Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II Read online

  DATELINE: AUGUST 6, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB NEW YORK CITY

  John was reading the book on the Wright brothers. He looked up and said, “What’s behind that door Bill? It gets you out of breath.”

  “Whew, too many stairs, that’s what. Here.” Bill handed him the package.

  “What’s this?” John asked.

  Bill sat down. “Open it,” he said.

  John untied the string and pulled open the paper wrapping. He looked at the boots. “Nice, but . . .”

  Bill pointed to the smaller package under the boots. “Open the other one.”

  As John undid that package, his eyes widened, and he whispered almost reverently, “It’s impossible.” He gently opened the book and exclaimed, “Impossible, this is impossible. It’s . . . it’s . . . why, it looks brand new! How . . . how could this be? I don’t get it. Do you have a supercomputer back there? You looked it up online and did a super-fast print job?”

  Bill shook his head, “No. I’ll show you what’s back there if you want, but first I have something to tell you.” He reached into his pocket and handed John the receipt from the store. John looked at it and then at Bill.

  “This can’t be. A receipt from Militia Merchandise! I’d recognize it anywhere. I’ve seen an old photo of one in a book on antiques, but it was yellowed with age. This is brand new. All I can say is bravo! You have some great toys here to keep us members amused. This is the best I’ve seen since I joined three years ago.”

  Bill offered John another cigar and took one himself. He cut off the tip with a silver cigar clipper and passed the clipper to John. “And if I told you that it was brand new? And the riding boots were brand new, too? Would you believe me?” he asked.

  John cut off the end of his cigar and accepted a light from Bill. He sat back and exhaled a puff of smoke. “A couple of minutes ago I didn’t know what to think. But now I think I have it. Behind that door is a storeroom with replica clothing and a high-end computer and printer setup to meet the whims of the members. And for whatever reason you are trying it out on me. Correct?”

  Bill blew a smoke ring, as he sat back. “Good! You are now confident that you have the answer. So if I tell you that I actually went back in time to purchase them, you’d laugh it off?”

  John grinned and said, “You bet I would!”

  “Why?”

  “Because that would be impossible.”

  Bill stood up and tilted his head toward the door. “Then I guess I’ll have to show you what’s behind the door.” He got up and led John to the great mahogany door at the far end of the room. Bill fished out the chain with the key on it from under his shirt and opened the door. He walked through and stopped as John stood at the opening looking at the gas lamps, which illuminated the descending staircase.

  “Coming, John?” he asked as he started down the stairs. John followed, puzzled but intrigued. At the bottom of the staircase, Bill once again used the key to open another, heavier door. Light poured in as he pushed it open.

  DATELINE: 1865 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  John looked around and said as he shaded his eyes, “But it’s after 10 p.m.! How is it that the sun is up? I don’t get it.”

  Bill turned and smiled. “You’re going to think that what I have to say now is impossible, John, but I just took you back in time.”

  John put his hands on his hips and said, “Aw, com’on, Bill. What’s the trick?” He pointed to the flowers and shrubs teeming with butterflies and birds. “How do you do this? And why me?”

  Bill turned to him, “It’s true, John. I can go back in time. I also know that you and every club member would give anything to take a trip back to the era they love. I know it because, remember, I was a member before I became president.”

  John admitted, “Of course you’re right, I’d love to go back and visit the past. But, it’s imposs . . . ” A noise from outside the high garden wall interrupted him.

  Bill beckoned him. “Here, John, come and see.”

  Both men walked over to the wrought iron gate and peered out. A black wagon pulled by two horses rolled by, clacking on the cobblestones. Two men sat on the seat as one of them held the reins. Both were in dark blue uniforms, and the side of the wagon read, “POLICE.”

  Bill raised a hand in greeting and said, “Good day officers.”

  The policeman without the reins waved and tipped his hat. “Good day to you, gentlemen.”

  Bill inquired casually, “On a call?”

  “No, just exercising the animals, sir. They get cramped in the stables and we need them to be limber at all times. And it tis’ a beauty of a day, isn’t it?”

  Bill’s smile told them he was in agreement with him.

  John was speechless as they drove away. “How did you do this, Bill?” He stared after them. “I need a drink!”

  “Good idea, let’s go.”

  John looked at him, “Go? Go where?”

  Bill once again took out his key, opened the gate and held it as John stepped out of the garden and onto the slate sidewalk.

  “You want a drink? I know this great place three blocks from here. Let’s go.”

  “But, what about my uniform? I mean, I know we dress up for the club, but we don’t leave the building in costume.”

  Bill laughed as he locked the gate and motioned for John to follow as they headed up the block. “Believe me, your ‘costume’ will be in vogue here.”

  John was still in shock as they passed a wagon loaded with fruit and stopped to watch the driver put a feedbag on his horse. More than once he covered his nose as he noticed the odors from the horse waste that pretty much cluttered the streets. He shook his head and walked fast to catch up with his guide.

  They covered the three blocks and stopped in front of Paddy Diamond’s Bar & Grill. Bill led him in, and they sat at two high stools at the beginning of the long, wooden bar. The bar’s doors were opened at the front and rear and a cool draft came through keeping most of the flies out. A huge moose head was mounted over an opening that led to the washroom. It had cobwebs streaming from its antlers and chin that danced in the light breeze.

  A big man with a thick head of white hair that matched the color of the apron he wore sauntered over to them with a smile and outstretched hand.

  “Hello, Bill. You been outta town?”

  Bill smiled back and said, “Hi, Paddy. Yes, I was in New Jersey for a few weeks.” He inclined his head toward John. “Captain John Brand. He’s with the Army Aeronautical Corps. He’s an old buddy of mine.” He turned to John and said, “John, this is Paddy Diamond. He pulls the best beer in town.”

  Paddy shook John’s hand and John noted that his hand was lost in the bar owners grip. “Nice to meet you, Paddy,” John said. “I’ll have a tall one.”

  “Make it two,” Bill chimed in.

  As Paddy walked down the empty bar to get two glasses, John asked, “I take it that you’re a steady customer here?”

  With a nod Bill answered. “When I want to get away from all of it, I just trot out my back door and pop into Diamonds.” He winked at John, “No matter what date I choose, I go to Diamonds to heft a few and chat with the Paddy Diamond that’s behind the bar. You see the bar has been in their family for years and I got to know the entire line of Paddy Diamonds. Of course I never come in when a father and son are here together.” He pulled out a dollar. John looked at it, then at Bill.

  “Bill, I don’t have any money on me,” he said. “At least not this, you know, the money they use. I have a twenty from . . . uh . . . back there.”

  Bill smiled and said, “You mean up there. We’re now back in 1865, so we’re back there.”

  John shook his head again. “Damn! It’s so hard to believe.” He looked at Bill, his eyes narrowed, “Why me? How come you brought me here? Do the other members know about this?”

  Paddy shuffled back and put down two tall, cool beers, their white heads flowing down the glasses. He picked up Bill’s dollar,
walked over to a hand-cranked cash register, punched in the price, walked back and left ninety cents.

  As Bill picked up the change, he winked at John as he showed him the handful of change, “Pretty good, huh?”

  John nodded. “Very good. Cheers!” He raised his glass.

  Bill raised and clicked his glass against John’s. “Cheers!” Each took a long pull of his drink.

  Bill turned, faced him and got down to business. “Okay, John, here’s the story,” he said. “I have a mission to complete, and I need your help. According to your resume, you are a walking textbook on airplanes. Right?”

  John pondered that and said, “Well, I graduated from the Air Force Academy, went through the Test Pilot School and finished second in the class. I’m now with Aerospace Technology Weekly magazine and have lots of friends who are privy to secret programs. So yes, I guess in a way I am kind of a walking aviation textbook. But there’s always someone else who’s more knowledgeable than you are.”

  Bill took a drink of beer and looked at John over the top of his glass. “Not in our club though.”

  John shrugged and said, “Okay, I’ll have to take credit for being the most up-to-date person in the club on aviation. So, what’s this about a mission?”

  Bill set his glass down and looked intently at his guest. “John, by now you buy the fact that we can travel in time. Correct?”

  John looked around and responded, “Yeah! I’d have to say yes to that. But how do you do it?”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders. “How do we do it? I don’t know! All I know is that people from our future set up the club to attract people who would feel at home in the past. And, think about it. Any of our members would feel right at home in the 1800s. They come into the club and dress, as they would have in the past. They speak as though they were back there, they act it, and they think it. For the short time that they are at the club they are back in time. Agree?”

  John nodded again. “True. And to be honest, I do feel right at home right now.”

  Paddy came back and placed a plate in front of them. On it were four hard-boiled eggs. He walked away. John looked at them with some puzzlement.

  Bill smiled. “Chicken dinner! It’s known as a chicken dinner, hard-boiled egg and a beer. Free buffet wasn’t invented in our time. It’s been around for years.” He picked up an egg and took a bite. John followed his lead. “Look,” said Bill, “Paddy accepts us, no questions asked. It’s because of our club training. If you took average people and brought them back, they’d probably panic.”

  John nodded in agreement.

  They finished their drinks and Bill put down a fifty-cent tip. Paddy waved as he picked it up and pocketed the change. “Good day, gents,” the big man said. They waved as they walked out the door.

  “Let’s sit on a bench, John,” Bill said. “I’ll finish my story.”

  They found a wooden bench alongside a cluster of elm trees. “I’m all ears, Bill,” John said as he sat back and relaxed in the warm sunlight.

  Bill rested his arms on his knees and turned to John, “The people of the future need help keeping history on track. They send probes back to key points in time, Gettysburg Address, the Charge up San Juan Hill and more. They just double-check that these things happen, as they should. However, they sometimes find that events veer off course. They feed this information into their computers and see how it turns out. When the computer shows that the result of veering off course is dangerous for the future, they have us step in and . . . “

  “Change it? John asked, as he sat forward. “Do they have you change history?”

  Bill shook his head. “No! Absolutely not! We are asked to just guide events back on course.”

  “So, how do you do that?”

  Bill answered, “It’s pretty much up to us. We just cannot let the historical figures know we are guiding them in any way. We have to let them come to their own conclusions.”

  “Okay,” said John, “what is your mission?”

  Bill sighed. “Get the Wright brothers to fly.”

  John was incredulous. “Get the Wright brothers to fly? But, they did!”

  “No,” said Bill, “that’s just it. A probe went back to 1907 and they were still building bicycles.”

  “But they flew in 1903,” John interjected.

  Bill shook his head. “That’s the problem. According to the probe, they didn’t fly in ’03, ’04 or even ’07. And as I said, because they didn’t, the French became complacent in their role as the leaders in aviation. But what the French didn’t know was that the Germans had a program of their own, and they were going to clobber the Allies in the First World War.” He stopped as a couple strolled by, then continued. “The computers predict that the Germans and their allies would invade North and South America and be successful. You see now why it’s so important that we get the Wrights to fly in 1903.”

  John leaned forward and stared at him. “This is such a fantastic story. It’s like . . . like . . . well, it’s like science fiction. But,” he said, sitting back again, “I believe you. I mean I have to after seeing all this.” He waved an arm around and continued, “I have to believe you. Where do I fit in? Open a flying school in 1903 or something?”

  “No,” said Bill. “They have to come to their own conclusions. You guide them in any way you feel will get them back on course.”

  John nodded, as his understanding of the project increased. “I’ll have to do a little brushing up on them, but, wow! I’m going to meet the Wright brothers.”

  Bill gestured at John’s military uniform and said, “I can supply you with any clothes, money and supplies necessary for the early 1900s. Tell me, how do you feel about going to a time period you never practiced for? I mean it’s not the 1800s.”

  “I think I can pull it off. It’s still going back in time and I’ll go over some books about the period,” John responded.

  “The club has a huge library covering any period you need to read up on, John.” Bill stood. “Shall we go back? It’s after midnight in our time.”

  John yawned and said, “Right. I’m going to have to get used to this. Talk about jet lag.” They laughed as they walked back to the garden and the club.

  DATELINE: AUGUST 7, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Early the next morning John Brand stood in front of a full-length mirror. He turned to see his clothes from all angles as Bill watched and Matt packed a travel bag.

  “Looks good,” John said, picking a thread from his jacket sleeve. He was dressed in a three-piece dark blue suit, black high-top shoes and a white shirt with a heavily starched collar. He fingered the dark blue tie, and then put a black derby on his head.

  Bill handed him a billfold. “Six hundred dollars in tens and twenties with some singles and a pocketful of change, all from the right time period. You’ll note that I kept your real name on any identification. It’ll be one less thing you have to worry about. Now, are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you?”

  John shook his head. “I really think it’s best this way. As we agreed, if I mess it up, you can try next and not be recognized as a friend of mine.”

  Bill nodded. “Let’s just go over the plan one more time.”

  John sat on the sofa opposite Bill and began to review.

  “We know that the brothers first became interested in flight when they read of the death in 1896 of Otto Lilienthal, the great glider pilot of Europe. They started studying birds in flight and building gliders in 1899. They made their first successful powered flight on December 17, 1903, and that was the start of the aviation industry. If I join up with them in mid-1901 that should give me time to see what stopped them from making that first flight. I’ll be going back as an inventor working on a few projects. That should give me free time and answer any questions people may have about my means of support. Sound good?”

  Bill looked pleased. “Sounds good to me.” He looked at Matt who was busy with the packing. “What about you, Matt? Sounds rea
sonable, right?”

  Matt nodded. “Yes, sir. It sounds as if you and Mr. Brand have covered any contingencies.” He handed Bill a wooden hairbrush and put John’s travel bag near the door. “Will that be all, sir?”

  Bill said, “Yes, Matt. Thanks for your help.” Matt left the two men alone, and Bill held up the hairbrush for John to see. “John, this is more than just an ordinary hairbrush. If you need to contact me just press down and twist the handle like this.” He followed his own instructions and the top popped open to reveal a small keyboard and monitor. “As I said, should you need to contact me, just text me, and press the ‘send’ button. I’ll get it immediately and answer you right away. I don’t have to tell you that this must never be seen by anyone.” He passed it to John who placed it in his travel bag.

  Bill then gestured toward the door. “Set?” They shook hands. As they walked toward the door to the past, Bill offered a last caution. “Remember John, if you need me, just send a text message, however, I’ll still have to take the same trip that you’ll have taken so that’ll add some time to my getting to you”

  “I’ll remember,” John said as he picked up his bag.

  Bill picked up his Time Unit and typed in June 3, 1901, then opened the big mahogany door and they walked down the stairs.

  DATELINE: JUNE 3, 1901 PLACE: THE 1800’s GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  It was a sunny morning in the garden with lush, green shrubbery whose fragrance almost masked the poor quality of the horse-waste laden air. They walked to the wrought-iron gate, and Bill opened it as a horse-drawn cab dropped off a passenger. He whistled to get the driver’s attention and patted John on his back as the new time traveler ran toward the cab.

  Bill watched him give the driver instructions, climb in, and, as they pulled away from the curb, wave back from the open carriage window. He closed and locked the gate and went back to the twenty-first century.