Chapter Six: Running Away
"No, no, NO!!! I've already erad that chapter! I DO mind reading it again! Grawrs. Many of them." Patience, dear sister. You now have a chance to erad something you have not erad yet. And when you're done, you can try reading it too. I believe this chapter was unfinished last you read it (or erad it) so you may have to scroll down. Or you could patiently read through the whole chapter. But judging by the number grawrs I received, I'm going to guess you won't do that. So, Cassie, enjoy the last half of chapter 6. Everyone else, enjoy the whole thing!
***
"Mine," Elizabeth said, from the doorway to the computer room. She already had her story ready. The computer had looked like something she used to make out of cardboard boxes, but it had been pretty easy to figure out on her own. "If you don’t mind, I’d rather not get into the quarrel with my parents."
"That’s up to you," Mr. Farthington said.
"Let’s just say that I had sufficient reason to leave home, and leave it at that. But the Wilsons have been wonderful to me for the last two years. I do want to show you that I’ve been able to get along quite well without my parents. This happened a few days ago." She handed the story to Matt.
"Don’t forget about the fire," Mr. Farthington said. "It did happen, and dozens died, including the hotel manager and his family and several guests, including your parents."
"I promise that, if I go back, I’ll do what I can to prevent the fire . . . assuming that you can prove that it really did happen. But I cannot make such a promise about my parents."
"Mr. Farthington," Annalise said, speaking up for the first time since her story. "Elizabeth is the last one. After her, we all go back to our times. What happens to you?"
"I’m sorry?"
"What will become of you if we change history and this time line ceases to exist? All Gabrielle has to do is return to change things significantly. Will you cease to exist as well?"
"I doubt it. My family moved to Blue Springs very recently, after Elizabeth disappeared. I would imagine I’ll still be doing the same thing I’m doing now, albeit with many more people surrounding me."
"But you won’t remember any of us?"
"No, not unless I take the time to study you specifically."
"I see," Annalise said, looking thoughtful about something.
"Matt, you may proceed," Mr. Farthington said. Matt nodded, looking thoughtful as well. Whatever Annalise was pondering, he also seemed to be pondering. But before Elizabeth could reflect on that, Matt had begun to read.
***
The Wilson residence, November 8, 2000, 10:46 AM.
Elizabeth didn’t know what it was about this meeting that made her nervous. It wasn’t that her employer was particularly imposing. On the contrary, Elizabeth had always considered Mr. Wilson as more of a friend and mentor than as an employer. In fact, Mr. Wilson didn’t generally ask Elizabeth to his office; he usually sought her out himself when he needed to talk with her. There was something official about this meeting, which was so unlike Mr. Wilson that it made Elizabeth nervous.
"You asked to see me, Mr. Wilson?" she asked. The Wilsons had given up trying to get Elizabeth to use their first names. It just wasn’t how she had been raised.
"Yes, Elizabeth. Come and sit down, please." The girl did so.
"Is something wrong?" Elizabeth asked, getting her nervousness out in the open. Elizabeth’s philosophy was never to bottle up her emotions and to be frank about things. It was a philosophy that often got her into trouble.
"No, of course not," Mr. Wilson said. "In fact, you’ve been working so well, that I’ve decided to raise your salary."
"Oh," Elizabeth said, not ready for this news. "Thank you."
"But that’s not why I called you in here," Mr. Wilson continued.
"I had a feeling." Mr. Wilson sighed.
"Elizabeth . . . you know I’ve never asked you about the life you left in England . . . after making sure there weren’t any outstanding warrants for your arrest, of course," he added, half-humorously. "I sensed you wanted it that way, so I left it alone."
"Yes, sir," Elizabeth said, fearing what came next.
"But even so . . . it has become clear that you had some sort of quarrel with your parents."
"Sir, I have never mentioned my parents."
"No, you haven’t. In fact, you have been so meticulous in not mentioning them that I started to suspect a quarrel soon after you arrived." Elizabeth sighed, inwardly. Her philosophy was used in every situation . . . except this one. "And there have been other clues," Mr. Wilson continued. "The other night, when the Johnsons were visiting, Mrs. Johnson made asked a casual question about your family, and you suddenly became very stiff and formal. I thought you were going to tell her to mind her own business."
"I would never do that, sir," Elizabeth said. "I apologise if I was rude."
"You covered well. I honestly don’t think anyone but me noticed . . . and that’s because I was looking for it." He paused. "Elizabeth, you’ve had no contact with your parents for two years, correct?"
"Correct," Elizabeth said, growing more uncomfortable.
"Yet you still react with anger when someone mentions them. You’re doing it right now." Elizabeth started. She was doing it now. She tried to calm herself. "Two years is a long time to nurse anger."
"Mr. Wilson, I’d rather not talk about this, if you don’t mind." Mr. Wilson put up his hands.
"I’m just saying that if one of my kids was gone for two years with no word, I’d be going crazy wondering if she was all right."
"I very much doubt if my parents are at all concerned about me," Elizabeth said, no longer able to sit. "Our relationship has never been very cordial. Was there anything else?" Mr. Wilson stared at her for a moment. Elizabeth tried to hold back her emotions.
"We’re expecting some guests later this week. Some friends from out of town."
"I’ll set things up."
"Thank you," Mr. Wilson said nodding. Elizabeth turned and started quickly for the door. "Elizabeth?" She turned back. "I want you to know . . . you’re an important part of this family. I’ve never regretted hiring you." Elizabeth’s anger dissipated. More than anything, she wanted to run to Mr. Wilson and sob two years worth of turmoil and anger into his shoulder. But that just wouldn’t be dignified.
"Thank you, Mr. Wilson. I . . . I enjoy working here." She turned and left. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. She had work to do.
***
"There was a bit more about my family there than I remembered," Elizabeth said, still feeling the need to cry that she had felt in the scene.
"There is more," Mr. Farthington said. "You remember I told you earlier that your parents arrived in Blue Springs the day after your disappearance."
"Yes."
"They didn’t just arrive by coincidence. In fact, they were the guests from out of town that Mr. Wilson was expecting." Elizabeth sighed.
"They must have called him," she said. "I guess I shouldn’t be surprised."
"Actually, Elizabeth," Mr. Farthington said, "he called them." Elizabeth turned to him, hoping she had misheard.
"What?"
"Mr. Wilson found your parents, contacted them, and invited them over." Elizabeth began to see red again.
"Why that . . . he had no right, after . . . how dare he! After all that talk of . . . not prying into my life in England . . . he knew all along! I can’t believe he would . . ." Tears of anger began to stream down her face.
"He was doing what he thought was best for his employee. He didn’t pry into the quarrel itself. He found only the information he needed to find your parents, and when he contacted them, he said only that you were working for him and that he thought you and your parents should be reunited."
"And they came," Elizabeth said. "And if I hadn’t disappeared, it would have started all over again. He had no right to do this to me. No one understands what it was like! With the Wilsons I was happy . . . I was never happy with my parents." She paused, and looked angrily at Mr. Farthington. The tears continued to fall. "What makes you think anything will be any different? Is that what your bloody computer told you?"
"Elizabeth," Mr. Farthington said. "The computer showed me that things will better with you going back . . . but I don’t need a computer for the rest. Your parents came for you because they love you . . . do you think they’re incapable of change? Do you think that after you disappeared for two years, they’re going to want that to happen again?" He sighed. "I never pried into the details of the problem with your parents, Elizabeth. That’s between the three of you. And Mr. Wilson never did either. But I believe, just as he did, that whatever the problem was, running away isn’t the answer. Or you bottle everything inside you for the rest of your life. You carry this black cloud with you everywhere you go, no matter how hard you try to forget about it." Elizabeth’s look softened slightly. Her eyes were red and moist, and her anger had melted into a sort of quiet helplessness.
"For better or for worse, the only way to begin to solve the problem is to address it, not to run from it. I don’t need a computer to tell me that. All day, we’ve been dealing with these women who were running away from their problems. Faith is running from her betrothed, Annalise is running from her failing career, and Gabrielle is running from her fear of a one-on-one confrontation. I brought you all here in the hopes that you would, not only correct the time line and fix the town, but also that you would come to face your problems. Whether I’ve succeeded with the other women remains to be seen . . . but right now, we’re talking about you." Elizabeth still made no answer. "Forget about the time line for a minute. Forget that it’s me asking you to do this. Think about yourself. How long do you want this thing to fester?" There was a long pause as Elizabeth thought. Then she wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked up.
"Show me the rest," she said quietly. Mr. Farthington nodded, and picked up another stack of papers from his desk. Matt took them and began to read.
***
The Wilson residence, November 12, 2000, about 8:00 PM.
Mrs. Wilson wrung her hands nervously as she showed Mr. and Mrs. Porpington-Potts into the living room. This was not the sort of encounter the Wilsons had had in mind when they had sent for them. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elizabeth had, in fact, figured out who the "friends from out of town" were, and had run off . . . again. If that were the case, she could be anywhere.
"Has there been any word?" Mr. Porpington-Potts said, his voice carrying the same accent Mrs. Wilson had grown so used to from Elizabeth over the past two years.
"My husband is with the police," Mrs. Wilson said. "As soon as they know something, they’ll call."
"I should be there with him," the man said, starting to stand. "I’m her father, after all . . ."
"It’s all right. My husband knows the desk sergeant, and both he and Elizabeth are well known in the community. Unfortunately, the police have a tendency to drag their feet on these things. They’re treating this as a runaway, and they keep insisting that she’ll call."
"She already ran away once, and she hasn’t called in two years," Mrs. Porpington-Potts said.
"And I’d imagine that Mr. Wilson is saying something along those lines to them. But it may take time to talk some sense to them." They sat in silence for a moment.
"May I ask you something?" Mrs. Porpington-Potts said. "You’ve gotten to know Elizabeth pretty well over the last couple years, I’m sure. Is it . . . is it possible she knew we were coming, and tried to avoid us?" Mrs. Wilson sighed.
"I’ve been wondering that myself," she said. "And I suppose it’s possible. But I don’t think that’s the case here, and neither does my husband. Elizabeth has always been an excellent employee. She works hard, she’s wonderful with the children, and I think she knows our house better than we do. We’ve grown very fond of her, as I’m sure she has of us, and just last week she said how much she liked working here. That doesn’t sound like a runaway."
"Perhaps she likes it here better," Elizabeth’s mother said.
"Mrs. Potts," Mrs. Wilson said, "we asked you both to come, because although Elizabeth seems content here, she is still angry. She has nursed that anger over the past two years. She is very evasive about her family life, and she grows . . . upset whenever someone mentions it." She sighed. "This isn’t healthy, and we invited you over, in the hopes that you could . . . clear the air."
"Believe me," Mr. Porpington-Potts said, "we would like nothing more than to be able to ‘clear the air’ with our daughter, but . . . I’m not sure you realize quite what you’re asking us to do. You really have no idea what things were like before. We’re not sure how . . . wise a reconciliation, or even a reunion, would be."
"And yet you came," Mrs. Wilson pointed out.
"Of course we did," Mrs. Porpington-Potts said. "We haven’t heard from our daughter since she ran away. We didn’t even know if she was still alive. We had to come, if only to know that she was, indeed, safe. Although now, she seems to have left again." She sighed. "Before she left, we said some things we shouldn’t have. We may never get the chance now to . . . to tell her how desperately sorry we are." There was a silence, during which Mrs. Porpington-Potts took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
"Well, if you’ll excuse me Mrs. Wilson," Mr. Porpington-Potts said, "I think I’ll join your husband at the police station. Perhaps I can help him . . . talk some sense to them."
"Of course," Mrs. Wilson said, nodded. Elizabeth’s father got up to go.
Before he left, he turned back into the room. "Mrs. Wilson . . . there’s no point in denying the difficulties we’ve had with Elizabeth . . . And I don’t mind admitting that we haven’t always been the best parents. But when all is said and done . . . she’s our child and we love her. Perhaps almost as much as you do."
"At least," Mrs. Wilson said. Mr. Porpington-Potts tried to smile before leaving the room. Mrs. Wilson turned back to Elizabeth’s mother. "Mrs. Porpington-Potts, there’s a room prepared for you, if you’d like to lie down."
"No," she said. "Thank you, but I’d like to return to the hotel."
"Of course. I’ll drive you back." The two women got up and walked out of the room, wondering anxiously where their lost child was.
***
"Mr. Porpington-Potts stayed at the police station for another couple of hours, before also returning to the hotel for the night. Then the fire broke out, and the police had their hands full with that. There is no record whether the search for Elizabeth was ever resumed.
"The fire spread quickly, burning not only the hotel, but half the town, and killing many of the surprised people who weren’t able to escape it in time. It delivered a crippling blow to an already struggling town. Those whose homes were destroyed moved elsewhere, and soon the businesses followed. Over the next decade, people began abandoning the town in ever larger numbers. Some families, like mine, moved in, but it wasn’t enough to compensate for the population drop, and the whole town fell into disrepair. Seventy years after the fire, this is what’s left." The four women were all lost in thought. Elizabeth had started crying again, and Faith and Annalise both looked helpless and lost. Only Gabrielle had any kind of conviction on her face.
"Twenty years ago," Mr. Farthington continued, "the twelve people left in the village, including myself, made the decision to use the information we’d gathered from the nexus, and try to restore the time line. I volunteered to stay behind, and as I studied you all, I realized that this had become more than just a matter of turning you back to boulder and sending you home.
"All of you had difficult decisions to make. And either because of your youth, your stubbornness . . . whatever the reason, you had to be made to talk about these decisions. I realized that Blue Springs, 2070, could be a sort . . . of safe haven for all of you. A place to confront your problems." He paused. "I don’t know why the nexus brought you all here . . . but I can’t help but wonder if there is some sort of . . . sapient being at work. Some intelligence. At any rate, I hope that when you go back, you’ll find yourself better equipped to face those troubles rather than run from them." There was a long silence as Mr. Farthington finished his speech.
"Well," Gabrielle said, finally, "I know what I have to do. Mr. Giovanni’s life depends on my help."
"So does Albert’s, I suppose," Faith said. "I can at least meet him. Then we’ll see."
Annalise sighed, and picked up her violin. "I may never play another note . . . but I guess I owe it to Jonathon to try, after all he’s done for me. I just hope he takes me back."
"He will," Mr. Farthington said. Annalise smiled for the first time since her arrival.
"What about you, Elizabeth?" Mr. Farthington asked.
Elizabeth looked at them for a moment. "Well," she said, finally. "I think I’d like to back, if only to see what the Wilsons have to say about sending for my parents behind my back." She paused, and sighed. "Then . . . I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them."
Mr. Farthington smiled. "Thank you, all. Now, I think it’s time to send all of you home." He turned to Matt, who had been sitting quietly through the whole exchange. "And thank you, Matt for helping us. I suppose you should be returning to . . . well, wherever it was you came from. You can read the book, and find out how this story turns out."
"Well, I think I’ve had more fun being a part of the story than reading it," Matt said, getting up. "But before I go, may I ask a favor?"
"Of course," Mr. Farthington said. "But bear in mind, I still can’t help you with the money . . ."
"No, no, it’s nothing like that," Matt said. "It’s just that, well . . . I feel like I was a little hard on Annalise in her scene . . . I mean, it wasn’t me, of course, but still . . . well, I didn’t really get a chance to enjoy the music, so . . . I was wondering if she would play something for us before we go."
"What do you say, Annalise?" Mr. Farthington said. "Just an audience of five . . . might not be a bad way to restart your musical career."
"I don’t know . . ." Annalise said, uncertainly.
"We’d all love to hear you," Gabrielle said. "Please?"
"Yes, that’s right," Elizabeth put in.
"I love the violin," said Faith.
Annalise sighed. "All right. But just a short one." They all settled back as Annalise pulled out her violin, once again, from her case. She imagined herself back on stage . . . then she thought better if it, and thought of herself back at the boulder, in her own time . . . home again.
Come on, Annalise, she heard Jonathon’s voice say. Somewhere in there is your passion for music. All you have to do is find it!
Suddenly, Annalise was playing the simple melody she had played since her earliest days on the instrument. It wasn’t perfect . . . but the melody flowed out of the strings, and for a moment . . . a brief moment . . . Annalise forgot about the critics, the problems of her world, and the fight with Jonathon, and just made music. And her small audience got a glimpse of the real Annalise Bridges.
When it was over, they all clapped, considerably more enthusiastically than before. Annalise blushed slightly, then bowed, and put her instrument back in its case . . . this time, without thinking of it as a coffin.
***
As they headed back to the boulder, Matt and Annalise talked quietly behind them. Elizabeth couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. After a moment, they gestured to Faith and whispered to her. She smiled and nodded. They did the same for Gabrielle a moment later. Finally, they brought Elizabeth. As they spoke to her, she smiled and nodded too. Matt had helped them once again.
"We’re here," Mr. Farthington said. "And now, our paths must part. Simply touch the boulder, and it will transport you back to your own time, at the exact time you left. What you do from there is up to you." He crossed to Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, I wish you the best with your parents."
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for helping me." She shook his hand, then touched the boulder and disappeared.
"Gabrielle, good luck with Mr. Giovanni. I’m sure you will succeed."
"Thank you, Daniel, and God bless you." She hugged him, then also disappeared.
"Faith," Mr. Farthington said, facing the young girl. "I think once you get to know Mr. Quinn, you will go through with the wedding."
Faith nodded. "I think I will too. Thank you."
"Good luck to you." She smiled at him sweetly, then proceed to touch the boulder and vanish.
"And Annalise," he said, facing the last woman. "For whatever it’s worth, I think the spark is still there."
"You’re a great inspiration, Daniel Farthington," the musician said. "I hope to always remember you, even if you won’t remember us."
"Thank you," said Mr. Farthington. Annalise hugged him, turned and gave Matt one last wave, then touched the boulder and was gone.
Matt and Mr. Farthington stood alone in the clearing. "Well," Matt said. "I have to say this wasn’t what I expected when I picked up this book."
"No, I wouldn’t think so. It’s not a very common occurrence," Mr. Farthington said. Matt laughed.
"Well anyway, it’s been fun. I’d best be going. I want to see how this story turns out."
"Good luck to you Matt. Perhaps we’ll meet again."
Matt smiled. "Yeah, maybe there’ll be a sequel."
The two men shook hands. "Happy reading."
"Good luck to you, Daniel." Daniel smiled, turned, and began his walk back down the street.
Matt watched him for a moment, then pulled out the piece of paper Daniel had given him, and read it. And suddenly, Matt was back in his own world, reading the book. Matt looked up. He was still standing next to the boulder.
He looked around. "What am I still doing here?" he asked. He read the paper again. Nothing. "What’s going on here? Mr. Farthington? Daniel?" He started running down the street, trying to catch up with the man, but it was getting difficult to see him. "Daniel? Mr. Farthington, where are you? Hold on, wait for me! Daniel? . . ."
***
End of chapter 6.
"What's next?"
***
"Mine," Elizabeth said, from the doorway to the computer room. She already had her story ready. The computer had looked like something she used to make out of cardboard boxes, but it had been pretty easy to figure out on her own. "If you don’t mind, I’d rather not get into the quarrel with my parents."
"That’s up to you," Mr. Farthington said.
"Let’s just say that I had sufficient reason to leave home, and leave it at that. But the Wilsons have been wonderful to me for the last two years. I do want to show you that I’ve been able to get along quite well without my parents. This happened a few days ago." She handed the story to Matt.
"Don’t forget about the fire," Mr. Farthington said. "It did happen, and dozens died, including the hotel manager and his family and several guests, including your parents."
"I promise that, if I go back, I’ll do what I can to prevent the fire . . . assuming that you can prove that it really did happen. But I cannot make such a promise about my parents."
"Mr. Farthington," Annalise said, speaking up for the first time since her story. "Elizabeth is the last one. After her, we all go back to our times. What happens to you?"
"I’m sorry?"
"What will become of you if we change history and this time line ceases to exist? All Gabrielle has to do is return to change things significantly. Will you cease to exist as well?"
"I doubt it. My family moved to Blue Springs very recently, after Elizabeth disappeared. I would imagine I’ll still be doing the same thing I’m doing now, albeit with many more people surrounding me."
"But you won’t remember any of us?"
"No, not unless I take the time to study you specifically."
"I see," Annalise said, looking thoughtful about something.
"Matt, you may proceed," Mr. Farthington said. Matt nodded, looking thoughtful as well. Whatever Annalise was pondering, he also seemed to be pondering. But before Elizabeth could reflect on that, Matt had begun to read.
***
The Wilson residence, November 8, 2000, 10:46 AM.
Elizabeth didn’t know what it was about this meeting that made her nervous. It wasn’t that her employer was particularly imposing. On the contrary, Elizabeth had always considered Mr. Wilson as more of a friend and mentor than as an employer. In fact, Mr. Wilson didn’t generally ask Elizabeth to his office; he usually sought her out himself when he needed to talk with her. There was something official about this meeting, which was so unlike Mr. Wilson that it made Elizabeth nervous.
"You asked to see me, Mr. Wilson?" she asked. The Wilsons had given up trying to get Elizabeth to use their first names. It just wasn’t how she had been raised.
"Yes, Elizabeth. Come and sit down, please." The girl did so.
"Is something wrong?" Elizabeth asked, getting her nervousness out in the open. Elizabeth’s philosophy was never to bottle up her emotions and to be frank about things. It was a philosophy that often got her into trouble.
"No, of course not," Mr. Wilson said. "In fact, you’ve been working so well, that I’ve decided to raise your salary."
"Oh," Elizabeth said, not ready for this news. "Thank you."
"But that’s not why I called you in here," Mr. Wilson continued.
"I had a feeling." Mr. Wilson sighed.
"Elizabeth . . . you know I’ve never asked you about the life you left in England . . . after making sure there weren’t any outstanding warrants for your arrest, of course," he added, half-humorously. "I sensed you wanted it that way, so I left it alone."
"Yes, sir," Elizabeth said, fearing what came next.
"But even so . . . it has become clear that you had some sort of quarrel with your parents."
"Sir, I have never mentioned my parents."
"No, you haven’t. In fact, you have been so meticulous in not mentioning them that I started to suspect a quarrel soon after you arrived." Elizabeth sighed, inwardly. Her philosophy was used in every situation . . . except this one. "And there have been other clues," Mr. Wilson continued. "The other night, when the Johnsons were visiting, Mrs. Johnson made asked a casual question about your family, and you suddenly became very stiff and formal. I thought you were going to tell her to mind her own business."
"I would never do that, sir," Elizabeth said. "I apologise if I was rude."
"You covered well. I honestly don’t think anyone but me noticed . . . and that’s because I was looking for it." He paused. "Elizabeth, you’ve had no contact with your parents for two years, correct?"
"Correct," Elizabeth said, growing more uncomfortable.
"Yet you still react with anger when someone mentions them. You’re doing it right now." Elizabeth started. She was doing it now. She tried to calm herself. "Two years is a long time to nurse anger."
"Mr. Wilson, I’d rather not talk about this, if you don’t mind." Mr. Wilson put up his hands.
"I’m just saying that if one of my kids was gone for two years with no word, I’d be going crazy wondering if she was all right."
"I very much doubt if my parents are at all concerned about me," Elizabeth said, no longer able to sit. "Our relationship has never been very cordial. Was there anything else?" Mr. Wilson stared at her for a moment. Elizabeth tried to hold back her emotions.
"We’re expecting some guests later this week. Some friends from out of town."
"I’ll set things up."
"Thank you," Mr. Wilson said nodding. Elizabeth turned and started quickly for the door. "Elizabeth?" She turned back. "I want you to know . . . you’re an important part of this family. I’ve never regretted hiring you." Elizabeth’s anger dissipated. More than anything, she wanted to run to Mr. Wilson and sob two years worth of turmoil and anger into his shoulder. But that just wouldn’t be dignified.
"Thank you, Mr. Wilson. I . . . I enjoy working here." She turned and left. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. She had work to do.
***
"There was a bit more about my family there than I remembered," Elizabeth said, still feeling the need to cry that she had felt in the scene.
"There is more," Mr. Farthington said. "You remember I told you earlier that your parents arrived in Blue Springs the day after your disappearance."
"Yes."
"They didn’t just arrive by coincidence. In fact, they were the guests from out of town that Mr. Wilson was expecting." Elizabeth sighed.
"They must have called him," she said. "I guess I shouldn’t be surprised."
"Actually, Elizabeth," Mr. Farthington said, "he called them." Elizabeth turned to him, hoping she had misheard.
"What?"
"Mr. Wilson found your parents, contacted them, and invited them over." Elizabeth began to see red again.
"Why that . . . he had no right, after . . . how dare he! After all that talk of . . . not prying into my life in England . . . he knew all along! I can’t believe he would . . ." Tears of anger began to stream down her face.
"He was doing what he thought was best for his employee. He didn’t pry into the quarrel itself. He found only the information he needed to find your parents, and when he contacted them, he said only that you were working for him and that he thought you and your parents should be reunited."
"And they came," Elizabeth said. "And if I hadn’t disappeared, it would have started all over again. He had no right to do this to me. No one understands what it was like! With the Wilsons I was happy . . . I was never happy with my parents." She paused, and looked angrily at Mr. Farthington. The tears continued to fall. "What makes you think anything will be any different? Is that what your bloody computer told you?"
"Elizabeth," Mr. Farthington said. "The computer showed me that things will better with you going back . . . but I don’t need a computer for the rest. Your parents came for you because they love you . . . do you think they’re incapable of change? Do you think that after you disappeared for two years, they’re going to want that to happen again?" He sighed. "I never pried into the details of the problem with your parents, Elizabeth. That’s between the three of you. And Mr. Wilson never did either. But I believe, just as he did, that whatever the problem was, running away isn’t the answer. Or you bottle everything inside you for the rest of your life. You carry this black cloud with you everywhere you go, no matter how hard you try to forget about it." Elizabeth’s look softened slightly. Her eyes were red and moist, and her anger had melted into a sort of quiet helplessness.
"For better or for worse, the only way to begin to solve the problem is to address it, not to run from it. I don’t need a computer to tell me that. All day, we’ve been dealing with these women who were running away from their problems. Faith is running from her betrothed, Annalise is running from her failing career, and Gabrielle is running from her fear of a one-on-one confrontation. I brought you all here in the hopes that you would, not only correct the time line and fix the town, but also that you would come to face your problems. Whether I’ve succeeded with the other women remains to be seen . . . but right now, we’re talking about you." Elizabeth still made no answer. "Forget about the time line for a minute. Forget that it’s me asking you to do this. Think about yourself. How long do you want this thing to fester?" There was a long pause as Elizabeth thought. Then she wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked up.
"Show me the rest," she said quietly. Mr. Farthington nodded, and picked up another stack of papers from his desk. Matt took them and began to read.
***
The Wilson residence, November 12, 2000, about 8:00 PM.
Mrs. Wilson wrung her hands nervously as she showed Mr. and Mrs. Porpington-Potts into the living room. This was not the sort of encounter the Wilsons had had in mind when they had sent for them. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elizabeth had, in fact, figured out who the "friends from out of town" were, and had run off . . . again. If that were the case, she could be anywhere.
"Has there been any word?" Mr. Porpington-Potts said, his voice carrying the same accent Mrs. Wilson had grown so used to from Elizabeth over the past two years.
"My husband is with the police," Mrs. Wilson said. "As soon as they know something, they’ll call."
"I should be there with him," the man said, starting to stand. "I’m her father, after all . . ."
"It’s all right. My husband knows the desk sergeant, and both he and Elizabeth are well known in the community. Unfortunately, the police have a tendency to drag their feet on these things. They’re treating this as a runaway, and they keep insisting that she’ll call."
"She already ran away once, and she hasn’t called in two years," Mrs. Porpington-Potts said.
"And I’d imagine that Mr. Wilson is saying something along those lines to them. But it may take time to talk some sense to them." They sat in silence for a moment.
"May I ask you something?" Mrs. Porpington-Potts said. "You’ve gotten to know Elizabeth pretty well over the last couple years, I’m sure. Is it . . . is it possible she knew we were coming, and tried to avoid us?" Mrs. Wilson sighed.
"I’ve been wondering that myself," she said. "And I suppose it’s possible. But I don’t think that’s the case here, and neither does my husband. Elizabeth has always been an excellent employee. She works hard, she’s wonderful with the children, and I think she knows our house better than we do. We’ve grown very fond of her, as I’m sure she has of us, and just last week she said how much she liked working here. That doesn’t sound like a runaway."
"Perhaps she likes it here better," Elizabeth’s mother said.
"Mrs. Potts," Mrs. Wilson said, "we asked you both to come, because although Elizabeth seems content here, she is still angry. She has nursed that anger over the past two years. She is very evasive about her family life, and she grows . . . upset whenever someone mentions it." She sighed. "This isn’t healthy, and we invited you over, in the hopes that you could . . . clear the air."
"Believe me," Mr. Porpington-Potts said, "we would like nothing more than to be able to ‘clear the air’ with our daughter, but . . . I’m not sure you realize quite what you’re asking us to do. You really have no idea what things were like before. We’re not sure how . . . wise a reconciliation, or even a reunion, would be."
"And yet you came," Mrs. Wilson pointed out.
"Of course we did," Mrs. Porpington-Potts said. "We haven’t heard from our daughter since she ran away. We didn’t even know if she was still alive. We had to come, if only to know that she was, indeed, safe. Although now, she seems to have left again." She sighed. "Before she left, we said some things we shouldn’t have. We may never get the chance now to . . . to tell her how desperately sorry we are." There was a silence, during which Mrs. Porpington-Potts took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
"Well, if you’ll excuse me Mrs. Wilson," Mr. Porpington-Potts said, "I think I’ll join your husband at the police station. Perhaps I can help him . . . talk some sense to them."
"Of course," Mrs. Wilson said, nodded. Elizabeth’s father got up to go.
Before he left, he turned back into the room. "Mrs. Wilson . . . there’s no point in denying the difficulties we’ve had with Elizabeth . . . And I don’t mind admitting that we haven’t always been the best parents. But when all is said and done . . . she’s our child and we love her. Perhaps almost as much as you do."
"At least," Mrs. Wilson said. Mr. Porpington-Potts tried to smile before leaving the room. Mrs. Wilson turned back to Elizabeth’s mother. "Mrs. Porpington-Potts, there’s a room prepared for you, if you’d like to lie down."
"No," she said. "Thank you, but I’d like to return to the hotel."
"Of course. I’ll drive you back." The two women got up and walked out of the room, wondering anxiously where their lost child was.
***
"Mr. Porpington-Potts stayed at the police station for another couple of hours, before also returning to the hotel for the night. Then the fire broke out, and the police had their hands full with that. There is no record whether the search for Elizabeth was ever resumed.
"The fire spread quickly, burning not only the hotel, but half the town, and killing many of the surprised people who weren’t able to escape it in time. It delivered a crippling blow to an already struggling town. Those whose homes were destroyed moved elsewhere, and soon the businesses followed. Over the next decade, people began abandoning the town in ever larger numbers. Some families, like mine, moved in, but it wasn’t enough to compensate for the population drop, and the whole town fell into disrepair. Seventy years after the fire, this is what’s left." The four women were all lost in thought. Elizabeth had started crying again, and Faith and Annalise both looked helpless and lost. Only Gabrielle had any kind of conviction on her face.
"Twenty years ago," Mr. Farthington continued, "the twelve people left in the village, including myself, made the decision to use the information we’d gathered from the nexus, and try to restore the time line. I volunteered to stay behind, and as I studied you all, I realized that this had become more than just a matter of turning you back to boulder and sending you home.
"All of you had difficult decisions to make. And either because of your youth, your stubbornness . . . whatever the reason, you had to be made to talk about these decisions. I realized that Blue Springs, 2070, could be a sort . . . of safe haven for all of you. A place to confront your problems." He paused. "I don’t know why the nexus brought you all here . . . but I can’t help but wonder if there is some sort of . . . sapient being at work. Some intelligence. At any rate, I hope that when you go back, you’ll find yourself better equipped to face those troubles rather than run from them." There was a long silence as Mr. Farthington finished his speech.
"Well," Gabrielle said, finally, "I know what I have to do. Mr. Giovanni’s life depends on my help."
"So does Albert’s, I suppose," Faith said. "I can at least meet him. Then we’ll see."
Annalise sighed, and picked up her violin. "I may never play another note . . . but I guess I owe it to Jonathon to try, after all he’s done for me. I just hope he takes me back."
"He will," Mr. Farthington said. Annalise smiled for the first time since her arrival.
"What about you, Elizabeth?" Mr. Farthington asked.
Elizabeth looked at them for a moment. "Well," she said, finally. "I think I’d like to back, if only to see what the Wilsons have to say about sending for my parents behind my back." She paused, and sighed. "Then . . . I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them."
Mr. Farthington smiled. "Thank you, all. Now, I think it’s time to send all of you home." He turned to Matt, who had been sitting quietly through the whole exchange. "And thank you, Matt for helping us. I suppose you should be returning to . . . well, wherever it was you came from. You can read the book, and find out how this story turns out."
"Well, I think I’ve had more fun being a part of the story than reading it," Matt said, getting up. "But before I go, may I ask a favor?"
"Of course," Mr. Farthington said. "But bear in mind, I still can’t help you with the money . . ."
"No, no, it’s nothing like that," Matt said. "It’s just that, well . . . I feel like I was a little hard on Annalise in her scene . . . I mean, it wasn’t me, of course, but still . . . well, I didn’t really get a chance to enjoy the music, so . . . I was wondering if she would play something for us before we go."
"What do you say, Annalise?" Mr. Farthington said. "Just an audience of five . . . might not be a bad way to restart your musical career."
"I don’t know . . ." Annalise said, uncertainly.
"We’d all love to hear you," Gabrielle said. "Please?"
"Yes, that’s right," Elizabeth put in.
"I love the violin," said Faith.
Annalise sighed. "All right. But just a short one." They all settled back as Annalise pulled out her violin, once again, from her case. She imagined herself back on stage . . . then she thought better if it, and thought of herself back at the boulder, in her own time . . . home again.
Come on, Annalise, she heard Jonathon’s voice say. Somewhere in there is your passion for music. All you have to do is find it!
Suddenly, Annalise was playing the simple melody she had played since her earliest days on the instrument. It wasn’t perfect . . . but the melody flowed out of the strings, and for a moment . . . a brief moment . . . Annalise forgot about the critics, the problems of her world, and the fight with Jonathon, and just made music. And her small audience got a glimpse of the real Annalise Bridges.
When it was over, they all clapped, considerably more enthusiastically than before. Annalise blushed slightly, then bowed, and put her instrument back in its case . . . this time, without thinking of it as a coffin.
***
As they headed back to the boulder, Matt and Annalise talked quietly behind them. Elizabeth couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. After a moment, they gestured to Faith and whispered to her. She smiled and nodded. They did the same for Gabrielle a moment later. Finally, they brought Elizabeth. As they spoke to her, she smiled and nodded too. Matt had helped them once again.
"We’re here," Mr. Farthington said. "And now, our paths must part. Simply touch the boulder, and it will transport you back to your own time, at the exact time you left. What you do from there is up to you." He crossed to Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, I wish you the best with your parents."
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for helping me." She shook his hand, then touched the boulder and disappeared.
"Gabrielle, good luck with Mr. Giovanni. I’m sure you will succeed."
"Thank you, Daniel, and God bless you." She hugged him, then also disappeared.
"Faith," Mr. Farthington said, facing the young girl. "I think once you get to know Mr. Quinn, you will go through with the wedding."
Faith nodded. "I think I will too. Thank you."
"Good luck to you." She smiled at him sweetly, then proceed to touch the boulder and vanish.
"And Annalise," he said, facing the last woman. "For whatever it’s worth, I think the spark is still there."
"You’re a great inspiration, Daniel Farthington," the musician said. "I hope to always remember you, even if you won’t remember us."
"Thank you," said Mr. Farthington. Annalise hugged him, turned and gave Matt one last wave, then touched the boulder and was gone.
Matt and Mr. Farthington stood alone in the clearing. "Well," Matt said. "I have to say this wasn’t what I expected when I picked up this book."
"No, I wouldn’t think so. It’s not a very common occurrence," Mr. Farthington said. Matt laughed.
"Well anyway, it’s been fun. I’d best be going. I want to see how this story turns out."
"Good luck to you Matt. Perhaps we’ll meet again."
Matt smiled. "Yeah, maybe there’ll be a sequel."
The two men shook hands. "Happy reading."
"Good luck to you, Daniel." Daniel smiled, turned, and began his walk back down the street.
Matt watched him for a moment, then pulled out the piece of paper Daniel had given him, and read it. And suddenly, Matt was back in his own world, reading the book. Matt looked up. He was still standing next to the boulder.
He looked around. "What am I still doing here?" he asked. He read the paper again. Nothing. "What’s going on here? Mr. Farthington? Daniel?" He started running down the street, trying to catch up with the man, but it was getting difficult to see him. "Daniel? Mr. Farthington, where are you? Hold on, wait for me! Daniel? . . ."
***
End of chapter 6.
"What's next?"
posted by nonentity | 7:44 PM
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