Journey, The (20 page)

Police had also suspected foul play in the case of Bette Champion, who had vanished on February 13, 1948. The mansion's owner, Perry Young, a 55-year-old banker, had admitted to having an extramarital affair with his 20-year-old nanny but had denied any involvement in her disappearance. Facing scandal and divorce, Young shot himself three weeks later.

Only in 1917 had violence not been suspected. When George Pennington had gone missing on July 13, it had been widely assumed that he had fled the country. The lumber baron's grandson had been a scathing critic of the Selective Service Act of 1917 and America's entry into World War I. When he had registered for the draft on June 5, at his grandfather's insistence, he had informed the old man that he would never serve.

Newspaper articles told Michelle a lot about the people who had disappeared but nothing about where they had gone. Had they too entered the mansion's mysterious chamber? If so, when and where had they emerged? Was it possible that they had made the same journey in terms of time and place? Were any still alive?

Michelle was about to give up finding answers to any of the questions when she got an idea and returned to the front desk. She asked to see Unionville High School yearbooks from the early 1960s and was directed to a nearby shelf. She pulled the volumes from 1960 to 1965 and went back to her table. Within a few minutes, she had answers on the youngest victims.

The girl pictured on Page 15 of the 1960
Corral
was much older than the girl pictured on Page 1A of the April 15, 1979 issue of the
Unionville Gazette
, but there was no doubt in Michelle's mind that the two were one and the same. The Alice Franklin who had been born in Denver, Colorado, in 1973 had been the Alice Franklin who had graduated from Unionville High in 1960. Brother Tim had followed suit in 1963. The Franklins, in all probability, had traveled back to 1948 and, like Michelle, had started over again in the same town.

Michelle raced to the phone directory, flipped through the Fs, and quickly found three Franklins: the original family, which no longer lived at 313 East Riverside Drive, and two other clans who lived on the south side of town. She personally knew both families, one from school and one from church, and neither remotely fit the profile of older time travelers.

She knew the odds were good that at least one member of Roger Franklin's clan was still alive. The kids would be in their late thirties now, no doubt settled in new towns with new families and new lives – lives that did not include stories of parallel universes and haunted houses. She vowed to find them someday, if only to reach out to the only people on the planet who could relate to her terrifying experience.

But as Michelle wrote in her journal that night, that day would have to wait. She had found the answers to some of her questions and could live with herself if she never found more. She had come to the end of a road that no longer mattered. It was time to move on.

CHAPTER 36: SHELLY

Sunday, January 27, 1980

"Yale, huh?"

Shelly Preston stared hard at the boy in the Unionville football jersey.

"That's the Ivy League to you, Mister."

"Connecticut's a long way from Corvallis, Shelly."

"It's close to my dreams, Scott. That's what counts."

Scott Richardson sighed and leaned back in his cushioned seat. He stirred his coffee and looked dejectedly at the confident young woman on the other side of their booth.

"Looks like you got what you want."

"I still have to find a way to pay for it. The school costs nine thousand dollars a year. If I don't get a decent scholarship, the matter's moot. You should be happy for me."

"I
am
happy for you. But I'm worried about us."

Shelly looked at the seemingly repentant young man and weighed two courses of action. The first was to squeeze his jewels until his tongue popped out and he apologized for every selfish statement and act of the past eight months. The second was to grab his hand and tell him that she loved him and that if they were truly meant to be their relationship would survive a separation of four years and three thousand miles. She grabbed his hand.

"Why are you worried about us?"

"Because a lot of things can happen in four years."

"Like what?"

"Like you meeting someone else. You're going to meet a lot of new people."

"Of course I am, Scott. That's the point of leaving home. You meet new people. You grow. You experience new things. You determine what you want out of life and you go for it. What's wrong with that?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, in theory. There's everything wrong with that in practice. I don't want to lose you."

"Then don't. Don't lose me. Fight for me. Don't take me for granted."

Shelly glanced at a nearby table and saw another couple turn away. The Seventh Avenue Diner wasn't the most private place in town, but it would have to do. She returned to Scott.

"I love you. I want this to work. But it won't work if you keep treating me this way."

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean melting down every time I talk to another guy or dance with someone else. You don't own me, Scott Richardson. You don't. Yet you act like you do, and I'm sick of it. Treat me with respect. Treat me like I matter."

Scott shifted in his seat and glanced out a window. Sleet, driven by a harsh wind, bounced off the glass. When he looked back at Shelly, Scott displayed the face of a humbled man – a man who no longer called the shots in an important relationship.

"I get it," he said. "I get it. I'll try to do better."

"Do more than try, Scott. Succeed."

She took a sip of her coffee and looked him in the eyes.

"You won't get another chance."

CHAPTER 37: MICHELLE

Tuesday, February 5, 1980

Michelle couldn't see all of the tables or hear any of the conversations, but from her vantage point in the bleachers of the Unionville High School gym she was able to get a pretty good fix on employment trends for the next ten years.

More than a dozen students lined up to speak to a casually dressed man in his twenties who represented a technology company that manufactured desktop computers for homes and businesses. Scott Richardson stood at the head of the line. Several others crowded around representatives from advertising agencies, law firms, and financial institutions. Few students showed interest in manufacturing. Only one hung around the agriculture table.

Michelle had answered a call to assist with the school's first-ever career fair because it gave her a chance to escape her prison-cell office and because she thought it was important. Picking a vocation ranked next to picking a mate in the hierarchy of critical decisions these young adults would face in the coming years. She had spent most of the morning helping others set up tables and welcoming more than thirty professionals and industry representatives to the school. By doing so, she got more out of the fair than she had as a student.

Michelle remembered the career fair from her first run through 1980 not for what it offered but for what it didn't. Though three media organizations had set up shop on the basketball court, publishers were noticeably absent. She watched with great interest as history repeated itself in real time. Shelly Preston marched into the gym, talked to a woman pushing careers in public education, and quickly left.

April Burke entered the chamber a moment later. She stopped at a table sponsored by a local savings and loan but seemed less interested in its brochures and free pencils than the handsome man in his early twenties manning the station. When he inevitably turned his attention to others, she headed for the door.

Brian Johnson hung around longer. He went from table to table and collected a handful of cards and brochures and more than a few freebies. When he completed the circuit, he headed for the stands and sat down with his haul. He sat in a spot ten feet away and two bleachers down from Michelle but seemed oblivious to her presence.

"It looks like you cleaned the place out," Michelle said.

Brian looked up and smiled.

"Hi, Miss Jennings. Yeah, I guess I grabbed my share."

"Do you mind if I look at a few?"

"Not at all."

Michelle stepped over the bleachers and sat next to the boy whose interests apparently included everything from computers and banking to the Army and the Marines. She picked up two brochures, looked them over, and placed them on top of a stack at Brian's side.

"This is quite a collection. I didn't realize you were considering a career in the military."

"I'm thinking about it," Brian said.

"What about college?"

"I'll go. I'm just not sure I want to go right away. I can't afford it, for one thing."

"There is something called financial aid, Brian."

"I know. I mailed the forms last week. My dad is pushing college. He went to Oregon State and wants me to do the same. But he went on a scholarship. If I go, I'll have to take out some loans. I don't want to run up a lot of debt before I figure out what I want to do. If I join the Army or the Marines, I can at least save some money for school."

"That's smart. I can relate to that," Michelle said. "It took me five years to pay off my college debt, even with help from my husband, and I went to a
state
school. But is joining the military really what you want to do?"

"I don't know. I'm going to think about it over the summer. If I still need the money, I'll join. If I don't, I probably won't. But part of me wants to do it anyway just to prove myself."

"What do you mean by 'prove yourself'?"

"I mean prove myself physically. I'm tired of being a nerd. Girls don't go out with geeks, not in this town anyway. The only girls who talk to me anymore are Shelly and April and that's probably because they feel sorry for me. It gets old after a while, you know."

Michelle cringed when she heard the words. She had forgotten how tough high school could be for boys who didn't measure up to the Scott Richardsons of the world.

"I know. But if you are going to join the Army or the Marines, don't you think you should do it for the right reasons? You're selling yourself short, Brian. You have a lot to offer. You'll find the right girl someday. I'm sure of it. Patience does wonders."

"I've tried patience for eighteen years, Miss Jennings."

Brian stared blankly at the career fair before turning to face Michelle.

"I'm ready to try something else."

CHAPTER 38: SHELLY

Thursday, February 14, 1980

Shelly looked at the letters and thought of a Clint Eastwood movie she had seen on TV the previous week:
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
. The title of the flick summed up not only the mail on the table but also her life.

The good letter informed her that she had won one scholarship worth a thousand dollars. The bad letter informed her that she had been denied another worth five times more. The ugly letter was a notice from the city that property taxes were increasing forty percent.

"I'm sorry, honey," Evelyn Preston said. "I know how much this means to you."

"It's so unfair."

Shelly glanced at each of the people around her dining room table and evaluated their reactions to the distressing news. Her mother appeared genuinely disappointed but also relieved. She had expressed doubts from the beginning about the family's ability to pay for an Ivy League education. Fred Preston wore the expression of a broken man. He had been his daughter's biggest cheerleader and seemed to consider his inability to fund her dream as his greatest failure. Scott Richardson, however, seemed anything but broken. Though he had frowned and shaken his head at appropriate times, he was the first to find a silver lining.

"You can still take creative writing classes in Eugene and maybe even Corvallis," he said.

"I don't
want
to go to school there, Scott. I want to go to Yale."

"The money's not there to do that," Evelyn said. "We've been over this."

"What if I take out some loans?" Shelly asked. "I'm sure my financial aid package will include some student loans and, if it doesn't, I can go to a bank."

"You're still looking at twenty thousand dollars of debt when you get out, Shelly," Evelyn said. "Even if you could get the loans, how would you pay them back? Writers don't make much unless they're very successful. You don't want to start life as a college graduate in a huge financial hole."

Shelly glared at her mother. She knew she was right, but she didn't care to hear her position stated so forcefully. Evelyn's pessimism wasn't helping her find a Plan B.

"Maybe we can mortgage the house," Fred said. "There has to be a way."

"If we mortgage the house, what are we going to do in retirement?" Evelyn asked. "I just don't see how we can do this, Fred. We've got to look at the numbers honestly."

"I'll get a job. I'll sell my car. I don't care. I want to make this happen," Shelly said.

"What's wrong with the state schools?" Evelyn asked. "They were good enough for your sister and your brothers. You've already been accepted at Oregon and OSU. There's no reason you can't go to either place and accomplish your goals."

"It's not the same, Mom. How many times do I have to say that?"

Shelly slapped the bad scholarship letter to the table.

"I need some air."

Shelly got up from her chair, grabbed her jacket, and stormed into the night. She felt guilty about dumping on Evelyn. She knew her mother sincerely wanted the best for her. But she was tired of reason. She wanted her dream.

She paced up and down her brightly lighted driveway for nearly a minute when she heard the front door open and saw Scott emerge from the house. He zipped his coat and walked slowly her way with an envelope in his hand. When he reached her, he held it out.

"I know the timing sucks, but I wanted to give you this. Happy Valentine's Day."