I give it another thirty seconds and then blink in. The cabin is chilly, so I toss the last log onto the fire and kneel on the floor, jabbing at the embers with the poker to get it going. It sputters and then flares up a bit when the front door swings open, creating a brief gust.
Kiernan comes in, carrying an armload of wood. He deposits it in the bin next to the fireplace before setting another log on top of the one I added. His limp, which was still visible when I left him with Martha, is now completely gone.
I want to ask him about Martha, but I don’t know who’s watching or maybe even listening. So I just stand there, waiting for him to speak first.
“What, no good morning?” He gives me a quick kiss on the lips. I stiffen automatically, but he whispers, “Play along, Kate.”
“Good morning. You just . . . caught me by surprise.” I give him a stiff smile and pull away, walking toward the room where my things are stored. “I need to get dressed for Athens.”
“Don’t you want to look at my notes first?”
“After I’m dressed.”
I realize as I close the door that Kiernan was probably trying to tell me something. But it would look suspicious to change my mind now, so I just tug off my jeans and T-shirt. The 1938 outfit is hanging in the closet, where I left it last time. There’s a sweater I don’t recognize, but I’m glad to see it, because it’s October here and this cabin is a bit drafty.
As I remove the dress from the hanger, it dips to one side, and I realize there’s something heavy in the pocket. It’s the pistol. I start to pull it out, but then I remember Kiernan cautioning me when we were training to always put the pistol on a flat surface. He said the safety on this model isn’t foolproof and it’s been known to go off accidentally when dropped. If Kiernan has hidden it in my pocket despite that warning, I probably need to keep it out of sight.
I step into the dress, a simple blue shirtwaist, and pull on the sweater, which is long enough to cover the pocket holding the gun. I stuff my phone in the only safe location I’ve found on these trips—my bra. Not comfortable, but unlikely to fall out. My glasses and the cloche hat are still in the dresser. The disguise is pointless now, but Prudence doesn’t know that I know, so I tuck my hair under the hat and push the stupid glasses onto my nose before joining Kiernan. He’s seated at the table, still in the same jeans and flannel shirt, reminding me, once again, that male time travelers have it really, really easy.
He pushes a sheet of paper across the table. “These are some notes I took while observing the stable points at the boardinghouse where Delia is staying.”
It’s just a few bullet points, most of which look like city and street names. Watkinsville is circled. The others are crossed out, but there are two that he’s both circled and crossed out.
“I’ve narrowed down where they’re going,” he says, his voice oddly formal. “Thought it might be one of these other spots, but I’m pretty sure it’s Watkinsville or just to the south.” He taps the word Watkinsville on the paper and then slides his finger down to where the word G’s Hollow is circled and then crossed through. Just below that is Colt Springs Rd., with the entire thing crossed out and just the word Colt circled.
“So, we go to Watkinsville,” I say. “Any clue where in Watkinsville?”
“No, but it’s a small town, and I know the road they’re taking and what they’re driving. We’ll wait till they’re near town, then pull out and follow them. Should be a snap. Like I said before, we were just spinning our wheels trying to get the keys in Athens.”
He stresses the last sentence very distinctly and looks straight at me as he says it.
I give him a confused smile and say, “Okay,” even though I don’t recall him ever saying anything of the sort. I get the message on the paper—Pru doesn’t know about the events at God’s Hollow or about the gun. But I’m not sure what he means by the comment about Athens.
“Okay, then let’s go,” I say, and start toward the door.
“Uh, Kate?” He’s looking at me, eyebrows raised, his expression slightly worried. “The truck is in 1938.”
“Right.” I give him a fake silly me smile and pull out my CHRONOS key. “You first.”
BOGART, GEORGIA
August 11, 1938, 10:00 a.m.
The cabin is warm, and I smell coffee. I glance around and see that everything is pretty much the same, aside from a new lamp in the living room. The kitchen table is empty, except for a newspaper with the headline “FDR to Speak at UGA Commencement” and a thermos with the words Icy-Hot on the side.
Kiernan taps the newspaper with his index finger. “Delia’s group will head out of Athens around ten thirty, during Roosevelt’s speech. FDR’s car goes through Watkinsville on the way to the next speech, over in Barnesville. I’m thinking their goal is to see how the locals react. FDR’s car may even stop there briefly—I don’t know.”
He holds the thermos out to me. “We may have to wait awhile. I didn’t jump ahead to check the exact times.”
“No problem. I’m sure you’ve been much too busy with other things.”
I tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum in that comment, but I must have failed, because Kiernan rolls his eyes.
“There’s no milk. Is that okay?”
I nod. Hopefully Kiernan’s coffee is better than his great-grandson’s.
He opens the back door, and I follow him out into the yard. The place is clearly a working farm now—several cows graze near the barn, and a tractor sits among the brown remnants in the cornfield. The paint on the shed has faded. An older man in a white shirt and overalls is perched on a small ladder beneath one of the peach trees, which have grown considerably since 1911.
Two dogs, a collie and some sort of mixed breed, rest in the sun a few feet away. When the door closes behind us, they begin barking. The man looks over and waves one arm as he climbs down from the ladder.
Kiernan groans. “I was hoping we could avoid Bill. If he asks, you’re at the university. I just drove you out here to see the cabin before we go back into town to hear FDR.”
We walk toward the shed where the man is now waiting, a canvas bag, half full of peaches, slung over his shoulder. He pulls off his cap and stuffs it into his pocket. “Boy, you sure do look like yore daddy. I know I tell you that most ever’ time I see you, but it’s like the good Lord made a carbon copy when he made you.” His eyes slide over to me. “And who is this purty young lady?”
“This is Kate Keller, Mr. Owens. She’s in one of my classes, and I brought her out to look at the farm before we head over to hear Roosevelt’s speech.”
Owens looks surprised and starts to say something. Then he changes his mind, giving Kiernan a smile and a wink before glancing back over at me.
“It’s a right pleasure to meet you, Miss Keller. I’ll let you young people get on with your day, but here—” He reaches into the canvas bag and pulls out two peaches, handing them to Kiernan. “Y’all need to take some of these peaches. We had a bumper crop this year, more’n Alice knows what to do with. I’ll have her bring by a few jars she put up, now that you’ll be around a bit more often, with the school year startin’. Maybe some of her pickles and plum jam, too.”
“I would certainly appreciate that, Mr. Owens, if it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble. No trouble at all.” Owens reaches into the bag and pulls out two more peaches. “Here’s a few for you to take back to your dorm, young lady. Y’all have a good time, an’ give ol’ FDR my regards.”
“Would those be your good regards or the other variety?” Kiernan asks.