September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (8 page)

"Shouldn't we start walking toward the station?" Justin asked. "According to the schedule the professor gave us, the last train east leaves at three thirty."

"We'll get there," Chuck said. "I just want to spend a little more time exploring the town. It's not every day you see L.A. like this."

Justin couldn't disagree. The Los Angeles he knew was nothing like the one in front of him. The city he knew was glitzy, noisy, and covered wall-to-wall in asphalt, steel, and glass. The one in front of him looked like a movie set in Burbank.

People riding horses and bicycles shared the wide, dusty streets with electric streetcars and automobiles with wire-spoke wheels and hard rubber tires. On the sidewalks, men with pocket watches and handlebar mustaches walked with women in frilly dresses and feathered hats.

Justin watched a man help a woman out of a buggy and then slowly returned his attention to his father. He watched Chuck intently as he studied an imposing building across the street.

"What's so special about that one?" Justin asked.

"I think that's the
Examiner
building – or at least it will be," Chuck said. "William Randolph Hearst didn't start the paper until 1903, but I'm almost certain he started it here. I could work in a place like that."

Justin smiled as his father commented on yet another structure. Chuck Townsend, amateur historian, had been a nonstop tour guide since the two had left the Bell estate.

"Hey, Dad, check it out," Justin said. He pointed to THE 5-CENT STORE sign atop a nearby building. "Want to see what we can get for a nickel?"

Chuck laughed.

"Maybe later. We'll have lots of opportunities to shop for bargains. Let's walk over to the next street and work our way toward the depot. I want to see a few things before we leave."

"OK."

Justin followed Chuck around the block to Spring Street, where more old buildings, vintage vehicles, and people in Victorian attire awaited. For another forty minutes, they wandered around and got their fill of a city that hadn't existed, at least in their time, for more than a century.

Though Justin was eager to see the rest of the country, he understood why his father wanted to linger in Los Angeles. There was a lot to see. No matter where he turned, he could see a city in transition and a society on the move.

Justin marveled at the sight of not only the imposing structures around him but also the simpler things, such as a telephone pay station on Spring Street. For a princely sum of fifty cents a minute, he could call a friend in San Francisco. For half that price, he could get a haircut and a shave at countless establishments with red-and-white-striped poles out front.

When Chuck finally got his fill of Old Los Angeles, he put a hand on his son's shoulder, nodded, and said, "Let's go." Thirty minutes and ten blocks later, the two walked up to one of the most awe-inspiring buildings Justin had ever seen.

"What the hell is that?" Justin asked.

"That, son, is the Arcade Depot."

"It looks like a hangar for the
Spruce Goose
."

Justin took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. Everything about the station was impressive, from the gargantuan palm tree that guarded the entrance to a wooden train shed that was nearly two football fields long. Turrets on the corners of the Romanesque structure gave the gray-and-red building a fortress-like look.

"Do you like it?" Chuck asked.

"I love it. I never knew this place existed."

"That's because it was torn down in 1914. This property has had several makeovers."

"How do you know all this?" Justin asked.

"I did some homework while you were saving lives at the pool last week," Chuck said. He smiled. "You didn't think I was going to lead you blindly into the past, did you?"

Justin sighed.

"No. I guess not."

"Come on," Chuck said. "Let's go in."

Justin lifted his tightly packed suitcase and followed his father into the station, where he found more impressive sights. The first appeared from above. Dozens of massive skylights, suspended from an arched ceiling ninety feet overhead, allowed daylight to flood the cavernous shed and brighten an otherwise dreary space. The ceiling conjured images of 2016 and more than a few airport terminals and shopping malls.

The sight ahead, on the other hand, conjured images of the past and Old West movies. Two shiny black locomotives, complete with cowcatchers and coupling rods, belched steam out their sides as they prepared to pull strings of wooden passenger cars in opposite directions.

Justin shook his head when the bearded engineer of the northbound train blew his deafening whistle, waved to onlookers through an open window, and slowly pulled out of the station. He was watching history in real time.

"This is insane, Dad. This is all just insane."

Chuck laughed.

"Yeah. I suppose it is."

Justin watched closely as passengers moved along the platform and began slowly boarding the southbound train, which, for all practical purposes, was an eastbound train that would soon take them to other large cities brimming with activity on the cusp of a new century.

Justin didn't know which of these places they would visit first or call their temporary home, but he didn't much care. He knew his father wouldn't squander this incredible opportunity by taking him to some rural backwater.

Chuck Townsend would look at this trip as more than an adventure. He would view it as the reporting assignment of a lifetime and look for answers in cities like Chicago, New York, and St. Louis – and not Carrizozo, North Platte, or Paducah.

"I see a lot of people are getting on," Justin said. "Should we join them?"

"We might as well. We're not accomplishing much standing here."

Chuck reached into his vest pocket and pulled out two train tickets. He gave one to Justin, picked up his suitcase, and scanned a string of eight passenger cars, which stretched more than half the distance of the impossibly long shed.

"Which car do we board?"

"I don't think it matters," Chuck said. He pointed to a nearby coach. "Let's try that one over there. We can ask the porter to set us straight if we get it wrong."

Justin picked up his bag and followed his father toward the end of the car, where a middle-aged black man cheerfully helped passengers board the train. Just the sight of the attendant in the visor cap, bow tie, and crisp blue jacket was enough to remind Justin that this was a very different time.

"Is this the right car?" Chuck asked as he showed the porter his ticket.

"It is today, sir. Please watch your step."

Justin watched his father nod at the porter and then step into the car. He started to do the same but stopped when he reached the porter. He wanted to take one last look around the station.

This was real, he reminded himself. It was as real as his ticket. The sights and sounds around him were not part of a theme park or a movie set. They were part of a distinct historical period that had already played out once and would play out again with eager new participants.

A few minutes later, Justin followed a second porter and Chuck through the plush, crowded coach to a private compartment in back. He expected a dorm room. He got a hotel suite.

Justin smiled and shook his head. Professor Bell had done more than provide two tickets to El Paso. He had ensured that the Townsends would travel in comfort and style.

Justin removed his jacket, hung it on a hook, and placed his suitcase on the floor. He plopped in one of two lounge chairs, rubbed its upholstered side, and glanced at his father.

"He thought of everything, didn't he?" Justin asked.

Chuck laughed.

"He sure did."

Justin looked out a large window as the Sunset Limited started to move. He gazed intently at twenty or so smartly dressed men, women, and children as they smiled and waved at departing passengers. He wondered what they were thinking and what they had planned for the day.

It didn't matter, he finally decided. Like the other people he had seen since emerging from Professor Bell's magic tunnel, they would soon be in his figurative rear-view mirror. He would never meet them or talk to them or influence their lives in any way, shape, or form. Whether that was true with the people he would meet in the days to come remained to be seen.

CHAPTER 11: CHUCK

Doña Ana County, New Mexico Territory – Friday, April 20, 1900

Chuck stared blankly out the window of his private compartment as the train pulled slowly out of another whistle stop. He had taken notes on many of the places the first day but stopped when it became clear that most of the towns on the Southern Pacific's Sunset route were variations on the same theme – desolate, dusty, and wooden.

The people in the towns, however, more than made up for the endless blur of depots, telegraph poles, and rickety buildings with false fronts. Chuck smiled and shook his head when he thought of the scene in Yuma, where a company of U.S. Cavalry followed the train out of town, and in Cochise, where men wearing thick mustaches, sombreros, and bandoliers waited for the train next to women and girls in long, restrictive dresses and plumed hats.

Chuck couldn't deny that 1900 was an interesting year. Even from the back of a Pullman sleeping car, he could see that he and Justin had made the right selection from Professor Bell's time-travel menu. Turn-of-the-last-century America was not just a different kind of place. It was a treat for the senses – one the reporter wanted to enjoy for as long as he could.

There was never a doubt that the Townsends would spend as much time as possible in the past. What was the point of going to Disneyland, Justin had argued, if you didn't spend every minute from dawn to dusk riding the rides and seeing the sights? Chuck agreed. Bell had offered them the opportunity of a lifetime. It would be a crime not to make the most of it.

Even visitors to Disneyland, however, couldn't see and do everything – at least in a limited amount of time. They had to make choices and live with those choices. They had to plunge ahead knowing that they would inevitably miss something.

Chuck thought about choices as he opened the Number 10 envelope he had brought on the trip and pulled out five letter-size photocopies. He had brought them along because he had wanted the flexibility to depart from Bell's 1900 script. Why simply have fun, he thought, when he could also make a difference?

Chuck examined the first sheet, a copy of a letter to his great-great-grandfather, and then glanced at the upper sleeping berth, where Justin snoozed away. He felt guilty about keeping his son in the dark about a possible change in plans but not guilty enough to say anything. He wanted to make sure that he himself was ready to follow through before dragging Justin into a side trip that may not appeal to him.

The reporter set the letter to the side and scanned the remaining copies, taken from newspaper microfilm. He had made them in haste the day before the visit to Bell's mansion. Chuck knew just having them in his possession was dangerous. News articles reporting disasters to come could be used for all sorts of nefarious purposes.

Had he considered taking the side trip earlier, he would have memorized the details of the calamity and carried them in his head. Chuck Townsend had an encyclopedic memory that was the envy of the Bay Area media, but even journalists with encyclopedic memories needed time to absorb facts. A day simply wasn't enough time to take in all he needed to know. So he made a quick trip to the university library's microfilm collection and printed out the bare essentials.

He put the papers away when he heard Justin stir. One of the things Chuck had learned since reconnecting with his son was that he was a heavy sleeper. Even on a train with a nineteenth-century suspension system, Justin had slept soundly for eight hours. Were it not for the rapidly encroaching morning light, he might have slept for nine or ten.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Chuck said.

"What time is it?" Justin asked groggily.

"It's six fifteen if you can believe my cell-phone clock."

Justin rolled over and stared at his father.

"You brought your cell phone?"

"I did," Chuck said. "I wanted a timepiece until I picked up something more in tune with the times. I also wanted to have a camera along."

"I thought we weren't supposed to pack things like modern inventions. The professor was pretty clear about that."

"The professor also asked me to record the people, places, and things of 1900. What better way to record them than to take pictures of them?"

Justin sat up.

"I guess you're right. Just don't let anyone see it."

"I don't plan to," Chuck said.

"Do they serve breakfast on this train?" Justin asked.

"I'm sure they do. Get dressed and we'll find out."

Chuck started to get up from his lounge chair but stopped when he heard a knock on the door. He laughed and smiled at Justin.

"Room service must have heard your stomach grumble," Chuck said. "I'll get it."

Chuck opened the door and saw the same porter who had checked their tickets in Los Angeles. He noticed that the man had an apologetic look on his face.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry for the disturbance, sir, but I wanted to let you know that we're approaching El Paso," the porter said. "We'll be at the station in twenty minutes."

"Thank you for the reminder, Mister …"

"It's Mr. Clay, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Clay. We were just about to get dressed and get some breakfast," Chuck said. "May I ask how long this train will remain in El Paso?"

"Of course you may. We'll stop at the station for twenty-five minutes."

"Twenty-five minutes?"

"Yes, sir. This train leaves for points east at seven sharp."

"Thanks for the information, Mr. Clay. We'll see you on our way out."

"You're welcome, sir. Please let me know if you need any assistance."

"We will," Chuck said.

The porter nodded respectfully at each of the Townsends and then took his leave.