The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3) Read online

  She liked that outcome. She liked the idea of discussing their new life together over soup and salad at a Helena diner. She did not like the idea of chasing him to Seattle, but she knew that that was most likely her next step. Joel had almost certainly passed this way.

  Grace considered the mansion's residents as well. They would be back. She was sure of that. They had a dog to feed, a yard to maintain, and music to turn off. The question was how long to wait for them. Should she wait ten minutes? Ten hours? Staying put suddenly had less appeal.

  So she pondered the second option: hitting the road. She thought of the red car. If there was one vehicle on Gold Mine Road, then there was bound to be more. If she started walking now, then she'd surely run into someone willing to give her a lift. The highway wasn't that far.

  Grace gave the matter another minute and then picked up her belongings. The weather was nice and the day was young. It was time to get moving again.

  CHAPTER 9: GRACE

  Grace didn't have to wait long for a lift. Fifteen minutes into her walk, she heard and then saw a shiny blue coupe kick up dust as it sped southward on Gold Mine Road. When the car slid to a stop in the middle of the road, a woman who appeared to be in her early twenties rolled down her window and started talking.

  "Would you like a ride?"

  "I would," Grace said. "Thank you."

  "Well, climb in then."

  Grace walked around the car to the passenger side, opened the door, and placed her coat and suitcase in the back seat. She sat next to the driver and shut the door.

  The woman looked at Grace closely, as if to size her up, and then directed her eyes forward. She shifted into gear and stepped on the accelerator.

  "My dad would skin me alive if he knew I had picked up a hitchhiker, but you look pretty harmless," she said. "What's the deal? Did your boyfriend kick you out?"

  Grace smiled as she considered the startling question. Even in this apparently modern age, women instinctively assumed that female distress was the result of male malevolence.

  "No," Grace said. "My ride didn't show up, and I didn't have access to a phone."

  Grace patted herself for producing an answer and scolded herself for telling a lie. She knew it was only a matter of time before she said something stupid.

  "Oh," the driver said. "Do you need to call someone? You can use my cell phone if you do."

  Grace paused for a moment as she tried to picture a cell phone. She guessed it was probably a device that served people on the go and not Montana's inmate population. Either way, she had no one to call. Not yet, anyway.

  "Thanks for the offer, but all I need is a ride into town."

  The driver extended a hand.

  "I'm Madison, by the way."

  Grace took the hand.

  "I'm Grace – Grace Vandenberg. Thank you again for the lift."

  "Don't mention it."

  Madison flipped her long brown hair over her shoulders, brushed cookie crumbs from her tight-fitting jeans, and glanced again at Grace. She smiled as she returned her eyes to the road.

  "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but are you headed to a costume party?" Madison asked. "I haven't seen a dress like that since my sorority had a forties function."

  The statement hit Grace like a baseball bat. She realized for the first time that her attire was a problem and that she would probably have to change into something else very soon.

  "It's just a favorite dress, that's all," Grace said. "I like it."

  "I do too. It's pretty."

  Grace settled into her bucket seat and examined her chariot. The car, a Honda Civic, according to its markings, was unlike any she had ever seen and certainly more modern than Uncle George's '36 Ford. It featured slick instrumentation, a plush interior, and a slot in the dash that accepted music-playing disks. Cool air spilled from several adjustable vents.

  "Is this your car?" Grace asked.

  "It is. I bought it in March. You like it?"

  "I do. It's nice."

  "I normally don't drive it out here. This road's a freaking nightmare, but my grandma lives on it, a few miles up, and she insisted that I see her before I returned to MSU. That's where I go to school," Madison said. She glanced at Grace. "These holiday breaks go by too fast."

  "Today is a holiday?"

  Madison looked at her passenger with puzzled eyes.

  "It was the last time I checked. It's Memorial Day – Memorial Day 2000 – or at least that's what the calendar says. I care only that the weekend's almost over. I have to get back to Bozeman today to write a paper that's due tomorrow."

  "I know how those things go," Grace said.

  Grace smiled as she processed the new information. She had, in fact, traveled fifty-nine years into the future. She now had every reason to believe that what Joel had written in his letter was true. She knew it was only a matter of time before she found him.

  Madison picked up the pace as the once uneven dirt-and-gravel route became flatter, smoother, and more congested. Two large pickups had joined the flow on Gold Mine Road as the coupe entered a stretch marked by spacious homes, ranch gates, and farm equipment. A few minutes later, Madison pulled up to an intersection with a paved road.

  The vaguely familiar highway had added two lanes since the last time Grace had seen it and changed from U.S. Route 10 North to U.S. Route 12. It had become busier too. Construction that had not been present on December 8, 1941, now held up traffic in both directions.

  Madison waited for a gruff-looking man with a seriously thick mustache to wave her through the intersection. She turned left onto the highway, drove quickly past a row of cones, and then resumed her journey toward Montana's capital.

  Grace marveled at sights she had not seen en route to Colter Mine: housing developments, gas stations attached to small markets, an abundance of lighted signs, and a seemingly endless stream of sleek, modern automobiles that whizzed by in the westbound lanes. She found this new world mesmerizing and surprisingly uplifting.

  She found it uplifting because she could now safely assume that the United States had won World War II and gone on to build a modern society. Madison spoke English, not German or Japanese, and acted like a carefree college student – not a conquered subject. Grace could also see from the abundance of political yard signs that the First Amendment was still in force.

  She laughed when she saw one billboard promoting Montana's Testicle Festival but frowned when she saw another touting flights to major Northwest cities. A one-way ticket to Seattle ran one hundred fifty dollars – or slightly more than Grace had in her pocket.

  "Does it really cost one fifty to fly to Seattle?"

  "It usually costs more, a lot more. I paid four hundred for a round-trip ticket last fall," Madison said. "Why do you ask? Do you need to go to the airport? I saw your suitcase."

  "I had planned to go to the airport, but now I'm not so sure. I don't have enough money to fly. Is it possible to take a train to Seattle?"

  "Sure it is. You can take a train anywhere, but only if you drive three hours to Cut Bank or Shelby or somewhere on the Hi-Line. Amtrak doesn't serve Helena. It's kind of a shame. I love riding trains, but hardly anyone else does. Everyone drives these days."

  "What about the bus?"

  "There's a bus. It stops in front of the convenience store on Kalispell Street. We don't have a real bus station here. I can take you there if you'd like."

  Grace heard the offer but didn't immediately respond. She instead counted a wad of bills that she had thought would be more than sufficient but which now seemed distressingly inadequate. She had exactly one hundred thirty-seven dollars to her name. She had spent thirty on airfare, thirty on taxis, and three on meals at the Seattle and Helena airports.

  Grace sank in her seat as reality set in. The world of 2000 may have been interesting and inviting, but it was also expensive – very expensive. She wished that she had given a little more thought to her last-minute trip and a little less money to Pete. She returne
d the cash to a coat pocket and looked at her new acquaintance with sheepish eyes.

  "The bus stop would be fine," Grace said. "I seem to have run out of options."

  CHAPTER 10: GRACE

  Helena, Montana – Monday, May 29, 2000

  The great journey west began with a side trip south. Because all bus traffic in the area went through Butte, Grace Vandenberg went to Butte. She transferred to a second bus there and to a third in Missoula, where she resumed a trip that would span sixteen hours and 660 miles.

  Grace could not complain. She had managed to buy her ticket for a hundred bucks, thanks to a spring special that ended in May. She had also managed to find a seat to herself on the first two buses, which suited her fine. She wanted time to collect her thoughts and think about how she was going to find a man named Smith in a metropolitan area of nearly three million people.

  She knew that finding Joel would not be easy and kicked herself for not making it easier. Had she had December 8 to do over again, she would have raced to the mine at dawn and waited him out for the rest of the day. But she didn't have December 8 to do over again. She didn't have May 29 to do over either. She only had the future, and she vowed to make the most of it.

  When Grace boarded the bus in Missoula at nine fifteen, she found it nearly full. She could not believe that so many people would choose to ride a bus in an age when seemingly everyone had a car. But she understood that some could not afford a car. Some could not afford their next meal. Grace reached into a pocket, fingered her financial assets, which now included two of the golden Sacagawea dollars, and wondered how many more meals she could afford.

  Grace scanned the interior of the bus and saw a few empty seats near the back but decided to pass them up in favor of something closer. She approached an elderly woman who occupied a place reserved for handicapped passengers. A large purse sat atop the aisle seat next to her.

  "Is this seat taken?" Grace asked.

  "It is now," the woman said. "Make yourself comfortable."

  "Thank you."

  Grace draped her coat over the seat and made herself comfortable.

  "Thanks again. I didn't really want to sit next to those rough-looking men in back."

  "Nor did I, dear, and I didn't want them sitting next to me. That's why I put the purse on the seat. It works every time."

  Grace laughed.

  "That's smart thinking."

  "I think so."

  Grace settled into her seat and kept to herself for a few minutes as the bus navigated its way through a business route to a freeway interchange and Interstate 90. She glanced out a window and admired the scenery, including a sunset over the Bitterroot Mountains, before returning her attention to the elderly woman clutching her purse.

  "My name is Grace, by the way. Grace Vandenberg."

  "It's nice to meet you, Grace. I'm Penelope Price."

  "Where are you traveling to?"

  "Seattle. It's where I live," the old woman said. "I came to Missoula to visit my granddaughter. She is a professor at the university. What about you?"

  "I'm going to Seattle as well."

  "Do you have family there?"

  Grace looked away and smiled sadly as she thought of the question. She did have family there – and friends. But they were family and friends that she would probably never see again. She missed Aunt Edith, Ginny, and Katie and wondered for the umpteenth time that day whether she had done the right thing. Leaving them so abruptly had been cruel. She had thought only of her happiness and a young man she may never find.

  "I used to, but not anymore. I'm going to the city to look for a boy."

  Penelope laughed.

  "Aren't we all, dear? Aren't we all?"

  The old woman patted Grace's knee and then repositioned her tiny frame in the seat. She had already wedged a cane between her window seat and the side of the bus. When she returned to her youthful traveling partner, she looked at her with inquisitive eyes.

  "I love your attire," Penelope said. "I haven't seen a gingham dress in a long time. It reminds me of outfits I wore in the forties."

  Grace smiled.

  It reminds me of outfits I wore last week.

  "I know it's not in tune with the times, but I like it. I like dresses. I'm very old-fashioned when it comes to clothing."

  "Well, there's nothing wrong with that. I wish more people did the same. Some of the clothes that youngsters wear today are positively dreadful."

  Penelope flipped on her overhead reading light, reached into her purse, and sifted through an assortment of papers, cosmetics, and other small belongings that looked like it had not been organized in twenty years. She pulled out a snapshot of a teenage boy wearing a football jersey, sunglasses, and low-hanging baggy pants. He positioned his hands and extended fingers at odd angles, as if making some sort of gesture.

  "This is my great-grandson, Joshua. He really is a nice boy."

  Grace laughed.

  "I'm sure he is."

  Penelope pulled out another photo and handed it to Grace.

  "This is his sister, Meg. As you can see, she's quite the little cheerleader. She turned fourteen on Friday. I planned this trip around her birthday."

  "She's lovely," Grace said.

  "She's growing up fast. They both are. That's why I come out here at least once a year, despite the distance and my limitations. You can't spend too much time with family."

  Grace returned the photo and stared blankly toward the front of the bus.

  "I confess I'm envious. I had little contact with my extended family growing up and have had no contact with my immediate family for years. A drunk driver killed my parents when I was seventeen. I lived with my aunt until I went away to college, but I don't even have her now."

  When Grace didn't hear a reply, she turned toward her traveling companion and saw that her face had changed. She saw that Penelope Price was no longer a proud and buoyant great-grandmother but rather a woman on the verge of tears.

  "Have I said something that upset you?" she asked. "If I have, I apologize."

  Penelope patted Grace on the knee again.

  "There's no need to apologize. You just sent me back to a place I haven't visited for a very long time. It seems that you and I have more in common than a fondness for gingham dresses."

  "I don't understand."

  "I lost my parents, too, as a child," Penelope said. "They died in a house fire when I was fifteen. I was raised by an aunt and uncle in Mukilteo until I was old enough to live on my own."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. We can talk about something else, if you'd like."

  "No, no. That's quite all right. I don't have the opportunity to speak often about my parents. I barely remember them, but I do remember that they were wonderful people."

  "I can certainly relate to that. Tell me about them."

  "My father, Alistair Green, was a history professor, and later a dean, at the university in Seattle. He had come to this country from England as a young man in search of excitement and adventure. But what he found instead was a woman who convinced him that true happiness came in the form of simpler things, like marriage, children, and good deeds. They married during the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition in 1909 and adopted me as an infant two years later."

  Grace sighed when she heard the words. She was moved by Penelope's story, in part because it reminded her of her own story. Like the old woman, she had been raised, or at least partly raised, by parents representing two nations and two temperaments: a spirited Brit and a more grounded American. Grace could directly relate to Penelope's sense of loss. She too yearned for people who had meant so much to her and had been taken from her far too soon.

  But there was something else about this narrative that made it compelling, even unsettling. Penelope's story was more than just a nostalgic look back by a woman nearing the end of her life. It was more than an interesting tale. It was a story that Grace Vandenberg had heard before.

  "Were you an only child?"

 
"I was an only child," Penelope said. "My parents were unable to have children on their own and they chose not to adopt any more. I guess I was a handful."

  "I can relate," Grace said with a laugh. "I was a handful myself."

  She put a hand on the woman's arm and looked at her thoughtfully.

  "I also know what it's like to be an only child. It can be lonely."

  "It can," Penelope agreed. "But I was not alone all the time. In 1918, shortly after the armistice, two of my father's nieces, twin sisters, emigrated from England to Seattle. They quickly became the big sisters I had always wanted. One was serious, the other silly, but I loved them both. Unfortunately, they didn't stick around very long."

  "What happened?"

  "The serious sister, Edith, went to college at the university and married a local businessman. I saw her only a few times a year after she left college."

  "What about the other?"

  "Lucille? She left even sooner. She married a young seminary student a few months after she arrived and moved to Minnesota. She and her husband later served as missionaries overseas."

  "Did you ever see her again?"

  "I did not. Lucy and her husband were killed shortly after they returned to Seattle in the late thirties. I don't recall the particulars. I just know it was some sort of auto accident."

  "Do you remember their last name?"

  "It's funny you ask. I don't. I should, but I don't. It's been so many years," Penelope said. "I do remember that they had a daughter. Her name was Greta or Gwen or something like that. I don't know what happened to her."

  "That's all right," Grace said. "I don't need to know."

  Grace sighed as Penelope's trip down Memory Lane hit a pothole. She feared that the old woman might realize that Grace Vandenberg, fellow traveler, looked an awful lot like Greta or Gwen or something like that, a person she had met on Thanksgiving 1939. She wanted to save complicated explanations for another day and spend this special time on the bus learning more about her long-lost cousin.

  So for the next hour Grace asked Penelope about her childhood, her difficult years as a teenaged orphan, and her life as an adult – and learned a lot. She learned that Penelope had married young, bore five children, and followed her Navy officer husband from one base to another for twenty years before returning to Seattle. She also learned that she had once served in the state legislature and had remained active in civic affairs well into her seventies.