TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club [Book 12] Read online

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Absolutely! And yes to the milk.”

  Matt left the den with Samson following closely as he knew Matt carried the donuts.

  Bill continued his search for news articles that happened on or before June 1, 1861, tonight’s club date. He copied three news articles that he would paste into his newspaper dated June 1, 1861. The date on the newspaper told the members who attend tonight’s dinner the date that they are playacting on this evening. It also reminded them that they should not ‘speak out of club time,’ meaning they cannot talk about anything that happened after June 1, 1861. It was the only club rule and all members agreed that it kept the playacting real. Bill read the three articles he planned on sandwiching in between other news of the world of 1861.

  New York Times June 1, 1861

  Leaving New York. Mr. JOSEPH JEFFERSON. This admirable artist leaves us today on the California steamer SS Clayton. He contemplates making a tour of the auriferous regions, and possibly of pushing across the Pacific to Australia, where actors are always in demand, and never fail to reap a rich harvest. We can ill afford to part with Mr. JEFFERSON. His style is so genial and elegant, so quiet and nervous, so excessively funny, yet free from exaggeration, that we can scarcely hope to find his equal until he returns to us -- comes back richer and riper with travel, and, as we trust, stronger in health. There are some low comedians who think that they never can be low enough -- who vulgarize the profession for the sake of raising a nasty laugh. Mr. JEFFERSON is not one of these. Good taste is never offended in his performances, but always satisfied. Our friends in California have a rare treat in store.

  New York Times June 1, 1861

  THE CALCIUM LIGHT

  This powerful light, now on trial at Old Point Comfort, is an improvement on the old Drummond light. It is produced by the combustion of pure lime -- oxide of calcium -- in the flame of the oxyhydrogen blow-pipe. When this combustion takes place in the focus of a reflector of parabolic form, a cylinder of intensely illuminated rays is projected along the axis of the paraboloid. A cone of rays of any required degree of divergency is produced at pleasure, by moving the flame in either direction along the axis.

  This light was officially recommended to the War Department about a month since, by Lieut. GILLMORE, Corps of Engineers U.S.A., as an efficient method of illuminating everything within effective gun-range, in our fortified channels and roadsteads. The Department promptly acted on Lieut. GILLMORE'S suggestion that a thorough trial of the light should at once be made at Fortress Monroe, Virginia. The Union Defense Committee furnished the means required for this purpose. The proprietor of the light is now at Fortress Monroe.

  New York Journal American June 1, 1861

  (Dear reader, the following story was picked up by a reporter who was able to write it up and with great daring and pluck, ride north to allow us to pass onto you, the reader, what our foe is capable of.)

  SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY [ATLANTA, GA], This evening I had the pleasure of seeing two young ladies from Northwestern Virginia, who are worthy to be the sisters of these heroes. They are Miss Mary McLeod and Miss Addie Kerr, of Fairmount, in Marion County. Hearing that the enemy had reached Fairmount, en route to Philippa, they informed themselves of the number of his forces and the hour of his departure, and then mounted their horses and rode day and night, unattended, until they reached the doomed town. They were frequently stopped on the road, and various difficulties were thrown in their way, but brave and resolute as Nancy Hart, they surmounted every obstacle, and at last arrived at Philippa, having ridden a distance of thirty-five miles without once stopping for food or rest. Had their timely warning been heeded, Philippa might have been saved. But disastrous as the affair at that place was, it might have been much worse; for it has been ascertained, that but for the heroic conduct of these brave girls--not yet out of their teens--the whole Confederate force at Philippa would have been captured. All honor to Mary McLeod and Addie Kerr!

  Satisfied, Bill inserted them into the evening’s newspaper. He was about to alert Matt that he would be sending it to him when there was a tap on the door and Matt entered followed by Samson. He placed a silver serving tray on Bill’s desk and said, “Donuts and milk, sir.”

  “Great timing, Matt. Join me?”

  “I must beg out, sir as I am making final preparations for this evening’s dinner.”

  “On that note,” said Bill as he motioned to his laptop, “I’m just about ready to send you the copy for tonight’s newspaper.”

  “Very well, sir. I’ll have a copy ready for you to proof in an hour.”

  “Great, Matt. Thanks.”

  Bill sat back and put his feet up when there was a knock on the door in the den. “Edmund?” he asked himself as he got up quickly and headed towards the door that allowed him to time travel. “Edmund,” he said as he opened the door and saw his grandson standing there. “Come here and hug your grandpa.”

  They hugged and Bill said as he stood at arm’s length, “Let me see you. I haven’t seen you for a bit.”

  From a distance they looked like brothers. Both were the same six-foot two-inches with dark hair and chiseled features, but Bill had gray eyes while his future grandson had blue.

  “Come in and grab a seat,” Bill said as he pointed to one of the leather easy chairs. He took the facing one and asked, “Have you come for dinner or to lay a mission on me?”

  Edmund smiled as he shook his head and said as he passed him a six-inch metallic cylinder, “I’m afraid it’s to lay a mission on you, grand . . . ah, I mean, Bill.”

  His grandfather smiled back. “Nice catch, Edmund. Don’t call me grandpa and I won’t call you sonny boy.”

  Edmund raised his eyebrows, “Sonny boy? Wow! I’m glad that I caught myself.”

  “Now, would you like something to drink?”

  Edmund nodded, but shrugged his wide shoulders as he said, “I do, but I can’t. Mister Sullivan said that there may be more holograms coming so it’s better if I get back.”

  “I understand. Please tell him that the 1800 Club will take care of the problem.” He held up both hands to show that his fingers were crossed as he added, “You don’t have to tell him that I had my fingers crossed.”

  Edmund stood and they walked to the door where they embraced again and Bill said, “You be a good boy and next time you have to stay for dinner. Okay?”

  “I promise.”

  Bill opened the door and his future grandson stepped out onto the landing and Bill closed the door behind him.

  Back at his ‘coffee table’ he pressed his thumb down on the indent of the silver colored cylinder and placed it on the tabletop. The figure of a six-inch high man appeared and Bill nodded in recognition of Jerry Sullivan. The small figure stood with his arms crossed as he looked up and said, “Good day, Bill. Jerry Sullivan here and we have a big slip-up in history and need your help. Please watch the hologram. Best regards from the group.”

  Bill watched the video twice before shutting it down. He went to the den’s library and took out a large leather bound book, Nelson At Trafalgar: Right Person, Right Place, Right Time. Bill sat and started to read the book.

  An hour later Matt opened the door, in his hand was the evening’s newspaper. He saw the still hologram on the table and Bill going through one of the club’s books. Bill looked up and before he could say anything Matt said, “Sir, I’ve proofed tonight’s newspaper and it is ready to be printed.”

  “Uh, thanks Matt.”

  “I’ll knock on the door in three hours, seven-o’clock, sir. Does that give you time to get dressed for dinner at eight?”

  Bill sat back and squeezed the bridge of his nose, rubbed his eyes and answered, “Seven is fine. Thanks, Matt.”

  Three hours later Matt knocked on the den’s door and opened it enough to put his head in. “Dinner in one hour, sir.”

  “Thanks, Matt. Do you know if John Brand and Rocko Perna will be attending?”

  Having seen the ho
logram on Bill’s desk Matt knew there was a mission coming up and that Bill would like to talk it over with his two friends from the club so he checked to see if they were attending tonight’s dinner. “Yes sir. Both are attending.”

  “Thanks, Matt. I’ll be down at eight.”

  Bill closed the book then went and showered. Forty-five minutes later he stood before his full-length mirror for a final clothing check.

  He wore a knee-length slate blue Griffith twelve button Frock Coat over a black tapestry six-silver button vest, which almost covered his Victorian white dress shirt. The shirt’s high stand collar peeked out above his black and silver paisley ascot, held down with a pearl stickpin. His Livingston black, brushed cotton pants purposely draped slightly over his shiny leather brogan boots. “Looks as though you are as ready as you can be, Mister Scott,” he said as he flicked a make believe speck from the shoulder of his jacket.

  He went out the door and felt the thick dark brown rug give beneath his feet as he approached the rooms that a few of the club members have stayed in at various times. First he stopped at the door next to his and caressed the gold plated, Enrico Cassina round iron doorknob. He smiled to himself as he thought of his fiancé, Shirley Holmes using this room during her stays with him. She is so far away yet still very close thanks to the 1800 Club, he thought as he neared the wide set of stairs that would take him down to the great room where the club members were gathered. The sound of glasses tinkling as the members toasted to one another mingled with laughter, which got louder as he approached the door to the room.

  Bill stopped at the table next to the great room and picked up one of the club’s newspapers dated June 1, 1861. Next to the slightly yellowed newspapers on the 1894 American Victorian Library table was a large round silver tray holding Cuban cigars.

  Bill lit a cigar, stuck a newspaper under his arm and entered the room. As usual when he was spotted entering the room, conversation almost stopped completely as men nodded and most women did a small curtsy. However, after a smile and a wave from him they returned to their conversations. Even though there was no fire in the fireplace it still was the gathering place for many of the members and tonight was no exception. Matt came over to Bill carrying a tray of glasses of red and white wines.

  “Sir, perhaps a glass of red?”

  “Thank you, Matt. Have you seen . . . “

  Answering before the full question was asked, Matt said, “Both Mister Brand and Mister Perna are running late, sir, but they texted me saying that they were on their way.”

  Bill shook his head in amazement and asked, “Matt, can you read my mind too?”

  Matt raised an eyebrow and quipped, “Sir, it has never been proven that mind-reading has ever been achieved.”

  “Uhm, okay, thanks, Matt.”

  Doing a quick glance around the room Bill saw that there were knots of people gathered beneath the four paintings the club had borrowed for viewing by the American artist William Sidney Mount who loved to paint the average person relaxing with dance and music.

  Catching the Tune, 1866-67. William Sidney Mount

  Dance of the Haymakers, 1845. William Sidney Mount

  Dancing on the Barn Floor, 1831. William Sidney Mount

  Rustic Dance After a Sleigh Ride, 1830. William Sidney Mount

  Without the light from the fireplace the room had to depend on the overhead chandeliers, which used candles both for convenience and ambiance. The dancing flames reflected off of the chandelier’s many faceted crystals and bounced back from the well-polished wooden floor then onto the walls giving the feeling that the room itself was in motion.

  From what Bill could see the paintings were a hit and each of the small reflecting spots that danced on the walls gleamed back from the high gloss paint to give them a look of movement as well.

  “President Scott,” said a voice behind him. Bill turned to see Camille Sorice, a slim woman in her thirties. She wore a light green bell-shaped gown with puffed shoulders and frilly white linen at the cuffs. A dark green sash provided a low hanging separation at her middle, which emphasized her slim waist. A white splash of linen trimmed the bottom of her dress and matched her white, low heel satin shoes. She wore her dark brown hair upswept and held in place with a thin silver ribbon that trailed down the back of her neck. Silver earrings finished off her outfit. Bill knew that her great-great-great grandmother ran a talent agency and when the war started she provided entertainers to Military hospitals to cheer up the injured troops. Her smile showed a dimple in her right cheek and her green eyes flashed as she offered her hand.

  Bill took it and did a slight bow as he said, “Ms. Sorice. How very nice to see you again. Is everything to your satisfaction this evening?”

  “Indeed it is, President Scott and I love the addition of the paintings. Will you be rotating them with other artists?”

  “Yes. I plan on speaking to a few sources that I have and see if I can have that arranged. And,” he said, “I would imagine that your agency has a few artists who might like to show their paintings.”

  “Yes, they would be only too happy to show their talents.” She saw a few of the members enter the room and said, “But I must not take up all of your time, President Scott. Perhaps we can chat more at the next dinner party?”

  “That would brighten up my evening,” said Bill with a light bow.

  She left and Bill spotted an ashtray, flicked the long ash off his cigar and stood near one of the long red draped windows, as he looked the room over. He was at his happiest when he saw the club members all chatting it up and staying in ‘club time’. He saw Ed Grimes, a descendant of Edward Grimes Meat & Poultry who landed a huge contract to ship cattle and chicken to the various Union Army forts. Rather than a uniform Ed wore a typical brown business suit of the times. A white shirt with a starched collar that seemed a bit tight as his brown bow tie was almost lost in his double chin. As he spoke his small waxed-mustache did a slight dance. He stood with his thumbs in each of his vest’s pockets and the ash on his brown shoes told Bill that he missed the ashtray at least once this evening. Another member, John Jones who is a descendant of The John Jones Cab Service was dressed in a long, neck to foot, black coat that was buttoned from his neck to the bottom of the coat. In the epaulets of his coat he had a pair of leather riding gloves and under his arm was a round flat collapsible hat. John also had a well-waxed handlebar mustache that he constantly twisted. Another member with a mustache was Patrick Corbit. The big man with a shock of curly red hair was dressed as his great-great-great grandfather who was a fireman in New York City. He wore a red long sleeve shirt open at the neck, long black canvas trousers held up with wide red suspenders and high rubber boots. Under his arm was a fireman’s hardhat. Talking to a club member dressed as a sailor of the War Between the States was Colonel Philip Corouso, a heavyset, gray-bearded man in his mid-fifties. His army blue dress uniform sported about twelve medals that clinked together as he laughed. On each shoulder was a patch depicting an eagle with outstretched wings. His long leather gloves were folded over the deep-red sash that went around his ample waist. He stood smoking a cigar with one hand as he rested his other on the pommel of his dress sword. Talking to Colonel Carouso was Ms. Lottie Deno. The dark haired beauty was dressed in a deep purple, bell shaped dress that was low cut with long white linen sleeves that ended at her elbow-length white opera gloves. She wore a form fitting, deep purple sleeveless vest with white silk-covered buttons that emphasized her petite waist. A lighter shade of purple silk trimmed the bottom of the dress and allowed all to see her white silk shoes. Bill knew that she was a direct descendant of the 1860’s famous lady gambler, Lottie Deno whose real name was Carlotta J. Thompkins. She earned her reputation on the Mississippi Riverboats before moving on to Texas. It was rumored that she played cards with Doc Holliday while she visited Fort Griffin.

  Yep, he thought as he flicked his cigar ash once again, all is well in the 1800 Club this evening.

  “Good evening, Mister
President, is this section reserved for the club’s president only?”

  Bill turned to see his two time traveling friends and fellow club members, John Brand and Rocko Perna. “Hey guys,” he said as he looked around, “glad that you made it.”

  John Brand cut a sharp figure with his six-foot, one-hundred-ninety-pound frame. His shock of dirty blond hair was trimmed tight on the sides in a military fashion. He was dressed in the deep blue uniform of the Union Army and sported a balloon emblem on his lapel. On his shoulders he wore the rank of captain. Rocko Perna filled out his dark blue business suit well. He was five-foot-ten-inches tall and had shoulders like a football player. According to his life-long friend, John Brand, Rocko got them by helping out a plumber friend lift radiators during renovations. He had a shock of jet-black wavy hair and went hatless during a hat-wearing period.

  The three men knew that they had to act as though this was nothing more than the club’s president chatting with two of his members. In reality however, the three men had traveled back in time together and formed a unique friendship.

  Bill asked, as he made sure they could not be overheard, “Would you two be able to stay around a bit after the other club members go home?”

  “Sure,” answered John as Rocko nodded in the affirmative.

  “Mission?” asked Rocko.

  Bill shook his head slowly and said, “Yeah . . . a big one!”

  The three time travelers sipped their wine and chatted as the room filled with club members. Finally the tinkle of a bell got everyone’s attention and all turned to hear Matt who stood by the door to the dining room say, “Dinner is served.” All walked into the large dining room and saw the long dining table set for dinner.

  Seeing the club member’s eyes as they saw the dinnerware he had purchased back in 1860, Matt felt elated that he had made the purchase. The large main dish, salad dish, soup tureen, and bread dishes were vintage 1860 Hammersley gold and white Bone China. Each piece had hand painted English roses with their green leafs and thorn-filled branches adorning them. They all had a hand painted gold trim around their edge. The wine glasses were Victorian Bristol Green Glass.