Time Passage: A Time Travel Novel, page 3
“Just calm yourself now, young woman. You must have had a shock. In good time, your memory will return to you, and all will be well.”
The conductor drifted over and whispered into the doctor’s ear. Dr. Broadbent nodded confidently, and the conductor gave me one final, wary glance before leaving the coach.
I kept my voice low, but my temples were pounding. I felt for my purse, but it wasn’t there. “Where’s my purse? My cellphone?”
Dr. Broadbent questioned me with his eyes. “We did not find a purse either on you or beside you.”
I looked left and right, but it wasn’t there. “Where is this? What is this?”
At that moment, a woman came into view, and she stood next to Dr. Broadbent. Her pretty face and intelligent eyes held concern as she leaned, looking me over.
“And how are you feeling, Rosamond?” she asked, with sweet concern.
I blinked, confused. “Rosamond?”
“Yes… are you feeling better, dear friend?”
“Dear friend?” I stammered out. “I… I don’t know.”
Dr. Broadbent looked at the woman. “Do you know this ailing young woman?”
To my shock, the woman said, “Yes, of course I know her. Her name is Rosamond Adams.”
“And who are you?” the doctor asked, straightening his spine.
“I am Nellie Cummins,” she answered, standing erect, meeting his gaze.
“And where have you been while this poor creature took ill and fainted? And why is she dressed in such immodest attire? I have never seen this mode of dress and it is the reason I had her brought back to this private car, away from prying eyes.”
“That is none of your affair, sir. It is Rosamond’s and my affair, is it not?”
Dr. Broadbent adjusted his spectacles, wiggled his nose and narrowed his eyes into slits. “Just so, young woman.”
Nellie was about my age, also a blonde, with a slim figure and refined features. She wore a royal blue bustle dress, heavily trimmed, pleated and ornamented with lace, and it fit her figure to perfection. But it was her hat that drew my eyes. It was made of violet crepe and blonde lace, trimmed with two short, violet ostrich feathers and a spray of tea roses.
Even in my numb state, I thought it looked fabulous, and I thought I must be having one helluva dream—or I fell and hit my head and knocked myself silly. Why were these people dressed in such extravagant clothes from another time?
My stalled mind tried to punch through the walls of mental chaos and remember who I was and what had happened, but my blurry headache only grew worse.
“So, I will repeat, where were you when this young woman suddenly took ill and fainted?”
In defiance, Nellie raised her chin. “I can assure you, sir, I stepped away from my friend for necessary minutes to visit the lavatory. Upon my return, I saw Rosamond hunched over in her seat. That is when I summoned the conductor, who summoned you.”
Dr. Broadbent said, “I do not recall seeing you when I was summoned.”
“Well, I can assure you it was I who sought help for my dear friend. I stepped aside for only a moment to consult my gentleman friend. In any event, henceforth, I will see to it that Rosamond is cared for. I thank you for your kind attention and professional expertise, but we will not require your services any further.”
Dr. Broadbent looked Nellie up and down with disapproval, sniffed, turned, and left the compartment.
I didn’t know what to think or what to say. They spoke so formally, so stiffly, so weirdly.
Nellie eased down beside me, slowly and gently, her cool eyes appraising me. I noticed she sat forward because the back of the bustle bunched up behind her. I thought, why would any woman wear a thing like that?
“What particular confidence trick are you undertaking?” Nellie asked.
I had no idea what she was talking about, so I didn’t say anything.
“Are you working alone or in partnership?”
Again, I didn’t speak.
“Where did you purchase your garments? I’ve never seen any like them. They are manly and odd. They are, well, I don’t know quite how to say it. They are quite immodest and unsuitable for a woman of your favorable physical attributes.”
I looked down at my expensive slacks and turtleneck sweater and wondered what had happened to my coat, purse and cellphone. I stayed silent, trembling inside and out. I knew I was over my head and that something unthinkable had happened. I began to get flashes of things: I saw Cliff’s suite. I saw his dead body. I remembered hailing a cab and entering the train station. I remembered speaking to the homeless woman and giving her twenty bucks.
As I stared into Nellie’s frosty eyes, I sensed darkness tunneling in around me and I nearly fainted again. Was it fear or hunger?
“I can help you, if you take me into your confidence,” Nellie said crisply.
I said, “Do you know me?”
Nellie’s mouth tightened and then she said, “No…”
“Then why did you tell that doctor you did? Why did you call me your friend?”
Nellie narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you want him hovering over you, asking all sorts of personal questions?”
“No…”
“Well, then, I dispatched of him, didn’t I?”
I looked at her carefully. “Who are you?”
“I told you, Nellie Cummins. Where are you from? I don’t know that accent.”
“From Florida… but I live in New York.”
One of her eyebrows shot up. “New York?”
“Yes.”
Nellie kept her suspicious eyes on me. “Where are you going?”
“Chicago.”
Nellie arched an eyebrow. “Chicago? Dearie, if you’re going to Chicago, then you are on the wrong train.”
“What are you talking about? I bought a ticket to Chicago. I’m going to Chicago.”
Nellie shook her head. “This is the train to Denver. We arrive in about five hours.”
That floaty feeling returned. “No way. It can’t be. What is this? What is all this?”
Nellie sighed. “Did you hit your head or something? What is the matter with you?”
Frustration and fear brought angry words. “I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with me, okay?! I don’t know what happened, why I’m here, or how I got here. I don’t know shit, okay!?”
Nellie drew back, startled by my outburst. She blinked several times before she spoke, in a measured voice. “You speak coarsely, and it is unladylike. You must come from the Lower East Side.”
“Just tell me what’s going on.”
Nellie adjusted her hat. “Have you eaten recently? I always get out of sorts when I’m hungry.”
I shook my head, then massaged my forehead with a hand. “I don’t know. No.”
“Then perhaps we should order you some refreshments.”
I ignored her, desperate to clear my head. “Why are you here, and why are you dressed like that?”
“Like what?” Nellie asked, taking mild offense.
“Like you’re in an old movie. Like you’ve just stepped out of Gone with the Wind or something.”
“An old what? Gone with what?”
I heaved out a frustrated sigh. “This is friggin’ crazy!”
Nellie rose, impatience rising in her face and voice. “And I think you are not right in your mind, whoever you are.”
“And I think you’re the one who’s crazy! Just tell me where I am.”
Nellie gave me an icy glare. “You are on the Central Pacific Railroad, traveling to Denver, Colorado. This is a private car, not occupied on this leg of the journey, but it will be occupied once the train arrives in Denver. That’s what that lascivious-eyed conductor told me, anyway. The occupants will be the wealthy industrialist, Mr. Horace T. Bakersfield, and his wife. They will travel from Denver to San Francisco. You are here because you fainted. I happened to see you as a I passed, coming from the lavatory. Concerned, I called the conductor, who summoned the doctor. They gently lifted you and carried you in here. I followed them, and I heard you say, you didn’t know your name. That’s as much as I know.”
I let my brain process that. “Okay… why did you lie and tell the doctor you knew me? Why did you say my name was… what was it, Rosamond Adams?”
“I told you. So he would leave us. Leave the coach.”
“Okay, whatever. Fine. Just tell me what day this is,” I said, trying to get anchored in time and place. “I’m completely lost.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
I tried to remember the date I’d left New York. “Wednesday, November 9?”
Nellie faced me. “Perhaps I should call the doctor back.”
“No! Just please tell me. Is it still Wednesday, November 9?”
Nellie answered with a shake of her head. “No. It is November, but it’s the sixth of November. Wednesday, November 6, 1880.”
My blood surged, my heart kicked, and my voice rose in disbelief. “What!? Did you just say it’s 1880?”
Nellie turned and started to leave. “I will call for Dr. Broadbent.”
“No! Don’t leave. Don’t call him.”
Nellie stopped, but she didn’t turn. “Who are you, truly?”
I fumbled for my name, and when it popped into my head, I blurted it out. “I’m Cindy Downing. That’s my name. Cindy!”
Nellie did a slow turn, her eyes round with new interest. “And are you ill, Miss Downing? And, if so, what is your particular illness?”
“No… I’m not ill. I’m freaking out. I’m lost in the middle of some kind of shitshow, but I’m not ill. I’m not sick.”
Nellie’s face tightened in displeasure. “Your speech is blunt and common.”
What could I say? I guess I was blunt and common.
“And are you alone, Miss Downing? Are you not travelling with anyone? A man, perhaps? Your mother or sister? A chaperone? Forgive me, but I noticed you were seated alone when you fainted, and no one, except the conductor and the doctor, came to your assistance.”
I considered that, lowering my voice, trying to put all the scattered pieces together. “I’m alone. I was on a train that didn’t look like this, and we were on our way to Albany, New York, when something happened, and I passed out.”
Nellie took steps toward me, her expression changing, but I couldn’t read her. There was just the hint of a smile, although her eyes remained cool, as if there were calculations going on in her devious little head. “All right, Miss Downing. I am going to order you some food, and while you eat, I would like us to converse and get to know each other.”
“I can’t find my purse. I don’t have any money.”
“Do not worry about funds just now, Miss Downing. If I’m going to help you, I’ll have to know you better, won’t I?”
Nellie’s tight little smile unnerved me. If I was dreaming, and I didn’t believe for a minute that I was, then I needed to find out what had happened. Why did these people believe they were living in 1880?
Had I completely lost my mind? I had watched stupid YouTube videos about time travel, and time slips, and time portals and time whatever, but I didn’t believe them. Not really.
But now? My mind whirled, my pulse rose. Had I somehow blinked out of the twenty-first century into the world of 1880? Had I time traveled? Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean you stay stupid when it’s in your face. That’s not how I’d always survived. Whatever had happened, I’d faced it and dealt with it.
And then Nellie said, “Does madness run in your family?”
CHAPTER 6
I ate at a linen-topped table in the private coach compartment. A white-haired steward, wearing a white coat and black tie, brought the food on a silver tray, covered by what he called a “cloche”—a silver, dome-shaped covering. He eased the tray down and removed the cloche, and I was intoxicated by the delicious smell of the food. The conductor arrived as the steward withdrew, and he told us we’d have to leave as soon as I’d eaten.
Nellie flashed him a killer smile and told him, tartly, that we’d leave when we were good and ready, and not a minute before. He scowled, pivoted, and retreated.
The sirloin steak was excellent; the baked potato with butter, fluffy; the peas, overcooked; the bread roll warm and tasty. I ate like a wolf while Nellie kept her eyes on me, also like a wolf.
“Will there be anyone in Denver to meet you?” Nellie asked.
I swallowed a piece of steak, chewed, then reached for a glass of water. After I’d swallowed, I said, “No.”
“What will you do?”
Not wanting to think about it, I kept eating. Food never tasted so good. “I have no idea.”
“You may be in luck,” Nellie said, in a cheerful tone.
I stopped eating and looked directly at her. “What does that mean?”
Nellie’s smile held secrets. “I can help.”
“Do you live in Denver?”
“No. I’ve never been.”
“So, why are you going?”
Nellie made a vague gesture with a hand. “I know a family you can stay with.”
“If you’ve never been, how do you know this family?”
“Through friends.”
I continued eating, and we didn’t speak again until I’d cleaned my plate and drained the water.
“I could use a drink,” I said.
“A drink?” Nellie asked, with confusion. “You have water.”
“No, I mean, something with booze in it, like a vodka martini.”
Nellie’s face was blank. “What is that? A vodka martini?”
I lowered my eyes on her, wondering what planet she was living on. “You know, like a vodka martini. Lots of vodka, a touch of vermouth, and a big, fat, green olive. Don’t tell me you’ve never had one?”
Nellie shifted her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I sat up. “Okay, I’m talking about booze. Alcohol. Vodka.”
Nellie turned defensive. “I know about whiskey and beer and, of course, peach and apple cider. I do not know about martini.”
I stared hard at her for a long, disappointed moment, and I thought, How sad. No vodka martinis in 1880.
The food relaxed me and satisfied my gnawing hunger, but the gentle motion of the train and all the stress and confusion made me sleepy.
“You look fatigued,” Nellie said. “Perhaps you should lie down and rest. You have not sufficiently recovered from your illness, and you must have your strength when we arrive in Denver. We’ll be there in only a few hours.”
“Maybe we should talk about those friends of yours in Denver,” I said. “Until I can figure things out, I’ll need someplace to stay.”
In a smooth, level voice she said, “I think it best if you rest for a time. Meanwhile, I’ll make some plans for us. So, relax, Miss Downing. All will be well.”
I was heavy and felt drugged by anxiety. I stood and stepped over to a red velvet loveseat settee, and lay down, feeling exhausted and lost. I closed my eyes, wanting to escape, willing myself to sleep, praying that when I awakened, I’d be back on that Amtrak train, in 2022.
Sometime later, I heard voices—a male voice and then Nellie’s—but I could only hear fragments of their conversation.
“Can you do it?” the male voice asked.
“Yes…”
“But… We could… if… Let’s hope…”
“Don’t worry,” Nellie said.
“It’s just that…”
“Don’t worry, Percy.”
I strained my ears to hear more but I couldn’t, and then I fell back to sleep.
A touch on my shoulder awakened me. I’d been dreaming I was making a TikTok video about living in 1880, and I was laughing hysterically.
“Miss Downing,” Nellie said, “we must get you in proper attire before we arrive in Denver.”
I sat up, putting a hand to a yawn. “What time is it?”
“It’s nearly eight o’clock in the evening. I have let you sleep too long, and the conductor is making threats.”
“Did you say attire?”
“Yes, you can’t meet my friends in your present attire, and with that hairstyle.”
“Why?”
Nellie sighed. “Because they simply won’t do. My gentleman friend has a private stateroom, and he has agreed to let us dress there.”
“I don’t have any other clothes. What you see is what you get.”
“Not to worry,” Nellie said, casually. “We are about the same size, and I have just the dress for you. You will look quite lovely in it.”
I stared at her and then I pointed at her dress. “Am I supposed to wear one of those?”
“Yes, Miss Downing, of course. Now, we don’t have a lot of time, and we must not tarry.”
I could have said “No.” I could have refused to go with her because the street-smart girl in me said I couldn’t trust her, and she was up to something. But I had no other options, did I? I didn’t know anyone, I had no money, and I had nowhere to go. I knew I wasn’t hallucinating, and I knew I wasn’t dreaming, so all I had was the reality I was living in and, frankly, for now, I was screwed. I’d have to go with it and hope I’d survive whatever I was about to face until I could find a way out.
I followed Nellie out of the private parlor car, through the empty dining car, with its linen tablecloths, silverware, and crystal glasses, to the passenger coaches. As we moved through the coaches, along the narrow aisles, I felt every passenger was staring at me as if I were some convicted felon or freak. Everyone was dressed as if they had just stumbled in from one of those Jane Austen movies the Brits produce, like Pride and Prejudice, a book I’d actually read a few years ago.
We came to a polished mahogany door, and Nellie knocked twice. The door opened. A man in his early thirties, dressed in a black suit, white ruffled shirt and silk black bow tie, stood stiffly, looking me over. His black hair was center-parted, with a pomaded, retro look; his dark eyes wary; his face craggy, not quite handsome, but not ugly either. I sized the guy up as being clever, charming, and cunning. I’d seen a lot of faces like his in my twenty-five years: stock brokers, politicians, lawyers, and Cliff Prince.
He stepped back, his voice low, his eyes nervous. “Come in.”
