Cassandra: President Lincoln is Missing

James B. Wright
Aug 28, 2017 · 55 min read

By J B Wright

Cassandra: President Lincoln Is Missing

Hartford Connecticut 1889

In response to the loud and persistent knocking at the front door servant George Griffin finally answered the door. There stood a young man in his late twenties.

Old George gaped at the man which made the visitor most uncomfortable.

“I must speak to the master of this house,” the young man insisted.

“He is not to be disturbed, them is my orders and I never go against them,” George answered although he did sound a little unsure.

“I suspect that you are a good man and do your job well, but if I do not see him we will all have hell to pay!” The young man blurted out.

From inside the entry hall came a commanding voice, “George, George what is entire racket. How is an old gentleman supposed to nap with all the noise?”

“Sir it is nobody. You just goes back inside and old George will takes care of it.”

Then a man descended the circular stairs and walked into the entranceway. He stared through the open door at the man beyond.

“You there do I know you,” the older man said. “You look familiar.”

“You bet your bottom…dollar you do,” the young man declared.

“Step inside man, my old eyes are not as sharp as they once were,” the older man said.

The younger man promptly did as he was instructed.

“What’s your name son?”

“Mr. Twain my name is Sam Clemens and I need your help!”

“Lord have mercy,” said old George.

It is one thing to consider your younger self by looking at a photograph, quite another to meet him in your front entryway in the flesh. Such began a most improbable journey.

Chapter 1: The Scholastic Endeavor

Sandra the Rowen’s 15-year-old daughter was so animated with anticipation that she scarcely slept the night before.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it, we are really going to see President Lincoln deliver his most famous speech,” Sandra said as she again hugged her father for the fourth time that morning.

Sandy just smiled as she packed their garments in period valises. She also packed several modern comfort items excluding electrical items. They had planed to pack enough items so they might stay a few nights if they desired once the festivities were over.

Jake was finishing dressing in a suit from the era. The wool itched but he decided not to register a complaint, as he knew that Sandra was just too hyperactive to take any teasing well. This undertaking was ostensibly an educational exercise for Sandra. She was doing a paper for school on President Lincoln and his Gettysburg Address. Sandra had always idolized Lincoln and knew about as much about the man as any biographer had. Now thanks to their ability to time travel, the three of them were going back to 1863 and experience the event as it happened. After all their harrowing experiences through time excursions, this was to be their first vacation like experience. Vacation might not actually be the most accurate word, as travel for a 21st century individual into a 19th century reality would not be exactly leisurely. Nonetheless, it most certainly would be an encounter to remember.

Sandy and Sandra were dressed in their best era specific clothes featuring long billowy dresses and puffy sleeves. They had a good laugh at how utterly uncomfortable and impractical the dresses were and yet dressing up in the fashion of that day was entertaining. It was somewhat like being in a play.

Once they were all ready, they gathered in the living room. Jake had planned for them to arrive just outside the Gettysburg train station.

Their arrival was in the midst of a throng of people just departing the station. Their most efficient time machine fit them right into the crowd departing the depot. After checking into the local hotel the three of them made their way to the cemetery where the speeches were to be given.

While walking to the thing everyone kept, mentioning was how mild it seemed for mid-November and how it looked like it might rain. Sandy, Sandra and Jake sought to arrive early to position themselves directly in front of the dais. Had they merely arrived on time, there is little doubt they would have been sucked up in the massive crowd. Shortly after they reached their destination, a seemingly endless throng, easily twenty-thousand strong, began pouring in from the nearby town of Gettysburg.

The atmosphere was somber, yet excited. This Union-supporting assemblage gradually shifted away from remarks on the unusual late autumn weather and instead began buzzing instead about the orator who would soon address them, a former senator from Massachusetts named Edward Everett.

“Why are they so eager to hear from this Everett guy, anyway?” asked Sandra, as she struggled to open her black lace-adorned parasol. A light drizzle began to fall. “Don’t they know the president is going to speak?”

“Lincoln was actually a late invitee,” Jake murmured. “His son Tad is sick, and Mary Todd implored him not to come. However, he felt it urgent to be here. Lincoln arrived by train last night and slept at the home of a prominent lawyer named David Wills.”

“Never heard of him,” Sandy replied in a louder-than-intended tone of voice. Several members of the crowd stared disapprovingly at Jake and Sandy, as Edward Everett was set to begin what would be an emotional, though exhausting, two-hour-long oration.

Jake whispered in her ear, after getting the sleeve of his navy blue woolen coat — authentic Union Army officer’s attire — momentarily caught in her umbrella. “Wills is the one who secured this 17-acre plot for the burial of all the soldiers who died here four months ago. The crowd knows Lincoln is speaking after Everett, but they don’t realize his mere two minutes of talking is going to amount to one of the greatest speeches in American history.”

As Everett began to address the audience in a booming regional dialect that would later be associated with the Kennedys, something in the crowd distracted Sandra’s attention away from the stage. A squatty, pale-skinned man in a black fedora and matching black pea coat was pushing his way from the stage area to the back of the crowd. In a thick Eastern European accent, the man was hurling insults at all of the onlookers who dared delay his progress. This dour-looking dude sure is in a hurry to get away from someone … or something, Sandra thought.

“That guy, he HAS to be a time traveler,” Sandra said. “Look at his clothes!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” a startled Jake answered. “He looks less 1863 and more KGB.”

A thin man with a greased mustache and wearing spectacles grabbed Jake by the right shoulder. “Will you please hush? If you are not here to listen, then why did you come to the cemetery today?”

“Well, first off, I was only answering her,” said Jake. “She started the conversation. And if you must know, I’m here to listen the president, not this clam chowder guzzling blowhard.”

Sandy grabbed Jake’s other shoulder and drew his attention back to the man in the anachronistic spy costume. “Jake, he’s getting away.”

“So?” Jake retorted, clearly still irritated with the man who hushed him. “We don’t even know who he is, do we? It would be foolish to think we’re the only time trave… eh … I mean only visitors who made it … uh in time for this speech.”

Just then, someone nudged Jake from behind. Assuming it was another critic in the crowd, Jake swung around forcefully, and in his act of annoyance, he inadvertently elbowed the source of the nudge in the nose.

The recipient of the blow was a man Jake and Sandy knew as Sigerson. Their friend stumbled backward, nearly knocking into the men and women directly behind him. He was still rubbing his now-reddened nose when he returned to address Jake.

“Hello uncle Sigerson,” Sandra said.

“Yes hello to you too my dear,” Sigerson managed to snort back. “Image me finding you all here.”

“Quiet,” a man from behind them barked out.

“Jake, do you know who is speaking after Mr. Everett?”

“Nice to see you too. Why didn’t you say you were going to be here?”

“We’ll exchange pleasantries later. Please answer my question. Do you know who is speaking after Edward Everett?”

“Yeah. The president. Duh? Why do you ask?”

“No. No one is.”

“What do you mean no one?”

“I mean, I came here at the invitation of one David Wills, esquire. But Mr. Wills is now rather indisposed by a rather recent development.”

“What happened, Sig?”

“Oh for the love of God, will someone silence these reprobates,” urged the thin man in the spectacles.

Sandy turned and shushed the bespectacled man. “For your information, four eyes, this is a very important issue of national security,” she said in a chiding tone. “So you pipe down and let these men finish their discussion.”

“I don’t want to say this too loudly,” Sigerson said with a nervous chuckle. “So I’ll write it on the back of this envelope.”

Sigerson pulled out a 21st century ink pen and scribbled something in a few strokes. Jake grabbed the envelope on which was scrawled the famous Gettysburg Address. And at the very bottom in a different color of ink that was clearly Sigerson’s, Jake silently read the following note: “OMG prez is missing :(“

“What!” Jake cried out.

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” the man from behind bellowed. “I’m going somewhere else to watch this.”

“Good riddance,” Sandy called out.

Many in the crowd murmured their approval. “Nobody likes Andrew Johnson anyway,” one man said. There was general laughter following this remark.

Chapter 2: A Wild Beginning

The Wills house was a rather drab red brick edifice in the middle of the downtown. The three-story building lacked the charming elements — the climbing ivy, the Hellenistic columns, the lazy porch swing — that made Confederate mansions so idyllic, so ice cream sundae decadent. No, this house was austere, industrial: a Yankee stronghold that seemed battle-scarred by the memories of the cyclic struggle against January blizzards, June floods and the October fog. The stone-faced Union sentries posted out front did not lend any charm to the atmosphere. Even though Jake descended from several Union veterans, it was hard, in the moment, to feel any warmth or admiration for the soldiers. That is to say, the soldiers were in no mood to shake hands with the visitors and welcome them to Gettysburg. Wills was gracious, though understandably preoccupied. He helped Sandy and Sandra from the carriage that had swiftly whisked them from the memorial grounds to his home. Once inside the parlor, the ladies and Sigerson could hardly believe their eyes. Before them stood a concerned general and a few of his trusted officers. The general you would know from the fifty-dollar bill.

Jake nudged Sandy and whispered, “Grant supposed to be in Chattanooga.”

“History is always wrong about the little things,” she whispered back to him. “I wonder who that is with him.”

A captain standing to Grant’s right was familiar in his special way but hard to place.

“He kinda looks like Chris Pine,” Sandy whispered.

“Or a young Shatner,” opined Sigerson.

“No, he definitely favors Robert Conrad,” said Jake.

Wills began to talk and the visitors hushed. “I’m afraid we haven’t much time. President Lincoln goes on in an hour and his whereabouts is presently unknown.”

General Grant spoke next, after a moment’s grave silence. “Capt. Best assures me that his best evidence-based analysis, pardon the pun, will help subdue the captor and set matters right. The key is to ensure the crowd suspects nothing. Our present advantage in this great conflict is tenuous at best. Should this obvious Rebel plot succeed, well, then I’m afraid this great nation is doomed.”

As Grant spoke, a shadowy figure stepped into the parlor.

The somber folks in the parlor were astonished to see Lincoln amble in. Wills rushed up to greet him and tried to offer him a seat and a cup of tea. Surprisingly, the President refused the offer by a mere wave of a hand. . Grant rushed to his side, appearing to be greatly relieved. Sigerson was positively as giddy as a … as Sandra also was.

However, Capt. Best was unfazed by the seeming president’s arrival. He marched quietly up to Lincoln and placed his hand upon Lincoln’s shoulder.

“You have a speech to give in an hour. So, Mr. President, would you care to give us your take on the speech?”

Lincoln cleared his throat then obviously, he was affecting the higher pitch of Lincoln’s voice. “Eighty-seven years ago, um…our ancestors declared their independence and uh…this set in motion the very greatest of nations…”

As Jake studied the man, he began to realize that he had a presence that resembled Abraham Lincoln, but some small details were off. He was Jake guessed, about an inch shorter than Lincoln was and lacked a bit of his angularity of visage. From a distance, Jake thought, the man actually could be a fitting stand in.

“Actors,” said Best shaking his head.

“Are only as good as our script,” Lincoln finished for him in his normal voice.

“Indeed, we will need a more proper address for our thespian here, meet my associate Bart Borden,” Best continued.

Grant immediately grew red faced and subtly stepped back.

“Mr. Sigerson and I are acquaintances. You have special knowledge that I believe can help Bartee.” Best continued. Borden looked up shortly. He was confused but nodded his approval. “I will focus on finding the culprit and then the president.” Best continued.

Sigerson chimed in, “When you said culprit, I couldn’t help but discern that you cast an untrusting glance at my friends.”

Best gave him the cold stare that Highway Patrol officers offer to a teenager with a lead foot. “Mr. Sigerson, your reputation is above reproach in these parts. Your friends, though, do not merit the same unquestioned trust. We are accustomed to only one… time traveler — one who clearly is a native to our time who had had the privilege of experiencing the future. These other figures, though, could be some future Confederate plotters. We don’t know their motives for being here.”

“Time…what?” asked Grant. Grant took another step back from Sigerson.

“We came to see the president give one of the most eloquent speeches in American history,” Jake said, looking Capt. Best in the eye. “We saw a spy in the crowd. He looked like a Russian. That is your culprit.

“The Russians? We don’t have any furs to trade,” said Wills with a laugh.

Capt. Best was unamused. He bade Wills sit down on his parlor sofa. “You’ve proven a generous host, but the president disappeared under your watch. How do we know these Russians are not operatives supported by Andrew Johnson or one of the other Republicans who do not care for Lincoln? And just how do you know you aren’t involved in that endeavor?”

“Really, Best, Wills is a friend of mine,” Grant offered.

“Republicans and Russians in cahoots?” said Sandy with a nervous snicker. “That’s more like a salacious CNN headline from 154 years from now.”

“What she means to say is we think we can help you find my distant cousin, I mean, the president,” said Jake.

“You are related to the President?” Borden asked.

“And General Sherman for that matter,” Jake responded.

Grant gave him a quizzical stare.

A pair of eyes had been peering into the parlor and had until then escaped the notice of anyone in the room. But a sergeant guarding the building outside noticed the interloper and dragged him into the parlor.

“A spy!” Grant shouted.

“Oh, I’m far more dangerous than a spy, General,” said the young man chomping on a cigar. “I’m a newspaperman from Virginia City. And I’ve heard enough to know the Federals have a crisis on their hands, folks from the future and,” he said as he looked Borden up and down, “an actor President, imagine such a thing.”

“Well we will have one…” Sandy began.

“Careful or you’ll be tried for a treason,” barked Best to the man.

“For being inquisitive? I think not. I’m no active participant in this war, true, but I am a keen observer. I’ve noticed that certain members of this assemblage know how events turn out. Now, either the war is destined to go in President Lincoln’s favor or my name isn’t…”

“Mark Twain!” shouted Sigerson. “I’m a big fan of Huck Finn.”

“Mark Twain?” The man seemed both impressed and startled in the manner in which he repeated the name. “But the name is Sam, Sam Clemens. And I don’t know you or any Finn, but he sounds like the kind of rascal with whom I would have swum the Mighty Missip in my younger days. And the nautical nom de plume is one I’ve toyed with on one occasion so far. You perhaps read my little story about the jumping frog. Seems to me if we have some future folks and an actor, then maybe we have a plausible way to make sure one of the most pivotal moments in this nation’s history, apparently, goes according to fate’s original plan.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Otherwise it seems a waste of talent and plot device if you ask me.”

“Yeah, Mark Tw… uh Sam is right, replied Jake. “I even have the envelope on which Lincoln wrote the address. Now where is it?”

Jake fumbled around for the envelope but found instead a hole in a vest pocket where the famous script had been stored.

“I lost the address,” Jake said with a gasp.

“I have it,” Sandra exclaimed, pulling out her smartphone. “It’s saved on my Great Historical Speeches app.”

Clemens, Grant, Best and particularly Borden were mesmerized by the shimmering blue light of the rectangular device on which was displayed the most famous two-minute oration in U.S. history.

While they read the words silently to themselves, Willis’ house cleaner, an Eastern European woman hired just days earlier, entered the room with fresh coffee and biscuits.

“Not now, Natasha,” said Wills as he attempted to shoo her out of the small parlor.

“Wait,” Sam interrupted. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet! What about you General?”

Grant looked exasperated but he nodded his agreement while Borden took over the device and began studying it intently.

“You got any meat to go with this,” Clemens asked as he hastily consumed a biscuit. “I’m not picky, I’ll eat fish, beef or…hell even moose or squirrel for that matter,”

Natasha appeared pleased.

Grant turned to Captain Best and said in a low voice, “I must get back to Tennessee. No one need ever know that I came here to confer secretly with Lincoln. I am leaving this up to you Best. Find him and that’s an order.”

“Yes Sir,” Best responded softly.

Chapter 3: Not Really Feeling It

President Lincoln awoke in a luxurious bed in an inexplicable room. It was large room and yet there was no other furnishings save the bed. The bed was long as it was wide. His long frame ached as he noted that the bed easily contained his extended extremities. He felt just awful. He was nauseated and weak. He had sensed that he must have been asleep for days. Lincoln managed to sit up and look out a window to his left. He was on the second story and by the looks of the surrounding buildings; he was in a town somewhere in the western states. Then suddenly something unexpected occurred. A thing making a low grumbling noise raced by on the street below. Then there was another followed by many more. People were inside the things and they appeared to be guiding the…what…carriages.

Just then, the door to this room burst open and there stood the strangest sight yet. He was a small man dressed all in black. He was quite pale in complexion and he had a small, black, pointed mustache.

“Finally you’re awake. I thought that you would never stir after Natasha gave you that Mickey,” the man said in a deep eastern European accent.

“Mickey?” Lincoln asked.

“You know, knock out drops. Geese you are a big man to have to lug around.”

Lincoln then stood and towered over his capture, “I am leaving now.”

“Yeah right and where ya’ going to go sport?”

“Back to Gettysburg,” Lincoln replied. “And get back on my train to Washington.”

“Well you have a very long walk ahead of you,” the little man teased.

“And why is that?”

“Well for one thing you are in Texas now and for another it is the year 2017. But if you insist on going be my guest,” he said as he held the door open for Lincoln.

Lincoln looked out of the room into a large parlor room filled with nice furniture, carpets and drapes.

“Little person if this is 2017 why is it that your parlor is filled with furnishings that appear to be well within my time?” Lincoln inquired.

“Because I wanted you to feel at home. This is an old hotel once used as a brothel. It is decorated in the style of the 1800’s. And don’t call me little person. I am… five feet tall.”

Lincoln doubted that. “Very well then what should I address you as?”

“Ores, Ores Naughtenly, is my name.” He answered. “And I know who you are already. Why don’t you step into the parlor and have some pizza.”

“Is peesa something to drink or eat?” Lincoln asked.

“Eat, we have DP to drink.”

Lincoln appeared unpersuaded.

“Come on. We talk and get to know one another,” Ores said. “What’s ya’ got to loose?”

“Appearently nothing at all,” Lincoln replied.

Meanwhile back in Gettysburg in 1863, Arthur Borden was finished presenting his speech and turned to the others for their assessment.

“Are you sure that is the entire speech President is supposed to give?” Best asked.

“Yes it is noted for its brevity,” Sandra said as she reached up and raised mole on Mr. Borden’s right cheek and then powdered it a bit more to allow it to blend into his smile line.

“You should slow down the pace a little, I think,” said Sandy and do not get too concerned with the higher pitch of his voice. I understand during speeches Lincoln often tried to lower his tone.”

“No offense Mr. Borden but up close it it obvious that you are not Lincoln,” Jake said.

“Members of Lincoln’s Cabinet, William Seward, John Usher and Montgomery Blair, accompanied him here along with several foreign officials, However we are keeping them away from the speaker’s platform,” Best said. “After the address we are rapidly removing Lincoln from the town and back on his train minus his entourage. We will tell the press through Mr. Clemens here that Mr. Lincoln is ill and must return to Washington to be treated by his personal physician.”

Sam smiled and simply nodded with perceived importance.

“We have out plan, now let’s make it happen,” Best said.

Behind the platform was a simple curtain hung primarily to give the speakers a backdrop upon which to be seen. It was a ruckus group as Borden and Best approached from the rear out of sight of most of those in attendance. Best gripped Borden’s shoulder.

“Artie you have got to pull this off,” he said.

“I can do it, Jim,” Borden assured him.

Best left then and walked around to the front to watch the speech. A choir sang a song and Bordon began to climb on to the stage when suddenly a man grab his shoulder again. Borden thinking that it was Best turned to tell him to quick worrying him, when a taller man brushed by Borden. He heard the man say, “I have this son, thanks.”

The man walked on to the stage as thunderous applause greeted him. Borden confused ran around to the front of the stage himself. There he saw the best impersonation of President Lincoln that could be performed. Those assembled heard a brief but eloquent address as follows:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Borden stood more erect and tall now as Lincoln impersonator left the stage. Best presently came up to him.

“Great speech Artie, but I thought we were meeting back stage.”

Borden looked suddenly crestfallen. “That other actor you hired did such a great job you should whisk him off to the train instead.”

“What other actor?’ Best asked.

The two men looked at each other for a second and then pushed to the rear of the platform. Immediately the people there swarmed Borden as they took him for Lincoln. The other man was nowhere to be seen.

Now once more together at the Wills house David closed off the meeting even to the house staff. The group began to discuss what had just occurred.

“It was obviously Lincoln,” Sigerson.

“If he were Lincoln why would he leave? He must know that we are searching for him,” Borden declared.

“No, not necessarily if he is from a future time and…,” Sandy began.

“He has or for now I should say will be rescued,’ Sigerson interrupted her.

“Just how does all this time shifting shenanigans work?” Clemens asked.

Sigerson just stared at him without saying another word.

“I for one cannot afford the luxury of your confidence as I am unsure of time conveyance,” Best interjected. “My job is to get Lincoln back from whom ever took him.”

A soldier interrupted their discussion with a message. Best quickly left the room.

Jake pulled Sigerson aside, “May be we should just leave all this up to these people. I would hate to alter the timeline any more than we already have.”

“Have we,” Sigerson replied. “Or are we the glue that is holding history in place? After all Lincoln gave his address.”

“About that address, you really think that was Lincoln don’t ya,” Clemens said holding a bit of paper and a steel nibs pen as he drew close to them. Perhaps we need to release a statement to the press about the wonderful response to what the President said.”

Sigerson and Jake backed away and separated from one another without commenting.

Meanwhile Best bolted back into the room. “I have some new information and I will need everyone in this room help as this situation has gotten more critical.”

Lincoln watched from the window as these strange motor coaches roared by on the street below him. Presently he turned his attention to the door to their suite as a new individual knocked and was let inside. This was a tall man not much shorter than Lincoln was. Along with him stood a tall, dark and rather thin woman that Lincoln recognized from the night before as a house servant at Will’s home. Her name was Natasha. The man looked to be younger than Ores and he spoke in a language that Lincoln did not recognize, which did not surprise him. Ores did not take the news well. He seemed to be quite upset and he argued with the new individual for some minutes. Precipitously Ores snapped out a few choice words as he turned the man way and faced Lincoln.

“Our plan did not go as we had hoped,” You not giving your speech did not changed to course of history. Therefore we must go see Comrade Wolf.”

“Who?” Lincoln inquired.

“It is name we give to our feared…but loved leader,” Ores hesitated to add as he smiled srather sheepishly at Natasha.

“You just call him Mr. President,” Natasha added.

“President of what?”

“Not your concern,” Ores replied as he trust Lincoln toward the door. A stiff wind jolted then as they pushed through the now open door on to a small porch and a set of stairs beyond.

“It has turned cold,” Lincoln said they descended the steps.

“What you mean, this is like summer in Moscow,” said Ores as he guided Lincoln down to a waiting sedan. Ores bidden Lincoln to sit in the back of a black limousine. The President did so after he scrutinized the chrome name attached to the side of the vehicle, it read, Lincoln Town Car.

Chapter 4: To Boldly Go

Best stood in front of the room perched upon an elevated section facing the group. “At first I was not going to inform you of this, I have just received word that General Grant is also missing. This appears to be a well-coordinated attach upon our country. In addition, I have reason to believe that it comes from more than just a Confederacy plot. My men were watching as Grant just vanished in front of them. I have sent out as many troops as I have at hand to look for him but frankly, I am not sure what to tell them to do. However, we need to keep the public and other government officials believing that both President Lincoln and General Grant are performing their duties. If they were to hear about such thing as vanishing generals it might lead to panic and civil unrest, something this union could not support.”

“So you are prepared to promote a lie….until when,” Clemens asked

“Well at least until I have had more time to hopefully track them both down. This is why, I have decided to ask you for your help with multiple tasks before us.” Best said sounding sincere and it was not with his usual self-assured, almost cocky manner.

“I am willing to venture that it was a form of time travel that took your general,” Sigerson replied. You are going to need one of us to accompany you if at all possible.”

“You believe that some of the rest of us will need to…time travel too?” Borden asked.

“Hog wailer,” Clemens declared. “Time travel is about as possible as for a man to…go to the moon.”

“We do land on the moon on July 20, 1969,” Sandra said.

Sam Clemens gaped at her.

“Well as a matter of fact Sam we need you to travel with us to gain the support of a very famous man from the future,” Sigerson said.

“And who might that be?” Sam shot back at him.

“You,” Sigerson replied.

Hartford Connecticut 1889

In response to the loud and persistent knocking at the front door servant George Griffin finally answered the door. There stood a young man in his late twenties.

Old George gaped at the man which made the visitor most uncomfortable.

“I must speak to the master of this house,” the young man insisted.

“He is not to be disturbed, them is my orders and I never go against them,” George answered although he did sound a little unsure.

“I suspect that you are a good man and do your job well, but if I do not see him we will all have hell to pay!” The young man blurted out.

From inside the entry hall came a commanding voice, “George, George what is entire racket. How is an old gentleman supposed to nap with all the noise?”

“Sir it is nobody. You just goes back inside and old George will takes care of it.”

Then a man descended the circular stairs and walked into the entranceway. He stared through the open door at the man beyond.

“You there do I know you,” the older man said. “You look familiar.”

“You bet your bottom…dollar you do,” the young man declared.

“Step inside man, my old eyes are not as sharp as they once were,” the older man said.

The younger man promptly did as he was instructed.

“What’s your name son?”

“Mr. Twain my name is Sam Clemens and I need your help!”

“Lord have mercy,” said Old George.

It is one thing to consider your younger self by looking at a photograph, quite another to meet him in your front entryway in the flesh.

“Come in, my boy I’ve been expecting you,” Twain said with a knowing smile and a twinkle in his eye. Twain then looked beyond Clemons and smiled broadly. “Sigerson you old scoundrel why didn’t you say somethin’. Get yourself in here,” Twain said as he grasped Sigerson’s arm and tugged him along.

Sandra stood there on the front porch wonder what she should do. Old George was about the close the door when he looked out and saw her. “Missy are you with these gentlemen,” he asked.

“Well yes I am,” she said somewhat timidly.

“Well I reckin’ you best come in too,” he said with a kindly smile.

The ride in the motor carriage was mesmerizing and yet as Lincoln viewed the many outlandish sights out the windows, he found himself becoming less enthralled than he imagined. It was too peculiar and abnormal thus triggering his mind to instead withdrawal from the spectacle altogether. Lincoln grew sleepy and he began to doze.

Abe was a youthful and quite strong man as he walked down the deserted country lane. The sun was bright and the air was warm with a slight cooling breeze. In the distance was an apple orchard that he was familiar with so he headed in that direction with some haste. The trees were stout and well-kept but the owner never denied Abe the honor of selecting a portion of the yield. It seemed fitting; as Abe’s great height was welcome assistance when the harvest was due. Abe sat down under the tree’s shade to eat his prize.

After a while, Abe caught sight of a man dressed in the quaint style of the colonial era walking down the road towards him. The man wore a familiar look but Abe could not quite place him. The man left the roadway and came to stand just in front of Abe. He managed to stand just in front of the sun to partially block the sun beams, however the brilliance of the day did not allow his face to glow as brightly as the sun light the air. Therefore, the man’s face was indiscernible.

“Find day to you Abe,” the man said.

“Sir,” Abe replied. “Fine day to you as well. Do I know you?” Abe asked as he tempted to shade his eyes from the rays of the sun.

“You have reason to know me,” the tall man answered “and now I have the same with you.”

“Well then Sir, will you join me in an apple? The owner of this orchard would not mind your partaking of these fine treasures.”

“I am more partial to cherries myself,” said the man. “Besides these teeth of mine do not fare well with the peel of that fruit. I have not much time so I will proceed with a message that I wish to impart to you.”

“Please do,”

“Abe you are bound up in a fate far greater than you or me as individuals. It will in truth stretch beyond the reach of our lives into the centuries beyond. Be not deceived by the lies of men, who cloak themselves in wonders beyond our times. They do not possess the means to bring us to an inoperative state, even if their mechanical curiosities seem far superior to our own. Your destiny is before you. There are great deeds yet to be done. This time you find yourself in will quickly fade into nothingness.”

Abe regained his feet and now faced the man full on. They shook hand and then the man turned and walked back down the road.

Abe awoke when the conveyance he was in suddenly rolled to an abrupt stop.

“We’re here,” said Ores as he bounded out of the carriage. Then President Lincoln followed. They entered went into a tall building and walked to an enormous bustling lobby full of people going in haste in all directions. These souls were all so occupied with their own thoughts that none of them paid any heed to this unusual group of four men dressed as gangsters and one tall man looking like the image found on a common currency. Suddenly a pair of boys on skateboards sailed by almost knocking Lincoln to the ground.

“Hey,” one of then yelled to the other. “Dude its President Washington.” They both pointed and laughed.

“Kids have no respect anymore,” Ores said as he helped Lincoln forward.

A series of doors straight ahead of them was where the group headed as the leading security men fashioned a pathway. Beyond was a large lobby and another pair of doors. These doors slid out of the way revealing a small room. Everyone went inside and dutifully turned and faced the lobby. Lincoln was a bit slower than the rest to take this stance. A feeling of uplift gripped President Lincoln, as this device seemed to be in motion. Lincoln surmised that this was a later, enclosed version of an elevator, which made sense for such a large building to be practical.

They all got off at the 14th floor and Lincoln was escorted to a large room with many window but strangely, he was seated before the only window with a dark curtain behind it.

“Am I to meet your leader now,” Lincoln asked Ores who seemed to be pre-occupied with a leaver of some kind that he held in his right hand. Ores pressed button like knobs on the leaver as he directed it to the darken window. Nothing seemed to be happening.

“Yes our fearsome leader Mr. Poopkin will speak with you here, if I can get this damn thing to work,” Ores replied.

“He is from your country?”

“He is the leader of the USSR, which some call mother Russia.”

“So he is the Czar?”

“What, heavens no. He is the President. Like you only…different.”

“Different how?” Lincoln asked.

Ores hesitated, looked about and the whispered, “He is elected but there is never any opposition.”

“You go along with this?” Lincoln queried Ores.

“I am from Georgia. Not your Georgia but country in Eastern Europe. We are part of USSR but…” Again, Ores looked about the room before continuing. “We yearn to be free but it is not possible.”

Lincoln nodded his understanding and then said. “Those who would deny others freedom, do not deserve it themselves.”

Ores nodded and then walked away. Lincoln waited patiently and eventually the darken window suddenly grew quite bright. Multiple images appeared to dash before him and eventually a balding smallish man appeared in the window. He worse a coat and tie that Lincoln has come to understand was the modern equivalent of his own time. The man seemed to be looking straight at Lincoln but soon it became obvious that he was not. Instead, he seemed to be indirectly looking ahead and rather upward. The man spoke in what Lincoln believed was Russian. His words in English appeared on the window below his image.

“Greetings Mr. President, I am President Poopkin and I am most pleased to meet you.” The words said.

Lincoln hesitated and then looked to Ores. Ores nodded back to him.

“Mr. President I am not pleased to inform you that I have been taken against my will.” Lincoln began. “There is no pleasure in that circumstance. However, I am interested in hearing why I am…visiting with you through this…means.”

Poopkin smiled in a respectful manner. He appearently admired directness. “In my time our two countries are often advisories on a world stage. I seek to diminish your country’s strength…a little bit so that we can compete in a more advantageous manner.”

“You wish to change the nature of United States situation so you can dominate as you please,” Lincoln corrected.

“In a manner of speaking, yes this is the case. However, we are relatively new at doing such things so I am experimenting with your personal history first,” Poopkin replied.

“You wish to prevent me from reuniting our country,” Lincoln declared.

“Not necessarily,” Poopkin answered, “However, if you still win this little war of yours but fail to lead as strongly as you have already then we may see a persistent residue of shall we say reluctance to join in future wars. This way you will not be as strong an opponent.”

“So Mr. President you just want to weaken us a little. How kind of you,” Lincoln said in with sarcasm. “Of course I would surmise if this is not to be enough then further interventions will ensue.”

Poopkin smiled broadly at Lincoln, “This is the reason I wanted to meet you Sir. I have always appreciated your style. Now I must leave you. Ores will be taking you back to your time.”

“I will be released then?”

“We will see, Mr. President,” Poopkin sneered at him and then his image vanished. The window remained lit for few moments and then blackened once more.

Lincoln stood as Ores approached. His great height in relation to the diminutive Georgian was enough to briefly cause Ores to stop in his advance.

“What?” Ores said.

“This man must be stopped,” Lincoln replied.

“It is not possible,” Ores again said in a whisper.

“If he can change the past others can as well,” Lincoln responded.

Ores sighed.

The Connecticut home of Mark Twain stands three stories tall. The first floor had the essential living spaces; master bedroom, kitchen, dining room, living room, parlor, and servant quarters. The second floor was the living space for the Twain daughters including a room for their education. The third floor was the domain of Mr. Twain, which featured both a space to write and a billiard room. It was here that Twain, Clemens and Sigerson retired to smoke cigars and shoot pool.

Meanwhile Sandra selected the second floor as a natural space to wait for the festivities above to wane.

“Missy can I bring you something to drink?” George asked.

“Ice water would be delightful,” she replied.

“Yes ma’am it would be, but seeing as the ice is rather limited to the cooler can I provide ya with just a glass of water?”

“Sorry I forget when I am. Yes please do.”

George hesitated and then asked, “Missy far be it for me to pry but Old George is a slight amount confused by the presence of young Mr. Clemens and things like you just say.”

“Yes I am sure you are. We travel to various places and….well times. I am from a time…ahead of this one and Mr. Clemens is from a time… before.”

George gazed at her for a moment and then smiled. “Thank you and say no more for I knows Mr. Sigerson and he always be a little off his time so to speak. I will fetch your water now.”

“Yes Uncle Sigerson is that indeed,” Sandra said to herself.

After most of two hours the gentlemen proceeded down stairs where they found Sandra asleep in a chair. As she awoke a book Alice in Wonderland lying open in her lap fell to the floor. Sigerson went over, picked up the tome, and examined it.

“This is very strange,” he said.

“Why is that?” Twain asked.

“If I remember correctly Lewis Carroll does not complete this book until 1865,” Sigerson replied.

“Who is Lewis Carroll,” Twain asked. “This book has been my children’s favorite since they were knee high to a grasshopper.”

Sigerson looked again at the binding and then inside and found the strange name, J M Wright as the author. He then looked to the now wide-awake Sandra.

“I found it on the shelf,” she explained. “What does this mean?”

“There is a disturbance in the force,” he muttered.

“I thought you were a Trekee and not a Star Wars follower,” she replied.

“I watch both but prefer Trek,” Sigerson explained and then he turned toward Mr. Twain who was observing him with interest.

“One of your alternating universe events?” he asked.

“It would seem so. No doubt it is in response to my many visits to you abode,” Sigerson answered.

“It would seem that the gods have their limits,” Twain retorted.

“Shall we proceed to the city and collect President Grant?” Sigerson said in an effort to change the subject.

“Yes we shall try,” Twain replied.

“Try?” Sam interjected.

“Yes my dear boy ‘try’ is the proper word. Ulysses never in my time met up with his former self and knows nothing about time travel in… general, if you will excuse the pun,” Twain explained. “He is less than a well man now days and so we, uh you must persuade him to join us.”

“Me?” Clemens replied.

“It is your need. As for me judging from this work,” he said holding up the book he took from Sigerson. “My past is secure,” Twain announced.

Clemens eyed Sigerson. Sigerson gave him an ‘it beats me’ shrug. Clemens then regarded the flooring with some amount of distraction.

Chapter 5: Down the Rabbit Hole

In the evaporating twilight three silent men on horseback wait in a clearing. Their shadowy silhouettes progressively fade into the gathering gloom. Still there is no expected arrival of a fourth rider.

“Your other self seems to be…detained,” Artie finally uttered breaking their discreet silence. “I thought that this business of time touring was a set journey.”

“No, there is nothing fixed at all about it. Each time we go on a journey anything can happen, no guarantees,” Jake replied.

“This other you….” Best began.

“Let’s just call him Jake 2,” Jake replied.

“Jake 2 already went to save Lincoln. Just when did he leave to do that?” Best inquired.

“Two days from now,” Jake replied.

Best sat very still upon his mount.

“I know what this all sounds like to you,” Jake finally responded.

“Do you?” Best said.

Then the hoof thumping of a horse slowly approaching drew their attention to the opening of the glade. A person rode into the far side of the space and suddenly his outline began to sway, as he seemed barely able to control himself. Jake bid his horse forward and just barely reached the person before he fell off his saddle. Jake gathered him in and with the assistance of the others laid this person upon the ground. Jake shown his cell phone light upon the figure. It was Jake 2. His abdominal wound bled as periodic stream of crimson on to his jacket.

“Well guarded KGB…don’t try armed assult…no good…automatic,” the man panted.

“Weapons,” Jake finished for him.

“Automatic…KGB?” Best said.

“Rapid fire with an amazing number of rounds. They are from my era. The KGB are….Russian secret police but from another era,” Jake answered.

“In Anderson’s barn, outside White House…” Jake 2 managed.

“The White House?” Artie asked.

Jake 2 said nothing. However, Best thought about it and said, “White House Tennessee.”

Jake 2 nodded.

“KGB?” asked.

“Timeline off…very wrong,” Jake 2 stammered as he tried to take in more air. Jake bent closer as Jake 2 told him more.

Meanwhile Best looked to Bordon, “You better get your Grant face on.”

“Things don’t seem to be going as planned,” Bordon retorted.

“Can you at least keep our army from being routed while I fix this?” Best asked.

“Well I hope I get some help from the real General Grant,” Bordon said.

“You heard the man, there are no guarantees Artie,” Best retorted as he placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“He’s dead,” Jake said as he presently joined them. He gave Bordon his phone with the camera adjusted to reflect Bordon’s face as if it was a mirror. Bordon stared at it in amazement and then proceeded to use it to apply his makeup.

Best looked over at the corps as it gradually faded into the air around it. “Now where do we go?” He asked Jake.

“Stadium Drive in Fort Worth about a hundred and fifty years from now,” Jake said.

Bordon looked up at that statement his makeup and beard in place.

“After we drop off the General of course,” Jake continued.

The four-story New York City brownstone home at 3 East Sixty-Sixth Street where the Grants lived was modest given his status as a former President and war hero. Julia Grant greeted Twain at the door and graciously asked them inside.

“We are here to once more prod your mule of a husband into writing his memoirs,” Twain announced.

At that moment the former President appeared and rejoined, “One should only write their memoirs just before their own death, otherwise they are liable to get the ending wrong,” proclaimed Grant.

“I thought I was the humorous,” Twain declared as he reached out and took Grant’s hand.

Twin then introduced everyone except he held of Sam Clemens for last.

“And this is my cousin Sam,” is all Twain said.

“You certain do favor Twain,” Grant said as he shook his hand.

“He does at that,” Twain said before Sam could mount a rejoinder. Sam was indeed at a strange for him as he was lost for words.

“Ah, Mr. President may we have some time in private,” asked Sigerson.

Mrs. Grant excused herself and the party retired to a study off the second floor stair.

Everyone sat quietly for a few moments before Sam finally spoke. “I come here to day Gen….er …Mr. President, to ask you your assistance with the war.”

“Ah my recollections,” what sort of publication is to be used.

Sam paused and then just shrugged, “It Sir is not about recollections exactly, it is about you going back to 1863 and running the war again until we rescue you and Lincoln from the Russians.”

Grant stared at the man as he tried to understand just what in the hell he was talking about.

“And you are to become me?” Twain remarked. “Lord help you. What my dithering former self is trying to say Mr. President is that…” Twain then stopped and thought about it and did not continue.

“Mr. President, I am from the 21st century and I returned to Gettysburg with my parents to witness Mr. Lincoln’s famous address. However, a group of Russians kidnapped him and then you or rather you as General Grant of that time. Well of course if you are kidnapped then you cannot return to Tennessee to conduct the war so an actor has assumed your place but we need you to go back with us and direct him until my father and a Captain….”

“James Best rescue me,” Grant finished for her.

“You never told me that you remember that?” Twain said.

“I thought that it should be a state secret. In fact, Best and Bordon were instructed to keep it secret and he and Mr. Bordon were given new identities and jobs guarding state secrets and Presidents.”

“That is really Wild…Wild…and would their names begin with a W and G now,” Sigerson asked.

“Uncle Sigerson!” Sandra exclaimed.

“Derivatives, another universe with derivatives,” Sigerson replied.

“Pay no attention to them, Sir,” Sam said. “But does this mean that you will go back with us?”

“I had better, Mr. Gor…I mean Bordon is a terrible tactician. He is always trying to use gadgets and machines. He got those ideas from being around your father young lady. Now we need to get back there and keep the man in check or my armies will be in disarray,” Grant said.

Back in Fort Worth in the present two figures suddenly appeared as if a fog had formed, derived them and then vanished again. Jake and Capt. Best began to stroll in a nonchalant manner immediately in order to give the appearance that there was nothing peculiar about them aside front the fact that they wore western style clothes. The again this was Fort Worth where the West begins. Best could not help himself as he paused to look around. He stood in the grass parallel to Stadium Drive as the rising sun peeked out over the upper deck of Amon G. Carter Stadium.

“The future is grandiose and amazing. This imposing edifice is used hosted collegiate sports contests. There must not be one like it anywhere else in the country,” Best observed.

Jake decided not the answer Best’s musing. He would not have believed or understood the modern world.

“Still it is not all impressive, these carriages without horses are too damn loud. How can anyone collect his thoughts with these loud things zipping about at the speed of cannon shot?”

“Well, the traffic is actually fairly light at this hour and the speed limit is 35, so, really, this is peaceful by uh future standards. However, remember this is a future not the future. In fact where we are right now is in Jake 2’s future not mine.”

“Yes I think that I understand. Besides I am not here as a tourist but rather we are on a reconnaissance mission,” Best added. “What are we looking for?”

“The Russian agents according to Jake 2 are wearing a sort of uniform a black suit and tie. In any reality from 1950 to the early 2000s, this was standard issue but now strikes me as unusual. Another thing is that he called them the KGB.”

“Is that wrong?” Best asked.

“No if we were still in the last century. This reality has some significant differences from my own. Now, are you sure, Captain, that you can get the information?”

“Jake 2 told you that there’s a barn somewhere in a secluded location near White House Tennessee, but that the KGB never stayed in the same spot for more than a week or two at a time. If we cannot successfully attack that location or perhaps even find it, I will need to have inside information. But what made Jake 2 think this local operative knows where to find it?”

“Ores the one in charge apparently returns to a house in this neighborhood every morning at seven then leaves the house again before nightfall. So we get in our car…er… carriage and follow him when he leaves again,” Jake explained. “Now we could drive up and down the street looking for the car, a large black vehicle, but Ores if he is any good at his job might recognize our obvious surveillance tactic which is why we are on foot.”

“Which is precisely why if we spot him you will go to your carriage but I won’t,” said Best. “I’ll wait until he has entered his house and then I will position myself in the rear of his carriage.” Best said with just a small amount of misgivings in his words.

“Remember it is just like the video I showed you,” Jake began.

“I remember you called it the Marty McFly in Biff’s trunk trick,” Best replied. “Those moving picture pulp novels you carry around on your drone thing.”

“Phone…a drone was something else.” Jake said. Best just looked at him in a perturbed manner.

“It’s only from the best movie trilogy ever, anyway never mind that. We need to keep a sharp for which of these houses is Ores and Natasha’s?” Jake said.

“It should be Simple. Russia uses a bear as a national symbol and that home on the corner of has a yellow and green bear flag out front — in fact it is the only home without a purple TCU banner flapping in the breeze,” Best observed.

Jake smiled to himself. “So a Baylor fan equals commie. Got it to me that actually makes sense. Wait just a minute, there is a hammer and sickle sticker on the bumper of this Chrysler Sebring in his driveway. Best you might be on to something.”

Suddenly Best grabbed Jake’s arm and turned him about and all but pushed him to get Jake to walk forward. “Don’t look about I spotted the carriage that you were describing.” Jake said as he laughed out loud in a manner of one who may have had a little too much to drink.”

The vehicle roared up and turned into the vary driveway where they had just been. Best took a scrumptious look about. He recognized the dark suit and black hat of the short mustached man as he left the carriage. The man seemed to pay them little notice. He was mumbling something about how badly his day had gone.

They went to Jake 2’s house where Sandy 2 greeted them. Jake was there as well. Captain Best could not understand how it was that the Jake 2 they has seem from the night before could be alive here to greet them.

“We just changed his future,” Jake tried to explain. “He will not raid the farm he thought Lincoln and Grant were in and so he will not die.”

“If he does not raid the farm then how did he meet us last night?” Best demanded to know.

“Reality may have changed but our memories do not necessarily do as well,” Jake 2 explained. “Sometimes we can have very detailed memories of universes we have been in but will never return to again.”

“Thank you but I would rather not,” Best replied.

Jake 2 then had an idea. He showed Best his library of where he kept old historical references. Capt. Best soothed his mind by poring over 19th century historians’ accounts of Napoleon’s campaigns and the Revolutionary War and while he vocally disagreed with the many things those ivory tower scholars thought of the battles he studied long ago as a West Point cadet, he seemed to enjoy the activity.

“At least you’re reading semi-well-researched books,” Jake said. “I could’ve had you read about those wars on the Internet.”

After a late lunch at Dutch’s, a local burger joint celebrating TCU’s first football glory days in the 1930s, Jake and Best near dusk put their plan into action. Jake returned to the hideout house knocked on Ores and Natasha’s front door, claiming to be an encyclopedia salesman.

“Ores,” Natasha called from the front hallway. “Tall handsome capitalist is selling books about words. He does look strangely kind of familiar.”

“Who are you bub,” Ores said as he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Jake’s face.

“Ah who me?” Jake said with a wide, cartoonish smile. “I’m called Moose by my friends. I am a college football player and I sell books to save up money to take a summer football training trip to Camp Setlincolnfree.”

Ores waddled up closer to the front door and placed his arm casually around his seeming wife’s waist. “We are simple average American husband and housewife who know much about this foot of ball. Still, wife is not wrong. There is something mmmm, shall we say, timeless about your face. You travel much, say like to Moscow. “

Jake was stalling as Best slyly broke into the Soviets’ car and hid under a blanket spread across the backseat. Jake positioned himself to block their view of the driveway. As long as they didn’t step outside as Best got into place, the plan would work.

“Well, folks, I’ve have not done much traveling,” said Jake. “I’ve definitely not been to Russia, for instance. That’s why I read these encyclopedias so I can learn about Moscow and other such distant places.”

“Ores, do you hear a noise out on the lawn?”

Jake was laughing nervously. “It’s probably just a squirrel.”

“Natasha,” Ores said with a devilish grin, “I recognize our comrade here. You could say it’s been four score and seven years ago since we last seen him.”

Jake stepped back, craned his neck, and saw that Best had hidden himself in the trunk.

Meanwhile, Jake knew his flimsy cover was blown but Jakarta Rowan had no fear for his own safety. After all, his friends the Smiths’ backyard backed up to the spies’ house. Their two cairn terriers would not attack him, whom they knew and adored.

While Ores and Jake stared each other down, “Mr. Rowan, as we Soviets say,” Natasha said, “get ready no more to live!”

Natasha aimed the Luger at Jake’s forehead and aimed at our hero’s forehead. “Not to be rude,” Jake said. “But I think you meant to say, ‘Prepare to die.’”

“I never saw the Princess Bride,” Natasha replied.

Natasha aimed, fired and… the Luger’s accuracy was a bit off. Instead of his head, the bullet careened toward Jake’s chest. The bullet was a direct hit. A giant hole went through volume A and tore a hole clear through B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J and K and lodged in the middle of Volume L.

Jake slammed the screen door and dropped the books. “Saved by the L,” he muttered. Rowan took off running and hopped the spies’ back fence. The dogs in the neighboring yard barked fiercely until they noticed him. Then they began to lick him. Ores tried to give chase but his short legs did not carry him very far. He tried climbing the fence but only managed to slide back down with each of his tries. During the second attempt, he dropped his weapon. Seeing this Jake began to climb back over the fence. Ores took off back around the house. Jake manage to get back over the fence and pick up Ores’ gun. He then rounded the house in time to see Ores and Natasha drive off with Lincoln in the back of the car. Jake raced to car and followed the Lincoln Town Car east down Bellaire Drive around the Greek dorms and then toward the intersection with University Drive. Ores turned right on University and headed south. Meanwhile, Natasha began firing out the passenger’s side window at Jake. Ores speed faster and suddenly hit a dip in the road, which shot the Town Car high up into the air and down again. With this, the trunk popped open and Best nearly fell out. Instead, he grabbed on to the top and he hung on as it flopped up and down as bores took the rise and falls of the street with too much speed.

Within minutes, University drive entered into a Bluebonnet Circle an old around about for the intersection of many feeder streets. Jake driving much more carefully was catching up but Ores speed on. He wheeled about the circle barely avoiding numerous cars before coming almost to a complete stop as a truck blocked his way. Ores rammed the truck’s rear end and after grinding the two vehicles together, he finally broke free. Lincoln saw his change. Since there was no time to bind him or secure him, Lincoln wrenched the passenger side door open and took off. Best seeing what was occurring followed him off as both men dodged cars that were haplessly caught up in the fray. Natasha began to take aim so Jake hit his gas pedal and rammed the Town Car with his own. This actually helped to free that vehicle from its entanglement with the truck and Ores raced off.

Best meanwhile finally caught up to Lincoln and shouted, “Mr. President I am Captain Best of the Union Army.”

Lincoln suddenly stopped and turned toward him.

“Bless you son,” he said trying to gain his breath.

Best looked at him, smiled, and then asked, “How did you know to trust me?”

“Only one of my boys would refer to themselves as a Union officer,” Lincoln replied.

Just then, a police car blaring its horn came up and stopped beside them. “What in Blazes is going on?” an office shouted to them.

“Motion pictures,” was the only thing Best could think to say.

“Yeah like Lincoln the Vampire Slayer or something uh?” the police officer replied in anger. “Where are the other cars going? I want their butts on a plate!”

Best pointed to University Drive indicating back north toward the college once more.

Ores began to separate from Jake’s car now as the damage it began to rob it of power. Jake saw in the distance the flashing red and yellow lights and so he choose to turn off University and allow his vehicle to roll to a stop on a side street. The police car passed him without giving him any notice. Instead Ores up ahead swerved through the intersection with Berry street avoided hitting another car by turning left and headed east down Berry. By this time, Ores had just about regained control until Natasha slid into and under him as the car bounced off the median. Now unable to reach the petal Ores crashed into the front of a 7-Eleven. Fortunately, no one was injured. An employee rushed up to the car to find the two on them lodged on top of one another under the steering wheel.

“Hee, um, we came to buy a Christmas tree,” Ores said.

“But its October” The employee said back to him.

“We like to get an early start on the holidays,” Natasha replied.

Chapter 6: Destination Restoration

Ores and Natasha were eventually pried free from the wreak that was once their sedan. Immediately the police took charge. Ores and Natasha received an examination by an emergency attendant, a field sobriety test, read their rights, cuffed, and were about to be placed into the back of a waiting patrol car, when an unmarked Crown Victoria with two detectives dressed all in black pulled up. After flashing their identifications, the two officers seized the two perpetrators, placed them into their vehicle, and without delay drove off.

Mr. Lincoln sat in the only tall and firm chair, from the kitchen table, that Sandy owned. Jake used it when he had back problems. Lincoln merely had problems. Captain Best was busy discussing his plans for locating Grant and effecting a rescue. Both Jake and Jake 2 were arguing for patience and fore thought before going ahead with any attack upon a location. Sandy 2 was fretting over the risks of such an operation. Finally, Lincoln stood up. His six foot four inch height immediately drew their attention. “Gentlemen I am in need of my General, Grant….alive and able to lead our armies. Goodness knows I have been through too many other Commanders of the Union Armies to lose the one man who can actually lead and win this war. Who knows which one of his subordinates is taking over now in Grant’s absence and what variety of confusion and mismanagement will ensue until he returns.

“President Grant is managing very well with the aid of Bordon, Clemens and Twain,” Sigerson said as he appeared essentially out of nowhere.

Lincoln frowned, “President Grant? I have been displaced?”

“Uh no Sir, President Grant is the,” Sigerson began talking to himself and counting on his fingers.

“Eighteenth President,” Sandy finally said.

“This war could not have lasted that long,” Lincoln replied.

Sandy stepped forward and looked up at Lincoln. “Time travel becomes confusing, Mr. President. What they have evidently done is secure the older Grant from his time which would be your future and brought him back to the time you left so that he can command through someone who appears to be him at a younger age,” she explained.

“His name is Arthur Bordon, he is a Shakespearian actor,” Best interrupted.

“Thus future President Grant is now running your war,” Sandy finished.

“Shakespearian, you say. I am left rather speechless,” Lincoln rejoined.

“That was the plan,” Ores said as he and Natasha still in cuff entered the room from the front door. Jay and Wood, the Rectin time travel brothers, escorted them.

“What do you mean?” Jake 2 asked.

“No speech, no continued support for the war, you fight civil was to a bloody stalemate, leaving two countries and Soviet state becomes dominate world leader. Somehow, you give speech even though we keep you from it. So we kidnap Grant and you lose war or will even if you have old Grant filling in.”

“How do you know that they will lose with President Grant?” Jake asked.

“Vanilla Effect, read internet,” Natasha answered.

“I am now more confused than ever. What does a flavoring have to do with anything,” Lincoln said as he turned to Sandy once more.

“The Vanilla Effect is named after a singing group in the 1980’s that did or did not sing their own music. It is so silly. They supposedly have slightly different names parallel universes…well never mind. It is all about historical changes found by surfing the web,” Sandy said.

Lincoln stared down at her and but said nothing.

“Regardless USSR is the winner,” Ores said noticeably without any enthusiasm.

“USSR!” Jake said.

“Union of Soviet Socialist Republics,” answered Ores. “Why you not know this?”

“I do or I did, they went bankrupt in the late 1980’s. Now we have just Russia,” Jake responded.

“And Georgia?” asked Ores.

“Independent, but a member of a Federation lead by Russia,” Jake added.

“Peachy, how we sign up,” Natasha asked.

No one spoke for several minutes, as there really was no good answer to Natasha’s question. Meanwhile, Wood and Jay removed their handcuffs.

Lincoln cleared his throat and looked at Jake, “Bankrupt you say. If I may ask how did this occur.”

‘President Reagan of the USA engaged President Mikhail Gorbachev of the USSR in an arms race, a duel of advanced weapons and eventually the Soviets out spent themselves,” Jake said.

“This can’t be true. My grandfather was head of Gorbachev’s KGB. The old man always complained that Gorby was a tightwad,” Ores said.

“As I see it,” Lincoln said. “There are two factors preventing the down fall of the Soviet…”

“Union,” Ores finished for Lincoln.

“Yes the Soviet Union, thank you. First, I must win my war and that means getting the younger Grant back. Second I must speak with President Reagan and convince him of the need for a buildup of arms.”

“I can help you there,” said Jake. “All you need to know about is Star Wars.”

“Really, Star Wars?” said Sigerson.

“It was a type of space based missile defense, not the movies,” Jake replied.

“And Mr. what is your name?” Lincoln ask Ores.

“Badenov, Ores Badenov.” Ores replied. “I know I must help you get General out of barn without losing his head.”

“But Ores if we do that Fearsome Leader will,” Natasha said as she made a gesture of cutting her throat.

“Not to worry Natasha, I have plan,”

“What’s that darling?”

“I look very much like my grandfather. I go back and become him. I influence Gorbachev to spend like maniac and we stay there where Poopkin is just a glint in his father’s eye.”

“But Ores your grandfather, what becomes of him?”

“Gram paw Boris, will retire to Georgia and raise peaches. It was always his dream.”

“First you tell me about how we get Grant,” Best said.

“Better still I go with you to help release him,” Ores said.

Natasha walked over and hugged him, “Do be careful Ores.”

“Of course piece of pie,” Ores said.

“What pizza got to do with it?” Natasha asked.

“No I mean easy as cake,” Ores said.

“My poor Ores did you not get lunch today?”

“No, no I am fine and call me Boris, Natasha.”

“Ok Boris-Natasha but I think that could get a little confusing don’t you?”

“Oh boy,” Boris-Natasha said.

“It’s just plain Boris, you klutzy narrator,” Boris-Natasha lashed out unnecessarily.

“I’ll necessary you,” the diminutive loser of a spy replied.

Narrator to puny, dimwit spay, “Put that gun down.”

Boris: “Then a shot rang out and all was well.”

Natasha: “Keep reading darlings for further episodes of Natasha and Boris-Natasha.”

Narrator: “See I told you it was Boris-Natasha!”

Boris: “I used stupid stage gun. Wait here…. I’ll be back!”

Narrator: “Will this silly homage to Rocky and Bullwinkle continue? Will Natasha ever get her name back?”

Boris: “And will the narrator live to see the end or should I say his end?”

Narrator: “Stay tune for our next chapter; The Gun Also Rises or The Rectin Brothers Sing the Postprandial Blues.

President Grant paced back and forth in his headquarters without saying a word for almost an hour.

“Sir, I have to call a meeting soon, we have to give orders,” Bordon finally said.

“Gordon I am trying to think, I know broadly what I told them but it has been more than 20 years. Damn it I have got to get this right.”

“It’s Bordon,” he replied.

“What?” Grant said.

“I am sorry Sir but you keep calling me Gordon, Sir,” he replied.

“Well you might as well get used to it,” Grant snapped back.

“If I may?” Twain said as he puffed on his cigar.

“What Mark?” Grant answered.

“Tell them what to ‘generally’ do. You probably will be mostly right. But if you wait too long then no matter what you say it may be too late.” Twain said.

Grant stopped pacing and studied Twain. “You have a point. Gordon we need to talk.”

Twain looked to Clemens in a knowing manner. “We will step out of the tent while you discuss your plans.”

Once outside Twain began to walk and Sam followed him.

“In a few weeks,” Twain said. “You will meet Tom Sawyer.”

“Who is he?” Clemens asked.

“A great firefighter hero. He saved the many lives. He kept folks from drowning as they fled a burning boat.”

“Why is that important?”

Twain eyed him with some amusement. “You will see for yourself.”

Clemens eyed the older man back. “I think that I need to leave, you agree?’

“You did your job here alright and I know how you hate war,” Twain replied.

“If you know that, you must feel the same way. So why do you spend so much time with a military man like Grant?”

Twain relit his cigar as he took a seat on a stump. “You have got to separate the man from the deed. He was undeniably a rough and tumble soldier, responsible for many men’s death on both sides of this conflict. However, he was the man who defeats Lee and secures the union along with Mr. Lincoln. These acts alone serves to preserve a great nation. It may well become a nation far greater than either of us can imagine. Men like him are rare. You need to identify such individuals and write about them or in his case help him write about himself.”

“This Mr. Sawyer is one as well, I suppose,” Clemens said.

“He is what certain young men need to grow up and become, if only in their fantasies,” Twain replied.

“Well, this has been…” Clemens said as he reached out for Twain’s hand.

“Surreal?” Twain remarked.

“Yes that indeed.”

“Before you go I have some advice,” Twain remarked without giving his younger self a chance to reply.

“The meek may inherit the earth, but that doesn’t mean that they will get there first.

Do not lie to yourself there are plenty of other people for that.

Always be truthful and you will stand out as the only one.

In the end the individuals or groups who wins is not the one who has the best ideas or plans but rather it is the ones who are the most determined.

Be kind to the person you just passed because he is still right behind you.

And most importantly, you are the person in life who sets your own limitations.”

Clemens nodded at Twain. “You must be a great man yourself.”

Twain just smiled and blew out smoke.

Before Best could save Grant, the general, he had to visit Grant, the President. Artie pretending to be General Grant was outside the tent holding court as he bent over maps and giving instructions to his commanders. Best rode up with President Lincoln in a wagon driven by Jake. Lincoln got out of the wooden conveyance and immediately went to sham general and greeted him. Artie was a bit taken back but after seeing Jim Best smile; he knew that this was indeed the real President. They all went inside the tent where Lincoln gave his old colleague President Grant a huge hug. Sandra stood nearby and took a photo with her phone.

“Do you think that is wise?” Her father asked.

Sandra shrugged and replied, “Who is going to believe it but us?”

While it was satisfying for Grant and Lincoln to greet one another, the real reason for coming to this campsite was to get Artie to assume his Lincoln identity one more. After finishing President Grant’s instructions to the field staff, Artie changed into his Lincoln persona once more. Meanwhile Grant and Lincoln discussed the rescue with as Grant Captain Best whom Grant now called West.

“I recall being less than closely monitored while I was held hostage,” Grant said. “Why was that West?”

“The Russian operative whose assistance we have obtained informed us that the barn you were kept in was actually ‘not in this world’ so to speak.”

“This world has many twins,” Jake explained, “They kept Best err…West here from locating their hiding place by not being here at all. Therefore they had no need to assign guards to monitor you as you could not escape even if you tried.”

Grant glared at Jake so fiercely that it gave him a feeling of panic. Jake thought that it was an excellent commanding, motivational look for a man with his prior leadership duties. “Son am I supposed to believe that we are all a part of some manifold number of realms that you and others purvey through like a short walk in the park.”

“Actually Ulysses, I believe him if only for the fact that I was taken to one in the far future and you are here in your past life,” Lincoln added.

Grant peered at Lincoln for a while and then grasped his arm. “By God Sir, I have missed your steady approach to all manner of things.”

“I will be taking Artie dressed as Mr. Lincoln to rescue you Sir.” West said. “He will be the reason we will use to gain entrance without drawing the guard’s suspicions. Mr. Sigerson will get us there in his motor coach.”

“I don’t recall President Lincoln being with you last time,” Grant said.

Jake decided not to go into the concept of multiple realities as he just as soon not be eyed by Grant again.

“Yes Sir let’s just hope it turns out as well this time,” Gordon responded.

“Indeed,” Grant replied. Lincoln also nodded.

Sandra grabbed her father’s sleeve and said in a whisper, “What would Ma’am say?”

Jake gave her a hug and replied, “Good luck and be safe.”

“More like she would not approve of your involvement in such a dangerous rescue,” Sandra corrected.

“Well I choose to think of it as a grand adventure. You just have to use a little imagination when you talk with your mother. However, if something goes wrong…”

“I will get Uncle Sigerson and we will ask Jake 2 to help.”

“And…” said her father.

“Don’t tell Mom until we get you back in one piece. I am beginning to understand her dislike of time travel though.”

Jake gave her a knowing nod. “Don’t tell her I said this but I am having a great time.”

Sandra smiled at him, “Me too.”

Sigerson drove his black Crown Victoria with Boris beside him. Jake and West flanked Artie dressed as Lincoln in the back seat. They passed into the parallel universe with no problem except for Mr. Gordon’s nausea from time travel. A large man holding a rather deadly looking automatic rifle guarded the only opening for the group to enter the farm compound. He did not hesitate to point it at them.

Boris explained to him in Russian that there had been a change in plans. Poopkin now wanted both hostages to talk with them and so they come for the other hostage.

“Where is your car?” he asked in a rather haughty manner.

“I wrecked it doing some shopping,” Boris replied.

“They will dock your pay you know,” the guard said as he waved them past.

Bores shrugged and smiled at his as they drove ahead toward the barn.

“Well so far so good,” said Sigerson.

“As I said piece of…” Boris began.

“Let’s not go back there,” Jake interrupted him.

In the barn, General Grant stood as the car entered. He studied the group for several minutes before realizing that this was a rescue mission. He got into the front with Boris and Sigerson immediately took off for the gate again. However, now three guards stood in their way.

“They must have check with headquarters,” Boris said. “Nobody ever believes anything you say any more,” Boris bemoaned as the guards began to fire at their car.

Sigerson put his petal down hard and the vehicle lunged forward at a high rate of speed. “Hang on!” Sigerson said as West and Jake returned fire. “Let’s see if we can do ninety!”

“Too bad you are not driving a Delorian,” Boris said as they crashed through a closed wooden gate and onto a very rough road beyond. Everyone kept down as a hail of bullets shot through the vehicle from behind.

Once far enough down the road they shifted into their world and left the guards far behind. Grant lit up a cigar and relaxed in his seat.

“I presume that gesture means that you are alright General,” West said.

“In deed Mr. Best I am.” He replied. “You know I was thinking that we need some agents to guard the President and work on some special missions,” Grant began.

“I am sorry Sir but Mr. Gordon and Mr. West here have already been assigned to that job,” Jake said.

“West and Gordon uh…by who?” He asked.

“You Sir,” West said with a smile.

When they drove into the camp in the Crown Victoria the sight of it created quite a stir. Then Grant stepped out and order everyone to carry on with his duties and the crowd quickly dispersed. Grant immediately went into his tent and found the real President Lincoln there but no older version of himself. He was disappointed and said so.

“However, he had some advice,” Lincoln told Grant.

“And what was that? Grant asked.

“Don’t put off working on your memoirs,” Twain said.

After Twain and Sigerson left in the now bullet riddled Crown Victoria things seem to settle down some.

Taking advantage of this respite Sandra approached Mr. Lincoln. “Mr. President my father and I are to escort you back to Washington. However, before we do, I think there is somewhere else you need to go. I wrote down a copy of your discourse just in case you misplaced your own,” she said handing him a piece of paper.

Lincoln looked it over and the said, “You can make this happen even though the event has passed?”

Sandra replied, “Yes Sir and it will be just like every school child learned it.”

Lincoln reached over and placed his arm around the girl. “Somehow I knew that was meant to be. Thank you child very much.”

Epilogue

At a PTA, meeting that fall at Sandra’s school her mother and father met her history teacher, Miss Grant.

“I am so happy to be able to finally meet you,” she said. Your daughter is such a pleasure to teach.”

“Why thank you,” Sandy said as she nudged her bored husband.

“Ah…yes thank you,” Jake stammered.

I had given Sandra’s class an assignment to write creatively about any historical event we had studied. Your daughter came up with the most delightful story about traveling back in time to see Lincoln’s Gettysburg address.”

“I bet,” said Jake.

“He means we are pleased that you found her creativity so entertaining,” Sandy immediately replied.

“You know that she even put my relative General Grant into the story though he really was not present for the speech,” Miss Grant said. “From where does she get such an imagination?”

“Without a doubt it is from her father,” Sandy replied.

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