The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3) Read online

  When Margaret heard a door shut in a distant part of the house, she took a sip of tea and returned her attention to the woman sitting across from her at the dining room table. She watched closely as the woman put away a chess set that had rarely been used.

  "I appreciate the time you spend with Penny. She adores you."

  "I'm quite fond of her as well. She is a delightful girl," Grace said as she put the last piece into a cherry wood case. "Thank you for allowing me to be a part of her life."

  Margaret noted the unenthusiastic voice. She didn't doubt that Grace loved spending time with Penelope. The newcomer had set aside at least three hours a day to play with a child that needed more attention than even an attentive mother could provide. She had even helped Penny stay current in her studies after the Board of Health ordered the closure of public schools.

  Yet it had been clear from the start that the time Grace had spent with a smart and sunny seven-year-old was no substitute for the life she had left behind. Margaret could see crushing sadness in Grace's face, the kind of sadness that resulted from unimaginable loss. She felt badly about the way she had greeted her arrival. She had judged too quickly.

  "I wasn't sure I wanted you near her at first. I wasn't sure I wanted you near any of us. This has been quite an adjustment for me, as you can imagine," Margaret said. "It's not every day my husband brings home a stranger to live with us, much less a young, attractive woman. It's not every day he provides that woman with clothes and books and attention he rarely gives to others. If I didn't know him better, I'd suspect that he had less-than-honorable intentions."

  Grace smiled weakly but did not reply.

  "But he told me your story. He told me about items that he found in your purse, items that give your fantastic tale credibility. If it is true that you were separated from your husband and children, then you have suffered a terrible injustice. I cannot imagine losing Alistair and Penny in such a way. I know only that were I to suffer such a loss, I would want the love and support of people around me. I want you to know, Grace, that you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish. I want to help you in any way I can."

  "I appreciate that," Grace said.

  Margaret smiled and took another sip of tea. She studied her guest for a moment before pushing the conversation in a different direction.

  "I must admit that my interest in keeping you here is not entirely altruistic. I'm fascinated by your story. I'm interested in learning more about you and, perhaps even more so, the things you claim to know."

  "What would you like to know?" Grace asked.

  "What will the future bring? Will we enjoy a better life? Will the world be a better place?"

  Grace grabbed a teapot in the middle of the table and filled her cup. She stared blankly past Margaret at the far side of the room, as if collecting her thoughts, before returning to her host.

  "The twenties will be all right, if you don't care to have a drink. Prohibition will come to the entire nation. So will prosperity. Many people will become rich in the coming years and many more will become poor. You should give careful thought as to where you invest your money."

  "And the later years? What will they bring?"

  "The thirties will bring widespread poverty. Many of those who thrive in the twenties will not be able to find work or feed their families. Some will do well, but most will not. There will also be political unrest in parts of the world, unrest that will lead to yet another war."

  "I cannot fathom another war. Will it be worse than this one?"

  "It will be worse than you can possibly imagine."

  Margaret gazed at the woman wearing her blue housedress with newfound respect. She could not believe that someone so young had endured so much and still kept her wits. She vowed then and there to do everything in her power to make Grace's life comfortable.

  "I suppose you know how this war will end and when," Margaret said.

  "I do."

  "My younger brother, Albert, is serving in the 42nd Infantry Division in France. I have not heard from him in weeks and worry about his welfare. Is there anything you can tell me that might provide a degree of comfort?"

  "I don't know his fate," Grace said. "As I told Alistair, there is much I don't remember and even more I do not know. But I can tell you that the war will end soon."

  "Please tell me how and when. I must know."

  Grace looked at her friend with eyes that betrayed age and weariness beyond her years. She smiled sadly and reached across the table to touch Margaret's hand.

  "This war will end as all wars end – with remembrance and regret," Grace said softly. "It will end on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Two weeks. There will be peace on earth this Christmas."

  CHAPTER 36: ALISTAIR

  Seattle, Washington – Monday, November 11, 1918

  Alistair looked at several others in the brightly lit café, noted the blatant non-compliance, and returned his attention to the woman who shared his table. After a moment, he shook his head and removed the monstrosity that covered his face.

  "I'll be damned if I wear this thing another minute. I can't eat with it and I'm not sure it even works. If the police want to arrest me, they can cuff me now," he said.

  Alistair put the white mask – one of a quarter million distributed by the Red Cross – in a pocket and repositioned his frame in the cushioned seat of his booth. For nearly two weeks he had attempted to be a good citizen and follow the directive of the city's health commissioner, but his patience had worn thin.

  Grace removed her mask and put it in her purse.

  "I guess they can arrest me as well."

  Alistair smiled at his house guest, or his niece, as he had begun to call her, and studied her face as she examined a menu. He could still see sadness and resignation in her eyes, but for the first time in days he could also see a spark. He could see that Grace Smith, wife, mother, and time traveler, was slowly but surely turning a corner.

  "I'm glad you decided to come," he said. "I think you will enjoy your day on the campus and the change of scenery. The university is an interesting place. There is much to see and do here."

  "Thank you for bringing me."

  Alistair checked a pocket watch he pulled from his wool jacket and then peered through their tableside window to the sidewalk on University Way Northeast. The Ave was still quiet at nine o'clock, but it would not remain that way for long – not on this day. He picked up his menu and glanced at his breakfast options, which included broiled sausages, poached eggs, hominy, and Indian griddle cakes.

  "I have invited Captain Walker to join us. He works in the recruiting office in the student union and meets me here often. I hope you don't mind."

  "I don't mind at all," Grace said. "I would enjoy his company, particularly today. I'm sure he has many thoughts to share about the war and the armistice."

  Alistair lowered his menu and stared at Grace.

  "Margaret told me about your prediction," he said. "If I had any doubts about your story, they disappeared when I heard the church bells this morning. It appears that the Germans gave up the fight at eleven Paris time. That, my dear, makes you either a teller of the truth or a prognosticator of the first order. I choose to believe both."

  "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

  Alistair was about to say more when he heard the bell on the front door jingle and saw an Army officer with a cane enter the café. The man smoothed the wrinkles from his uniform, turned toward the main dining area, and waved when he saw his neighbor and friend.

  "It seems our other party has arrived."

  Alistair and Grace each got up from the booth and greeted John Walker.

  "Please take a seat, Captain. We were just about to order," Alistair said. "Margaret and Penny stayed home this morning, so it's just the three of us. Where would you like to sit?"

  "Well, if it's all the same to you, Alistair, and agreeable to Miss Smith, I would prefer to sit next to the lovelier of my choices."
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  Alistair smiled.

  "I expected you would."

  When the meals arrived twenty minutes later, Alistair took a long look at his griddle cakes and patted himself on the back for trying something new. He then took a long look at the couple sitting at his table and congratulated himself again for bringing them together.

  He believed Grace when she said she was a married mother of two, but he also knew that she would eventually have to get on with her life. He knew that John Walker would be a good friend and a patient mentor to a woman who probably needed both.

  Alistair had not explained his house guest in great detail. He had told the captain merely that Grace was a family friend who had asked to stay in Kenmore while she resolved some personal matters. He said she had hoped to find new opportunities in Seattle by the end of the year. What those opportunities might be was anyone's guess.

  "I managed to catch a glimpse of the campus as we drove in and saw an assembly in front of the administration building. I imagine the influenza restrictions will go by the wayside today."

  "You're right about that," John said. "When I stopped by the training camp, Commander Freeman himself was organizing a march. The swabbies should pass this way soon."

  "The Navy operates a training facility about a mile from here," Alistair said to Grace.

  Grace nodded at her uncle but quickly returned her attention to the window and the street beyond. She appeared to be focused on something else, something even more important and relevant than the end of the bloodiest war in history.

  "Does the Army plan a celebration?" Grace asked John.

  "Nothing official is in the works, but I'm certain that will change by the end of the day. The whole city seems gripped by the news."

  "That's wonderful, Captain. I can only imagine how difficult the past few years have been for you and others serving our country," she said.

  "It's been hard on everyone, civilians included," John said. "You're the folks who've had to bear the funerals and separations. I can at least say I volunteered to be a part of the misery. My parents did not, nor did many of the men who served. But I thank you for the words, Miss Smith. Not everyone appreciates the meaning of sacrifice and loss. It appears that you do."

  Alistair watched Grace smile weakly at the captain and put her fork on her plate. It was obvious that she had lost whatever appetite she had brought to the café. He tried to think of something cheery to say but was soon distracted by noises from the street.

  "Here they come," John said.

  The boys of the naval training camp had indeed come out in force. Led by Commander Miller Freeman, they marched north along the Ave to the accompaniment of drums and whistles. Dozens of civilians fell in behind them, followed by motorists who honked and waved from their cars. Within minutes, students, pedestrians, and others crowded the sidewalks. Most wore smiles. None wore masks.

  "It's quite a sight. Perhaps we should join them," Alistair said.

  He reached for his wallet and put cash on the table.

  "My treat," he said to John.

  Alistair looked again at Grace and saw that the impromptu parade had apparently lifted her spirits. She smiled and returned waves to the marchers in the streets. She smiled again when a young man rushed into the café and addressed an acquaintance at a nearby table.

  "It's incredible, just incredible," he told the man at the table. "There are thousands in the streets downtown and the police don't care. The dance halls are open. So are the stores and the restaurants and the theaters. You have to see it. You have to see now. We have our city back!"

  CHAPTER 37: GRACE

  Saturday, November 16, 1918

  Grace settled into her cushioned seat as the opening credits flashed on a massive screen and noise from a Wurlitzer organ filled an even bigger theater. She preferred voices and natural sounds to music that could set her hair on fire but conceded that two thousand pipes working in harmony had a certain charm. When the volume dropped to a reasonable level, Grace leaned to her side and spoke into the ear of a uniformed officer.

  "Thank you for taking me."

  "It's my pleasure," John said.

  "I mean thank you for taking me all week. I feel like I've taken advantage of your kindness and patience, not to mention your pocketbook."

  John laughed.

  "You've done nothing of the sort," he said.

  Oh, yes I have.

  Grace didn't want it to end like this, but she knew that it probably would. If the rest of the evening went as planned, she would leave John's side during the screening of Stella Maris, enter the ladies' room, and proceed directly to Joel Smith. Captain John Walker would become, in the military vernacular of 2002, collateral damage.

  Grace had already been through two dry runs – on Tuesday and Thursday, when John had taken her to Soldier Arms with Charlie Chaplin and Tarzan of the Apes. She had left her seat twice each night to search for the time portal and had come up empty every time.

  The failures had proved disappointing but had done nothing to shake her resolve. Grace had known that her best chance for success would come Saturday night, when she attended a showing of Stella Maris in the clothes she had worn on October 5, 2002.

  Now that Saturday had arrived, Grace felt more confident than ever. She was certain that whatever had been present in the Palladium in 2002 was with her now. She would succeed and be with her loved ones before the evening was through.

  That didn't make the prospect of leaving Captain Walker any more attractive, of course. She liked him. She liked his keen intellect, easy manner, and warm smile. She also liked how he had rushed in to take Alistair's place when she had asked her uncle to take her to the Palladium at the earliest opportunity. She liked how he had taken her to dinner. She liked that most of all.

  Grace hoped John would eventually forgive her thoughtless departure and believe a truthful explanation she had left with Alistair. She had instructed Alistair to give John a letter revealing her secret in the event she did not return. Grace hoped John would find someone deserving of his many virtues. She was sure he would. She knew he would. Now, however, she had more pressing concerns. It was time to pay a visit to the room that had done her wrong.

  Grace looked at the screen and saw that Mary Pickford was as feisty as ever. That was good. She had remembered America's Sweetheart filling the screen the night she had taken a wrong turn at 1918 Street. Hopefully, the similarities between the two evenings wouldn't end there. She left her coat and collected her purse.

  "I'm going to go to the ladies' room," she said to John. "I'll be right back."

  Grace walked through a dark aisle and darker doors to a bright hallway and a brighter lobby. She scanned her surroundings and saw nothing that would suggest that the calendar had changed. Ladies and gents in Progressive era attire, and only Progressive era attire, roamed the chamber. Model Ts and 1910s vehicles, and only those vehicles, lined the street. No concession stand protruded from the back wall. Beer, wine, and cheese tables were still a figment of the future.

  Grace glanced at the women's room and saw that it too appeared unchanged. No Braille sign adorned a narrow doorway. So she walked across the lobby to a drinking fountain to quench her thirst and decide what to do next.

  The most obvious option was to sit and wait. She could pull up a chair and watch for changes. If John came out of the theater to look for her, she could ask him to stay in the lobby or follow him back to the auditorium and try again a little later.

  She could also go into the ladies' room now and spend some quality time in front of the mirrors. If the powers that be decided to open a door to 2002, she would be well positioned to take advantage of their hospitality. Though she wasn't sure that the restroom was the only portal in the theater, she knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Deciding to take charge of matters, she took another sip from the fountain, stepped out of the way of a couple leaving the building, and redirected her attention to the other side of the lobby. She looke
d at the ladies' room and saw what appeared to be a small brown sign affixed to the wall by the door.

  Grace's confidence soared as she approached the restroom. The door looked wider and the sign looked clearer. She could easily make out the universal symbol of a woman and the word WOMEN below that symbol. She smiled as she crossed the halfway point of the lobby and made a beeline for the door – and the future and Joel and her babies.

  Then she heard a scream that shook her to the core. She looked left toward the front doors and noticed a middle-aged woman kneeling over a middle-aged man who appeared to be incapacitated.

  "Please, help me!" the woman pleaded. "Please!"

  Grace froze where she stood and quickly scanned the lobby. She looked for a policeman or another authority figure but saw only a dozen moviegoers by the information counter.

  When the frantic woman screamed again, Grace rushed to the counter and asked the clerk to call an ambulance. The clerk left his station and ran down a hallway toward what appeared to be a group of business offices.

  "Someone help me!" the woman shouted. "I think my husband's had a heart attack."

  Grace looked at the woman and then at the women's room door. The brown sign hadn't moved. So she ran toward the woman and her husband and did something she had never done before, something she had only recently learned to do: cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

  "Move away, please," Grace told the woman.

  She leaned over the stricken man, checked his pulse, and went to work. For the next minute, Grace performed chest compressions while a small crowd gathered around. One man in the crowd, who appeared to be a theater manager, dropped to his knees and looked at her closely.

  "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked.

  "Yes. I know what I'm doing. Now please move back."

  Grace began to question her own declaration until she saw color return to the man's face. That development turned into something better when the man clutched his chest, rolled to his side, and started coughing. Grace tried to roll him over but couldn't. The man resisted and waved her off. When she tried again to see how he was doing, he pushed her away.