Centenary Separation, page 4
She turned to her two new friends. “Thank you for all your help. And this wonderful outfit.” Minus the hat. “But you’ve already gone to enough trouble on my account. I think you can safely leave me here in the hands of my bankers.”
Margaret reached over and patted her hand. “If you say so, dear.” She pressed a card with some ornate calligraphy into Page’s palm. “I’m not sure you paid attention when we pointed out the house. This has our address, and if you do decide to come to tea, we’d be pleased.”
Page smiled. “Thank you. And I expect I’ll take you up on that offer.” In addition to the food, hopefully the two women would be a good source of data for her dissertation.
After all, she had come back in time in the first place to study the courtship rituals of the twentieth century. She couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Setting things up with the bank would probably take a few days—enough time to collect some good information before moving forward.
Page kept nodding at the two women until they were gone. Thinking about researching dating customs reminded her that Matt wasn’t there—to help with her observations. She would just have to make do without him.
With that thought, she steeled herself and went into the bank—the hardwood floors gleamed, along with well-polished counters, but the Spartan atmosphere was a distinct departure from the grandeur of the main branch in New York City. Or at least as it would be eighty-five years from now.
Every eye in the place turned to stare at Page as she strode across the lobby, casting her own glances around until her gaze lit on a tall, thin bespectacled man who’d just stepped out from a back office. He looked like a banker. Indeed, he might almost have been a twin to Mr. Hemmings, her banker in the future. She nodded at him.
The man moved rapidly to meet her, looking at her left hand before addressing her. “How may I be of assistance, miss?”
“I’m a Travelers’ Trust recipient, and I’m here for the yearly stipend.”
“Travelers’ Trust, miss? I can’t say I’m familiar with that.”
Page sighed. The professor had set up the trust in the mid-eighteen hundreds. Perhaps this branch was simply too new. “Your bank not only administers the trust, but you’re trustees as well. If you call the main branch in New York, I’m sure they can give you all the information.”
The banker blinked rapidly. “Call? On the telephone?”
Page sighed again. “Yes. You do have a phone? Surely they’re not that new?”
“Of course we have a telephone—it’s a most useful instrument—but to call all the way to New York? Someday, maybe soon, we’ll be able to talk to people that distant, but to contact the main branch I’ll have to use the telegraph.”
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
Nodding to himself, he left her standing there—in the middle of the lobby—while he walked back to a large open-air room behind the teller windows.
Page sauntered over to the side where she could see what he was doing. At one table a clerk sat with a telegraph machine, already tapping away with the banker looking over his shoulder. Hopefully all this rigmarole would not take too long—she was looking forward to tea.
There was a single chair in front of a desk off to one side, where another customer sat talking to another bank employee. With no other obvious place to sit, Page stood there tapping her toe impatiently. Until she realized she was copying the sound of the telegraph.
Several minutes later, the banker returned with his lips pursed. “Allow me to introduce myself. Mr. Pitt, at your service.”
“Call me Page.”
“Miss Page, I’m afraid this branch is not yet set up to confirm the eligibility of applicants for receiving the Travelers’ Trust stipend. Now, you could go to the main branch in New York City, or—”
Page cut him off. “I can’t take the time—”
And Mr. Pitt had the audacity to talk right back over her. “Or. Given the likely time-sensitive situation you may be in, the main branch suggests another process to confirm your eligibility. If you provide me the first four digits of today’s access code, they’ll give me further instructions.”
“4YT8. But they really shouldn’t be confirming with only a partial—”
Mr. Pitt held up a hand to forestall her. “That’s not for official confirmation. They simply desire reassurance before proceeding.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, the man had scurried back to the telegraph room. She didn’t check her watch, but it felt like forever before he returned with a clerk trailing behind him.
“Miss Page, they’ve asked me to send them a secured package with your specific request for stipend funds along with the full access code for today’s date —and a copy of an impression of your thumb mark.”
The banker exuded an air of embarrassment. “I am afraid it’s a requirement of the trust. For identification purposes, so we don’t deliver your money to the wrong person—as if we would—and also for the future, should you wish to keep your funds in an account with the bank. We wouldn’t usually go to this extreme ourselves, but as I said—”
Page began nodding before he finished his spiel and cut him off. “It’s a requirement of the terms of the trust. I understand, Mr. Pitt. It’s alright, but I’d like to sit down somewhere while we take care of all this.”
“Of course. We’ll go to my office. I’m afraid we will have to use an ink pad to transfer an impression of your thumb mark onto a card.”
“I don’t suppose I have much choice.” She knew they didn’t have pre-moistened towelettes back this far, but she supposed she could wash her thumb off somewhere, somehow before she went to Margaret and Nancy’s house for tea. If she finished her business here soon enough.
“Once they’ve confirmed your eligibility, they’ll send the funds you request to us, and you can set up an account if you’d like. In the meantime, they have authorized me to extend you a small loan while you wait.”
Page sighed. She didn’t want to go into debt. If she had to, she supposed she could impose on Margaret’s hospitality for a few days. “I can get by for a couple of days until my money arrives.”
Mr. Pitt goggled at her. “I’m afraid it will take a train at least five days to deliver your information to New York. Then there’s the processing time needed by the main branch before they send your funds by train back here. It will take two weeks or more.”
Page felt a little faint. “I suppose I’ll have to be grateful for your loan, Mr. Pitt. I hope it will be sufficient.”
“I’m afraid our cash reserves are rather limited. This poor city—having just gotten past an epidemic of bubonic plague, they then had to have this Great Earthquake. They’ve had so much rebuilding to do —of course, we’ve been happy to help with that, but it is a strain.”
“Alright, I understand. I’m sure I’ll make do—but let’s go ahead and get my stipend request on its way. I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to.”
It looked like she’d have plenty of time to do her research after all. But by the time two whole weeks had passed, Page would surely be eager to move on, hopefully getting closer to Matt. Where, and when, is he?
Chapter 4
A Day Late
September 25th, 1912 San Francisco
MATT heard a horn honking and leaped backward by instinct before he knew where he was or what he was doing. A big, cobalt blue Model T sped through the space where he’d been standing, and he turned to watch it trundle off down the road. I thought they were all black.
Other cars chugged up and down the wide road they shared with some horse-drawn carriages, bicyclists, and a frightening number of pedestrians, who strolled up and down the edges of the thoroughfare. His attention attracted by a loud dinging noise, Matt looked in the other direction to see a cable car pulling its way up a cross street.
Making sure he was well out of the way of that terrible traffic, Matt ducked into the shadows of an alleyway and checked his watch—which confirmed the impression he’d gotten from what he’d just witnessed. They’d gone back in time, rather than forward, and by quite a bit. Nineteen hundred twelve. Somehow it was ten in the morning, and he’d managed to lose Page.
He switched over to the locator screen and was stunned to see no blip and no red bar, no indication of any other Traveler in any direction. So the question wasn’t where he’d find Page, but when.
Flipping a few screens over to an app unique to this master Travel device, he saw her coordinates—exactly where she was in space and time. Very useful. While the locator app seemed to work in a way akin to radar, simply pinging off other devices then relaying limited information, this program could be ‘tuned in’ to a unique device, then pinpoint its precise spatiotemporal position. Without knowing the ‘frequencies’ of specific watches, it was still of limited utility, but he and Page had tested until he had locked onto her own device. And he had left it tuned to that frequency.
Page was sixteen days behind him and, from the similarity in latitude and longitude, in the same city. Wherever that was. At least it shouldn’t be too difficult to find her—he only had to wait until she caught up with him. That can’t be right. Maybe he needed to figure out where she’d be sixteen days after she’d landed here—which would be today.
That didn’t quite make sense to him either, but he was having trouble thinking clearly. Although it had been ten in the evening just a few minutes ago, now it was ten in the morning—and at least from his brain’s perspective, it required some coffee to start functioning for the day.
His hand reached into his pants pocket to check his change. But while his mind might not be operating at peak performance, it did manage to arrive at the realization that his funds from the future would not be considered legal tender. He needed contemporary cash even to buy himself a cup of coffee.
That meant going to the bank. Page hadn’t considered it necessary or appropriate for him to have access to the Travelers’ Trust, so she hadn’t demonstrated exactly how it was done. He’d seen enough, though, to get the general idea—he’d experimented on his own and seen how simple the procedure was, so he was already familiar with what he had to do.
Matt considered that cable car, and the hilly nature of the geography around him, and concluded it was probably San Francisco he’d landed in. He toggled to the resources screen and a list of contemporary branch locations, then noted an address for the American International State Bank on Montgomery Street in San Francisco—the only branch west of the Mississippi. He hoped he was right about where he was. Because traveling very far without any money would be quite a challenge.
He called up the daily access code for the trust and memorized it together with the bank’s location. Then he stepped out into the street again and gazed at the passing throngs. Since his digital wristwatch certainly didn’t belong in nineteen twelve, he rolled down his shirtsleeves and buttoned his cuffs. He’d do well to look as conservative as possible anyway.
Thankfully his clothes shouldn’t really be an issue—his dress-casual shirt and slacks weren’t up to the standard of formal three-piece suits many men were wearing, but seemed respectable enough compared with how the workers were dressed, if only he had a hat. He was certainly cooler and more comfortably attired than any of them. Maybe they’d assume he was a college student.
At least no one recoiled from him as he tried to ask people for directions. Fortunately he’d arrived fairly close to his destination, and after a few blocks he found himself on Montgomery Street approaching the modest five-story brick building that housed the bank. And it was late enough in the day for it to actually be open. Hoping they weren’t already on a lunch break, Matt walked through the door ready to do battle with a banker.
His first thought looking at the lobby confirmed the impression he’d formed from the outside—a lot less posh than the New York City branch he had visited in the future. But then the San Francisco of this era seemed like it was still holding on to the ghost of the Old West in many ways. The thin man in striped shirt and glasses, who’d been summoned by a clerk in response to Matt requesting to see the manager, certainly looked like a banker even if he was dressed differently. Interesting that in an age of more formal attire, this banker should dress so casually. Their banker in the twenty-first century always seemed as if he had just stepped out of this era of heavy three-piece suits.
Shaking his head, Matt focused on the man approaching him and attempted to imitate Page’s past performance with bankers. “I am a Travelers’ Trust recipient, and I have come to access funds from this year’s stipend.”
The man replied without batting an eye. “If you would give me your name, sir, and the first four digits of the access code for today’s date?”
“Matt.” He was confused for only a moment before he realized that Page’s first action when she arrived sixteen days ago would’ve been to come here, for the same reason as he—which was why the banker was familiar with the request. Matt rattled off the first four digits and added, “Page has been here.”
The banker blinked. “You know the lady? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised I suppose, since you’re both trust recipients. Of course, I’ll need to confirm that with the main branch. You’re in luck that I already know the correct procedure, after dealing with Miss Page, so this should go quite smoothly.”
So Page had cleared the way for Matt. But that didn’t answer the question of where she was now, or why she wasn’t showing up on the locator screen as being anywhere. He was impatient to ask this man about her, but he didn’t want the banker to clam up on him. He’d have to wait for the right time.
“Well, that is fortunate, as I’m rather in need of ready cash.” And coffee even more so, but he could not have the one without the other.
The man made a moue of distaste, likely at such a bald statement of financial desperation. At least, that’s what Matt imagined. He didn’t have a lot of time to daydream though—the banker disappeared behind the teller windows and re-appeared several minutes later with a smile.
“My name is Mr. Pitt, sir. If you will follow me, we can take care of the details and send the request for your funds off to New York. I’m afraid I’ll need to take an inked impression of your thumb first, and then it will require two weeks or more for the transfer.” He gestured at a clerk, then led Matt to a back room with a wooden table and two chairs.
Matt sat down and stretched his long legs off to one side. “I suppose there’s no way to get my money more swiftly than that?” Seeing the banker sadly shaking his head, Matt copied the movement. “Alright. I’m sure Page will give me what I need to tide me over until the cash comes through. Do you happen to know where I can find her?”
Mr. Pitt stood and watched as the clerk entered and sat down across from Matt and took his thumbprint. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. When Miss Page came in yesterday morning to finalize her account details, I got the impression that she was leaving town.” He saw the look of disappointment on Matt’s face. “But don’t worry. I can offer you a similar small loan as I did her, while you’re waiting for the funds from New York.”
Smiling and nodding at the banker, Matt sighed on the inside. Now he knew why Page hadn’t shown up on the locator screen—she’d Traveled away only the day before he’d arrived. And that display of her temporal location had been relative to his own. Not so useful after all. He needed to know where to find her, not where and when she’d already been.
“I’ll appreciate the money. I don’t suppose Page said anything about where she was headed?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. Although she indicated she would return to this bank, she said it likely wouldn’t be for two or three years.”
Matt nodded and kept his face blank. Of course Page would’ve Traveled into the future—she’d have had no idea when in time Matt was, so that would’ve been the reasonable course to take. And he knew by now how logical she was. He couldn’t know for sure exactly when she’d Traveled to until fifteen days had passed, but then he would have to wait that long for his funds to come anyway.
Meanwhile the bank clerk, having finished with Matt’s thumb, had slid a simple sheet of paper over, to be filled out for requesting those funds and needing the full access code for today—and along with it another form, a promissory note for the loan.
Mr. Pitt talked as Matt wrote. “We’ll send your request along with a copy of your thumbprint to the main branch in New York by secure carrier for final confirmation. Then, assuming all is in order, they’ll dispatch your funds back to us here, and we’ll set up your account.”
“At which point you’ll get your money back and stop worrying I might skip town without repaying.”
The banker pursed his lips for a moment in disapproval. Narrowing his eyes, he asked a question. “Do we have an address in town where we can reach you?”
Matt grinned. Bankers didn’t have any sense of humor, especially when it came to money. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I know myself where I’ll be staying. Since I’ll want to be notified when my money has arrived.” Neither Mr. Pitt nor the money meant much to Matt right now though—only getting to Page.
The clerk stood and handed the stipend request and Matt’s thumbprint to the manager, who turned and gestured with them. “I’ll see that these are sent off today. If you’ll follow Mr. Jones to one of the teller windows, he’ll withdraw the cash we’re loaning you, in the denominations you’d prefer.”
Stopping at the door and glancing back, Mr. Pitt smiled. “Miss Page requested half of the remaining stipend for the year—I hope that what’s left will be adequate for your needs.”
Matt kept grinning. “I’m not surprised she did that. I requested the rest—I’m sure it will be enough to pay back your loan and still meet the few needs I have.” In this second decade of the twentieth century, that thousand dollars the bank was loaning him should go a long way itself.
He stood and followed the clerk out and across the lobby to stand in front of a teller window while Mr. Jones stood behind it, all without another word to Mr. Pitt. Matt made sure he got some of the cash in coins, for coffee.
