chocolate-brown cable knit sweater covered broad shoulders and black boots protected his feet from the cold. His clean, musky scent invaded the room. “Who is she?” Beth whirled toward her father. “Get rid of her.” Emma gasped at the nastiness of Beth’s words. She felt the blood drain from her face. What father let his daughter speak to him like that? Emma saw Tom glance at her. She wondered what he thought. She knew he saw her pale face and the two red splotches that burned her cheeks. He walked up to Beth, took her elbow and led her from the room, saying through gritted teeth, “Emma, I’m sorry. Beth’s forgotten her manners. We’ll just have a little talk. Why don’t you go clean up, then we’ll continue with our plans for today.” Emma nodded. She left and went upstairs to the bedroom. On the way up she heard heated voices coming from another room downstairs. A bathroom was conveniently connected to the bedroom. No walking down the hall to the one bathroom that she’d shared with her husband in their little two-bedroom house. She looked with appreciation at the large oval tub, shallower than the tubs in her day. The gleaming silver faucet winked at her. Emma lifted up the one lever—her bathroom had had two round knobs, one for hot and one for cold. Water came pouring out of the spigot. When she’d fiddled with it enough for the water to be the right temperature she pulled the little tab on top of the spigot. Water poured over her head. With a yelp, Emma stepped back. She realized she should have pulled her head back before doing that. Shedding her sleeping shirt, she stepped into the shower. With a groan of delight she stood under the water for quite some time, enjoying the warmth of the pulsing shower on her aching head. Emma thought about Tom’s daughter Beth. What an angry young woman she was. Why? She obviously had money. Her clothing looked expensive. What could happen between a kind man like Tom and his daughter to create so much tension, almost hatred? What lengths would the girl go to, to keep her father from having a woman in his life? A shadow fell across Emma, causing a cold shudder to race along her spine. Shaking herself out of the tingly moment, she decided there was nothing she could do about it and turned up the heat in the shower. Emma took Tom’s advice and got ready for her day of shopping. She finished her shower and dried herself with a thick luxurious cotton towel. Next she applied some makeup that she’d had in her purse then dressed in her suit from yesterday. Emma didn’t have any pins to curl her hair so she left the bedroom with her hair hanging straight and damp. Tom looked up at her entrance. With a quick glance around Emma saw that Beth had left. Ushered out, more like it. She saw he’d cleaned up the breakfast dishes and the pancake splatter from earlier. He seemed to be brooding. Unsure of his mood, she entered the kitchen.
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“Why is your hair wet?” he asked. “I didn’t have any pins to curl it. It’ll dry in an hour or so.” “Here, follow me.” He led her upstairs to another bedroom. It had an even bigger bed than the one she’d slept in. This bedroom looked supremely masculine. A dark brown and cream bedspread lay over the mattress with pillows strewn over the cover. Framed prints of old airplanes lined one wall. Emma saw pictures of DC-3s and newer-looking airplanes that she’d never seen before. One picture caught her attention and she went to get a closer look. The legend on the bottom read Boeing 707. First jet to cross the United States. July 15, 1954. Jet? What’s a jet? It had four funny engines with no propellers on it. Emma sighed. Another strange new invention. She followed Tom into a connecting bathroom. Well, this she liked. Each bedroom had its own bathroom. What would they think of next? The bathroom was large. Two porcelain sinks sat in an oak cabinet. A clear glass shower stall stood off to one side and a large oval tub with funny holes in the sides was next to it. The holes looked like nozzles. A tiny, separate room held the lone toilet. What a beautiful bathroom. Tom opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a very large gun. Emma’s heart beat raced and she stepped back with a start as Tom pointed the gun at her. Turning to flee, she heard Tom laugh and say, “Don’t worry, Emma. It’s called a hair dryer. You plug it in to the outlet and then hot air blows out of it to dry your hair. You’ll be done in no time. Most women use a hairbrush with it to style their hair.” He plugged the dryer in and turned the nozzle toward his head. “Watch, I’ll show you how it works.” Emma let out a huge sigh as her heart rate slowed. She heard the click as he pushed up a button on the handle and jumped at the high-pitched whine the invention made. Tom had taken a hairbrush out and was pulling it through his hair while directing the hair dryer over his head. Emma felt the warm wind and saw it blow his hair as he maneuvered the brush through his thick, coarse, silver-blonde locks. After a minute he handed the dryer and hairbrush to Emma. She held it gingerly. It felt heavier than she’d expected. She directed the nozzle at her head, feeling the warmth. “Oh! This feels nice.” Trying to maneuver the hairbrush through her hair and hold the dryer on the correct spot, Emma kept blowing the wind on Tom. With a chuckle, he stepped up behind her and took the dryer from her hand, leaning close to her. Emma’s skin prickled. She felt his male presence in every fiber of her being. The little hairs on her arms stood straight up. With a quick intake of breath she turned to look at Tom. Their eyes met and clashed. While holding the hair dryer, Tom slowly bent down. Emma leaned up. The gentle touch of his lips were soft, a whisper. Then passion blazed and Emma closed any remaining empty space between them.
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Her world tilted. She gave in to the demanding pressure of his wet lips. The still running blow dryer crashed to the tile floor, breaking into pieces and ripping the cord out of the socket. Neither Emma nor Tom cared. Tom wound his arms around Emma’s head, cradling her. Plastered against his body, her breasts rubbed his sweater clad chest. He groaned. “I want you. I don’t know why, but I do. You drive me insane. I want more.” Tom pulled Emma’s shirt out from her skirt and placed his hands on her tiny waist. Slowly, he skimmed up her midsection until his thumbs reached her nipples. With light strokes he rubbed through her bra bringing the nubs to instant peaks. Emma moaned. Lost in the moment, she could only feel. Her body melted, turned liquid by the molten flames licking inside her. Wave after wave of passion rolled through her. Emma reached up and pulled Tom closer. More, she needed more. The jangling of the telephone startled them apart. Breathing rapidly, eyelids heavy, they looked at each other in wonder. Tom stroked her cheek and pulled away to answer the annoyance. “Hello,” he croaked. “Hey, Tom. It’s Gene from Operations. I need you to take a trip to Philly today.” “No can do, Gene.” Tom said, trying to regain his composure. “I’m not on reserve. You’ll have to find someone else, sorry.” “Thought I’d give it a try. Have a nice day, buddy.” The phone disconnected. Emma stood still, trembling from reaction. What a kiss. Who in the world kissed like that? She watched Tom. He watched her. After a long, silent moment she said, “Well, I guess I better finish my hair.” She looked at the floor and the broken hair dryer. “Oh. I’ve ruined it.” Tom went to his closet and pulled out a suitcase. He opened the lid and brought out another hair dryer. “Here. It’s called a travel hair dryer. Smaller, easier to fit in suitcases.” He handed it to her. Emma unfolded the handle and, finding a similar button, pushed it to high. After fiddling with the dryer and the brush, she figured out how to style her hair. “Wow. This is fantastic. Thanks.” When she finished they left the house for the nearby Woodfield Mall. “There are over three hundred shops and restaurants here,” Tom said as he parked the truck. “I’m sure we’ll find something suitable for you.” “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Emma asked while smoothing her skirt. “It’s way too formal for today.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her into the mall. “Look around. You’ll see kids and parents wearing next to nothing, compared to what you’re used to. T-shirts, shorts, skirts, jeans, sandals…those are the types of clothes that are worn now.” Emma stopped in shock at the vivid, colorful, hectic scene before her. Three levels of stores, shops and restaurants mixed with live music performances all clashed
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together to make a cacophony of noise. “Oh my goodness! It’s so noisy, so busy.” Emma wanted to close her eyes and place her hands over her ears. “Yup, that’s what it’s like in the twenty-first century,” Tom said. “Come on. We’ll get you some clothes then get out of here. I’m sure you’re having culture shock.” “What’s culture shock?” “It’s the catch-all term for what you’re going through. Seeing everything so new, so different. It shocks the system and mind while trying to process it all.” Tom turned into a JC Penney’s. “Oh thank goodness. A store I recognize. It’s nice to know that something has survived over sixty years.” As familiar as the name of the store was, nothing inside it looked the same. Emma shopped with Tom giving her pointers. She bought three pairs of boot-cut, low-rider jeans, a few cami-tank tops, t-shirts, sweaters and a wool overcoat. Keds sneakers—which were more comfortable than the ones made in her day—boots for the snow and flat dress shoes were added to her packages. Emma told herself she’d never shop for underwear with Tom again. He fingered all of the skimpy, sexy bras and panties. Tom caught Emma peeking at him and winked. She blushed, mortified he’d noticed her. One time he even brought a lacy bra up to his lips and pantomimed kissing her through it. Emma’s face flamed. She raised her head, squared her shoulders and walked by Tom, glaring at him as she passed. She hoped he didn’t see the slight smile on her face. Buying pajamas wasn’t any better. Tom went for the sheer, sexy, see-through nighties that were displayed while Emma looked for granny-style nightgowns. She ended up with something called sweat-style pajamas, a light-weight pant with a longsleeved top. Throughout the whole shopping expedition Emma felt Tom’s eyes on her, smoldering. When Tom went to pay for the clothing, Emma watched in amazement as he handed over a plastic card. The woman behind the funny-looking cash register slid it along a groove, watched for a minute, then smiled as a piece of paper spit out of a slot. The sales lady handed Tom the small paper, asked him to sign, then gave him a copy. Emma waited until they were away from “the register” to ask Tom how he’d paid. “Doesn’t anyone use cash anymore?” “Not much,” he replied. “We have these credit cards. Each card has a limit on how much you can spend. Then each month a bill comes with the amount you spent and a minimum amount you have to pay. If you don’t pay the minimum, you get into trouble, but that’s usually far down the road.” Emma shook her head. Cash wasn’t good anymore. Probably a good thing, since she’d left Los Angeles with one hundred dollars in her purse. At the time it seemed like a huge amount of money, but already Emma could see that it wouldn’t go very far. “Is that the same as a charge-a-plate?” She thought they’d sure changed since her time. 27
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At her mention of the old-style metal credit card Tom turned. “Well, that’s an old name for it.” He shook his head. For a moment Emma saw Tom stop and stare into space. What was he thinking? He had such a sad look on his face. Then it disappeared. “I haven’t heard that term in years. Yes, it’s the modern version of one, only now you can use the same card at thousands of stores.” His laugh seemed forced. “It sure lightened up the old wallet.” On their drive back to Tom’s house he said, “Tell me about your husband, Emma.” She glanced at him and saw his granite profile. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What’s to tell?” Emma shrugged. “We were high school sweethearts, married for thirty years.” Tom’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Emma thought he looked angry. “Did you have a happy marriage?” Emma hesitated. How could she tell this nice stranger her problems? “No marriage is perfect, Tom.” Tom glanced at her. Emma knew she’d closed up. She knew he could hear the flatness of her voice, yet Emma saw that it only piqued his curiosity. “Why was he in London during the war instead of safe at home?” “He sold airplane parts for Douglas Aircraft Company.” Emma hesitated, not sure how much to tell Tom. “I’m not sure why he had to go…he’d been selling them long enough that the orders were pretty standard. There’s a lot he didn’t tell me. I quit probing a long time ago.” Emma’s voice faded to a whisper. She fiddled with her hands, rubbing them along her now jean-clad legs. It relieved Emma that Tom didn’t ask any more questions. She’d left something unsaid. A lot of somethings.
***** Back at Tom’s, Emma unloaded her purchases. She placed her new clothes in the dresser and the closet. Her head started to ache after the noise and confusion of the mall, so she decided to lie down for a few minutes. Exhaustion claimed her. She lay sprawled on the queen-sized bed, legs spread, arms akimbo. She was tired but couldn’t sleep. A short while later Tom peeked into the room. He walked in and covered her with an afghan throw. Then he sat next to her on the bed and looked at her. “Why don’t you rest?” “Too many thoughts running through my head.” Tom stroked her face. “Your skin is so smooth. I like the tiny wrinkles around your eyes.” His touch was so light, gentle. Emma’s lips had parted and she exhaled tiny sighs with each breath. “I shouldn’t be sitting here.” Tom mumbled. His fingers flexed and he reached out to touch the softness of her hair. He adjusted the blanket. Emma shifted, turning her back toward Tom. The unspoken invitation was too much for Tom. He scooted onto the 28
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bed and pulled her close to him, nestling her spoon-style against his warmth. He hardened instantly. He shifted but Emma felt his hardness. She sighed. The movement brought her rear end in contact with Tom again. He groaned but he didn’t leave. Emma snuggled into Tom as he stroked her hair. This wasn’t the time for passion, she thought. This was the time for comfort. Soon the soothing rhythm of Tom’s strokes calmed them both and they fell asleep.
***** A shaft of the late afternoon sun pierced through the vertical blinds right into Emma’s eyes. Still half asleep, she felt a deep sense of contentment. Warmth and security stole over her. She blinked open her eyes and turned her head to ease away from the brightness of that one beam of light. A large, strong hand squeezed her waist and pulled her closer. Emma froze, immediately awake. She’d forgotten for a minute where she was. She looked down and saw the muscular, furred arm clamped around her. Emma lay on her side, Tom folded around her. The peace that stole over her reinforced how much she’d craved this kind of intimacy. How much she’d missed it. With Tom’s long, jean-clad legs touching the back of hers, she couldn’t help but compare her husband to him. James had hated touching and being touched. Even the accidental brush of a hand or arm made him pull away. When they’d first been married, he’d been more sensitive to her needs, but as time passed James had quit touching her. Emma fought it at first. She’d asked and needled him into talking to her about his feelings. Too many arguments later Emma decided that it wasn’t worth disturbing the fragile peace between them to force him to open up. After a few years of marriage, arguments about whether they should have children and the lack of closeness that James showed, Emma had withdrawn into a protective shell to survive. Over time she’d found she had a roommate, not a husband. Since she’d been an only child and with her parents now gone, she’d had no one to love except James. But now she lay here curled up in the arms of a tall, strong, handsome man. She was warm under the covers of a soft, wool blanket. His unique scent of musk and soap, the soft hiss of his breath blowing on her neck and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest all combined to envelop Emma in a shell of safety and security. Feeling protected for the first time in her life, Emma closed her eyes and fell back asleep.
***** Emma knew Tom was gone as soon as she shifted on the bed. Darkness cloaked the room. Cool air and a sense of emptiness caused a shiver of dread to race along her spine. She got up and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Noting
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the dark mascara circles under her eyes, she scrubbed her face clean. With the quick flick of a brush through her hair she went to find Tom. Compared to her little eight-hundred-square-foot house, Tom’s two-story home seemed large. Emma searched for Tom upstairs then headed downstairs. As she walked down the stairs a cold shiver rushed up her spine. What? A premonition? Why? She found him in a room with a large desk fitted into a corner. A huge picture window looked out on a large, wooded backyard. Lights lit the yard with a soft yellow glow. Pine trees, heavy with snow, graced the yard and a wide expanse of dormant grass indicated the boundaries of Tom’s property. Snow fell, making the scene look like a Currier and Ives picture postcard. “Your house is so large I thought it would be a year before I’d found you.” Emma smiled. She fiddled with her shirt. She had just slept with the man…sort of. She felt safe, yet not safe. Tom jumped. Bent over the computer, he’d been engrossed in his research. He turned the monitor away from Emma’s view and leaned back in his chair, swiveling around to look at her. “You look so fresh without makeup. I’d think you were about thirty years old. You’re a beauty,” he said. “Welcome to my office.” “What do you need an office for if you’re a pilot?” she asked, ignoring the offhand compliment. “Nowadays almost everybody has a home office.” He waved his hand to indicate she should enter the room and come closer. “This is a computer.” He patted the monitor. “I can research anything found in libraries, universities, medical facilities, government agencies and other places from all over the world. It’s called the information age, because with this machine I can have access to almost anything I want. As long as it’s not classified.” Emma came closer to look at what he was talking about. The television-looking screen sat on a table and a typewriter-style keyboard pulled out from a shelf underneath. Having been a war secretary, she was familiar with typewriters. Royal had been the leading brand in her day. Emma watched Tom type something and a picture flashed on the screen. Amazed, she moved closer to get a better look. She leaned over Tom’s shoulder. She was so close she felt his hair tickle her cheek. Firebolts of electricity shot through her. Tom must have felt it too since Emma heard his quick intake of breath and felt him stiffen. Yet he leaned back into her as if trying to get closer to the spark. “That’s amazing,” she breathed on his neck. “Who would have thought of that? It seems so complicated.” “Two guys get credit for inventing this in their garage. Now they’re rivals with two huge computer companies. Computers hook up to the internet to get access to the information we want. Emma didn’t understand. “What’s an internet?”
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“That’s the term for connecting to the information available world wide.” Tom shook his head. “Emma, it’s amazing what this computer will do. I’ll show you later. But first we need food.” Tom turned the computer off. But not before she saw her husband’s name disappear from the screen.
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Chapter Four Tom stared at the screen. He’d started an internet search on his computer as soon as Emma had gone to sleep after dinner. Now, two hours later he searched the records for anything about her husband during World War II. “What a mystery the man is,” Tom muttered. He found that James McDaniel had indeed worked for Douglas Aircraft Company out of their Santa Monica, California, plant at Clover Field from 1936 to 1944. His name came up on a roster of former employees along with his job description. Douglas had documented McDaniel’s many trips to Europe, before and during the war. But not much else could be found about James or his family background. The information on James just ended. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his already tousled hair. Tom smacked the table in disgust, saved the web pages and turned off the computer. He looked at his watch and saw that it was past eleven. Time for bed.
***** The next day Tom researched what events happened during the war in January 1944. “Emma, why would your husband make dangerous trips to London during the war?” They were eating scrambled eggs for breakfast. Emma looked up. “Why do you ask?” “It just seems strange that a civilian would go to a war zone.” “Lots of businessmen went to London during the war.” Emma dropped her fork on the plate, making a clattering sound. “Forget it.” Tom changed the subject. “Why don’t I show you some of our new inventions?” “I’d love that.” Tom took her into the family room and sat her on the sofa. Then he handed her a remote control for the TV. “What’s this?” She looked at the black rectangular box in her hand. “What are all of these buttons for?” “This, my dear, turns on the television.” Tom showed her which buttons did what. Emma jumped up and whirled around, a huge grin split her face. “Oh my, I don’t have to go to the TV each time I want to change a channel. I can sit here like a slug and press buttons all day long!”
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Her joy was contagious. Tom showed her the cordless phone. “Why don’t you call someone?” Emma’s face closed down and her shoulders slumped. “Who would I call?” She had no family and her friends were back in 1944. As soon as she said it, Tom said, “Oh God. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” “I think I’ll go and rest for a while, Tom. I’m a little tired.” Tom watched Emma drag herself away from the family room, shuffling as she walked. “What a mess,” he muttered. After a while Tom went upstairs to Emma’s room. Opening her door, he checked to see that she slept peacefully. Instead, he found her curled up in a little ball crying. She looked so lonely. “Emma.” She glanced up at his voice and wiped the tears away. Sniffing, her emerald eyes pleaded with him not to ask any questions. Tom went to the bed, sat down on the edge and pulled her to his chest. He stroked her silky-soft hair, giving her comfort without saying a word.
***** Emma felt complete wrapped Tom’s arms. For the first time she belonged somewhere. After a while she relaxed in his embrace. He stroked up and down her arms. The comforting feelings began to change—to a deeper, wilder feeling. Emma’s heart raced, her breathing quickened and her palms began to sweat. She hoped Tom hadn’t noticed it. She wasn’t sure she thought of this as comfort anymore. Tom rested his chin on her head and rubbed her scalp. Emma knew the minute he began to harden in rhythm to the movement of his chin. She felt Tom’s shoulders become stiff and he pulled away from her. Laying a hand on his chest, Emma felt Tom’s heart rate speed up to match hers. She panted and her hands shook as she wrapped them around him. She rubbed his back to keep them occupied. That brought them closer together. Her nipples pebbled at the touch and the moan she’d kept reined in slipped out. “That does it,” Tom said. He leaned her back into the pillows and covered her face with kisses. His mouth met hers in a fiery explosion, lips and tongues melding together. The force of their passion, the suddenness of their combined heat, tore away the barriers between them. Their clothes disappeared. Tom ran his hands up from her hips to her stomach and stopped at her tiny waist. “I can wrap both of my hands around your waist.” And he did. Then he used his thumbs to stroke the indentation. Emma writhed and moaned, out of control. He kissed her bellybutton, sticking his tongue inside it to taste her salty flavor.
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Emma rose up off the bed. “More, much more.” She groaned. Her hands flew over Tom’s back, spanning the width, stroking his strong muscles. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she invited him to enter her. Tom hesitated. “What?” “Protection?” “What’s that?” “Oh right. In 1944 there was only one thing a woman worried about.” He croaked. “Can you still get pregnant?” Emma choked. “At my age? No.” Emma couldn’t wait any longer. She thrust her hips up to meet his hardness and felt him slide into her hot wetness. They both groaned in pleasure. Emma and Tom were a perfect fit. She accepted his length with ease. Clinging to Tom’s slick shoulders, she set the pace. Mindless with need, she pushed him to the limit. As Emma felt Tom’s excitement she pushed farther, harder, higher. She wrapped him in a tight embrace and her only thought was need. A terrible, beautiful need. Every part of Tom’s body felt hard to Emma. She knew he tried to hold back, but she whimpered and set a frantic pace. Emma knew exactly when he lost control. Like a miracle, she felt him melt into her. They reached their peak at the precise moment that her muscles contracted around him. He spilled into her as they rode the erotic waves together in mindless rapture. Never had she felt such a complete connection.
***** Emma thought she’d fainted for a minute. She’d never reached that height before. Never felt those tingling, pulsing, vibrating sensations. Never before had anything felt so wonderful. Terrifyingly wonderful. Paired with Tom, Emma felt whole. Cherished. Home. Yet, she didn’t even know this man. As her heart rate slowed, she turned away from him. She needed to think. But moments later she scooted back into his embrace to nestle spoon-style. She wondered what Tom thought.
***** He put his arm over her and pulled her closer to him. His hand wandered over her soft, sensitive, fragrant skin. Emma’s hair smelled of vanilla-scented shampoo and she’d let it dry naturally. Her copper waves fell over the pillow. Tom moved his face closer to her hair, nuzzling the thickness. Soon they fell asleep, surrounded by the soothing scent of vanilla and freshness.
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They slept through the night and awoke to a fresh passion. Once sated, Emma and Tom took showers and went downstairs for breakfast. Over cereal and toast, Emma said, “Thank goodness. Here’s something that I remember. These cornflakes haven’t changed in sixty years.” Emma glanced around Tom’s kitchen. “Even toasters are about the same.” Emma munched on a piece of whole wheat toast as she looked at the appliance. “Now this bumpy, brown bread is new. I love its crunchy, nutty flavor.” Tom coughed then gulped his coffee. “Emma, we need to talk. I’d like to learn more about you, your husband and your time in 1944. I think we need to research what we can and see if we can get to the bottom of your mysterious appearance in 2006. Nowadays, we have all kinds of theories on time travel. People have been trying to prove it exists for years—” “It exists, Tom. I’m proof,” Emma stated. “I know.” He spooned up some cereal. “Will you tell me about yourself?” “Yes.” Emma didn’t hesitate. “I’m fifty years old. I was born July 10, 1894. I grew up in Los Angeles, California. I have no brothers or sisters and my parents died in 1916 in an automobile crash when I turned twenty-two. I met James in high school. I was a cheerleader, he the local football hero. He pursued me after a football game. We married a short time later, just after graduation.” Emma thought back to how warm and caring James had seemed at that time. My how he’d changed. “We were married for thirty years. Until a month ago…I mean sixty-two years ago—oh it’s all so confusing. To me it was just a few days ago that I walked on that airplane at Los Angeles Municipal Airport.” She laid down her cereal spoon and stared out the kitchen’s picture window. She didn’t see the bright sunshine glinting off the sparkling snow. “Tell me more about your husband.” “James and I lived in Culver City, a suburb of Los Angeles. It was odd…” she drifted off. “He kept making these strange, last-minute trips to Europe. He’d go to work then an hour or two later come home and tell me to pack his suitcase, he was going to Germany or France or London. He even went to Poland once.” As she thought about those trips she stared at a picture of a vase of flowers on the kitchen wall. “I would ask him routine questions—where he’d be staying, how long he’d be gone. He became vague and wouldn’t talk to me. One day as I was packing his suitcase he blew up at me and ordered me never to ask him those questions again. I was so hurt I ran to the guest room, slammed the door and didn’t say goodbye.” She sighed, feeling despondent just thinking about that argument. “He left and didn’t come home for two weeks.” Tom was a good listener, thought Emma. But his steady gaze unnerved her. He reached across the kitchen table and picked up her hand. “Stop fiddling with your food. We’re just talking, getting to know one another.” The cereal spoon lay forgotten on the table as she played with the half-eaten piece of toast. “How many trips did your husband make overseas?”
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He stroked her hand, soothing her and exciting her at the same time. Emma looked at Tom. “Oh—I don’t know. After that argument things changed between us. I didn’t ask. It permeated the rest of our relationship. He held back affection. He became distant, withdrawn.” Emma picked up the cold toast and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “One night the phone rang. It was very late. James went to answer it and when he left the bedroom he closed the door. I thought that was odd, so I tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. He spoke German to the person on the other line. I knew James’ family came from Germany, but I’d never heard him speak the language before. Add the lateness of the call and the way he whispered into the phone, well, I knew something was wrong. Luckily, he’d said goodbye in English. I closed the door and raced to the bed just in time. James never realized I’d overheard that conversation.” Tom said nothing for a moment. “So James spoke German, had begun to have late night phone calls and went off to Europe on short notice.” “Yes. So?” “Emma, think back. About when did this start?” “It seemed to happen a few years after he started working at Douglas. By the time we had that argument, he’d become a cold and unfeeling man.” Her hand flew up to her face. “I didn’t mean to say that.” Heat radiated from Tom’s eyes. Emma felt color flood her face and neck. In order to catch her breath, she stood up and cleared the table. The phone rang. “Hello?” Tom said. “Hey, Captain Wells. This is your good buddy Weston Hadley. I need a trip trade. Can you take my trip on Thursday-Friday to DC? I’ll take yours tomorrow and Thursday.” “Sure. I need one more day to stay at home before going back to the real world.” He smiled at Emma. “Put the swap into the computer. Have a great time on my trip and tell everyone I said hello.” “Thanks, Tom. I owe you.” Weston hung up. Emma looked at Tom. “Was the call important?” “Yes. I have another day to spend with you before I go back to work.” He wagged his eyebrows. “That was another pilot calling to ask to trade trips. We can do that. All we have to do is type some words into the computer and voila! I go to work a day later than I thought I would. It’s a great system with a lot of flexibility.” Tom looked pleased. Relief flooded Emma. Tom had explained the phone call to her without her asking. James wouldn’t have done that. “I’m a little lost at the terminology, but I’m glad you’re staying.” “Well, I’ll teach you that in no time. Now then, what would you like to do today?” he asked.
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Emma glanced out the window. She wondered about all the new things she’d need to see to acclimate herself to this new world. “I’d like to drive around Chicago. See what this new world is all about.” “Great. We’ll get you familiar with the new, pulsing pace of life in the twenty-first century. You’ll be amazed at the way cars have changed, shocked at our roadways— and their potholes—and the length of the expressways will boggle your mind. But most of all the traffic will annoy you.” Tom grinned a crooked sexy smile. “We’ll stop for lunch somewhere then take it from there. How does that sound?” “Wonderful.” Emma’s voice faltered. Tom’s radiant smile caused her stomach to flip over. The man was altogether too attractive. A short while later they got into Tom’s black Ford truck and drove south. Tom wandered along Highway 59 toward the suburb of West Chicago. They turned west, heading into the small town of Geneva. Once they drove through the south-western suburbs he turned north toward the city of Chicago. As they entered The Loop, the business district, Emma’s mouth dropped open. Her head twisted left, right and backwards, trying to see everything. Her first sight of the Sears Tower and the John Hancock building left her stunned. “What…what’s that?” She pointed at the downtown area. “Those buildings are so tall. I didn’t think anything was taller than the Empire State Building.” “We have the John Hancock Center with one hundred floors,” Tom pointed to his left, “and the Sears Tower, which has one hundred and ten floors.” Tom pointed to the taller building on the right. “They are the symbols of our skyline. You’ll see these two buildings on every postcard ever mailed from Chicago. They would be the tallest in the world except for the Petronas Towers in Malaysia that have only eighty-eight stories. The Malaysians added one hundred-and-eleven-foot spires to the top that make them taller than the Sears Tower. I call that cheating.” Tom laughed. Emma glanced at him. Then she shivered. “You okay?” Tom asked. She stared at his incredible blue eyes and before she thought about it said, “What a sexy laugh you have.” Then her hand flew to her mouth. Tom laughed. Emma pictured them lying in bed having early morning or late night talks. She noticed that Tom had shifted in the seat. To a more comfortable position? Emma felt her breathing quicken. She wondered if Tom felt the same. She acted like a teenager around the man. Emma hitched in her breath. She knew Tom watched her fumble to roll down the window. She pressed all the buttons and finally the window slid into the door. Somehow, it eased the sensual feeling of all that energy radiating through the tiny enclosed space of the truck’s cab. They drove up Lake Shore Drive. The view of Lake Michigan in the winter sunlight was breathtakingly beautiful. Tom drove to Rush Street. He parked the car and they entered Giordano’s Restaurant. “Here we go. The best pizza in the world. We Chicagoans argue that this is where the stuffed crust pizza was first served.”
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They were seated at a small table. “What’s a stuffed crust pizza?” “You’ll see.” The waiter took their order. “One large pepperoni, sausage and bacon pizza, please.” He looked to Emma to see if she approved. She nodded yes. While they waited for the pizza Tom asked more questions about Emma’s husband. “Emma.” He took her hand and rubbed the soft spot between her thumb and forefinger. “When James went on his trips, did he call you or write letters?” “No. He left, then he’d come back. Mostly, he surprised me with some little trinket from the cities he’d been to. Souvenir things.” Emma stared at that moving thumb. For a moment she closed her eyes. Tom groaned. “Don’t.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m already hard. We’ll never finish our pizza if you keep that up.” “I can’t help it. Your touch is everything I’ve ever hoped or dreamed of. I lived with a man who wouldn’t touch me, hug me or even kiss me.” A flush mottled her cheeks and Emma wouldn’t look at Tom. Yet she was relieved to finally admit that to someone. “You make me feel pretty, Tom. I hardly remember what that feels like.” Anger crossed Tom’s face. “You are pretty, Emma. Stunning.” The compliment wormed her way through Emma, warming her. She dragged her mind back to Tom’s question. He watched her stare into space. Emma thought back to one incident in particular. Pearl Harbor had been bombed a few months before and the U.S. had officially entered the war. James had been acting odd during those few months. One night as he slept she heard him mumbling to himself in German. Not understanding what he said but realizing that he was troubled, Emma had awakened him. “James, is everything all right?” “Yes.” He was curt, rude. “Why?” “You were mumbling in your sleep. In German. You’ve been distracted lately. Worried. I just wondered if there was anything I could do.” “No. Forget it. Everything’s fine.” He turned away from her and fell asleep. Early the next morning James had made a whispered phone call. Emma crept to the door and saw his frantic arm movements and wild gesturing. She decided to make coffee in the percolator for James. When he saw her enter the kitchen he ended the phone call. “What are you doing up so early?” “I couldn’t sleep. Since you were up I thought I’d make you some coffee.” He didn’t eat breakfast. She watched the brown liquid bubble up and down through the glass dome on the top and wondered how she could find out what James hid from her. Emma jolted back to the present when the waiter brought their food. The tantalizing smell of hot, bubbling cheese, tangy red sauce and three kinds of meat had her mouth watering. The waiter placed the pizza on a tall stand, pulled a piece off and placed it on Emma’s plate. After doing the same for Tom, he poured a glass of beer for each of them. Tom picked up his iced glass and said, “To the future. Whatever it may bring.”
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“To the future.” They clinked glasses. “Oh eat the crust first. It’s full of cheese.” He turned his piece of pizza around and took a large bite out of it. Emma laughed at Tom’s comical reaction to his first bite of pizza. His eyes rolled back in his head in a parody of rapture. He didn’t realize he had a long string of cheese clinging to his lip until Emma reached over and lifted it up with a finger. Tom opened his mouth. Emma placed the strand of cheese on Tom’s tongue. As she started to pull her finger out of his mouth, he closed his lips together. The soft, wet feeling of his lips and tongue against her finger was incredibly erotic. As Emma slowly pulled her finger out of his mouth, Tom sucked and licked it. Emma’s eyes darkened. Her mouth dropped open. If she’d been standing she surely would have fallen then and there. Tension thrummed, swirled about them. Without a word, they finished the pizza and beer. They left the restaurant and barely reached the cold car when Tom pulled her to him in a mind numbing kiss. “That’s for teasing me inside the restaurant.” He pulled her closer for more kisses. “This is because I loved it!” Emma laughed.
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Chapter Five Once back at Tom’s house they went into his office. “Emma, I want to show you how to work the computer. It’s quite easy to turn it on and the typing part is nearly the same as in the forties, but searching is a bit difficult.” He sat her in the chair at the computer and named each part. Emma touched the glassy face of the…monitor, he called it. “How can this be flat? Where’s the tube?” “There aren’t any tubes in TV monitors anymore.” No tubes. How strange. Emma felt the thinness of the screen. “Oh look! The keyboard is almost the same as what I’m used to. What are these keys on the right side for?” “We’ll get to that later. For now just use it like an old-time typewriter.” Tom turned a dial. Emma jumped. “Oh! The computer talks.” “Those are speakers. Most of the time I leave them turned off. Once you play around with them you’ll find what you’re comfortable with.” He looked at her. “Are there any questions?” “Only a million. But we’ll take them one at a time. Where’s the remote?” She laughed. “Really, how do I type a letter?” “You sure like remotes, don’t you?” “Yes, I do. Life’s so much easier with them,” Emma said. “Oh well, let’s get back to the computer. Tom showed her how to start the software programs and pulled up the word processing screen. After explaining what it was called and how to find it, he had her do it a few times. Emma learned quickly. “You mean that I don’t need carbon paper or ink erasers?” Emma couldn’t believe how easy it was to change a typing error. “Tom, this is fantastic! I don’t have to erase mistakes from three or four copies and there’s no ink on my hands from carbon paper.” Her excitement was contagious. “Go ahead, pull up a new document and type something.” He watched as Emma clicked open a document and started typing. “It’s so easy! Oh. I made a typo. Wait…I just use this backspace button and it wipes out the mistake.” Emma bounced in the chair with excitement. “I like this.” She began typing furiously. Tom grinned at her. “There’s much more to learn on this computer, Emma. It gets a little mind-boggling at times. Some people won’t even try, or they get so frustrated they pound the table.” Emma figured Tom spoke of himself. “One day I may throw the
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machine out the window due to intense aggravation.” Tom taught her the basics of the computer and left Emma to figure things out for herself.
***** She heard him doing laundry and packing for his two-day trip tomorrow. This was the first time he’d be leaving her and she worried about finding her way. Would she need a car? Maybe she should rent one? She had her driver’s license, but it had expired. By about sixty-some years, she thought. Plus, cars were vastly different then. In 1944 they were large, long and wide. They also had running boards, huge steering wheels and white wall tires. No, she’d take cabs. That reminded her…Emma went upstairs to find Tom. “While you’re gone I might need money. Can I borrow some from you?” “Sure. We’ll get you set up and work out the details later. Oh that reminds me, there’s something I need to do. Excuse me.” Tom left the room and went downstairs. For a minute Emma felt confused. Why had he left so fast? His face had changed too. Closed down. Shivers raced along her spine. He shifted gears so quickly. Why? First he was happy and pleasant, then in an instant he was moody, withdrawn. Shaking her head, Emma went back downstairs, telling herself she’d watch Tom very closely. She didn’t want to end up in another situation like she’d had with James. One moody, unpleasant man was enough for her. As Emma passed the office room she heard Tom’s deep voice on the telephone. “I know, but I need this right away. Yeah…as soon as I get back from my trip. Okay. Give me a call.” She passed the opened door and went to make coffee in the percolator. No, she corrected herself, the coffee maker. The late afternoon progressed into early evening. Emma stayed at the computer, fiddling here and there. She learned how to do an online search. She didn’t know why they called it “online”, but she’d figured it out anyway. For the fun of it she decided to see what it said about World War II. Pages and pages of information came up and Emma didn’t know where to start. She sat back and read the underlined headings and one caught her eye. “Now how do I pull that page up? Oh yes, take the mouse thingy and place the pointy arrow on the line. How funny that the arrow changes to a hand, as if she were grabbing information out of the computer. Then click on it,” she reminded herself. She did that and another page came up. Emma gasped. A large black mushroom cloud formed on the screen with large letters saying, atomic bomb dropped, August 6, 1945, at 8:15 a.m. What’s an atomic bomb? She continued to read further and saw pictures of the devastation and suffering. Emma read that a few days later the Japanese surrendered. She couldn’t read anymore. Her stomach churned. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear Tom come in. “How would you like to barbecue some steaks tonight?” Tom came up behind her and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. She felt him hesitate and then he turned her around in the swivel chair. “Hey, what’s this? Tears?”
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Emma just pointed to the screen. Tom glanced and saw the website on Hiroshima. “Ah, that explains it.” He raised her up out of the chair, then sat down in it himself, placing her on his lap. Once he’d wrapped his arms around her he said, “That’s what brought the war in Japan to a close. It’s still horrible to think about it. All of those families maimed and killed.” He just held her and let her digest what she’d read. “Did we bomb the Nazis too?” “No.” He gently rubbed her tears away. “In June 1944, we did a mass, secret seaborne invasion on a beach in France called Normandy. They called it D-day. That was the term for a secret date on which a military operation would begin. Many of our men and boys were killed that day, but it began the liberation of Europe. Within a year, Germany and Japan surrendered.” “So we won and now sixty years later we’re free.” Emma let that sink in. “No wonder there are so many cars and people rushing around in a frenzy. I guess there’s unlimited gasoline? No rationing?” “No rationing, but there isn’t an unlimited amount of fuel. We are now dependent on a portion of the world called the Middle East. They control the oil and we’re at their mercy. Right now oil prices are the highest ever and who knows if we will ever go back to rationing.” Tom sighed and shifted Emma closer to his chest. He nuzzled her hair. “I’m afraid that today people won’t be as willing to participate and sacrifice to save oil and gas. You see, Emma, we’re at war again. It’s a very different kind of war. Like nothing we’ve ever seen before. But that’s a story for another time.” “Tom, if we’re at war, why don’t I see uniformed men walking the streets the way they did last week…I mean in my time?” “Because there aren’t as many men and now women who are willing to muster up to the armed forces. They don’t believe in this war the way our country did in 1941, after Pearl Harbor.” Emma thought about all he’d said. There was so much to learn, to see, to absorb. Twisting around on Tom’s lap, Emma changed the subject. “Did you mention barbecue? What’s that?” “It’s a way of cooking over coals. Usually it’s done outside.” “How in the world are you going to barbecue in the snow?” “Is that a yes?” he teased. “You’ll see how we do it in the winter. Let’s go to the supermarket and get some steaks.” “What’s a supermarket?” Emma asked. “It’s just what it sounds like. A large market that has everything. Meats, produce, dairy and foods you’ve never seen before.” Tom grabbed her hand. “Come on. Get your coat and let’s go. You’ll love it.”
*****
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They drove the few blocks to the Dominick’s supermarket. The size of the building alone impressed Emma. Since the sun had dipped below the horizon, the weather had dipped too. The radio said it was ten degrees outside. They ran into the supermarket, laughing like children. Emma grabbed Tom’s hand and pulled him aside. “Wow! Look at this. It’s huge!” They faced the produce department. Emma dropped Tom’s hand like a hot potato and went to look. “What’s this?” She held up a large, yellowish, eggshaped thing. “How can you have all these when it’s freezing outside?” “It’s a papaya.” Tom took it from her and dropped it into the basket, chuckling. “It’s from Hawaii. These days we ship fresh fruits and vegetables from all around the world.” There were too many items to look at. She wandered the store, perusing the bread aisle, the bakery aisle, looked at the meat and fish department and the dairy department. She’d never seen such variety. White bread, brown bread, fresh salmon, warm baked cookies. And the milk. Nonfat, low-fat, whole. Who would have thought there’d be so much to choose from? At one point Tom had found her and pulled her into the snack aisle. He grabbed a bag of potato chips, corn chips and Cheetos cheese puffs and threw them in the cart. Then he added Hostess Twinkies, cupcakes and some sugar doughnuts. With a crooked, wicked grin, Tom opened each bag. As they moved up and down the aisles, Tom placed a sample of each in Emma’s mouth. She barely had time to chew and swallow when Tom would stuff another sample in her mouth. He finally shoved a piece of a Twinkie in her face when she exclaimed, “A Twinkie! I love Twinkies.” She chewed happily. Around a mouthful of food she said, “They’d just started putting cream fillings in the sponge cake because of the banana shortage during World War II. Did you know they originally had banana fillings?” She saw a smug look on Tom’s face. “Yes, I did.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her mouth where she’d had some cream on her lips. With his tongue he licked the cream off then lazily roamed outside her mouth. Emma groaned. “That’s what you get for being so superior about Twinkies. I’ll bet that in your day they weren’t used as a prelude to sex the way I’m using it now.” He grinned wickedly. “Tom!” Emma felt herself flush. No one talked that way where she came from. It was brash and…and sexy. Lost in themselves, neither one saw the five teenage boys enter the aisle. They walked up, two from one end and three from the other and created a circle around Tom and Emma. “Give us what you stole from us,” one of the boys demanded. He glared at Tom. “What are you talking about?” Emma watched the boy, a feeling of apprehension rushing through her. Somewhere in his late teens, he wore baggy pants, a t-shirt covered by a military camouflage shirt
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with its tails hanging loose and combat boots. His cropped hair showed a tattoo on the back of his neck. The boy shoved Tom. He fell into the bags of chips, spilling them on to the floor. The other boys stepped on the bags, crunching as they tightened the circle. “You know what I’m talking about,” the leader said. Emma watched Tom’s face and saw his confusion. What had he stolen? She didn’t think Tom would be the type to take anything. But what did she really know about him? Fear raced through her. What was she mixed up in? Tom’s face hardened. “Get out of our way.” One boy moved toward Emma. He grabbed her hair and pulled. “Ow!” Emma swatted his hands away. “Let go of me!” Tom moved lightening fast. He kicked two boys while he pushed one away from Emma. The boys scattered, not expecting resistance. Emma’s shout brought other people to their aisle. “What’s going on here? I’m the store manager. Are you all right?” Tom stared as the fleeing boys rounded the corner of an aisle just as the manager showed up. As they reached the corner, one boy, the leader, turned back. He made a motion with his hand in the air that looked like two intersecting Zs. Fury crossed Tom’s face. Emma gasped. The boy had drawn a swastika. At least that’s what she thought she saw. It hadn’t been long since she’d seen one on the news reels. She turned to Tom. “Did you see that?” He wiped the anger off his face and turned to the store manager. “I’m sorry for the mess. I accidentally fell into the chips. I’ll pay for the broken bags.” Emma glanced at Tom. He’d lied. He didn’t mention the boys. Why not? Taking a step back, Emma looked around. Tom shook his head at her. Okay, she wouldn’t say anything. Now what should she do? The store manager seemed mollified after he and Tom talked and they collected their groceries. Tom led them to the self check-out counter. As he started running the items through the scanner, Emma stood nearby and watched. Still unsettled by the incident, she watched as Tom pulled package after package over a large, dark square then placed each item in a plastic bag nearby. Her curiosity got the better of her, overruling her newfound distrust of Tom. “What are you doing?” “I’m checking out. This is the way we do it now.” He took the box of Twinkies and showed Emma the bar code on the bottom. “These black marks are called bar codes. They tell the computer what the item is, the computer rings it up and I place it in my bag.” He ran the Hostess Cupcakes over the scanner. “Once all of my purchases are rung up, I use my debit or credit card to pay. You know what the credit card is, like your charge-a-plate, remember? A debit card is similar, but the money comes directly
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out of my bank account. I don’t have to send in a payment. Every thing’s done automatically nowadays, Emma.” Emma shook her head. “Wow. That’s amazing. May I try?” “Sure.” Tom moved away from the counter. Emma took a bag of corn chips and ran the bar code over the square. When it beeped and a woman’s voice said, “Frito’s, two dollars and fifty cents,” Emma jumped. She looked up at the monitor—they were everywhere—and realized that the item had popped up on the screen and read exactly what the female voice had said. Incredible. “I think I like these new changes.” Emma stepped back and let Tom finish checking out. “Don’t they need checkout ladies anymore?” Tom forced a laugh. “Emma, darling…they aren’t called checkout ladies. They’re ‘checkers’. It’s a generic term. I’ll tell you about the women’s movement later.” He finished their transaction by paying with his debit card then grabbed the bags. They left the supermarket and drove home. Darling. Emma’s heart fluttered when Tom said that. She didn’t like it. Her body automatically responded to him. Yet her mind balked. Just a few minutes ago she’d wanted to run away. Now she wanted his arms around her. And if she ran, where would she go? How would she live? Vowing to keep her eyes and ears open, Emma plastered a smile on her face and left the store with Tom.
***** Later Emma decided that nothing would surprise her anymore. She watched Tom prepare the steaks on the indoor barbecue grill and helped him make the salad. The actual grilling of the steaks looked easy. Once the food was ready, they dined on the medium rare porterhouse steaks, baked potatoes and her spinach salad with mushrooms, cranberries and bits of blue cheese. “Everything seems so much easier than in 1944. Ovens are self-cleaning, cars have automatic transmissions, telephones have no cords and all those remote controls. I love them!” She munched on salad. “The whole concept of the computer is mind-boggling, yet the actual typing of an error-free document is simple. While you’re flying your trip tomorrow, would you mind if I check out the computer some more?” “Go right ahead.” Tom said. “Just be aware that computers are sensitive and can be very irritating. If you have a problem, just stop and shut it down. I’ll show you how to do that tonight.” He cut a piece of steak. “Also, when you’re surfing the web, bear in mind that hundreds of thousands of items come up that have little or no bearing on what you asked for. It’s annoying. I can type in something like ‘history of barbecue’ and get ‘humorous history’.” Tom laughed. “What does humor have to do with barbecue? Except maybe at a party.” “Do you mind helping me learn how to…surf the web, did you call it?” Emma asked.
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“Not at all. The term comes from the sport of surfing. We surf—or browse—the websites just like a person surfs the waves.” Tom pushed back his chair and started to clear the dishes from the table. “Computers are connected to anything and everything world-wide. Kids now do their homework online. Sadly, libraries will eventually become a thing of the past.” Emma thought about what Tom said. Everything was so different in this time. Faster, more crowded—it seemed easier, yet harder. She sighed. “Well, I know I won’t learn it all in a day. Let me help you clean up.” She helped Tom load the dishwasher— another new invention. By the time they’d finished dinner, it had started to snow. Emma sat in the family room and looked out the window at Tom’s lovely backyard. She’d only seen snow once or twice before and it had always been in the mountains surrounding Los Angeles. Snow meant play time. Flying down the hills on inner tubes and snow saucers. She thought about when she and James would go to the mountains every year for a week. She’d always had fun, but James seemed distracted. Each year the same man came over to their cabin. He and James would go into the bedroom to talk and Emma would make hot cocoa and cookies. The first time she knocked on the door to ask them if they’d like some refreshments, she hadn’t given them time to answer. She’d opened the door and walked into the room. Spread all over the double bed were blueprint diagrams. Emma hadn’t gotten a good look at them because both James and his friend—she’d never known his name—had scooped them up, scrunching them together so she couldn’t see them. The whole episode had been so odd. They’d acted like she had been spying on them. James gave her a furious look and Emma had placed the cocoa and cookies on the dresser and left. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear Tom approach. He sat down on the couch, causing her to fall into his side from the dip in the cushion. “You’re awfully quiet. Worried about the boys at the supermarket?” “No.” Emma said. She searched his face. Was he a thief? A liar? “I don’t know what that was about, Emma. I’m sorry.” She noticed that Tom didn’t look at her when he said that. Emma sighed. What was she going to do? All her life she’d followed the rules. Then abruptly the rules changed and nothing made any sense. Tom pulled her close. “Now this is nice, isn’t it? A beautiful woman, a beautiful snowfall and a beautiful, roaring fire. Everything a man could want.” Tom kissed Emma on her temple. They sat there for a while just staring out the frosted window. He could be so kind. Surely, he wasn’t a thief. Or a criminal. “I wish you weren’t going to work tomorrow, Tom. You’re the only person I know in this world. This time.” Emma’s voice caught. “I don’t have any family left. All of my friends are back in 1944. Did I tell you that I’m a secretary? I work in a government office and I feel…felt…useful. What will I do now? I have no idea how to get back to 1944. Here the war is long over. I feel so lost.” 46
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Tom touched her face. “If you could go back, would you?” “Yes. Even though it’s a difficult world, I’d go back because it’s familiar. It’s my world. Here I feel displaced, lost. Everything, and I mean everything, is so different. I’m scared.” Emma wrapped her arms around herself. Tom hugged her for a minute then he gently pushed her away. “Wait here.” He jumped up from the couch and went to a corner of the room. After looking at a tower of thin, square containers she watched him push buttons on some black boxes. A red light turned to green. A slot came out. He placed the round disk in the slot, pushed it in and immediately “Swinging on a Star”, by Bing Crosby played over hidden speakers. Tears fell from Emma’s eyes. “That song had just become popular in 1944.” She couldn’t help it. She broke down completely, sobbing. Tom came over and pulled her up. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while dancing to the music. No words were said. Emma mourned. She’d had too many shocks and now the realization sank in. They swayed back and forth to the music as she wept silently. When the song ended another one came on. Judy Garland’s “Trolley Song”. Then Les Brown’s “Twilight Time”. They danced through all of the 1944-era songs on Tom’s CD player. Emma felt transported back in time when she closed her eyes. Only this time she had a man who cared for her, who wanted to hold her and cherish her. Finally, the tears stopped flowing. Still in the security of Tom’s strong arms, she sniffed and hiccupped. With an embarrassed laugh Emma pulled away and looked up at Tom. “Well, I’m just a mess. First tears, then hiccups. How awful.” Tom’s face softened. “Don’t look at me that way, Emma. I might just fall in love with you.” “Then don’t be nice to a lonely, lost old woman, Tom. She might just fall in love with you too.” Tom took her by the hand and led her to his bedroom. With the music softly playing in the background, he slowly undressed her. Light kisses turned into fevered ones. Gentle hands became rough. Soon they were both panting with excitement. Tom lowered Emma to the king-sized bed and made passionate love to her. Sighs and moans drowned out the music. Their bodies became slick with need. Tom entered Emma. She’d been waiting for him. The texture of his hard, rough skin rubbed her soft, smooth body and enflamed her. He started slowly at first then sped up the pace. Emma moaned. Tom kissed her lips, her wet eyes, her cheeks. His strong hand kneaded her velvet-soft breast, eliciting a guttural groan from her. This couldn’t be happening to her, Emma thought. This man, this odd time, this passion. Never in her wildest dreams had she pictured a lover like Tom. He made her soar over the highest trees. Her body leapt with fire and her heart molded to his heart. His clean, masculine scent invaded her senses. She thought she could actually feel their two hearts beating in unison.
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***** Early the next morning Emma woke to feel Tom stroking the inside of her thigh. A river of liquid fire coursed through her. This time they made love slowly. They tasted each other, learning their secrets. She climbed on top and rode Tom to the highest peak of the universe. It was her going-away present to him. Once they’d finished, she snuggled up to him, curled in his protective arms. Emma drifted back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that she had fallen in love with Tom—no matter who he might turn out to be.
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Chapter Six Later that morning Emma sat at the computer. She decided she’d research more of 1944. Tom said that the war ended in 1945. One year. If only she’d been able to stay there one more year. Then she could have celebrated with her friends. She typed 1944 into the white space that Tom had told her to use. After clicking on “go”, she watched as her page filled with information. The very first thing that came up said, “read news from 1944.” Next she read, “search historical newspapers for headlines, ads, obituaries and more.” Obituaries. She placed the cursor thingy on the line, saw the arrow change to a hand and pushed the mouse button. Like magic, the article came up. At the middle of the page were two boxes. One said ancestor’s first name and the other said ancestor’s last name. Emma entered James McDaniel. Hundreds of names came up, but not James’. She went back and reread the information and it said that over fifteen hundred newspapers were accessed. Then why wasn’t James’ name there? Maybe she needed to try other websites. Looking down the page, Emma saw other headings. Normandy, 1944 Militia, greatest films of 1944. She scrolled down the list of movies and saw that Arsenic and Old Lace, Double Indemnity, Gaslight, Going My Way and Meet Me in St. Louis were among the new films. Emma sighed. She hadn’t gotten to see any of them since she’d been yanked from her time in February 1944. Enough wallowing. Why wasn’t James’ name there? Emma clicked on other websites but found that Tom had been right. Too much information came through, much of it not usable. After a few hours of surfing, Emma realized she was tired and hungry, so she closed the computer down and went to the kitchen. She made herself a turkey sandwich and pondered the mystery of James. The more she thought back on her life with him, the more things didn’t make sense. Why did he go to Europe so often? Why didn’t he tell her where he’d be staying? When she’d asked his colleagues about his work they all waffled and changed the subject. Odd. Doubt settled in. Did he really sell airplane parts? Had he lied to her about having the job at Douglas Aircraft Company? Well, he did have a job, she thought. His paychecks came from Douglas. No, he hadn’t lied to her, Emma decided. Throughout their marriage their bills had always been paid. Emma decided to take a nap. She was exhausted. Well, anyone would be after last night. She grinned, a wicked, wonderful, womanly smile. Sighing like a young girl, she slipped into Tom’s bed and fell asleep with his scent tickling her nostrils. Emma awoke feeling refreshed two hours later. She showered and decided to take a tour of Tom’s house. She’d seen the downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs, but there were three more rooms to see. A third bedroom, another bathroom—who needs that
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many bathrooms?—and another room. Maybe it could have been a bedroom, but when she entered it, it looked like a shrine. A memorial of all things 1940s and World War II. Tom had old newspaper clippings framed and hung on the walls, models sitting on tables of DC-3s, F4U Corsairs, B-17 Flying Fortress bombers, DC-2s, a Curtiss SC Seahawk seaplane and many more. There were scrapbooks with articles about the OSS. Why was Tom interested in that organization? Emma read what she already knew, that William Donovan was appointed by President Roosevelt as the Coordinator of Information to plan a peacetime, nondepartmental intelligence organization. It became known as the Office of Strategic Services. After the United States entered World War II, the OSS had been directed to collect and analyze strategic information and to conduct special operations. Emma didn’t realize that the 1944’s OSS had become 2006’s CIA. A well-preserved Army Air Forces pilot’s uniform hung in the closet. Why would Tom have that? She noticed that the patches on the uniform said 8th Air Force, 1st Air Division. Well, no wonder he had music from the 1940s. Tom obviously had a love of history, especially WWII. Emma left the room that she now thought of as a museum and went downstairs. Time to look up more information on the computer. Just as she sat down, the phone rang. “Hello?” “Is Tom there?” a gruff male voice asked. “No, I’m sorry, he’s on a trip. May I take a message?” “Tell him Tim called. He’ll know what it’s about.” He hung up. She looked at the phone in her hand. Well. Emma wondered why the caller had been so abrupt. Shaking her head, she decided it wasn’t her business and went back to her research. Just as she sat down the phone rang again. Jumping back up to answer it, she was breathless when she said, “Hello?” “Hi, sexy. How’s it going?” Emma could hear the smile in Tom’s voice. The deep, scratchy tones sent tingles down her spine and she realized she’d broken out into a huge grin. “Just fine, Tom. I’m just trying to sit down to research James’ death. I found a website that does obituaries, but when I’d put his name in it earlier, nothing came up. I let it go and went to take a nap.” Emma waited for Tom’s response. There was a long, silent pause. “Tom?” “Why would you look up James?” Did she hear right? He sounded different. Distant. It must be her imagination. “I don’t know. I didn’t intend to, but when I put in a search for 1944, a site mentioned obituaries. The more I’ve told you about my life with James, the more I’ve remembered odd things. Like a trip to the mountains. We’d go up once a year and the trip I remembered had been our first one.” Emma went to twirl the phone cord then remembered there wasn’t one. “I’ll tell you about it when you get home.”
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“Okay, sweetie.” There was a slight pause. “I’ll be home from Washington, DC tomorrow around five. I’ll call you when I land.” Well, at least he sounded more approachable, less distant. “Thanks, Tom. For everything. You’ve made me feel so welcome.” “You make me feel hot.” Tom laughed. “I’d better not resort to phone sex now.” Emma blushed, glad Tom couldn’t see it. “Phone sex?” “I’ll explain that to you when I get home. I’m off to bed now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Tom, wait!” Emma shouted. “What?” “A man named Tim called. Said you’d know what it was about…” Emma left the sentence hanging hoping Tom would explain. “Okay, honey. Thanks. See you tomorrow. Bye.” No dice. “See you tomorrow, Tom. Bye.” Emma hung up the phone.
***** It bothered Emma that little mysteries were popping up about her life with James. She’d lived a small, stable life. Thirty years with the same man hadn’t led to many new discoveries. She and James had done what all couples did. They worked, went to the cinema and visited with friends. She’d already lived through one World War and had started living through a second one when the DC-3 flew her into 2006. Then her little orderly life had come to an abrupt end. Order had gone and chaos had taken its place. Through all of the shock, fear and dismay, Emma realized she might have found a new love. She knew she’d keep that secret to herself. After all, who would think that a woman out of time would fall in love with a man from more than sixty years in the future? Preposterous! She shook her head and brought her mind back to the present. Whose present? Stop that. Get back to reality. Why couldn’t she find James’ name as deceased? Who had been the man in the cabin when they’d gone to the mountains? Why wouldn’t James tell her where his trips had taken him when he’d gone overseas? She wondered if his name would come up on a roster of former Douglas Aircraft employees. Well, of course it would. She had the proof from his many paycheck stubs. Oh wait. Those were back in 1944. Last week’s 1944. How could that have happened? One minute she’d been flying to Chicago to connect to Washington, DC to meet the plane flying her husband’s body home. The next she’d found herself in a space-aged jet zooming through the sky higher than anyone’s ever flown before.
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The more she thought about everything, the more confused she became. The letter that had told her that James had died in London had seemed a cruel joke. The paper wasn’t professionally typed, it’d been handwritten. The signature was smudged to the point that it was unreadable. The letter must have gone through the wringer-washer before it arrived in her mailbox. She’d been told to pick up James’ body at Washington, DC’s National Airport. At first she hadn’t believed it. No one would be that mean. Emma turned on the computer and began another search. After two hours she’d found nothing. Calling it a night, she went up to bed. Before she had realized it, she’d entered the museum bedroom again. She read the newspaper articles on the wall and saw they mentioned everything from the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, to the Germans beginning a U-boat offensive off the east coast of the United States on January 13, 1942. That had been scary, she remembered. There was an article about the first all-American air attack in Europe on August 17, 1942, and much more. As she roamed through the framed articles and clippings she’d found in a scrapbook, Emma realized something bothered her. She couldn’t quite grasp it. Flipping through the clippings she saw they were dated 1941, 1942, 1943 and a few in early 1944. She came across an interesting article about something called the secret war. It told about the Allies and the Axis and how both had spies in many countries. Emma thought that seemed interesting, but what did it have to do with Tom? Or James? Enough. She wasn’t getting anywhere and all this speculation was just driving her crazy. Emma decided to go to sleep and think about what she’d do tomorrow.
***** The morning dawned bright and sunny. Emma grabbed the remote and turned on the big-screen TV. She laughed as she flipped channels for a few minutes. What a joy. She watched the morning news and saw that the temperature would range in the mid teens. Brrr. Emma had thought she’d walk the neighborhood, but because of the cold she called a cab to take her to the local library instead. She didn’t have a clue why she wanted to go there but wandered through anyway. She asked the librarian to help her with the computer system, stating that she wanted to move out of the past. The librarian laughed. Both women were middle aged. Engrossed in a pile of books about 1944, Emma jumped when the librarian asked, “Would you like a library card?” Emma reached into her pocket book and pulled out her driver’s license. Without thought, she handed it to the librarian. “Why, honey, wherever did you get this? It’s dated 1942. Oh look it even has your picture on it! How clever.” Emma snatched the license back with shaking hands. She shoved it into her pocket book. “Oh I…I…”
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“Computers are so smart nowadays. Making this look like an old-time license is just great,” the librarian gushed. “I love those old newspapers where we can have our pictures put onto the front page under big headlines. You know…like the Wild West days.” Emma realized that the woman had given her a way to escape. She piled up the books and handed them back to her. “Thank you so much for your assistance. I’m sure I’ll be back. Next time I’ll get that library card.” Then she fled the library. Back at Tom’s house she flopped on the sofa. Whew! That had been close. It hadn’t even occurred to Emma that she’d need proper identification today. She looked at her watch and read six o’clock. Tom’s plane must have landed. A thought occurred to her. Emma dashed into the kitchen, hoping Tom’s plane would be late. She’d decided to make dinner for Tom.
***** By the time Tom walked in the door, Emma was frantic. The kitchen looked like a disaster area—the now burned chicken and soggy dumplings were a congealed mess in the pot on the stove. Emma had tried to make biscuits in the microwave. Sad lumps of charcoal sat on the table like broken chips of wood. Tom stepped into the kitchen from the garage and surveyed the mess. Emma turned so fast that the spatula flew from her hand, hitting Tom on the shoulder and falling to the floor. He grinned. Wearing chocolate cake batter on his white uniform shirt, he said, “Well, not the Susie Homemaker that you once were, I see.” He wiped a smudge of batter off his shirt with his finger and licked it. “Yum. Here, let me help. Chocolate cake’s my favorite.” Tom took the bowl of batter and poured it into the two nine-inch cake pans. Then he made sure the oven temperature had been properly set and placed the pans inside. After that he pulled the disheveled Emma into his arms. “The house smells like burnt chicken and biscuits. You smell like vanilla.” Tom kissed Emma like a starving man falling on food. His tongue ravaged her mouth, his hands roamed her back, pulling her as close as he could. Soon he found her breasts covered by his butcher-style apron. He rubbed the hardening nubs. Emma swayed into him, her body weakening with desire. With a groan, Tom reluctantly pulled away. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” He smiled. “Well,” Emma said breathlessly as she pushed her mussed hair off her face and left a smudge of chocolate batter on her cheek, “I like this greeting…I made dinner for you.” A dark desire entered Tom’s eyes. He licked the batter from Emma’s cheek. She drew in her breath, her body quivering. With a light kiss, Tom backed away and looked around the kitchen again. Eyes crinkling at the corners, Tom burst into laughter. “I see. My first homemade dinner.
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This calls for a celebration.” He walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. He pulled out a cold bottle of Chardonnay and opened it. Once the pale yellow wine had been poured into two stemmed glasses, Tom raised his glass for a toast. “To the worst twenty-first-century homemaker I’ve ever met.” His eyes sparkled, one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. “To the best,” she laughed. “Considering her limitations.” They clinked glasses and at the last moment Tom twisted his arm through hers so they could drink from each other’s glass. “Well, this calls for take-out,” he said. “What’s that?” Emma asked. “That, my dear, is Chinese food.” He untied the apron from her and hung it back on its hook. “First we clean up, then we eat.” They showered together in Tom’s large shower. Emma wasn’t sure if it’d been the steam from the shower or her own steamy body, but she’d never felt such passion. When they’d entered his bedroom, Tom had slowly stripped Emma of her clothes. First the apron fell to the floor then her blouse seemed to slide off. Underneath she’d been wearing one of the skimpy, lacy, half-cup bras that Tom had fondled when they were shopping. First he bent over and sucked a nipple through the lacy material. Just like he’d pantomimed in the department store. Then he ran his finger over the top, dipping it into the cup and tweaking her nipple. An intense flare of fire ran from her nipple to her sensitive core and caused Emma’s knees to weaken. She swayed. Tom picked her up and carried her to the big bed. Emma couldn’t catch her breath when he kissed her. He shoved his tongue into her open mouth. Their shortened breaths blended into a frenzied fervor. The rest of Emma’s clothes disappeared. Tom ran his hands over every part of her body, leaving tingles of fire behind in the destruction. Then he picked Emma up and carried her into the steaming shower. His cobalt eyes bored into hers, giving unspoken promises of passion. Warm water rushed over her, intensifying every sensitive spot that Tom had touched. He leaned her back against the tile wall and kissed every inch of her body. His lips roamed from her face to her neck, down her breasts, over her belly and ended right between her legs. Emma’s legs buckled. She slid to the floor of the shower a puddle of jelly. Tom followed, never stopping his sensual onslaught. With the warm water softly flowing over them, Tom probed then found his way home. Gasps of pleasure sounded amid groans of desire. She felt his strength slide effortlessly inside her velvet softness. Barely able to breathe, Emma groaned when his roving fingers stroked her sensitive nub. The pulsing water mirrored the rhythm of her pounding heart and soon Emma touched the universe.
*****
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A piercing shriek sounded throughout the house. “Oh my God! The cake!” Tom said. They jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs. Emma ran into the kitchen to rescue the cake from the oven. She knew it was a goner from the smell that assaulted her senses. When she reached the kitchen, smoke billowed out of the cracks around the oven door and rose to the ceiling, leaving a gray cloud over the kitchen. The shrieking continued to blare. With oven mitts protecting her hands she pulled the charred mess out of the oven and slammed the door. “Well, I guess you’re no better a cook than I am.” Emma laughed as she showed him the blackened glob. Tom arrived right behind Emma and immediately turned off the oven. “Well, at least I had a good reason for burning the cake.” He reached out and stroked Emma’s lips and watched as her eyes dilated and her mouth dropped open. “Besides, your luscious, mouthwatering lips are more to my taste right now.” Tom opened the kitchen window to let out the smoke and waved a towel at the still screaming alarm until it shut off. “Come on, let’s go get Chinese food.” They went to a small restaurant in a nearby shopping center. The food was delicious. Tom told Emma more about today’s world. He mentioned the U.S. presidents that had led the country since WWII, politics, music, including the Elvis Presley and Beatles revolutions. He explained the Rolling Stones, hard rock music and now the hiphop craze. He talked about the rise of two-income families, the cost of cars and homes and the change in fashion. “Okay, now we need to discuss serious things. You need recent identification. I have a place we can go and get you everything you need. If you’re finished, now is the best time to go there.” “I’m finished. Where are we going?” Emma asked. “To get you modernized.” They drove into a run-down part of Chicago. The houses wore chipped and peeling paint, broken and rusty appliances and bicycles lay strewn on snowy lawns. Tendrils of smoke rose from chimneys permeating the air with the smell of wood. Tom parked behind a decrepit old truck and turned to Emma. “Let me do the talking. I know this guy, he’s kind of touchy.” They walked around the house to the back and Tom knocked on a peeling, gray wood door that had broken panes of glass in it. A tall, skinny, emaciated-looking man opened the door. His thin, unkempt hair looked greasy. Without a word, the man stepped back and Tom and Emma entered the dingy kitchen. The smell of stale, fried food hung in the air and dirty dishes filled every counter and table space available. Ugh, Emma thought. What a pig sty. Tom took Emma’s elbow and guided her to a room in the back of the house. “Just do as he says,” he whispered. “Take a seat there, on the stool.” The man pointed. “Look into the camera.” A flash indicated that a picture had just been taken. The man got up and left without a word. “What’s this all about, Tom?” Emma was frightened. “I don’t like that man.”
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“Shh. You don’t have to like him, but he’s the best at what he does. Just give him a minute then we’ll be out of here.” The man came back ten minutes later. He handed Tom a package and said, “It’s all there. It’s perfect, as usual. No one will ever know. The history trail is complete.” Tom stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Tim. I owe you. You know how to reach me.” They left the run-down house. Once they headed back in the direction of Schaumburg, Emma asked her questions. “Okay, explain. Who’s Tim?” “Look at this package, that’ll explain most of it,” Tom said. Emma took the large manila envelope and opened the clasp. She pulled out a wad of papers then gasped. On top sat a new Illinois driver’s license with her name, age, address—Tom’s, she noticed—and her picture that had just been taken. Three plastic cards fell into her lap. A Visa, MasterCard and a Bank of America card. The top sheet of a ream of pages had the words Equifax Personal Solutions. Underneath, in bold black letters read, “Your Credit Report as of 1/20/06. When Emma read further, she saw a section for personal history, previous addresses, employment history, public records, collection accounts and credit information. “Oh my God! These are fake identification papers.” “Yes. You can’t get through this world without credit, a personal history and a driver’s license. Tim’s the best at getting the information planted in the national data bank—that’s the government’s computer system. When anyone looks you up to check your credit for any kind of purchase, they’ll get this information. Now you’re legitimate, as far as they know. You belong.” Emma glanced through the papers. She looked at her new license. “How did you know Tim did these things?” “Oh we go way back.” Tom looked away as he brushed off her question. “Come on, we’ll get some ice cream for dessert. You can pay with your new debit card.” Tom winked. “But I don’t have any money.” “Yes you do. I had some wired into an account for you. With Tim’s expertise the checking account looks as if you’ve been with the bank for years.” “How much do I owe you?” “Don’t worry. We’ll work out a payment schedule later.” Emma laughed at Tom’s leering look. They pulled up in front of a Cold Stone Creamery ice cream shop. Tom hauled her playfully inside. The assortment of freshly made ice creams and forty mix-in toppings boggled Emma’s mind. “My goodness! There’s so much to choose from.” She read the menu on the wall and chose the black forest dream. Emma watched in amazement. The ice cream was placed on a three-foot-thick slab of marble that was kept at zero degrees. The young girl behind the counter scooped up the freshly made chocolate ice cream,
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dumped the cherry pie filling, brownie chunks and fudge syrup on top, then proceeded to mix it all in. When she finished, she placed the ice cream in a chocolate-covered waffle cone that had been rolled in multi-colored sprinkles. Emma’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy at her first taste of ice cream, twenty-first-century style. “Oh my! This is fantastic, Tom.” She ate greedily while Tom’s caramel turtle temptation cone was made with sweet cream ice cream, pecans, fudge and caramel. They left the store and headed home. Emma oohed and ahhed over the ice cream for the full twenty-minute ride. “That’s it. I now have no reason to go back to my time. I’m hooked.” Emma wished she could take back the words. Pretending she hadn’t said them, she licked some dripping ice cream off her cone and took a crunchy bite. Tom groaned and squirmed on the seat. “Do you mean that, Emma?” The intensity in his tone of voice stopped her. She looked him steadily in the eyes. “Do you want me to stay?” She hoped so. Her heart fluttered and beat a rapid tattoo. Emma had no reason to go home. Not now, not ever. Guardedly he said, “Well, it’s not as if you can get on a plane and go home, is it? Even if we found a wrinkle in the weather again, there’s no guarantee you’ll go back.” He pulled into his driveway. “Do you think it was the weather that caused me to end up here? That vortex and those sparkly lights sure were odd.” Tom looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t know.” He turned off the car. “Anyway, for now you’re here.” Disappointment flooded Emma. That wasn’t quite the answer she’d hoped for. But what could she expect? Declarations of love after four days? With a sigh of disappointment she got out of the car. She collected her package of papers and strode into the kitchen where she stopped dead in her tracks. There stood a beautiful, petite, platinum-blonde woman.
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Chapter Seven “Who are you?” the woman snapped. “Hello. My name’s Emma.” Tom walked into the kitchen saying, “Emma, darling, I think we need to work on…” “Hello, Tom.” “Stephanie.” Tom cursed under his breath. “What are you doing here?” “I thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing?” She narrowed her chocolate brown eyes at Tom. “I see I’ve interrupted something.” “Yes, you have. Stephanie, this is Emma. Emma, my ex-wife Stephanie.” The two women looked at each other. Stephanie’s eyes shot daggers at Emma. “Explain yourself, Stephanie. I assume you still have a key to my house. Consider it useless from now on.” “Now, darling. Don’t be like that. I had been thinking about you and wanted to see you. It’s been so long, after all.” Emma watched as Tom ground his teeth together at the snide endearment. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You’ve been talking to Beth. I’m fine. Now go. I’m busy.” With a scathing look toward Emma, Stephanie said, “I see that, Tom. My how your tastes have changed.” She walked around Emma, sniffing as if a sour odor radiated off her. “You used to do much better. I’m disappointed.” Emma glanced at Tom then quietly left the kitchen. What an awful, mean woman. A perfume she couldn’t identify now, but would later know as Seduction, would always remind Emma of meanness, ugliness and nastiness. She knew she’d never buy that perfume. She went in to the office and turned on the computer. Emma stared at the flickering images crossing the screen without seeing them. What a horrible woman. Maybe she acted that way because she still loved Tom? That thought startled Emma. So what if she still loved him? He didn’t seem to care for her. From his reaction, Emma would say he didn’t even like her. Not one bit. Well, she could see why. Emma thought about the beautiful blonde. Somewhere around fifty years old, her unlined face seemed too smooth for her age. Her quick glance had showed that Stephanie had no wrinkles in her face. How could that be? Plastic surgery? That must be it. She’d seen enough advertisements on TV recently to know that this world lived for beauty. How sad that a woman of her age should resort to surgery to look younger. Emma’s own little lines around her eyes gave her character, she thought. Oh well.
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Forcing her mind to concentrate on her research, she looked up more about weather patterns in 1944 to see if there was any information on spiral vortices or even disappearing airplanes. Something called the Bermuda Triangle or Devil’s Triangle came up with stories about many disappearances of boats and airplanes. Interesting. Emma clicked it into her favorite places. She could do that now that Tom had set up a screen name for her on his computer. She’d click back on that later. She loved this new technology. As she’d glanced down the information about missing boats and planes, a section came up that mentioned aircraft that disappeared during World War II. Emma’s pulse quickened. That’s it! She had just opened up the website when a nasty voice behind her said, “Well, well, well. Just making yourself right at home, aren’t you?” Emma slowly turned. “Tom’s been very nice to let me stay here for a few days.” “I’ll just bet he has,” Stephanie sneered. “He does that for all his girls. You need to know that.” “There’s not much I know…but I do know that barging into other people’s homes is rude.” Emma turned back to the computer screen but said over her shoulder, “I guess when you’re desperate and clinging to someone you don’t want anymore, good sense and polite manners fly right out the window.” Stephanie sucked in her breath. “How dare you…” she whispered. “You’ll regret that. Just keep in mind—Tom has secrets—secrets you’ll never be a part of. I know. That’s what broke up our marriage.” Stephanie stormed out of the office. Rage, adrenaline and fear coursed through Emma. Her hands shook in reaction to the confrontation. If women in this day and age were that mean, Emma would do anything to go back to her time. War or no war, at least people treated each other with respect and kindness. For the most part. Maybe it was because of the tenuous times that people were so polite. She mentally shook herself and turned back to her research. Lost in researching missing planes in the Bermuda Triangle, Emma gradually became aware of Tom’s clean, masculine scent behind her. Her pulse rate skittered and her fingers slipped off the keyboard. She turned and saw Tom standing in the doorway watching her with curious eyes. “What?” “I don’t know what you said to Stephanie, but she flew out of here like a bat with scorched wings.” He grinned a crooked smile. “Thank you. I’d been trying for ten minutes and it took you only a few to ruffle her feathers.” Emma noticed Tom’s crooked grin again. Sexy. She waited for the tiny flip-flop of her heart to settle before replying. “I don’t want to offend you…but…she’s not a nice person.” “I know. It didn’t take me long to realize my mistake once I’d married her.” Tom sighed. “She played the perfect, sweet and kind person until our wedding night.” “How long were you married?”
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“Too long. Just after our wedding she told me she was pregnant with Beth. I stayed two long years, then left.” Anger crossed Tom’s handsome face. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Of course, that was after I’d found out she’d been cheating on me since we’d met.” Rising from her chair, Emma went to Tom and pulled him into a hug. “Oh Tom. I’m so sorry.” She held him for a few minutes. Tom pulled her tight and rested his head on top of hers. Emma felt his heart begin to slow from the anger that must have been simmering there. They hugged for a few minutes then he pulled away. “What are you working on?” “Weather patterns. Disappearing airplanes.” She turned and pulled him toward the computer. “Look. I found something called the Bermuda Triangle. There’s mention of many planes disappearing. This site discusses a flight on December 5, 1945, that got lost. Flight 19, a group of five military TBM Avenger Torpedo Bombers had departed from the U. S. Naval Air Station in Fort Lauderdale for advanced overwater training. All five airplanes and one search aircraft got lost. All of the pilots had experience flying that type of plane. I wonder if there are any other places in the world that have mysterious disappearances.” “Emma, the Bermuda Triangle has a longtime reputation for sucking up boats, ships and airplanes. The mystique surrounding it is enormous.” “Really? Well then. If mysterious disappearances happen there, why not other places? Like on the way to Chicago?” She kept scrolling through the pages on the computer. “Or on the way to England?” Tom murmured. “What?” “Nothing.” Distracted, Emma didn’t hear the change in Tom’s voice. “Hey, look at this…here’s a blurb about a C-47 that disappeared on a secret mission over Germany. It says the plane went missing on March 15, 1944.” Not hearing a reaction from Tom, Emma turned in her chair. He looked as if a hammer had hit him on the head. His face was white, his eyes wide, his breathing had quickened and his hands had balled into fists. “What?” he croaked. “Are you all right?” “Read it,” he demanded. Startled at the change in Tom, Emma said, “The article says the pilot, a Captain Thomas Wellington, and his co-pilot Wayne Hadley had been secretly taking pictures of Hamburg, Germany, when their aircraft suddenly disappeared. They’d been under radio silence while over Germany, but had just made it back to the North Sea when they disappeared off British radar. Neither of the pilots nor their airplane were ever heard from again. The secret mission had been declassified only ten or so years ago.” Emma
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spun around to talk to Tom. “How odd…what’s wrong? Why, there’s sweat on your brow!” Emma went over to Tom. She placed her hand on his forehead. It felt hot. Tom’s legs visibly shook. Emma watched him stagger over to the small sofa in the office and sink onto the cushions. “I’m fine. I think it’s just delayed reaction from seeing my ex-wife inside my home. I’ll take a minute, then go and check to see that she didn’t damage or take anything.” Emma knew he was being evasive. Tom hadn’t seemed upset when Stephanie had left, only relieved. Sounding skeptical, Emma said, “Okay…I’ll just finish some research here. Oh. What were you going to say when we came into the kitchen earlier? You never finished.” Confusion crossed Tom’s face, then enlightenment. He took a long, deep breath. “That we need to work on your driving skills. Today’s cars and trucks are very different now. Some are much smaller than you’re used to and some are larger. Trucks are still trucks, just different in appearance. Most automobiles now have automatic transmissions, so you don’t have a clutch or a gear-shift lever like you’re used to. It’s really much easier to drive now.” Emma saw the color returning to his face as he spoke. “The thing you’ll need to get used to is the speed of traffic, the multitude of lanes, carrying money for toll booths and other things.” When he’d finished he raked his hands through his thick silvery-blonde hair. Emma wanted to run her hands through his hair too but kept the impulse to herself. “Actually, driving lessons sound great. When can we start?” “Tomorrow will be good. The weather’s supposed to stay clear, if cold and we can find some good open roads to practice on.” Tom started to get up and then sank back down onto the sofa. “What did you say to Stephanie?” “I told her that she had been rude for barging into your home. That where I came from people didn’t do that. And that obviously her good sense had flown out the window.” Tom chuckled weakly. “Well, that’s what did it. Stephanie always thought she had superior manners. You struck her right where it hurt. Wish I’d thought of that.” He brushed Emma’s shoulder with a light pat and walked from the room. He’s not right, she thought. Something’s upset him and it was more than Stephanie. Emma wished she could figure it out. She let out a huge sigh as she flopped back into the chair in front of the computer. Well, she couldn’t do anything about it now, so she might as well look to see if there were any other places in the world where ships and airplanes disappeared.
***** Tom entered the room. He eased the door closed so Emma wouldn’t realize where he’d gone. He strode to the closet and stared at the uniform hanging inside. Then he gently touched the tarnished wings on the left side.
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His lifelong research had taken him only so far. He glanced at the framed pictures on the wall, the model airplanes on the table and night stands and then idly flipped through the scrapbook of articles. One article caught his attention, as it always did: Missing Airplane? Secret Photos? From The Associated Press LONDON, ENGLAND—An Army Air Forces C-47 disappeared over the North Sea on its return flight from Germany. The military aircraft, flying home from a secret mission, lost contact with British radar at ten p.m. on March 15, 1944. Two pilots, Captain Thomas Wellington and his co-pilot, Wayne Hadley, had just radioed their position as they left the coast of France. They missed their next checkpoint twenty minutes later and no further radio contact was made. An aerial search couldn’t be made for the two pilots as they might have gone down in occupied France. An unnamed source from the Army Air Forces reported that Captain Wellington secretly worked for the OSS. It is rumored that Captain Wellington’s mission had been to photograph Hamburg, Germany. Three days later, on March 18, 1944, three thousand tons of bombs were dropped on Hamburg in an air raid. Tom shook his head and with one last look around the room he walked out, silently closing the door.
***** Sargasso Sea, Japan’s Devil’s Sea. Somewhere between the Azores and Iceland and The Marysburg Vortex, a strip of water at the eastern end of Lake Ontario called The Great Lakes Triangle. Each place had similar mysterious disappearances. Reports of odd lights, strange lightening, vortex winds and suddenly disappearing ships and airplanes matched the Bermuda Triangle. Well. There were other places in the world with the odd phenomenon, Emma thought. Good. Now she could take her time looking them up, but the one that first caught her attention was The Marysburg Vortex because it was near Chicago. Well, near enough. She’d research it more tomorrow. Emma headed up to her bedroom. She thought about finding Tom but felt he needed some time to himself. As she passed the museum-room she turned and entered it. Why did this room call to her? She sat down on the couch and picked up the scrapbook again. As she opened it, a loose article slipped out and fell onto her lap. Emma glanced at it as she replaced it in the book and then gasped. The article was titled, “Missing Airplane? Secret Photos?” Emma read the short article and sat stunned. It matched the online article she’d found. Why would Tom have this in his scrapbook? She flipped the pages and noted that there were no other articles about missing planes. Odd.
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For some reason, Emma felt drawn to the uniform hanging in the closet. She stepped up and fingered the coarse cotton. Peering more closely than before, Emma saw that a space had been left where a patch had been removed. What used to be there, she wondered? The empty spot sat right under the tarnished silver wings. Emma leaned in closer to check the uniform and the faint scent of clean, musky, masculinity struck her. A tickling of her memory bothered her, but she couldn’t grasp it. Closing the closet door, she placed the scrapbook back where she’d found it and left the room.
***** The shower heated up the bathroom, tendrils of steam curling up to the ceiling and fogging the mirror. Emma stood under the hot, pounding spray, relaxing. What a day today had been. Tom’s return from his trip, her new identification papers, his ex-wife. As the spray loosened tight muscles, Emma thought what amazing machines computers were. Just last week Emma had never heard of such a thing and today she’d spent hours on it researching mysterious disappearances. She shook her wet head, her swingy, chin-length hair slapping her cheeks. Something nudged the back of her brain, but she couldn’t pull it forward. Emma turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub. Immediately a large, warm towel wrapped around her and she felt enveloped by strong arms. Tom folded himself around her, his scent wafting up her nose. The nagging memory rushed forward. Tom’s scent resembled that musty odor left on the uniform hanging in the museum-room closet. He rubbed her skin dry while he kissed her face and shoulders. “Umm…nice.” Emma purred. “I could get used to this service.” Emma felt Tom’s deep, sexy laugh rumble up from his chest. “And I could get used to offering it.” He snuggled her neck. “Will you sleep with me tonight? I’d like the company and the comfort.” Why does he need comfort? “Why, sir, I’m honored that you request my presence.” Then on a more serious note, she said, “Of course. I’d love to.” After brushing her teeth and rubbing lotion all over her body—under Tom’s watchful eyes—Emma went to her dresser and grabbed a light blue, spaghetti-strapped, silky, short nightgown. She slipped it over her head and wiggled, just for Tom’s benefit. He laughed. Then he reached for her hand and pulled her toward him. With a scorching kiss that rocked her down to her toes, he lifted her up and carried her to his bedroom. They snuggled in the big bed curled up together, spoon-style. Tom had one arm draped across Emma’s waist and one furred leg lay possessively across her legs. He seemed unusually quiet tonight. He rubbed her arm and shoulder, sending light sparks up and down her arm. His warm, minty breath puffed out on her neck and shoulder. How comfortable he felt next to her. Right. Complete. Emma rubbed Tom’s large, strong hand, letting him know she remained awake. Not knowing what to say, she said nothing. “Thank you,” he whispered.
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“You’re welcome.” She knew he thanked her for comforting him. In some odd way, she felt comforted herself. They were connected. Emma didn’t know how it could be, but she treasured it anyway. He pulled her closer and soon she felt him relax in sleep. I love this man, she thought. He has secrets, but who doesn’t? She had the biggest secret of all. After all, how many people have traveled to another time? And if they did, who would believe them? Luckily, she could share her burden with Tom. But how did she explain that she was actually one hundred and twelve years old? For a moment she felt it. A week ago her world had been irrevocably altered. A hot rush of panic raced through her body. How did this happen? Why did this happen? Why her? Before she realized it, silent tears slid down Emma’s face. Even enveloped in the safety and security of Tom’s arms, the weight of Emma’s world rocked her. Depression dragged her down and soon, the only way Emma could escape her dilemma was by slipping into slumber.
***** The droning sound of the airplane’s piston engines soothed. The cabin’s steady rocking motion comforted. The tied-back, flowered curtained windows let light slant in through the opening. Emma’s mind floated with the sounds and motions. Soon, she saw a C-47 military airplane, a twin of the DC-3 that she flew in, outside her window. It flew in the cloudless blue sky parallel to her airplane. The pilot pulled up a safe distance away but kept a steady pace. Emma glanced over and gasped. Tom waved gaily from his captain’s seat. She saw his Army Air Forces uniform, his captain’s hat sitting jauntily on his head. His silver wings glinted with reflected sunlight. He mouthed, “I’ll be back for you,” waved again and turned the airplane to the right, flying away from her. “Tom?” Emma shouted. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
***** “Emma. Emma?” Tom shook her. “Emma, wake up. You’re dreaming.” Slowly, Emma woke. She realized she wasn’t in a DC-3 and Tom wasn’t flying in another airplane next to her. They were warm and safe, tucked in his bed. And he’d been rocking her. For a minute she’d been back in 1944, but upon her awakening she realized that she was here, now, in the year 2006. “I’m sorry…I had a weird dream.” Emma scooted back into Tom’s embrace. “It was so vivid.” “I’m a good listener.” In the quiet of the darkened room Emma paused, collecting her thoughts. She heard a late-night bird twittering. The gnarled branches of a dormant oak tree brushed the side of the house. Musky warmth surrounded her. “I sat in a DC-3 as it flew toward— somewhere. While I looked out between the curtains I saw a military airplane pull up beside us. You sat in the captain’s seat and waved at me. I guess I shouted, ‘What are
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you doing?’ Then you mouthed, ‘I’ll be back for you’, and you flew away.” Emma turned over and looked at Tom. In the darkness she could barely see his blue eyes. “You seemed happy. I can’t imagine what it meant.” Emma felt Tom freeze at her words. His arms stiffened around her, holding her tighter. “That is a weird dream.” He sounded shocked. Distant. She wished she could see his face in the darkness. Emma heard his forced laugh. “I don’t even think Dr. Phil could figure that one out.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Dr. Phil?” “A TV psychologist. He’s all the rage right now.” “May I ask you something very personal?” “Yes, but I might not answer.” “While you were on your trip I looked around your beautiful home.” Emma sucked in a breath to gather her nerve. “I hope you don’t mind.” “No, my home is yours, Emma.” “Thank you.” She whispered, “Is that your Army Air Forces uniform hanging in the closet?”
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Chapter Eight Silence permeated the darkness. Emma didn’t understand it, but she knew Tom was afraid. She heard his quick intake of breath and felt his leg spasm against hers. She was tuned in to Tom’s feelings. She’d been through a lot in a short time and realized that her senses were more alert. “No.” Emma waited. Tom took a deep breath. “It’s my father’s.” Emma didn’t quite believe him. His answer seemed too abrupt. “Tell me about your father. Did you love him?” Another hesitation. “Yes. I loved him very much. He raised me.” Emma felt Tom inhale the fresh fragrance of her hair. “My mother died when I was born. Dad was both mom and dad to me. He never let me down during my childhood.” “I’m sorry that you never knew your mother, Tom. That must have been rough.” “Thanks—it was. Where I came from not having a mother was considered to be shameful.” Tom balled his hands into fists. Emma pried them open. “The other kids at school taunted me, laughed at me and bullied me.” He rubbed one hand down Emma’s soft thigh. Goose bumps rose along the path of Tom’s hand and Emma sucked in a sharp breath. “Enough of the tough memories. My father buffered all that I went through and I love him and miss him.” Emma reached her hand up to Tom’s mussed hair. She played with the lock that had flopped over his forehead. Then she ran her fingers across his forehead and down his cheeks. Once she reached his mouth, she sucked on her finger and stroked it across his top lip, stopping in the middle, right at the V. She wet her finger again then gently swiped his lower lip. When she stopped at the juncture in the center of his lips where they both met, she softly scraped his skin. Tom groaned. Touching him inflamed her. Heat radiated, burning through her veins. He instantly reacted to that feather-light stroking by becoming rock hard. “Emma,” he croaked. “What you do to me.” Playing the coquette, Emma continued with her seduction. One hand cupped his head while the other flowed over his broad shoulders, down one muscular arm. She furthered the onslaught by stroking from the tips of his fingers up his arms and across to his nipples, lightly flicking her nails across them. Before he could stop her, Emma stroked down his torso, dipped into his bellybutton and continued to the juncture of his legs. 66
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Tom squirmed and moaned. “Too…fast. I’m…on fire.” His guttural groan escaped. “No one…has ever affected…me…so completely…so hot.” He pulled her roving hand away. “I can’t last.” He rolled her over, clasping her hands together and raising them over her head. Then he started his own onslaught. Never in her life had Emma felt such strength, such tenderness. Tom kissed her with a raging passion. He dipped his head, almost roughly kissing her. His firm, wet tongue plundering her mouth. His hot breath tickled her ear then he licked his way down her throat, ending at the indentation at the base of her neck. He used one hand to roam over her face while the other held her hands prisoner above her head. Not being able to touch Tom drove Emma insane. Her chest rose and fell in gasps. She squirmed, raising her hips to touch Tom’s. “Please,” Emma begged. Fireworks threatened to explode. In that one instant, from that one burning kiss, she rose to the highest level of passion she’d ever experienced. Her body rigid with desire, Emma bucked her hips, trying to find her way home. Tom slid his hips to the side, prolonging Emma’s inferno. He moved his large hand to her breast, rubbing a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Emma groaned from frustrated desire, yet Tom continued his onslaught. He tickled his way down her flat stomach, ending at the sensitive nub between her legs. Wild with desire, flaming with passion, Emma’s hips bucked and rose trying to meet her destiny. “Please…please,” she begged. Never had she felt anything like this. With her hands still trapped above her head, she was open, exposed, raw. Tom kept tickling between her legs and Emma felt the building pressure within her. Finally, Tom entered Emma’s tortured body. With him inside her she was complete. Emma moaned her ecstasy. Wrapping her legs around Tom, she matched him with her passion, her ardor. Never had she felt such intense emotion. As the pace quickened, she rose on invisible wings, soaring into the universe with the man she loved. Her hands still captured and held prisoner, Emma climbed the highest mountain peaks while Tom brought them to the explosive ending they both craved. They lay entwined, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Emma was speechless. Her heartbeat slowed, her mind raced. How could this be? For the first time, Emma knew what it meant to find your soul mate. Too spent to move, she lay staring up at the darkened ceiling. Eventually, she moved into the security of Tom’s arms. She snuggled as close as she could get without being inside his skin and heaved a deep sigh of contentment. “Every time I touch you I lose control. Every time I touch you I feel as if I’ve come home.” Tom stroked Emma’s hair. “Every time I touch you I want more.” Emma squirmed closer to Tom and he draped his arm over her. Then he trapped her legs between his. Tom lay his head close to hers, nestling his nose in her neck. Emma felt his heart slow, his body relax. Just before he drifted off he mumbled, “I love you.”
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***** “This automatic shifting is so easy!” Emma said. “Your truck is bigger than the old 1938 Ford that I drive, er, drove.” Emma put the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking space. After breakfast they’d driven to a two-lane road. There, Tom had turned the truck over to Emma. Now they were leaving an empty parking lot. As she put the gear-shift lever into forward, she stepped on the gas pedal. The truck smoothly moved forward. Emma drove along the road, talking animatedly. “What do I do with my left foot? It feels useless.” She laughed. “Nothing. That’s the beauty of it. Tap your foot in time to the music on the radio,” Tom said. She drove to Woodfield Mall and turned into the crowded parking lot near Nordstrom’s. She saw Tom watch her as she pulled into a parking space between two cars. Emma laughed when she heard Tom exhale a breath as she turned off the engine. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She grabbed her purse, opened the door and hopped out. “Let’s get lunch.” They walked into the department store and went to its snack bar. Once they’d settled themselves with their turkey and cheese croissants, Tom plunged into the topic he wished to discuss. “Okay, I like your driving. I know cars were big in your day and that’s why you have no trouble maneuvering my truck. You have my permission to use my truck…whenever.” He took a huge bite out of his croissant, chewed and followed it with a forkful of potato salad. “Thank you so much—Father.” Tom chuckled. “I guess that did sound a bit like an overprotective dad.” Emma watched Tom’s face change. For a minute she saw sadness in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” “I was just remembering when I taught Beth to drive.” Tom shook his head to clear away the thought. “I still wonder what Stephanie said to poison her against me. Once we’d divorced, Beth rarely spoke to me. Only when she wanted money. Oh well, there isn’t anything I can do about it now anyway.” Emma reached out her hand to give him a quick squeeze on his arm, but wisely didn’t say anything. “Well? What’s next on the agenda for my indoctrination into the twenty-first century?” “Well, well, well. What’s this? A little rendezvous?” Emma stiffened at the recognizably nasty voice. She looked at Tom and saw he had the same reaction. “Stephanie. What are you doing here?” Tom’s voice was flat. “What does it look like, Tom?” She held up her loaded Nordstrom bags. “I’m shopping. “I see you’ve brought your secret lady-love out into the open. Planning to parade her in front of our mutual friends?” 68
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Emma watched Tom bristle at Stephanie’s insolent tone of voice. “I would happily show off Emma. To our friends and to the world.” Tom took Emma’s hand in his. She saw Stephanie’s eyes narrow to slits. “Actually, I was just about to ask her to move in with me—” Emma and Stephanie gasped at the same time. Emma glanced up at Stephanie and saw redness flush her face then watched as a sickly paleness replaced it. “Tom, I—” Emma stuttered. “Yes, Tom, I—” Stephanie mimicked. “Well, aren’t you just the lovebirds.” She glanced scathingly at Emma. “You might as well know that in twenty-eight years of divorce, Tom has never asked a woman to live with him.” She shifted her heavy bags. “Oh he’s had his share of tarts and a few decent women, but you’re the first. What did you do…drug him?” Just as Emma opened her mouth to reply, Tom said, “That’s enough, Stephanie. You’ve gone too far. Leave us alone.” “Now, now, Tom. Here comes Beth. Be civil.” Emma saw triumph light up Stephanie’s face. She glanced at Tom and saw the color rise in his face. His mouth formed a thin line and a muscle twitched in his cheek. Beth glided up to the table. She pecked her mother’s cheek and turned to the occupants of the little round bistro table. “Dad.” Tom rose from his chair. He leaned forward to give Beth a kiss on the cheek and pull her into a hug, but she pulled back. His outstretched hand fell uselessly to his side. “Beth. You look wonderful today.” Beth had fair, clear skin, platinum-blonde straight hair that hung in perfectly cut waves to her shoulders and crystal-blue eyes that matched her father’s. The young woman had the regal bearing of her mother as well as the same nasty disposition. “I can’t say the same for you, Dad.” Beth raked her eyes over Emma. “Still with this one? She must like your home much better than the homeless shelter you found her in.” Fury etched Tom’s face. He scooped up the lunch fixings, stuffed them in a bag and dumped them in the trash. Without a word he reached for Emma’s arm and helped her up. Between clenched teeth he said, “You have no manners, Beth. Your mother’s poison has fouled any hope of our being friends, let alone father and daughter. I’m saddened that a beautiful woman such as yourself would lower your standards and morals to petty bickering, digs and ugliness.” He placed his hand at the small of Emma’s back and directed her away from the two women. “Don’t you turn your back on us, Tom…Tom! You’ll regret this,” Stephanie snarled. They walked to the truck in silence. Tom had twined his fingers through Emma’s, yet his stiff bearing and large, fast steps indicated how angry he was. Not knowing what to say, Emma remained quiet. Every once in a while she squeezed his hand, just to comfort him. When they reached the truck, Tom threw the keys to Emma, still not saying anything. She climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine and carefully backed out of the parking spot. The ride home was completed in silence. 69
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Tom slammed into the house and stormed into the office. He immediately turned on the computer. Once or twice Emma peeked in but saw Tom buried in something that fascinated him on the computer screen. With nothing to do for the moment, Emma decided to bake. It had always been her way of mentally recharging. She gathered the ingredients for a chocolate cake. This time she wouldn’t let it burn. This time she knew how to use the oven. She dumped the dry ingredients into a small bowl and whisked them together. In a medium-sized bowl she mixed the wet ingredients. Then she blended the two mixtures together. Just before she poured the cake mix into the pans she added two full cups of chocolate chips to the mix. Death by chocolate. She’d heard that term on television recently. Nothing better to mend a broken heart, she thought. She poured the mix into two nine-inch round cake pans and shook them to release the air bubbles. Emma then placed them in the oven for thirty minutes. While the cake baked, she mixed together softened butter, confectioner’s sugar and melted chocolate squares with a dash of milk for the butter cream frosting. It amazed Emma to see that Baker’s chocolate was still sold. Long ago she’d read an article about Baker’s. It astonished her to read that it had been created during the American Revolution in 1765. And now two hundred and forty-one years later, she was baking with it. The oven timer went off, signaling the cake was ready. Emma took the pans out of the oven and placed them on racks to cool. Then she gathered together ingredients for dinner. She placed two large potatoes in the oven, ripped dark green romaine lettuce leaves into a bowl. After that she placed chopped red onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, sugared walnuts and feta cheese in and tossed. The salad went into the refrigerator and Emma put two ears of corn in water to boil. Once the corn was cooking, she placed the two porterhouse steaks on the indoor grill and cooked them. Just as the meal was placed on the table, Tom came out of the office. He walked up to Emma, saw the beautifully set table with green quilted placemats, shiny silver flatware, stemmed wineglasses and larger stemmed water glasses. The food sat on blue and white ceramic plates and the chocolate cake resided in the middle of the table on a pedestal cake stand. “Beautiful, Emma. Thank you. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.” He kissed her on the lips then sat down at the round pine table. “It was my pleasure, Tom. I love to cook and bake.” She grinned a wicked grin. “Now that I know how to judge the cooking times and temperatures of your futuristic appliances I can regale you with my culinary expertise.” He smiled. “Wow. What a mouthful that sentence was. I’m impressed.” Emma laughed. “Really. I don’t know where that came from. I must be watching too much of that fabulous Food Network channel you have.”
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“Did you know that there’s a thing called the Marysburg Vortex in the eastern tip of Lake Ontario?” Tom’s head swiveled from the television. “You looked up vortices? Why?” “I saw one outside the window of the DC-3 just before I hit my head. The flight had been plagued by turbulence and strange, sparkly lightning. I swear I even saw a shadow of the airplane in a cloud and it was circled by a rainbow. “You saw a rainbow with the airplane shadow inside it?” Emma glanced at Tom. Was that fear she saw in his face, or anger? “Yes.” Her voice drifted away. “I thought it was beautiful—I thought that meant our flight was charmed.” Emma was transported back to that fateful flight. Her lips had drawn into a frown, her eyes glazed. “Emma?” Tom asked. He reached over and picked up her limp hand. He rubbed it between his two large ones and waited for her response. “I’d been on my way to pick up James’ body from Washington. After a stop in Chicago, the plane was to continue on. Do you suppose it did? Was I the only one who entered another time? Or did the whole plane go missing like those in the Bermuda Triangle?” Tears leaked out of Emma’s eyes. She didn’t even realize it. “Tom, how old are you?” Tom jumped at the sudden change in the conversation. “I’m fifty. Why? What does this have to do with your flight?” Emma looked at Tom sadly. “I’m one hundred and twelve.” He looked up sharply then grinned his sexy, lopsided grin. “Lady, you look fantastic for your age.” He nuzzled her neck, playfully growling. “Did I tell you I always liked older women?” Then he waggled his eyebrows up and down. Emma smiled weakly and sniffed. “I was born in 1894. Horses and carriages were the normal mode of transportation. My mother washed clothes by scrubbing them on a board. I lived through World War I and the stock market crash. I saw airplanes fly— why, I was nine years old when the Wright Brothers first flew at Kitty Hawk. The telephone became popular. No one flew at thirty thousand feet or saw the stock market reach ten thousand. There were no freeways, only highways. “Glen Miller and Benny Goodman were popular when I stepped on that airplane. Now there are music groups called Pink Floyd, Eminem, The Red Hot Chili Peppers and STP. At first, after recently watching a car commercial, I thought STP was an oil you put in your engine, but online I found out that the group’s name was Stone Temple Pilots. No one ever heard of alternative music, hip-hop or acid rock. I had just learned the jitterbug, even though James would never dance with me. The boys at the USO taught me.” “Oh honey. I know how difficult this is. You’re dealing with it so bravely.” Tom squeezed her hand in support.
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“You couldn’t know what it’s like. What’s to become of me? Where will I go? What will I do?” Emma cried. He gathered her into his embrace. “You’ll stay here with me. You have identification now. No one will question it. You can go to school or get a job. Nowadays you can go to school online and learn a profession.” “Why are you helping me like this? You hardly even know me.” “I know you now. And I have my reasons, honey. Give me time and I’ll tell you.” He stroked Emma’s dainty hand. “Emma, look at me.” She looked up, startled at the intensity in his voice. “We have a connection. I know you feel it too. It gets deeper every day.” She nodded her head in agreement. “I started out doing this because you needed help. Now I’m doing it because I love you.”
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Chapter Nine “What?” Emma squirmed in her chair. “How can you say that? It’s only been a week!” “It is what it is, Emma.” Tom sighed and raked his long, lean fingers through his golden hair, leaving track marks. “I don’t understand it myself, but I know it’s true. I love you.” “Oh Tom. I think I love you too, but it’s so soon. To me, James just died.” Emma stood up and started to clear the kitchen table. She lifted her plate, placing the fork and knife on it, and carried it to the sink. “I know my marriage was difficult. Living with a man who never touched, teased or tempted me was awful. James never laughed, he never cried. His face showed no emotion at times. Before he’d leave on his trips he’d become silent, morose. When he returned he acted jubilant, giddy. His mood swings could be terrifying. One minute he’d be boring old James, the next…” Emma shuddered. She looked out the kitchen window, steeling herself. “The next he would turn on me. Red would suffuse his face, his veins would pop out, he’d hurl items across the room.” She didn’t notice that Tom had gotten up from his chair. She felt his hands grab the towel she’d been trying to shred. “Emma, please…don’t talk about this. It’s over.” Tom grabbed some dishes and helped clean up. “This is the first time I’ve ever felt glad that someone has died. I hate what James did to you.” “I know it’s over, Tom. When I got the letter, my first reaction was relief. I’m so ashamed of that. Then I realized that my life as I knew it had changed. My salary wouldn’t cover the expenses. I’d have to sell our home.” She shrugged her shoulders then let out a heartfelt sigh. “But immediately after that thought I felt even more relief. I could move away from the house with the bad memories, I could find a small apartment. I could work more hours for the war effort.” The dishes were rinsed and placed in the dishwasher. Emma hung the green dish towel on the oven’s handle and turned. “But we had argued. That’s the last memory he had of me and I of him. I hate that. I feel I failed. Didn’t he love me? Why was he so harsh?” Emma sank down in a chair at the kitchen table. “I can’t answer those questions for you, honey. But I can tell you that now, right here, in this time, you are loved and cherished.” Tom knelt down in front of her. He took both of her hands and slipped his fingers through them. Then he pulled them to his lips and kissed each hand. His sweetness brought tears to Emma’s eyes. “Thank you, God,” she prayed, “for bringing this man into my life at this time.”
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“Well. Enough of my self-pity.” Emma wiped the tears off her face. “Let’s do something mindless and watch that fabulous television of yours.” Emma forced a laugh and they rose together and went into the family room. The sitcoms didn’t hold her attention. Tom rubbed her neck and shoulders and soon Emma felt herself drifting off to sleep. Somewhere in the early morning hours she woke up in their bed and realized that Tom must have carried her up to bed. She found herself draped over him, her arm flung across his neck, one leg captured between his. In her half-awake state she registered the complete satisfaction of knowing she was treasured.
***** The next morning Tom rose early to get ready for his trip to Los Angeles. “I’ll be staying in the Marina del Rey because I have a long layover. If you need me, you can call me on my cell phone.” Emma was making him breakfast. “I love this. Thank you. Do you realize that as long as I can remember, no one has ever made me breakfast?” “What?” Emma had just checked the waffle in the pan. “How can that be? Didn’t your father do it when you were a child?” “Well, I don’t remember if he did when I was a little boy, but when I became old enough, I had to make my own breakfast. Most times the kitchen was a disaster. And that was before dishwashers.” “How long before?” “Way before. Anyway, thank you. These waffles are delicious.” Tom shoved the last forkful in his mouth. He grabbed his rollaboard suitcase, his black, bomber-style uniform jacket and his hat. The gold emblem glinted at him as he grabbed it from the sofa table. For a minute he stared at it. Tom blinked his eyes then he shook his head as if to clear it. With a glare at the inoffensive hat he shoved it under his arm, leaned over and kissed Emma goodbye. “I like this,” he said. “You like what?” “Having breakfast and kissing you goodbye. Like a real family. Like the Cleavers.” “Who are the Cleavers?” Emma asked while she laughed. “Watch TVLand on cable. Look for a show called Leave It to Beaver. Or The Donna Reed Show. They were on in the 1950s.” “All right.” She watched him load his luggage into the back of the truck. “Tom? Would you mind if I go to the library today or tomorrow? I can call a cab.” Tom walked back around the truck. “Emma. You can do whatever you want. There’s money in a cookie jar in the kitchen. Use it. When I get back, we’ll look for a cheap, reliable used car for you.” Emma gave him a determined look. “Don’t give me that I-don’t-have-any-money-but-will-do-it-myself look. I have to go. We’ll discuss it 74
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when I get home tomorrow night. Around seven.” After a quick kiss, he stepped away but quickly turned back. “Oh. One more thing. You don’t have to ask my permission to do things. In this century, women and men are equal and I believe in sharing evenly. Just use your common sense, Emma, and you’ll be fine. Bye.” Emma watched Tom leave and stared at the empty space in the garage. It looked like a large, gaping hole. Luckily, Emma knew that once that truck filled the spot tomorrow night, the big hole inside her would be filled too.
***** Dressed in jeans, a rust-colored cashmere sweater, black Ugg boots and her winter overcoat, Emma waited for the cab to take her to the library. She made sure she had the key Tom had given her when he’d changed the locks tucked in her purse. The cab driver who arrived was a friendly sort, full of comments about the wonderful weather they were having. Emma doubted that thirteen degrees could be considered wonderful, but the sun sparkled off the snow on the lawns and windows gleamed in the sunlight as they drove down the residential streets. She entered the library and the first person she saw was the librarian who’d seen her driver’s license. Emma said hello, then went to a computer to look up more information on the Marysburg Vortex. She also wanted to look up other things. Like the OSS. What had happened to that organization? While the computer booted up, Emma looked around the library. She loved the quiet, muted colors of dark wood cabinets, the smell of musty books. The haphazard mess of books lying on their sides in the bookshelves and strewn on tables felt comfortable to her. Emma saw a few people milling around, mostly older people. If she was retired she’d come to the library too, she thought. It would be easy to while away the hours surrounded by every book imaginable. The computer beeped and she glanced at the screen. Emma scrolled through the list and after searching all of the sites on the first page, realized that there was no new information about Marysburg. They all said the same thing. Mysterious flashing multicolored lights, abruptly unexpected swirling, horizontal, tornado-like winds, roiling seas, near zero visibility. She’d certainly seen all but the high seas. She decided that a vortex was a vortex was a vortex. Emma moved on to the OSS. Now this was interesting. The Coordinator of Information, William Donovan, had decided, along with President Roosevelt, to split the COI in two. One half went to the Foreign Information Service, which conducted radio broadcasting, or white propaganda missions. The other half became the Office of Strategic Services. That side did the clandestine operations needed during the war, or the black propaganda missions. As Emma read further, she found that the OSS helped in the planning of the D-Day assault. She gasped when she read that Donovan employed enlisted men from the armed services. She stared into space, letting her thoughts coalesce.
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If enlisted men were employed as OSS undercover operatives, then they’d be doing very secret missions. The article in the scrapbook in Tom’s museum-room mentioned a plane that disappeared while on a secret mission. Why would Tom be so interested in that particular plane? That story? Emma read that the OSS eventually became the CIA. With no answers, she decided she’d had enough for the time being. A quick glance at her watch showed that she’d been at the library for three hours. Time to go home, make lunch and watch television.
***** How charming. Leave It to Beaver and The Donna Reed show were wonderful ideals of family life in the 1950s. The wife stayed home, the husband worked. “The Beave” was a rambunctious child, very endearing. Emma could see how Tom would want that “family” life, considering his upbringing. The stay-at-home mother epitomized the lifestyle of those times. During Emma’s short time in this century, she’d read newspaper accounts about the two-income family and how it fractured family values. Couples had to struggle to make a decent living. Emma had just turned off the television when the doorbell rang. As she walked to the front door Emma saw through the glass window panes that Stephanie stood there tapping her foot. “Hello,” Emma said when she’d opened the door. “Let me in.” Stephanie pushed her way into the house, leaving chunks of dirty snow on the Travertine tile to melt. “Where’s your boyfriend?” she sneered. Emma saw a red haze of hate and anger suffuse Stephanie’s face. Her mouth formed a tight, flat line and her eyes were narrow slits. A slight fizzle of fear snaked up her spine. “May I help you with something?” “Don’t patronize me, bitch!” Stephanie sucked in a breath of air. “You slithered your way into Tom’s home and heart. You’re interfering with any chance I have to reconcile with my husband.” She stepped closer, threatening Emma with her nearness and anger. “There’s nothing for me to explain. Please leave.” Emma stepped toward the front door, opened it and waved Stephanie out. “I don’t know who you are. But mark my words, I’ll find out. You won’t have anywhere to hide when I’m done with you.” Stephanie turned on a stiletto boot heel and clicked her way over the tile floor to the front door. Then she turned abruptly, walked up to Emma, reached out and slapped her face. She leaned close to Emma and whispered, “No one, and I mean no one, gets in my way. You’re in my way. Watch your back, old lady.” Stephanie spun on her spiky high-heeled shoes and left, slamming the door behind her. Emma’s hand covered her stinging face. Tears fell as she thought about Tom’s exwife. What was she mixed up in? That woman was crazy. She went to the kitchen to get ice for her face when the phone rang. With a bag of frozen peas held to her right cheek, Emma answered the phone. “Hello?” 76
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“You haven’t left yet?” This couldn’t get any worse, Emma thought. First the mother, now the daughter. “Beth. Hello.” “Leave. You’re taking away any chance I have to regain his love,” Beth said. Emma lost her patience. Both of these women were nuts. “No I haven’t and you know it. You’ve trampled on every attempt to reconcile with your father. You’re so poisoned by hate you can’t see the hurt you’ve piled on Tom. He loves you. He always has. Get past your mother’s bitterness and become your own woman, for goodness sakes. Grow up!” Emma was on a roll now, still hugging the peas to her sore cheek. “Take your life into your hands and apologize to your father. Be a woman, a kind one.” Emma slammed down the phone. She sank into a ladder-backed kitchen chair and dropped her head to the pine table. Emma felt her heart pounding from the aftermath of the two encounters. The adrenaline coursing through her body gave her the shakes. If the women of today were like Stephanie and Beth, no wonder the world was in such bad shape. The meanness, selfishness and bitterness of people like them permeated every aspect of life. Now she was involved, by association. Emma sighed. The peas were numbing her cheek so she placed them back in the freezer. The phone rang. Emma groaned. She stared fearfully at it for a minute, letting it ring. After four rings, the recorder picked up. Tom’s voice announced that he wasn’t there and could he take a message. Then Emma heard him leaving the message saying he was in Los Angeles. She grabbed the phone in a rush. “Hello, Tom.” “Emma!” He sounded so happy to hear her voice. “How are you? What have you been up to today?” Should she tell him? Yes. He needed to know. “I’m all right. I went to the library today, looked up vortices again, but I found no new information.” She decided not to tell him about her research into the OSS. “I watched Leave It to Beaver and The Donna Reed Show. They’re very cute. Was life really like that in the fifties?” “Who knows?” Tom laughed. “But that’s the way the guys on TV portrayed it. They sure made it look easy.” “Tom, there’s something I need to tell you.” Emma paused. How did she break it to him? “What?” Tom asked. Emma took in a huge gulp of air and dived in. “Stephanie barged her way into the house today. She threatened me, told me to leave. Then she slapped my face. I’ve just been sitting here with a bag of frozen peas on my cheek.” “What?” Tom roared. Emma heard him jump up as he said that. “She told me to leave. Said I was interfering with any chance she had to reconcile with you.” “Oh my God. Are you all right? I’m coming home.”
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“I’m fine, Tom. Don’t cut your trip short for me.” Emma hesitated. “I didn’t think you had any intention of reconciling with her. Am I right?” “Emma, you listen to me very carefully.” Tom’s voice lowered, became soothing. “Not only have I NEVER wanted to reconcile with Stephanie, but in twenty-eight years of blissful divorce, I have constantly rued the day I married her. She has been the biggest mistake I ever made in my life.” “I thought you’d say that.” Another long pause. “Emma? You still there?” Letting out her breath, Emma plunged in again. “There’s more.” “Go ahead. I’m sitting down again.” “Beth just called me.” “Oh damn.” “She told me that I was taking away any chance of you loving her again.” “Emma, darling, I’m so sorry. I never thought that they’d do something like this. I’ve been single for so long, I guess they figured I’d never find someone I could love. Those two are feeling threatened. How can I help you?” Emma stared at the bare branches of the oak tree outside the kitchen window. The starkness of the twigs and branches brought home to her how brittle this new world was—how fragile her new relationship with Tom was. “You’re helping just by listening. I need to tell you what I told Beth.” Tom’s drawn-out sigh reverberated over the phone line. “I’m ready…I think.” “I told her to take her life into her own hands. I told her to stop listening to her mother’s bitterness and become her own woman. I also said that she hurt you and it was time she grew up.” Emma waited for Tom to rail at her about her comments. “Thank you,” he said. “I probably should have said those things to her years ago. Maybe I should have insisted that she listen to my side of the story. At first I tried, but as time went on it just became too much work. And yes, she has hurt me tremendously.” “I know,” Emma said quietly. “I could see it on your face. I’m so sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re the brightest light in my life and I love you. Now enough of this. We’ll work on my family when I get home. Will you be all right tonight? You’re not afraid to be home alone?” “I’m fine. And I love you too.” Emma felt so relieved that she’d told Tom about Stephanie and Beth. “What are you going to do for the rest of your layover?” “I’ve rented a car and I’m going to Santa Monica.” “Oh. Have a wonderful time.” Emma pictured the fantastic weather, it’d be around mid sixty degrees with bright blue skies. “Is it warm there?” “Yes, it’s sixty-five degrees here. Picture the blue sky with a brown layer of smog.” Tom pretended to cough. “Really…I’ll have to struggle to breathe here.”
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Emma laughed. She felt Tom’s happiness through the phone line and it helped calm her down. “Well, you have a wonderful time and I can’t wait to see you when you get home.” “Okay, darling. Be careful, but do some snooping around the neighborhood tomorrow. Start getting your bearings, because soon you’ll have your freedom back in the form of a car.” “I’ll do that. Have a wonderful layover and fly home safely. Bye, Tom.” “Will do. Bye, love.” They both hung up and Emma sat at the table staring at the phone. Bye, love. How wonderful that sounded. And she’d told him to fly home safely. Emma realized that she was feeling at home. The problems with his family only made her feel accepted, in a bad way, but still accepted. Tom helped her to feel that too. This was her new time to live in, her new life. Emma knew she had to make the best of it and why not? There wasn’t anything left in her old life to go back to.
***** Emma didn’t know it, but Tom lied to her. He didn’t go to Santa Monica. He went to Long Beach. Boeing Aircraft Company had purchased McDonnell Douglas a few years ago so Tom went to check old records for anything he might find on James McDaniel. After checking in with security, Tom was directed to William Windsor, the personnel representative. “Hello, Mr. Windsor. Thank you for giving me your time. My name is Thomas Wells and I’m looking for any information you may have on a past employee from the 1940s. His name was James McDaniel and he worked for Douglas Aircraft Company.” “Well, Mr. Wells. That’s a long time ago. Since Boeing bought McDonnell Douglas, it might be difficult to find any records. May I ask why you’re interested in this man?” “Yes. I would like to find out what he did for Douglas Aircraft Company. He traveled a great deal during World War II.” The small, balding man looked at Tom from behind his round rimless glasses. He stood up from his desk and walked to the door. “Let me see what I can find out. Please have a seat in the waiting room.” Tom sat in the indicated chair and glanced around the room. Old airplane pictures lined the walls. He stood up and peered at them. There was a picture of the Douglas World Cruiser, one of two airplanes that circled the globe in 1924. DC-1, 2 and 3s, a DC8 and a DC-9 also adorned the walls. In the 1980s Douglas stretched the last airplane to add more seats and it became known as the Super-80. Other pictures showed the Boeing airplanes. 707s, 727s, 737s, the work horse of the industry, sort of a modern day DC-3. One large picture showed a huge 747, the behemoth of modern airplanes. Throughout
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the pictures different liveries, or airplane colors, of the many airlines that flew these airplanes showed how popular these airplanes had been across the decades. What a history the airline industry had. Tom had just sat back down when the door opened and Mr. Windsor came in with another gentleman. “Mr. Wells. May I introduce you to my manager, Mr. Benton Ramsey. He’ll help you with your questions. Please excuse me, I must get back to work.” “Thank you, Mr. Windsor, I appreciate your help.” Tom followed as Ramsey walked into another room off the waiting area. Once the two men were seated he said, “Mr. Wells, Bill Windsor tells me you are inquiring after a man named James McDaniel.” “Yes. I’d appreciate any information you have on him.” “May I ask why?” Ramsey watched Tom. “Is there a problem with me inquiring about him?” “If you don’t mind answering the question…” Tom stared at Ramsey for a long moment. “Well, a friend of mine is looking for him. It seems McDaniel’s a lost relative and if she could find him, then she might be able to track down his remaining descendants.” A look of relief crossed Ramsey’s face. “Oh. That’s fine. I can help you with that.” “Is there something about McDaniel that you can’t help me with?” “No, no.” Ramsey waved his hand in the air. “Mr. Ramsey, are you hiding something?” “It seems,” Ramsey said ignoring Tom’s question, “that McDaniel worked here from 1936 through 1944. You know, I had to do some digging to get this information. My records indicate that he was killed in Germany in February of 1944.” Ramsey looked down at a piece of paper on his desk. “He sold airplane parts. There was a small scandal when he died, since no one knew what he was doing in Germany when he was supposed to be in London.” “Do you know if any of his relatives are still living in the Southern California area?” “Our records wouldn’t indicate that. The County Recorder’s records might, though.” Ramsey glanced at the paper again. “It says here that McDaniel was married at the time of his death to a Mrs. Emma McDaniel. They might have had children.” Tom jerked at hearing Emma’s name. “What’s interesting,” Ramsey continued, “is that most buyers of airplane parts in those days were the Allies. McDaniel went to London almost once a month during the war, but Douglas wouldn’t sell to Nazi Germany. No one would. We’d have been declared traitors to our country.” “Is it possible to get a list of the buyers that McDaniel sold to?”
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“Sure, let me just go and get it. We still sell to many of the same companies.” Ramsey got up and left the room. When he returned a few minutes later he said, “Keep it. I can make more copies.” Tom tucked the paper inside his jacket pocket and rose from his chair. Reaching out his right hand, he said, “Thank you for your help, Mr. Ramsey. You’ve been very kind.” “You’re welcome, Mr. Wells. I hope what little information I gave you will help in your search for relatives.” The men shook hands and Tom left. Tom drove to the City of Los Angeles’ records department. The traffic was getting congested and the drive to downtown L.A. wasn’t easy. Eventually, after battling rude and unsafe drivers, Tom made it to the records building. He waited in line for a clerk. “Do you have any old records for a James McDaniel or his descendants from the 1940s?” The clerk went to a back room and after about ten minutes came back and gave Tom Emma and James’ old address, the recent owner of the home, since that was public record, and James’ date of birth and death. “Thank you for your time.” Tom glanced at the address to see where he should go. Then he drove back to his hotel. The address said that Emma had lived in Culver City, a suburb near the Marina del Rey. Tom drove to her old neighborhood after his dinner.
***** In 1940 Culver City had only been three square miles and housed eight thousand nine hundred residents. As Tom drove the streets he looked at the older homes. Singlestory 1930s Craftsman-style houses with large front porches stood sentinel. Their lowpitched roofs hung over porches with square columns. Some homes had stone chimneys standing up from gabled dormers. Many had been remodeled to today’s more modern standards. Tom wound through the streets looking for Braddock Drive. He found the tree-lined street. The trees on each side of the street were over sixty years old and they converged in the middle, creating a green canopy that would provide constant shade during the day. Tom smiled at the beauty of the old trees as he slowed the rental car to read the lighted numbers. Finally he found Emma’s address. The house was kept up with impatiens and geraniums under the picture window. The dark green lawn was recently mown. A porch light welcomed visitors, so Tom knocked on the front door. A middle-aged man answered the bell. “Hello. I’m sorry to bother you and I know this is a long shot, but I’m wondering if you can direct me to a relative of someone who might have lived in this home many years ago.” “Well…I don’t know. I’ve been here over forty years. My father lived here before me. Who’re you looking for?” “A Mr. James McDaniel. He lived here during World War II.” “Looks like you found the right place. That was my father.”
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“Your father?” Tom stared at the man. “I’m a little confused. I’d been told that James McDaniel had died during the war and that he’d had no children.” The man looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Tom then looked behind him to see if anyone stood there. “Nope. I’m his son. Seems my old man had a little side interest during his marriage and I’m the result.” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve lived here for forty years, then who lived here after your father died and before you moved in?” “I don’t know where you got your information,” the thin, balding man said. “But my father didn’t die during the war. He lived here with my mom and me for twenty years after the war ended.” “That can’t be right.” “Well, it is, I’d know.” “What was your father’s wife’s name?” “You’re sure asking a lot of questions for a stranger, fella.” The man looked afraid. “If you’re a reporter dredging up old, long-buried rumors, you’ll get no information from me.” “What old rumors?” Tom asked. “Nothin’. Never mind.” “No, I’m not a reporter. Look…I mean you no harm. Would you tell me your mother’s name?” The man searched Tom’s face. He must have seen something innocent because he said, “Nancy. My mother’s name was Nancy.” “Was your father married more than once?” “Who did you say you were again?” “Really, I won’t hurt you.” After a long searching look the man said, “Yes. He was married twice.” “What happened to your father’s first wife?” “Emma? Why are you asking all these questions?” Tom flinched. He felt the color fade from his face. He saw suspicion come back into the man’s eyes. “I just have one more question for you then I’ll be on my way.” “Well…okay, I guess. Shoot.” “What happened to your father’s first wife?” Tom held his breath. “That’s the funny thing. No one knows. She disappeared sometime during February of 1944. Was never heard from again.”
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Chapter Ten Tom drove back to his hotel. He entered his room and stopped dead in his tracks. His bed was ripped apart. His suitcase had been dumped on the floor, his shaving kit opened and the contents dumped down the sink. Tom reached for his cell phone and called the police, then the hotel manager. The police officer arrived at the same time as the agitated hotel manager, Samuel King. The officer checked the room for intruders then fired questions at Tom. “How long were you gone?” Officer Raymond asked. “About four hours. I had tacos in the hotel restaurant then went to drive around for a while,” Tom answered. “You’re a pilot? What time did you arrive? When was the last time you were in your room today?” Officer Raymond wrote in his spiral notebook as he asked the questions, glancing up at Tom then back at the notebook. “I arrived around noon. I checked in, rented a car then drove to Long Beach. I had business there for about one hour then drove to downtown LA before I came back. I was in my room around four p.m.” Tom pulled his fingers through his already rumpled hair. King interrupted, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet looking like a jumping jack. “Look, Mr. Wells. I can assure you we’ll get to the bottom of this. We’d like to keep this quiet. Bad publicity could affect our business.” He turned to the officer. “Since the economy has slowed, we’re getting the trickle-down effect and business is way off.” “Mr. Wells,” the officer asked, “do you have any enemies? Upset ex-wives, girlfriends?” Tom froze. “I do have an ex-wife and an estranged daughter. I wouldn’t think they’d go to these extremes, but I have a new lady-friend and they’re quite upset about it. I can’t imagine Stephanie knowing anyone who could do this. I might have to get a restraining order against her if I find out she was involved.” “Well, sir,” Officer Raymond said, “if there’s anything thing else you can tell me, let me know. Here’s my card. Also, if you find anything missing, please report it as soon as possible.” The officer shook hands with the two men then left. “Mr. Wells. I’m quite upset that something like this has happened on my watch, at my hotel. If there’s any way I can make it up to you, please let me know.” The poor manager wrung his hands together in agitation. “I’m sure the police will be checking your employees. For the moment there’s nothing else that can be done.” Tom looked around at the mess. The crime lab guys
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were dusting the room for prints, leaving black powder all over the place. “Look at this…I’m glad I’ve hung my white shirt and uniform in the closet.” “I’d like the hotel to buy you a drink while the police finish up here. It’d be my pleasure.” The manager’s eyes swept the disarray of the room. “Thank you, I accept. It’s been an interesting day, to say the least.” The two men walked down to the hotel bar. Tom nursed his gin and tonic. Then he reached for his cell phone. “Stephanie? Tom. Did you have anything to do with my hotel room here in LA being ransacked?” “Oh fine,” Stephanie snarled. “You call me out of the blue and ask me a question like that? Not everything’s all about you, Tom.” Tom ignored the remark. “You’ve been behaving badly since Emma came into my life. I know you. Who did you get to do this?” The phone slammed down. Tom clicked off his cell. Taking a large swallow of his drink, he muttered, “Well, that went well.” Staring at the bottles of liquor behind the bar, Tom made up his mind. Once again he reached for his cell phone. He punched in some long unused numbers and listened to the ring on the other end. “Yeah. It’s me, Tom. I know. It’s only been thirty years. We need to talk.”
***** The early, frigid morning air did more to wake Emma than any fragrant cup of steaming coffee. Stark gray-brown sticks reached up from barren trees to touch the crystal-blue, cloudless sky. It highlighted the whiteness of packed, sugar-like snow. Emma strolled down the sidewalk, snuggled up in an old, quilted black parka, a knit ski cap and her boots. Toasty warm from her insulated underwear and the sheepskin inside her boots, Emma’s thoughts drifted. She wandered the neighborhood aimlessly. The Cape-Cod-style houses in Tom’s neighborhood blended beautifully with the frozen landscape. Emma turned left onto a street, not bothering to look at the sign. She figured she had time to get to know the area and now she just wanted the feel of it. As she approached a white two-story home with dark blue shutters, an elderly man shuffled out his front door to get his newspaper. He glanced left and right as he huddled in his overcoat, his striped pajama bottoms sticking out under the hem. His tan slippers crunched on the snow as he slowly bent down to retrieve the paper. As Emma drew nearer, he stood up. She smiled at him and continued on her way. “Mrs. McDaniel?” the raspy voice asked. “Is that you? Emma McDaniel?” Startled out of her reverie, Emma turned. “Do I know you?” “My God! You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you.” The man shuffled closer to peer myopically at Emma. “How can that be?” Emma studied the old man. His sparse white hair blew around his weathered face in the light morning breeze. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you.” 84
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“Are you Emma McDaniel, married to James McDaniel who worked for Douglas Aircraft Company during World War II?” Emma felt fear race up her spine. How would this grandfather know that? Without answering the question she said, “May I have your name?” “Donny. Donny Adams. I lived next door to you in Los Angeles.” He shivered from a cold blast of air. Oh my God! Emma thought. Donny Adams. “Donny? Why…you were just a child when I left Los Angeles.” “You are Mrs. McDaniel! Yes. I was only ten years old. I still remember the chocolate chip cookies you’d make. You were always so kind to me.” He stepped closer to her. “How come you still look the same? You haven’t aged a day.” Emma stepped back. Donny might be old, probably seventy now, but he seemed as sharp as a tack. How could she explain her appearance to him? Emma remembered the young, skinny boy. Bright, happy. Donny’s father had gone off to war in the Pacific. His mother stayed home to raise him and volunteered at the USO in her spare time, as so many young women did. Emma raised an arm, pretending that the sun shown in her eyes. Then she fumbled in her coat pocket and pulled out a dark pair of aviator-style sunglasses Tom had left there and covered her eyes. Without answering the question, Emma asked, “Donny, what are you doing here in Chicago?” She realized there was no reason to deny who she was, the man wouldn’t believe it. “Well, my dad came home from the Pacific a war hero, thank God, and we moved here for his job. I went to high school and college here. It’s my home now. I’ve been here for sixty years.” He stepped closer again. “What are you doing here? You look incredible, Mrs. McDaniel. How’s Mr. McDaniel?” He pulled his overcoat closer around him to ward off the chill, but Emma could see his bare ankles sticking out between his pajama hem and his slippers. “James died during the war, Donny. In 1944. With no family left, I moved here.” A big white lie, but what else could she say? “Oh I’m so sorry. I remember you being there one day and gone the next. No one in the neighborhood seemed to know what happened to you.” He scratched his head. A funny, confused look crossed his face. “You know, at our age it’s really odd…I can remember things from years ago, but not yesterday. I swear that James came back to the house looking for you.” Sadness flooded Emma. “That’s not possible, Donny. I’d left to go to retrieve his body.” Emma decided it was time to wrap up this conversation. Things could get very dicey in no time. How strange to run into someone from her past. But then life had been very strange lately. “Excuse me, Donny. I really need to be going. And you must be freezing.” “But Mrs. McDaniel, how can you look like you’re still fifty years old? Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful, but you haven’t aged a day!” 85
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“Just good genes, Donny. Thank you for the compliment.” Emma gave the old man a quick hug, a light kiss on the cheek and rushed down the street. When she rounded the corner, she bent over and placed both hands on her knees. Whew! What an encounter. Straight out of a science fiction novel. Once she’d caught her breath she walked briskly home. Her morning had been very interesting. Once Donny had told her who he was, she saw the resemblance from the little boy she’d known. He’d liked her cookies. She smiled. Emma had always made cookies for the neighborhood children. After all, their fathers, brothers and uncles were all off placing their lives on the line for their country. She was glad that Donny’s dad had come home safely. Just as she entered the front door the phone rang. Emma ran to answer it, leaving the door open. “Hello?” “Thomas Wells, please,” a deep masculine voice said. “I’m sorry he’s not here right now. May I take a message?” Click. Odd, the man hung up. Emma stared at the phone in bewilderment. With a shake of her head, she replaced the cordless phone in its little cradle and went to close the front door. As she reached for the door, a large, white-haired man about sixty years old jammed his hand on it to keep it from closing. “Where is he?” Frightened, Emma tried to close the door. Who was this man to invade Tom’s home? “Get out.” Emma tried to slam the door again. The man stuck his booted foot at the bottom so it wouldn’t move. “I asked you a question.” “I didn’t answer it.” “Don’t play games with me, lady. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” The man’s black eyes bored into Emma. “Where is he?” “Who?” With a growl the man hauled Emma up by the lapels of her quilted coat. He pulled her right up to his face. “Thomas Wells. That’s who.” “He’s not here.” Emma felt her pulse pound, knew her hands were shaking. “May I take a message?” She stared into the man’s emotionless eyes. “Tell him to back off.” He shoved Emma backward. She stumbled then fell to the tile entry floor. “He needs to leave the past in the past.” Then the man turned and stomped down the front walk, leaving the front door open. Emma sat on the floor and shook. She huddled inside Tom’s coat, not thinking for a few minutes. Finally, the cold from the open front door registered. Emma closed and locked it securely. Once the coffee had brewed, Emma doctored it with fat-free milk and sugar substitute. She took a taste and almost spit it out. Who would drink this vile drink? What was wrong with good old-fashioned whole milk and sugar? Earlier, Emma had 86
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searched Tom’s cupboards and hadn’t found any “normal” staples so she choked down the coffee in her cup. Her morning just kept getting more weird. First the walk and Donny, then the phone call and now the intruder. Why did he want Tom? What had Tom done? Was he in trouble? Emma remembered the incident in the supermarket. Those boys had said Tom stole something. Tom denied it. Now this man tells Tom to leave the past alone. What was going on? A little afraid to go outside again, Emma decided to clean house, bake those famous chocolate chip cookies and watch TVLand on cable.
***** She heard the garage door open. Tom was home. Thank God. Emma realized that she’d been waiting for him, holding her breath. She told herself it was because of the protection he gave her, the company she needed. But the truth was she’d missed him. She was lonely without him. After all, she’d only been in this new world for a couple of weeks now and it was getting stranger and stranger by the day. Emma watched Tom enter through the kitchen door. Her first thought was that he looked haggard, drawn. She saw him place his suitcase on the floor then look up. His face cleared, changing from tired to happy. Like a breath of fresh air, color returned to his cheeks, his eyes sparkled and his smile widened. She flew into his arms. She knew her face radiated the same warmth and welcome. The house smelled like chocolate chip cookies and as he twirled her around the kitchen she saw him snatch a cookie from the plate piled high with the delectable treats. He laughed his deep, rumbling laugh while he made her dizzy. He took a bite of the treat then placed the other half in Emma’s mouth. They both chewed then kissed. Umm. A chocolate kiss. There was no better welcome. “How are you, lovely lady?” “Much better now that you’re home.” “I missed you,” he whispered in her ear. “I missed you too.” Emma pulled Tom closer for a scorching kiss. Then she licked a smudge of chocolate off the corner of his lips. Her impulsive gesture rocked her. Prickling heat rose up her spine, the hair on her arms stood up. Her fingers tingled with anticipation. Before she could stop it, a moan escaped her. “Keep that up, gorgeous, and we won’t make it to dinner,” growled Tom. He nuzzled behind her ear, down her neck and licked the hollow at the base of her throat. Now that she was well and truly besotted, Tom snatched another cookie from the plate. “Ah ha!” Emma shouted triumphantly. “The cookie thief reveals himself. I finally found the right combination to lure him out of his den.” Tom’s eyebrows lowered, his face became still. His blue eyes darkened to slate. “Do you dare to call me a thief, lady?” In mock horror he snarled at her and waved the
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purloined property. “How dare you call me names? I am king of my domain and you are my chattel.” With that, he stuffed the cookie in his mouth. Tom lightly dumped Emma on the kitchen floor and strode away like the king he proclaimed himself to be. “Oh sir! I am but your lowly cook. Please don’t banish me from your realm.” Emma crawled on her knees to Tom. Then she grabbed his pant leg and pulled herself up to his waist. “One chance, I beg of you. I’ll do anything!” First one dark eyebrow rose, then lowered. Then the other rose and lowered. In a fine imitation of a leer, Tom pulled Emma up by her shirt. “Since you are the finest cook in all my kingdom, you shall be spared.” He lowered his face to hers, their noses touching. “But remember this, wench. You are mine.” His lips met hers with a sudden passion. Tom pulled her up then lifted her into his arms. “I’ll hold you to your promise—later.” “Welcome home, Tom,” Emma said seriously. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s good to be home.” Tom stroked Emma’s cheek. “I’ve never had a greeting like this one. When I was married to Stephanie I’d be lucky if she was even home. I’ll treasure this homecoming for the rest of my life.” Emma didn’t know what to say. With a light kiss on her lips, Tom went upstairs, showered and unpacked. Emma set the table with red and white checked placemats, flatware and stemmed wineglasses. She filled the glasses with Chianti and placed steaming plates of spaghetti and meatballs on the placemats. The aroma filled the kitchen. “I’m famished.” Tom looked around. “This is so warm and welcoming. I could get used to this.” “Come on, big boy, don’t let dinner get cold while you stare at it.” With a crooked grin he pulled out Emma’s chair, helped her settle closer to the table and then sat down. As they ate, they discussed what had happened since he’d been gone. “Emma, have you had any more problems with Stephanie?” “No.” She used her fork to twirl her pasta onto a spoon. “I guess I have to assume that she’s going to continue to give me trouble. Even though you broke up years ago. I know I’m the first woman to threaten her claim on you.” Tom put down his fork. “There is no claim on me. There was no claim—ever.” Disgusted, he picked up the fork again and took a large bite of Emma’s meatballs. “These are delicious. Anything interesting happen today?” Emma glanced at Tom. He’d asked the question while he’d been looking at his plate. Well, here goes, she thought. “A couple of strange things did happen while you were gone.” Emma had paused long enough that Tom looked up and put his fork down again. He waited.
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“I took your advice and went for a walk in the neighborhood this morning.” She proceeded to tell him about Donny Adams. “I’m still shocked that I would run into someone who knew me from 1944.” Tom’s eyes had widened, his mouth had fallen open and the corners had turned down at her explanation of her morning. “That’s not good,” he mumbled into his plate. “There’s more.” She saw Tom look up again. “As soon as I got home the phone rang. I answered it and a man with a really deep voice asked for you. When I asked to take a message, he hung up.” Tom looked off into space. “Then as soon as I hung up the phone, a man pushed open the front door. I’d left it open when I’d raced to answer the phone. When I tried to close it, he shoved his hand on the door and stuck his foot at the base to keep me from closing it in his face. His exact words were, ‘Where is he?’” Tom threw down his napkin and jumped up from the table. “What? Who was it? What did he look like?” “He was very tall with short white hair, almost a buzz cut. He had mean flat, black eyes.” Emma watched Tom pace the kitchen. His long strides took up the length in no time. “What else did he say?” “You’re not going to like this,” Tom glanced at Emma, “and I don’t understand it. But he said to tell you to keep the past in the past. Then he shoved me and I ended up flat on my butt in the entryway.” “What?” he shouted. Then more quietly he said, “I must have hit a nerve.” “Whose nerve?” “Huh? Oh. Will you excuse me for a minute? I need to make a phone call.” With that, Tom left the kitchen table. Emma shook her head and wondered what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into.
***** Tom seemed withdrawn, reserved, Emma thought. After he made his phone call, he came back into the kitchen and helped her clean up, then disappeared into the office again. She watched television for a while then checked on him before she went to bed. He sat hunched over the computer, the screen glaring in the darkened room. Emma made enough noise to not startle him and entered. “You’re working in the dark. Are you feeling well?” Tom leaned back in the swivel chair laying his head on the back, but not before he clicked the screen down to the start bar. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.” Emma wondered why Tom hid the information on the screen. Before it’d disappeared she’d seen the heading. Notorious World War II spies. Why would he look
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up something like that? With a mental shake, she leaned over Tom and kissed his forehead while lightly rubbing his shoulders. She felt him stretch his neck, roll his shoulders and heard his heartfelt sigh. “You didn’t tell me how your trip went. Nice layover?” “It was fine. The weather was a perfect smoggy sixty-five degrees, no wind.” He sounded like a weatherman. “How was the beach?” “What beach?” “Santa Monica. You told me you were going there.” Emma couldn’t see Tom’s face, but she felt his body stiffen at the mention of Santa Monica. “Oh that. It was your typical California beach. A few people were out soaking up the sunshine, the die-hard surfers rode the cold waves in their black wet suits and a couple with a springer spaniel threw some balls into the waves for him to chase.” “You don’t sound as if you enjoyed yourself. Yet you just described a gorgeous, sunny, relaxing day.” Emma stroked his shoulders, kneaded his neck. “I wish I’d stayed home with you.” Tom rose from the chair and brought Emma into his bear-like arms. “Both times I’ve left you something’s happened. First Stephanie slapped you then this thug shoved you. I’m worried.” “It seems that all I’ve done is bring trouble to you. Your ex-wife and daughter dislike you more now than ever and there are strange men calling and barging their way into your home.” Emma pulled back from Tom’s secure embrace and stared into his eyes. “I’m going to ask you a direct question. Will you answer it?” Warily, Tom nodded. “I don’t know, Emma. What’s your question?” “Why did you hide the screen on your computer titled ‘Notorious World War II spies’?”
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Chapter Eleven Tom’s eyes widened at the question. It took a minute for his reply. “I’d been surfing the web for information on WWII airplanes to see if I could add any to my collection and this site popped up. You know how you get stuff you didn’t ask for. It piqued my curiosity so I opened it up.” Tom glanced away during the explanation. He lied to her. Emma knew it but didn’t know why. This was the first time she’d caught him in a lie and it hurt. There were other times she felt he’d been evasive, abruptly changing the subject. She stared directly into his eyes. They held eye contact for a minute—sparks flew—dark green to stormy blue, then he looked away. That clinched it. She pulled out of his arms and said, “Well, I’m off to bed. Since you’re so tired, I’ll sleep in the guest room. Maybe you’ll get a good night’s sleep then.” Emma walked out of the office hurt and deceived. This must be what Stephanie felt those two short years of their marriage. A quick shower and her warm flannel pajamas wrapped Emma in a cocoon of comfort. She snuggled under the comforter pulling it up to her chin. Why did Tom lie to her? Who was he interested in? Did it have anything to do with her? And why would it? Emma tossed and turned until she fell into a fitful sleep. Around the early morning hours Emma’s subconscious startled her awake. Donny Adams had said that he swore that he’d seen James after Emma had left to fly to Washington, DC. She sat up in bed. It struck her that the letter stating that James had died was not a formal letter. But who would send her a formal one? Douglas Aircraft Company? Well, they had sent him to London. Emma wished she could return home to Los Angeles, 1944 and pick up the letters she’d left behind. Maybe there would be a match in handwriting somewhere. James had a strong, messy script. It had taken her years to decipher it. She squinted into the darkness to try to picture the letter. The handwriting certainly wasn’t James’, since he’d died. But had it been a woman’s flowery scrawl or a man’s messy, bold scratch? She lay back down, thinking. As Emma lay in the darkness, she heard footsteps outside her door. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breathing ratcheted up. Emma listened for the feet to move past her door. They stopped. She heard the knob turn, the door open a crack. Closing her eyes, she felt the thin beam of light from the lamp on the table in the hallway shining on her face. Emma prayed that Tom would think she was sleeping. “Emma?” Tom whispered. After a long pause, she heard a drawn-out sigh. “I’m sorry, honey.” Tom quietly closed the door. Emma sat up. Did she hear him correctly? What would he be sorry for? Lying?
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***** Tom couldn’t sleep. He went downstairs and made a pot of coffee. Once that finished brewing, he carried his mug into the computer room. He typed out an accounting of what had happened recently and stared at the list he’d written: Would Stephanie or Beth really hurt Emma? Did I open a can of worms by going to Boeing? Did Emma’s husband do something illegal during the war? Embezzlement? Stock theft? Defective airplane parts? Called old contact—surprise! Secret still holds—for now… Tom shook his head at that line. He looked up what he could on the web. “I’m too old for this cloak and dagger stuff,” he mumbled. “Twenty-year-old kids run around in the dark, not fifty-year-old men.” It looked like it’d be a long morning.
***** Emma rose with a headache. Her sleepless night had given her too much time to think. Tom’s lies dragged her spirits down. She was cranky. She took a stinging hot shower, then dressed for a casual day at home in jeans, a forest green turtleneck and her favorite boots. While she’d been checking out the computer the other day, she’d noticed that her boots came in pink and blue. Once everything was resolved and she’d paid back Tom, she’d buy herself a pair of pink ones. They called to her feminine side. She descended the stairs and noticed that the door to the office was closed. The unofficial “do not disturb” sign spoke clearly to Emma. With a heavy heart she passed the door and entered the kitchen. Tom had come back from this trip different. Moody, distant. Almost like James, Emma thought. No, not like him at all, she corrected. James was verbally abusive. Tom wasn’t. She poured herself coffee and added the whole milk Tom had bought before he’d gone on his trip. A spoonful of sugar sweetened the brew and she gulped it, grateful for the warmth flowing inside her. Emma decided to forgo breakfast since she didn’t have an appetite. She had just poured a second cup of coffee when a loud pop sounded at the back door followed by a crash. Emma screamed, dropping the ceramic mug. She dropped to the floor amid the wet shards, saving her life. The bullet missed her by inches. The large, white-haired man from yesterday stood in the kitchen pointing an automatic pistol at Emma. She’d never seen one before, but her hours of watching television had told her how powerful they were. The man reached down and grabbed
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Emma by her hair, hauling her up to him. Then he wrapped a large arm around her neck, pointed the gun at her head and pushed her into the living room.
***** At the first sound of the crash, Tom bolted up from his chair and grabbed the Beretta pistol that he kept nearby. His former training automatically kicked in. He released the safety and ran from the office in a low crouch. He cringed when he heard Emma’s scream. Then he heard a secondary crash, a few grunts and the shuffle of footsteps. Keeping low to the floor and sliding near the walls, Tom slowly made his way toward the kitchen. He heard every sound, saw every shadow due to heightened senses. He could even smell Emma’s distinctive scent. As he reached the kitchen he saw shards of Emma’s broken coffee mug. They left a trail of white chips from the kitchen toward the living room. Emma told him where they’d gone. Tom turned and headed in that direction. A noise came from the living room. Tom clenched his jaw when he heard Emma’s cry of pain. Then he heard the man demand, “Where is he?” “I can’t breathe,” Emma choked. Tom winced. “Wells. Where is he?” “In the shower…upstairs.” Emma hoped the man didn’t know she was lying. If the intruder followed her lead, he’d force her upstairs passing through the hallway and give Tom the chance to attack from behind. She hoped. After Emma misdirected the intruder, Tom moved to the closet off the entryway. He slipped inside, leaving the door open a tiny crack. “Show me,” the man demanded. Emma shuffled forward, turned right out of the living room and headed to the stairway. She noticed that the office door was open. That meant that Tom had heard the noise. Good. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, having passed the tiny closet. “Move.” The man pulled harder on Emma’s neck with the arm he’d wrapped around her. “Please don’t hurt me,” Emma choked. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?” “Shut up!” The man shoved the pistol deeper into the other side of Emma’s neck. She placed one foot on the stairs, then the second one, bringing her up to the intruder’s height. Tom! Where are you? Another step. They had gone halfway up the stairs when Emma heard a click behind her. “Drop the gun,” Tom said in a deadly calm voice. “Now!” “I’ll kill her, you know I will,” the intruder said.
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“You have thirty seconds to drop the gun.” Tom didn’t say any more. He shoved the pistol into the man’s temple.
***** Emma couldn’t breathe. The man’s arm cut off her windpipe. She tried to gulp in air but instead used up her precious oxygen. Colored spots began to dance before her eyes. The railing on the stairway faded in and out. Soon the stalemate behind her drifted away. With her last ounce of energy, Emma tried to pull the man’s arm away. He clamped it tighter and she saw the spots coalesce into one large blurb. Soon they became gray then blackness enveloped her.
***** The instant Emma slumped, Tom pounced. Her weight had pulled the man forward, off balance. Tom pistol whipped the man’s temple and he dropped Emma. Her unconscious body fell to the stairs, then backward, tripping both the intruder and Tom. The three of them rolled to the base of the stairs. Emma’s body thumped down the stairs. Tom ended on top, Beretta still in hand. The invader had lost his gun. Tom hauled the man up. He stuck the gun at his throat and said, “Who are you? Why have you broken into my home twice now?” The man’s flat, black eyes flared at Tom, but he said nothing. “Answer me, or you’ll be breathing through a hole in your neck.” The man didn’t answer. At the same time both men heard sirens. “Thank God for nosy neighbors,” Tom said. Panic crossed the man’s features. He wanted to escape. Tom shoved him down to the bottom stair with one powerful thrust, keeping the gun imbedded in his throat. He ripped his belt off with one hand and tied him to the post at the bottom of the stairs. A furious pounding came from the front door. “Police, open up!” At the same time another officer entered through the open back door. “Freeze! Police.” Tom didn’t move. One officer spoke into a microphone on his shoulder. He approached the entryway holding his pistol on Tom. When his partner arrived he said, “Drop the gun. Hold your hands up over your head. Don’t move.” Tom slowly dropped the gun. “I’m the owner, Officer. Thomas Wells. This man broke into my home.” He glanced at Emma’s unmoving form. “Call an ambulance. Emma’s hurt. He choked her into unconsciousness.” “It’s already on the way.” Tom saw Emma stir. “Thank God. She’s alive.” The other officer handcuffed the intruder. The man never spoke.
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Once the officers had established that Tom really was the owner, they told him he could attend to Emma. He ran his hands over her arms and what he could reach of her legs, checking to see if anything was broken. She seemed all right but he worried about her neck. Not wanting to move her, he dropped to the floor, stroked her hair off her face and kissed her temple. He murmured gentle, soothing words in Emma’s ear and waited for her to come around. Slowly her incredible jade-colored eyes opened. “Tom.” She reached up to stroke his face then her hand fell to the floor. “Are you hurt?” Tears flooded Tom’s eyes. “You ask if I’m hurt? Oh honey.” Barely able to speak around the lump in his throat, Tom shook his head no. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Hush, the paramedics will be here soon.” The ambulance wailed in the background. They were almost here.
***** The man refused to give his name to the police. They hauled him off to be processed. A unit came out to document the crime scene and take statements. Throughout all of this the paramedics checked Emma. Even though she said she felt fine, they transported her to Northwest Community Healthcare. By the time Emma and Tom returned home, it was late. Tom taped up the broken window and swept up the glass and ceramic shards. Emma hadn’t moved since they’d arrived home. She just stood in a daze. Exhaustion showed on her pale, drawn face. Tom picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. “You’re sleeping with me tonight. I’m not leaving you alone.” As he laid her on the bed he asked, “Emma honey, do you want a steaming bath?” “Yes. But I’m so tired—I don’t think I can manage it tonight.” Her throat ached from talking. She had a bruised windpipe and bluish-purple bruises stood out on her white skin. “Just lie there and I’ll get it going.” Tom disappeared into the bathroom. Emma sank to the bed and in seconds she was sound asleep. When Tom emerged from the bathroom he stopped. Emma was curled up on top of the bedspread. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her hands folded under her neck. “My brave, brave woman,” he whispered. He pulled the covers back from the other side of the bed, gently lifted her and placed her on the clean sheet. Then he tucked her in. He went back and turned off the tub. He changed into his sweats, crawled into bed and gathered Emma into his arms. “You could have been killed tonight,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I love you.”
***** Bright sunlight filtered through the vertical blinds. Emma opened one eye and squinted at the clock. She needed her reading glasses, but she didn’t remember where
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she’d left them with all of the excitement yesterday. She turned over and groaned. Her throat was on fire, the soreness much worse. The doctors said that might happen. Forcing every ounce of energy into her arms, she reached for the prescription pain pills on the nightstand. Glaring at the large, oblong pill, she placed it in her mouth the long way. With a quick sip of water Emma swallowed. Fire raced down her throat, causing her to moan out loud. “Sweetheart? Are you all right?” Tom rose from the bed. Emma had her back to him, her head bowed and resting in both of her hands. “My throat,” she croaked. Tom came around to look at Emma. She saw his shocked look. A powerful rage crossed Tom’s face and he clenched his fists at his side. “Your neck is all swollen. Go look at how black and blue you are.” Emma dragged into the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Not only was she a puffed-up blob, but red streaks were interspersed throughout and she could still see the imprints of the man’s fingers. She sighed, turned and went back to bed. Tucked comfortably under the covers, Emma turned away from Tom with a sob. “Go ahead, cry it out. You’ve had a big trauma and last night’s emotions need to be released.” He kissed her on the temple. “I’ll go make you a cup of tea.” When he came back with the steaming mug and a piece of dry toast Emma was staring blankly at the wall. “Don’t be depressed, Emma. You were very brave. I’m proud of you.” Without a word he handed her the mug. Emma took it and sipped the sweetened beverage. “Do me a favor and eat as much of the toast as you can. I know it’ll hurt like the dickens, but you need the energy to heal.” Emma swallowed and then grimaced. “Do you know how cute you are when your nostrils flare like that?” Emma croaked out a laugh. “I’m not cute. I’m a complete mess. Don’t look at me.” “You’re beautiful. You know better than anyone, it’s not what’s on the outside that counts. You’re smart, level-headed under duress, you have courage. You’re a shining example of what kind of woman I found at thirty thousand feet.” Tom leaned over and kissed her. “I’m going to make some phone calls. Why don’t you try to rest some more?” She nodded. It was too painful to speak. The medicine had started to take effect and Emma felt drowsy. She slid down under the covers and turned her vulnerable emerald eyes to Tom. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re welcome, love. Sleep well, I’ll be right here.” Tom gently closed the door and walked downstairs to his office. Lying there, Emma thought that someone wanted something from Tom. But what could it be? She knew almost nothing about the man. It irked her. Obviously she was in danger just being with him.
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What was it about his past that affected his present? Was the intruder even connected to Tom’s past? What kind of a past would a pilot have? Emma thought about how little she knew about Tom. He was kind, dependable, honest. No, not honest. He had secrets. His ex-wife had told her that and now it seemed to be true. And he’d lied to her. So how could she trust him? Why did she feel safe with him? By breaking into Tom’s home, the intruder had raised the stakes. Now Tom was angry. Emma didn’t know how that anger would manifest itself and she hoped it wouldn’t come out the way James’ anger had, but the ruthlessness of the people trying to get to Tom showed that nothing would stop them from getting what they wanted.
***** Two hours later Tom stared at the computer screen. He hit the desk in frustration. Phone calls had to be made. Tom dialed the phone in a hurry. “Hello, Virgil. This is Tom. How are you today?” “Tom.” There was a very long pause. “Something’s come up, hasn’t it?” “Yes, Virgil.” He heard a weak, ancient voice over the phone. “What can I do for you, old buddy? I never thought I’d hear from you again.” Caution tinged Virgil’s voice. “It seems a bit of the past has caught up with me.” Tom laughed at the intended understatement. “A lady friend and I have run into some people who want the information I have and they’ve threatened her and me to get it.” “Oh no—not again.” Virgil sighed over the phone. “I thought we’d buried that forever.” “Yes, well…the entry of the lady has been the cause for this. She came through a vortex.” Tom heard Virgil’s sharp indrawn breath. “It can’t be! Were the outside conditions the same?” “Yes. Even the year was the same.” Tom glanced out his office window at the low, gray clouds. The weather forecast had been for snow and for once they were right. Big fat, sparkly snowflakes fell, just starting to stick to the ground. “Except it happened here, in the U.S.” “Darn. Someone’s found the information. They may have rebuilt.” “That’s what I’m thinking. I thought I had the only copy of the blueprints.” “So did I, Tom.” “Well, Virgil, it seems that World War II might just be starting up again.”
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Chapter Twelve Emma smelled the tantalizing scent of bacon frying. She rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. Her swollen neck made her look like a football player with his head resting on his shoulders. The blue, green and purple colors were quite pretty, she thought sardonically. Well, they’ll fade in time. She realized that the pain pills had helped and that she felt a little better. Who was this guy to think he could invade Tom’s home and hold her at gunpoint? Emma brushed her teeth with a fury. She had entered the angry stage. She wouldn’t let an overgrown thug frighten her into an overpowering fear of leaving the house. No way. She turned on the shower, let it steam up the bathroom, then stepped in and moaned a sigh of relief. Once she finished, she dressed in jeans, a cream-colored cable knit sweater and her Uggs, without socks. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of the bacon. How long had it been since she’d eaten? She followed the enticing aroma into the kitchen to see Tom wearing a white butcher-style apron, frying the bacon. He had thick slices of tomato, large, green leaves of lettuce and slices of avocado lined up on a plate. “Oh this smells delicious,” croaked Emma. Tom turned at her raspy voice. “How are you feeling?” He gave her a rapid onceover. “You look fantastic, considering your overly large neck.” He grinned showing even, white teeth. “Well, I’m still sore. But I feel better. It’s not so horrible to swallow and I think I like my new fall colors.” She pointed to her neck like Vanna White. Emma had been watching Wheel of Fortune while Tom was on his trip. “They match my sweater, don’t you think?” Tom turned down the fire under the pan of bacon and walked over to her. He lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips. He sucked in his breath and inhaled. “Come and sit down, sweetheart. The BLTs are almost ready.” He brought over the sandwich fixings and they assembled their creations. Emma took a small bite, chewing thoroughly. When she swallowed she winced, but she managed to not cry out. It took her longer than normal, but she finished the sandwich and smiled at Tom. “Thank you. That was delicious. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I smelled the bacon frying.” “Anything for my brave warrior-woman.” Tom cocked an eyebrow at Emma and leered. The laugh that came out of Emma sounded like sandpaper being rubbed over wood. Her face tightened from pain, but her eyes sparkled. “I see you’ve come to terms with having been held hostage,” he said.
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“Well, it happened. I just have to deal with it. Now I’m angry.” “Good. So am I.” They had just finished cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang. Emma sat closest, so she got up and answered it. “Hello?” There was a pause, then a cough. “Hello. Is Thomas Wellington there?” Emma’s stomach plummeted. Thomas Wellington? The name sounded familiar, but Emma couldn’t quite place it. She glanced at Tom, but he’d turned away to place the dish towel on the oven door handle. “I’m sorry. What number are you calling?” The man recited the correct number. “I’m sure this is the number he gave me.” Emma heard paper shuffling on the other end of the line. “Are you the housekeeper? May I leave a message?” “No, I’m not the housekeeper.” Emma looked at Tom who now looked intently at her. “Would you like to speak to the owner of the house?” “Why, yes. That would be excellent,” the old, weak voice said. Emma handed Tom the phone. “The man asked for someone named Thomas Wellington.” Tom’s blue eyes widened, his pupils dilated. The draining of color from Tom’s face both frightened and fascinated Emma. Why would he have such a strong reaction to that name? Tom reached for the phone stiff as a board. His fingers almost dropped it. Emma watched everything about Tom shut down. His eyebrows had lowered. A hard look crossed his face. His eyes had turned to blue ice. She decided this was a very private phone call and left the kitchen. Emma went into the office. Too restless to sit, she wandered up to the museumroom and entered, leaving the door open. The uniform in the closet drew her to it and she once again fingered the tarnished wings, touched the empty spot where a name patch had once been. That slight, subtle scent was still there. Musky. Mothballs. Who did the uniform belong to? Why wasn’t the scent gone? Emma turned to the scrapbook. She picked it up and sat on the sofa. Once again the newspaper clipping fell out. Emma re-read it and gasped. The missing pilot had been named Thomas Wellington. Oh my God! How could that be? Why, this must be an article about Tom’s father. No wonder he had a museum room about World War II. If Tom’s father had been the missing pilot, wouldn’t the story haunt the son? Of course. But why wouldn’t Tom tell her that? Lost in her musings she didn’t see Tom at the doorway. “Emma.” Emma jumped and turned to look at Tom. He still wore the closed look on his face. But now there was an underlying determination. Tension creased his features. “Thomas Wellington. Why didn’t you tell me, Tom?” Tom sat next to Emma. He searched her face. Cautiously he said, “I didn’t know what to say.”
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“This article says that Wellington disappeared over the North Sea. Was that your father?” Please tell me the truth. Tom glanced away, then back at her. He stared at her for a moment. “No. My uncle.” “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” “I didn’t think it mattered. After all, my…uncle…disappeared so long ago. I know it’s from your time, but his disappearance happened in Europe, not Los Angeles.” Tom stared at the article. “You never found out what happened to him?” “No.” Tom cleared his throat. His eyes fell on the model of the C-47. It had been painstakingly, lovingly painted. “My father named me after him.” Tom watched Emma. “Who was the old man on the phone? Why did he ask for your uncle?” Something didn’t sound right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, so she pressed Tom for more information. “An old friend of his. A buddy from the war days. He’d just found out, somehow, that I was his nephew and he wanted to get together with me to rehash stories about my uncle.” “You’re going to go, aren’t you?” Tom reached out and touched Emma, but his eyes skittered away and roamed around the room. “Yes, we scheduled a time to meet for lunch.” A copper strand of hair stuck to the side of Emma’s mouth. Tom pulled it away and tucked it behind her ear. Then he leaned over to kiss the exact spot that the silky strand had stuck to. Need flamed into passion. Tom groaned and pulled her into his arms. He found the deepest part of her mouth with his tongue. He’s distracting me, Emma thought. Why? Is he hiding guilt? What is he guilty of? Or is it more lies? He tucked his hand up under her sweater and tickled his way up her rib cage. All thought flew out of Emma’s head. She felt him harden, become desperate. He turned his head to fit his mouth even more closely to hers. Need swamped her. Tom ripped Emma’s clothes off her. As he laid her back on the sofa neither one heard the scrapbook fall to the floor with a thud. Emma wore no bra. Her small, round breasts swelled into Tom’s large hands. The nipples tightened into hard peaks. Tom wiped his thumb over one turgid peak then flicked it with his nail. Emma rose up off the bed. Her body became rigid then melted and flowed into his hands. Her hands pulled at his shoulders. Tom was all Emma wanted. Needed. One minute they’d been talking and the next she’d fallen off a cliff into ecstasy. Never had she felt so sensual. Every part of her cried out for Tom. Her blood heated to boiling. She craved his touch, his smell, his strength. She needed his tongue in her
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mouth, his hands on her breasts. Emma wanted him inside her. Later, she’d marvel at the fact that she didn’t realize she’d kicked her boots off or that she’d never felt her jeans slide over her hips and down her legs. They tangled on the bed. Tom’s hands were everywhere. He stroked her face with shaking hands. Smoothed them gently down her bruised neck. He spanned her tiny waist with his hands, stroked her hips and stopped to tickle the sensitive spot between her legs. Emma groaned her helplessness. Tom’s lips sucked hers then he nibbled tenderly behind her ears. Flying on wild passion, Emma met Tom when he entered her. Thrust for thrust, they mounted the highest mountain then fell amid sparkles and lights, landing softly in each other’s arms. They lay entwined for a long time, letting their heartbeats slow. Tom hugged Emma as she curled protectively in his embrace. For a long time no one spoke. Then Tom said, “We’re connected. When I’m away from you I feel lost, empty. When I’m with you I feel at home, full.” Emma’s eyes welled with tears. “I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.” She sniffed. “I too feel our connection. It’s as if my heart has been searching for yours. Reaching out for the unknown.” Emma turned to look at Tom. “It’s as if our hearts flew to one another across time. Hearts flight.” “Yes. Hearts flight.”
***** Time passed. Finally they got up off the sofa. Nothing needed to be said. They dressed and Tom replaced the fallen scrapbook. “Do you need to rest? Are you tired?” Tom asked. “My throat and neck are sore, but I feel much better.” She grinned at him. “Why?” “Well, I told Virgil, the man on the phone, that I’d meet him for a late lunch today at The Cheesecake Factory at the mall. I wondered if you wanted to come along and shop while I talk to him.” “I think I’ll stay home and watch some TV. I don’t want to push it too fast and I did just do a lot of exercise.” She grinned wickedly. “Okay. I’ll bring you some pizza and dessert from The Cheesecake Factory. That way you won’t have to cook.” “Sounds great.” Emma helped Tom straighten up the room then they walked downstairs. He grabbed a dark wool overcoat from the hall closet. “Ten degrees. Sometimes I wonder why I live in this climate.” He kissed Emma, a long, lingering kiss. As he walked through the garage door he said, “Don’t forget to check that all the doors and windows are closed and locked. You have my cell phone number. Call me if you hear anything suspicious. But call 9-1-1 first.” 101
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Emma reached up and stopped him from leaving. She stroked the cleft in his chin. “I will. I like my neck the way it was before yesterday. I don’t want a repeat.” She kissed him and playfully shoved him out the door into the garage.
***** Virgil Layton shook his head. “For a man as old as you are, you look remarkable. It’s astonishing. And I thought I knew what to expect.” Tom laughed as he hugged the old man. “By rights you’re my age, eighty years old. Yet you look just fifty. Time stood still for you, Tom. How many people would kill for that secret?” Virgil shook Tom’s hand and gave him a huge pat on the back. His voice might be failing with age, but his handshake didn’t let up one bit. “I’m envious.” Virgil wheezed a watery cough while he laughed. “Thanks, Virgil. It’s nice to see a familiar face from the past.” The two men were shown to their table. They had chosen a secluded booth where they wouldn’t be disturbed or overheard. “Drink?” “No, my doctor has ordered me to quit. I’ve actually listened to him—this time.” “I’m just having coffee. It’s too darn cold for something with ice in it anyway.” They ordered their drinks, both having coffee. “Quit staring, Virgil.” “I can’t help it. Reading the blueprints and seeing the results are two different things.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry things got out of hand back then. That mission was considered a complete failure until you offered to hand over the blueprints. Even though the CIA didn’t want them anymore.” Tom watched Virgil’s brown eyes glaze over and knew he was back in London, 1944. “It happened. Things go wrong on missions. My regret is that George Wilkins, my co-pilot, died. If only we hadn’t gotten caught in that vortex. He was such a good man and a great father. I couldn’t even tell his wife what happened.” “Yes, the OSS told her he went missing in action. She had to live the rest of her life not knowing if George was dead or alive. I can’t imagine that kind of limbo.” The waiter took their orders while Tom and Virgil made small talk. Once the pizzas arrived, they dug in. “So what’ve you found for me, Virgil?” “You’re right. Someone here in the U.S., probably someone in Idaho with the neoNazis, has the plans and the funding and are rebuilding the vortex generator.” Virgil put down his fork. He stared at Tom. “There’s a catch though.” Tom caught the note of desperation in Virgil’s voice. He stopped eating and held his breath for the bad news. “It seems that they have figured out how to go both forward and backward in time. Otherwise, Emma’s plane wouldn’t have been caught in the vortex. Today’s funding and technology rebuilt the generator, yet yesterday’s airplane got caught in it. The CIA thinks that the vortex only has to be reversed to go to the past. They also think that the neo-Nazis want to go back and win the war.”
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Chapter Thirteen “Oh great,” Tom said. “One darn machine, one set of blueprints, countless lives forever changed and now the specter of rehashing World War II. With the U.S. already fighting the war in Iraq, there aren’t enough military men and women to fight another war. This has to be stopped before it’s too late.” “But how can we do that?” Virgil asked. “I’m eighty years old and you’re fifty. Two old men can’t go back into action. Plus, who would believe us?” “Virgil, who have you told this to in the CIA? Are they trustworthy?” Virgil glanced up in surprise. “Well, I told my friend Steve Straus. He’s the assistant CIA chief. I changed his diapers when he was born.” A frown crossed Virgil’s brow. “As far as I know he’s reliable. But who knows? After all, I’m retired and I’ve been out of the business for twenty years. Until now.” “I’m sorry, Virgil. I didn’t know who to turn to. When Emma fell into my arms onboard my flight we were all thrust back into time.” Tom put his slice of pizza down. Once he’d taken a large gulp of coffee he spoke again. “There’s been a few developments.” Tom explained the anonymous phone call, the break-in and his research in Culver City, California. “So you see, I don’t think James died in the war. I think he faked his death. There’s more to it than just wanting to marry another woman, but I don’t know what that is yet.” Tom noticed that Virgil had stopped eating. He stared at a far wall in the restaurant. Tom could see the wheels spinning in the old guy’s brain. Luckily he was still sharp as a tack. “Well…that’s a horse of a different color.” “You still say that.” Tom laughed. “Takes me back. You said it all the time while we were planning the mission” “Have you told Emma about your past?” Virgil pinned him with the question. Tom glanced away. “No.” “She needs to know. She’s in danger. It’s not her fault, but she’s smack dab in the middle of it.” Tom knew what Virgil was saying. His warning rang true. “I don’t know why, but I just can’t seem to tell her.” He waved his hand for emphasis. “Oh I know she’ll believe the part about the vortex and my past. But how will she react to my telling her that I researched her husband behind her back?” “She won’t be happy, Tom. You know that.” Virgil shook a crooked finger at Tom. “If you want this woman in your life, you tell her. Now. There’s no more time to waste.”
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“You’re right.” Tom sighed. “I’ve run into so many dead ends about James that my gut instincts are screaming at me.” “Yes, well…I still have a few secure contacts. I’ll try to reach them. We’ll see what crops up. You, on the other hand, will keep trying to find out more about Mrs. McDaniel’s husband. And you watch your back. Both of you need to stay safe. Consider that a directive from your superior.” “Yes, sir!” Tom gave a crisp salute. Then he sighed. “I thought I’d be done with the cloak and dagger stuff, especially at my age.” “You should talk. Try reclaiming old contacts and still keeping secrets at eighty.” Tom smiled at Virgil. There was a light in his eyes. A spark. “Why you old coot. You like this. Need a little excitement in your life, do you?” “My wife died a few years ago, Tom. I need something to keep me occupied.” “Oh ho! Suddenly you look ten years younger.” Tom laughed again. “You can take the spy out of the business, but can’t take the business out of the spy.” “Guilty as charged.” Virgil laughed. “Well, I’d better be going. I have to bring home a pizza and I’m sure Emma will want some cheesecake.” Tom rose from the table and reached across to shake Virgil’s hand. “Good to see you, buddy. It’s nice being back in business with you.” “Same here, Tom.” The two men left, Tom with his take-out and Virgil with his doggie bag.
***** That niggling sensation wouldn’t go away. Emma wandered the house and, once again, returned to the museum-room. It called to her. Probably because she’d recently left a war-torn world. She felt comforted by the familiar objects of that world. She fingered the model airplanes, picking up one in particular. It was a C-47, the military version of a DC-3. Painted a flat olive drab color on its upper portions, it changed to a flat neutral gray color on the undersides. The model had nose art on it. This one had the picture of a beautiful blonde woman wearing a red two-piece bathing suit. The bottom piece was a waist-high pair of short-shorts and she wore a halter-style top over it. She stood looking to the left against a bright round orange background, like the sun. To her left was a palm tree on a tiny island. The words Miami Clipper were painted underneath with the word Miami at an angle. The detail was exquisite. Emma wondered who painted this model. She felt the loving care given to this piece, even as she held it in her hands. Emma replaced the model airplane and decided to look through the drawers of the dresser. Summer clothes were stored there, just waiting for their spring thaw. In the last drawer, the one on the left at the bottom, Emma struck gold. She found the missing patch from the uniform hanging in the closet. When she brought it up to inspect it she saw Tom’s uncle’s name. Thomas Wellington. Emma took it over to the uniform and
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placed it over the empty spot on the left side. A perfect fit. Why had the patch been removed? With nothing else to do, Emma decided to surprise Tom. She found some sewing items and sewed the patch back on the uniform. Standing back to survey her handiwork, Emma felt pleased. The uniform looked complete. Feeling satisfied, Emma went downstairs to look for silver polish. The tarnished wings looked sadly forgotten now that the patch had been restored. She found the polish in a cupboard over the refrigerator. Grabbing a soft cloth from the laundry room, she went back upstairs and polished the wings. How detailed they were, she thought. Little feathers fanned out in two waves. The larger feathers were the base of the wings and smaller ones sat on top. Surrounding the center emblem was a shield with an S for service pilot. Emma worked the cloth into the tiny creases formed by the feathers. When she’d finished she pinned the wings back on the uniform. They glinted, a beautiful silvery shine. Seeing the completed uniform, Emma felt bereft for the man she didn’t know. He had disappeared giving his life for his country in a time of war leaving behind family and friends to wonder what happened to him for the rest of their lives. Even though she didn’t know him, Emma said a little prayer for him. The war was still fresh in her mind. It had been ravaging the world only a few weeks ago. She heard the kitchen door slam and Tom call out, “Emma! Dinner!” Her heart flip-flopped. She felt a smile light her face from within. She grabbed the uniform off the rod and ran down the stairs. As she entered the kitchen she said, “Look, Tom. How do you like it?” He glanced up from unloading the pizza and cheesecake. His face blanched and his mouth fell open. The sun shone off the name patch and the wings sparkled. Tom dropped the cheesecake on the counter. He couldn’t move. “You don’t like it.” Emma wondered at Tom’s shocked expression. “I…I…” He couldn’t speak “I wanted to honor your uncle and I found the patch in the bottom drawer of the dresser in the museum-room.” Now Emma wondered if Tom would be angry. After all, she’d been rummaging through his dresser drawers. “The museum-room?” “Oh that’s what I call the bedroom with all of the models, framed newspaper clippings and the scrapbook.” Emma said. She studied Tom. He looked ill. “Are you feeling all right?” Emma couldn’t tell what Tom thought, but her instincts told her he wasn’t pleased. Tom unpacked the warm food and picked up the smashed cheesecake. After a minute he glanced at her. “What were you doing snooping though my dresser drawers?”
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The cold, unemotional tone in Tom’s voice stunned Emma. “I…I…don’t know. Somehow I’m drawn to that room.” Her pulse beat rapidly. For the first time, Emma saw a hardness about Tom. His face had turned to granite and a muscle jumped in his jaw. She was frightened. “Somehow I feel closer to where I came from when I’m in that room.” “Don’t go in there again, Emma. You’ve crossed the line. That room is now offlimits.” A quick burst of anger flared within Emma. With one last look at Tom, she turned and took the uniform back upstairs and hung it in the closet. As she brushed the material and stroked the silver wings she whispered, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wellington. I hope you’re at peace now.”
***** Emma retreated to the office. She wondered at Tom’s angry reaction to her restoring the patch on the uniform. Okay, she told herself, she had been snooping. Why would anyone hang an old uniform in the closet? And why did it have Tom’s scent on it? Shaking her head, she sat down at the computer, but her fingers drummed the keyboard. What would she look up? Without realizing it, her fingers flew over the keys. She typed the name Thomas Wellington into the blank box at the top of the screen and hit go. Nothing much came up on the first page. She scrolled to the second page and down near the bottom, where she almost missed a blurb about a missing pilot. Emma clicked on the hyperlink and read through the listing. It said the same thing as the article in the scrapbook, but it also mentioned that Wellington left behind a father. A couple of his Army Air Forces buddies raved about Tom, his personality, professionalism and how much he’ll be missed. In the very last paragraph a man who said he was Wellington’s mission boss also said how much he’ll miss Tom. Emma gasped when she read his name. Virgil Layton. How could that be? Tom just came from having lunch with a Virgil Layton. How many men would have that name? It must be a relative. But the man had sounded old on the phone. His voice had been weak and scratchy. Now Emma wished she’d gone to the mall with Tom and met this Virgil. Shaking her head at the coincidence, she scrolled down the article but found no more information. Emma smelled Tom before she heard him. His clean, masculine scent triggered a response in her and her breath hitched. That scent. That’s what bothered her every time she went into the museum-room and smelled the uniform. Why would that uniform smell like Tom? Emma closed down the computer. She didn’t want Tom to know she’d been researching his uncle. “Emma, I’m sorry,” Tom said from behind her. “I was caught off guard. Seeing the uniform with the patch restored shook me. It brought back reminders of me…my…uncle.”
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“I shouldn’t have taken it upon myself to sew it back on, Tom. I’m sorry if I offended you.” Emma inhaled his wonderful scent. Yep. A perfect match. “And I had been rummaging through the dresser—out of boredom. I won’t do that again.” She watched his face. He looked away. What was his secret? She knew he had one. Somehow Emma thought it had to do with the uniform. “Come and eat your pizza. It’s getting cold.” He walked closer to her and pulled her into his arms. “I brought you cheesecake.” “Well, why didn’t you say that sooner?” she laughed to break the tension. Emma huddled into Tom’s embrace. His apology was an olive branch she gladly accepted. But he still hid something. Give it time. He’d tell her. Emma grabbed Tom’s large, strong hand and pulled him to the kitchen. “Come on, you get to watch me eat.”
***** They shared the mangled cheesecake. Tom made it a sensual delight. He served her a bite, slowly pulling the fork from her mouth. She took her time licking the fork with her tongue then swallowed the cheesecake. Tom stared, a hungry look on his face. His eyes turned to midnight blue and a muscle clenched in his jaw. When Emma cut off a bite of the creamy dessert, she waved the fork around and said, “Over the lips and through the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.” With a laugh she slid the fork into Tom’s mouth and watched him chew. The strength in his jaw fascinated her. Soon her laughter died in her throat. His eyes glittered with passion. She watched as he cut off a bite of the cheesecake. He took the piece with his finger and placed it on Emma’s tongue. She sucked the morsel off as he slowly pulled his finger from her wet mouth. They both groaned at the same time. Then they laughed. “What a pair we are,” Tom said. “Fighting one minute and making love over a cheesecake the next.” “I love the making-up part and cheesecake only makes it sweeter.” She licked her lips, wetting them for Tom’s sake. Then she said in a husky voice, “Next time, bring chocolate. Just think what we can do with that.” The evening ended on a good note. The secrets were left behind—for the time being. Tom and Emma went up to bed. He wouldn’t let her sleep in the guest room. “I want you next to me,” he said. “Do you ever think about the friends you left behind?” “Of course. Daily. I wonder what they thought happened to me.” Tom’s strange question threw her off guard. “What happened earlier? In the kitchen.” “I remembered things when I saw the uniform.” “I’m a good listener,” Emma said, repeating what Tom had once said to her. “In time, love. Now I just need you beside me.” That was good enough for Emma.
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Chapter Fourteen After tossing and turning for hours Emma glanced at the clock. Five o’clock. Well, she was up, so she’d start the coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen. Emma drummed the counter as she waited for her first sip of caffeine and watched Tom’s backyard come to life. The blackness gave way to gray, then silver. Soon the light of dawn showed the crystal-like snow crusted on the dormant grass. Inches of snow lay piled on the bare branches of the oak tree out back and the pine tree glinted green in the early morning light. Only the gurgling sound of coffee brewing filled the kitchen. The coffeemaker burped its last breath and Emma grabbed a mug and filled it with the strong black brew. Something called Starbucks. After doctoring the coffee with whole milk and sugar, she gulped it. Two cups of coffee later, Emma went upstairs and cleaned up for the day. She showered in the guest bathroom so she wouldn’t wake Tom. By six thirty she was dressed and ready for what the new day would bring. First breakfast. Emma made cinnamon-maple French toast. She cut thick slices of fresh uncut white bread that Tom had bought her from a nearby bakery, dunked them in egg batter mixed with cinnamon and vanilla, then fried them in a skillet. Canadian bacon heated in a second pan on another burner. Emma loved Tom’s six-burner gas stove. She’d only had two burners back home in Los Angeles and cooking in Tom’s elegant kitchen was sheer joy. She hummed as she cooked, waiting for Tom to get up. “What is that wonderful smell?” Tom asked. He rubbed his hands over his face then through his mussed silver-gold hair. “Breakfast, lazy bones.” Emma scooted four pieces of French toast on a plate along with three slices of Canadian bacon and handed the plate to Tom. “Grab a cup of coffee and sit down. I’ll be right there.” Tom gulped half of the first cup of coffee then said, “You spoil me.” Emma grinned. “That’s my plan.” She placed two slices of French toast and two slices of bacon on her plate and joined Tom at the table. She’d barely sat down when Tom planted a long, searing kiss on Emma’s mouth. Her pulse sped up, her heart raced and she knew she was in deep trouble. Pounding at the back door startled both Emma and Tom. They jumped apart like kids caught in the back seat of a car. “Oh great.” Tom said.
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Emma turned and there stood Stephanie. She could see the steam billowing out of her ears. And her mouth. “Let me in, Tom!” Her breath fogged up the window where she spoke. “I’m sorry, honey. I can’t let her freeze out there. It’s probably ten degrees.” He shrugged his shoulders and opened the door. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your little homey scene,” Stephanie snarled. “Really, Tom. You shouldn’t let just anybody share your home with you. You don’t know what she might steal from you while you’re on a trip.” Emma bit her lip. The woman was positively horrid. With a weary sigh Tom raked his hands through his hair and asked, “What do you want, Stephanie, and why are you barging in here so early?” Ignoring the question, Stephanie spit out, “I see I’ve interrupted your little tender moment.” She took in Tom’s rumpled appearance and Emma’s neat, fully dressed attire. Irritation showed in Stephanie’s eyes as she raked over Emma’s clothes. “It seems your girlfriend has you by the short hairs. Why else would you buy her such expensive clothes?” “Knock it off, Stephanie. Get to the point.” “I wanted you to know that I did some checking on…her.” Stephanie glanced scornfully at Emma. Then her bitter brown eyes rested on Emma’s face. Not looking away from Emma, she said to Tom, “There isn’t much to find on a woman named Emma McDaniel…anywhere. I wonder why?” Tom stood up to his full six-foot-two-inch height. He walked around the table and stood right in front of Stephanie, forcing her to look up at him. Even dressed in his rumpled sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirt he radiated power. “You have no right to check up on anyone. You will leave my home now.” He pointed his finger in her face. “And remember this…you don’t threaten me or Emma. You don’t interfere in our business. And from now on you call before you come over.” Stephanie stepped back from Tom. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “That’s the last time I try to help you!” Her face flamed. She stepped over to Emma. “I won’t forget this,” she hissed. Then she turned on her stiletto boot heels and clicked her way over the tile floor and out the back door. Silence followed her departure. Tom stood rooted to the spot. Emma could feel his anger. “Well, now that we have the morning pleasantries out of the way, why don’t we see how our afternoon progresses?” Tom looked blank for a moment then smiled. Emma watched the red hue of anger drain from his face and saw a healthy pink color replace it. “Thank you. You take the wind out of my sails and help me to lock her ugliness away.” He pulled her to him and gave her a huge bear hug. “You’re good for me. I thank God every day you flew into my life.” Emma’s mouth fell open in wonderment. “You say the kindest things, Tom.”
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“I mean them.” They sat down to finish their breakfast. Neither one said anything for a while. “How would you like to go and look for a good used car today?” “You mean it?” The excitement in Emma’s voice reflected in her eyes. They sparkled with joy and happiness. “I’d love to. But how will I ever pay you back?” “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.” Emma took a bite of her French toast. She looked up at Tom and saw his face, full of merriment and deviltry and she laughed. “Oh no. I will not allow you to tie me to your bed for hours of mindless pleasure. That would be too much for me to bear.” Tom burst out laughing. Emma watched his face light from within and saw happiness replace the irritation that still lingered from Stephanie’s unpleasant morning visit. They finished breakfast, cleaned the kitchen and once Tom had showered they left the house for the nearest Ford dealer.
***** As soon as they entered the “pre-owned” car lot they were swamped by four eager salesmen. Tom waved them away. “We’ll just look around for a bit. If we need any help, we’ll find you.” The men looked at each other then retreated to the spot that they used to wait for customers. “They’re on commission. Car salesmen are not thought highly of in this day and age because they hound you until you’ve made a decision.” He cupped her elbow with his hand and directed her to a line of used Ford Escapes. “Here we are. I think this small SUV, or sport utility vehicle, will be just right for you. We’ll get you four-wheel drive. That way you can drive on snowy streets.” He looked serious. “Have you ever driven in snow and ice?” “No.” Emma looked uncomfortable. “I hear that driving in icy conditions can be very dangerous.” “Yes, it can and will be. I’ll teach you. Until then, don’t go very far from home and only on clear days, okay?” Emma saluted. “Yes, sir!” She turned and looked in the window of three or four Escapes. One caught her attention. It had twenty thousand miles on it and was only two years old. The sticker on it said that it had an automatic transmission. “Oh Tom. Let’s get this one.” Tom came over and looked at the sticker. Then he walked around the car. Once it appeared that the car was up to his standards, he turned to Emma and said, “You want this because it’s blue. All women want pink or blue.” “You are so silly.” Emma playfully pushed at Tom. “No woman wants a pink car. What man in his right mind would ride with a woman driving a pink car?” She laughed. “Okay, let’s go find a vulture.” “A vulture?”
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“A salesman. Don’t show that you’re interested in this car. We’ll ask about a couple of other cars first, ask some questions. Then we’ll sidle over to this car. It’s called the art of the negotiation.” “Fine. I’ll let you do the talking.” Emma hurried to keep up with Tom’s large steps. “I’ll play the uninformed little woman to your macho, manly-man.” “You nut.” They walked to the area with the hovering salesmen and all but one stepped forward. Tom chose the one who lagged behind. From the surprise on the fellow’s face, Tom knew he’d chosen the right man. “We’re looking for an Escape for my friend here,” Tom said. “I’m Thomas Wells and this is Emma McDaniel.” “Bob Anderson.” The men shook hands. “I have a few on the lot. Just tell me what you’re looking for in a car.” The men discussed the finer points of each car as they wandered to the blue Escape. Emma stood back and waited. She tried not to tap her foot with impatience. She knew they’d get the car at the price Tom wanted since no one else was on the lot looking for cars at the moment. Twenty minutes later the details were arranged. Bob Anderson escorted them into his cubicle and they signed the papers. When Bob handed the keys to Emma she shook for a minute. Her first car. Ever. She hadn’t had one of her own in 1944 since she and James couldn’t afford two cars. Now, a man she’d known for a little over a month and felt she’d known for years had purchased her a two-year-old car. Excitement bubbled out of her. She threw the keys up into the air, caught them, then rushed out to “her car”. The two men laughed and Tom raced out behind her. “Emma, wait.” He panted a bit when he caught up to her. “We need to go over a few things with the car, get you familiar with the controls.” She turned around and kissed him fully on the lips. Then she hugged him. After that she spun back to her new car. In her excitement she didn’t realize how her voice carried. “Would you look at this? My first car since 1944 and I’m a mere one hundred and twelve years old!” The salesman glanced at her. Emma saw the shocked expression on his face. “It’s an inside joke.” The man shrugged his ignorance and watched them as Tom pointed out the controls. Once Tom felt satisfied with Emma’s understanding of the car, he got in his and drove home. Emma followed. She drove carefully, loving the feeling of freedom that the car brought her. They had just pulled into the driveway when a woman stepped out of a car that had been parked across the street. Tom’s daughter Beth. “What’s this, Dad?” Beth waved at the car in the driveway. “Purchase your mistress a new toy?”
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“Hello, Beth. Nice to see you too,” Tom said. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Come on in. It’s too cold out here.” They entered the kitchen from the garage. “What can I do for you?” He filled the coffee pot. So formal, Emma thought. Yet, when she looked at Beth she saw a yearning in the young woman’s eyes. Why, she loves her father, Emma thought. She just doesn’t know how to approach him after so many years. Beth shifted from foot to foot. “I need more money.” “What for?” “If you can buy this stranger a car, you can give me a little money.” Beth glared at Emma. She hadn’t answered the question, Emma noticed. “First tell me why you need it, then I’ll decide,” Tom said. Beth looked him in the eyes. “I need some new clothes.” “Really, Beth. You and your mother shop almost every day. I’m sure your closet is full of clothes you don’t even know you have anymore.” Emma watched Beth’s temper flare. “You don’t know anything about me or my closet. Your girlfriend here,” Beth pointed in Emma’s face, “can have whatever she wants, but you won’t give your only child a dollar.” Tom ignored the girlfriend comment. “How much is this dollar going to cost me?” Beth must have thought she’d won from the look of relief Emma saw on her face. “Ten thousand dollars.” “Ten thou—” Tom sputtered. “No.” “No? Just like that?” Beth spun around and glared at Emma. She pushed her shoulder, knocking Emma off balance. “It’s your fault, you money-chasing whore. If you weren’t here, he’d give me the money.” “That’s enough, Beth. You’re way out of line.” Tom’s voice had changed to granite. “Apologize to Emma, then leave.” “Like hell I will. Mother is right. She’s worming her way into our lives.” Beth turned to leave then swiveled back to Emma. “I hate you! This isn’t over.” She stormed out of the kitchen. Silence rained down on the lovely kitchen. At first no one moved. Then Emma sank to a chair. Her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer. “Maybe I should leave.” “I’m so sorry, honey. That was inexcusable. I’m embarrassed that I have a bitter, spoiled, adult child like Beth. She has swallowed her mother’s ugliness and anger, hook line and sinker.” Try as she might, Emma couldn’t keep the tears from pooling in her eyes. Never in her life had she had anyone hate her as much as these two women. “You don’t need to apologize for your daughter, Tom. She’s a grown woman.” Emma left the kitchen. “I don’t know how to thank you for the car. It’s really wonderful. Anytime you want to
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show me the finer points of driving in snow and ice, I’ll be ready.” Emma turned gracefully and left. Once up in the guest room, she sank down onto the bed and let herself cry out her misery. Here, in 2006, she had found the man of her dreams. A kind, attractive, loving man. One who was comfortable showing his feelings to her, comfortable talking to her. A man who was connected to her. Yet he was tied to two nasty, wicked women. And they both hated her. Why? Just because she’s with Tom, she thought. Because they’re jealous of her relationship with him. With a couple of sniffs, Emma pulled up her dragging spirits. Well. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t broken up any families. The only thing she’d done was get on an airplane and fly east to recover her husband’s remains. There wasn’t anything she could do at this point to change either woman’s mind. They’d just have to get used to whatever happened between Tom and her. Emma went back downstairs and found Tom still sitting in the kitchen. He looked up at her cautiously as if trying to read her emotions. She gave him a small smile. “I’m going to watch television. Want to join me?” “If you don’t mind I have a few errands to run. I should be gone a couple of hours.” He searched her face. “I’d understand if you wanted to leave me…this. I don’t blame you. My baggage is too much for most women to deal with.” Emma stepped to the table and pulled Tom up. She wrapped her arms around his waist and said, “I don’t want to leave you. I love you.” He pulled her face up and she saw relief flickered across his features. “Is there anything I can get you while I’m out?” he asked. “No thanks.” Emma saw a vulnerable look in Tom’s eyes. She knew he wondered if his ex-wife and his daughter would put a wedge between them. Looking at his handsome face gave Emma her resolve. She’d fight for this man. Forget them. She’d do whatever it took to keep Tom in her life. Her decision was made. The fight was on.
***** Emma watched The Battle of the Bulge, a World War II movie. She wanted to learn what happened after she’d left 1944. This one was about the Allied Armies getting ready to invade Germany in 1944. Emma watched an actor named Henry Fonda try to convince the others that the Nazis were up to one last large offensive maneuver. But her mind wandered with thoughts of this morning’s two encounters with Tom’s relatives and the purchase of her car. The encounter with both women troubled her, but the one with Beth told her more. Distracted, she turned off the movie and went out to her car to sit in it, smell it, feel it. She could go anywhere she wanted now without having to ask someone to take her on errands or wait for a cab.
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Back in the family room she drifted into sleep. Having just entered the state between wakefulness and sleep, Emma’s mind clicked on. The battles on TV registered in her subconscious. Tom’s startled, angry reaction to her sewing the name patch on the uniform that hung in the closet floated to the front of her mind. She thought of his forbidding her to enter the room. She pictured the article on the missing pilot that fell out of the scrapbook. And the name. Thomas Wellington. Tom’s scent. The same scent that she found on the uniform. Emma bolted upright, her heart hammering in her chest. How come she hadn’t seen it before? Thomas Wells. Thomas Wellington. Emma jumped up and paced the family room, the television forgotten. My God. It wasn’t Tom’s uncle who was the missing pilot from 1944. It was Tom!
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Chapter Fifteen What should she do with this information? She knew Tom wouldn’t tell her his secret. No wonder he’d been so nice when he helped her on the airplane. And no wonder he’d looked so shocked when she’d told him she lived in 1944. He had too. But how had he arrived in this century? And when had he arrived? Emma paced downstairs in the family room. How many other people had been displaced in time? It could have happened to hundreds. Thousands. It obviously wasn’t a fluke. She thought back to her Bermuda Triangle and the Marysburg Vortex research. Did vortices have anything to do with her displacement? In all cases, the missing airplanes or vessels had been near vortices, static electricity and multi-colored lights. But had anyone seen a circular rainbow? With her mind whirling like one of those vortices, Emma flopped onto the sofa. What a revelation. Tom. An Army Air Forces pilot on a secret mission for the OSS. Curiosity caused her to wonder what had happened on that fateful mission. What had gone so terribly wrong. What family had Tom left behind in 1944? Just as she thought this, the kitchen door opened and Tom entered. Emma peered at him. What a handsome man. Tall, a full head of thick, silver-blonde hair. Gorgeous creases framed each side of his face and that deep cleft in his square chin had her wanting to kiss it, stroke it. She sighed. A true man’s man. Every woman’s dream. “Hey, honey.” Tom shook like a dog to get the snow off his hair. He yelped a little when some of it went down his shirt collar before he could wipe it away. “Boy. It’s starting to really come down. We might be in for a blizzard.” He hung up his coat then returned to the garage to get the packages he’d bought out of the car. Emma helped him carry in the grocery bags and a few other things he’d bought from the local hardware store. When all of the bags were placed on the kitchen counter, she turned and placed her hands on either side of his face. She watched his eyes become wary, felt him stiffen. Emma stroked that cleft chin and then kissed him passionately on his perfect lips. She felt Tom’s rigid posture soften. As the kiss intensified, he pulled her to him with a groan of relief. “I’d love to be trapped here with you,” she said. She stroked his handsome face then kissed his nose. “The events of today have only fortified me. You’ve helped me through a disorienting time in my life. I’ll stay with you through your difficulties.” “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He hugged her tightly. “Thank you.” He patted her on her rear. “Now, woman, get the groceries. I bought steaks. While I’m getting the other stuff put away, you will start the double chocolate brownies.”
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“Well I never! I thought that women were equal in this century.” She humphed and stomped to the pantry to get out her ingredients. “And besides, I’m noted for my chocolate chip cookies where I come from, not brownies.” Smiling, she sorted through the pantry, yanking items out and throwing them at Tom to catch. When she first threw the bag of chocolate chip morsels, Tom almost missed catching it. Then he caught on as she tossed him the container of sugar, the tin of chocolate powder, baking powder, the jar of vanilla and the rest of the ingredients. Tom barely had time to place them on the counter before the next item flew in his direction. “You ought to be a pitcher for the Chicago Cubs.” He laughed. “They could use the help.” The mood had lightened up enough for Emma to put her thoughts away for a while. In time she’d ask Tom about his past. Maybe, in time he’d just tell her.
***** “Are you ready for your trip tomorrow?” Emma asked Tom during dinner. “Yes.” Tom sighed. “But I’m thinking of calling in sick. I’m worried about leaving you alone now that my ex-wife and daughter have shown you how much they love you.” “Take your trip, Tom. Don’t let them know they’re getting to you. I’ll be fine.” Tom searched Emma’s face. “I know you’re brave, Emma. But those two women together can cause you serious harm.” Changing the subject, Emma asked, “Where are you going on this trip?” “Back to LA. I have the same run all month.” “Would you do me a big favor?” “Sure, honey.” Emma wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “Would you go and see if my house is still standing? I lived in a suburb called Culver City. It’s where the film studios were.” Emma had been looking down at her now empty plate and didn’t see Tom’s startled reaction to her innocent question. “I wonder if the studios are still there.” Tom’s head snapped up at her question. “Yes, they are. All you have to do is watch the credits at the end of TV shows. They say at which studio the show was filmed.” He hesitated, fiddling with his fork. “Just give me your old address and I’ll look up your house. Why do you want to know if it’s still there?” “Oh I don’t know.” Emma stared at the window over the sink. The closed white half-shutters blocked out any view of the backyard. But she could see the snow silently falling past the soft yellow light that lit the porch. “I guess I just want to know that a small part of my past is still there. When you mention Los Angeles, I feel homesick. I wish I could go with you. I’d like to see LA in the future. I mean now, the present.”
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“One day I’ll take you on a trip with me. Soon.” He got up from the table and cleared the dishes. “I hope you’re not too homesick. I mean…I’d like you to start feeling at home here. With me.” “I do feel at home here, Tom. More than you know.” “Come on upstairs and help me finish packing.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her up the stairs. Emma laughed and gladly followed. Inside his bedroom he lugged the suitcase out of the closet and dumped it on the bed. “I keep it partially packed. That way all I have to do is take out the dirty laundry and put in new clothes. I have two complete shaving kits, hair dryers, brushes and other stuff.” Emma watched Tom as he folded a starched, white uniform shirt, a dark blue tie— in case he spilled anything on the one he’d be wearing—black socks and white cotton briefs. He laid the items on his bed then turned toward his oak chest of drawers. She saw a piece of paper sticking out of a tennis shoe that lay on its side in the suitcase. Wondering what it was, she pulled the folded sheet out and glanced at it. Anger raced through Emma. “What’s this?” Tom turned. “It’s a list.” Emma stood there, red-faced, lips drawn in a tight line. Her eyes sparked. “Yes, I see. It says here… 1. Check past records for home ownership listings. 2. Find old employee records from Douglas Aircraft Company. 3. Look up listings for war secretaries, 1944. 4. Ask Virgil to check on rebuilt machine—where? When? 5. Anyone left from mission?” She spat out each word. “You’ve been checking up on me. Why? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you believed me.” Emma threw the list down on the bed. She sank to the mattress and slumped, dejected. Then she jumped up. Her back rigid she said, “Forget it. You don’t have to answer any of those questions. I know where I stand now. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to drive to the library tomorrow, then maybe do a little window shopping at the mall.” Before Tom could answer she left the room. “Well, just great.” Tom picked up the list and looked at it. “I ought to just tell her what’s going on, where I’m from,” he mumbled as he threw some of his clothes into his suitcase. “It’s time, isn’t it?” Tom walked into the bathroom. As he picked up his shave kit he looked into the mirror. “What’s keeping me back?” he asked his reflection. “Trust? Do I need more time to trust her?” Tom finished his packing. Too bad if his shirts got wrinkled.
***** Emma said a stiff goodbye to Tom the next morning. Once again she’d slept in the guest room. She’d lain awake most of the night, angry with Tom. Just when she thought he believed her, she found a list that proved he was still checking out her story. Well, obviously it was much too soon for blind trust.
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She grabbed her overcoat, her keys and her purse. Emma made sure her new fake driver’s license was snug inside her wallet and went out into the chilly car. The snow had stopped in the early morning hours. Around six in the morning she’d heard the snow plows scraping along, clearing the road in front of the house. The weather channel—odd that there was a channel strictly for weather—told her that it would be a freezing three degrees outside. They assured her that it would be crystal clear, with cobalt-blue skies though. It was both. Freezing and clear. Shuddering in her wool coat, Emma realized that no human should be out in this treacherous weather. Who in their right mind would live like this? Longing for the moderate climate of Los Angeles, Emma became angrier with Tom. He could leave this miserable climate and go to sunny, tropical California. She had to stay. Lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t see the black sedan idling across the street. It sat a few houses down, unobtrusively waiting. She got into her car and turned the key in the ignition. Reaching for the heat control, Emma turned it to full warm and full fan. Hurry up and warm this car, she thought. Once the engine had warmed enough, Emma backed out of the driveway. She figured it would be too early for either the mall or the library, so Emma decided to drive around and get more familiar with the neighborhood. The clock on the dash read seven thirty.
***** The streets were clear, the sky blue and the houses sparkled under a fresh blanket of pure white snow. As Emma drove she noticed that the snow looked like crystallized quartz. The evergreen bushes and trees glittered in the early morning sunlight. She gasped when she breathed in deeply. The cold, crisp air hurt her lungs. A fresh start. That’s what she needed, a fresh start. Her anger at Tom started to drain away. Driving her new car gave her the freedom to process her time displacement. One moment she’d been living her normal, mundane life in 1944 and the next she was hurtling through the sky at thirty thousand feet in a futuristic airplane that carried over one hundred twenty-five people. In the midst of that, she’d met a charismatic, tall and ruggedly handsome mystery man who sent shivers up and down her spine one moment, then heat running through her the next. A man completely the opposite of her husband. James. Poor James. Now Emma realized how bad her marriage had been. Thirty years with the man and not once—after the wedding—had he said he loved her. When had he changed? Suddenly it occurred to Emma that James had been mysterious too. He’d never talked about his trips to Europe and after trying for a couple of years, Emma had stopped asking. He even hid his briefcase from her after she’d found it lying open one time. They’d never associated with people from Douglas Aircraft Company, even though they got invitations to attend Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties.
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Emma drove around Schaumburg and then entered Hoffman Estates. She drove through the town, seeing the usual gas stations, video stores and small shopping centers. It shocked Emma to see that gasoline was $3.03 a gallon. In 1944 it’d only been 21 cents. She continued through Roselle and ended up near Chicago O’Hare Airport. Emma drove around the airport, found an open spot off the road and parked. With warm air circulating, Emma let her thoughts drift. Soon a mammoth airplane lumbered down the runway. Emma held her breath as it slowly lifted up off the ground, afraid that it wouldn’t make it. Fascinated, she watched the beauty and splendor of the double decked airplane lift into the sky. A hump rose over the front third of the plane and windows dotted the top and all along the main floor. Four engines screamed a high-pitched whine as United Airlines took off. What kind of monster jet was that? How many people were onboard? Where was it going? Emma wished she could be up there, winging away from her worries. Emma jumped and her heart pounded when she heard a furious pounding. For a moment she didn’t know where it came from and thought something had happened to the jet. Then her door was yanked open and strong arms roughly hauled her out of the car. She was shoved up against the driver’s side door as a tall, mean, ruthless man with military-short hair and strange black eyes leaned into her face and said, “Tell me where the plans are.” “What plans?” Emma’s hands dangled by her side. The man had her shoved so close to the car door that the handle dug into her spine. “Don’t play stupid with me.” The man shook her. “The plans Wellington took. You know where they are.” “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man slapped Emma’s face. “That’s just the beginning, lady. The longer you hold out the rougher I get.” Emma felt her legs weaken. If the man hadn’t been holding her so tightly she would have fallen to the ground. She looked in his obsidian eyes but could see no expression. “Really. I don’t know anything about any plans. I’m telling the truth.” “Lady, don’t try my patience.” He punched her in her stomach. The breath flew out of Emma as she folded over like a rag doll. Tears bubbled out of her eyes and gasping for air she said, “Don’t hurt me anymore. Please…” As his hand reached up to slap her again, Emma saw something on the inside of his wrist that shocked her. A swastika.
***** The strange connection Tom had with Emma screamed at him. Something was wrong, he knew it. Tom had just checked in to Operations when his internal radar started hammering at him. His skin prickled, his scalp itched. He even felt his hands
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shake. He realized it was a similar feeling from when he’d worked for the OSS. Trust your instincts, he thought. They’d saved his life more times than he could count. Tom walked up to Gene, the crew scheduler who sat behind a desk working the phone. Gene’s job was to make sure the flights were staffed with pilots and that each flight left the gate on time. If a pilot called in sick, Gene had to find another one to take his place. Hopefully, the sick pilot would give him enough time to make it work. This time it wasn’t going to be that way. “Gene. I need a huge favor.” He looked up after he’d just put the cordless phone on his desk. Distracted, Gene ran his hand over his bald head. He glanced up and asked, “What’s on your mind, Wells?” “I’ve got to get off this trip.” “What? Now?” Gene said in exasperation. “For God’s sake, it’s one hour to departure!” “Yes. Now.” Tom leaned forward on Gene’s desk and pinned the heavyset man with his eyes. “I just found out there’s an emergency at home.” “I don’t have a standby.” Tom knew that flight attendants had reserves sitting at the airport for just this problem, but pilots didn’t. “It’s serious. I’m using a personal day off. I know it’ll go against me, but I need to. Right now. Sorry, buddy. I owe you for this.” Tom turned and headed for the Chief Pilot’s office. Ray Thornton sat behind his desk and glared into space. He held a black cordless phone to his ear. “No. I told you that I won’t pull the co-pilot off that trip at the last minute. I don’t care what the flight attendant says. I know for a fact that they had a falling out and I will not let it jeopardize the status of that flight. Tell her to deal with it outside of work.” Thornton slammed down the phone. “What, Wells?” “I’m pulling a PO. Right now. I have an emergency at home and won’t be taking my trip.” Thornton slammed both of his hands on his desk as he stood up and glared at Tom. “Personal Offs are for serious, last-minute emergencies. You have one of those?” Tom stared him right in the eyes. “I do. Sorry. I’ve gotta go.” He turned and strode out of the office. As he left, Tom heard Ray shout, “Shit!” and slam some binders on his desk. Tom raced back to his truck in the employee parking lot. The bus that took the employees from the terminal to the lot was late. “Figures,” he raged to himself. When he finally got to his truck, he revved his engine and shot out of the lot as if he were on fire. Well, he was. Gravel spewed from behind his rear tires. In the short time from entering Ops until now, his screaming instincts had only gotten worse. Emma. She needed him. He knew he shouldn’t have left her this morning. Why hadn’t he listened to those instincts then? Because he’d felt they needed some time apart. She needed to get over her anger with him about the list and he needed to learn
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to accept that she was part of his life and in danger because of it. Plus, he loved her. Who left the woman they loved in danger?
***** “I’ll do more than hurt you, I’ll kill you,” the man said. “Are you a Nazi?” Emma gasped, still trying to catch her breath. The man glanced at the inside of his wrist. “It’s none of your business. But I will tell you, the Fourth Reich is alive and well. Now you tell me…where are the blueprints?” Fourth Reich? Emma didn’t answer. How could she? She looked into those expressionless black eyes, saw the hair cut almost to his scalp and knew she was going to die. Oh Tom. I’m sorry. I love you. “I don’t know.” Before she finished talking, the man reached back with his fisted hand and hit her on her temple. Emma crumpled to the ground next to her car.
***** The employee parking lot was around the back of the airport. Tom flew down the nearly empty roads, rushing to get home to Emma. Along this stretch of road people would park to watch the airplanes take off. At first Tom didn’t see any of it. But as he approached a small turnout he noticed two cars parked off to the side. One was a blue Ford Escape just like Emma’s. The other was a black BMW with dark tinted windows. He saw a skinhead-type man jump in the car and race away, leaving a trail of dust and dirt behind him. That bothered him. Why would the man leave in such a hurry? Then his mind registered the crumpled form lying on the ground next to the Escape. Oh my God! Emma? Tom passed the car and the body. Looking both ways, he made an illegal U-turn. Then he crossed the street to the dirt patch. He’d barely stopped the truck before he jumped out, shouting, “Emma!” He bent down and felt for a pulse. Faint, but regular. Slowly, Tom turned her over, being careful not to injure her any more than she already was. He gasped when he saw the bluish-black bruises on her temple, the red marks of someone’s fingers where she’d been slapped. Her other bruises had just started to fade. Tom reached for the cell phone at his waist and dialed 9-1-1. Who would do this? “Emma? Darling? Can you hear me?” No answer. Impatiently Tom waited for the paramedics. What took them so long? Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was only minutes, he heard the sirens. The ambulance came screaming up and stopped. Two paramedics rushed out of the vehicle. “Stand aside. Let us look at the lady.” They bent down and checked for a pulse then slapped an oxygen mask over Emma’s nose and mouth. They felt for fractured bones, took her blood pressure and checked her other vital signs.
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“You know this woman?” one medic asked Tom. “Yes. She’s my girlfriend. Is she going to be okay?” “We’re taking her to Alexian Brothers Medical Center in Elk Grove. They’ll have more information for you after they check her out.” As the paramedics lifted Emma to the gurney she groaned. Her eyelids flickered open. Emma looked confused for a minute then she saw Tom. “Tom?” “Emma, darling. I’m here.” Tom’s heart hammered in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. “You’ll be fine. The paramedics are taking you to a hospital. I’ll be right behind them.” “Tom,” she closed her eyes for a moment then they flew open. “He hit me, punched me.” Tears slid from the corners of her eyes. “Who, honey?” “The man with the swastika.”
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Chapter Sixteen Tom followed the ambulance to the hospital, gritting his teeth the whole way. He was furious at himself for leaving Emma. He ripped off his epaulettes one-handed, while he kept the other on the steering wheel. The man with the swastika, she’d said. Well, now Tom knew that Hitler’s followers had followed him into the twenty-first century. Those guys will never give up, Tom thought in disgust. Generations and generations of warped, twisted men continued to swarm out of the woodwork like ants. Too bad he couldn’t spray ant poison and kill them all. The ambulance pulled up to the emergency doors and the paramedics unloaded Emma. Tom screeched into the nearest parking space, almost leaving a ding in the door of the car next to him. He rushed up to Emma as she was hustled into the hospital. “Emma.” Tom looked at the darkening blotches on her lovely face. Anger simmered in him. His hands curled into fists. She turned her head and looked at Tom. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.” “Oh honey. I’m not upset with you. I’m angry at the guy who did this to you.” Tom leaned down and kissed Emma on her forehead. He skipped a couple of steps to keep up with the paramedics. “Coming through,” one of the paramedics yelled. The automatic doors opened inward to let the gurney through. Tom stepped back so he could follow Emma into the emergency room. A nurse rushed up to Emma and the paramedics. She asked a few brief questions then told the paramedics to take Emma to room number three. As Emma was wheeled away, the nurse turned to Tom. “Are you a relative, sir?” “No. I’m her boyfriend. She has no one else—Hazel.” Tom read her name tag. The nurse looked shocked. “No one?” Tom stared at the gray-haired, heavyset woman. “Well, then,” she said after the uncomfortably long pause, “You’ll have to do. I need some forms filled out. Does she have insurance?” “No. I’ll pay.” Hazel raised her eyebrows at Tom. “Boy, she must mean a lot to you,” she muttered. “Here, fill these out.” The nurse handed a packet of papers that were clipped onto a board to Tom. “The waiting room is across the hall.” Tom followed her jiggling, pointing arm and went into the waiting room.
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He filled out the forms and handed them back to crusty old Hazel. One hour passed and Tom lost patience. Just as Tom left to speak to Hazel the doctor came in to the room. “Mr. Wells? I’m Dr. Cohen.” The man stuck out his hand. Average height, brown hair liberally sprinkled with white, kind and gentle brown eyes looked out of a round face. A true healer. Tom shook the doctor’s hand and said, “Well? How’s Emma?” “She’ll be fine in a few days. She has a badly bruised face from being hit in the temple by a fist and she said she was slapped twice.” Tom winced. “She also has three bruised ribs from where the attacker punched her in the stomach. Those will give her the most trouble.” Tom unconsciously placed his hand on his stomach. “What happened to her before? The other bruises?” Tom saw the look of concern and suspicion on the doctor’s face. He sucked in a breath and said, “She was attacked when a man broke into my home a few days ago.” He saw the doctor jerk. “You can check with the police, a report’s on file.” Shaking his head, the doctor said, “Maybe you ought to take better care of her.” Tom didn’t like this man’s criticism. “I’m doing the best I can. You have no right to judge me.” “You’re right,” Dr. Cohen said. “I just hate seeing anyone suffer.” “Can she go home?” Tom wanted her out of this hospital, home with him. “We’re keeping her overnight for observation. Since she’s been knocked unconscious, we want to make sure she has no serious concussion. We gave her a mild sedative, so if you’d like to see her now, I recommend it. When the drug takes effect, she’ll be out for a while.” “Lead the way, Doctor.” They entered the semi-private room. There wasn’t anyone in the other bed. Tom strode up to Emma. Her eyes were closed. Her face was pale, causing the bruising to stand out against the white skin. “Sweetheart,” Tom whispered as he leaned over and kissed her. Emma opened her eyes. Tom saw the drug taking effect. She could barely keep her eyes open. “Tom.” “I’m here. You rest now. The doctor says you’ll be fine.” “The man—” “Don’t worry about him now, honey.” Tom laced his fingers through hers. “You just concentrate on getting better.” “He said something about the plans—” “Emma. Sleep.” “No, it’s important.” She said weakly. “He wanted the plans that Wellington had.”
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Tom flinched like he’d been punched in his stomach. “I told him I didn’t know of any plans.” Emma fought to finish what she wanted to say. “I don’t think he believed me.” Her eyelids drifted shut. Tom knew that she’d fallen under the spell of the sedative. He leaned over and kissed her lips. Then he whispered, “Don’t worry, honey. That man will never bother you again. I promise.”
***** “Virgil, it’s me, Wells.” “What’s up, Tom?” “They struck Emma. A goon waylaid her and beat her up.” Tom ran his hands through his already mussed hair. “She told me that the attacker asked her where the plans were that Wellington had. When she couldn’t answer, he slapped her and beat her.” “Is she all right?” Virgil asked. “She’s in the hospital with three bruised ribs and a swollen, black-and-blue face. But the doctor says she’ll be fine, in time.” “Then we have to move up the schedule, Tom.” “I can’t leave Emma for a few days. Hell. I don’t want to leave her at all.” “Have you told her?” “No.” “Tell her, Tom. It’s time.” “You’re right, Virgil. I’ve waited too long as it is. At least she’ll understand the displacement.” “Are you going to tell her about her husband?” “No. That can wait. I hope I’m not making a mistake in that department. I’ve already endangered Emma enough by waiting to tell her about my long-ago trip. She might not have gone out driving if I’d told her sooner.” “Okay, Wells. I’ll make a few calls. Where are you right now?” “I’m on the way home from the hospital. I need a shower and a change of clothes. Can you send someone to get Emma’s car and drive it home?” “Consider it done. Get some rest, Tom. You’re no good to anybody, especially Emma, if you’re exhausted. Those are orders.” “Yes, boss.”
***** A few hours of sleep and a steaming hot shower revived Tom. He grabbed a quick breakfast of cereal and packed a nightgown and some clothes for Emma. Tom rushed
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out of the house. As he backed out of the garage he didn’t see his ex-wife’s car idling across the street. He started to drive down the street when Stephanie zoomed in front of him and blocked his progress. Tom jammed on the brakes. “What are you doing, Stephanie?” Anger radiated in his voice. “I want to talk to you.” “I’m in a hurry. I don’t have time right now. Move the car.” Another car had come up behind Tom and honked his horn. Stephanie looked at his blocked car and cocked an eyebrow. “Looks like you’re not going anywhere for the moment.” “Hurry up.” Tom heaved an angry sigh. “What do you want?” “What’s the hurry, Tom? Got a hot date with the little woman?” Ignoring Stephanie’s snide comment, Tom waited. He crossed his arms and stared at her. The car behind him honked again and the driver yelled out his window for Tom to move. Long ago, Tom had learned that silence was the quickest way to get Stephanie to talk and therefore out of his life. “I want the money for Beth.” “No.” “You can buy the witch a car but not give your own daughter some much needed money?” “Yes.” Tom ignored the witch comment. “You’re different,” Stephanie said. “More impatient. More—hard.” Tom grinned at that thought. “What? What did I say that was so funny?” “Only one part of me gets hard, Stephanie. And not for you.” Tom laughed. “I know you hate being left out of my life, even though you never wanted to be in it in the first place. Now that Emma’s here, you’re trying to assert first-wife’s rights. But you gave those up years ago. No money.” “Why not?” “Because it’s frivolous, wasteful spending. Beth has enough clothes. She’s already spoiled. End of discussion.” Tom got into the car. The driver of the car behind him yelled an obscenity, backed up, turned around and drove away. Tom gave Stephanie an arch look then backed the car down the street to the other end. Without looking back he raced to the hospital.
***** Tom entered Emma’s room just as she woke up. “Hi, sweetheart.” He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. Then he turned it over and linked his long, strong fingers through hers. “How’re you feeling today?” Emma’s face had bruised more and now the 126
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black and blue colors were interspersed with green and some yellow. She looked terrible. “I’m not sure yet.” She shifted on the bed trying to reach for the pitcher of water. “Can you reach the control to raise the bed?” Tom grabbed the remote and pushed the button. When Emma nodded he stopped. “The doctor says you can go home today.” A moment of fear crossed Emma’s bloated features. “Are you afraid to go home?” He stroked her other hand and squeezed their linked hands for support. “Yes. A little. That man—” “Will never bother you again. I promise.” A nurse entered the room. “Good morning, Mrs. McDaniel. How are we feeling today?” Emma winced. She hated the “we” that the nurse had said. “I’m very sore. And my face feels like a balloon.” The nurse laughed. “Well, that’ll go down soon and you’ll have all the men after you again.” “Not on your life,” Tom said. “She’s mine. You tell all those other guys to go away.” He smiled his devastatingly crooked smile at Emma. The nurse looked between the two, nodded and left saying, “I’ll get the doctor to sign your release papers.” “I’ll protect you, honey. I’m taking a leave. The airline will do fine without me until this is resolved.” “Thank you, Tom. I’d like that.” “When we get home, I’ll plump up your pillows, bring you hot, sweetened tea and we’ll talk about what happened.” “Okay.” Emma shifted again, but sucked in a sharp breath. “Darn ribs. They sure do hurt.” Tom leaned over and kissed Emma on her lips. He grinned. “What are you grinning at?” Emma asked. “Your lips.” Tom laughed. “What?” “I’ve decided that they’re the only place that’s safe for me to touch without hurting you.” He pretended to roll a cigar next to his mouth. “Be prepared for anything, honey,” he said in his best Groucho Marks imitation. Emma laughed, then sucked in a breath and grabbed her ribs. “Stop that. You’re bad for my health.” Gentle hands stroked soft, silky auburn hair away from Emma’s cheek and tucked it behind her ears. “I plan on changing that,” Tom said seriously.
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***** They arrived home at lunch time. Emma was exhausted. The short walk from the hospital to the car had left her gasping for breath. Tom carried her upstairs and deposited her in his bedroom. He plumped up the pillows, added a blanket to the top of the comforter and gathered her into his arms. “Time for a nap, Sleeping Beauty. I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep.” He rocked her like a baby. “Don’t leave me.” Tom’s heart pounded. Emma sounded so fragile and he knew she wasn’t a fragile person. “I won’t. I’m staying right here. Now go to sleep.” He stroked her forehead, trying to ease the pain lines from her. Soon Emma relaxed and fell asleep. Downstairs Tom paced. He made sandwiches for himself and Emma then covered them with plastic wrap and put them in the refrigerator until she awoke. After a few more useless minutes pacing, he went into the office to research the neo-Nazi movement in the Pacific Northwest. “Hi.” Tom jumped. He swiveled around and saw her standing there, tall and straight, battered and bruised. Tom walked over to Emma. “You are some woman.” With shaking hands, he traced her mouth then leaned in to kiss her. “If I hadn’t loved you before, I would have fallen hard right now. “It’s time. We need to talk. Come and sit with me on the sofa.” Tom led her to the family room and placed a down throw blanket over Emma’s lap. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out the turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches. Handing a plate to Emma, he placed his on the coffee table then went back to get them beverages. Tom brewed a pot of orange-spice tea, poured two mugs and added sugar to Emma’s cup. Once he’d brought the two mugs, he settled himself next to Emma. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Emma watched Tom out of the corner of her eyes and saw him glance uncertainly at her. The connection between them twanged. Once the sandwiches were finished, Tom spoke. “First I’m going to apologize to you. I put you in danger. I take full responsibility and I want you to know how devastated I feel.” Tom sighed. “Emma, I love you. I never wanted you to get hurt. Do you believe me?” “I do.” For a minute Tom’s brain fuzzed. The low, sexy way she’d said “I do” had sounded like the answer in a wedding ceremony. He pushed that thought aside. “I’ve been keeping secrets from you. I think you already suspect what I’m going to tell you, but I kept it from you thinking I was protecting you.” Tom raked his fingers through his hair, leaving golden strands sticking up. “Remember when we first met how shocked I looked when you told me that you lived in 1944?” “Yes.” 128
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“I’m having a hard time saying this. I’ve kept this secret for thirty years.” “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Emma offered. “Okay. I was born in 1924, right here in Chicago. When I turned eighteen, in 1942, I joined the Army Air Forces. They taught me how to fly and I took to it like a duck to water.” Tom looked to see if Emma showed any signs of shock. She didn’t. He took a deep breath and continued. “Once the United States entered the war they started the OSS or the Office of Strategic Services. The OSS secretly recruited from the Army Air Forces. I was one of those recruits.” Emma placed a hand on Tom’s arm. “It is your uniform hanging in the closet.” “Yes.” “It smelled like you.” “I wondered if you’d figured it out.” He looked sheepish. “Over the years I’d try it on, usually during a wave of depression when I felt sorry for myself.” “Go on.” Emma hooked her arm through Tom’s and gave it a quick squeeze. “I know this talk is difficult for you.” Tom coughed to clear his dry throat. He drank a sip of the now cooling tea. “Well, in 1944 I was sent on a secret mission to Germany. Hamburg. The one in the article you found in the scrapbook. The OSS found out that the Nazi pilots that flew into the vortices they created ended up in a different time.” Emma’s head snapped up at that. So there was something to her theory that the weather had caused her time displacement. “My mission was to steal the blueprints to their machine.” “Oh my God!” Emma jumped up, forgetting her sore ribs. She immediately sucked in a breath and bent over at the waist. The blood drained from her face. Tom hopped up to help her, but she waved him away and sat down. “You still have them.” “Honey, are you all right?” “Yes,” she said, though it came out muffled. After a minute she raised her head and looked at Tom. “Sorry.” He grinned. “Ready to hear more?” “You bet. Give me the punch line.” Emma smiled. What a woman, he thought again. “Well, the mission went well—at first. My copilot and I got the blueprints.” A darkening marred Tom’s visage. “George, that was my co-pilot, and I had a tussle at the factory where the plans were kept. We had to kill two of the Nazis and wound another. A fourth man got away.” Tom stared into the past. “We got back to our camouflaged C-47, that’s the military version of a DC-3, and took off. Just as we started to cross the North Sea, we felt a strange vibration throughout the plane. The instruments didn’t register anything, but when I looked out the window there were strange swirling clouds, like a horizontal tornado and sparkling, multicolored lights. The strangest effect of all was a completely circular rainbow around the nose of the airplane.” Tom balled his hands into fists. “George and I fought the 129
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controls. We thought we’d beaten the vortex when a German Messerschmitt flew right at us, spraying bullets. George was hit.” Emma pulled both of Tom’s hands into hers and held on. “Before George died, he told me to get the plans out and to tell his wife and children how much he loved them.” Tears fell from Tom’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I know you did everything you could.” Wiping his face, Tom said, “He also told me to tell them he was sorry. Sorry that he couldn’t be there to see his kids grow up. Sorry that he had to leave them behind.” Emma cried too. “He knew he was dying. I can’t imagine the agony of knowing and not being able to say goodbye.” She sniffed a few times. “I struggled as hard as I could, but I couldn’t keep the plane from entering the wide end of the vortex. The rainbow was the entrance. I’d been told that the OSS suspected that once you left the tail end, you were in another time.” “So that’s what happened to you,” Emma said. “And me. I too saw a circular rainbow. I entered the vortex in 1944 and flew out the tail into 2006.” “George and I had trained for just that possibility. We were told that no matter what, if we saw a vortex and started to get caught in it, we were to immediately fly left or right to get out of it. But I couldn’t do it. The winds were too strong. The magnetic pull even stronger. Without George’s help, I entered the vortex and flew right out the tail end.” Emma wiped tears from her face. “At one point I passed out. When I woke up, the plane was hurtling through the atmosphere toward the ground. The sky had become a clear blue. I regained control of the airplane just in time. The countryside looked unfamiliar, so I looked for a safe place to land. I spotted an open field and headed in that direction. I landed the airplane safely but passed out again from exhaustion. When I woke up it was 1974.”
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Chapter Seventeen Emma watched Tom’s face as he told his story. Despair, anger and pain at losing George told of the depth of emotion that Tom still felt. Thirty years ago. Tom was only twenty when that happened. Just a boy. Tracks from her tears ran down her face, her black and blue eyes were red-rimmed. Tom looked at Emma. “So that’s my tale.” “Oh Tom.” Emma scooted over to hug him. “How devastated you must have been.” She searched his ravaged face. “What about your family?” Tom barked out an ironic laugh. “When I’d found my way back to the OSS—by 1974 they’d changed the name to the CIA—I found Virgil. He was shocked to see me still twenty years old even though he knew about the time displacement machine. I asked him what he’d told my father.” Tom rubbed his face. “I had been officially declared missing in action. I’m sure my dad grieved for me for the rest of his life. “You didn’t think of trying to find him and explain?” Emma asked. “He’d died by then.” Tom buried his head in his hands. “My father…well, he was kind of gruff. But underneath he was a marshmallow. I loved him so much. I still miss him. And I feel guilty for having put him through a lifetime of uncertainty.” Tears trickled down Emma’s cheeks. “I’ve never known that kind of family love. And loss. Well, we’re a pair, aren’t we?” Tom barely cracked a smile. “Yeah. Two lost souls, displaced out of time.” He turned to Emma and lifted her onto his lap. “Hey! Do you realize I’m really eighty-two and you’re one hundred and twelve years old?” He laughed. Then his face turned serious. “I need you right now,” he said softly, intently. “I need to feel the closeness we have, that strange connection. You’re my anchor, Emma.”
***** The kiss started out gently. But it raged into a desperate passion. Emma winced, but wound her arms around Tom’s head, cradling him like a baby. There was nothing babylike in the kisses she rained on his face. Frantic tongues met and wildly tasted each other. She groaned when Tom plucked an erect nipple. A loud pounding startled them apart. Tom almost dropped Emma on the floor. It sounded like two fists pummeling the front door. Tom got up and strode to the door. He looked through the peephole. “Oh great. It’s Stephanie.”
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“Open this door!” she screamed. “Open it now or I’ll have the whole neighborhood in the street to witness this.” Tom looked at Emma. She now sat on the sofa with the comforter wrapped around her. From this distance, her swollen and bruised face made her look like a raccoon. “I’m sorry, honey.” He opened the door. “What?” Tom stood squarely in the opening. “Whatever you want you can just say it on the front porch.” Stephanie waved a letter in Tom’s face. “You son of a—” Her lips were drawn back in a snarl. Her face looked white, with red spots darkening her cheeks. “You cut me off! Who do you think you are?” Calmly, Tom let Stephanie rant. When she’d sputtered to a stop he said, “Yes. The free ride has ended. You and Beth are too spoiled.” Tom heaved a sigh. “I think twentyeight years of spousal support is more than enough. Get a job.” And he slammed the door in her face. When Emma had heard what Tom had done, she smiled. “Finally. You cut the ties to a past that kept dragging you down. I wonder what Beth will say.” Emma rose to meet Tom in the hallway. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. A brief flare of passion leapt between them and she saw Tom’s eyes glitter with suppressed desire and promise. “I’m so proud of you.” She stroked his strong face. “Why did you do that? You’ll not hear the end of it, you know.” “Emma, when Beth came to me demanding ten thousand dollars for clothes, I’d had it. The only time she ever called me or came over was when she wanted money. No birthday calls or cards, no Sunday chats. She’s thirty years old. It’s time for her to get out from under Daddy’s thumb and earn her own life.” Tom walked into the kitchen. He fiddled with making a pot of coffee. “I should have done this ten years ago.” “What will be the legal ramifications?” Emma went to the counter and grabbed the coffee canister. At least these were similar to the ones in 1944. She handed it to Tom. “None. My attorney thinks I gave more than I should have. He said any judge who sees that I gave twenty-eight years of alimony will just shake his or her head and tell Stephanie to get a life.” He turned and looked at Emma. “You taught me to love again. To need. I don’t want this part of my past hanging over me every day for the rest of my life. The other part needs to be resolved too, but that’ll take more time.” The coffeemaker gurgled as it brewed. The aroma wafted through the kitchen, surrounding Emma and Tom in a homey, family setting. Once it’d finished brewing, Tom poured them each a cup, adding whole milk and sugar to Emma’s. She grinned at Tom. “Thanks for the cup. It seems you already have my habits memorized.” “Not just those habits, lady,” he leered. He ran a hand over her auburn hair. “If only you could see how the late afternoon sunlight highlights the red strands in your hair. It’s beautiful.”
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Emma laughed then sucked in a breath. For a moment she’d forgotten her sore ribs. When Tom had stroked her hair, she’d also forgotten her swollen and battered face. “You make me feel beautiful.” Emma pictured the two of them, happily living out their lives together. They had a shared past, a shared experience. Yet the present was uncertain. Emma loved 2006 with its modern inventions. But she had noticed that with the new inventions came new mores. People thought nothing of talking on cell phones in restaurants, on buses and in cars. Emma considered that rude. Overall though, it was an easier world. Well, except for the current crisis in the Middle East. When Emma had read on the computer about September 11, 2001, she’d cried. Now here was another war. One that was so different in nature from the one she’d just left. She felt that World War II was a war you could understand. This one wasn’t. Emma shook herself out of her mental reverie. She found Tom staring at her with a quizzical look on his face. “You okay, honey?” “Yes. I just drifted away for a moment thinking about changes in the world.” Emma let out a soft sigh and sat down at the kitchen table. “I feel comfortable here. With you. I like today’s modern conveniences. I love remote controls.” Emma laughed. A deep rumble came out of Tom. “You are wonderful. And priceless.” He looked at his watch. Surprised, Tom found they’d been talking for three hours. He turned to the pantry. “Do you want to eat?” “Yes. Chinese food. I’m hooked. It’s all your fault.” “Then take-out it is. Don’t go anywhere…not that I’d let the public see you like this,” he grinned. “Someone would think I didn’t like you and they’d be wrong,” Tom said with a deep rasp. Then he kissed Emma, grabbed his heavy overcoat, a knit hat and his sheepskin-lined gloves. “I’ll bring back an assortment of delicacies.” He looked at her with a serious expression on his face. Don’t open the door to anyone. Not Stephanie, Beth or even an elderly man named Virgil Layton. If you see or hear anything suspicious, dial 9-1-1, the police. The authorities will come immediately. Got that?” Emma saluted Tom. “Got it, sir.” The tone was lighthearted, but her eyes showed the seriousness of the situation. “How long will it take to get the food?” “About thirty minutes. Woo Fong’s restaurant is close and it’ll only take as long as they need to cook it. I’ll be right back, honey.” Tom looked out the peephole and then through the curtains on either side of the front door. He didn’t see anyone lurking outside or any cars waiting, so he walked through the kitchen and into the garage. As he left, he said, “I’m going to lock this door to the garage. I don’t want anyone bursting in here while I back out.” With a wave, he closed the door, locked it and left.
*****
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The thirty minutes passed swiftly and Tom returned carrying a fragrant bag of small, white Chinese boxes. He placed them on the granite counter. Emma pulled plates from the cupboard and grabbed forks from the silverware drawer. She placed them on the table then helped Tom carry the six quart-sized boxes to the table. “Wow. You bought enough to feed a family of five!” Emma said while browsing through the boxes. “Umm…they smell delicious. Is this cashew chicken?” Tom piled a mound of kung pao chicken on his plate. “Yes. And there’s barbecue pork, sizzling scallops, shrimp in lobster sauce and fried rice with everything in it.” They loaded their plates and then dug in. Silence ensued for a few minutes. Emma thought about Tom’s revelation to her about his past. “Tom, what happened when you woke up in 1974?” He glanced up. “I know this isn’t easy for you to talk about.” “I’d landed the airplane in a field. The first thing I noticed was the time of day. The sun had risen and from its eastern position I figured it to be about nine in the morning. George’s body lay slumped in his co-pilot’s seat and my first thought was to find a place to bury him.” Tom placed his fork on the table. “I couldn’t do it. Burying George in a foreign land with no idea of where we were bothered me. I knew I wasn’t thinking properly, but I still couldn’t do it. I just stared at George, wishing that I could rewind the day twenty-four hours.” “You didn’t kill him.” Tom looked at Emma. “I know. But I could see his wife and two kids. I knew the grief they’d experience and, well, I just couldn’t move. I think I was paralyzed with depression for a moment.” Tom picked up his plate and scraped the uneaten portions back into the white containers. “I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there when I heard a rustling outside. Even though the airplane had landed safely, I’d hit some branches on the descent and the cockpit window on my side broke. I had no idea I’d been sitting amid broken glass, or that my face and left arm were scratched and bleeding.” Tom looked away, lost in the past. “Anyway…I heard this noise and reached for my gun. I turned with my pistol pointed out the window and saw a farmer striding into the field. He wore overalls. He didn’t seem afraid and I found that unusual. He looked puzzled. I watched the man scratch his head, look around the field, then stroll around the airplane.” As he talked, Tom folded up the tops to the cartons and placed them in the refrigerator. “I thought the man might be the enemy. He’d been carrying a rifle. But I saw him put it down on the ground, look at the airplane again, heave a long drawn out sigh and then step up on the wing.” Emma waited for Tom to continue. “The man was about forty-five or fifty. He struggled as he climbed up on the wing and when he reached the cockpit window he blanched. You see, I was pointing my pistol at his face.” Tom smiled. “He seemed like a friendly old guy and there wasn’t any 134
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indication of a threat, but I couldn’t be sure. The man put his hands up in the air like in an old Western movie and said, ‘I’m not here to hurt you, son. You’re already hurt enough by the way you look.’ The minute he’d started to speak I knew I was safe. He was British. Somehow, I’d landed in England.” “What happened next?” Emma asked. “I put down my pistol and told the man a version of the truth. I told him how I’d been on a secret mission and my co-pilot and I were shot down. We certainly had the bullet holes to prove it and of course George still lay in the right seat.” Emma took Tom’s hand. Once he’d finished clearing the table, he’d sat back down in the chair next to her. She rubbed the tops of his knuckles, hoping to give him silent support. “Didn’t he wonder what kind of a secret mission was being flown in 1974?” “I’m sure he did, but he didn’t ask. He looked at my clothing, my C-47 airplane with swastikas painted on its side for the number of kills I’d made and instead he asked me my name. I told him who I was and said that George was my co-pilot. He helped me out of the cockpit. I hadn’t realized that not only had I been cut from the shattered window but I’d also been shot in my right shoulder from a bullet that had entered from George’s side of the airplane. I’d never even felt it. Once outside, I collapsed on the ground. Finally the pain registered and I think I passed out. When I woke up, the farmer had gotten George out of the cockpit and laid him on the ground next to me. I looked at his still face and…I…I…cried.” Tom scrubbed his face with his hands. He looked at Emma. She saw the pain that ravaged his features as he spoke about his friend. “You loved George, didn’t you?” Tom nodded his head. “George was my best friend. Ever since we’d met in the Army Air Forces we’d bonded like brothers. His wife Cindy had been like a sister to me.” “Go on with what happened, please,” Emma said. Tom stood up. He looked around the kitchen as if he didn’t know where he was. Emma waited, then saw realization kick in. “Tom?” “Sorry. I’m getting a beer. Do you want one?” “Sure.” Emma knew Tom needed the liquid support. She figured that joining him would help him through his story. “Somehow the farmer and I got George back to the farmhouse. I don’t remember seeing it as I descended, but too much was happening in the cockpit for me to notice much anyway. He placed George in the barn and covered him. Then he said a prayer for his soul.” Tom’s voice cracked. He took a healthy swallow of his beer. “Then Sam, that’s the farmer, patched me up. He’d been a medic in the British military and had been discharged for a knee injury years before. His wife had died five years before that and they’d had no children so he moved out to this remote farm. Sam fed me then sent me to bed. I slept for twenty-four hours. When I awoke, the pain had
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lessened in my shoulder from the medicine Sam had given me and I knew I was in another time. I went in search of Sam to find out what year it was.” Emma patted Tom’s hand as she rose from the table. “Would you like another beer?” “Sure.” Emma noticed that Tom still looked slightly vacant. His eyes had a glazed look and he hadn’t moved from the table. She grabbed two more beers from the fridge then walked back to the table. She held out her hand to Tom. He took it and she helped him rise up from the table. They walked with their hands linked into the family room and sat on the couch. Neither one spoke. Once they had settled, Tom continued. “I found Sam in the barn. He was building a pine box for George. I knew he’d heard me come in, but he hadn’t turned around. ‘What year is this?’ I asked him. ‘1974. Why would you ask?’ Sam had replied. I looked at him for a long moment. Then I decided to trust him. ‘Because I just flew a mission for the OSS in 1944. Yesterday.’ Sam looked at me for a minute without saying anything. I got the feeling he was checking to see if I was nuts. He saw my Army Air Forces uniform, glanced at George’s uniform and knew I spoke the truth. When he nodded his acceptance, I told him about the vortex machine and how it displaces people. Sam listened and when I’d finished talking he sat me down and told me that he’d help me get home to the States. He knew a man who could create a new identity for me, one that would withstand scrutiny.” Tom sipped his beer. “While I healed from my injuries, we buried George. It took Sam three months to get me acclimated to the 1970s. At first I refused to accept the notion that I had entered a time thirty years in my future. I missed my dad. I wanted to tell Cindy about George. Then I realized that George’s kids were grown and Cindy was fifty years old. I became depressed. Sam’s farm was very remote. He’d watched me decline into depression for a couple of months, so he decided to drive me to London. That clinched it. The cars were so different—sleek and long, the towering billboards advertised items I’d never heard of—what were bell bottom jeans and platform shoes?—the 1974 dates on the newspapers glared at me as if they were in bold type.” Tom sighed. “That’s when I knew for a fact that my life had irrevocably changed.”
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Chapter Eighteen Emma knew exactly how Tom had felt. Her first look at the twenty-first century shocked her to her core. The cars raced faster, the noise reverberated louder, the streets and airports thundered with masses of people. Black clothes, spiked hair, black lips and nails. In 1944 the colors were muted browns, blacks, whites and grays. Bright reds, purples and greens were for evening attire. Men wore hats and ties, women wore hats and gloves. She missed the more formal dress attire but loved the ease and comfort of today’s looser looks. Her heart went out to Tom, but she realized he’d had thirty years to get used to his predicament. She, on the other hand, had only had and a month and a half to get used to the myriad changes that constantly pummeled her. With no family left behind in 1944, Emma felt no need to find her way back. Actually, she felt she’d found her way home, here with Tom in 2006. But there were too many things still unresolved. Who were the thugs that attacked her and why had they chosen her? What did it have to do with Tom’s past? Did her accidental step into the future cause the events that had unfolded? Most frighteningly, what did the Nazis have to do with all of this? “Well, what do you say to my story?” Tom asked. Emma realized she’d drifted off into a world of mystery. She glanced at Tom’s drawn face. His forehead had deep creases in it, his blue irises stood out starkly, ringed with red. Not knowing why, she smiled at Tom. “I know how difficult it was to tell me about your past. I saw the strain the memories brought back, felt the hurt, the pain.” Emma reached up and stroked his strong jaw, then let her fingers trail down his throat. The tough texture of his warm skin leapt under her fingers as if blossoming after a thirsty drink of water from a fresh, spring rain. “Thank you for telling me. I’m honored you shared such a dark secret with me.” Emma glanced at Tom. “How long did it take before you really accepted that you were here, now—forever?” “A few years. Once I’d made it back to the States, I looked up Virgil Layton, my boss from the OSS. Thank God he was still alive.” Tom grinned. “As you know, he’s still alive today. What a guy. I think we got him out of a boring retirement with our shenanigans. He’s eighty years old and raring to go.” Tom shook his head wryly, realizing he’d gotten off the subject. “I, on the other hand, feel too old for the cloak and dagger stuff.” “Well, you’re awfully good at it, Tom. You’ve saved me twice from those Nazi jerks. I owe you my life.”
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“Don’t worry, you’ll pay up in time.” Tom winked. “I never forget a debt owed to me.” “Virgil checked my forged papers, saw that they’d pass muster and told me to apply to the airlines as a pilot. I was so afraid that my secret would be revealed—that I was a fake, didn’t belong. I got hired and the rest is history. I’ve been flying for thirty years now.” Emma laughed then sucked in a short, sharp breath. “Darn. I’d almost forgotten my sorry state. Do you like my mosaic face? I’m amazed at the multitude of colors the human skin can turn.” The level look Tom gave her warmed Emma all the way to her toes. “You’re stunningly beautiful in any color you choose to wear,” he whispered. “Watch it, bud. A man who can curl my toes while I’m bruised and battered can be sure that he’ll feel my eternal thanks.” Emma’s pulse sped up and her breathing quickened. Her eyelids had lowered and sparks flew out of her verdant eyes. Emma wanted Tom. Right now. She steadied herself to move and do the least harm to her sore ribs. Slowly, Emma got to her knees on the soft couch. She took the now empty can of beer from Tom’s hands and placed it on the coffee table. Barely holding in a wince, she pulled his hands to her breasts. Emma watched Tom’s face as he followed her hands with his eyes. She saw his delight change to desire. Emma squeezed one of Tom’s hands, telling him that she wanted him to fondle her. Tom complied. She felt him slide her sweater up as his big hands found her bare breasts, making them come alive. The first touch sent molten hot shivers racing through her veins. Emma groaned. She shifted to get closer to the fire. She leaned forward to kiss Tom, knowing he’d be unsure and concerned about not hurting her. She touched his full, soft lips with hers and forced her tongue into his mouth. The dam broke and passion flooded out of Tom in waves. He lowered Emma to the couch and climbed over her, straddling her body along the narrow cushions. His thumb and forefinger kneaded her nipple then flicked it. Emma cried out in ecstasy, her body heaving up for more. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Breathing heavily, straining to get closer to Tom, Emma whispered, “No…more.” Tom pulled the sweater over Emma’s head, carefully avoiding her still swollen face. He kissed her on the tip of her nose, all the while kneading and stroking and tickling her breasts. Next, he leaned down and laved one nipple. He blew a puff of air on it and it stood up at attention. Emma groaned. Her hips undulated. She wanted to feel Tom’s hardness. Tom took the turgid nipple in his mouth and suckled it, alternately kissing and laving the hard bud. Fire and ice warred for space as they raced through Emma’s body. Her hands fumbled as they tried to unzip Tom’s pants. He helped her by lifting up his hips and shimmying out of them, always careful not to knock into Emma’s taped ribs.
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Emma felt no pain, she had no soreness. She only felt blazing heat scorching her, numbing her mind. One thought flitted through her brain. More. She needed more. After what seemed an eternity, Emma felt Tom enter her, filling her to perfection. Both man and woman, from the same time and place, yet in a new time and place, merged together in the upward spiral of oneness. Wave after wave of sensation rolled through Emma. Her gasping breaths and whimpers of joy enclosed them in a multicolored rainbow. As they flew through the jeweled-colored opening, they were forged into one complete circle. Emma and Tom had once again entered a round circle of light. This time they did it together. This time it was their choice.
***** Snuggled in their warm, safe bed, neither Emma nor Tom heard the pounding at their front door early in the morning. Soon the loud ringing of the bedside phone woke them up. Tom reached for the phone and fumbled it. The phone crashed to the floor. The receiver fell off and they heard the yelling of a male voice on the other end. Finally, Tom found the offensive object and barked, “What! No, Gene. I’m not flying today.” He started to slam the phone on the nightstand when he realized it wasn’t Gene from crew scheduling yelling at him. The old, croaky voice penetrated his semiconscious state and he knew it was Virgil. Tom picked up the phone and glared at it then he glared at the bedside clock. Four forty-five. “This had better be good, Virgil.” “Open the door, Tom. I’m outside, freezing in the subzero temperature and it’s nearly an emergency.” Both Tom and Emma got up. Emma dressed in a thick, warm, evergreen-colored bathrobe. She slipped into her calf-high Ugg boots. Tom threw on some old, faded gray sweats and pulled heavy, white wool socks on his feet. They went downstairs, Emma maneuvering slowly and carefully. Tom went to the front door and Emma went to the thermostat on the wall in the hallway. It was timed to automatically come on and warm the house at six in the morning. Tom knew Emma loved automatic timers. He heard the click when she flipped the switch to manual and knew she’d upped the temperature to seventy-eight degrees when the heater came on. He saw her shiver and head for the kitchen. “Going to make coffee for us?” Emma shook her head and disappeared around the corner. “This better be good. What’s the emergency?” Tom said to Virgil when he opened the door. Tom ushered Virgil into the kitchen. Virgil slumped into a chair and pulled off his gloves. Tom went to the cupboard and got out three coffee mugs. He lined them up on the dark, granite counter and said to Virgil, “Cream, sugar?”
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“Black’s fine.” Once the coffee had finished brewing, he poured three cups, automatically adding Emma’s milk and sugar. He handed the cups to their respective patrons and sat down at the table next to Virgil. Emma sat down directly across from Virgil, on Tom’s right. “The vortex displacement machine is nearly finished,” Virgil said. He sipped the coffee, keeping his hands wrapped around the mug for warmth. “But it seems they’re missing part of the plans.” Tom looked at Emma. Her eyes were round and her mouth had dropped open. Before he could speak she asked, “And they’re coming here for the missing pages?” “You finally told her,” Virgil said. “Yes. Just last night.” Virgil nodded. He sipped the coffee, inhaling a huge breath. “Yes. It seems the missing pages are vital to completing the machine. My sources in the CIA say that if they finish it, the neo-Nazis will be able to run it backwards and go back to change the outcome of the war.” No one spoke. The possibility was horrifying. Virgil cleared his throat. “We need to move up the timetable, Tom.” Emma glanced between the two men. “Timetable?” Tom pulled one of Emma’s hands toward him and covered it with both of his. He squeezed them then laced his fingers through hers. “Emma, we have a plan to give the neo-Nazis altered blueprints. The alterations will look authentic, old, but when they finish their vortex displacement machine it will explode.” “What’s a neo-Nazi?” Emma asked. “That’s the term for today’s group of Nazis. They call themselves the Fourth Reich. They’re just a bunch of low-educated punks.” “Great. The war didn’t end, it just went into hiding.” “Yes, that pretty much covers it, young lady,” Virgil said. Tom pulled their joined hands closer together and kissed her knuckles. “There’s just a little hitch.” Fear raced up Emma’s spine. Her back stiffened and she sat up straight, readying herself for the blow. “What’s the hitch?” she asked. “I have to leave you.” Silence. “Isn’t there someone else who can do this?” Emma asked, breaking the silence. “No. I’ve had the plans for thirty years. When I first found Virgil, I tried to turn them over to the CIA. They didn’t want them, thought they were not needed anymore. I know these originals. They’re part of me. I’m the only one who would know how to alter the plans so that the Nazis wouldn’t know. Plus, if the plans ever got lost, I’d know how to make the modification without them.”
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Emma stood up at the table. “Get someone else to memorize those darn blueprints.” She stared at Virgil. “The CIA has hundreds of qualified people who can play engineer. Some are even real engineers. Why Tom? He’s a pilot.” Gently Virgil said, “He was there, Emma. 1944. He knows what the machine looked like, what it sounded like. He’s the right age to play an engineer. One with experience. Knowledge. He fits.” “It’s dangerous, Virgil. Too dangerous. Something could happen to Tom. He could be killed.” Emma’s voice broke. “The alternative is to fail, have the machine built and our world wiped out in an instant.” Virgil gave Emma a stern look.
***** She could see the old spy behind the thick glasses. The muscle jumping in Virgil’s clenched jaw showed his determination to finish what had escaped him sixty-some years ago. Thinning hair, knobby fingers and a keen intelligence indicated to Emma that Virgil had an implacable will. Emma sighed. “What does Tom have to do…exactly?” “Only fly to Idaho, infiltrate the Nazi camp, convince them that the plans are genuine, old, authentic. Nothing more.” “Right.” Emma snapped her fingers. “Piece of cake.” Her eyes snapped too. The two men glanced at each other. “I told you she wouldn’t like the plan when we came up with it,” Tom said. He raised an eyebrow. “I also told you she’d have no problem with me going along with it.” Tom’s dry wit broke the tension. Emma shuddered. She got up from the kitchen table and left the room.
***** Emma stood under the steaming hot shower. If she stepped out of the shower right now, the steam would whistle out of her ears. Like the old cartoon, she’d blow her top. Anger pulsed through her veins. She scrubbed her hair then rubbed conditioner through it. Once she’d rinsed that out, she washed, rinsed and stomped out of the shower. Men. Spies. The whole world had gone nuts. Old men and old spies were trying to return to their glory days by swooping in on young, well-armed Nazi sympathizers and win one for Old Glory. Did it need to be done? Yes. Did a fifty-year-old pilot and an eighty-year-old ex-spy have to do it? No. Emma tried to rub away her anger with the soft towel. She stormed into her bedroom—she still hadn’t moved her clothes into Tom’s—and pulled on jeans, a mauve-colored cashmere sweater and her boots. Emma covered her black, blue, green
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and now yellow face with foundation, stroked concealer under her eyes and covered her eyelids with a light beige highlighter and a mauve shadow. She carefully brushed black mascara on her lashes, then using a blush brush, she softly feathered the rose powder blush on her cheeks. Better. She looked better. Not so science-fiction-frightnight-like. Done, except for her lipstick. She’d have to get that out of her purse from downstairs. With her war paint on, Emma gingerly stepped down the stairs. Her darn ribs still hadn’t let up in the pain department. She held her side with one hand and gripped the railing with the other. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she grabbed her purse from the entryway table. Taking short, shallow breaths to avoid the stinging pain from her trip down the stairs, Emma went into the family room. She glanced at Tom who still sat at the kitchen table. Virgil had left, she noted. Without a word, she straightened her shoulders and marched to the sofa. Emma rummaged through her purse looking for her lipstick. She knew Tom watched her, but she said nothing. Finally, exasperated, she dumped the purse’s contents onto the coffee table and plowed through the items skidding across the glass tabletop. Pens, pencils, makeup, tissues, note pads and other assorted items fell off the table and landed on the floor. Emma’s wallet fell open, spilling the contents. Coins, bills and pictures landed on the floor. “Damn!” Tom came over, bent down and began to gather up her belongings. “Emma, talk to me.” She ignored him and walked to the powder room to apply her pink lip gloss. She needed armor. Lipstick was armor.
***** Tom dumped everything he gathered back into her purse. He picked up her wallet and the scattered pictures. Casually glancing at the pictures he saw an older couple and a young, fifty-ish man. There was also a picture of a young boy around ten years old. Not paying any attention to them, he shuffled them into a pile and was about to place them back in her wallet when something made him look at the man’s picture again. Medium height, dark hair, round glasses. The man looked into the camera with no expression on his face. Oh my God. Tom dropped everything but the picture of the man and walked to the powder room. Emma stood leaning into the mirror, swiping a wand across her lips. She glared at him in the mirror. “Is this James?” Tom waved the picture at her. Emma didn’t look at it. “Yes. I only have one picture of James. We fought about my taking it. For some reason James never wanted to have his face frozen in time. He shied away from cameras and cringed when a flash went off, even if the camera wasn’t
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turned in his direction. I always told him how important it was to me to be able to carry his image in my wallet. He didn’t care and ignored me when I told him that’s what married couples did. “James finally gave in. I took the picture, but he took the negative and cut it up. He was so angry at the time. When the negative lay on the floor in pieces he said, ‘There. Now you have my picture. But remember, no one else can look at it. If I ever find out that you were showing it to your girlfriends at the secretarial office, I’ll rip more than that picture apart—mark my words.’ Then he’d stormed out of the house off on one of his two-week business trips.” Emma turned from the mirror. “Why does the picture upset you so much?” “No reason.” “You’re lying. Look in the mirror. Your jaw is clenched, a dead giveaway.” She grabbed the picture from his rigid hand and shoved past Tom. Tom didn’t move. He stood stiff with shock. “Oh God,” he muttered. “How do I tell Emma that James is the traitor I took the blueprints from in 1944?”
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Chapter Nineteen “Virgil, there’s been a development,” Tom said on the phone. “Where do you want to meet?” “I know a place. Meet me at the mall, our usual spot. Thirty minutes?” “I’ll be there.” Tom banged down the phone. He walked into the kitchen where he found Emma making chocolate chip cookies. She whipped the butter into submission. “I have an electric mixer for that.” “You do? Not many people I knew had electric mixers, they were so expensive.” Tom had forgotten that mixers weren’t routinely used in 1944. He went to a lower cupboard and pulled out the large white machine with a round silver bowl attached to the middle. He placed it on the counter and plugged it in. Then he scraped the mashed sticks of butter into the metal bowl and turned it on. The butter whirred around, softening and becoming creamy. Emma’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes lit up and she moved closer as the white paddle banged the butter into a smooth consistency. “That’s fantastic. I used to break my arm doing that part of the recipe.” Forgetting her anger, she grinned at Tom. Emma looked like a little girl on Christmas Day. “You must have been an adorable little beauty, full of mischief and inquisitiveness,” Tom said as he watched Emma clap her hands together in delight and turn a few circles in front of the food processor. “Here, let me show you how it works.” He stopped the machine and explained how to work it. Next, Tom went to a drawer in the kitchen that was full of brochures and pulled out the small booklet on how the mixer worked. “There. That ought to keep you busy.” Emma glanced at the book then went back to adding the cookie ingredients into the mixing bowl. Once they were all incorporated, she added the chocolate chips and placed spoonfuls of dough on the unlined cookie sheet. Tom watched the homey activity. “I’m glad you’re comfortable in the kitchen. I like having you here, in the house. Don’t be angry with me.” Emma sighed but continued placing dough on the cookie sheet. “I’m worried. Scared. What you’re planning is so dangerous. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” “I know, honey. But this has to be done. You know it too.” Tom paused then gave Emma a quick hug from behind. “I have to go to the mall. Is there anything I can get you?” He didn’t tell her he would be meeting Virgil. There seemed to be an unspoken truce for the moment. If only he’d known a little automatic mixer would breach the gulf that had arisen between them, he would have brought it out sooner.
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“No thanks. I’m happy just baking cookies.” Emma reached out and touched Tom’s parted lips. “I’m not angry anymore,” she whispered. He pulled her into his arms. “I promise I’ll be very careful.” He reached out behind her and stuck his finger into the cookie dough. He took a large swipe and before Emma could rescue the doomed, uncooked cookie, he placed it in his mouth. Yum.” Tom danced out of Emma’s reach. She laughed as she batted his hand away from the precious cookie-dough bowl. “Go. Get. Let me do my therapy.” “Therapy?” “Yes. Baking is my therapy. It soothes me, settles me. Scat!” Emma laughed waving her arm at Tom as if he were a fly. “Honey, if you need any reasons to whip up more therapy, just let me know.” He kissed her and backed out of the kitchen.
***** Tom wasn’t gone long. By the time Emma had placed the last rack of cookies to cool on the counter he’d come home. Just as he walked through the kitchen door the front doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on the towel she’d flung over her shoulder, she went to the door. Tom raced up behind her. “Don’t open that door.” She glared at him. “I’m not stupid. Just let me look out the peephole.” Emma squinted through the tiny hole and saw Donny Adams standing on their front porch. “It’s Donny Adams. He was ten years old when he lived next door to me in 1944.” “I wonder what he wants,” Tom mused. He peeked through the hole. He saw the older man turn and start to leave the front porch. Tom pulled back the curtains covering the windows on each side of the front door and took a better look to see if anyone lurked farther down the street. He didn’t see anything suspicious, so he opened the door. “Hello. May I help you?” The old man turned around with surprise. “Oh I’m sorry to bother you,” he laughed. “I was looking for a Mrs. McDaniel. I thought she said she was staying here.” Donny had stepped back up to the front door. “She is. May I tell her who’s inquiring?” Tom asked. He felt Emma shove his shoulder from behind him. He squared those same shoulders, blocking Emma from anyone that might be hiding outside. “My name is Donny Adams. I used to live down the street from her…a long time ago.” Tom saw Donny take a big sniff. “It sure smells good inside your home, sir. Why, I can almost smell Mrs. McDaniel’s famous chocolate chip cookies. Sure brings back memories.” Emma had had enough. She stepped around Tom and reached out her arm for Donny. “Excuse Tom’s rudeness, Donny.” Guiding him inside, she said, “Please come in. You’re in luck. I did just make some cookies.”
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While Emma helped Donny inside, Tom stepped outside and took a long look around. He didn’t see any cars idling. It must be too cold. He stepped back inside and closed and locked the front door. Emma hooked her arm through Donny’s and walked with him into the kitchen. She sat him down at the table and reached for some warm cookies. Placing a few on a plate, she turned and offered them to Donny. “Would you like some cookies?” His weathered and lined face split into a huge grin. Emma smiled to herself. She could see the young ten-year-old boy in that face. His blue eyes danced as he reached a gnarled, arthritic hand out to take a cookie. “Thank you, Mrs. McDaniel.” Donny took a large bite and then moaned in delight. “Why, these taste just like the ones I remember. How did you do it?” Emma laughed. She ate a cookie herself, thinking back to days gone by. “It’s the same recipe, Donny. If I do it properly, the cookies should taste the same.” They smiled at each other over the shared memory. “May I ask you a question?” Donny looked sheepish. “Of course.” “How come you don’t look a day over fifty? Why, you look just the same as I remember when I was ten years old.” Tom had entered the kitchen at that point. One eyebrow rose. Emma knew he wondered how she would get out of this question. She leaned close to Donny and in a stage whisper said, “Can you keep a secret?” A warning look crossed Tom’s face. He stood with his arms folded, leaning against the door jamb to the kitchen. Donny leaned toward Emma. “Sure I can keep a secret,” he yelled. Emma looked around the kitchen to make sure no one would overhear their conversation. “I had work done.” “What?” Donny yelled. “What kind of work?” Laughter lit Tom’s face. He put his hand up to cover his mouth. His whole body shook. “Donny…you promise not to tell anyone?” “I already did that, Mrs. McDaniel. What kind of work?” Emma just looked at Donny. She pointed to her face, then her eyes, neck and jaw. Finally, she raised up her arm and patted under her tricep. “Oh! Oh…Mrs. McDaniel. You had plastic surgery.” Donny studied her face closely. “Why that surgeon did a fantastic job. It must have cost you a fortune.” Donny leaned back in his chair and reached for another cookie. Emma glanced at Tom who still bubbled with laughter. She quirked both of her eyebrows at him because she couldn’t raise just one. “Don’t you tell, Donny.”
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Donny crossed his heart like the ten-year-old he once was and finished his cookie. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by.” He looked a little vulnerable. “I felt kind of lonely today.” Emma watched Donny and realized that his eyes had become watery. “It’s been five years since my wife died. Today. I sure miss her.” Donny sniffed, trying to keep the tears from falling. “Oh Donny. I’m so sorry.” Emma got up and went around the table to hug him. She sat down next to him and held his hand for a minute. Then she looked up at Tom. “Donny, I’m sorry, but I never introduced you to my friend Tom Wells.” Donny looked up and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wells. Any friend of Mrs. McDaniel is a good person.” Then Donny frowned. “Hope you’re a better man than that old husband of hers. He sure was a rat.” “Donny!” Emma jumped up from her chair. “That’s not a nice thing to say about James.” “I’m sorry, Mrs. McDaniel. But after you left Mr. McDaniel came home with a new lady.” “No he didn’t, Donny. He’d died. In the war. Remember?” Emma started to think that Donny was forgetful. “Now, Mrs. McDaniel, I might have a hard time remembering what day it is today, but I remember real well what happened after you left in 1944. I’ll never forget it.” Tom sat down at the table. “Donny. Will you hold on a minute? I have to make an important phone call. Don’t continue until I get back, okay?” “Sure, Mr. Wells.” Tom went to the office and called Virgil. “I’m going to be late. It’s a long, but important story. Don’t go to the mall. I’ll call you when I’ve finished.” He nodded at the phone then hung up. When he returned to the kitchen Tom said, “Okay, Donny, what were you saying?” Emma started a fresh pot of coffee. She stood by the coffeemaker, wringing her hands in her apron. What could Donny mean? Too nervous to sit down, she leaned against the counter and fiddled with the towel still hanging over her shoulder. “Mrs. McDaniel left in a hurry that day,” Donny said to Tom. “I know because I saw her. I was sitting on my front porch. I’d started to call out to her but I saw that she was crying. She carried an old brown suitcase in one hand and her black purse hung over her other wrist. In that hand—the one with the purse—she held a letter. I couldn’t see what it said, but I could tell that it’d upset her.” Donny accepted the coffee that Emma placed in front of him. He obviously didn’t need milk or sugar since he took loud sips from the mug. “I watched her walk down the street to the bus stop. She waited about fifteen minutes, then the bus came and that’s the last I ever saw of her. Until last month when she came walking down the street in front of my house. Was I ever surprised.” 147
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“Go on,” Tom encouraged. Emma stood frozen to the counter. She had stopped wringing her hands, lost in 1944. That was only two months ago for Emma. For Donny, it was sixty years ago. “Not two days later a woman shows up at Mrs. McDaniel’s house. I had been out roller skating. She knocked on the door. I remember her because I stopped and said, ‘No one’s home.’ She turned and bent down to me. She smelled like flowers. ‘You sure?’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to meet someone here.’ ‘Yes, the lady left a couple of days ago,’ I told her. Then she said the strangest thing.” Donny stopped and looked at Emma. “What did she say?” she croaked. “She said, ‘I’m not here to meet the lady. I’m here to meet the man.’ You know, that sounded odd to me even then. But I went on my way and forgot about her. That is, until I saw Mr. McDaniel and her walking down the street two days later. They were laughing together.” Emma gasped. Tom stood up and went to her side. He knew she needed support. “But Donny…how could that be? The letter I’d been holding said that James had died.” “I don’t know, Mrs. McDaniel. I just know that I saw Mr. McDaniel a few days after you left.”
***** Emma and Tom sat at the kitchen table in silence. Donny had gone home with a bag of cookies. “I don’t understand it,” Emma said. “Maybe Donny misunderstood, honey. After all, he is seventy and he seems a little forgetful.” “I don’t know. He seemed fine to me.” Emma stood up and got a glass of water. She felt parched. She drank the whole glass. James couldn’t have been alive. If that’s the case, all of this time displacement stuff had been for nothing. Despair engulfed Emma like a blanket smothering her. Her face drained of color. Tom jumped up and grabbed a chair. Just as Emma started to slump forward, he jammed the chair behind her. She slipped into it and he pushed her head down to her knees. After a few minutes she mumbled from her bent-over position, “Let me up. I’m better.” Tom released his hold on her neck and she straightened. “Thank you. I’m not this faint of heart…usually.” “Believe me, I know.” Tom helped her over to the sofa. “I’ve seen you in action, lady, remember?” He gave her a rakish smile. Emma laughed, but it sounded weak to her. What a day. They’d been sitting there for a few moments in companionable silence when the doorbell rang. “Oh no. Not again.”
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Tom went to see who it was. Emma heard the front door open and the sound of a female voice. Still mired in her thoughts about what Donny had said, she didn’t realize who Tom brought into the family room. When she looked up, she barely kept the groan from escaping. “Hello, Beth.” “Hello.” “Have a seat.” Tom pointed to a large chair that matched the sofa. “What do you want?” Beth looked at her father then glanced at Emma. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I want to talk. About…everything.” Emma sat back against the pillows. She got up to leave, but Tom placed his hand on her knee and said softly, “Don’t go.” Beth took a huge breath and said, “All my life I thought you didn’t love me.” Tom reared and stood up. He shouted, “How could you think that?” Placing both her hands in front of her in a gesture of peace, Beth continued. “I grew up listening to Mother rage about you. She hated you, she berated you. She never let up about what an awful father you were, how you didn’t have time for me, how unimportant I was to you.” “That’s not true. That’s never been true.” “I know that now, Daddy.” Emma’s heart turned over at the term. She bet he hadn’t heard Beth call him that since she was a little girl. “Mother came home ranting about how you wouldn’t give me the ten thousand dollars. She was in a royal snit. For the first time it occurred to me that if that’s the way she acted with you, it was no wonder you two got divorced.” “She divorced me, Beth,” Tom said. “Yes, she finally admitted that to me. Today.” Beth sighed. “Anyway, I began to think about all the things you’ve done for me. Remember when I was seven and took ballet lessons?” Beth looked at her father. He nodded. “You were there for me at every recital.” Tom didn’t say anything. Beth continued, “Then I broke my arm in high school during cheerleading. It wasn’t Mother who came to take me to the hospital, you did. I remember that you came to get me in your uniform. You’d been on your way to work and when the school called, you called in sick, turned the car around and came and took me to the hospital.” Emma watched the two. Finally. She’d seen that Beth had loved her father. Now at least Tom would have the daughter he’d always wanted. “It took me these couple of days to think about everything. I realized that every important event in my life, you were the one there, not Mother. In the middle of her rant I told her to stop. I’d had enough.” Tears fell from Beth’s eyes. “For some reason,
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when you cut off her alimony, I saw the selfish, bitter, mean woman that she is. And the sad part is that she doesn’t even realize it. “Oh Daddy. I’m so sorry for all of the hurt and pain I’ve caused you. All my life I wanted you to love me. I never knew until today that you have always loved me. Always. I’m so stupid.” Tom got up and went to Beth. He picked her up and settled her on his lap. Then he wrapped his arms around her. Emma quietly left the room, tears falling down her cheeks. As she left she heard Beth ask, “Will you ever forgive me?” She turned at the door and saw Tom rocking Beth as if she were two years old. Tears fell from both of their faces and blended together on his wrists. “You’re forgiven, baby.” They sat together, healing. “I love you, Daddy.” “I love you too, sweetheart.”
***** “You made a phone call earlier, didn’t you?” Emma asked Tom. “When you told Donny to wait until you came back.” “Yes. I called Virgil. Oh darn it. I forgot to call him back.” Tom glanced at his watch. “Go, call him,” Emma said. “It’s been a couple of hours.” He went to the phone, dialed and put it on speaker. “Virgil. Sorry. A day of upheavals. I couldn’t get back to you.” “That’s okay, Tom. I did some searching here. How about we meet tomorrow? Same place at the mall?” “Sounds great.” Tom hung up the phone and went into the kitchen. Dinner was a somber event. Emma watched Tom. She saw a myriad of emotions cross his face and knew they were all related to Beth’s revelations to him. Emma saw relief, pain, anger—at Stephanie, she figured—tenderness and love wash over his handsome features. “That was a brave thing for Beth to do today,” she said. “Yes. I would have never expected it from her.” Tom took Emma’s hand and squeezed it. “I thought she hated me.” “A daughter never hates her father. Especially an only child.” “I guess so. I wouldn’t have Beth if I’d never married Stephanie.” Emma saw profound relief, a lightness of spirit, come into Tom’s eyes. He looked years younger. She knew his mind was processing all that’d happened.
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“Well, at least one thing is resolved,” Emma said after a few minutes. “Now all we have to do is make sure we stay safe from world domination and we can relax.” “No problem,” Tom said.
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Chapter Twenty It took Emma the whole night to come to terms with the events of yesterday. First Donny’s visit and his pronouncement that James hadn’t died during the war. The more Emma thought about it, the less she believed it. After all, Donny was only ten years old at the time. What did a kid that age remember? Especially sixty years later. Then Beth’s arrival and asking Tom forgiveness for her life-long atrocious behavior. That was sweet. Emma knew that yesterday’s events with Beth were memories Tom would cherish forever. She hoped that Stephanie wouldn’t mess anything up, but with her, who knew? While inventorying the pantry for dinner, Emma let her mind relax. So much had happened in the two months she’d been in 2006. First, she met Tom. By now he’d become extremely important to her. Emma loved him. She never thought that she’d fall in love at fifty years old. Old ladies didn’t do that…did they? His kindness, sense of humor, loyalty, steadfastness and long-term success were powerful motivators to a successful relationship. Plus, he was attracted to her. Emma had never had that before. After a few years of marriage to James, Emma hadn’t felt pretty anymore. If ever. Now, after thinking about her life with James, she thought that he’d only wanted her to be his “perfect housekeeper”. In her day, women stayed home and men went to war. Well, sort of. When the men left to fight, the women went to work. With a light snort, Emma realized that was when the women’s liberation movement really started. She made a list of items to buy at the supermarket. Dinner would be a pork roast, green beans and roasted potatoes. More than cooking, Emma loved going to the supermarket in this century. The self-checkout was fantastic—if you didn’t have any produce that needed to be weighed—but it was all the incredible choices she had to decide among. With no rationing now, everything was plentiful. Eggs, meat, flour, sugar. Humming to herself, she wasn’t paying attention to the television report in the background. Then, strangely, it sounded as if the television got louder. She looked up when the reporter said, “And now we return to Idaho. Our local ABC correspondent at KIVI in Boise, Richard Long, takes us back to the unfolding situation.” “Thank you, Karen. What we have here is a group of neo-Nazis blocking the radio stations KBSX, 91.5 FM and KIDO, 630 AM. They are protesting the fact that these two stations won’t air a formal letter they have stating their demands for the freedom to wear swastikas on their clothing or display them at the front of their headquarters.” Emma watched as cameras panned the group of young, white, short-haired men standing in front of the radio station blocking the entrance. They all wore identical uniforms of green combat-style pants tucked into black combat boots, a green camouflage shirt and black berets. A strikingly large red swastika patch glared from the front of the beret and another patch was sewn on their right sleeve. The boys—they all
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looked to be in their late teens or early twenties—wore rifles slung over their right shoulders. They stood like sentries, not talking, not moving. Their faces were frozen in identical blank expressions. “The local police have tried to get the men to move, but to no avail,” the reporter said. “The situation is escalating as the Governor of Idaho, Gene Bartholomew, is threatening to call in the National Guard.” The camera refocused on the reporter, showing a tall, thin, blond-haired man in his thirties dressed in blue jeans and a navyblue flannel shirt worn over a white turtleneck and a heavy parka. “Negotiators have tried to reason with the men, but they’re holding the employees of these two stations hostage. More members of this chapter of the neo-Nazi organization are inside with rifles, although no threats have been made against the employees that we know of. As the situation changes, I’ll keep you informed.” The reporter stared into the camera. “This is Richard Long, signing off for KIVI, Boise.” Emma shivered. The neo-Nazis were upping the ante. Why would they do that now? Could it have anything to do with Tom’s past? She finished her list and drove to the supermarket. Her Ford Escape hummed along the frozen streets. The inside thermometer read four degrees. Emma shivered and turned up the heat in the car. At least it was a clear and sunny day. She parked near the front door and grabbed a cart as she entered the store. It took her about an hour to complete the shopping. Every time someone asked for her identification she had a moment of panic. But each time she showed them her Illinois driver’s license they barely glanced at it and returned to finishing up the transaction. One of these days she’ll get over this fear, she thought. Emma and Tom drove up to the house at the same time. He let her park in the garage first, then pulled in beside her. He helped her carry the groceries into the kitchen. A quick kiss on the lips—that turned into a scorching, pulse-pounding kiss— was her welcome home. She could get used to that. Emma knew she was already used to it. Tom’s kisses were like a drug she craved more and more. High from that searing kiss, Emma wondered about their future, then ruthlessly pushed it out of her mind. “How was your lunch with Virgil?” “Fine. I met him for lunch at Woodfield Mall. We found a secluded spot at a table in The Rainforest Café next to a rushing waterfall. You know, I really liked the dark atmosphere and the periodic noise of thunder and lightning that covered our conversation. Elephants trumpeted, gorillas screeched and tropical birds sang while we talked. I even liked the damp, musky smell from the recycled water inside the restaurant.” Tom helped put the groceries away. “I ordered the Rasta Pasta—grilled chicken, penne pasta, walnut pesto, broccoli, red peppers and spinach tossed with an alfredo sauce. Virgil chose the Passport to Paradise pizza—a four cheese pizza with provolone, parmesan, romano and mozzarella.” “Want to tell me what you discussed?”
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Tom walked over to the kitchen radio and turned it on. Loud. Emma looked at him as if he’d sprouted horns. He laughed at her expression. “It seems as if the neo-Nazis are stumped. Our sources say that they can’t proceed with the time displacement machine because they’re missing a critical part to the plans.” Tom grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator and popped the top. “That’s the good news. The bad news is that they’re on the prowl for the missing pages.” “Oh great,” Emma said. “Those guys won’t ever give up.” “Well, they won’t find it on me. Or here at home. Those plans have been hidden for a very long time.” He shook his head. “Thirty years to be exact. When the CIA told me they didn’t want them, I stashed them in a very safe place. Now I’m beginning to wonder. How did the Nazis get a copy of the plans?” “I don’t know,” Emma said. “Where are they, Tom?” Tom shook his head. “I don’t want you to know, Emma. It’s too dangerous.” Then he glanced at the windows. Putting a finger to his lips, he motioned Emma over to the kitchen table. There, he grabbed the pad of paper he always left lying on the table and wrote on it—Beware of directional microphones. Emma wrote back—What are those? Tom swung the pad around and wrote—People outside the house might have microphones that can listen in on our conversations. “What?” Emma shouted as she jumped up from the table. “Why would anyone do that?” Tom shushed her with a hand motion. Then he grinned at her. “You’re so lovely when you’re distressed.” “But what if something happens to you?” Emma couldn’t let go of her fears. She wrote on the pad—Someone ought to know where the plans are other than you. Tom stopped writing and thought about what Emma just said. “You may be right. Let me think about it for a while.” “Well, at some point someone’s going to need to see them. You said Virgil had a contact at the CIA. He might be a good idea. But I can help, Tom. I want to help.” Tom pulled Emma into his arms. “I know you do, honey. But I don’t want anything more to happen to you.” He stroked the black and blue colors on her face. “Are you feeling better? It looks as if some of the swelling has started to go down.” “A little. But my ribs are still killing me.” Tom rubbed her ribs, leaving light tingles along the path. “I’m meeting Virgil tomorrow. I told him I’d give him the plans to give to the CIA. They can do the alterations and make them look authentic.” “Can Virgil’s contact be trusted?” A frown marred Emma’s brow. “He says so. That’s all I can go by,” Tom said. “As soon as the blueprints are completed, we’ll fly to Idaho. I’ll play the engineer with the neo-Nazis and fix the
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machine, if you know what I mean.” Tom hesitated. “The FBI will be involved too. After all, they’re always looking for ways to break up a neo-Nazi ring.” “Did Virgil tell you that?” “Yes,” Tom said. “They’ll be informed that a mission is going down in their neighborhood. They’ll be told the CIA’s involved but not what it’s about.” “Is that wise, Tom?” “If we give too much information to the FBI, they’ll want to take over the mission. That can’t happen, Emma.” She started to ask Tom something when she noticed his vacant look. He was a million miles away. So much had happened in the last few days. Tom got up and left the kitchen while Emma rearranged the pantry. With her head buried in the shelves she moved items around. She didn’t hear Tom’s yell. “God dammit! Emma get in here, quick!” She ran into his office. Tom stood amid a tumbled mess of open drawers, pens, pencils, books, notes, pilot charts and maps. Tom’s computer had been thrown on the floor, the monitor had a crack across the screen. The CPU tower lay on its side with the back torn off and its guts hanging out. The twin speakers had wiring ripped out. His desk lay on its side, smashed across the top, and there was a large note taped to the monitor. It said, “Give us the blueprints. We’ll be back for them.” The most horrifying part was the large, draped flag. The red background had a stark, black swastika in a white circle and it’d been draped across the overturned desk and computer equipment. “Oh my goodness!” Emma said. “I was only gone an hour. They must have been watching and waiting.” She surveyed the mess as a chill ran up her spine. Tom turned and left the office. He grabbed his cell phone and called Virgil. “You need to see this. Come to my house immediately. We have a note and a message.” “I’ll be right there,” Virgil replied.
***** Twenty minutes later the front doorbell rang. Emma went to answer it. “Thank goodness you got here so fast…” She skittered to a stop when she saw Stephanie standing on the front porch. Her eyes glittered angry sparks. “I can’t believe you’re happy to see me,” she said. “Hello, Stephanie. We were expecting a friend of Tom’s.” She stepped back. “Won’t you come in? I’ll be right back.” Emma ushered Stephanie into the living room, then she rushed to get Tom. “Tom, Stephanie’s here.” “What? Oh great. What rotten timing.”
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“I put her in the living room.” Tom went out, closing the door to the office. He placed his arm at Emma’s lower back and they walked to the living room to see what his ex-wife wanted. Emma noticed Stephanie’s look as she and Tom walked into the room. The possessive gesture of his hand at her back caused one of Stephanie’s blonde eyebrows to rise then lower. Emma saw that their closeness incensed her. Oh here goes, she thought. Stephanie’s top was about to blow, just like a volcanic eruption. “Well, aren’t you two the chummy couple.” Stephanie jumped up from the couch. She glared at Emma then turned away from her, looking directly at Tom. “This is a family matter for Tom and me to discuss. You can leave.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. Emma sucked in her breath. Before Tom could respond to her rudeness, Emma said pleasantly, “I’ll stay. After all, I wouldn’t want you to hurt Tom.” She saw explosive anger enter Stephanie’s narrowed eyes. Her lips drew into a flat, pursed line, her hands balled into tight fists. “Why, you…you…little tramp. You insert yourself into Tom’s and my life and think you can tell me what to do?” Emma felt the steam blowing out of Stephanie’s ears. “Was there a reason you came to see me, Stephanie?” Tom was impatient. “This isn’t a good time. My friend will be here any minute.” “Yes.” With a long sigh Stephanie sat back down on the couch. “Beth and I had an argument yesterday. She wants to move out.” Tom laughed out loud. “Well, she is thirty years old, after all.” “She doesn’t have a job!” exploded Stephanie. “Then she can get one.” “Why does she want to leave me?” Stephanie whined the question. Tom had had enough. “Look, Stephanie, I don’t have time for this. Beth is an adult. She can find her own path in life. She should have done it years ago. Give her some freedom, accept that she’s finally grown up and seen the error of her ways and let it go.” “Grown up? Error of her ways?” Stephanie shouted. “What does that mean?” “Just what it sounds like.” Tom stepped over to the couch. He took Stephanie by the arm and raised her up, intending to lead her to the front door. “For thirty years you have poisoned her against me. You lied and told her I didn’t love her. Yet you knew that to be false. As a young, impressionable girl she believed her mother.” Tom finally let Stephanie have it. Emma cheered him on. “Let me be crystal clear on where I stand. I put up with it thinking that was the easy way out. I didn’t want Beth to be torn between her parents.” “Just a minute here, mister.” Stephanie pointed her scarlet-pink tipped fingernail in Tom’s chest. “You divorced me. You left Beth and me.” 156
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“As usual, Stephanie, you have twisted the facts to fit your own warped mind. You divorced me. Remember?” Emma saw Stephanie’s eyes narrow at the unnecessary reminder. “It took two long years of your indifference and outright meanness to alienate me. I took enough public humiliation from your catting around.” Emma watched this exchange with interest. She felt the anger flow between these two combatants and knew that Tom was finally letting out years of frustration. She stepped closer to him. Without a word she wanted him to know she supported him. Emma saw Stephanie’s eyes narrow again and felt her anger ratchet up and change direction…toward her. Spitting the words out of her mouth and waving her hand in Emma’s face, Stephanie said viciously, almost quietly, “Who do you think you are? Where did you come from? How dare you insert yourself into my life?” With that, she hauled off and slapped Emma across her black-and-blue cheek. “That’s enough!” roared Tom. “Out!” He pointed to the front door. “You are not welcome here, Stephanie. Not now, not ever. You are insane. Beth is an adult. Get out and don’t ever step on my property again.” Red infused Stephanie’s face. She turned and marched to the front door. As she yanked open the door she turned. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. “Out! Now!” shouted Tom. Stephanie turned and stopped, almost knocking into the old man standing on the porch with his hand raised to knock on the door. Oblivious to the tension in the room Virgil said, “Okay, Tom, show me the swastika.”
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Chapter Twenty-One “This way, Virgil.” Tom slammed the door and showed Virgil into the office. He stood back for Virgil to survey the destruction. Tom watched the old man stare at the jumble of overturned furniture and electronic equipment. Then he watched as Virgil reached into his coat pocket and pull out his cell phone. “It’s me,” Virgil said. “The damage is exactly what I thought. The Nazis have decided to look for the plans.” Virgil’s head nodded up and down a couple of times then shook side to side. “No. We’ll get the plans today then start the mission. We’re out of time.” He listened for another minute then said, “Yes, sir. Will do.” Virgil clicked the cover to his cell phone shut and turned to Tom. “The mission’s a go. Take pictures of the damage, we’ll replace your equipment.” “I need to talk to Emma first,” Tom said. “I won’t leave her without explaining a few things.” “I thought you told her about your past.” “I did tell her, Virgil. I need to tell her about her husband.” “Oh that. Yes. Well…that does need to be explained.” Virgil took one last look around the damaged office then strode out of it. “We’ll meet this afternoon at four.” “No. Tonight at ten. I don’t want anyone to see where I’ve hidden the plans.” Virgil stared at Tom. “Ten it is.” The two men shook hands. Virgil’s eyes sparkled and he said, “I haven’t felt this much excitement since I left the CIA almost thirty years ago.” “I’m amazed at your ability to find excitement where danger lurks. And at eighty years old,” Tom said to Virgil’s shrinking back. Shaking his head, Tom watched Virgil spring down the porch steps.
***** Emma made coffee in the kitchen and walked to the office to offer Tom and Virgil a mug. When she saw Tom standing amid the ruined office lost in thought, foreboding raced through her veins. She knew the time had come for Tom and Virgil to implement their plan. But what was her part in it? Sit at home and be “the little woman”? Not on her life. She loved this tall, handsome, kind man. A thought jolted her. How would she continue on if anything happened to Tom? She’d have to start all over again. And she’d just done that, by entering a new century. Emma’s stomach lurched and rolled over.
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Tom turned around. “I felt you standing there. I know you’re worried.” She thought she’d covered her emotions but Tom read her feelings anyway. “You know.” He walked over to her and pulled her into a huge bear hug. Electricity sizzled between them. He stroked her face, her nose and her lips. He dipped his head to kiss her and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Emma groaned her despair and delight. He pulled her closer and wound his hands through her hair. Cupping the back of her head, he ravaged her mouth. Liquid fire raced through Emma’s veins. How could this man affect her so fast? One minute she felt despondent, the next her body was plastered to his, tingling from head to toe. She kissed him with fervor. Her hands tangled in Tom’s coarse, golden hair. His clean, musky scent enveloped her. Emma clung to his strong lips. She fought with his tongue, both winning and losing in the duel. Love flowed from Emma into Tom. He lifted her up and carried her to their bedroom. Once inside, Tom lay her down on the mattress. His intense stare rocked through her, causing her to reach up and tangle her hands in his thick golden mane. Emma heard Tom’s rapid breathing. She shoved the sweater up over her head, leaving her heaving breasts exposed to Tom’s gaze. With fumbling hands she unzipped her jeans and pushed them down to her ankles. Intent on getting her pants off, Emma didn’t notice when Tom reached up to pluck one turgid nipple. The electric shock caused her to gasp. She moaned in delight. Tom continued to rub and fondle the small, rigid bud and Emma gave up, hopelessly entangled in denim. “Tom,” Emma gasped. “Give me a moment to get untangled. “No.” After removing the wisp of material that covered Emma’s breasts, Tom lowered his mouth to the straining nipple and suckled. All thought of becoming untangled flew from Emma’s mind. She gripped Tom’s muscular back and pushed her breast closer to Tom’s mouth. Light, flicking movements from Tom’s tongue sent molten lava coursing through Emma’s veins and he followed it with a gentle tugging of his lips. Emma lay back on the pillows heaving. More. Tom reached up and took her small hands with one large one and raised them above her head. He imprisoned her. “I wish I could keep you here, at my mercy.” Tom continued the sensory onslaught, going from Emma’s nipples to her bellybutton, then down to the juncture between her legs. He stroked and tickled, feeling the pressure build inside Emma. Then he tortured her with his free hand. She thrashed on the bed, held prisoner in his grasp. Emma wanted to touch Tom, but he wouldn’t let her. All she could do was feel him, smell him, love him. His fingers held her hands tightly and the jeans trapped her legs. His musky, tangy scent wafted around her, invading her senses. He enveloped her in the rich aroma of love. Tom’s magical fingers drew spine tingling waves of pleasure from her, one right after the 159
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other. Emma couldn’t breathe. She gasped and gulped, trying to inhale, all the while her body sang with electric emotion. Emma felt the rising tide. As Tom continued to rub her with his free hand, he kissed her. His tongue ran over her mouth then forged inside. With no way to touch or hold on, Emma felt her body become rigid with desire. “Now,” she gasped. “Now.” Tom freed her hands. Amid kisses, sighs and groans, the two joined together and became one.
***** Snuggled in the warm aftermath of exquisite love, Emma and Tom lay entwined underneath the covers. Their breathing had slowed. They were loath to leave the warmth and safety of their nest. A comfortable silence pervaded the bedroom. With a long drawn out sigh, Tom got up to get dressed. He stepped into the shower and waited for the temperature to warm. Emma wrapped herself in her warm robe and boots and padded downstairs to make a quick, light dinner. She scrambled eggs, added diced green onions and mushrooms. When the eggs set, she sprinkled grated cheddar cheese on top to melt. Emma placed four pieces of toast in the toaster. It still thrilled her that she could make four pieces at once. Her old, two-piece-at-a-time toaster seemed so outdated. Just as Tom came into the kitchen, she placed two bowls of salad on the table and brought the dinner plates with the scrambled eggs and toast to the table. She poured two glasses of Chardonnay and set water at each place setting. “This looks great,” Tom said. “Thank you.” Tom pulled out her chair and helped Emma into her seat. “Is everything all right?” Emma had noticed a wariness in Tom’s eyes. She knew that something bothered him and figured it had to do with today’s break-in by the neoNazis. Tom dug into the eggs. “These are wonderful.” They ate in silence. Tom hadn’t answered Emma’s question. She decided to let him be. He’d tell her what bothered him in time. They finished up their meal and tidied the kitchen together in silence. Normally it would have been a companionable silence, but Emma sensed that Tom wrestled with a difficult problem. Emma left him to take a quick shower and clean up. She dressed in a comfortable pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt. Her plan for the evening was to put the office back together, as much as she could. When she entered the office she saw Tom standing and staring at the broken pieces of the computer. He had a camera in his hand, so she figured he’d taken the pictures Virgil had asked for. “I’ll help you straighten this up.” She bent down to collect papers, pens and pencils. “Emma, we need to talk.”
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Dread coursed through Emma at the words. She stood up straight and turned to look at Tom. “Let’s go into the family room.” Tom held Emma’s hand as they walked into the room. Once they’d settled down on the sofa, Tom turned to her. Emma picked up the TV’s remote and pressed the mute button. Then, not paying any attention, she slipped it into her sweatshirt pocket. “I have to leave tonight.” Emma’s head jerked and she turned toward him. “The mission’s a go and I’m meeting Virgil at ten o’clock tonight.” Tom looked at his watch. Six o’clock. Four hours. “So soon?” Emma stared at her shaking hands. “Yes. After today’s break-in, we know the Nazis have moved up the timetable. They’re very close to getting the vortex displacement machine finished and they must be feeling desperate by now. I have to take Virgil to where I hid the plans then we’ll fly to Idaho.” “Idaho?” Emma looked at Tom. “I thought you were going to Montana.” “That’s what we first thought, but the CIA has a mole inside one of the Idaho groups and he says the machine is there. So I’m off to Boise.” “What can I do?” Emma asked. “Nothing, honey.” The way he said that, Emma knew there was more. She glanced at him. “What’s bothering you, Tom?” After a long beat, Tom said, “James is bothering me.” Tom took Emma’s hands in his. “James? My husband?” Tom winced at the term. “I found out some information.” “What kind of information?” Emma’s hands shook inside of Tom’s. He pressed them together to give her the strength to hear what he had to say. “Remember when your wallet fell on the floor and I gathered up the pictures?” Emma shook her head. “I came in and showed you a picture and asked who that was.” “Get to the point, Tom. Quit sugar-coating it.” Tom shrugged and said, “James is the man whom I took the vortex displacement plans from in 1944. I knew the minute I saw his picture.” “What?” Emma jumped up from the sofa. “James was the fourth man in the warehouse. From the way it looked, he’d been informing the Nazi soldiers that they needed to move the machine immediately. They’d learned that the Allies knew it existed.” “I don’t believe you.”
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Tom took her hands and pulled her back onto the sofa. “I know this sounds harsh…but James was a Nazi spy.” “No.” “Honey, James never died during World War II. He left you and stayed behind in Germany. He stayed with his country.” “No!” Emma sank down to the couch. She stared at the floor for a minute then felt anger flood her system. “Why are you doing this? Why are you saying these horrible things?” Emma shouted. “I have a letter that said he died. Who would be so cruel?” “I’m telling you the truth. James did not die and he spied for Germany. Emma, think real hard. During your marriage did anything seem odd? Do you remember any behavior or situation that didn’t fit your life?” Red suffused Emma’s face. Her lips thinned into a straight line. Her hands balled into fists⎯fists that she wanted to throw into Tom’s lying face. “James was not a spy. I’d have known. For God’s sake, I was married to the man for thirty years.” Ignoring her outburst, Tom asked, “Did you receive any odd phone calls? Have any strange visitors? Did James ever answer the phone in the middle of the night and then abruptly leave?” Emma flashed back to the day when she’d come home from work and seen some blueprints lying around their house. To her it was only six months ago. James had acted very odd when she entered the room, hastily rolling up the plans, then ushering a strange man out of the house. And the weird thing was that James never introduced her to his guest, just like he had never introduced her to the man at the house in the mountains. But she wasn’t going to tell that to Tom. “No.” “Honey, I know this is hard,” Tom moved to pull Emma into his arms. She stepped away. “But if there’s anything you can remember, anything that might help us figure out who might have had another copy of those plans…anything that might help us end this mess, I need to know. After all, you basically just left 1944.” Emma warred with herself. She felt anger, disbelief and finally stubbornness. Her mouth opened then closed. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the room. She threw the clothes on her bed. Roughly opening the drawers of the dresser, Emma tossed her underwear on top of the pile. Shoes flew out of the closet. Not true. It wasn’t true. James had died. He hadn’t lived through the war. He wouldn’t leave her like that. It wasn’t true, she thought again. He wasn’t a spy. She couldn’t have been deceived for thirty years. What did it say about the kind of woman she was? What did that say about the kind of man she chose? What did it say about James’s love for her? Yet did James really love her? If Emma was honest with herself, she’d admit that she hadn’t felt love from James for a very long time. So? It didn’t mean he would disrespect her. James had always been scrupulously polite. Almost to the point of indifference.
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No. Emma sank to the jumbled multi-colored pile on the bed and buried her face in her hands. A large, painful bubble burst inside her and on a huge hiccup she burst into tears. Sobs wracked her body and Emma rocked back and forth. Her mind refused to believe Tom’s accusations. If James hadn’t died, if someone had sent her that note, then her life had been a sham. All that she’d thought and all that she’d lived for would have meant nothing. Rivers of tears streamed down Emma’s face. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her midsection, trying to stop the flow of agony. Why would James just leave her? Did he hate her so much that he couldn’t stand the sight of her any longer? If he’d wanted out of the marriage, why wouldn’t he just tell her? No. Emma couldn’t believe that her husband would just cruelly, thoughtlessly leave her. The tears trickled to a stop. Emma sat up, still hugging the pillow. She glanced around the lovely guest room. Cherry and pine furniture gave the room a casual comfort. The navy and cream comforter that covered the four hundred thread count cotton sheets spoke of luxury, contentment. Emma sighed. She loved this century. She loved the new inventions⎯microwaves, hair dryers, Starbucks⎯she especially loved remote controls. She loved Tom. But how could she love a man who told her that her whole life had been a sham? Emma stared into space, her mind whirling. Emotions sped through her, first disbelief, then pain. Next followed anger. Emma, always the realist, decided that she’d better find out the truth. Exhaustion overcame her. Emma fell onto the tangled mess of clothes and, pulling the comforter up to her chin, curled, fully dressed, into a fetal ball. The last of her hiccups soon left her and Emma fell into a troubled sleep.
***** “Well,” Tom muttered, “that went well.” He glanced at his watch, surprised to find that it was only seven o’clock. He stood up and paced the family room while he kept raking his hands through his hair, leaving rows that separated the silver-blonde strands.
***** Emma woke up groggy. Her heart felt heavy. How could she ever trust Tom again? Why hadn’t he told her that James had been in Hamburg, Germany, when he’d first seen the picture? Because he knew she wouldn’t believe it—knew she’d react exactly the way she had. She got up and paced the room. No thoughts swirled around in her foggy brain. Emma stepped into the bathroom and glanced at her face in the mirror. Puffed up on the left side again. Thank you, Stephanie-the-witch. Emma splashed cold water on her face, then patted it gently dry.
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She went downstairs and found Tom standing in the family room. He was staring at the framed pictures on the mantel. She heard the small grandfather clock ticking. Suddenly the room felt different. It felt like home. Tom turned when he heard Emma enter the room. “When you left an hour ago, all the warmth and lightness left the room with you. I…didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run after you.” “I needed to think, Tom. I took a nap.” Escaping into slumber was one of Emma’s favorite ways to distance herself when she needed to think things through. “And what have you decided?” “That you have to do what you’ve planned. And that I have to let you.” “What about James?” Emma flinched at his name. “I don’t know. I need time to process what you told me.” Emma looked curiously at Tom. “Besides saying you saw him in Hamburg, Germany, what other facts do you have to back up this accusation?” Tom sighed. “You’re not going to like what I tell you.” Emma braced herself by sitting on the sofa. “No, I’m sure I won’t. But I have a right to hear it.” “On my first layover to LA I didn’t go to Santa Monica. I went to Boeing in Long Beach. They bought McDonnell Douglas a while back.” “Who’s McDonnell Douglas?” Emma asked. “Oh that’s right, you wouldn’t know. Douglas Aircraft Company became McDonnell Douglas years ago. Boeing Aircraft Company bought them recently.” Emma shook her head at the news. “So what did you find out?” Tom scooted over and took one of Emma’s hands in his. She pulled it back. “Emma. Give me your hand back. I want to hold it.” She looked at him. “Okay. Be that way.” Tom got up and paced. “I didn’t find out much at Boeing. All they could do was tell me he worked there. But they gave me James and your home address. So I went to Culver City.” Emma jumped up from the sofa. “You did! You never told me. How could you…?” “I didn’t know you as well as I do now. I wanted to trust you—but I couldn’t yet.” “Thanks a lot.” Emma needed to do something with her hands. She went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. “Go on. I know there’s more.” “Well, your house is still standing…it’s very pretty. The owners have kept it up nicely.” A wave of longing swamped Emma. She wanted to go home. She wanted normalcy. “I’m glad,” she whispered.
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“My hotel room was broken into while I was out. Nothing was taken, just rifled through. I didn’t know why, but now I’m sure I was followed and it had to do with the blueprints.” Emma stared at Tom. She wanted to run to him and hug him. But she held back. Now she knew who he was. A time traveler like her. But who was the man he’d become in the last thirty years? What secrets did he still keep from her? Did he really love her? Emma started doubting everything she’d ever known and believed. “Is that it? Or is there something else you’re keeping from me?” Tom looked right at her. “That’s it.” “Well, I guess you need to get going.” Emma dunked her tea bag in her mug. The tea sloshed over the side of it spilling onto the counter. “Emma?” Tom asked. “Do you believe me?” She turned from wiping up the spilled tea. “I don’t know, Tom. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
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Chapter Twenty-Two I’m meeting Virgil in just a few minutes.” Emma felt Tom’s scrutiny. She knew her face looked drawn, pale. “Will you be all right here without me?” “What choice do I have?” “Emma, come here.” Tom held out his arms to her. “Give me a hug.” Tears slid down Emma’s cheeks, but she didn’t move from the kitchen. “I know you have to do this. I just wish it’d all go away.” “It will if we can get the blueprints altered.” Tom let his arms drop uselessly to his sides and went upstairs to pack his suitcase. Emma followed him. “I should be gone no more than a few days. According to Virgil, I’m expected.” “Oh goody.” “Emma. I told you some facts to back up my accusations about James.” “No. You’re wrong.” Emma walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower. She needed to clean away the filthy suspicions. She showered quickly. After towel drying her hair, she found the hair dryer and turned it to high. Furiously, she waved the blower over her hair. If only it were just this easy to blow the false accusations out of the way. Emma didn’t use a styling brush. Who cared how she looked? Tom was leaving and James had either died or left her. She put her sweats back on and crawled into bed. Tom came out of the closet and saw her wrapped up in the bedding. He knew she was hurting and wished he could take the pain away. “Virgil’s outside waiting. I won’t be able to call, so keep the door locked. Nobody, not Stephanie nor Beth, is to be let in.” He stroked her clean face. “What a beautiful woman you are,” Tom said again for the hundredth time. “As soon as the mission’s over, I’ll call.” Emma turned away from Tom. She couldn’t watch another man leave her. The last one never came back. “Don’t reject me now, Emma.” Tom stroked her face with a knuckle. “We have too much together.” When she didn’t respond his shoulders slumped. “Wait for me, Emma. Please.” The pleading tone registered inside Emma. She turned back and stared at Tom. “Why?” “Because I need to finish explaining this to you. I need—” “You need what, Tom?”
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“I need you.” Tom bent over and pulled Emma into his arms. He hugged her as if he would never see her again. He stroked her skin, letting his fingers trail along the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. “I need you, love. Don’t leave me.” With that, Tom kissed her with passion then got up and left the bedroom.
***** Emma sat there stunned. He needed her. Well, she needed the truth. For some reason that declaration from Tom goaded her into movement. Emma tromped downstairs and pulled Tom’s quilted coat out of the closet. She looked out the windows to make sure he’d left, then got into her car and drove a few blocks. Emma pounded on Donny Adam’s front door. After peeking through the curtains on the side of the door, he opened it with a huge smile on his face. “Emma! How nice to see you. Come in, come in. It’s too cold to stand out there.” “Thank you for letting me barge in here without calling, Donny.” Emma took off her coat since Donny had the heat turned up in his house. “No problem. Can I get you something to drink?” “No. Thank you. Can we talk?” “Sure. I love company.” He led her to the kitchen. “I just made coffee. You sure you don’t want any?” Emma sat at his old, scarred maple table while he poured himself a cup. “No. I’m fine.” She waited until he came and sat down next to her. “Donny? What was your profession when you worked?” “I was an engineer for thirty-five years. Why do you ask?” Emma leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret? A really, really important secret?” Donny looked intrigued. “I’ve never sold out a friend, Emma. Never.” “Good. I have a story to tell you.” Donny leaned back in his chair and made himself comfortable.
***** Back at home, Emma picked up the phone and called the airlines. At least some of the original carriers still existed. United, American, Continental and Northwest. The rest she’d never heard of. After four phone calls she’d booked a flight for first thing tomorrow morning to Los Angeles. American had the cheapest fare, so Emma charged it to the credit card Tom had given her. The amount shocked her. Emma shook her head. How long would it take for her to realize that she lived in 2006? Tom seemed to be used to it, but he’d been here for thirty years. Emma sighed, confused. She packed a small bag, one she found in Tom’s closet. With that finished, she decided on her plan. Emma wished she had the use of the computer, but it lay in broken 167
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pieces on the floor of the office. She wanted to look up James’s ancestry. That is if she could find anything. For all she knew, James’ history petered out when he’d died. Well, she’d try anyway. Emma walked around the bedroom for a few minutes then got into bed. She turned out the light and tried to sleep. Too much had happened today. Her mind raced while it replayed the day’s events. Finally, she fell into an exhausted sleep. The next morning, Emma rose early and called a cab. She didn’t want to leave her car at the airport and she didn’t know quite how to get there or where to park. Since her flight left at seven in the morning, she decided it would be easier to hail a cab. The cabbie chatted about nothing on the way to the airport and the twenty-minute ride seemed like ten. He dropped her off upstairs and Emma went to check in. After going through security, something Emma had never done before, she stepped on to the Boeing 767 with some trepidation. Her last flight hadn’t gone well and she worried that this one would plunge her back into the twentieth century, or even somewhere else. The friendly stewardesses greeted Emma and directed her to her seat. Emma had gotten the last window seat, according to the reservations agent. The flight was full. As she watched the other passengers board, it amazed Emma how many people airplanes held nowadays. Who would have thought that one airplane would move two hundred and fifty passengers at once? The captain welcomed the passengers onboard as they taxied and then they took off. Emma watched the ground fall farther and farther away. Her hands tightened on the armrest as she felt some light bumps on the ascent. How high they flew! Once the airplane reached its cruising altitude of thirty-seven thousand feet, the captain leveled it out. Emma sighed in relief as they flew west.
**** Tom and Virgil also flew west, but at forty-five thousand feet in their private Cessna Citation X, owned by the CIA. Speeding along at four hundred seventy-five miles per hour, they would reach Idaho in another hour and a half. “Let’s go over this one more time,” Tom said. “Do you have doubts about the plan?” Virgil asked. “Yes. If you remember from the old days, I have doubts about any infiltration.” Tom stood up and walked along the full-sized cabin. “That’s what’s kept me alive so long.” “And that’s a good thing.” Tom continued pacing. “My concerns are that I’m not twenty years old anymore. And is the mole reliable?” Tom stopped and looked down at the old man who had once been his boss. “He is.” Virgil craned his wrinkled neck up to look at Tom. “The man’s been with us for twenty years. Sit down, Tom, you’re making my neck hurt.”
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Tom sat down with a thud. “Virgil, I’m no spring chicken. My reflexes are slow. I haven’t had any recent training.” Tom sighed. “I’m a jet jockey. I transport people in a flying bus.” Tom stood up again and paced. “Look, these high-tech do-dads are great, but I’ve only been given a cursory brief on them. What happens if something goes wrong?” “Evan Childs is your mole. He’s very experienced. Evan knows the ‘do-dads’, as you call them and will be right by your side.” I’m worried about Emma.” “We have people watching her. I told you that.” “Yes, but did you tell her that?” “No. These are very experienced operatives. She won’t even know they are there.” “I’m going back to her after this, Virgil. I love her. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself or you.” “Nothing will happen, Tom. Emma’s perfectly safe.”
**** The plane landed at Los Angeles International Airport. As they descended Emma plastered her face to the window so she could see the changes. During the taxi to the terminal Emma gasped. “You new to Los Angeles?” the man seated next to her asked. “Sort of. I haven’t been here in a very long time.” Emma laughed at that comment. She looked at the gentleman next to her and saw a thirty-something man, medium height, medium brown hair, round small glasses. Why, he could blend into the woodwork he looked so unobtrusive, Emma thought. “It’s my home,” the young man said. “The city of LA has approximately nine million people. I’ve been away for work and I finally get to visit again. Just looking at the sprawling metropolis gives me pleasure. Did you notice all of the pools and the palm trees on descent?” “Yes, I did. The city has gotten so large since I left.” Emma watched the myriad vehicles racing along the airport grounds as they pulled into the gate. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.” The airplane stopped and the passengers all jumped up at the same time. Emma gathered her few belongings and stood, waiting for a place to politely insert herself in the throng of people. As she stepped into the aisle a young, twenty-ish man shoved her. “Get out of my way, lady,” he said. Startled at his meanness, Emma looked up at him. His short blond hair, clean shaven face, blue eyes and military bearing spoke of a regimented life. He wore some kind of combat attire, camouflage, yet more in line with what today’s boys wore for
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fashion. But his manners said otherwise. “Excuse me.” Emma stepped back into the seats to let the boy pass. As he did, he whispered, “You better watch your back here. There are some that don’t want you snooping.” “What?” Emma asked. “Are you talking to me?” The boy stared hard at her. The line had started moving so he glared, then walked forward. As he did so, Emma saw the tiny swastika tattooed on the left side of his neck. Her hand fluttered to her throat. That boy had something to do with the neo-Nazi movement! Her adrenaline kicked in as fear shot through her veins. How would he know she’d gotten on this flight? Even Emma hadn’t known until last night. Rooted to the spot, Emma didn’t know what to do. The boy got off the plane, so Emma finally disembarked. The encounter had rattled her, but she headed toward the car rental counter downstairs at baggage claim. As she walked through the terminal Emma noticed the gentleman who had been seated next to her. He seemed to be following the young Nazi boy…but she could have been wrong.
**** Enterprise Car Rental gave her a little black Chevy Corsica. The car seemed awfully small to Emma after years of driving large 1944 Fords. But it had those automatic transmissions, power windows and an air conditioner. With a map and directions on the passenger seat, she headed north to Culver City. Even with today’s traffic and congestion, she should be there in about fifteen minutes. Emma drove along Sepulveda Boulevard passing through Westchester, a suburb of Los Angeles. She saw the rising buildings of the Howard Hughes Center on the right side of the street. She passed by the Fox Hills Mall and turned left on Sawtelle. The Jacaranda trees were just sticks in the slight wind, but Emma knew that come late spring, they’d bloom a beautiful purple color. She loved that tree. When the blooms fell off they created a purple blanket on the ground. She turned on the radio and found a station playing big band music, so she hummed softly to The Andrew Sisters singing “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”. She could almost believe that she was back in 1944. A right turn on Braddock brought her to the street where she used to live. A wave of nostalgia broke over Emma as she saw how little the street had changed. Some of the houses had been added on to, but the others still retained their 1940s look. Emma drove until she located her home. The paint was different but it was the same style that she remembered. It looked as if the house still retained its original size of eight hundred square feet. Parking was no problem at this time of day and the little compact Corsica fit nicely into a spot between two cars. She turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car. As
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she turned to close the door, she didn’t see the sport utility vehicle speeding down the street. Emma heard the sound of an engine revving up and turned back to see the SUV barreling down the street, bouncing over the speed bumps put in the lane to slow it down. She slammed the driver’s side door closed and jumped onto the hood of the car just as the vehicle passed her. A man walking his springer spaniel witnessed the attempted run-down. “Are you okay?” he shouted while running to help Emma. Her chest heaving, her hands shaking, Emma stayed on the hood of the car. “I don’t know. I can’t believe that man. He nearly hit me!” “Lady, to me it looked as if he were aiming for you.” “What?” Emma couldn’t believe that. Why would anyone want to hurt her? It couldn’t have anything to do with Tom and his activities…could it? After catching her breath, Emma climbed over the hood and down to the sidewalk. The man’s dog came over to sniff her and she patted him on his head. “Thank you for your concern. I really appreciate it.” Emma looked across the street toward her house. “Do you live here?” “Why, yes I do. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for thirty years,” the man said. “Do you know the people who live in that house?” Emma pointed to a small, single-story white house with dark green trim on its shutters. “The McDaniels? Sure! I live right next door.” Emma’s heart pounded when she heard her name. “McDaniels? Have they lived here long?” “Yup. All my life. First the father, then the son.” “The father?” The man started to get suspicious. Emma saw his eyes grow wide, then narrow. He looked more closely at her. “Why all the questions, lady?” “Oh I used to know some people who lived around here. I was just curious,” Emma said. “Do you by chance know a boy named Donny Adams?” The man burst out laughing. “Boy! Do I know him. He’s my father.” “Your father?” Emma looked closer at the man. He did look like Donny, come to think of it. He had the same hazel eyes and they were both tall and thin. He even had the same quirk to his mouth that Donny had. “I knew…” She had almost said she knew Donny during the war. “He’s my neighbor in Chicago.” “Well, isn’t that a coincidence.” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Walter Adams.” “Emma Mc…” Darn. This was impossible. “McGivens.” “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McGivens. What brings you to Culver City again?” “I know this sounds odd, but I wanted to speak to the owners of the house next to yours. Do you think they’d mind?”
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“No. I think Greg wouldn’t mind at all. Come on. I know that he’s home, I saw him a little while ago.” He’s home. But who is he? Emma followed Walter across the street and up the steps to her old home. A flood of memories assaulted her and for a moment she became lost in the past. She saw James walking in the front door, stern and silent. She saw his hard face as he threw his briefcase on the little table in the tiny entryway. Emma also remembered how she’d walk up to him to kiss him hello and he’d pull away at the last minute. “Mrs. McGivens? Are you okay?” Walter asked. “What?” Emma started. “Oh I’m fine, thank you, Walter.” He knocked on the white front door and they waited. Soon Emma heard footsteps. The door opened and Emma caught her breath. Standing before her was the spitting image of James. “Yes? Oh hello, Walter. What can I do for you?” the man asked. “Hi, Greg. This is Mrs. McGivens. She said she wanted to talk to you and asked me if I thought you’d mind. You don’t, do you?” The man looked at Emma. She saw no recognition in his eyes. “No, I don’t mind. Would you like to come in? Any friend of Walter’s is a friend of mine.” Greg McDaniel stood back for Emma to enter. Walter told the dog to sit and left him on the front porch. When she entered the house Emma couldn’t process what she saw. The interior was almost identical to when she’d lived there. For a minute Emma thought she’d entered a time warp. Gathering her wits, she stood up straight. “Thank you for having me, Mr. McDaniel.” Well, that sounded strange. “I was wondering if you could give me some information on the previous owners of this house?” “Well, there’s not much to tell. I’ve been here for forty years and my father lived here before that.” “I know this sounds odd, but could you please tell me the name of your father?” “Why do you want to know?” Greg looked between Emma and Walter. “Please, I don’t mean to pry. And this information will not be used publicly.” Emma twisted her hands together. Her mind began to whirl. “Well…” he looked at Walter and saw him nod. “My father’s name was James McDaniel.” Emma felt faint. It couldn’t be. “What…what did he do for a living?” “He worked at Douglas Aircraft Company selling airplane parts during World War II.” Oh my God. It was true. “I’d heard that James McDaniel died during the war.” “Died?” Greg laughed. “Couldn’t have. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
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Emma’s legs started to wobble and she didn’t think they’d hold her up. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to ask you just two more questions.” Greg nodded. “What’s your mother’s name?” “Mom? Why, her name was Nancy. She and Dad married during the war in Germany. He’d met her around October of 1942 and they married in June of 1944.” Emma stomach roiled. “May I sit down for a minute?” “Oh sure, I’m sorry. Here, let’s sit in the living room.” Greg led them to the couch in the front room, but Emma would have known the way blindfolded. “Would you like some water?” “No, thank you. Here’s the last question.” Emma took a deep breath. “When did your father die?” “Oh Pop lived a good twenty years after the war. He died in 1964. Of heart failure.”
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Chapter Twenty-Three Twenty years. Emma couldn’t believe that James had lived for twenty years after the war. Tom had been right. James had lied to her. He’d left her and he’d never loved her. Emma felt betrayed. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. McDaniel.” Emma rose from the couch. “I’ll be on my way now. Thank you for inviting me into your home.” With the weight of the world pushing down on Emma’s shoulders, she forced her feet to step to the front door. “Mrs. McGivens?” Greg asked. Emma turned. “Yes?” “You know, come to think of it, my father once mentioned a woman named Emma.” Emma closed her eyes and tried not to show the hurt that flowed through her. “I think he said he lived with her for a while…or something.” Tears threatened to fall and Emma blinked to keep them at bay. Lived with her. It seemed that thirty years hadn’t meant anything to James. “Thank you again, Mr. McDaniel.” Emma turned. Greg opened the front door and she stumbled out, Walter following behind her. “You okay, Mrs. McGivens?” Walter asked. “I’m fine,” Emma said absently. She walked across the street to her car, not noticing Walter gather up his dog and enter his own home next door. Once safely inside she crumpled into tears. How could she have been so blind? How could she have lived with the man for so long and not seen the signs? No wonder he hadn’t touched her. Her kisses must have been repulsive to James. Wracking sobs engulfed Emma. She wished Tom were here to hold her. Emma needed the comfort of strong arms, the consolation of soothing murmurs. She needed to feel the beat of his heart. Emma needed to feel loved. Tom. She’d let him leave on such bad terms. What if something happened to him? Lost in her misery, Emma didn’t see the two short-haired, twenty-something young men in military attire sneaking up on her car. She was looking down at her teardrenched hands when the front door jerked open. Strong hands with iron grips pulled her out into the street. “What are you doing?” Emma cried. “Let go of me!” “Shut up, lady. Or we’ll hurt you,” one of the boys said.
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Emma struggled with all her might. One boy had her arm pulled at an unnatural angle, the other shoved her shoulder. They forced her toward a black SUV with dark tinted windows that she hadn’t seen parked on the street. For a moment it looked like the same vehicle that had tried to run her down. “Who are you?” Emma was afraid she knew. “Ow! Let me go!” The boys pushed her to the car. One opened the back lift gate and they both shoved her inside. Then one of the boys got in the back with her while the other ran to the driver’s door. The driver gunned the engine and sped away while the boy in the back roughly tied her arms behind her, her ankles together and stuck duct tape across her mouth.
***** So far the mission had gone according to plan. Tom and CIA infiltrator Evan Childs had driven to the remote forest where the neo-Nazi camp was hidden. Evan introduced him to “the gang”. Ten blond-haired, blue-eyed men and boys, all dressed in military attire, carefully looked him over. All but two left to patrol the grounds. Tom had noticed that the wooded property was open to anyone that might wander in, but the men carried rifles and seemed alert and organized. He didn’t think anyone would be able to get too close to the main buildings without being confronted. The leader of the gang questioned Tom. “Tell me where the bolts for the displacement lever is on the re-built machine.” “Top, left, just under the wind level knob,” Tom said. “The vortex tunnel is how wide and long?” “Thirty feet wide by fifty feet long.” The two Nazis looked at each other. “When you install the new time displacement lever, where will it be placed in the machine and what tool will be needed to install it?” Tom knew that was a trick question. The old lever is in a nearly unreachable spot. “The new lever will go just outside the opening, within easy reach of the operator. The old lever will be taken out with the new tool I made just for this problem.” He pulled out a long ratchet-like device from his duffel bag that was bent at a forty-degree angle and showed it to the two men. After a few silent moments the Nazis decided he must be on the up and up. “Okay…this way.” The leader of the group led Tom and Evan into the warehousestyle building. Once inside Tom looked around. It took him a minute to process what he saw. “Where’s the machine? This place is empty.” Evan Childs spoke up. “It’s not here, Tom. The machine is safe, where you can’t fiddle with it.” He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Tom’s chest. “You traitor! How long have you been involved with these nut cases?”
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“Watch it, mister.” A boy shoved a rifle in Tom’s gut. “My whole life, Tom. I’ve dreamed of this moment for years. The moment when I pulled the wool over the CIA’s eyes.” Tom gritted his teeth. “So why’d you bring me out here?” “Well, for one thing, I wanted to tell you that we have your little Emma. She’s probably having a look-see at the machine that brought her forward sixty years right now. Yup. I’m sure she’s happy as a clam breathing that nice, clean Lake Arrowhead air.” Tom’s whole body flinched. “Who?” “Oh come on. We know she’s your girlfriend. You’ve holed up in your love shack for weeks now. Nice of her to drop in the way she did, huh?” “What does that mean?” “Nothing much now. Since you won’t be around much longer I guess I can tell you—we’re going back to get James McDaniel. You see, he’s the key to this plan. He’ll help us get Hitler back. Then we’ll change everything and win the war.”
***** The SUV sped along the city streets. Emma started to count the turns, but after three or four she’d lost count. She maneuvered herself into a sitting position and had only the one captor in the back to look at. The black windows didn’t allow her to see anything outside. The boy—not more than eighteen or nineteen—had spiked hair, pierced earrings in his mouth, six along his ears—both sides—and one through his tongue. His nails were painted black and his lips were a ruby red. He wore a black t-shirt, black jeans and the clunky black Doc Martens boots that she’d seen some of the kids wearing today. Ugh. Why did he make himself look so ugly? Well, no matter. Emma had to figure out a way to escape. The car raced around a corner and Emma fell into the wheel hump in the back of the vehicle. She pulled herself up again and propped herself between the hump and the back of the middle seat. Then she stuck out her tied legs and used her feet to brace herself. “Quit your squirming,” the boy said. “Got a problem back there?” the driver asked. “Naw. Nothin’ I can’t fix if I need to.” Emma stopped and shot daggers at him with her eyes. The boy looked straight at her. His eyes widened then lowered to his hands. He started to pick at a hangnail, then decided to chew it off his nail-bitten hand. They drove for about two hours. Eventually the car slowed and came to a stop. The boy in the back opened the lift-gate and jumped out. Emma saw pine trees and smelled
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pine sap. Lake Arrowhead? A powder-blue sky sparkled in the early afternoon and the sun’s yellow rays shot between the trees and left beams of light on the ground. She was roughly hauled out of the car and stumbled when her feet hit the ground. The two men grabbed her arms and pulled her up to an old and rusty single-wide trailer. There were three steps up to the door and Emma couldn’t climb them with her feet tied so tightly together. With the boys lifting her, she jumped up each step, finally getting to the door. Once inside they shoved her to the sagging couch. The faded green color showed brown stains. Repulsed by the filth, Emma tried to stand up but couldn’t get her balance to do so. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” the king of piercings said. They turned and left the trailer. Emma heard their laughter until they got into the car. She heard the engine fire up and the wheels spit dirt and rock as the car screeched away from the trailer. She looked around the shabby trailer. Disgustingly dirty. Damp, dark, dingy. Ratty curtains covered broken windows. Half eaten sandwiches lay on the table stuck to plates crawling with ants and other bugs. Emma watched as a cockroach crawled out of an open can of Diet Coke. Ugh. It took concentration, but she finally got her legs folded under her enough to bring them up on the couch. She squirmed until they were under her. She sat with her knees forward, her legs underneath her. With her hands tied behind her back, she reached to her ankles and tried to undo the knot. She’d been working at it for a while when she heard a noise outside the trailer. Darn. She’d finally thought she’d felt a little give in the knot. Emma pulled her numb legs out from under her and just got back to her original position when the screen door squeaked open. Blood drained from her face as she watched the man enter the trailer. He stared at her for a minute then laughed. “Surprised?” He didn’t wait for her answer. Not that she could have said anything with her mouth taped shut. He walked over to her and ripped the duct tape off her mouth. “Ow!” Emma wanted to rub her stinging mouth. “Greg McDaniel. Like father, like son.” “Emma McDaniel.” Greg laughed. “McGivens. What a crock. Dad’s first wife. I knew immediately. You haven’t changed a day since 1944. Pictures don’t lie.” He strode over to the rusty refrigerator and opened the door. “Want a beer?” “No.” “Too bad. That’s all we’ve got.” He flipped up the tab on the top with a pop. “I don’t think Dad really intended for you to get caught in a time displacement vortex, but when he found out what had happened to you he was thrilled.” “What?” Emma felt her knees weaken and she was still sitting down. Her mouth went dry.
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“Now he didn’t have to kill you.” The bold statement sent chills racing up Emma’s spine. She sat hog-tied and frozen to the spot. “He hated you, Emma. He’d hated you since the day he married you.” Greg gulped half of the container of beer in one swallow. “You were American. You lived an easy, comfortable life, had an easy, happy upbringing. You lived during a war when others suffered terribly.” “What was I supposed to do? Go running off and get myself killed trying to help the Allies?” “Emma…Emma…Emma.” Greg shook his head. “Not the Allies. The Axis. Dad worked for Germany. After all, that was his home. Even though they ripped him from it at the tender age of seven when his parents died in that accident. He’d never forgiven the family that brought him to America. He vowed one day to go back.” Stunned at Greg’s harsh words, Emma said nothing. “Cat got your tongue?” Greg smashed the tin can. Emma felt as if he were smashing her life in his palms. Oh Tom. I need you. “If James hated me so much, why did he marry me?” Emma heard the weakness in her voice. She hated herself for sounding so vulnerable. “You were the perfect cover. The all-American girl. His job at Douglas gave him the opportunity to travel to restricted countries. His fluency in German came in handy too.” The only time she’d heard James speak German was that time she’d overheard his phone conversation. It felt as if a lead weight dropped on Emma’s shoulders. Her whole life had been a lie. A cruel, heartless lie. “You didn’t know a thing about my father.” Again Greg laughed. “Or my mother. I lied about when they met. Nancy McDaniel was my father’s mistress for the last ten years of your marriage. Every time he went on one of his trips to London he really went to Germany. In actuality, he lived with Nancy. It wasn’t until you conveniently disappeared that they had me.” He’d been cheating on her for ten years. Emma brutally forced the tears and the self-pity from her mind. This wasn’t the time. “So when did you get involved with these neo-Nazis?” “I’ve been involved my whole life. Mom and Dad explained what a great world we would have lived in if Hitler had won.” Emma saw Greg lose himself in his dreams. His face became slack, his eyes closed partway. “No Jews. Health care for everybody. The master race.” Hatred flared inside Emma. She felt her tied hands fist into tight balls. First the husband, then the son. Emma needed to get free and get away. But how? Greg came back to himself and looked at Emma. “That pilot you’re living in sin with, now he’s a piece of work. We sure did a number on him and that old coot he was 178
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working with. Told him the vortex displacement machine was in Idaho.” Greg laughed maniacally. “Got him out there and showed him an empty warehouse! Oh I wish I’d been there to see his face.” Fear raced up Emma’s spine. A trap for Tom? Greg went to the refrigerator and pulled out some old, moldy cheese. He cut off a piece and shoved it into his mouth. “I see your little round, beady eyes are frightened. Don’t worry. You won’t have to worry much longer.” Greg yanked Emma’s legs out from under her. He roughly untied the ropes. “Come on…I have something to show you.” Then he dragged her by her tied arms out of the trailer and into the woods. “Once the displacement machine is fixed, I’m going back to get Dad.” Greg sighed. “Oh to see him again, to be with him again. Then we’re going to change your whole way of life.”
***** The madness transformed Greg’s face. The face that so resembled James’. First she saw dreaminess, then hatred and now crazy determination for a lost cause. “How do you expect to go back to 1944?” Emma jumped at the harsh bark of laughter. Greg stood up to his full six-foot height, towering over Emma. She craned her face up to look into those wild eyes. “I’m not going back to 1944. I’m going back to 1960. Four years before Dad died. You see, we had better technology twenty years later. We knew about the atomic bomb. We had better weapons.” Greg stopped in the middle of a large clearing. “Now, with the rebuilt vortex machine, we can go forward and backward. I can actually bring Hitler back!” Sick laughter filled the air while he pointed straight ahead. Emma looked where Greg pointed. She sucked in a harsh breath when she saw the huge building in the middle of a clearing of trees. It can’t be. It was in Idaho. Greg looked at Emma. He radiated madness. “But I won’t do that. No, I won’t. Why bring Hitler back when I’m here?” Greg’s cell phone rang.
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Chapter Twenty-Four Evan walked around Tom. He pushed the muzzle of his pistol into Tom’s back. “Move. Your time’s run out.” They walked into the woods. Two of the boys followed. Evan turned around and said, “Leave us. He’s mine.” The boys faltered for a minute. First they looked at each other, then at Evan. “Move!” They scurried like rats. “Since this is the end of your life, I want you to know something.” Evan laughed. “Actually, if I know your weakness—and I do—I think you’ll fear this more than life. Greg McDaniel has Emma. And he hates her with a passion.” Evan waited for Tom’s response. “Well, why are you telling me? What can I do about it?” Tom’s hands shook. The muscles in his jaw jumped. “Oh the big, tough guy. Time’s up!” Evan swung his gun up. The shot reverberated throughout the forest. Tom waited to feel the pain. Nothing. Then he saw Virgil standing behind Evan’s crumpled form with a look of disgust on his face. Virgil brought the pistol to his side. “It’s about time,” Tom said. “The filthy traitor,” Virgil replied. “Glad that wire you’re wearing wasn’t found. Hurry up. We have to get out of here.” “They have Emma.” “I heard. The jet’s revved up and waiting for us.” Virgil led Tom to a deserted logging road. A jeep was waiting, engine running. They jumped in the back and the driver sped the vehicle away. “We have to save her, Virgil. Greg McDaniel hates her.”
***** “Yeah, we got the first wife here.” Greg laughed to someone on the other end of the phone. “She’s as terrified as a cornered mouse.” Emma watched the madness in Greg’s face as he talked on the phone. Red suffused his face and spittle dribbled out of the sides of his mouth. He looked rabid, she thought. She had to get out of here. Projecting a calm she didn’t feel, Emma quietly stood with her arms still tied behind her.
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“Don’t worry. I’ll keep her as long as I need to.” Greg shook his head. “Naw, she won’t cause us any trouble.” He glared at Emma. “Gotta go. Bye.” Greg slammed the phone closed. “Here, walk with me a little farther.” Greg laughed as he hauled Emma into the building. Her eyes widened at the sight of the vortex displacement machine. It was huge. “I see you’re properly awed by our genius.” “Why have you brought me here?” “I was hoping that when we finish fixing the machine you’d be happy to see your husband again. For one last time.” Greg slapped himself on his leg at his attempted humor. Spittle flew out of his mouth as he spoke. Some of it hit Emma in the face. She stepped back and turned her face away. Greg roughly pulled her chin forward again. “What? Don’t like hearing that Dad is coming back?” he asked. “Too bad.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Be prepared for the judgment day.” He spit on her again. Judgment day her butt. Anger gave her courage. Kidnapped by a madman, she decided that she’d do anything to get out of this tin-can warehouse. She didn’t respond to Greg’s comment. Instead she looked steadily into his eyes. Emma watched as sanity fought with madness. A flicker of humanity shown through and she decided to appeal to that part of Greg…while he still had it. Emma knew she had to keep him talking. At least that’s what they said in the movies. “Where’d you get the blueprints?” “From our mole in the CIA, naturally!” More sick laughter. “Your lover Tom,” Greg choked out the word lover, “turned over the original plans to the man he thought had infiltrated our organization. It turned out that he was the head of it.” Emma’s hopes began to dwindle rapidly. “Why not just let me go home? I have nothing to do with this.” “No, but you’re smack-dab in the middle of it now. You know too much. Sounds like in the movies.” Greg’s face turned purple from his glee. “Come on, I want you to watch our little display of brilliant engineering.” Greg dragged Emma closer to the machine. “I can’t feel my hands. Can you loosen the rope?” “Sure, why not? You’re not going anywhere anyway.” Greg came up behind Emma. As he reached for the bindings, she smelled his sour breath on her neck. “There. All untied. Now rub away at your wrists. It won’t matter none anyhow,” Greg whispered as he caressed her neck. Emma stepped away in disgust. As Greg pulled her closer to the machine, Emma realized there were men with rifles standing guard around it. The closer she got the more afraid she became. She didn’t want to be sent back to 1944. She wanted to stay here with Tom. As she watched, Greg said something to a man working at the entrance. Then he gave a holler.
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“The vortex machine is finished!” he yelled to the room. A cheer went up from the boys surrounding it. “This is it! Stand back. Now we change history.”
***** “Hurry up, Virgil!” Tom said as they raced to the waiting car at Big Bear Municipal Airport. “I’m coming, Tom,” panted the old man. They hopped in and Tom drove like a man possessed. They knew where Emma was now. The satellite search had confirmed a large building in the middle of a clearing near Lake Arrowhead. “Time’s running out. The photos show a group of men heading toward the clearing. That must mean that the machine is nearly finished. They’ll run it as soon as they can. I know it.” “I’ve called the local authorities. They know we’re coming, as does the FBI. We’ll get there in time.” Tom didn’t answer. The grim look on his face said it all.
***** Emma had almost forgotten. Too much had happened too fast. As Greg sauntered up to the machine, she fumbled in the pocket of her sweatshirt. Slowly she stepped back. She didn’t want anyone to notice her retreat. Greg was so focused on the machine, as were the others, that Emma had made it to the door to the corrugated warehouse when he gleefully turned around to gloat at her. “What? Are you scared? Bring her over here, boys,” he ordered. Emma turned and ran. Out the open doors and straight into the forest. She ran as if her life depended on it. And it did. As she ran she fumbled in her pocket again for the device. Emma pulled it out and pointed it at the warehouse. She stopped, praying that she’d gotten far enough away from her pursuers, and pushed the button on Tom’s television’s remote control. Nothing. Oh my God! It didn’t work. “Donny, you said you knew what to do.” Emma turned and fled into the forest.
***** As they neared the clearing they heard a rumbling. The ground started to shake. “What’s that? Thunder?” Tom asked as he frantically searched the clear, blue sky. “Earthquake?” He found a spot to hide the car and they jumped out. The rumbling got worse. In an instant it dawned on Tom what he was hearing. “Virgil! Run! Run!” He turned and fled
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in the opposite direction, dragging the old man along with him. “The vortex machine has started up!” The machine rumbled then whined. The whine became louder and soon the humming and clicking of machinery inside became a rhythmic melody. Screaming cheers came from the boys inside. The sky above started to change colors, but they didn’t see it. First the gray clouds became darker then large black clouds appeared. Multi-colored lightning bolts shot throughout the clouds and horizontal spirals began to form. Emma ran. She looked up and saw the multicolored lights. Oh no! It’s happening again. Wild with excitement, the boys hi-fived and body slammed each other. They were so excited they didn’t notice the change. A vibration had started in the ground. The whine of the machine became a high-pitched scream. No one noticed the walls of the building start to bulge. Soon the corrugated metal walls bent so far out that one of the young boys noticed. He tried to yell to Greg, but there was too much noise. He ran around the outside of the group and pulled on Greg’s arm, pointing to the walls of the building. Greg frowned then his eyes went wide. He ran up to the lever to pull it down just as the machinery screeched. The walls burst out in a hailstorm of splintered metal, showering everyone in its path. Lethal shards skewered the boys, instantly killing most of them.
***** The explosion threw Emma to the ground. Shards of metal flew around her, cutting her arms, legs and back. She lay there stunned as the rumbling sound faded, wondering if she was still alive. When all was silent again, Emma struggled to a sitting position. Blood ran everywhere. Her blood. She gathered all her strength and stood up, holding on to the trunk of a pine tree. When the wave of dizziness passed, she started to walk to the clearing. When Emma arrived there, she gasped. The building was gone. Obliterated. The machine was gone. Emma sank to the ground and passed out.
***** “Emma!” Tom cried out. “No! Not Emma!” Tom ran as fast as his rubbery legs could go. He and Virgil had taken cover under a gnarled, uprooted aspen tree. Sporting a few cuts and bruises, he raced to the clearing. All he saw at first was devastation. Shards of the building, broken glass, pieces of machinery and bodies littered the ground. He heard a few moans from the remaining injured boys. Tom turned around in a circle, searching for Emma.
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At first he missed her. Then he saw her slumped form lying against a pine tree. Tom ran. “Emma! Oh my God!” He dropped down beside her and placed his hand on her carotid artery. A pulse. Thank God. Then he checked her for any broken bones. Blood was everywhere. But as his panic started to recede he realized that it came from her back. Tom turned her over and he stopped breathing. Emma had shards stuck in her back, her legs and her arms. “Oh God, my darling!”
***** Emma woke up in the hospital. Tom lay next to her on the bed, sound asleep. A feeling like warm honey flowed through her. Medication. She had no idea how long she’d been here, but she saw the early morning light shine through the mini-blinds. Fuzziness claimed her and content that Tom was here, she fell back to sleep.
***** Someone kissed her face. Tom. His masculine scent enveloped her as his firm lips moved over her mouth. Emma moaned with pleasure and pain. “Did I hurt you?” “No.” She opened her eyes. “I love you, Emma.” “I love you too, Tom.” He sat up on the bed and looked at her tenderly. “How’re you feeling?” “My back, arms and legs hurt. I had surgery, didn’t I?” Emma shifted painfully on the bed. “Will I be all right?” “My brave, brave Emma.” Tom kissed her. “You’ll be fine. The doctors stitched you up after they removed the shards. You’ll be fine.” “I didn’t think it’d worked.” “What, darling?” “The remote control.” “Emma, you’re not making sense. It must be the medication.” He stroked the hair off of her face. “What does a remote control have to do with anything?” “It blew up the vortex displacement machine.” Tom laughed. “No, honey. It couldn’t have.” Emma struggled to sit up in bed. “It did! I had Donny rewire it.” Tom shook his head. “Donny Adams? Your old neighbor? Why would he do something like that?”
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Exasperated, Emma said, “Tom. Donny was an engineer for thirty-five years. I told him what happened to me…to us. All of it. I asked him to rewire a remote control to blow up the machine. He did. And it worked!” Tom stared at Emma. “You’re serious?” “I am,” she said then winced. “He said something about electrical impulses.” “Well, I’ll be.” Tom smiled crookedly. “My hero. Now rest. I’m going to the hotel to shower and change then I’ll be back.” “Okay. I am tired.” Emma gingerly scooted down in her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Tom?” “What, honey?” A look of sadness, maybe fear crossed Emma’s face. “Nothing.”
***** When Emma woke she saw Tom sleeping in the chair. Emma stared at his strong, handsome face. She loved him. She trusted him. But what would happen to them now? “What?” he asked. He’d opened his eyes to find Emma staring at him. “Nothing.” “Come on, honey. We’ve been through too much together.” Tom got up stiffly from his chair and came to the bed. He sat down next to Emma and put his thumb and forefinger under her chin. He tilted her face up so her eyes were directly in line with his. “Speak.” “What’s going to happen to us?” “What do you want to happen?” “I’m afraid,” Emma blurted out. “Of me?” “No. Of being wrong again.” She sighed. “Of thinking that someone loves me when they don’t.” Depression stole over Emma. Weight pressed down on her shoulders. “I’m not James, Emma. When I give my love, it’s forever.” Liquid green eyes stared into crystal blue ones. “Forever.” Emma murmured. Then she looked at Tom. “I like the sound of that.” Tom got off the hospital bed and sank to his knees. He took Emma’s left hand in his. Gently rubbing it with his thumb, he said, “I love you, Emma. When I make a promise I keep it. I’ll do everything in my power not to disappoint you.” Tears fell down Emma’s cheeks. “Thank you.” “Will you marry me, Emma McDaniel?” Tom’s hands gripped Emma’s. “Will you have me forever?” Her breath hitched at the question. She looked at the steady blue gaze and knew she’d found her home. Finally. A true home.
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“Yes, Thomas Wellington, I’ll marry you.” Tom’s face lit up at the use of his real name. He let out a long breath. Then he jumped up from the floor and climbed back onto the bed. “Welcome home, my love.”
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Epilogue
One Year Later The Douglas Commercial 3 flew through the clear blue sky. Emma Wells sat in the seat next to one of the seven windows on her side of the airplane listening to the droning sound of the propeller engines. She looked through the curtained window down at the black, winding, mountain road below and saw a lonely car driving somewhere. So much had changed. Now, in 2006, Emma didn’t feel sad, she felt euphoric. Out of war and uncertainty Emma had found the one thing that had been missing from her life. Somehow—through time and space—she’d found love. Emma looked around the empty airplane. The smartly dressed stewardess came down the aisle and stopped. “May I get you anything to drink, Mrs. Wells?” “No thank you, Christine.” “Ma’am, the captain asked me to give you this note.” When the stewardess left, Emma took the folded cream-colored embossed piece of paper out of its silver-tipped envelope. “My Love, Flying up here in the cloudless blue sky I can’t help but remember the first time we met. Strange as it seems, I felt connected to you. Your emerald eyes stole my heart and I’m profoundly thankful that you fell through time and space onto my flight and into my arms. You and I are not bound by earth, Emma. We’re bound by heaven. Know that I love you with all my heart. Know that I will until the day I die. Your loving and very grateful husband. Tom Tears fell. Emma had finally found a home. She looked to the cockpit where her husband flew the airplane. Slowly she rose and walked to the front. Emma stepped through the curtain and wrapped her arms around the neck of the man she loved. “Thank you for my note.” She hugged him tightly, tears still dripping down her cheeks. “I love you.” “Good.” He grinned. Then he banked the airplane to the east. Time to fly home.
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About the Author A native Californian, Barbara Goodwin is a senior flight attendant for American Airlines. She is an avid romance reader and the possibility of time travel fascinates her. While writing her books, her wonderful springer spaniel, Clark Kent, is always by her side. Barbara welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.cerridwenpress.com.
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