Journey, The (25 page)

Brian Johnson appeared to be the most blissful of the bunch. He smiled and laughed next to the talkative Darla Hicks halfway up the stands. From what Michelle had seen and heard, the two were still going strong. They held hands in plain sight of others, which in Unionville was tantamount to getting engaged. Michelle was glad to see that Brian had finally turned a corner and found the happiness and attention he deserved.

After tapping the microphone three times, Principal Dennison got the festivities under way. He made a few announcements, greeted the students, and introduced coaches that everyone knew. Track coach Bruce Patterson spoke first. He called out his returning district champions by name and encouraged students in the stands to attend the first home meet on Thursday. Tennis coach Dave Walters used his speaking slot to recruit. He said many spaces still remained on the girls team and urged would-be Tracy Austins to turn out.

A moment later, Robert took the mike and introduced every member of the baseball team. He started with Scott and worked his through the starters and back-ups to boys who would probably never play. He even mentioned the equipment manager and scorekeepers. Robert Land considered every contributor important, whether they held a 32-ounce bat in their hand or a sharpened pencil. It was one of the things that his new wife loved about him most.

As Robert sung the praises of his statisticians, Michelle turned away from the assembly and thought of something the two had discussed in Reno: parenthood. They had called several social service agencies on Wednesday and Thursday and had found one, in Portland, that appeared ready and able to facilitate a speedy adoption. Not wanting to waste even a single day in their pursuit of a child, they had made an appointment to see an adoption counselor at the end of May. Just the thought of being a mother on Christmas morning left Michelle Land giddy.

Michelle awoke from her daydream and glanced at the man with the mike. Seeing that Robert had his audience firmly under control, she waved gently to her husband and started for the door. She had a lot of work to do and wanted to get back to the attendance office before hundreds of students filled the halls. But she stopped when Robert caught her eye and subtly held up a finger in his free hand. When he resumed speaking, she froze completely.

"There are many contributors to this program," Robert told the assembly. "I've introduced a few, the ones you see on the field. These are the people who will swing the bats and throw the pitches and do all the other necessary things to make a team successful."

Michelle smiled nervously. She wondered where this was going.

"Then there are others," Robert continued. "They are people who don't swing bats or keep stats but rather assist in many other important ways. They raise funds and raise awareness. They tutor and mentor. They encourage student athletes in ways coaches can't."

Michelle wanted to run out the door. She hated the spotlight, but she could already feel its pull. Robert's voice was like a verbal tractor beam that pulled her closer to the microphone.

"I would be remiss if I failed to mention one of those people today."

Robert held up his finger again and signaled Michelle to come his way.

"This particular person is not officially part of the baseball program. She is not officially a part of any program. Nor are her many contributions well known. Many of you, in fact, know her only as the woman who excuses your inexcusable absences."

Laughter filled the stands.

"She is much more than that though."

Robert lowered his voice.

"So let me take a moment to formally recognize someone who has done much for students and athletes since coming here in September, someone I have come to rely on in many matters, someone who continues to be one of this school's most enthusiastic and tireless supporters. Please welcome Michelle Jennings Land . . . my wife."

Michelle noted Robert's playful smile as she shook her head and slowly walked to the microphone. She could see that he had planned this moment for some time and relished every second. She took the mike from her husband and turned to face the audience.

Michelle did not like speaking to large groups and hated talking about herself. She would do this for the team because it's what the team's leader wanted. But as she looked at the students and acknowledged their reception, she realized that she would not have to speak at all. The deafening roar of six hundred people had rendered the matter moot.

CHAPTER 47: MICHELLE

Saturday, April 5, 1980

When patrons walked through the doors of the Decoy, they could expect a lot of things: friendly waitresses, reasonable prices, and the best omelets in town. They could also expect duck hunting photos scattered on every wall and a measure of privacy unmatched in any eating establishment in Unionville, Oregon.

Michelle thought of unmatched privacy as she sat in a quiet booth and watched the last of the breakfast crowd head for the exits. Whoever had written the letter on her table had known that the Decoy would be clear of customers by midmorning. She had also known that the diner was public enough to make a private meeting with a total stranger thinkable.

Michelle guessed that the author was female, even though the letter had not been signed. Men did not write like women and Michelle doubted that a man would have left such a note on the counter of the attendance office had he known she was married to Robert Land. A potential suitor would have to be out of his mind to risk the wrath of her powerful husband. Then again, there was nothing flirtatious about the message. The writer had been businesslike and direct: "Meet me at the Decoy at ten thirty Saturday. Come alone and bring an open mind."

She ran the last sentence again in her mind. Why did it matter that she come alone? Why did it matter that she bring an open mind? Was someone going to approach her with a pyramid scheme? Michelle wrestled with these and other questions as she sipped her coffee and stared blankly at the front door. She was about to look at the letter again when the door opened and a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties walked up to the cash register. She spoke briefly to the waitress and then walked through the dining area to the farthest booth.

"Michelle Land?"

"That's me."

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"Make yourself comfortable. You called this meeting."

The woman sat down in the seat opposite Michelle and put her purse on the table. Wearing jeans, a white blouse, and feathered brown hair, she looked a lot like a hundred other women in town and nothing like a busybody salesman or wife-stalking monster.

"I apologize for approaching you this way. I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing is that?"

"I've never met a stranger like this and I've never discussed what I'm about to discuss."

"What's this all about?" Michelle asked. "How do you know me?"

"I first heard of you through a very good friend, Dorothy Purcell. She runs the Unionville Women's Home. I learned more about you through my daughter. She is a junior at the high school. Her name is Pamela Mitchell."

"I know her. She's a sweet girl. But what does that have to do with me? You still haven't told me your name or what you want."

The woman raised her head and looked out a small window. She stared at the street beyond and tapped her fingers on the table before returning to Michelle. When she finally spoke, she did so in a measured voice that betrayed both weariness and sadness.

"My name is Allie Mitchell," she said. "I am a wife, a mother, and a business owner. I have lived in this town most of my life. For the most part, I am as ordinary a person as you will ever meet. But my experience in Unionville has been anything but ordinary."

"I still don't understand," Michelle said.

"I am thirty-eight years old, Mrs. Land, but I was not born in 1942. I was born in 1973 to an attorney and his wife who moved here from Denver, Colorado. I lived in a house less than a mile away and had a very normal existence until I entered a dark room one day and my life changed forever. To those who live in this community, I am Allie Mitchell. To those with memories that span time and space, I am something else. I am the face in the paper, the answer to a question, the girl who disappeared with her entire family on April 13, 1979. To those unfortunate few, I am Alice Franklin."

Michelle closed her eyes and sighed.

"I see that name means something to you."

"It does," Michelle answered. "It most certainly does."

"I thought it would. I've been watching you closely since you came here, ever since Dorothy told me that a Jane Doe had fainted in front of the barbershop. I knew someone would emerge from the mansion last year. I just didn't know who or precisely when. I wasn't sure it was you at first. I checked the papers daily to see if there were any unusual occurrences in town. I asked my friends in the police department if they had picked up anyone claiming to be a time traveler or something to that effect and their answer was always no. So I watched and waited. When Pam told me that you were performing miracles at the high school, I knew you had to be the one. I knew then that I had to contact you."

Michelle sat up in her seat and extended a hand.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Alice. Please call me Michelle. I'd tell you my story, but I suspect that you already know it."

"I know part of it," Alice said. "I know that you came here out of nowhere last August and adopted the identity of a woman who died twenty-five years ago – your aunt, I believe. I know this because you and I frequent the same archives and access the same files. Wilma Roberts is another good friend of mine. She is the clerk at the Eastern Oregon Historical Society. She would not give me your name, of course. She's a firm believer in confidentiality, but she said enough for me to figure out that you and I had traveled the same path."

"I'm sorry," Michelle said.

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry that you had to carry that terrible burden. It must have been tough possessing that knowledge for years and not being able to share it with anyone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the whole time travel thing, the history of the Pennington mansion, the thirty-one years, the thirteen days, the many tragedies. I assume that you have known about all of these things for a long time."

"I don't think you understand. I did not know a thing until last spring. I did not even know that I had traveled back in time."

"How is that possible?"

"I was six years old when I descended those stairs, Michelle. Six. Young children cannot wrap their minds around something that even physicists believe is impossible. Adults cannot. When I emerged from that house in 1948, it was as if I had taken a trip to a different place, not a different time. My parents told me that we had simply moved to a new town. They tried to protect me from a truth that I would never be able to handle. They never spoke about it again."

"Yet here we are. What happened?"

"I did not know the Franklins who moved into that house last year. I knew nothing about them. They were just another new family in town, another family seeking to escape the big city. That changed when they disappeared. The paper ran their stories and their photos for days. It didn't take long for me to figure out that I had an awful lot in common with six-year-old Alice."

"So what did you do?"

"I did what you did. I searched for answers. I poured through old newspapers, records, and photographs until I realized that I had been the child in the stories and that history had repeated itself in a tragic way. I vowed then that I would never let this happen to another human being. It appears that I failed you."

Michelle remembered Cass Stevens telling her about an "Old Lady Mitchell" who had died from an aneurism while trying to tear down the Pennington mansion in 2010. The fight to save others from a time-traveling fate had begun and ended with this woman.

"You couldn't have stopped me from entering that house," Michelle said, telling the literal truth. "I didn't know you and you didn't know me. It was just one of those things that happened. I blame no one but myself."

Michelle watched Alice sigh and tear up as if letting go of months of guilt. She could only imagine how badly she felt for failing to prevent her own family's disappearance and then that of a future time traveler long after she had possessed the knowledge and tools to do so.

"Thank you," Alice said.

"What happened to your family?"

Michelle instantly regretted asking the question when she saw Alice turn away. She was curious and wanted answers but realized that this might not be the best time to get them. After an awkward moment passed, she put a hand on Alice's arm.

"You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

"It is your business," Alice said. "It's all your business. We are as connected as sisters now and sisters don't keep secrets."

Alice took a sip of water and looked at Michelle with weary eyes.

"My father took his own life on March 31, 1959, my seventeenth birthday. He did his best to make things work for us. He found a job selling insurance, bought us a house, and saw to our every need. He was a good man and a respected member of the community. But I knew from the beginning that something troubled him. He rarely smiled and spent a lot of time alone. Then one morning he started our car in the garage and decided to keep the door shut. My mom found him when she came home from the store. All he left us was a note that said he was sorry."

"I'm so sorry," Michelle said. "How is your mother?"

"She's fine, or at least as fine as you can be in the state psychiatric hospital. She's been there for fourteen years now. I see her five or six times a year."

Michelle held her head up as she processed the information. Suddenly she felt a lot less sorry for herself. Her transition to the past was seamless and happy compared to that of the troubled woman in front of her. She hesitated before asking her next question.

"Is your brother all right?"