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Earland Brewer

My name is Earland Brewer. I own a farm in Butlerville. That’s sorta near Stevenson. You’d pass through Butlerville if you was drivin’ from Stevenson to Dankoville.

I met Emma just after I got back from the army. That was during Vietnam. Never saw any action, was mostly stateside, was only in Vietnam for about three days one time, two days another time. That was it. Was on a logisitics team, we were bringin’ in fuel and equipment is all. But I still think about Vietnam a lot. My brother died there. His name was Merle. He was 21.

After Emma and me got married, we had an apartment over a store in Dankoville for a little while. I was doin’ farm work and Emma was workin’ in an office over in Stevenson. We bought this here farm about twenty years ago. Emma kept on doing office work ’til she was 55. Now she does all the paperwork for the farm. Oh man, there is so much paperwork involved in runnin’ a little farm! I was never really any good at it. I’m not too good at anything on that computer, really. Emma don’t mind doin’ it t’all. She used to help me with it some when she was still workin’. Emma says it’s easier doin’ all of it than just some of it. Least ways, it’s all right now instead of bein’ half right. (laughs)

Emma grew up over in Joyce County, on a farm outside o’ Wheatlow. I’m from right here in Strange County. My daddy and uncle had a farm over in Fulton, that’s where I was raised. They sold out to a big combine some years back. My daddy’s passed, both my folks have, but Uncle Hubert lives over at the nursing home in Bartlett County. Still got his wits about him, must be 84. I go over and visit him about once a month and bring him the baseball magazines. Hard to find those magazines these days – everything is online. That nice lady at the bookstore in Dankoville gets them baseball magazines for me.

Emma’s people aren’t around no more. Her sister died from cancer four years ago. That was terrible. She lived over in Joyce County and Emma would have to go over to her a lot. I’d go too sometimes. Joan was her name, she was a nice lady, Emma and Joan were very close. Her parents are both dead. Joan had a son, Thomas. He’s an aborist, that’s a tree expert. He lives in California. Rides a motorcycle. He come over here to the farm on that thing once. Drove his mother over in one o’ those sidecars. Emma went for a ride in it. Me? (laughs) I wouldn’t get in that damn thing, heh. That’s about it for family. Emma’s got an aunt in Pennsylvania come out here twice. Emma visits her every year after harvest.

We never had no kids of our own. When we was young, we didn’t have much. We was scufflin’ just to put food on the table. We didn’t think we could afford no kids. By the time we could, it was almost too late. And by then we was kinda set in our ways. Our lifestyle, I guess. Maybe we missed out, I dunno. But you make your choices, you know?

Maybe I shouldda been a NASCAR driver. Or a plumber. Them plumbers make pretty good dough, I hear.

It’s Complicated

Reposted from The Dreaming Tree: The Story of Audrey Moore

Darwin Cooper took a small roasting chicken out of the oven and wiggled the right drumstick. The juices ran clear and, just as his nose had predicted, it was ready. He set it on top of the stove and mashed the potatoes methodically with an ancient looking mashing tool. The mixed vegetables were steaming in a pot behind them with one of those stainless steel fanned out steamers inserted in the saucepan. He set the potatoes to one side and wrestled the chicken onto a carving plate before he began the gravy ritual with cornstarch, water and flour. Darwin had done this so many times he was running on autopilot. He looked pleased with himself nonetheless and set the table to serve and share the small farmer’s feast. He had grown and raised most everything in the meal. He settled in and his place and then looked between his daughter’s vacant chair and the clock with a small sigh. It was six o’clock. The food was perfect right now and she was late.

At six thirty the sound of his old truck roaring into the gravel driveway signalled her arrival home. She slammed the truck door and raced into the house. There was a scuffle of shoes being kicked off before the fast padding of bare feet to the small bathroom in the hall. She shouted to the kitchen and dining room as she washed up “Sorry Dad. My interview ran late.”

The sound of cutlery on a plate and a muffled “Mmhmm.” met her apology.

Samantha sunk into her chair with her soft strawberry blonde curls bouncing back down to her shoulders and smiled “Oh good chicken!”

Darwin took the lids off the potatoes and vegetables “Might be a bit cold. Did you get it?”

Samantha beamed and nodded as she scooped potatoes onto her plate “Yes. I start tomorrow at ten o’clock. Can I use the truck?”

Darwin laughed and nodded “Congratulations Tip Top waitress. Guess I can’t come in for a coffee if you’re driving in.”

Samantha looked apologetic “We’ll figure it out on days when you need to drive. Stacey wants to come stay for a bit. She has a car too. Maybe she can drive me when she’s here.”

Darwin frowned pensively and then gestured in the air with his fork as if trying to work something out mathematically in the air “So her parents and brother moved to the big city so she could live with them and go to college and she wants to come back here for the summer?”

Samantha looked exasperatedly at her father “It’s complicated. All our friends are here Dad. Of course she wants to come back. I mean we’ve met some people at school too but this is home.”

Darwin shrugged and took another bite. When he had chewed and swallowed he said “Speaking of friends, that boy of yours got himself in trouble with the law last week. Some kind of scuffle with out of towners at the Hartwell. The Stern kid was in it too.”

Samantha froze with her fork full of food in mid air and her eyes wide “What? Are they ok!?”

“I dunno. I think so. Are you and Dave…..?” Darwin trailed off in a careful tone.

Samantha looked like she was struggling with her reply “It’s complicated.”

Darwin dabbed at the side of his mouth with a napkin and then muttered “Yeah I read that on your Facebook too. Seems to be a lot of that going around with you kids.”

Samantha rolled her eyes “Dad!” She took out her phone and began scrolling.

Darwin stared her down from the head of the table “I still have a rule about that at meals Sam. I don’t care how old you are.”

Samantha looked pleadingly up from her phone “I need to know that Dave and Malcolm are OK!”

Darwin mumbled something inaudible as he cleared his own plate and put it in the sink. He poured himself a glass of water and returned to the table with it watching his daughter tapping away at her iPhone. He had never wrapped his head around one of those funny little screen devices. Samantha kept suggesting he get one so she could “text” him and the idea frankly horrified him. Darwin was in no way too old to adapt to the technology but his world has always been one of the outdoors.

Samantha let out a long breath of relief and made a point of setting the phone on the table screen side down “Sorry Dad. They’re not locked up or hurt beyond bruises. Dave was defending a guy who was getting really beat up though and Malcolm jumped in to help.”

Darwin nodded “Like I said, out of towners. We don’t see a lot of brawls in our local bars with local folks.”

Samantha poured a potato lake’s worth of gravy onto her plate and stirred it around “I wonder what the fight was about in the first place.”

“Probably people drinking and talking stupid. Isn’t that how it goes?”

She laughed “I guess so. Listen Dad, when you’re not too busy snooping into my love life on Facebook, are you meeting anyone yourself?”

Darwin shifted uncomfortably in his seat “Now why would I need to do that?”

Samantha smiled at her father “Eventually I’m going to finish this degree and get a job that’s not just waitressing part time and move out. I don’t want to leave you all alone. It’s time to get out there. It would probably help your chances with the ladies if you took off your wedding ring and put it in the dish with Mom’s. I know you still love her and that’s OK Dad. But you can love more than one person in your lifetime.”

Darwin protectively reached down to smooth his fingertips over the simple gold band on his left hand and said resignedly “Samantha, it’s complicated.”

 

Pizza Wars

from The Further Adventures Of Danko Whitfield, Semi-Retired Time Traveller

Last October we had a big bash at The Evergreen Pub in Dankoville. We had a lot to celebrate. I had just take over ownership of the pub (it used to be the Town Tavern), Uncle Manuel was retiring, I was replacing him as the president of Whitfield Farms, The Evergreen had just signed a deal with The Pheasant’s Roost Tavern of Ireland to carry their beer and Jamie Wright of The Pheasant had come over to be Guest Bartender at The Evergreen. We threw a big pizza and beer party and had a great time. The place was packed!

I had no idea I had started a war.

“The Great Pizza War,” as Dave, one of my bartenders at The Evergreen, calls it.

It started innocently enough. The local paper ran a story about the event – mainly because it was the first public announcement of Uncle Manuel retiring. The article was mostly about Manuel and Whitfield Farms but they gave the pub a really nice mention too. The only problem was the quote of Rusty Piersen, a local farmer, who said we had the “best pizza in the Tri-County area.”

Problem being we’re just down the street from Mario’s Villa, the pizza restaurant. Their slogan? “Best Pizza in the Tri-County Area!!!!!” With five exclamation points.

About a week later, I was having lunch at The Evergreen, sitting at my usual table by the front window. As I gazed across the street at the park, a man suddenly appeared on the street side of the window. He pointed at me and smiled and walked the in through the door of the pub.

It was the owner of Mario’s Villa.

“Ah, Mr. Whitfield, Mario Barstardi. Sorry to interrupt your lunch. Might I have a word?” he said as he sat down across from me.

“Yes, certainly. Can I order you some lunch?”

“Oh no, thank you. I’ll just be a minute,” he said.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Bastardi?”

“You had a pizza party here last week,” he said.

“Yes, we did,” it was quite a success.”

“Mr. Whitfield, I’m glad your party was a success,” he said, “good for you. That is fine. But I know you are new here. I mean…Dankoville…you are and you aren’t,” he smiled. “The town is named after you but you’ve never really lived here. Summers as a boy, I believe. But you were here to stay with your relatives, this is not your hometown. Not even now, if I understand?” He smiled again.

“That’s true,” I acknowledged, nodding my head.

“And so, I don’t expect you to know the customs here, among the business community. We…cooperate rather than compete, you see?” He smiled.

“I’m all for cooperation among the local businesses,” I said.

“That is good to hear. Of course, I am not surprised, knowing your family here. Your Uncle Manuel – very good man, very good. Mushroom, pepper and onion. Of course now he takes the gluten free but back in the day…oh well. Twenty years ago, Manuel would have his pepper and onion but it would be sausage instead of mushroom. Oh yes. And your Uncle Chester, a crazy man yes but always very pleasant, anchovy, onion and extra cheese.” He smiled still again.

I smiled as I recognized my uncles’ taste buds. Mr. Bastardi knew his customers.

“Well, we obviously can’t compete with you in the pizza business, Mr. Bastardi,” I offered.

“There, you see!” he said. “But your pizza party, maybe you didn’t realize…that is direct competition for me now. The newspaper called your pizza the best in the Tri-County area.”

“They were quoting a customer –”

“Yes, I know. But THAT is MY slogan!” he shouted. The patrons at the other tables and at the bar looked over at us. Irv, the day bartender, looked over and pointed to Mr. Bastardi with a “Do you want me to throw him out?” look on his face. He seemed rather eager to do so. I shook my head no, trying to avoid Bastardi’s notice.

But he was too lost in what he was saying to notice. “That is DIRECT competition! THAT is what I am talking about,” he said with his voice still raised above normal level.

“Well yes, I understand,” I said quietly, “but there is nothing about our having pizza on the menu here that is an attack on your business. We do pub food here. Pizza is pub food.”

“Of course. But you are in the bar business. I am in the pizza business,” Bastardi replied. “I sell beer and wine but I don’t go out and say I have the best wine selection in town – even though I do – because that is not my business. Pizza is my business. I promote pizza. I make money on the beer and wine, sure but I don’t go out and compete with you who are in that business. I don’t market that. I market pizza. You sell beer, wine, the hard liquor and the rest. You market that. But you don’t market pizza. That is my area. That is how we do it here. You see?” He smiled again. I got the feeling Bastardi’s smiles do not necessarily denote happiness.

I hadn’t thought about anything like this at all when I bought the pub, so I was completely taken by surprise and really had to give this matter some thought before replying. So that’s what I told him. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“What is there to consider? You market beer, I market pizza. Simple. You can sell pizza, I can sell beer. But we don’t market that. We don’t step on each other’s toes. You see?” He smiled. Of course.

It would have been nice to just say yes. But this was a business decision about my pub and Bastardi was right, I was new to this market. I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers but I wasn’t going to make a decision to not market a popular item just because another business wanted me to. I had to look into this.

“I will give it some thought and be in touch,” I said.

“You do that, Mr. Whitfield.”

He smiled. And got up and left.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have initiated a pre-emptive strike in The Great Pizza War. But I was new in town, I was naive about people.

And so I didn’t realize then that Mario Bastardi had just fired a warning shot.

Mario's Villa in Dankoville

Mario’s Villa in Dankoville

A Stern Word

Reposted from The Dreaming Tree: The Story of Audrey Moore

Nigel Stern yanked the round tab on the rolled down blind in his son’s room so that it snapped and recoiled loudly. The small room flooded with the mid day sunlight and Malcolm cried out and retreated farther under his covers like a vampire.

“It is eleven o’clock. Get up and do something productive.” Nigel barked. “Maybe you can tackle a few of those scholarship applications you keep missing the deadline on. God I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Malcolm was Nigel and his wife Valerie’s youngest. He had been a bit of an accidental afterthought in their child rearing plans. Their daughter Celia was 19 years older than her brother and worked as a physician in a small family practice in New Teasdale.

Malcolm’s reply was feeble and muffled “Dad, I had a late night. I don’t work today. Can a guy sleep in on his day off?”

Nigel exhaled loudly and then pulled back the covers. When he saw his son’s face he gasped and yelled “What the hell happened to your eye?!”

Malcolm sat up slowly and touched his obvious shiner with the tips of his fingers and then winced “I walked into a door….”

His father folded his arms and rooted his wide stance as he shook his head “Oh really? What’s the other door look like? Where was this?!”

“For fuck’s sakes Dad! Dave and I got pulled into a fight at the Hartwell.” Malcolm retorted.

Nigel threw up his hands and rolled his eyes “Dave, of course it was Dave. It’s always Dave!”

“It wasn’t our fault! Three guys were kicking another guy’s ass – a little guy too. One of them was ready to cut him.”

His father looked pained “Jesus Malcolm! You’re lucky they didn’t cut you then. Did anyone call the cops?”

Malcolm rolled his head side to side on his neck and rubbed the back of it where Nigel could see more bruising “I dunno. I don’t think so. It was fast and I was a bit drunk….”

“Did you drive home?” Nigel asked worriedly.

“Gimme a fuckin break! No I didn’t drive, Dave did. He didn’t even have time for a whole beer before it all happened. We went to watch the game, not fight anyone. They weren’t from around here.”

“Get dressed. I’m taking you to Celia before I go back to the office. I just came back home to grab a document I forgot this morning.”

Malcolm protested “I’m fine, just a few bumps….seriously.”

“You will go see your sister at the clinic with no more arguments.” Nigel left the room before there was time to even consider a rebuttal.

As he re-closed the small brass latch of his leather briefcase the doorbell rang. Nigel’s expression became grave as he opened the door.

A vaguely familiar officer from the Strange County Sheriff’s Office squared his shoulders and hitched his belt slightly as he made his request. He recognized Nigel from his firm’s presence in the town immediately “Mr. Stern could we have a word with your son Malcolm?”

Nigel’s briefcase fell to the floor with a soft thud. It was becoming a long day.

 

Freedom’s Just Another Word

Reposted from The Dreaming Tree: The Story of Audrey Moore

The mid morning sun streamed through the window of The Dreaming Tree used bookshop. Outside the still locked door a lanky auburn haired man politely knocked with a box of books balanced between him and the edge of the door frame. Audrey Moore was upstairs in her kitchen in the apartment above the shop making coffee and listening to Janis Joplin, oblivious to the knocking below. She was still in her pajamas and bare feet spinning around as before setting the cup on the counter to pour. She sang aloud enthusiastically and slightly off key.

“Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah….. Bobby McGee…yeah….”

Startling, a voice that was neither her own nor the late goddess of rock shouted up towards the open window.

“Hello? Are you open today” The voice was male and slightly hoarse.

Audrey gulped and looked at the microwave clock display. Technically her shop was open at 11:00 am according to the sign on the door.  However, from Audrey’s perspective 11:23 was still in the earlier portion of the hour and therefore not entirely unreasonable. She crept to the window and peered out. A rusted old farm truck was on the street in front of the shop and its driver was turning resignedly to replace a box back into the open back.

Audrey called down “Sorry I’ll be right there!” He turned back towards the shop after a brief nod up to her location.

She frowned and then took a moment to fix her coffee with a splash of soy cream and a confectioner’s dose of sugar in the raw before dashing to the bedroom and bathroom to brush her teeth and jump into proper clothing.

Audrey met the man at the door and recognized him from the larger community. He was a farmer named Darwin Cooper who lived somewhere past the Whitfield place as far as she recalled. They had never spoken one on one but she remembered her father speaking to him in greeting and casual conversation with her in tow as a teenager from the time he was a young man.

“Mr. Cooper, my apologies.” She said with a hint of embarrassment as she quickly slid the key in the lock. “The time got away on me.”

Darwin smiled good naturedly and said softly “Janis’ll do that to a person.”

Audrey felt her face go a bit warm and cleared her throat as she held the door to let him go in with his book box.

She stepped behind the till and he set the box on the counter and pulled open the flaps.

“I dunno if you’ll want all of these. I just got sick of dusting them off every so often. There’s a set of encyclopaedias in the bottom my daughter says are worthless now that everyone uses the google.”

Audrey giggled as she dug through “Yes the google is a handy thing.”

She looked up to share the joke and was met with an unreadable expression on Darwin’s face.

Audrey smiled nervously and kept digging through, making piles of the books of the same category and then quickly jotting down prices to purchase. Darwin began roaming the store as she started to write.

When she looked up again he was holding a copy of The Life of Pi.

“Oh that’s quite good but you may have read it.” Audrey stated.

Darwin shook his head “I don’t read a lot of novels. Sounds peculiar.”

Audrey beamed “It’s wonderfully so! I think you should give it a chance.”

He chuckled and brought the book to the counter “Alright, why not?”

Audrey met him at the till with her list and a calculator. She tallied what she would offer for what he sold her and subtracted the novel.

“Twelve fifty Mr. Cooper.”

Darwin shook his head at her, his grey blue eyes twinkling with the hint of a smile that didn’t reach his lips “Please call me Darwin. My father was Mr. Cooper.”

Audrey smiled at him, giving him a longer look this time “I’m Audrey.”

Darwin nodded as the smile found its way down to his mouth “I remembered that.”

He was tall but not too tall, thankfully not remotely balding and the eyes she could just dive into if he let her. Darwin was dressed in a flannel red check shirt and jeans, both on the baggy side but the sleeves were rolled up and his forearms displayed a wiry but muscular enough build. She let her eyes drop to his hands and noticed the wedding ring. She sighed and chuckled to herself at the moment and took Darwin’s twenty to make change. It dawned on her that she probably wasn’t ready to be looking seriously so all of this was just as well.

“Thank you Darwin and have a good day.” She said in polite customer service – ese.

He put the novel under his arm and gave her a small wave “You too Audrey.”

The door creaked shut as Darwin left and Audrey picked up a pile of the encyclopaedias to start pricing. She snorted a bit as she laughed and muttered “The google.”

At the end of the work day she met her Aunt Sheila for a beer and relayed the story. Her aunt laughed at her and patted her on the hand.

“You just focus on keeping The Dreaming Tree back on it’s feet right now Sweetie. Opening the shop on time would help.”

Audrey shrank down a bit “I know. I’ll get an alarm clock. It’s funny this plan is part of my freedom from my old life but as the song says “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” She closed her eyes for a moment and felt Sheila give her hand a little squeeze.

 

Sink or Swim

Reposted from The Dreaming Tree: The Story of Audrey Moore

Audrey Moore moved through her father’s book store in an almost trance like state. Her life had stopped after she got the call from her Aunt Sheila. The Dreaming Tree had been closed for a total of 16 days. The funeral had happened and the pile of dirt on the grave now shared by her parents was beginning to settle into the new spring grass. With the help of her aunt, the apartment above the shop had been sorted, cleared out and now reclaimed by Audrey’s few belongings.

A week ago she had gotten a visit from Nigel Stern, her father’s long time friend and accountant. Nigel had been kind and necessarily frank with her.

“As much as we all loved Joe, math was never his best subject – even when we were kids. I’ve kept him at bay from bankruptcy Audrey, but just. This store isn’t turning a profit. You should sell the business and go back to the big city.”

Audrey politely thanked Nigel and reeled from the information. She sank down into the desk chair behind the counter to think.

“Go back to the big city….”

To what? To a job as a children’s program coordinator in the library that’s about to be cut? To Paul who finally told her he never wants kids and she should just be practical about it. She’s not even sure there’s still any love left between them.

Audrey sighed and picked up a book from the desk. It was The Time Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. Her father had finally gotten around to reading it after she gave it to him for Christmas. Audrey chuckled and then flipped to a random page and read a line:

“Don’t you think it’s better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?”

She got up and walked around the shop again. It had always been such a happy place to visit – a comfort for her soul. Could she turn it around so it could survive?

Audrey packed up a small bag and took a short trip back to Minneapolis. She stayed with friends and decided not to phone Paul. He would disapprove of what she planned to do. It was not at all practical. The credit union agreed with him but she transferred her home branch location to New Teasdale, which was a close enough drive to Dankoville, and cashed in her retirement savings.

She walked into Nigel Stern’s office at eleven twenty three am. As she told him her plan, his eyes widened and he opened a bottle of scotch and poured two glasses. Audrey slowly sipped hers as he fumbled through some documents and began to speak accountese at her. She nodded along and took the package of papers he compiled for her with a smile.

At twelve fifty three pm the sign on the door of The Dreaming Tree second hand book store flipped from closed to open and Audrey Moore’s life began again.

 

Danko In Dankoville

from The Further Adventures Of Danko Whitfield, Semi-Retired Time Traveller

The bus stopped right at the front gate.

I stepped off, put down my bag and took it all in. The green and white farmhouse, the red barn, tractor and other equipment, fields as far as I could see.

Whitfield Farms.

Looked pretty much like it did when I was here two weeks ago.

Only that was 53 years from now.

It might look the same but this was not the same place. Much would be different. Fifty-three years is a long time.

Someone was standing in the doorway, looking. I picked up my suitcase and walked toward the front steps. A young man stepped out.

“Do I know you?” he asked right off.

“Yes.”

He looked at me as if he sensed something.

“You’ve come through time,” he said.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“You’re a Whitfield,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Which one? No, wait!” he held his hand up as if to stop me. He thought a moment, looking me over.

“Are you my brother Hudson’s boy?”

“Yes, Uncle,” I replied.

He laughed and slapped his knee.

“Well, Danko, what the heck are you doing here? I just saw you not three weeks ago. You’re a cute little tyke,” he held his hand, palm down, about three feet off the ground.

We both laughed.

“I’ve come to see you, Uncle. I need your help with something.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever I can do. Come on in and make yourself at home,” he led me by the arm and we walked into the house.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “No, sir, I just had a meal in town,” I answered. “Well, then let me fix you some lemonade or maybe a stiff drink after riding a bus all day,” said Manuel. “Two days,” I corrected.

“Where the heck were you coming from?’ he asked. “Kansas City,” I said. “Kansas City?!! What the heck were you doing there? You couldn’t get any closer?” asked Manuel. I shook my head no. “Damn!” he said.

My Uncle Manuel was now about half my age. When I last saw him two weeks ago, he was closer to twice my age.

He showed me to the guest room. I unpacked and washed up and then joined him on the back porch.

“Here we are, Danko.” Manuel placed a tray with a pitcher of lemonade, a bottle of vodka, a bowl of ice and two tall glasses on the old wooden table. I nodded my approval of the combination and he opened the vodka and poured a healthy shot into each glass. He added two ice cubes to each one and poured the lemonade.

“Sip it. It goes down easily,” Manuel said, “Cheers.”

We sipped.

I told him I had come to this time to learn a bit about farm work. “I can only stay a week, so I’ll just get a taste of it, to give me an idea of the average worker’s day.” I didn’t tell him that I’d be doing this same thing in a future time too nor anything else about my research including and especially ‘why‘ I needed to know this. Of course, he must have been curious but he knew not to ask. I couldn’t come back here and tell him what his life would be like in fifty years, that he would be retiring and turning the farm over to me and his son, not yet born. It wouldn’t be right.

“I’m glad I can be of help,” the young Manuel said after I’d finished my explanation. “It can be my first project to file with the Guild. I was just accepted as a member.” “Yes,” I said, “I just read that in the paper. Congratulations.” In the Time Travellers Guild, not only is your official resume built on the timejumps you make but also on the help you give to other time travellers.

The sun had set and Manuel had lit a candle. We finished our second round of vodka & lemonade and went into the house.

Family members would be coming in soon.

“My father might not approve of your project,” the young Manuel told me as he set the table for supper.

“Oh?”

“He’s pretty conservative about the use of time travel. Not like his father. Or your father,” Manuel said. He went on to explain that my grandfather felt that time travel should be used sparingly and only in cases of the utmost importance. This school of thought has always been part of the time travellers’ community though a small part.

“He won’t hold it against you. Much,” said Manuel. We both laughed. “He respects people with differing opinions but he will not be shy about expressing his own,” Manuel said with a smile.

“Thanks for the heads up, Uncle,” I said as I followed Manuel into the kitchen so he could check on the venison in the oven.

As the family arrived home from the fields or from town, each was surprised to see me, of course, but greeted me warmly.

Grandmother came home first from a trip into town and was absolutely thrilled when Manuel told her who I was. “I’m so pleased to be able to see what a fine man you become,” she said.

Then Chester came in from the fields. Young, handsome, big smile. This was my uncle but he was only 19 now. “Howdy, Nephew,” Chester said in his booming voice, then turned to my grandmother, “They sure grow up fast, don’t they Ma?” There were giggles all around.

A car pulled in and my uncles’ wives got out with bags of groceries. I was introduced to Jean, Manuel’s wife and Helen, Chester’s wife and then they headed into the kitchen to prepare supper.

Finally, Grandfather came in through the back door. He had made his usual rounds of the fields at the end of the day and secured the barn. I could hear him joking with my aunts in the kitchen as he passed through.

My grandfather was now just a few years older than me. Manuel introduced us. Grandfather shook my hand with both of his. “Welcome home, Danko,” he paused and I could see his emotions were on the verge of taking over. “Your parents just brought you here a few weeks ago, you were just a boy. They were so happy,” he held back the tears. I knew then that he knew, from his own time travels, of my parents’ fate. It appeared the others did not know. I gave Grandfather a hug.

We sat down to a wonderful meal of venison from the nearby woods and vegetables from the farm. Afterward, the men went out to the back porch for a tobacco break and the ladies shared tea in the living room.

I had told my reason for coming here through time over supper. Now Grandfather was lighting his pipe and telling me that Manuel will be a good teacher.

But that didn’t necessarily mean he approved of my reason for being here. Just as his son had told me he would, Grandfather launched into his argument about the appropriate use of time travel.

Manuel and I listened dutifully and respectfully.

At one point, Grandfather talked about the younger generations using time travel “willy nilly” and looked at me and Manuel and shook his head and said, “You young people…I don’t know.”

I had listened quietly as I had decided not to argue with my grandfather but now, to lighten up the conversation, I started to take exception to being referred to as young by smiling and saying, “I’m 44, sir, not so young anymore!” But Grandfather turned to me and said in response, “If you’d come here the natural way, you’d be five years old right now!”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that. So I just smiled politely as Manuel tried to hide a snicker. The conversation moved on to my training and the things Grandfather and Manuel would be showing me.

Then we discussed whether to let it be known that the source of the town’s name was in town. Chester suggested I continue to be Mitchell Whitfield and we just keep the whole thing quiet. But I want to stop by the Time Travellers Guild and once I do, the word will get out.

“If there’s no getting around it, then we must hit it head on,” said Grandfather. “We will have an announcement, a ceremony, and a reception. Let the town celebrate its history. People could use a special occasion right now.“

I nodded in agreement. Grandfather would make the arrangements in the morning. We joined the ladies inside and Grandfather filled them in about the festivities. Then he telephoned a friend at the Dankoville Morning News.

The next day, on the front page, the banner headline said simply:

Danko In Dankoville!

I couldn’t buy a drink in that town for the rest of the week.