Sam’s laugh was spontaneous and amazed. He found he couldn’t stop to even respond, so he just held up a hand, turned it into a wave, and stepped back to his path. He chuckled all the way to the dean’s office.
Later, Sam settled into his chair in the library at Dunallon, for a satisfying read of Einstein’s latest letter. Their correspondence had become a source of deep enjoyment for him, and he thought, for Einstein as well. Without ever acknowledging, in so many words, that Sam and Casey had traveled through time, Einstein had simply started writing as if it were all true and a simple fact of life. This allowed them to discuss all the ramifications, all the theories, all the dangers inherent in living in another time.
Although his theories were still new, and he had not completely worked out his General Theory, Einstein leaned toward the idea that Sam’s experiment had created an alternate universe. In that case, he admitted, he couldn’t see the point of trying not to change things. From his point of view, the future hadn’t happened yet, so he was open to any suggestions.
Sam loved Einstein’s sense of humor and joviality. Their letters touched on all subjects, including their own lives, frustrations, and joys. Sam wrote often about Casey and Tom, eventually telling him about Titanic and what they were doing. This was in response to Einstein once again inviting Sam to visit, so they could meet and perhaps work together.
“I will come out one day,” he had written, “but not until this situation is resolved. I’m actively helping Tom with the ship and with what I know happened that night. And I can’t leave Casey to face this alone. She is already afraid, but if we fail… I will never be able to leave her. She will need me, and I will stay with her until I die.”
Chapter 31
March—November 1909
As she packed up her map of Belfast, with its gardens running all over town, Casey hoped that Mike Sloan would be too busy with work at the shipyard to attend the Society meeting. She’d been working on the plans for a year and she knew they were good. There was room for the other members to debate about specifics, but she wanted the locations to stay constant. The locations were the point.
Sam offered to go with her. “You realize it could get nasty. You could use some support.”
She hesitated. “That would be nice, but since you never have attended, it might look strange. As if I’m trying to intimidate them.”
He grinned. “I’m not usually called intimidating, but I see your point. Still…”
She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine. Will you read to Jamie for me?”
“Sure. I have a paper on “The Electric Properties of Steel” I’m sure he’d love.” Sam laughed with her, and waved her off to her meeting.
Sloan was there. Casey sighed and took her seat, holding her rolled-up plan on her lap and staring at it in consternation. A year spent working on it, and it would be so much simpler to just pretend it didn’t exist. To let it go. To live quietly…
“Goodness, dear. Is that your last will and testament?” Mrs. Herceforth sat next to her and cocked an eyebrow at the roll Casey held. “You’re looking at it like you’re terrified of it.”
Casey flushed and put the roll on the chair next to her. “I might be, at that,” she said noncommittally, unwilling to explain much. “Just some garden plans. I hope someone likes them.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will, dear. Your plans are so inventive, and we haven’t seen many of them lately.”
As Mrs. Herceforth chatted on, Casey nodded and looked around the room. They still met in the social hall of the First Presbyterian Church and the walls were adorned with pictures of Jesus with the children, with the disciples, and catching fish. A large fireplace supplied the only heat, which worked fine when the large congregation was present with food and activities, but the Horticultural Society, like most groups, had a small number of active members. The room was cold and Casey still wore her gloves and a warm cardigan, although she’d hung her cloak on one of the racks in the back. A few long tables were set up front with rows of chairs facing them. The president sat in front and called them to order. They began with announcements.
Her nervousness grew as the time for new presentations approached. She knew it was radical. She knew she was asking for trouble. She closed her eyes and went over the words she had prepared, hoping to keep the group calm. Hoping to help them see the beauty behind the plans.
Members were required to place their names on the agenda if they wanted to make a formal presentation. She had done this a week ago, and was pretty sure that’s why Mike Sloan had made an effort to attend. A stab of resentment went through her. Tom was working late nearly every night. Sloan should be working, too, instead of looking for ways to cause her trouble.
“Casey Andrews. We haven’t seen new plans from you for a long time. It will be good to see what you have.” The president beamed at Casey as she stood and moved to the front.
Don’t look at Sloan.
She managed a smile for the president and turned it on the group. “I’ve been working on something for a while, but just in my spare time. It’s based on work done in Berkeley when I was young. Younger,” she added as several of them tittered. She was, by far, the youngest member of the society. The joke had been unplanned, but it helped loosen her up and remember that most of them actually liked her. It also helped that her words were true. She had based her plan on work done when she was a teenager. It was just that the work was done in the 1990s and early 2000s. They had needed to tear up developed areas to free the streams that had been covered over in previous decades. She hoped, in part, to prevent Belfast from making the same mistake.
She held the roll like a cane, letting its end rest on the floor. She wasn’t ready to unroll it yet, as she went on with her explanation. “The idea was to preserve natural spaces within the city, and nurture the riparian areas. Like Belfast, Berkeley has many streams that run through the town. So my plans are based, firstly, on the geology and topography of Belfast, which is a wide area.” They were nodding, their faces reflecting their anticipation. Despite her resolve to not look at him, she saw Sloan narrow his eyes. He was suspicious.
“As I’ve learned working at the Botanic Gardens, landscaping works best when it’s incorporated into the whole. Isolated, exotic gardens require a much greater effort, and much more expense, to maintain. So…” she unrolled the plan and the president rose to hold one end of it for her.
The first murmurs were because of the scope of the plans. They had not expected to see the entire city represented. The silence that began to descend over the meeting happened as they realized her plan did, indeed, represent the entire city. All of it. Casey spoke quickly into the silence.
“I’ll leave it up here for you to peruse. I hope we can take the time to discuss it in full.”
“You already know we can’t allow this.” Mike Sloan spoke before anyone could move. “Don’t pretend it’s just another idea we can discuss.”
“I will pretend exactly that, Mr. Sloan,” Casey said. “This plan takes into account the watershed and native habitats as they already exist. I propose that we build on them, in ways that preserve them for future generations.”
Sloan stood and the vice-president tapped a gavel. “Mr. Sloan, you do not have the floor.”
“Well, I’m takin’ it,” Sloan retorted and he turned back to Casey. “Watersheds and natives are all fine, Mrs. Andrews. But ye must keep your plans in the correct areas. Take it home and fix that and then we’ll consider it.”