Book 9, page 9
All nodded and Joseph pressed the buzzer bringing Bob into the room.
“Bob, will you have our liaison to the 1800 Club come in and I’ll give him a hologram to bring back to the 1800 Club?”
Thirty minutes later, Edmund Scott, the Time Watchers Group liaison to the 1800 Club, left the conference room with the hologram in his pocket. He was going to see Bill Scott, his grandfather, and head of the 1800 Club of 2013.
DATELINE: NOVEMBER 20, 1903 PLACE: CAB ON BROADWAY, NEW YORK
The snow was the thick, wet type that came down so fast that the street was hardly visible and the cab driver looked like a snowman as his tall hat was as low on his head as he could get it and his muffler was so high that all one could see of him was a glance now and then of his eyes. The visible puff of breath that came out of the muffler was the give away that he was a mortal and not something that some child built out of snow. The body of the cab’s dappled gray and white horse gave off a fog of steam as the snow melted on it.
Inside of the cab, Bill Scott checked his watch and was happy that he had started out early knowing that the snowstorm would play havoc with appointments. He rubbed the condensation off the carriage’s inside glass side window and saw that the snow was making high drifts on the street corners and even at eight thirty-five at night, children were building snow forts or sledding down them. The corners were where most of their activity took place, as that was where the soft, yellow glow of the early electric lampposts were located.
Bill felt the turn, which was more of a slide as the cabby turned on the cobblestoned street of East 85th street. The driver rapped on the cab and Bill asked, “How much, sir?”
“Three dollars, sir.”
Bill got the money and added two dollars more, hopped out of the cab and saw that he was standing in snow that was almost up to his shins. He passed up the five dollars and said, “Sir, should you be in front of this house at ten sharp, I shall double the fare.”
The driver attempted to tip his hat but only succeeded in creating a small avalanche in his lap. “Then, sir, I shall take Minnie back to the stables and dry her off and be back here at ten sharp.”
“Very well. See you then.” Bill went up the steep steps of the three-story New York townhouse and once at the top stomped the snow off his shoes, opened the ornate vestibule door, stepped in and opened the door to the hallway. The hiss of a gas lamp gave him a warm feeling as he removed his long heavy coat hung it on the coat tree and threw his scarf over it. He then placed his hat on the shelf that already held six others.
The twin pocket doors slid open noiselessly and the light from the gas lamps of the room showed a slim lady with long brown hair piled up giving her the appearance of being much taller than her actual size of five feet, two inches. The red velvet dress she wore had a trim of silver, a pinched waist and a high neckline, but the time traveler was happy to see that the new style called for the hem to be at the shin level showing black low heeled shoes with a red bow.
“Bill, so glad you could make it, especially in this weather.”
“Me too, Marlene. It’s a nasty night. Did he make it?”
The flash of her big brown eyes and her smile told him that the guest of honor had made it. “He is just about to start. Come on in and have a glass of wine.” She ushered him into the large front room and said to the six men and seven women present, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is my friend and a friend of the arts, Bill Scott. We met at the Metropolitan Opera.” She waved her hand around and said with a grin to Bill, “You have five minutes to get a glass of wine, make introductions and find a seat.”
He did it in the allocated time and sat facing a grand piano situated in a three-windowed alcove. The drawn curtains and open shutters showed the white snowflakes that collected on the wooden window frames.
Over the piano hung a gas-lit chandelier while a combination of gas and electric lights was situated throughout the large front room. The walls were papered from the ten-foot high ceiling to the wainscoting with a tan and white herringbone pattern while the wainscoting was painted a rich brown matching the dark wood floor. Bill admired the ceiling’s plaster decorations, which surrounded the hanging chandelier and where the ceiling met the wall there was plaster molding surrounding the room. The paintings hanging on the walls all had thick, ornate frames and all featured horses, which reflected Marlene’s family business.
A slim, gray haired man entered the room and sat at the piano and two minutes later Enrico Caruso entered and stood next to the piano while a low clapping sounded from the small audience. He wore a tuxedo and white scarf and bowed deeply to his small audience, straightened up and said something to his piano player and then faced the room as the musician started to play the selection by the maestro.
Caruso’s powerful voice filled the room as he sang Santa Lucia followed by Core ‘ngrato, Recondita armonia and ended with O Sole Mio
Nobody in the room stirred except to clap after each song but when he did his final song, all stood and clapped for five minutes.
When he had finished, Marlene had her butler serve wine and cheese as she endeavored to keep the evening on the light side.
“No stuff shirt party at my house,” she had told Bill when they met two weeks earlier at the Metropolitan Opera house. “I’m going to ask the maestro to ask his piano player to play on after the great man stops singing.”
Well, thought Bill as he took a piece of smoked Gouda cheese, she succeeded and it looks as though Mister Caruso is having a good time. He maneuvered through the room to check out the falling snow and found Caruso doing the same.
“Lots of snow, right?” asked Caruso.
“It certainly is, sir, does it snow like this in Italy?”
Caruso grinned and shrugged as he answered, “Perhaps, but when it starts I immediately book a house to sing in, in a much warmer environment.”
A pocket watch chimed and both men looked at theirs. “Ten o’clock already,” quipped Bill, “Time flies when you are having a great time.”
Caruso looked out the window once more and said, “I wonder if cabs are on duty this evening? I must get back to my hotel as I have a concert tomorrow and have a hundred things to do.”
Bill looked out and saw a snow covered carriage coming up the street. Turning to the singer he asked, “Perhaps, sir, I might give you a lift? I do believe that the approaching cab is mine.”
Caruso put an arm over Bill’s shoulder, “My friend, that would save me. Do you ride alone?”
“Yes, and we have space for your musician as well.”
Caruso downed his wine and said, “Then, my friend, I shall take you up on your generous offer. First allow me to say good evening to the hostess.”
Bill and Caruso made their goodbyes and Marlene walked them to the door. “Bill,” she said with a smile, “please feel free to call on me. Perhaps the next time I will invite John McCormack to sing for us?”
Caruso looked over his shoulder as he fastened his long coat and quipped with a smile: “Perhaps I will show up that same evening and we can put on a real show for you and your friends, Marlene.”
She kissed him on his chubby cheek and said, “Stay warm, maestro, and you may visit me anytime.”
Bill walked gingerly down the stoop’s steps and out the gate to the carriage as the driver got down and opened the door for the three men. He nodded at Bill who gave him a thumbs up and was happily surprised to see that the driver understood the universal sign for ‘job well done.’
This time the horse had a thick blanket covering him and Bill could hear the animal snorting as he pulled the carriage through the deep snow.
“Where to?” asked Bill
The slim musician offered, “Westminster Hotel on Irving Place and Sixteenth Street, sir.”
Bill lowered the side window and shouted up to the driver, “Sir, would you make a stop at the Westminster Hotel first?” The time traveler grinned as the driver held out his right hand with one thumb up.
Bill pulled the window back up and said, “No problem, gentlemen.”
All three men closed their eyes as the swaying of the carriage relaxed them. The deep snow snuffed out any noise from the carriage’s wheels and the horses’ hove’s. Bill grinned as he thought; The snow also masks the smells of the city.
He looked at one of the world’s greatest singers and grinned as he thought, He is as gregarious as Patty Gelardi from the club said he was when he met him on a mission. I have to tell Patty that I drove him home.
“Westminster Hotel, sirs,” came the shout from the cabby.
The piano player started to go through his pockets for the fare when Bill said, “Please, gentlemen, this is on me. I had to pass by this way to get to my place anyway. Besides, I am a fan of opera and wish to thank you for this wonderful evening.” He shook hands with the musician and as he was about to do the same with Caruso, the singer reached across and kissed him on both cheeks and said, “Ciao, my friend.”
They exited the cab to be greeted by a hotel clerk with a large umbrella. Bill smiled as they walked into the hotel lobby.
The cabby called down: “520 East Ninth Street next, sir?”
“Yep! Let’s all go home.”
At the club’s garden, Bill stepped out of the cab as the man tipped his hat and said, “Three dollars, sir, same as before.”
Bill passed him a ten. “You get Minnie home now and rub her down. She did a great job.
“That she did, sir, that she did. Hope ta see you again, an’ many thanks fer your generosity.”
Bill walked the few steps to the garden’s gate and using the key around his neck, opened it and entered the private garden. He was pleased to see that the walkway was recently shoveled. Using the same key, he opened the heavy, steel security door that would give him access to the 1800 Club. Once inside he typed ‘eight p.m. Nov. 5, 2013’ into the small Time Frequency Modulator he carried in an inside pocket. He then went up the red-bricked stairwell and opened the door to his den.
DATELINE: NOVEMBER 5, 2013 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
Samson, Bill’s excited beagle, tried his best to reach his master’s face with his wet tongue as he greeted him.
“Hey little guy,” Bill said as he sat on the leather couch and the dog leaped onto his lap. He rubbed Samson’s ears, as he knew the beagle loved it and stayed still for it.
“Greetings, sir.” Matt, Bill’s right-hand-man had entered the room with a tray of dog food. “I was about to feed Samson. How was your trip?”
“The best! To not only see Enrico Caruso but hear him sing for a small audience and then ride home with him . . . well, it was the best, Matt.” He looked up from Samson and asked, “Anything new here?”
“Very quiet, sir, very quiet.”
Samson caught a whiff of food and quickly left his master’s lap to gulp down his dinner and Bill took the opportunity to take off his wet overcoat and kick his shoes off. Matt picked up the coat and shoes and left the room with them.
Bill was undoing his tie when a knock on the door that he had just come through, got his attention.
“Edmund?” Bill asked himself as he went and opened the door to see his future grandson, Edmund Scott standing there. The tall dark-haired youth grinned as his blue eyes sparkled, “Hi, grandpa, how’ve you been?”
“Edmund,” Bill said excitedly as he took him by the arm, “Come in. Sit.”
Edmund sat in the leather easy chair and said, “By the cut of your clothes, I would say that you are leaving or returning from a trip back to around 1910. Right?”
“Close. Just got back from 1903. I attended an Enrico Caruso private show. It was great!”
Bill sat opposite his future grandson and asked, “So are you just visiting or do you have a mission?”
Edmund started to say, “Grand . . .”
Bill shook his head, no and with a grin, cut in, “Edmund, I thought you promised to drop the grandpa stuff and stick with Bill? That grandpa handle makes me feel old.”
Edmund nodded and answered, “Sorry, Bill, I forgot. But to answer your question: I’m here on official business.” He showed him the hologram; as he took a slow deep inhale. “You know how this downstream atmosphere affects me . . . I’m just good for about ten minutes then I have to take a deep breath of some clean, fresh air upstream.”
Bill nodded, “I know and I feel bad because we never get to have a nice dinner together.” Edmund stood and they hugged as Bill walked him to the door.
Before leaving for the future, Edmund said, “Joseph Sergi is the mission coordinator for this one, Bill. Good luck.”
Bill closed the door after him and sat on his couch. His dog settled into the sleep position between the back of the couch and Bill’s back. Bill depressed the indent of the silver colored cube and instantly the figure of Joseph Sergi appeared. The six-inch figure stood on Bill’s coffee table with his hands in his pockets and looked into the lens of the hologram as he spoke.
“Greetings, Bill. We all hope you are feeling fit these days and we want you to know that we are so grateful that you joined our team and for the continued successes that have become associated with you running the 1800 Club.” The figure turned in place and started to walk in a tight circle, which is what Joseph did whenever he was tense. He stopped and went on, “Bill, I don’t know if you are aware that every so often we run a drone along the lifelines of everyone who is associated with the 1800 Club. We do not wish to be surprised by a glitch, or as you call it: a hiccup in the time line of one of our own. Well, this time we found a hiccup that puts Matt Worthington’s well being into jeopardy.
Bill sat back a moment, “Matt? Oh, no, not Matt.”
Joseph fished a hologram out of his pocket and activated it. “This hologram is also in the cube we sent you but I want to talk about a few things. It seems that Matt’s great grandfather was in the service of Sir James Ryan and Ryan wanted to see the wild-west while they were in the states. They visited a town: Coffeeville in Kansas and just happened to be there when the Dalton Gang decided to rob two banks at the same time. Well, as the hologram will show you, they were recognized and most of the town showed up, armed themselves and finished the gang off. However, a miner decided to toss a stick of dynamite at them and during his delivery, hit his hand on a horses’ hitching rail and the stick went the wrong way. It landed in the same store that James Worthington was in.” He stopped walking around and seemed to look straight into Bill’s eyes as he finished with: “We cannot let this hiccup happen.” The other hologram stopped as Joseph added, “As usual the coordinates, times and dates are attached to the end of the hologram. We place this mission in your hands knowing that you will do everything possible to prevent it from happening and as usual anything you need shall be supplied to you. Regards and good luck from us all.”
Bill sat and gazed at the spot on the coffee table that just showed his right-hand-man and friend, Matt get blown up. He played it again and closed it fast as Matt entered with his favorite Donald Duck mug filled with hot chocolate.
“Sir,” he said placing it on the table, “I thought you might enjoy a mug of your favorite beverage.”
“Ahh, yes. Thank you so very much, Matt.” Bill watched as the butler went back out the door. He wondered if I might enjoy a mug of hot chocolate. It doesn’t faze him that I like it in my Donald Duck mug! I’m sure he handles the mug as though it was an expensive antique. He shook his head. I must go back and prevent his great grandfather from going into that store.
He got up and Samson stretched out and nodded off again. Bill went to the bookcase and found the book he wanted: Famous Outlaws of the Wild West. He opened the book and found the Dalton Gang, went back to the couch and read it as he scratched the beagle’s ears.
The grandfather clock rang eleven times and Matt tapped on the door and peeked in. “Sir, I was going to take Samson out for a walk unless you had planned on it.”
“No. I’d appreciate it if you walked him.”
Matt always knew when Bill was deep in thought about a mission and as usual asked, “Sir, if I may be of any help on the mission that Master Edmund brought you earlier, please let me know.”
“Thank you Matt. I will.”
“One last thing before we leave sir, I thought I might walk Samson back in 1954 as there is an Ebinger’s bakery there that makes outstanding jelly doughnuts.”
Bill’s eyes went wide, “Oh Matt can you pick up a couple of those round black and white cookies too? They’re great with tea at bedtime.”
“Of course, sir. I’d be glad to.” Matt put the leash on Samson and they left the den as Bill rubbed his temples and pondered. Do I tell Matt or do I keep it a secret? He has the right to know. I know I’d want to know if it were an ancestor of mine.
Matt went down the stairs with Samson leading the way. He typed into his Time Frequency Modulator: 10:00 a.m., August 6, 1954 and unlocked the steel door that led to the club’s garden.
DATELINE: AUGUST 6, 1954 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
He opened the door and Samson took the lead and headed straight to the iron-gate at the front of the yard. Matt opened the gate, stepped out and started to walk slowly down the block with Samson sniffing everything along the way. Matt grinned as he thought, If someone said they took a casual stroll with their dog, they do not own a beagle as he simply must stop and investigate everything that his nose senses.
Three blocks from the garden stood a small group of stores and Matt greeted all the storeowners. He waved to Danny of Danny’s Drugstore, tipped his hat to Mrs. Bazer of Bazer’s candy Store, Tipped his hat to Willy Konzen of Konzen’s Delicatessen before turning into Ebinger’s Bakery and smiled at the gray haired woman behind the glass display cases.
