The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3) Page 3

  "Do you need money?" Ginny asked.

  "I don't," Grace said. "I have more than enough cash to cover my airfare and other expenses. I'll be fine."

  "When can we expect you back?" Edith asked. "I'll worry if I don't know."

  The unexpected question pushed Grace over the edge. She tried to hold back a new round of tears but failed miserably. The trickle had turned into a flow.

  "That's the thing, Aunt Edith. That's the thing," Grace said. She wiped a tear. "I don't know when I'll be back."

  "What do you mean you don't know?"

  Grace took a breath.

  "What I mean is that you may see me on Tuesday . . ."

  Grace turned to face the others.

  "Or you may never see me again."

  CHAPTER 4: GRACE

  As the child of American missionaries who had served in East Africa, the Philippines, and China, Grace Vandenberg was no stranger to travel. She had driven cars, plied the oceans in the great ships, and ridden trains, rickshaws, and elephants. But until she stepped inside a Douglas DC-3 at Boeing Field on December 7, 1941, she had never slipped what pilot-poet John Magee called "the surly bonds of Earth."

  Grace held her stomach as the 21-seat craft climbed above the lights of Seattle and then lurched eastward toward the Cascade Mountains. She imagined a flight that lasted ten minutes and a receiving line that included a remorseful cowboy who had broken her heart. The flight brochure on her lap suggested something less poetic. The plane would take four hours to reach Montana's capital and likely be greeted by a weary ticket clerk and a mop-pushing janitor.

  When the aircraft leveled out, Grace closed her eyes, relaxed, and tried to convince herself that leaving family and friends to chase a time traveler on a day her country had been drawn into a world war was the act of a rational woman.

  The meeting at Aunt Edith's had not ended well. Both Edith and Ginny had tried to talk her out of boarding the plane. Both counseled against her making rash decisions – permanent decisions. As much as they apparently wanted to see Joel again, they wanted to see Grace even more.

  Only Katie, dependable Katie, had understood. But then, she had read the letter. She had been in the kitchen when Grace's world had come crashing down. Months earlier, she alone had encouraged Grace to follow her heart and not her head when she had considered trading Paul McEwan for Joel Smith.

  Grace let her mind drift back to May and a simpler life that already seemed decades away. She thought of the night Paul had taken her to one of the best restaurants in town and put a diamond ring on her finger barely five months into their relationship.

  Paul had not wanted Grace to drift away after he graduated from the university's Naval ROTC program in June and headed to the Navy Supply Corps School in Boston. He had wanted to claim her before anyone else got a similar notion and return to a fiancée in August.

  He had been uneasy about a separation – and for good reason. Eight weeks was a long time. As it turned out, Joel had needed only four weeks to convince Grace that life as the girlfriend of a free-spirited furniture salesman beat life as the wife of an ambitious Navy officer.

  Grace peered through her window and stared at pure darkness. The plane was now above the clouds and far beyond any visible signs of human habitation. She couldn't imagine a more fitting sight. She was racing toward the great unknown, a perfect void, and a future that held far more uncertainty than promise.

  Even before leaving Edith's house, Grace had known that her quest could have only three possible outcomes. She would find Joel and attempt to save their relationship. She would not find Joel and return to Seattle. Or she would take the greatest leap of her life and continue her search into the future.

  She could not imagine the world after the war, much less the world of 2000. She promised herself that she would give a lot of thought to every move. Edith and Ginny were right about one thing: this was no time for hasty decisions.

  As the plane flew through the December night, Grace revisited her decision to tell Ginny about Joel. Had she been right to tell her that he was her grandson? Should she have left well enough alone? Grace had always been a firm believer in the message of John 8:32. In most cases, the truth will set you free. But was this one of those cases? In telling Ginny what she believed to be true, had she set into motion events that might have dire consequences for others?

  Grace didn't regret withholding the references to Tom. Joel may have known Tom's fate, but she didn't. She didn't know whether Tom would die in the war or return to Seattle safely and live many happy years with Virginia Gillette.

  Even so, Grace had left nothing to chance. She had encouraged Ginny to visit Tom at Fort Lewis and to do so sooner rather than later. She did not know how much time they had left, but she figured it was probably not a lot. The attack on Pearl Harbor had changed everything. The future was not something anyone could take for granted.

  Seeing nothing of interest beyond her window, Grace turned her attention toward the heavyset woman next to her. While most of the other fifteen passengers slept, the fortyish woman worked feverishly on a blue stocking cap she was no doubt knitting for a loved one.

  "Is that a Christmas gift?"

  "It will be if I finish in time," the woman said. "It's for my grandson in Spokane. He was born on Thanksgiving Day."

  "It's lovely."

  "Are you headed to Spokane too?"

  "No. I'm going to Helena, Montana. It's the second stop."

  "Then you must be returning home for Christmas."

  "No," Grace said. "I'm trying to find my boyfriend."

  "Is he lost?"

  Grace smiled slightly.

  "In a sense."

  "Well, he must be very special to get you on a plane this time of night."

  "He is."

  Grace pondered the understatement of the century. Only someone as special as Joel Smith could have possibly motivated her to leave Seattle. Rational women did not leave the comfort of family and friends to pursue a certifiable liar into the future. Then again, she had been anything but rational since he had come into her life like a gentle Pacific breeze.

  Grace had first felt that breeze on June 2 as she returned to her sorority with a dozen friends celebrating her twenty-first birthday. While waiting to cross a busy street in Seattle, she had noticed a handsome but disheveled young man sitting on a bench. She had stared at him like he was a lost puppy. He had stared at her like she was an answer to a prayer.

  When the time had come to cross the street, she had offered him a gentle wave. He had responded by touching the brim of his hat. It wasn't much, but it had been more than enough to stir interest and a conversation when they were formally introduced at Tom Carter's graduation party twelve days later.

  Joel had arrived in Seattle hungry and penniless on June 2, three days after hopping a train in Helena. But he had quickly turned his fortunes around when he saved Tom from a savage beating outside of a popular tavern. Grateful beyond measure, Tom had taken the stranger under his wing. The next day Joel had a place to stay in the Carters' Airstream trailer, regular meals, and a job selling sofas and mattresses at Melvin Carter's successful furniture store.

  For weeks the tight-lipped newcomer had done his best to fit in. He had set sales records at the store and made fast friends in Tom, Ginny, Katie, Grace, and Linda McEwan, Paul's twin sister and the girls' housemate. The friends, for their part, had welcomed the handsome Montanan into their fold and encouraged him to reciprocate romantic overtures from Linda.

  But Joel had zeroed in on someone else. Smitten with Grace from the start, he had jumped on an unexpected opportunity to take her to a baseball game and then used that and other dates to pry her from her absent fiancé. The baseball game had led to walks around the university and movies at a campus theater. By the end of July, Joel had won Grace's interest and affection. By the middle of August, he had won her, period.

  Grace reminisced about their time together with fondness and regret. She fondly recalled Labor Day
weekend in Seaside, Oregon, where Tom had proposed to Ginny, and Joel and Grace had discovered each other in many new ways. She smiled when she thought of Joel's playful visits to the university library, where she worked, and of their three nights together, when she had given herself to a man she could no longer live without. Joel Smith and Grace Vandenberg had crammed a lot of life and love into six months and Grace wanted to have a whole lot more.

  Eight passengers, including the knitter, deplaned in Spokane. Six more joined a flight that would continue to points in Montana, North Dakota, and Minnesota before terminating in Chicago. One of three daily flights that connected the old Northwest with the new Northwest, the Starlighter was by far the least convenient. For Grace, however, it was a lifesaver. It had given her a fighting chance to save a love that was well worth saving.

  The aircraft touched down on the runway in Helena at one twenty-five. When it rolled to a stop, Grace stepped out of the plane and walked through the frigid air with four others to a terminal about fifty yards away. Once inside the modest but modern facility, she retrieved her luggage, a small suitcase, and sat down on a lightly upholstered bench by the ticket counter.

  Grace watched with interest as the people who had followed her out of the plane – a bickering couple with bleary-eyed children – pulled warm clothing out of their luggage and adapted to the cooler climate. A moment later, they passed through a double door, piled into a taxi, and disappeared into the night. Except for the ticket clerk and another airport employee, she was alone.

  The clerk offered to call another cab, but Grace declined his offer. She had not yet decided on her next step and told him that she just needed a few minutes to think. She stared blankly across the empty lobby and thought again about Joel Smith, her aunt, her friends in Seattle, and the violent attack in the Hawaiian Islands that had turned her country upside down.

  Grace thought of her parents and wondered what they would have thought of her wild goose chase. Dad might not have approved, but Mom would have. Lucille Vandenberg had been a tolerant woman and the best mother a child could ask for. She had understood her daughter and affairs of the heart. Grace missed them, both of them. She wanted their guidance. She wanted their love. But most of all, she wanted their company on one of the loneliest nights of her life.

  Grace settled into the bench, closed her eyes, and thought of Africa, her favorite home away from home, and then the Philippines. It was warm there, much warmer than Montana, and full of warm memories. Her mind slowly drifted north to China, but it never completed the trip.

  When the ticket clerk called out to the woman on the bench, she did not hear him. She didn't hear anything. Grace Vandenberg was sound asleep.

  CHAPTER 5: GRACE

  Helena, Montana – Monday, December 8, 1941

  Grace berated herself not once, but twice, as her taxi made its way from the airport to the Buick dealership on Kessler Avenue. She had slept past seven, which was perfectly acceptable on a lazy weekend morning but not on a day when the clock was running and the alarm that was your future could sound at any time.

  "Can you hurry, please?"

  "I'm going as fast as I can, lady," said the driver, a thin man who appeared to be on the short side of forty. He wore a leather jacket and had introduced himself as Pete.

  "I'm sorry. It's just that this meeting is very important."

  "I'll do what I can."

  Grace took a breath and looked out a window from the back seat of the yellow DeSoto. The mountains here had fewer trees and smoother tops, but they were just as pretty as the ones she had left in western Washington. Snow accumulated atop the highest ones, which formed an impressive barrier to the east.

  When Pete pulled into Helena proper and stopped at a light, Grace checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. Her platinum hair was slightly mussed and her crystal blue eyes unusually bleary, but she was presentable – presentable enough, anyway, for a car salesman who would likely give her no more than a few minutes of his time when he discovered that she was not interested in buying a car.

  She had called the Buick dealership minutes after an airport employee had gently woken her at seven thirty. He had been concerned that she might miss a morning flight. Once on the pay phone, Grace had asked to speak to anyone who might have picked up a hitchhiker in May.

  She had eventually talked to two people who gave her the same answer. Neither had picked up a hitchhiker in the past year. But when she had learned that the owner of the dealership was on his way in, she left a message for him and hailed a cab.

  Grace walked into Bob's Buick at eight and asked for Bob, but Bob wasn't in. According to the salesman at the front counter, Bob hadn't occupied the owner's office in more than a month. A man named Sam had the office now.

  Grace looked past the salesman and saw a man sitting in the office. He appeared to be busy filling out forms, but he jumped out of his chair when informed by the salesman that a visitor had arrived. When he reached the counter, he offered a hand and a warm smile.

  "Sam Stewart. I got your message first thing. Can I give you a tour of the facility, Miss Vandenberg? Some new coupes arrived just last week."

  "Perhaps another time, Mr. Stewart. My cab driver is parked out front and I probably shouldn't keep him waiting."

  "Very well. How can I help you?"

  "I'm looking for an abandoned mine that I believe is located in this area."

  "What kind of mine? There are quite a few just a stone's throw from the city."

  "I'm not sure. What I do know is that a man my age, who said he lived in Helena, visited that mine sometime on or before May 30. He found himself without transportation and hitched a ride from a Buick dealer."

  Grace knew she had struck gold even before the well-dressed businessman uttered a word. The growing smile on his face spoke volumes.

  "I'll never forget that one. He was a good-looking kid – tall, brown hair, with a cowboy hat. He didn't say much. I think he might have been homesick or something."

  "Do you remember where you picked him up? Was it near a mine?"

  "As a matter of fact, it was," Sam said. "I found him walking on the side of Gold Mine Road. It's a few miles northwest of here. The mine itself is called Colter Mine, but it hasn't operated since the 1890s. There's nothing up there now but run-down buildings and tall weeds."

  "Is it still possible to reach the mine by car?"

  "It is, but I wouldn't recommend it. Not this time of year, anyway. The access road to the mine is probably sloppier than a pigpen. We got quite a bit of rain last week."

  "That's OK. You've been very helpful."

  Grace shook Sam's hand and then turned toward the exit.

  "Say, can I get you some coffee?"

  Grace heard the offer but didn't respond. She already had a foot out the door.

  When Grace informed Pete of the next destination, he objected.

  "There's no way I'm going there today, lady."

  Grace reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a bill, and held it high.

  "Here's a twenty that says you will."

  Pete turned his head and looked at the woman in the back seat as if she had just asked him to drive to Siberia. When Grace smiled and winked, he laughed and shook his head.

  "You're lucky I'm a sucker for a pretty face, ma'am, and that I have a family to feed. The road to the mine is as bumpy as hell, but I'll give it a go. Sit tight."

  Grace beamed and put a hand on the driver's shoulder.

  "You're a good man, Pete."

  Twenty minutes later Pete – taxi driver, family man, sucker for pretty faces – turned west off of dirt-and-gravel Gold Mine Road and onto a dirt-and-no-gravel access road that seemed better suited for horses and mules.

  "Do you really want to do this?" Pete asked.

  "I really want to do this."

  Pete gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove up the winding mountain road. Despite running into ruts, puddles, and rocks at almost every turn, he managed to keep the
cab on the road and provide his paying passenger with a relatively comfortable ride.

  "It's kind of funny when you think about it," Pete said.

  "What's that?"

  "You're the second customer this year to request a ride to the mine."

  "I am?" Grace asked.

  "You are. I drove some college kid there last May. He said he just wanted to check the place out. Imagine that. There's nothing up there now but a bunch of useless shacks. He was a nice kid, though he wasn't as generous as you. He gave me only four bucks – barely enough to cover the wear and tear on this jalopy."

  Grace smiled.

  Consider this twenty a return on your investment, Pete.

  Grace found the driver's anecdote both amusing and comforting. She now had all the proof she needed to believe that Joel had passed this way and entered the mine. If he had told the truth about this, he had no doubt told the truth about everything.

  The road narrowed slightly at the top of the incline and then widened into a flat, peanut-shaped clearing about half the size of a football field. Snow-kissed Douglas firs and junipers formed a barrier on three sides of the open space. Three dilapidated structures occupied the fourth. In the distance, a smaller relic, a Model A Ford, collected rust.

  "You can stop here," Grace said.

  Pete drove the DeSoto to the base of a short driveway that led to the wooden buildings and a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. He shut off the engine, set the brake, and peered out each of the car's windows as if searching for someone or something. When he was done, he turned around and looked at his passenger with worried eyes.

  Grace reached into a pocket, pulled out two banknotes, and handed them to Pete.

  "The twenty is for your splendid service. The five is your holiday bonus. Buy your children something special for Christmas," Grace said. She grabbed her belongings and opened the door. "Thanks for helping me out, Pete. See you around."

  "Whoa!" Pete said. "Look, lady. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for your generosity and more than happy to take your money, but I can't leave you here alone. It's freezing outside. Do what you have to do, even if it takes a while, and then let me drive you back."