"He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare.
And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere." --Ali ibn-Abi-Talib
The coast was clear.
Verne Brown smiled in satisfaction and turned to his brother, Jules, standing at the top of the stairs. He ran, taking the steps two at a time to join his sibling. "Mom's distracted," he reported. "She's in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor. An' Dad's in the lab working on something."
Jules nodded once. "Good." He surveyed the stairway. "If my calculations are correct, we should come to a stop shortly before the front door," he said. "But if not, we've got those pillows stacked for backup."
Verne grinned. "This is going to be so cool!" he enthused. " I never knew you could think of things like this!"
Jules shrugged modestly. "Perhaps I've never been this bored before to think of something so... childish."
The eight-year-old settled down in the plastic laundry basket at the top of the stairs, his knees nearly touching his chin, gripping the edges firmly. "Okay, I'm ready," he said after a moment.
Jules stepped behind the basket and gave his younger brother a firm shove. The plastic slipped along the carpet runner, teetering for a moment on the top step... then gravity pulled it down the remaining twenty steps. Verne held on tightly as the makeshift sled bumped down the stairs with teeth-rattling thunks -- then he was skidding across the entryway, straight for the front door! He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing his body for the impact. A moment later he felt a soft bump. Verne opened his eyes to see the basket resting against the pillows.
"Yes!" he cheered, jumping to his feet and pumping one fist into the air. "It worked!"
"I told you it would," Jules called from the second floor landing.
The blond grabbed the basket and ran back up the stairs. "Okay, fine, you made your point," he agreed.
Jules took the basket from Verne when he reached the landing. "My turn," he said, preparing for the ride. Verne pushed him off and watched him go down the steps, coming to a stop at the pillows. Jules stood up, brushed himself off, then returned to the second floor with the basket.
"I'm gonna to get a running start this time," Verne announced as Jules gave him the laundry basket. His brother frowned at the idea.
"I don't know if that'd be the wisest choice," he said. "I never took additional speed into account when we planned this out."
Verne wasn't worried. "The pillows are there," he said. "I think those'll stop me."
Jules considered things a moment, then sighed and stepped out of the way. "Better not break anything -- like your neck," he warned.
Verne backed up until he was ten feet away from the top of the stairs. Then, with his hands bracing the sides of the basket, the boy pushed the hamper as he ran, pausing a moment to jump into it just before it started it's decent. Right away, he knew he had made a bad move; he had far too much momentum. The basket tipped forward, nearly ejecting him headfirst down the stairs. Verne gasped and leaned back, able to compensate for the tilting. But the basket picked up more speed then he had intended. It hit the first floor, skidding past the pillow safety net... straight towards a small table set near the front door, where a vase of freshly cut flowers were set!
"No!" Verne gasped, throwing his hands over his face and squeezing his eyes shut. A moment later there was impact. The basket slammed hard into the table, the blond felt a whoosh of air to his left, and seconds later heard the angry sound of the vase shattering on the hardwood floor.
"Mom's gonna be mad," Jules said calmly from the top of the stairs as Verne lowered his arms and opened his eyes to survey the damage. "Maybe we should go outside now...."
Too late. The kitchen door down the hallway swung open, revealing a tired, frazzled Clara Brown. She took one look at the broken vase, her son squashed into one of her laundry baskets, and the pillows piled up at the base of the front door, put things together in her head, then scowled darkly at her youngest son.
"Verne Newton Brown, what has possessed you?" she demanded, making a beeline to where he sat, trapped. Verne gulped; any time his full name was used in that kind of tone he was in really big trouble! He shrank back, away from his mother's hot glare and the damning evidence on the floor.
"It was Jules's idea," he blurted out. When it doubt, slide the blame elsewhere.
His mother's eyes flashed, giving her a rather dangerous look to the children she had borne. She looked up to the top of the stairs, empty, now. Jules, no doubt, had cut and run. "Jules Eratothenes! You come down here this moment, young man!"
Jules appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, his expression one of pure, confused innocence. "Yes, Mother?"
Clara gestured to the stairs and the foyer, including Verne and the vase in her sweep. "What have you been setting up? You know that roughhousing in this house is forbidden, especially on the stairs!"
Jules shrugged under the molten gaze. "Well, I just had an idea, a theory, and merely relayed it to Verne. He's the one who wanted to take it further than the drawing board."
Verne wrestling himself free of the plastic basket and jumped to his feet. "Hey, don't blame me for everything!" he objected. "If you didn't wanna do it, then why'd you even tell me about it in the first place?"
Clara shook her finger at the boys. "I don't care who's idea this was!" she said, stooping down to look at the shattered remains of the vase. "Your father gave me this vase on our fifth wedding anniversary," she said, her tone one of remorse. "And now it's ruined." She sighed, and Verne wondered if he and his brother might be able to creep away then, but all at once she looked back up to her sons. "You're both in hot water," she warned. "Whatever were you doing?"
Verne sighed, figuring he might as well not lie. "We were sledding down the stairs," he said, reluctantly.
His mother blinked. "What on earth made you think that was a good idea?"
"Well, there's nothing else to do," Verne muttered.
Clara glanced towards the front door. "It's a nice day outside. I think it would be best if you both pursued such activities in the outdoors -- and not in the house!"
"It's too hot, though," her youngest moaned. "It's over a hundred out! Check the thermometer if you don't believe me."
"Yeah, it's too muggy outside," Jules added. "We'd rather enjoy the luxury of air conditioning."
Clara opened her mouth to say something else. Before she could, however, the power flickered. Back in the kitchen the sound of the dishwasher stopped for a moment, as did the washer and dryer down the hall, and the cool whoosh of air from the vents paused.
Then, a second later, the appliances clicked on to full power again. Clara sighed and wiped a strand of damp, frizzy hair from her eyes.
"Your father better have enough sense not to knock the power out today," she half muttered, straightening up. "Verne, fetch the broom and clean this up. Jules, put those pillows back on the couch and the laundry basket back on the dryer. Then I want you both to go outside until suppertime before I regret not grounding you to your rooms the rest of today."
Verne sighed at this punishment. Frankly, he'd rather be stuck in his room than wilt outside in the heat. But the look on Mom's face told him not to push his luck by being smart. He went for the broom, instead.
* * *
"Well, folks, as you can see, it's another hot one today. The thermometer outside says it's a whopping a hundred and fifteen degrees! I hope you're staying cool. Now let's kick back with this hit from the summer of '85! It's Bryan Adams, Summer of '69, here on KKHV!"
Emmett Brown sat in his lab at one of the tables, frowning into the depths of his latest experiment and creation. After a moment of quiet study, he picked up a small soldering tool and used it to connect a couple wires together. He was fairly oblivious to the sound of the radio playing nearby, or of his friend's presence in the room, until the latter spoke up.
"What are you trying to do, anyway, Doc?"
The scientist didn't look up from his work. "I'm completing some of the last adjustments on this invention, verifying the connections and the like."
Marty McFly stood from the chair where he had been sitting quietly in the lab since his arrival, about a half hour ago, and leaned over for a look. "What's that supposed to do, anyway?"
Doc set down the soldering tool and reached for some needle-nose pliers. "I'm attempting to construct a holographic device that projects a realistic apparition."
"Huh?"
Doc sighed, doing his best to keep his hand steady as he made a delicate adjustment. "I'm trying to make a device that will create the illusion of holograms."
Marty leaned forward even more to examine the device. "You mean like one of those 3-D things in The Jetsons?"
"Something like that," Doc said. "Will you hand me that small screwdriver over there?"
Marty picked up the tool Doc requested and passed it to the inventor before returning to his chair, at the end of the table. He watched his friend silently for a moment before resuming a conversation that had been covered earlier already.
"Do you think Jennifer really misses me, like I do with her?" he asked, picking his guitar up from the end of the table and idly strumming the strings.
"I'm sure. Just because she hasn't written you for a couple weeks means nothing."
A pause. "Maybe. But she was sending at least two or three letters a week 'til a couple weeks back." Another pause. "She could've met someone else....."
"Somehow I doubt that," Doc said as patiently as he could. Jennifer Parker had opted to spent her summer working at a sleepaway camp a hundred and fifty miles away, near the border of Oregon. After the first month of her absence had passed, in the middle of July, Marty had started to do a fair bit of moping around, with Doc hearing all about it more than he would like. This stoppage of letters had thrown the teen into a near frenzy of worrying, but the inventor thought that Jennifer had simply gotten too busy or distracted to write much and wasn't harboring ulterior motives or hidden messages with her lack of correspondence. "If you're concerned badly enough, you could go and visit her...."
"Nope, or I would've. The summer camp she's at doesn't like people dropping by for visits unless it's those once a month family visitation weekends -- and that was almost three weeks ago, near the middle of July." Marty sighed again, continuing to fuss with his guitar strings. "You know, I don't think we've ever been apart this long before. I don't know why she took that job.... I mean, yeah, it paid well, but...."
"She might've simply for the experience. And you know what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Marty chuckled, the sound devoid of any amusement. "If I grow any fonder for Jen, I might enroll at the camp myself, even though I've got five years over the oldest campers."
A spark snapped out of one of the wires and shocked Doc's finger. He jerked his hand back, cursing softly. "Damn."
"Even if she can't write now, she could always call," Marty continued, oblivious to Doc's distraction. "She did a couple times before. So I don't get it. Maybe she doesn't miss me as much as I miss her...."
"Why don't you take on more hours at the music store," Doc suggested, his finger still smarting as he shook it vigorously in the air. "Keep yourself busy until she returns.... when is that, anyway?"
"Saturday, August twenty third," Marty said. "Three weeks from now." He moaned softly, burying his face in his hands. "Might as well be three years."
"What about your band?" Doc asked in hopes of changing the subject, returning to make the last connections on the holographic generator. "How's that going this summer?"
"The guys have been outta town a lot this month, family vacations and stuff." Marty heaved yet another sigh. "We got a gig last week, which was good, but Jen wasn't there and she's always at our shows! I really missed her that night!"
"Uh huh," Doc said, making the last connection to the innards of the machine. "There! I think that should do it!"
Marty blinked, looking mildly offended. "Doc! You weren't even listening to me, were you?"
"Yes, I was," Doc said, screwing the back cover over the circuitry. "You miss Jennifer. Believe me, I know that."
"Yeah, well..." Marty was silent for a moment as Doc plugged in the invention again. The last time he had tried to turn it on the power had flickered dangerously, threatening to extinguish entirely if he tried to keep the thing on. Now, however, he believed he'd located the problem so there wouldn't be a repeat.
"Stand back and cross your fingers," he said to Marty, preparing to turn it on. "If this works, it will mean fantastic things for concealment of the time machines! They could be virtually invisible to the eyes of those unaware of time travel and we won't have as many problems keeping them out of sight."
Marty set his guitar down again and slid out of the chair, getting closer for a better look at the experiment. Doc reached around to the back of the tabletop gadget and flipped the switch.
The machine hummed to life, the glow of the work lights above remaining steady and bright. In the air directly above the device there was a kind of... ripple. Then, slowly fading in, was a three dimensional image of a vase. The view experienced a little static interference, but Doc was certain a few minor adjustments would correct that. Aside from the static, the image appeared wholly there and completely solid. Marty, staring at it in wonder, reached out with one hand and ran it through the illusion.
"Weird," he murmured.
"It works!" Doc exclaimed with a broad grin. "Well, now, all that's left is--"
His words were interrupted by a sudden buzzing sound emitting from the hologram. Smoke started to rise from the back of the invention. The image of the vase flickered, then faded away.
It's overloading! Doc realized in alarm, reaching over to unplug the device. His fingers were still a few inches away from the black cord when a shower of sparks erupted from the electrical wall socket with a loud pop! Doc jerked his hand back, startled. Marty gasped, throwing his arms over his face and hopping a few steps back
The inventor watched in horror as the other electrical sockets in the room blew out sparks, all the way down the line to the circuit breaker box by the door, in an out-of-control chain reaction.
"No!" Doc cried, realizing what was about to happen. He took a step forward, but that was as far as he got before the overload reached the main power box for his property. His feet nearly tripped over themselves as he backed away. "Get down, Marty!" he yelled, grabbing the teen by the arm and pulling him to the floor as he ducked behind one of the tables.
The metal box blew open with a thunderous noise, a ominous boom that shook the floor of the lab. The sound of shattering glass split the air as two of the windows disintegrated. Sparks were propelled halfway across the room from the blast. The noise of the explosion hadn't yet faded before the power clicked off. The radio gave a dying gasp, falling silent. The air conditioner set in one of the now-shattered windows stopped running. The gooseneck lamp Doc had been using to make the fine adjustments with the holographic projector, as well as the lights above, winked off. Silence settled in the lab, and the air was hazy with smoke.
Doc raised his head first, his expression already tensed in anticipation of the worst. Flames were licking the wall with the main circuit box and he leapt to his feet quickly, making a beeline for the fire extinguisher mounted next to the door.
"Holy shit, Doc!" Marty exclaimed from behind, having apparently taken his own gander at the damage. "What the hell just happened?"
Doc didn't answer immediately, too distracted by spraying the white extinguisher foam over the twisted, melted circuit breakers, smoking and flaming. Thankfully, they went out quickly. "Extreme power surge created by the holographic device," he finally said, stepping back and loosening his grip on the extinguisher handle as the flames went out. "It overloaded everything."
"You can say that again!" Marty agreed, creeping up behind the scientist for a look at the power box. He whistled softly. "Good thing I didn't have my guitar plugged in."
Doc set the extinguisher down on the worktable and eyeballed the entire mess for the first time. He groaned aloud. The repairs would take a few weeks to make, at least! Half the electrical sockets were destroyed and nearly every device plugged into the shorted power sockets was also damaged, some of it probably irreparable, if the smoke whisping out from them was any indication.
"When you do an overload, you really do it," Marty said after an awkward silence. "I don't think I've seen things this bad since you were messing around with power experiments for the first DeLorean. How much juice did that hologram thing need, anyway?"
"I think you can gather that from this mess," Doc said, gesturing to the distraction. He sighed again as he headed for one of the unbroken windows, smoke still thick in the upper portion of the barn. "I just hope none of this spread into the house...."
The door to the lab flew open suddenly, nearly hitting Marty, who had crept closer to the smoky mass on the wall. Clara rushed inside, followed closely by a curious Jules and Verne. "Emmett, what happened?' she asked. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the sight and smell of the smoke, and the blackened electrical sockets. "Oh my goodness! Is anyone hurt?"
"Marty and I are fine," Doc assured his wife, pushing up one of the windows and taking a welcome breath of fresh air. "The holographic projector overloaded during one of the trial runs I was giving it. Shorted out the entire powerbox." He gestured to that now-unrecognizable device.
"Wow!" Verne exclaimed as he caught sight of it. He scrambled next to Marty, still looking at the blown panel in amazement. Marty grabbed the curious boy's hand as it snaked out to touch the still-hot remains. "That's so cool!"
"It is not cool!" Clara said, frowning for a moment at Verne. She looked back to her husband. "All the power in the house is out, too. Do you have any idea on how long it will take to restore?"
Doc glanced at the remains of the circuits breakers and ran a hand through his tangled white hair. "Well, conservatively speaking... a few days?"
This was met with immediate protests. "That's not amusing, Father," Jules said, frowning. "We're in the midst of a record heat wave this week, or haven't you noticed?"
"Oh, I'm quite serious. I honestly think it will take a few days to repair -- at the very least." Doc frowned as he stepped forward for a closer look at the power box. "It might very well take up to a week."
"A week!" Verne cried, looking up in dismay. "How come so long?"
The scientist gestured to the trail of destruction the power surge had left with the electrical sockets and devices. "This thing has completely slagged and shorted out the electrical wires in this portion of the room. I'll need to rip out the damage and replace it... as well as the entire power box and circuit breakers for our property."
Jules and Verne groaned loudly. Clara, too, did not look pleased. "Emmett, you should know better than to conduct experiments that might have this result when we're so reliant on the electricity," she said, rather annoyed.
"Wait a minute," Marty said, speaking up for the first time since Doc's family had arrived on the scene. "I thought you guys used to live in the 1890s. Shouldn't you be used to not having power?"
At those words, Clara's face flushed with obvious embarrassed. Jules and Verne, however, showed no such remorse.
"We didn't have this stuff every day, so we didn't use it every day," Verne explained reasonably, glancing at Marty. "But now we do and we can't get along without it."
Marty raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. "Oh really? Then why do you like time travel so much? Going to past times without things like electricity and TV and all that?"
Verne opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. He looked flustered. "Well," he finally said, "those are vacations! Those are different; it's like camping."
Marty shrugged. "So, think of it like camping for a week."
Jules snorted softly. "Real fun, in this heat."
Doc appreciated Marty's efforts to help, but he had a better idea. "Look, I'll telephone the power company now and get an estimate on how long this will take to repair. Maybe things will be back up and running by tomorrow -- who knows?"
"But what if it is out a week?" Jules wanted to know. "I can't see us feeling very comfortable in this weather without electric fans, at the very least."
"I'll come up with an alternative, then, don't worry about that," Doc said, rather mysteriously. He could tell he had piqued the curiosity of his family members, but offered no other clues beyond that, for now. Instead, he left the smokey and hazy lab for the house and telephone.
"Thank you," Doc said fifteen minutes later, hanging up the phone. He closed his eyes a moment, leaning his forehead against the wall, then took a breath to prepare himself for the spillage of news -- news that would surely be met with more than one complaint. After a moment, he turned to face his family and Marty, waiting around the kitchen table. Already, the temperature had risen several degrees in the house, making it stuffy and uncomfortable.
"Well," the inventor began, a trifle reluctant, "the good news is that the power company's supposed to send someone out here."
"What's the bad news?" Clara asked, wise to her husband's ploy.
"Ah... well, the company's not doing that until later this week, perhaps Tuesday. And based on my descriptions of what happened, they think it may be a week from now before power is fully restored."
Jules and Verne groaned loudly and simultaneously at this information. Clara looked as if she wanted to join them, but instead she simply sighed. "What do you propose we do until then? Stay in a hotel? We certainly cannot stay here. Without power we can't cook, the refrigerator won't keep the food...."
Doc held up his hand to head off her words. "I realize that," he said calmly. "Which is why I thought a little jaunt back in time might help. We can settle things here -- clean out the refrigerator so the food won't be spoiled, arrange for the power company to conduct the repairs with my needing to be there -- and return a week from now. By that time the power should be restored and perhaps this heat wave will have dissipated."
The boys immediately stopped scowling. "Yeah!" Verne said, his face lighting up. "Can we go somewhere where it's snowing? Please?"
Doc smiled at his son's enthusiasm. "I'll see what I can do."
Clara still didn't seem too pleased. "Just how long will we be in the past? An afternoon? Overnight?"
"I thought about week might be good," Doc said. "That way we won't feel too off when we return. And I think we could all use a vacation of sorts."
Marty cleared his throat, then, looking a little nervous. Doc turned his eyes over to him, sitting quietly at the far end of the table. "Uh, Doc? I know this may be a little out of line, but... can I come too?"
Doc blinked at Marty. "Why?"
Marty looked a little uncomfortable, perhaps misinterpreting Doc's clipped question as irritation, not simply surprise. "Well, I figured maybe it'll take my mind off Jennifer being gone. And things are really dull here this summer. I could use some excitement."
"As exciting as things were with our last trip?" Doc asked, raising an eyebrow. At the thought of that long ordeal, the scientist felt a shiver creep down his spine. A month had passed since an Emmett Brown from an alternate world had arrived in their present and stolen his family and train time machine, but Doc didn't think he would ever forget those terrible hours and what they had all gone through as long as he lived.
Marty grew a little pale at Doc's reminder. He reached up and rubbed his left shoulder, where he had taken a bullet during that chase. The wound had healed cleanly since, not impacting his guitar-playing ability in the least. "No, not like that!" he said quickly. "I just mean... well, you know, it would be nice to get away from things here for a week."
Doc looked at his family. "I have no objections to it. Do any of you?"
Clara and the boys apparently did not. Doc glanced back to Marty. "You can tag along with us, then. Just be sure that you get permission from your family to be gone for a week in this time."
"Don't worry about that," Marty said. "I think they'll be glad to see me get out of the house and stop moping about Jen's absence."
That decided, Doc started to pace across the kitchen floor, thinking about the unforeseen trip. "We can leave tonight, after nine thirty," he announced. "It's close enough to sunset, then, and by that time I think we'll all be ready to go. The house'll most likely be an oven by then. Since the boys want some winter weather, I think we could go back to the winter months in the midwest -- it almost always snows during that time."
"When will we be going to?" Jules asked.
"I believe the middle of the Nineteenth Century will suffice. I'll get right on finding a town with an inn where we can all stay at. And I'll be certain to choose a location that'll have snow on the ground."
"Can we bring a sled?" Verne asked, looking excited with the prospect of snow.
Doc shook his head. "No, I don't think so. You boys only have plastic sleds, don't you?"
"We have that old metal and wood one that we got for Christmas in 1892," Jules said. "Remember?"
Clara shuddered. "That thing is a death trap."
"No it's not," Verne said, frowning. "If we can't bring a sled, can we get one back there? I wanna go sledding!"
"We'll see," the inventor sighed, wondering if sleds would even be available where they would be. He looked to Marty. "Why don't you go home now and straighten everything out with your family and all the other loose ends that you need to tie up for this week? You could tell everyone you're going camping with us and'll be out of reach 'til next Saturday night. Would that be enough of an excuse?"
Marty nodded, standing up. "What time do you want me back here?"
"Nine would be good. If you'd like, you can park your truck in the lab where the DeLorean usually sits."
Marty frowned, pausing mid-step. "We're taking the DeLorean?"
Doc shook his head again. "Great Scott, no! You can't fix five people into that car -- and that's not even counting the luggage! No, we're taking the train. But if men from the power company are going to be poking around in my lab, I'm going to move the DeLorean. I was thinking about keeping it in the space where the train usually resides. No one around here knows about that."
"Okay. Sounds good."
Marty left the house through the back door. As he stepped outside Einstein, Doc's dog, slipped inside around his ankles, perhaps in the hopes of discovering the cool breeze of air conditioning. Finding that lacking, as well as his entire family gathered together in the same room when it wasn't a mealtime, he stopped a foot inside to stare quizzically at the humans, dodging the door as Marty pulled it closed behind him. The blond boy grinned at the dog's arrival and gestured for him to come over, though he looked up a moment later at his parents, his face sober.
"What are we gonna do about Einie while we're gone a week?" Verne asked, leaning over to pet the dog once the animal trotted obediently over.
Doc hadn't thought about that just yet. "I'll come up with something. Maybe one of the neighbors can watch him."
"Why can't he come with us?" Jules asked.
Recalling his first trip in his time machine -- to 2015 -- when he had taken Einstein with him, Doc sighed. "It's not as easy as you might think to take a dog along with you."
"How come?" Verne asked. "Einstein won't hurt nobody."
"That's not necessarily the point. What if where we stay has objections to animals being brought in?"
"We could drop him off at the vet's for the week," Clara suggested. Verne turned to her with a horrified expression.
"He'll hate it there, all cooped up for a week!" he said passionately. "Why can't we just take 'im with us?"
Doc sighed. "We don't know exactly what we'll be facing back there," he said. "I'd like Einstein to come along as much as you would, but his presence could create too many problems and a lot more hassle than we need."
"Come on, Dad, please," Verne pleaded. "I don't remember him comin' with us on any trip!"
Doc rubbed his forehead, getting a headache. "There was a reason for that, Verne."
"I don't think it'd hurt," Jules added, getting into the act. "Einstein's very well trained."
Doc looked to Clara for some support. She stared back at him and shrugged. "It's up to you, Emmett," she said. "I don't really have an objection to it. I think if the boys promised to watch the dog and take care of him on this one excursion" -- she cast a meaningful look at Jules and Verne -- "Einstein could follow along."
Doc sighed again, knowing he was outnumbered. "Okay, okay, the dog can come," he said to the kids. "But your mother is right -- it's going to be your responsibility to watch him."
Jules and Verne grinned. "Thanks," Verne added, turning to Einstein. "You hear that, boy? You get to come with us!"
Einstein let out a bark and wagged his tail, grinning a canine grin. The scientist smiled in spite of himself, then turned back to the phone on the wall. "I've gotta make some more phone calls about the repairs, and do some research and discover the best destination for us if we want to get outta here on time."
* * *
Marty McFly slammed shut the door to his truck and trudged across the dried lawn towards Doc's darkened lab. Although the sun was setting, castling long shadows around the yard, the temperature still hovered in the eighties. No matter what happened or where they were going, Marty couldn't help feeling happy that he was getting away from the stifling heat for a while.
And it'll be even better killing a week, Marty thought, frowning at the thought of his girlfriend and her too-long absence. God, he missed her so much! The teen was half tempted to ask Doc if they could take her along for the trip, but he knew his friend would almost definitely nix that idea -- it 'd be too difficult getting her away from the camp without being seen and her presence would be severely missed for a week. Not to mention that Jennifer didn't really like time traveling that much. Still, they hadn't seen each other in such a while... and why had her letters stopped lately?
"Forget it, McFly," Marty muttered to himself, trying to push the persistent thoughts out of his head. If nothing else, he was looking forward to being distracted and getting his mind off the Jennifer thing. Secretly, he hoped at least something exciting would happen where they were going -- not as exciting as the whole mess with Doc B, but better than being out in an old inn with snow and no electricity.
As Marty drew closer to Doc's lab, he noticed the large double doors were gaping wide open. The inventor had rigged up a couple Coleman camping lanterns in the former barn, illuminating it as well he could. Doc apparently spotted Marty's approach; he met the teen in the wide doorway.
"Good, you're early," he said. "I was just about to start moving the time machines. Did your parents agree to letting you go?"
Marty nodded. "They were more than happy to hear that I was getting out of the house for the week. And I had no problem getting other guys to cover my shifts at the store." He sighed, his mind slipping to Jennifer once more. "They all think a little vacation would help me stop dwelling on Jen."
"I think that sounds wise," Doc said quickly, almost as if he was eager for a change of subject. "Listen, can I trouble you to move the DeLorean? I need to take care of some more things before we can leave. I've already moved the train outside -- I think the dusk and trees will keep it out of sight for an hour or so."
"Sure, no problem."
Doc handed Marty the keys to the sports car. "Do you know where the exit for the train is?"
"Vaguely. I don't think I actually saw the spot, but I remember you told me once that it was out there somewhere in those woods... what, a quarter mile?"
Doc nodded. "Just take the car into the air and head in that direction." He waved towards the back of the property. "You should be able to see the clearing. Clara's out there and she's got on a light colored dress and a flashlight, which should act as a good signal."
"Aren't you afraid of people seeing the car?"
"Not in the few minutes it'll take for you to move it. It can't be helped, anyway. Just be careful."
"Of course." Marty reached into his pocket and pulled out his small collection of keys. "Can you move my truck into your lab, then, and save me the trip back?" he asked.
Certainly." Doc checked his watch as he took the keys from his friend. "Once you reach the clearing, I think we'll be just about ready to go. The rest of the family is already waiting with the train. I'll be along, myself, shortly."
"Okay." Marty headed for the DeLorean, twirling the keyring around one finger rather absentmindedly as he went. Doc stopped him before he got all the way there, however.
"Wait! You need to change first!"
Marty turned. "Now?"
"Unless you want to do that in the middle of the woods.... I believe Clara set your clothes in the ground floor bathroom of the house. Once you change, then you can move the car."
"Sure, whatever."
Marty veered off to the house to change, finding the clothes exactly where Doc said they would be. He quickly traded his shorts, sneakers, and t-shirt for brown wool slacks, a white cotton shirt, a tan wool vest, boots, and a heavy dark grey jacket, which he held onto but did not put on. It was uncomfortable enough without the coat, but Marty guessed he'd appreciate it later, once they got to wherever it was they were going.
Doc wasn't outside to listen to his complaints when he went out to move the DeLorean. Getting inside and starting the car gave the teen a really weird feeling, almost as if he was forgetting something.
Of course you are, he realized with a bit of a shock. You've never really been in here to just drive the car around, and not travel through time, too.
Marty pulled the car out of the lab, until it had cleared the building successfully, then activated the hover circuits to rise above the roof and treeline. He drove slowly and as close as he could get to the tops of the trees, afraid of missing the clearing that Doc had assured him he couldn't pass up. He ended up passing right over it once, only catching sight of a glimmer of light in the rearview mirror with a casual glance back. Throwing the car into reverse, he backed up, looked down, and saw Clara waving a flashlight up at him. It was quick work to land the car.
As Doc had promised, the train was outside, resting on ancient-looking tracks leading into a pair of large doors set at a forty five degree angle into the ground. Marty set the car down at the edge of the clearing, uncertain of how he was going to get into the space and deciding to leave that to Doc. Clara smiled at him from where she stood near the train, a slip of paper in one hand. She was dressed in a gown from the last century, in a light lavender color, her long hair pinned up under a hat.
"Did Emmett tell you our destination yet?" Clara asked as Marty headed over in her direction.
The teen shook his head. "I don't really know costume history that well to guess. Is it still the midwest in the middle of the 1800s?"
Clara nodded. "Emmett found a wonderful inn located in Stange, Ohio. It's in the southern part of the state, a couple miles from the Ohio River. He decided we'll arrive there in January of 1855."
"Why then?"
The former teacher shrugged. "I'm sure he has his reasons." She looked down at the slip of paper in her hand, frowning faintly. Marty leaned over, trying to figure out what had her attention captivated.
"What's that? A shopping list?"
"A list of clothing that we'll need. We'll be staying there for a week and can't simply take one change of clothes." Clara sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "It's up to me to locate the items in the sizes he has here, but I just can't think of any place where we can find this many things. We simply don't have this much."
"Why don't you just find one of everything, then when we're back there we can buy some more?" Marty suggested.
"I've thought about that, and I think that's what we'll have to do. The boys want to use a sled while we're back there, and we'll need to buy that. Emmett already assured me that the town has a general store."
Jules and Verne emerged then from the dark depths of the underground storage lair, where the train normally resided, Einstein on their heels. "Do we really have to wear those old clothes?" Verne asked, making a face. "It's too hot to wear pants!"
Marty hid a smile, silently agreeing with the kid. "You'll be grateful for them once we're back in Ohio," Clara said without looking up from the list. "And yes, we all must dress in the fashions of the times. You know that."
"You'll get a sled out of the deal as well," Doc said, suddenly appearing from behind the boys, having apparently changed, too, since Marty had last seen him. "Did you finish collecting the clothes together?" he asked Clara.
"I don't think there's any way I can find more than the garments we're already in. We'll have to buy additional clothing at the store back there."
"All right." Doc pulled out a pad of paper from his pocket and ran his finger down an apparent list. "Let's see.... The power company's been contacted. They'll have someone out here on Tuesday and are supposed to have things back up by Friday afternoon. I locked up the house, the lab is secure, your truck's in there now, Marty.... Looks like the only thing left to do is to put the DeLorean away, then we should be set to go."
"Are you sure there's gonna be snow on the ground?" Verne asked his father as Doc stepped towards the DeLorean.
"You've got my word," Doc assured his son. "There should be at least a foot of it on the ground."
"A foot!" Verne repeated, sounding awed. He turned to his brother. "Wow, we could make the coolest sledding tracks!"
Jules nodded, looking excited himself. "Absolutely!"
"An' snowmen an' snowforts!" Verne added.
Doc tapped Marty on the shoulder. "Could I have the keys to the DeLorean?"
Marty handed them over. Doc quickly got into the DeLorean, started it, activated the hover conversion, then eased it slowly -- in reverse -- towards the dark hole in the ground where the train usually resided. It vanished into the pool of darkness, the glow of the headlights the only thing visible. Those, too, winked out after a second as the car was stopped and touched down.
The scientist returned to the clearing a moment later. "Marty, can you help me with these doors?" he asked, stepping over to the large slabs of wood and steel that were propped open.
"Sure," Marty said, hurrying over. He took one side and Doc took the other. Marty gasped as he started to push it; the door weighed a ton! With a lot of pushing and a little grunting he managed to get his side shut without hurting himself -- although his left shoulder, where he had been wounded by an alternate Emmett Brown about five weeks earlier, started to ache in a way Marty had become accustomed to the last several weeks. The ache had come less and less as the weeks passed, but it'd still flare up when he was unusually tired or did any hard physical work.
Once the doors were shut, Doc picked up a heavy length of chain and wound it through the metal handles of the doors, securing it with a large padlock. Then, as if the lock wasn't enough protection, he took some branches from the trees and bushes nearby and laid them across the door, until it was well concealed.
"Do you really think someone's gonna come back here and stumble on this setup?" Marty asked, rubbing his sore shoulder.
"Better safe then sorry," Doc said. "I still haven't gotten around to fencing in the wooded property. It's always possible that someone could wander over here on a hike, notice the train tracks leading to the cellar doors, and wonder what was going on."
Marty guessed that was a reasonable concern. He opened his mouth to ask something else, about whether or not Doc ever worried about airplanes spotting the clearing and the tracks, when the sight of Einstein sniffing around Jules and Verne's ankles distracted him. "Hey, didn't you guys forget something? What are you going to do about the dog while you're gone for the week?"
"Einie's coming with us on this trip," Doc said, checking his pocket watch. He had to hold it close to his eyes to read the numbers; the sun had set about ten minutes ago and darkness was descending swiftly in the woods.
"Really?" Marty was amazed.
"The boys were very convincing in their arguments over the matter," Clara said. "But they had to be equally convincing in their promises to take care of him." She gave them a meaningful look as she spoke.
"But do you think that's okay?" Marty asked. "Taking a dog back in time?"
"Einstein's traveled through time before with no ill results," Doc said. "He'll be fine. And I already checked with the inn we're staying at, to make sure he could be with us."
"Can we go now?" Verne asked, a bit of a whine to his voice, tugging at his collar. "These clothes're really hot!"
"They won't be in Ohio, trust me," Doc said, finally heading for the train and climbing aboard. The rest of them quickly followed with no prodding. Marty watched as his friend set their destination to:
Marty realized the last time this time machine had been used was during the entire mess with Doc B. Incredibly coincidence with the last time departed, he reflected, realizing that 22:04 in Military time was actually 10:04 P.M. I wonder if Doc ever noticed that?
"Brace yourself for the departure," Doc warned, closing the door. Clara, Jules, and Verne had already taken the seat at the back, so Marty stood up against the side, across from the door, taking a hold on a conveniently placed railing. Einstein lay down at his feet, as if he knew what was coming. The train lurched into the air a moment later, rose up past the tree line, then headed off into the past.
Doc finished setting the time circuits on the train and stepped back. "The time machine'll return six days from now, at noon, at this exact location," he called out to the others, waiting in the snow outside.
"Are you sure you want it appearing in the middle of the afternoon?" Marty asked doubtfully.
"I don't think it'll matter out here, now," the scientist said, gesturing to their surroundings. They were perhaps a couple miles from the center of town. Flat prairie wilderness and snow would be their only witnesses to the train's coming and going.
Doc finished flipping the correct switches and hopped down from the cab of the train, closing the door and rapidly putting several feet of distance between himself and the time machine. "Get back," he told the others, gesturing widely with his arms to hammer his point home. Marty and Clara were the only ones really close by; Jules and Verne had already occupied themselves with a snowball fight of sorts several dozen feet away, with Einstein joining in the fun.
A moment later the train chugged to life, rose back to the air, and accelerated, vanishing in a blast of white light and fire trails. No one spoke until the last of the flames dissolved away, leaving no trace that a time machine had ever been through.
"Are we stuck here for a week?" Verne asked, distracted from his play by the commotion of the machine's departure. "What if something happens and we can't get back home?" he added worriedly.
"Don't worry, Verne," Doc assured his youngest. "On Monday, January twenty second, at noon, the time machine is already reappearing. We've just yet to catch up with it."
Verne looked a little confused, but seemed to trust his father enough to go back to his game. He leaned over and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it together, then hurled it at the unaware Jules, who had been busy looking out towards the flat prairie, away from the others. The snowball landed on the older brother's back. Jules whirled around, looking angry.
"Hey! No fair, I wasn't ready!"
"Too bad," Verne retorted, sticking his tongue out. He made another snowball and tossed it at his brother, which missed this time. Jules scowled, then bent over and hastily concocted a snowball of his own. His toss hit the mark, dead on, exploding in Verne's face. The blond gasped at the icy cold contact, then looked to his parents as he wiped the slush from his eyes.
"Mom! Dad! Jules hit me in the face!"
"You provoked him, Verne," Doc said, though he gave his oldest a look of warning. Jules had phenomenal aim when it came to throwing things, a skill that the inventor was almost surprised he didn't put to any use. But, then, sports were never an interest of his more serious, scientifically minded son.
"Both of you need to stop that, right now," Clara said sternly as Verne leaned over to scrape together some retaliation ammo. "We've got a good hike before us and you'll need your energy for that."
"Exactly," their father agreed, picking up a leather bag of odds and ends he had packed for himself and Clara. The boys, and Marty, shared another.
Verne pouted as he reluctantly let the snow fall from his mittens. "When can we play in the snow?" he asked.
"After we reach the inn and get checked into our rooms," Doc said.
"And where's that? Where's the inn?"
Doc paused to dig a compass from his pocket. "Not far. Perhaps a mile or two."
"A mile or two!" both boys exclaimed in unison.
"A little exercise never hurt anyone," Clara said to her children.
"Probably not," Marty said. "But it looks like it's gonna snow soon," he added, gesturing to the ashen sky.
"Once we start walking you won't notice the cold," Doc promised. He looked at the compass in his hand, trying to orient himself. Let's see, the town should be northwest from here....
A few minutes later their group was making its way somewhat sluggishly though the foot deep snow. The boys and Einstein were having the worst time struggling with the depth of it. It wasn't long before the three of them fell behind, and the whining complaints started to kick in.
"Why couldn't we've brought snow shoes?" Verne moaned, his cheeks red from the cold air and the effort of wading through the powdery snow, coming up knee level to him.
"I never thought about it," Doc admitted a little reluctantly, wondering what else might have slipped his foresight. Before they had left, he had been certain he'd thought of everything; now, less than an hour into the vacation, it was obvious he hadn't.
"Don't you know any other way that might make it easier to cut through this snow?" Jules asked.
"Cross country skis, probably," Marty said as the first few snowflakes started to fall. "But you can't exactly rent those nearby."
"We'll be there soon enough," Clara promised cheerfully, moving slowly between her long skirts and the deep snow. "In the meantime, enjoy this weather. Isn't it a nice change from the heat back home?"
"I'm already wishin' I was back home," Doc heard Verne mutter. Clara heard it, too; her lips tightened a little. But she didn't say anything about it.
"They're just tired," Doc said softly, when he was sure the boys were out of earshot. "To their bodies, it's after ten o' clock at night."
Clara looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. "Oh yes, the time difference," she said. "I never thought about that. Why did you choose a time so early in the afternoon, here?"
"Well, we needed to visit the store before dark. And I thought the kids might want to have some time to play in the snow today. Of course, I forgot about what a handful they can be when they're cranky." A wistful sigh whistled out through his mouth. "One more thing I neglected to consider...."
Nearly an hour passed before the small town came into sight. But that point, both kids were complaining about everything from being hungry to being cold and having numb feet. Doc could sympathize; the walk had been harder than he had anticipated, and the snow that had started to fall was now accompanied by a strong eastern wind. The breeze whipped the flakes through the air at a speed that stung the skin on impact.
"There's our destination," he finally announced to the others. The inventor stopped to point at the sprawling dark grey farmhouse, three stories tall, lying several hundred feet away from them, on the edge of the town. A hand carved wooden sign was hanging from the porch railing, but it was impossible to read what it said due to the simple fact that snow and ice were caked on it.
"Do we have reservations there?" Marty asked as they started on the final stretch to the inn.
"Noooo.... But I don't think we'll have a problem getting a room."
When they reached the inn minutes later and stepped onto the dry covered porch, Doc realized for the first time just how much effort it had taken to walk through the snow; he felt as if he had shed twenty pounds on his legs. Behind him, he heard sighs of relief from the others as they, too, noticed the difference.
Warmth rushed out to greet the scientist as he pulled open the door and stepped inside the home. The front room was empty, though a fire was crackling away in the fireplace. Einstein, his fur crusted in snow and ice, headed straight for the hearth, the boys close behind.
"Where are the owners?" Clara whispered, looking around a little nervously.
"They're probably in another part of the house," Doc said. He spied a bell on the table nearby and picked it up to ring.
The sound had hardly started to die away when a woman entered the room from the back of the building. She had long, straight dark hair, pulled back in a simple braid rather than pinned up, as was more fitting to the fashions of the times. The style made her look younger than her years, which was possibly somewhere in her forties. Her face was round and mostly unlined, which also added to her youthful look. Blue eyes examined the newcomers for a moment, narrowing and widening alternately as she took them in. The woman looked a bit taken aback at the sight of them -- though whether it was from the size of their group or their wet and frozen appearance, Doc couldn't tell.
"May I help you?" the woman finally asked, her voice carrying a strong midwestern accent. Doc plunged ahead with his requests.
"In fact, yes. My family is in town for the week and we'd like three rooms, please."
The woman picked up a leather-bound book and opened it with a frown. "I'm sorry, sir," she said after a moment. "We're booked up nearly solid for the next few days, what with this weather and all."
"You mean you don't have anything?" Clara asked, aghast.
"Now, I didn't quite say that, ma'am. While we may not have three rooms available, we do have a suite left. A small common room connects the two bedroom chambers."
Doc looked at Clara, then glanced at the other members of his party. Marty had collapsed in an armchair by the window, rubbing his left shoulder. Jules and Verne were crouched next to Einstein, as close to the flames as they could get without actually sitting on them. A suite would be better than nothing at all; he didn't relish the idea of another hike in the snow.
"I think that sounds suitable, don't you, dear?" Doc asked Clara.
She shrugged at the question. "Well, it is three rooms in a way." Clara looked to the woman. "Might you have any cots available?"
She shook her head. "No, ma'am. But there is a couch in the sitting area, and I have plenty of extra blankets you may use." The woman's eyes drifted to Jules and Verne and a faint, almost invisible, look of distaste passed over her features. "Are those yours?"
"Well, yes, they are," Doc said, a little confused. "Why, is there a problem?"
"I don't favor little children much," the woman said, dropping her voice a little. "Noisy little things, always making messes and chattering incessantly, 'specially boys." She shuddered. "Not many children come through this house. My husband and I never had our own. We prefer the company of animals." A smile twitched the corners of the woman's mouth as she glanced at Einstein. "You have a wonderful dog there."
"Ah, thanks..." Doc said slowly. He glanced at Clara again, who was now eyeing the owner with a somewhat cool look, no doubt because of her words and prejudices against kids. "We'll try our best to keep the boys out of your way, Mrs...."
"Wallace. Louisa Wallace." She pulled open a drawer in the table and took out a couple keys. "I'll need to have you sign in with your name and the names in your party," Mrs. Wallace added, pushing a ink bottle with pen and the leather book towards Doc.
As Doc filled the pen and bent over the book, Clara leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Are we going to use our real names?"
"That was the idea," Doc muttered back as he signed his own name, then added Clara, Jules, Verne, Marty, and -- after a moment's thought -- Einstein to the register.
Doc pushed the book back to Mrs. Wallace. "And there is the charge for the rooms," she said. "Two dollars a night for the suite."
As Doc counted the money out for the next six nights, Clara headed over to the fire to round up the boys and warn them to be on their best behavior in the house. Mrs. Wallace told Doc to follow her and they all headed upstairs, clogging the stairwell. The innkeeper halted when she reached the third floor and gestured down the narrow hallway.
"Your rooms are the only ones on this floor," she explained. "That door leads to the common room, which in turn leads to the bedrooms." She handed Doc a pair of keys. "I serve breakfast every day at nine, dinner at noon, and supper at six sharp. Meals are included with your stay, but we won't delay them if you're not there."
"We'll remember that," Doc promised her. Mrs. Wallace smiled, finally.
"I'll fetch you the extra linens now." She turned and headed back to the staircase. When her footsteps had faded away, Verne spoke.
"Wow, she's a meanie," he said, making a face.
"Verne!" Clara reprimanded, glancing nervously in the direction Mrs. Wallace had departed.
"Well, she is!" Verne insisted. "She kept looking at Jules and me like we were some gross bug and you said she didn't like kids. What kinda person doesn't like kids?"
"Some people are simply like that, Verne," Doc explained, inserting the key into the knob and turning it. The lock popped and he pushed the door open.
"Yes, so I want you both to stay out of her way and take care to be polite when you're around her," Clara said to the boys as they filed inside the room. "It wouldn't do to get on her nerves while we're guests in her home. Perhaps paying guests, but guests nonetheless."
"Who gets the second bedroom?" Jules asked before Doc even had a chance to shut the door. "I think it should be me, because I'm oldest and I have seniority."
"No way!" Verne objected, his eyes wide. "I should get it, 'cause I'm the youngest!"
"Neither of you will be getting it," Clara said, stopping the argument before it could really amp up. "Marty is our guest on this trip and he will have the second bedroom. You two will stay in here."
Marty smiled at the offer, glancing at Clara as he walked around the room, looking around at their home for the next week. "The boys can use the room and I can stay out here," he said. "It doesn't really matter where I crash."
Doc shook his head at the offer. "No, that's quite all right. The kids can easily bunk on the floor here. And it will stop any arguments," he added in a whisper that only Marty could catch.
There was a knock at the door. Jules was standing closest to the door and pulled it open. Louisa stood in the hall, her arms laden with pillows and blankets.
"This should be enough to keep you all warm," Mrs. Wallace said. "If you find you need anything else, let me know and I'll have it taken care of."
Clara took the linens from the innkeeper. "Thank you," she said politely. "I'm sure these will do wonderfully."
Jules shut the door once Mrs. Wallace had left -- hurriedly -- then turned to his father again. "When will we be visiting the store?" he asked.
"Soon," Doc promised, making his way over to the window for a look outside. It appeared that the wind had picked up since they had arrived and the snowfall had increased. "That is, if the weather doesn't get any worse."
"When can we get something to eat?" Verne asked. "I'm starving!"
Doc checked the time on the small clock hanging over the mantle of the room's small fireplace. "Unless Mrs. Wallace has snacks available, not until six. Lunch was already served today."
"So let's order room service!" Verne said innocently, sitting down on the couch.
"They don't have room service in a establishment like this," Clara said, setting the blankets in the empty armchair. "Remember, we're in 1855 and things are considerably different than they are in the hotels you've grown used to in the future. I'll take you and your brother down to the kitchen and see if they have anything available for a snack."
The idea was met with so much impatient enthusiasm that, minutes later, Clara led the boys from the room. Doc took it upon himself to start a fire in the fireplace, hoping to heat up the room a bit, which was on the chilly side; it was still more comfortable to keep the overcoats on. Marty watched him as he set some of the chopped wood from the firebox in the cold ashes, then started a search for matches.
"Are they always like this?" the teen asked after a moment of silence.
"Is who always like what?" the inventor asked as he checked in some drawers for the elusive matchbox.
"Not who, really.... Your family vacations. Are they always like this? I don't think I've really been on one of these trips with all of you at once before."
Doc finally located the matchbox in the drawer of the desk under the window. "What are you talking about? You've been on trips like this with all of us. Remember the Middle Ages?"
"Yeah, but that was different," Marty said. "Clara really wasn't around until the day I left."
Doc struck a match against the stones of the fireplace. "I suppose you're right," he said as the match caught and sent up a flame. "I guess she wasn't."
"And we have Einstein here this time," Marty added, glancing at the dog lying on the floor, waiting for the fire his master was trying to set. "I don't think that's happened since the fall, before you and Clara even met!"
"You forget that I had him with me when we dropped by to check on you right after the first DeLorean was destroyed," Doc said, leaning down to put the match to the wood. "Otherwise, you are correct. Traveling around in the past with a dog is more difficult than you might think."
"What are we going to be doing here?" Marty asked after another moment of silence, leaning back on the arm of the couch. "This weather looks like it'll keep up for a while -- which I know was kind of the point for the kids and to get a break from that heat back home. But, trust me, Jules and Verne'll probably be climbing the walls after the thrill of the snow wears off."
Doc bit his lip as he dropped the match in the fireplace as the wood caught. Another matter I never gave much thought! he realized, mentally kicking himself. He really should've known better with that; a flood of memories hit him, then, about the boys when they were younger and still lived in the Nineteenth Century and the way they would get when the weather was particularly nasty for a few days at a stretch. Parents complained about the evils of television in the future, and video games, but sometimes those things could be Godsends.
"I'll come up with something," Doc finally said.
* * *
By the time dinner rolled around, Marty knew that the week was going to be a long one. After they had managed to visit the small general store -- picking up extra clothes for everyone, some snacks of hard candy and nuts, and a sled for Jules and Verne -- their group had returned to the unusually hilly yard of the inn for the boys to go sledding.
After a couple hours the kids had grown cold and wet and they had returned to the inn with over an hour to kill before dinner. Nobody -- including the dog -- seemed to be in the best of moods, so that hour had been filled with whining and complaining from every human in the room about everything from the size of the fire to the lack of things to do. Marty had finally retreated to his room, shut the door, and pulled out the picture of Jennifer from his wallet that he had snuck along. He had stared at it for a long time, wishing with all his heart that she was with him right then, and wondering if maybe he should've stayed home, after all.
But I thought things would be different here, Marty reflected as the food was passed around the long table. The smell of the home cooked dinner made him feel a little better; there was a turkey, mashed potatoes, rolls, and other such homemade goodies. Marty piled as much as he could on his plate; unlike the kids, he hadn't gotten anything for a lunch and was starving!
"Take as much as you might need, as there is plenty more in the kitchen," Louisa Wallace told the group around the table as the food was carted in by some dark-skinned cooks. It was a large group; there had to be at least twenty people seated around the enormous dining room table. Marty was sandwiched between Doc and an older man with wire-rimmed spectacles whom he didn't know, another guest in the bed and breakfast-like inn.
Doc took an extra few slices of the turkey and folded them up in his napkin on his lap. Marty stared at him in confusion. "What are you doing that for?" he whispered. "Midnight snack?"
"Einstein has to eat, too," Doc replied, slipping the bundle in his pocket. They had left the dog back in the room, over Jules and Verne's protests.
Once the food was consumed, the conversation around the table really began, in small pockets among those seated closely. "Your slaves cook wonderful food, Mrs. Wallace," the man on Marty's right commented, his voice coated in a thick Southern drawl.
Marty looked up at the statement, a little puzzled at it. Across from him, Louisa sat next to the man she had introduced as her husband, Jonathan Wallace. Like his wife, he looked young for his age -- which was probably somewhere in his forties -- possibly because he wasn't much taller than Marty, cleanshaven, with a mop of dark hair and a slender build. It was he who answered the question, although it had been directed to his wife.
"I'll give the cooks your compliments, but we don't believe in keeping slaves here, Mr. Stone," he said to the man. "They're paid wages for their services."
Mr. Stone frowned. "Why not? You ain't one of those that helps their kind escape, are you?"
Louisa nearly knocked over her glass of wine. "Of course not!" she answered sharply. "You know acts like that are forbidden. Jon and I simply do not believe in slavery. All of our inn employees are just that -- employees. They are freed slaves."
"Why don't you get some real slaves?" Stone asked, frowning. "You'd save loads of money if you didn't pay your help. An' it's perfectly legal. Why, I have over fifty slaves at my cotton plantation in Louisiana."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Stone," Jon said, "we'd rather not."
Stone's frown deepened. "Then you must help their kind escape. 'Cause I can't think of any other innkeepers who share your views."
"I'm certain there are others like us, Mr. Stone," Louisa said, setting her fork down to stand. She gazed cooly at Stone from across the table. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't tell Jon or I how to run our business. You may know the best way to run a plantation, but we know nothing of such things. Likewise, while Jon and I know how to run an inn best, you know nothing of those matters. I beg your pardon, now, while I fetch more rolls."
The table had grown silent, all eyes and ears tuned to this conversation. Louisa vanished into the kitchen after her clipped speech, leaving an uncomfortable silence around the table.
"Surely you think differently than your wife, Mr. Wallace," Mr. Stone said, looking at Jon. But Mr. Wallace shook his head.
"No, my wife and I see eye-to-eye on this matter," he said. "We reap greater work from paying our help rather than owning it. The employees work better than any slaves."
Stone still appeared unconvinced. "Well, I find that a little motivation with the whips and chains work better than any sum of money." Stone chuckled once. "And it's a hell of a lot more cheaper."
Marty was shocked by the way Mr. Stone spoke. But what shook him up even more was half the table nodding their agreement!
"Mr. Stone is correct," a balding man said. "Slaves are a very valuable asset with my business in Virginia. After you purchase them, you hardly need to invest another dime in 'em! Just give 'em the leftovers for food an' clothes, and that's about it. And if they complain...." The man paused, perhaps noticing Jules and Verne staring at him, wide-eyed, then cleared his throat, reconsidering. "Well, that doesn't make for a good suppertime conversation."
Marty's jaw dropped a little with the second man's comments. Jeez, they're talking like the slaves aren't even human, just some machine or piece of property!
He looked to Doc, wondering if the scientist was as stunned as he was by the turn in conversation. Doc was frowning faintly, but he didn't seem the least surprised with the talk and comments.
"How can you say all that stuff?" Marty finally had to ask. "Don't you know that these are people, human beings like yourself? You can't own them! It's -- it's inhuman!"
All eyes in the room turned to him, most of them glares. Doc, in particular, did not seem too happy; he gave Marty a little nudge with his elbow under the table, clearing telling him to keep his mouth shut.
"Negroes are a lower species than ourselves," another Southern man said, this one with a shock of curly red hair. He didn't look much older than Marty. "Everyone knows that we're the superior race. It's our God given right to have 'em and treat 'em as we see fit. Says so in the Bible. We must constantly remind them of their true position in the world, next to that of our livestock." The redhead laughed. "And sometimes lower'n that!"
The rest of the table laughed with him, save for the Browns, Marty, and Jon Wallace. Marty was shocked, completely shocked, at the thick racism in the room. He knew that a lot of people had slaves before the Civil War -- and that slavery was one of the key issues that helped trigger that conflict -- but he couldn't believe the attitudes people had about it now! Before he could say anything about it, though, Louisa returned with a fresh basket of rolls. "The coffee is almost done brewing," she said. "Who would be wanting some?"
The question distracted the table from the hot button topic. Mini conversations resumed around the table, more mundane matters that included the whereabouts of the travelers, what kind of business brought them through, and the snow outside. As soon as the meal had concluded, with apple and pumpkin pie, Doc had excused their party for the night and hustled them up to their third floor room. They hadn't been up there too long before Marty got the lecture he had been expecting since he had opened his mouth the one time at the table.
"That wasn't wise, speaking up tonight," the scientist told him as Clara helped the boys get ready for bed in her room. "You should've kept quiet."
"Why?" Marty asked, picking up a length of chopped wood and tossing it on the nearly dead fire, venting some of his frustration that way. "No one else was defending those people -- and I can't believe the stuff they said!"
"All common views in a time like this," Doc said, pulling out his napkin from his pocket and laying it out on the floor for a hungry and eager Einstein, who quickly gobbled the turkey down. "Especially now, before the Civil War. Ohio was a free state, and a popular stop on the Underground Railroad, but at an inn like this, where many travelers pass through, it's not surprising to hear such vocal opinions from those not native to this area."
"I can't believe it, though," Marty said, shaking his head. "I mean, why didn't you say anything down there? You're not racist. I was waiting for you to back me up!"
"I didn't want to get involved," Doc said. "I feel the same way you do about the whole thing, but it could be dangerous to say so in a room full of racists. And the last thing we want now is an unusual amount of attention. We don't want to create a paradox from some flippant comment -- or worry about some kind of retaliation for having different views. What if what you had to say enraged one of the men around the table so much that you both got in a fight? You might be hurt. Or, worse yet, the man might be hurt. And if he was hurt badly enough, he might end up dying in this time before sterile hospitals and miracle drugs. If he died and was due to marry and have some children, they would never be born. Which, in turn--"
"I get the idea, Doc," Marty interrupted. "So you want me to keep my mouth shut next time on the chance I might piss someone off -- even though they'll piss me off?"
"A crude way of putting it, but yes. I know it may be a little difficult for you, but it's very important when you're traveling through time."
"You don't say," Marty drawled with a crooked smile. Doc returned the smile and Marty knew he was off the hook.
"You know as well as I do that you have to watch what comes out of your mouth when in situations like this."
"I know, I know. All right, I won't say anything next time. At least these innkeepers are against it, though. That's something. Wonder if they helped anyone escape?"
"I would find it hard to imagine doing that while running a business like this. It was considered a serious crime and it would be difficult to hide with so many visitors in and out of this home." Doc glanced towards the closed door of his and Clara's room, where the voices of Jules and Verne could be heard through the wood. "But it's a point in their favor that they're as forward thinking as they are with slavery, now, even if they don't like kids."
It was Einstein who woke Verne up, whimpering and licking the boy's face. He wasn't too happy about being woken up in the middle of the night; it had taken him seemingly hours to fall asleep on the hard floor. Jules had gotten the couch after winning a coin toss supervised by their parents. Although Verne would get it the next night, he was still a little miffed about the whole thing. Jules always seemed to get to do things first!
"Stop it, Einie!" Verne groaned, trying to pull his arms out from under the blanket to push the dog away. He had the worst breath! Einstein backed away, little more than a ghostly white form in the faint glow that came from the dying fire. The dog continued to whine and pace about, almost nervously, once one of his masters was awake. In spite of his grogginess and irritation, Verne frowned, puzzled.
"What is it, boy?" he whispered, sitting up. Then Verne heard it. Across the room, near the door that led to the hallway, there came a faint scraping and creaking noise. The sound made the hairs on the back of boy's neck rise, particularly since he couldn't see any movement from that corner of the room. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling wide awake.
"Is anyone there?" Verne whispered as loudly as he dared. No humans responded, but that sound came again, allowing him to get a better listen. It didn't sound like it was in the room, exactly; rather, it sounded like something was crawling along in the walls. Verne's imagination, ripe from watching many hours of TV in the future, put forth several possibilities on what might be making that noise. None of them were very appealing.
Verne untangled himself from the blankets and crept over to the couch where his brother slept. "Jules," he said softly, shaking the lumpy form on the furniture. "Jules, get up!"
"What do you want?" Jules muttered a moment later, cranky.
"Something's in the walls!" Verne whispered, his blue eyes wide in the darkness.
Jules sighed, the sound weary. "It's probably just some kind of rodent," he said. "Go back to sleep."
"No, I don't think so," Verne said. "Listen!"
Jules was silent. A moment later, the sound repeated. It seemed like something scraping against the wood, especially since the wall creaked as well.
"No rat can make the house creak!" Verne whispered sharply. Jules finally sat up and, even in the dim light, the blond could see a puzzled frown on his face.
"What could it be?"
"I don't know! Maybe it's a big mutant spider, waiting to devour us for breakfast! Or a ghost, wanting some kinda revenge from a murder! Or zombies! Or--"
"I told the parents you were watching too much TV," Jules said, rolling his eyes. Einstein whimpered again as the sound came again.
"Einie knows it's something bad," Verne insisted. "And he's the one who woke me up! And if Einie doesn't like it, it's gotta be really nasty!"
Jules finally got off the couch. He crept quietly across the room, Verne following close behind, then examined the wall where the noises seemed to be coming from. A bookshelf stood there, lined with fat volumes that held no interest for him. Something thumped against the wall and the entire shelf vibrated, tipping a book over on it's side. Both boys jumped back, nearly knocking each other to the ground in their panicked haste. Verne clenched his teeth together, hard, to keep from screaming.
"I'm getting Mom and Dad," he decided suddenly, heading for the closed door across the room.
"No, Verne, that's foolish!" Jules said, grabbing his arm to stop him. "They won't believe us! They'll just say it's our imagination or something and that's it."
"Okay, then I'm getting Marty. If he hears it, then I'll bet Mom and Dad'll be more likely to believe us!"
"I don't think he'll be too happy at being woken up in the middle of the night," Jules warned, though he did not try to stop his brother this time.
Verne tried the doorknob to the bedroom, pleased that it wasn't locked. He pushed it open slowly, peering inside, Jules and Einstein at his back.
Marty hadn't closed the curtains over the window in his room. The sky had cleared out since Verne had gone to bed and bright moonlight, magnified by the snow outside, cast a pool of light across the bed. Verne could see that Marty was still asleep, huddled under a mound of blankets. He started to cross the room to wake him, then faltered. What if Marty gets mad at us for waking him, then doesn't believe us? What if he doesn't come out to hear the sounds for himself?
Verne turned back to look at Einstein, following close to his heels. He bent over, close to the dog's ear. "Einie, go wake Marty," he whispered, pointing to the bed.
"Wise move, Verne," Jules murmured as the dog trotted over to the bed and jumped up on it. Verne looked at his brother for a moment, trying to decided it he was being sarcastic or not. Jules almost never said anything nice to him unless it had some kind of twist to it. But the compliment appeared genuine.
"Thanks," he whispered, feeling a small measure of satisfaction. Praise from Jules was about as rare as snow in July.
The boys crept closer to the bed, where Einstein was busy licking and nosing Marty's face, just as he had with Verne. It took nearly a minute of steady prodding from the dog before Marty started to stir. "Jennifer..." he murmured, his eyes still closed.
Einstein whined in response. At the sound, Marty's eyes popped open. He flinched at the sight of the dog standing on the covers above him.
"Einie, how'd you get in here?" Marty muttered, wiping at his face with one hand and pushing the dog away with the other. "Don't tell me the doc's taught you to open doors...."
Verne decided it was time to speak up. "We let him in," he said softly.
Marty turned his head at the sound, squinting at the boys as he noticed their presence for the first time. "What're you both doing up at this hour?" he asked them around a yawn. "Is something wrong?"
"Sorta," Verne said, tilting his head to the side.
"There are some strange noises in the other room," Jules added. "They're coming from the bookshelf near the door."
"Rats," Marty said, rolling over and pulling the blankets up over his head. "They have 'em in old buildings like this now. Go back to sleep. They won't hurt you."
"They are most definitely not mice or rats," Jules said. "I'll admit I was skeptical like you when Verne woke me. But if you hear those sounds, you'll know there's no way it can be something that small and harmless."
Marty grunted in reply, not interested at all. Verne decided it was time for a new tactic. He stepped over to the foot of the bed, grabbed a corner of the bedding, and yanked the blankets off Marty. The eighteen-year-old sat up after a moment, irritated.
"Hey, give those back! It's freezing in here!"
"Not 'til you come out and hear it," Verne said stubbornly, hugging the bedding tightly in his arms. "Then we'll leave you alone."
"Trust us, Marty," Jules said. "Even Einstein knows there's something strange about those sounds."
"I'm sure they're rats," Marty said, irritated. He made a halfhearted grab for the blankets, but Verne held them just out of reach. Finally, he gave in with a heavy sigh and a crooked frown.
"Okay fine, I'll check this out. But then I'm going back to bed and you two are gonna leave me alone. Got it?"
Jules and Verne nodded in agreement. Marty slid off the bed and followed the boys and the dog to the common room. "Listen," Verne murmured.
They all held still, breathing shallowly or not at all. Silence surrounded them. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Something popped. Verne nearly jumped through the roof, his heart racing.
"Just the fire," Jules murmured.
Thirty more seconds of absolute silence. Then, something started to chime softly in the room. Again, it nearly scared Verne out of his wits! Then he realized -- it was the clock. It chimed five times before the device lapsed into silence once again.
Finally, Marty sighed and started to turn back to his room. "Okay you guys, I'm--"
"Shhhh!" Verne hissed. "Listen!"
Something creaked. Marty frowned when another long moment passed without another sound. "That could be--"
"Wait!" Jules whispered.
The scratching-scraping noise was back. It sounded like fingernails dragged down the wall. Or claws, Verne thought with a shiver of fear. The sleepy, skeptical look on Marty's face vanished, replaced by a genuine puzzlement. "What the hell is that?" he murmured.
"That's what we'd like to know," Jules said. "Still think it's a rat?"
Marty looked at the bookcase as there was another soft thump from the wall behind it. "If it is, it's a hell of a big one!" He paused a moment, then added, "I think we should get your parents."
"And what would we say?" Verne asked. "They'd think it was just us watching too many movies or somethin'!"
"In your case, that's true more often than not," Jules muttered.
"Doc might listen to me," Marty said softly. "I think he'd know I wouldn't get him up in the middle of the night if I thought this was normal."
Verne felt better with Marty's confidence, but he was still uneasy about the whole matter. "I dunno..." he murmured. "They might get really ticked if we wake 'em up...."
"You're the one who got us all involved," Jules said. "Would you rather we do nothing?"
Verne shook his head hard.
"Then let's go," Marty said. "I'd like to get this mystery solved as soon as possible so I can go back to bed before breakfast."
The three of them headed for the other bedroom door, with Einstein tagging close behind. The dog didn't appear to like being alone in the main room -- and Verne didn't blame him in the least. Marty stopped as he reached for the doorknob, glancing at the boys. He looked uncertain and Verne was afraid he would change his mind, then.
There was another thump from the wall. All three of them jumped and gasped. That decided it. Marty pushed open the door.
Verne noticed this room was considerably darker than Marty's had been. His parents had probably pulled the curtains shut before going to bed. Verne could hardly see two feet before him, just vague shadows. He heard a thump before him, a clatter, then Marty cursed softly. Verne guessed he had walked into something.
"This is ridiculous," Jules whispered from his side. "We want to wake them up! Why are we attempting to be so quiet now?"
Marty must've heard his comment. He stopped stumbling around, halting in his tracks. Verne bumped into him a second later, jamming his nose painfully in the teen's back. "Doc? Clara? I think you guys better both wake up," Marty said in the first normal volume of voice Verne had heard since waking up that night. "We might have a problem."
"What is it?" Verne heard his mother say after a moment, her voice full of sleepy concern. He saw her dark shadow sit up in the bed.
"There's something making a lot of noise in the wall," Jules said.
"It's probably mice," Verne heard his father mutter. "Fairly normal in times like this, but they won't hurt you."
"It is not mice, Dad!" Verne burst out, sick to death of that overused excuse. He'd heard it one time too many that night! "Jules an' Marty said the same things, and after they heard the noise they knew there wasn't any way mice or rats could make those sounds!"
"Verne's right, Doc," Marty added. "Do you think I'd get you up if I thought it was something that simple?"
"Just check it out," Jules said. "If nothing else, your input would bring us peace of mind. Verne and I have to sleep in that room, after all."
Verne saw his father finally sit up with a sigh. "All right, if it'll make you happy." The blond heard him fumble around on the dresser next to the bed and a moment later a match sparked, then was touched to the wick of an oil lamp set next to the bed. The glow wasn't that bright, but Verne squinted even so.
Doc blew out the match he had used to light the wick and placed the glass top back on the lamp. After a moment, Verne was able to look around without shielding his eyes. Clara got out of bed as well, following the group as they shuffled into the other room.
"Be quiet," Verne reminded everyone in a whisper.
Silence reigned for a full minute. "Are you sure you heard something?" Clara murmured behind a yawn.
"Yes," Marty, Jules, and Verne all said simultaneously. "Just give it a minute," the youngest of the group pleaded, looking at his parents.
They gave it another minute. Two. When three minutes had passed and nothing happened, Verne saw his parents exchange a look. He didn't have a good feeling about that look.
"I haven't heard anything," Doc said slowly.
"Neither have I," Clara added. "Verne, honey, are you sure you heard something? That it wasn't your--"
"Imagination?" Verne finished, scowling, his hands on his hips. "Uh huh! Marty and Jules heard it, too!"
"Trust me," Marty said, although he sounded less than certain now. "I heard the noise."
"What, exactly, did it sound like?" Doc asked.
"Like claws on the wall," Verne muttered. Jules took over when another skeptical look flashed between their parents.
"It sounded like something was crawling in the wall. There were scrapings and some thumps. Some of them were strong enough that they rattled the bookshelf and knocked over some of the books!"
"Perhaps it's simply the guests staying in the room next to us," Clara suggested patiently.
Marty frowned, rubbing his forehead. "But I thought we were the only ones on this floor?"
Doc changed the subject. "It appears the noise has stopped. Has it gone this long without repeating?"
Verne hated to admit it. "No...."
"Then I suggest we all return to bed now. We'll have to be up and downstairs for breakfast by nine."
"But what if we hear the noise again?" the eight-year-old asked nervously. He didn't like leaving this thing unsolved. Once the lights were out and everyone went back to bed, he knew he was going to lie awake and be tormented by gruesome things in his imagination.
"You guys can stay in my room for the rest of the night," Marty offered. "I don't mind."
Verne screwed his face up, thinking. "Okay," he finally agreed. Doc and Clara waited until the boys had gathered up their blankets before returning to their own room with the lamp. Marty had lit one in his room by that time.
"You guys can just settle down on the floor," Marty said as he scooped his blankets off the floor where Verne had let them drop earlier.
"Can we leave the light on?" Verne asked softly. "I mean, if they are just rats, light will keep them away... right?"
"I think the noises were just isolated to the other room, not in this one," Jules said as he spread out his bedding on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"I know that!" Verne said, insulted. "But... what if they move?"
"Keep the light on, I don't care," Marty said, as he got back into bed, turning away from the lamp to face the wall. "Just be quiet."
Verne lay back on the floor in his nest of quilts, staring up at the eaves above. Einstein lay next to him, as if he knew Verne needed the assurance. Once it was clear Marty had fallen back to sleep, Verne got up and crept towards the door. Jules watched him, still wide awake as well.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, sitting up.
"Seeing if it's still there," Verne muttered back, opening the door and slipping into the other room. He walked slowly towards the bookshelf, straining his ears for a noise, any noise. But things remained quiet and peaceful.
Finally, when five minutes had passed with not even a ghost of a sound, Verne concluded that it -- whatever it was -- had stopped moving or had left. He returned to the bedroom.
"Did you hear anything?" Jules asked as Verne tiptoed back in.
"Nothing. Just silence."
There was a thoughtful pause. "Do you think it's gone, then?"
Verne frowned at the question. "I don't know. We don't even know what caused it, right?"
Jules also frowned. "The mystery thickens," he murmured, half to himself. "Perhaps the light of day will yield an answer."
"What if it doesn't?" Verne asked.
Jules was silent for a moment. "Let's just hope this is behind us, then."
"But aren't you the least bit curious to know what was making those sounds?"
"Well... I admit I do feel a twinge. But maybe it's just the building settling." Jules shrugged under Verne's skeptical gaze. "It could happen...."
"Well, I'm gonna find out what was really in the wall this week if it's the last thing I do!" Verne swore.
"Good luck," Jules told him, sounding doubtful.
Marty was pouring himself a cup of coffee when the knock came at the front door of the inn. He hardly noticed it, too preoccupied with his own weariness. Doc had let him sleep in until 8:30, but it was still far too early in Marty's opinion -- especially after the excitement in the middle of the night. Marty glanced at Jules and Verne, thinking they looked very perky for being up before the sun even rose.
I must be getting old, he reflected with a wry smile, dumping plenty of cream in his coffee to dilute the bitterness. As Marty was stirring it in the black liquid, one of the maids came into the dining room.
"There's a man here to see you, Mister and Missus Wallace," the woman reported to the innkeepers.
Louisa and Jon set their forks down and rose. "Excuse us for a moment," Jon told the table as they left the room. Marty didn't pay them much attention. He took a sip of his hot drink, making a face as it hit his tastebuds. The cream wasn't much of an improvement.
"How come you and Mom don't believe us about last night?" Verne asked Doc, fiddling with his fork as he continued a conversation that had been going on since before Marty had even gotten up. "We heard noises, I swear."
"It's not that we don't believe you, Verne," Doc said patiently, taking a couple muffins from a basket before passing it to Marty. "It's just that we think you might've misinterpreted the noises. It was probably just the inn settling."
"Told you they'd say that," Jules muttered to Verne.
"It was not!" Verne insisted, frowning at Jules. "Can settlin' buildings knock over books?"
"Perhaps some snow fell from the roof and jarred the wall," Clara suggested.
Verne's frown deepened into a scowl. He looked at Marty, who had remained quiet most of the morning. "You heard the noises, too." He made it sound like an accusation.
"I heard something," Marty said softly, not really wanting to get involved with the conversation, which he had been doing his best to avoid. It was too early for discussions like this.
Before anything more could be said, there was an outraged cry from Louisa that carried over from the other room. "You have no right to search my house!"
The bits of chatter around the table trickled away as the other guests in the inn suddenly focused on their meals before them. Marty wasn't sure if they were trying to listen in better to things or else ignore it all.
"I'm just lookin' around an' I'm not hurtin' nothin'," a unfamiliar man's voice responded, a southern accent coloring his words. The teen was positive he didn't know the person speaking -- didn't sound like anyone who'd been at the table the night before, anyway -- but something nagged at him nonetheless. There was something familiar about that voice....
"Then you will kindly take a seat here and not roam about," Jon said, his voice also raised a little. Across the table, Marty noticed Verne craning his neck and tipping his chair back a little, trying to see in the other room, ignoring the disapproving looks from his brother about his curiosity.
"Oh wow!" the eighteen-year-old heard him whisper, his eyes widening. There was a clatter as his hands scrambled to grip an edge of the table as he started to loose his balance and nearly topped backwards to the floor with the chair. Bringing the front legs of his chair back to earth with a little thud, Verne quickly slipped away from the table and started for the room before anyone could stop him.
"Verne!" Clara hissed, looking horrified. "Get back here, young man!"
The eight-year-old ignored his mother, darting into the other room. Clara stood, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment under the glances of the other patrons, and went after him.
"I have a right to walk this room," the southerner said from the living room. "Unless y'all are tryin' to hide somethin' from me...."
That voice.... Marty frowned, wishing the man would speak longer so he could get a better grip on it. Like Verne, he started to crane his own neck in an attempt to see into the other room, but his angle wasn't as convenient as the boy's and all his efforts earned him was a crick in his neck.
Oh, the hell with it, he thought, finally standing up and leaving the dining room to investigate firsthand.
"Marty--" Doc began, cutting himself off before he could say anything more. It took the teen only a moment to round the corner and arrive in the living room. He nearly slammed into Clara and Verne, stopped dead in the doorway. Marty saw why in a second as his own eyes took in the scene.
"Oh no!" he gasped before he could stop himself.
At one end of the room stood Jon and Louisa, both looking extremely unhappy and a little peeved. Across from them, standing with one hand braced on the mantle above the roaring fireplace, was a middle aged man with a receding hairline and a handlebar mustache. He was tall, at least Doc's height, and wore an impeccable white suit. At the moment his blue eyes were focused on Clara and Verne, allowing Marty a clear look at the face. There was a very good reason why the voice was familiar; the man was a Tannen. There was no doubt. Although his hair was a different color, a strawberry blond, and the mustache obscured his mouth quite well, the family resemblance was unmistakable. Marty felt weak in the knees with the realization.
Louisa looked at the newcomers to the room with a flash of irritation. "Is there a problem?"
The Tannen, however, showed no such anger. After a moment of study, he suddenly smiled at Clara, showing off a gold front tooth. "Well, well, what do we have 'ere?" he drawled, sounding unmistakably like his decedents. "Tell me, who's this lovely lady?"
"A guest," Louisa said, her voice clipped. "Something you're not, so I would thank you kindly to--"
"Oh, I'll take a room here," Tannen said quickly, stepping away from the fireplace towards Clara. Doc's wife wore a wary expression on her face as Tannen came closer. There was no doubt that she recognized him, and based on the way Verne was flat out gaping at him, it was clear he knew, too. Tannen took Clara's free hand -- the other was bracing Verne back against her skirts, preventing him from stepping into the room and perhaps protecting him, too -- and kissed it. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said, looking only at her. "I'm Leslie Tannen."
"Leslie?" Verne asked with a little smirk, his paralysis broken. "But that's a girl's name!"
Clara quickly pulled her hand from Tannen's grasp and put it over Verne's mouth to prevent additional commentary as Tannen took a moment to glare at him. "Child'n should be seen an' not heard," he said to Verne coolly before turning back to his mother. "What's your name, Miss--"
"Mrs," Clara corrected immediately. "Brown. Clara Brown."
Tannen looked surprised. He glanced to Marty, who had edged over and was now standing beside her. "Is this Mr. Brown?"
Marty had to choke back a laugh. "Hardly," he said.
Doc chose that moment to join them in the room, Jules right on his heels. Doc's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed back down, as they took in Tannen standing so close to his wife. "Is there a problem, Clara?"
Clara stepped back to her husband's side and put her hand on Doc's arm. "No, dear, everything's fine."
Leslie Tannen quickly sized Doc up. "You must be this lovely woman's papa," he said to the inventor.
Ouch! Marty thought, looking at Doc for his reaction. Doc gazed at Tannen, his face not betraying much of anything.
"No, as a matter of fact I'm her husband," he explained. Something in his voice -- maybe the patience Marty caught -- made him think that this probably wasn't the first time Doc had heard similar comments or questions about his relationship with Clara. It wouldn't entirely surprise him. While people back home had made some rather unkind and offensive remarks and insinuations about the basis of their relationship, in the past it was probably assumed more often than not that Doc was his wife's father, not her spouse. There was a good thirty plus year age difference between the two of them, after all. Oddly, though, Marty never even thought about it or noticed. Doc and Clara just seemed to belong together, regardless if they were a May-December couple or not.
"I see," Tannen said in response to this revelation, not bothering to apologize. It didn't surprise Marty.
"Mr. Tannen, we've no rooms left here," Jon broke in. "So I think you'd best be leaving now."
Tannen reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick fold of bills, turning around to regard the innkeepers. "I'm willin' to pay as much as you ask," he said, holding the money up before the Wallaces and waving it rather cockily before them. "Just name it."
"Money isn't the issue," Louisa said. "We simply have no empty rooms here."
"Money's always the issue," Tannen said, scratching his chin with the billfold. "I'll tell you what, I'll pay you double your normal price."
"No," Jon said, shaking his head.
"Ah, a bargainer, are you? Triple."
"I'm sorry."
Tannen sighed, and Marty hoped that would be that. Fat chance. "Greedy, ain't you? I admire that. Four times the normal rate, then."
Louisa and Jon exchanged a look. Marty guessed that was quite a bundle to them. "Well," Jon said after a moment, almost hesitantly, "as I said before, we don't have any more vacant rooms. But I suppose if you're not... choosy with your lodgings, we could work something out."
Leslie Tannen smiled, showing off his gold tooth again. "That sounds dandy."
"Let me show you to the table, then, for breakfast," Jon offered after a moment's awkward hesitation. "Even if you've had something already, we've got some coffee and tea."
Tannen nodded, then looked at Clara. "I'll see you later, my darlin'," he said, having the gall to take her hand and place another kiss on it with Doc standing right there. Marty noticed his friend's face tensing at this move, but he didn't say anything. There had been very few times Marty had seen Doc really lose his temper, but he was willing to be that if Tannen kept that kind of crap up with Clara, it might happen. And the teen couldn't blame him at all. If some Tannen creep was doing the same to Jennifer, he'd tackle him, no matter the difference in brawn.
Clara wore a look of clear disgust on her face and jerked her hand away quickly, wiping the back of her palm off on her dress. "I should hope not," she said to Tannen, her tone frosty. The southerner ignored it, continued to smile at her as Jon escorted him from the room.
"I'm dreadfully sorry if this Mr. Tannen bothered any of you," Louisa apologized immediately, once the man was out of earshot. "If it was up to me he wouldn't be staying here." She sighed. "But the money he offered would help Jon and I greatly. We're planning to build a new barn come spring."
"Don't trouble yourself over it," Doc told her, slipping his arm around Clara's waist.
"Well, if you'll be excusin' me I should return to the dining room," Louisa said. "Terrible of me to leave the guests like that." She slipped past the group still clustered close to the doorway. There was a brief moment of silence after her departure.
"Wow," Marty finally said, breaking it. "Another Tannen. Can you believe it?"
"What a jerk!" Verne said, looking up at his mother. "How come you let him kiss you?"
Clara gazed at the back of her hand where Tannen's lips had touched. She made a face. "I didn't have much of a choice in the matter," she said.
"I think it'd be best if we avoided him for the rest of our stay," Jules suggested.
His father frowned at this obvious wisdom. "I'd be perfectly happy to do that, but I don't think he'll stop pestering your mother -- not unless he's tremendously different from the other in his bloodline. I've had far to many brushes with that family and know by now that a little something like marriage won't stop them from going after a woman they have their eye on." Doc glanced at Marty suddenly. "Did Biff bother your mother much after she was married?"
Marty tried to think back to the years before he had accidentally changed his life -- for the better. Those memories had grown foggy as the months had passed, though he wasn't sure if it was due to an aftereffect of the time travel or him just gaining a selective memory to remember the better times. "I don't know," he said after a moment. "Biff hasn't hit on my mom or anything since I changed things, but he might've before. If he murdered my dad to get to Mom in that twisted hell world, even after the change, then I guess he wasn't completely over her."
"Yes," Doc said, looking at Clara. "So if history is any indication of what we can expect, we haven't had our last meeting with this Tannen."
* * *
Verne heard the noises again that night, and this time they woke him up. He sat up, immediately wide awake, his heart starting to pound as the faint thumps echoed in the wall. Einstein lifted his head up from the foot of the couch and growled softly, the sound making the hairs on the back of the boy's neck rise.
"Shhhhhh," Verne murmured. "It's okay, Einie."
The dog lapsed into silence, though he still held his head up and alert, ears cocked forward. Verne slipped out from under the warm quilts and went over to Jules on the floor.
"Jules, wake up," Verne hissed, kneeling down and shaking him. "It's happening again!"
"The sounds?" Jules asked, coming awake almost immediately.
"Yeah. Listen."
Something rattled the bookshelf. Jules turned to look at the clock on the mantle. "Almost 5 A.M. again," he whispered. "Just like yesterday."
"So?" Verne asked, not seeing what that had to do with anything.
"So, because this is occurring at the same time of day, it might give us a clue on what's making that noise," Jules explained. "We'd know that this thing -- whatever it is -- is a creature of habit."
"Think we should get Mom and Dad?" Verne asked.
Jules shook his head after a moment of thought. "No, they might be a little exasperated if they were awakened two nights in a row, especially since we really don't have any evidence to support this being anything more than a settling house or overactive imagination."
"Those sounds are not imagined!" Verne said firmly. "Unless both of us -- and Marty -- are crazy."
Something scraped in the wall, making a sound like fingers dragged down wood. Verne bolted back to his feet. "I'm gonna go stay in Marty's room if we're not doing anything about this," he said.
"I think I will, too," Jules said, getting to his feet in a hurry. The boys grabbed their blankets and hustled to Marty's closed door. They slipped inside, doing their best to be quiet. Unfortunately, the room was quite dark, as the blinds were closed this time. Not able to really see before him, Verne strolled into something hard, stubbing his toe. He gasped in pain just as he heard something hit the ground with a weighted thud.
There was a rustle of movement from the bed. "Who's there?" Verne heard Marty mumble.
"Verne and I," Jules said. "We're hearing those noises again and thought we might stay in your room for the remainder of the night."
"Mmmmmm," Marty murmured in response, sounding like he was more than half asleep. Verne took that as an okay to continue. A moment later, having somehow bypassed his younger brother, Jules startled him by suddenly yanked back the heavy curtains, allowing bright moonlight into the room. Verne saw he had walked into the chest at the foot of the bed, knocking over Marty's boots.
"What do you think could be making those noises?" Verne whispered again as he spread out his blankets beside Jules on the floor.
"Maybe the only way we can solve this mystery is through the process of elimination," Jules murmured back. "We know it's not a rodent. We know that it can't be just the building settling."
"We know it's something big," Verne added. "We know it's only making noise at night, 'round this time."
"It must be a nocturnal creature, then," Jules summed up. "One only active at night, like raccoons and possums."
"Think it's an animal?" Verne asked after a moment of silence.
"It could be. Perhaps a raccoon lives in the wall. It'd explain the noises. And raccoons are definitely nocturnal creatures."
The answer sounded plausible, but Verne didn't feel that it was the right one. "Maybe," he said slowly. "What else do you have?"
"Humans are always possible," Jules whispered. "Of course, we can dismiss that one immediately since no one else is on this floor but us. And all there is outside our door is a hallway."
"Maybe someone's in the hallway," Verne suggested. He shivered at the idea of some stranger sneaking around, a few feet away.
"They'd have to be in the wall for that to work. And there isn't any way someone could fit into the walls of this building." Jules sighed. "It's a puzzle."
"We know that it's only making noise in the other room, behind the bookshelf!" Verne said suddenly, forgetting to whisper.
"Shhhhhh!" Marty hissed from the bed, startling both boys quite nicely. "If you guys don't stop yakking, you can't stay in here. Some people are trying to sleep!"
"Sorry," Jules said. He looked at Verne. "That's a very good point," he said in a ghost of a whisper. "I never thought of that."
Verne smiled in the darkness. "Think that's important?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Guys," Marty warned again, his tone promising dire consequences. "Shut up!"
"We'll continue this conversation later," Jules whispered.
Verne nodded. "Count on it!"
Clara Brown had gone to great lengths to avoid Leslie Tannen since the day before, but the man showed an irritating persistence and instinct in locating her. He had managed to sit across from her at every meal, smiling at her nonstop with that unnerving gold tooth glittering. He had followed her out to the parlor when she and Emmett had socialized with the other guests in the late afternoon, sitting as close to her as he could manage, ignoring the fact that she was most definitely spoken for. And, now, he had found her outside at the back of the inn as she supervised Jules and Verne taking runs on their sledding obstacle course.
"Those child'n yours?" Mr. Tannen asked her as Verne sped down the icy slope. Jules waited at the top for his turn at the game. They had spent the last couple afternoons working on the small hill, creating ramps and the like, and the weather had cooperated to make it even speedier with a bout of freezing rain the night before. The entire thing made Clara quite nervous, but the boys appeared to be having fun and no one had gotten hurt -- yet. So she let them be.
"Yes," Clara answered, not looking at the gentleman and hoping he would get the hint. I wish Emmett was out here, Clara though, glancing at the inn a hundred feet away, at her back. He and Marty were still inside, examining the wall where Jules and Verne had claimed they had heard noises again the night before.
"Are they your husband's child'n as well?" Mr. Tannen asked, his voice making it clear that he was sure they weren't.
"They most certainly are," Clara answered in a clipped voice. She couldn't believe the amount of disrespect he was showing towards her husband. But he is a Tannen, she reasoned. This shouldn't surprise me, especially since it's happened before.
She shivered a little with that deja vu and at the memories provoked from almost a year ago, when Emmett had taken the family on a trip to the Middle Ages for Verne's eighth birthday. In the months before he had turned eight, he had developed an interest in the knights and tournaments from that time period and Emmett had proposed the idea to Clara one night to let him experience those sights first hand as the ultimate birthday gift -- and an educational experience as well. Clara had agreed to it, but she also had the feeling that there was another reason for that trip, one more personal to Emmett -- he was finally ready to visit a new time.
The second time machine, built into a train that the scientist had purchased from the railroad company, had been completed in 1894, and after a couple trips to have it fitted with a hover conversion and to pick up Einstein and to check in with Marty, there had been very little use of the machine during the first two years. Clara wasn't quite sure of all the reasons why but had a feeling a lot of it had to do with her husband's earlier experiences with his original DeLorean time machine. That whole ordeal had spooked him rather badly, Emmett had confided to her once in the months following Marty's departure from 1885. It had called to his attention all sorts of situations he had never imagined when originally building a time machine. But after a little more than 24 months of allowing the new time machine to gather dust on their property, Emmett had either decided it was time to put it to some good use or had simply decided that the risks were just part of something like time travel. It was possible, too, that their increasingly serious discussions about moving permanently back to Emmett's time were a factor. Whatever it was, Clara had been just as surprised as Verne was when her husband had announced what their birthday gift to their youngest would to be.
Their week-long excursion had started out well enough. They had found a secluded, abandon building for their stay, which allowed them to keep the train in plain sight. The closest village, Mountain Crest, was a couple miles away -- far enough so they wouldn't be expecting any neighbors to drop by and close enough to allow daily trips into town. They had visited a tournament their second day, and it was then that they had first seen the king, Midas Tannen. Up until that point, the only brushes Clara had had with the Tannen family line had been with Buford Tannen in 1885. However, she had seen enough with Buford and heard enough from her husband about his great-grandson Biff to know that the family wasn't to be trusted.
Sure enough, King Tannen had almost immediately noticed Clara and -- despite the fact she was married with children -- had set his mind to snare her for his own. When Clara had ignored his subtle and not-so-subtle hints, the king had finally lost his patience. Just as Clara was certain he had given up on her, disaster had struck.
They had decided to visit the large marketplace two days before they were due to leave. Emmett had taken the boys to watch the local blacksmith construct a real suit of armor and Clara was looking over some of the crafts the villagers had done when she was seized from behind. Despite her struggles, she hadn't been able to break free. The men who had grabbed her dragged her kicking, fighting, and yelling through the busy street towards a horse drawn carriage. To her dismay, no one looked twice at her as she was being dragged away.
But Emmett had heard her cries. Clara caught a glimpse of his horrified expression as she was pushed into the wagon, then driven away towards the castle. It wasn't until she reached that destination that Clara realized King Tannen had been behind the whole thing and she started to realize the lengths that family would go to get what they wanted.
And this Tannen seems no different, Clara thought, favoring him with a quick glance.
Mr. Tannen saw her look at him and smiled again. "Let's say you an' me go somewhere a little warmer to talk?" he suggested with a wink.
"I think not, and I'd ask that you please leave me be," Clara said firmly, deciding that the time had come to be blunt.
Mr. Tannen reached for her arm. "Aw, c'mon," he said, tightening his grip on her. "T'won't hurt nothin'...."
Clara heard footsteps crunching in the snow behind her and turned to see her husband approaching, finally, followed by Marty. "Emmett!" she said, relieved beyond belief at his arrival. Emmett looked at her strained face, then at Mr. Tannen standing next to her, his hand grasping her arm.
"Is there a problem, Clara?" he asked, staring meaningfully at Leslie Tannen. The gentleman immediately let go of her arm.
"No, no," Mr. Tannen said, very smoothly. "Mrs. Brown and I were just talkin' a little."
Emmett's frown deepened as he looked at the Tannen. "I was asking my wife," he said emphatically. He turned back to Clara. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
"I'm fine," Clara said, stepping closer to her husband, looking at him meaningfully. She didn't want to start something between the two men. For all she knew, Mr. Tannen was carrying a knife or gun.
"Hey, Marty!" Verne called from the top of the hill, interrupting things. "You gotta try this!"
Marty surveyed the hill, riddled with mounds and dips and coated in a layer of ice. "Naw, I'd better not!" he called back. "I'd probably break my neck."
"Oh, come on!" Verne urged. "It's so much fun! Do you think Mom an' Dad'll let us do this if it wasn't safe?"
Marty considered the words for a moment, glanced at Emmett and Clara, then shrugged. "Oh, sure, why not," he said to them, smiling. "Can't be any riskier then skateboarding, right?" He started for the top of the course, a couple dozen feet away.
"Did you discover anything with the wall?" Clara asked her husband in a low voice, recalling the reason he had been delayed outside in the first place.
Emmett shook his head. "Not a thing. Everything looks perfectly normal."
"Do you think it's possible that an animal lives in the wall?" she wondered.
"It isn't completely out of the question," Emmett said. "But it seems unlikely. Marty described the sounds he heard to me. If it is an animal, it's a big one."
"Hmmm," Clara murmured thoughtfully. If Marty hadn't heard the noises, she would have dismissed Jules and Verne's claims almost immediately as mere overactive imaginations, or else the sounds simply made by mice or rats.
"I'd tell the innkeepers about those noises," Mr. Tannen suggested, butting himself into the conversation. "Unless you have reason not to." His face darkened as he added that.
Clara was puzzled, but not enough to want to question him further about his last comment. "Perhaps we will," was all she said, turning her back to him. She half-watched as Marty took the sled from Jules, who had just brought it back from the bottom, and lay down on it on his stomach.
"Whyever would we have a reason not to tell the Wallaces about the noise?" Emmett asked the Tannen after a moment, picking up the question Clara hadn't voiced.
The southerner smiled. "I'm passin' through this area, tryin' to find some of my slaves that've run away," he admitted. "Everyone knows that Ohio's full of those sympathetic to the slave's escapin', full of Negroes hidin' from their rightful owners." Mr. Tannen glanced at the inn behind them, scowling faintly. "I just know that the Wallaces are tryin' some of that!"
Clara wasn't surprised that Leslie Tannen owned slaves -- it seemed to suit his family nature. And it also shed some light on the argument that Clara and the rest of the inn had overheard yesterday between Mr. Tannen and the Wallaces. He probably stopped by to accuse them about keeping slaves, she realized.
Emmett give a sudden gasp, startling the former teacher from her thoughts. She looked at him sharply. "What's wrong?"
"Marty!" Emmett called instead, starting forward. Clara turned to the place where she had seen the teen last, at the top of the sledding slope. He was now speeding down the hill, but Clara could tell that he was having trouble holding onto the sled as it jumped off the snow ramps. Worst of all, the ramps grew in size the closer to the bottom.
Marty jerked his head around to look at Emmett as his name was called. His timing couldn't have been worse. His eyes met the inventor's just as the sled hit one of the largest ramps. The wooden craft took to the air, but Marty wasn't able to hold on with it. He flew several feet in the air, hitting the ground hard on his stomach, than slid another few feet forward on the ground. A huge tree loomed ahead and Clara gasped herself, realizing what was about to happen... but Marty's momentum slowed and stopped, inches before he would have collided with the tree.
"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed as Marty started climbing to his feet, clearly shaken by his fall. He glanced up the hill to them, his face pale, and took a step forward when his foot caught a patch of ice. He slipped, falling back before he could catch himself, the side of his head striking a root at the base of the tree. Emmett started running as much as he dared, down the hill, to his friend's side. Jules and Verne took off as well. Clara started after her family, but was jarred to a stop by a hand on her wrist. She turned around and saw that it was Mr. Tannen holding her back.
"Release me this instant!" she snapped, trying to jerk herself from his grasp. Mr. Tannen smiled at her, the look cold to Clara's eyes.
"Why don't you wait up 'ere with me?" he drawled. "I'll keep you nice 'n warm."
"I'd prefer not to," Clara said sharply. "Now please, let me go!"
Mr. Tannen ignored her request. Instead of releasing her, he did the unexpected -- he slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, leaned forward and kissed her, hard, on the mouth. Clara was too shocked to react for a moment, then she regained her senses and pulled away, hard. Mr. Tannen looked at her, a pleased smile hanging on his face, just as Clara rose her free hand and slapped him hard across the face.
"How dare you!" she hissed. The Tannen was startled enough by her blow to let her go and Clara took no time in running away from him, nearly falling down the hill herself in her haste to get away.
At the bottom, Emmett was kneeling next to Marty, who was sitting up and rubbing hard at the place where he'd hit his head, his eyes screwed shut. Jules and Verne hovered nearby. "Is he all right?" she asked her husband immediately.
"Hurts," Marty muttered, his voice sounding a little weak. He stopped rubbing his head and opened his eyes wide, blinking a couple times at the faces around him. "I think I'm okay, Doc."
Emmett looked at him hard a moment, a little frown settling on his face. "You hit your head pretty hard," he said.
"I know," Marty said, half groaning. "I think I'll go lie down inside...." He started to stand up and got halfway there before he kind of staggered and caught himself against the trunk of the tree. Emmett reached out to lend a helping hand, but before he could quite reach Marty, the teen kind of slid to the ground. And, this time, he didn't get up.
"Goodness, did he faint?" Clara asked as Emmett jumped over to his side.
"I suspect so.... Jules, Verne, go up to the house and try to find one of the Wallaces. Tell them we had a little accident out here and we'll need a doctor."
The boys nodded as one and scurried off without a word, their faces pinched and worried. Clara watched them go, catching sight of Leslie Tannen observing their group from the top of the hill. She turned away, feeling her temper bubble up at the mere sight of him. The nerve of that man! she simmered.
Emmett didn't seem to notice her distress, trying to gently rouse Marty. He lay on his side, his face turned away from Clara and her husband. She could tell, however, that he was most certainly unconscious.
"Do you think he has a concussion?" she asked.
"I don't know.... I hope not, but I don't know. That he fainted is certainly no comfort." Emmett hissed a sigh out through his teeth as he looked at her. "I hope there's a competent doctor in town."
She nodded in agreement. Her husband studied her a minute more, flicked his eyes up the hill to where Mr. Tannen still waited. "Did something happen between you and him up there?" he asked shrewdly.
If I tell Emmett what he did, I might as well sign his death certificate, Clara thought, knowing that he would waste no time in going after Leslie Tannen, a confrontation that would probably have less than desirable results. She settled on a compromise. "Yes," she admitted. "But I'd rather not talk about it, not now. When the danger is past with Marty, perhaps then we can discuss it."
* * *
For Marty, there were faint sensations, voices, and pains that faded in and out for a while. He was curious, wanting to open his eyes and find out what was going on, but that struggle was in vain for an unmeasurable amount of time. At long last, though, he found himself blinking, his vision burred at first, with a wicked pain arching through his head from the right side, just above his ear. It reminded him of the time he'd tripped back and accidentally clocked himself on the door frame of the DeLorean, knocking himself out cold. His vision cleared up after a minute, and before he could speak, he noticed Clara and Doc were peering down at him, framing the stranger's face bent above him.
Why do I feel like I'm Dorothy waking up in "The Wizard of Oz"?
"He's awake," the stranger said needlessly.
"Marty," Doc said anxiously, "how do you feel?"
Like my head might split open, Marty thought, deciding that would be a poor answer. "Headache," he muttered instead, reaching up to feel his forehead. His hand ran into a cool, damp cloth lying there.
"It should pass," the stranger said. "I'm going to give you a quick exam now that you're awake, however. Follow my finger with your eyes."
Marty did as he asked, answering a couple questions the man asked. The stranger frowned at his answers, turning to Doc a moment to murmur something to the scientist. People were standing too close to him for Marty to get even the vaguest idea on where he was. Lying on a couch was about as far as he could tell. He closed his eyes a second as his head gave a particularly nauseating throb, and when he opened them again the stranger was staring down at him once more.
"You've got a mild concussion, near as I can tell," he said. "I would stay off your feet and in bed for a day or two and take it quite easy."
Before Marty could say anything to this, Doc broke in. "We'll make sure of it, Doctor," he said. "Can he be moved upstairs to our room?"
"If he goes very slowly with some help, I believe so. But no more sledding for you," the doctor added to Marty with a half smile.
Marty's head was hurting too badly for him to do more than grunt at the suggestion. As the doctor backed away, he caught a glimpse of one of the walls in the room and realized that he was lying in the front parlor of the Wallace's inn, on their couch. Doc walked with the man as he headed away to pack up the stereotypical black bag he had apparently brought with him, speaking to him in a low voice. The teen turned his eyes to Clara as she adjusted the damp cloth on his forehead, over more to the aching lump on the side.
"What happened?" he asked her softly.
Clara's dark eyes were concerned as she looked at him. "You slipped on some ice after you finished sledding down the hill and struck your head on the root of a tree," she said. "It didn't knock you out, immediately, but when you tried to stand, you fainted. Do you remember anything about that?"
"I remember sledding," Marty said with a wince, rubbing his forehead tentatively. "What happened after that?"
"Well, Jules and Verne found Mrs. Wallace and told her what had happened. She sent for the town doctor while Emmett and her husband carried you in here, so you wouldn't go into shock from the cold outside." Clara smiled, a bit nervously. "You gave us quite a scare."
"I'm sorry," Marty said, though he knew it wasn't really his fault. He lifted up the cool cloth resting on the bump and tentatively touched the bruise that was forming. The faintest brush of his fingers brought tears to his eyes and nearly made him pass out again. "How long was I out?"
"Not too long, and you seemed to be half awake at times before now, though you faded out again before we could really tell. Perhaps an hour, all told. The doctor was quick in getting here."
Doc, who had followed the doctor out to the front of the inn and apparently seen him out, came back into the room, then. Like Clara, he looked concerned when he looked at Marty, and the teen had to wonder if he really looked like hell. "How bad is your head hurting?"
"Bad," Marty muttered. "Do you have anything to help it?"
"As a matter of fact, I do -- upstairs. Do you think you might be able to make it to our room if we help you?"
"If it's a lot of help, maybe."
"I'll see what I can do."
The scientist left the room again, almost bumping into Jules and Verne, who were peeking cautiously into the room from the entryway. "Can we come in, Mom?" Verne said in a loud whisper.
Clara nodded, looking at Marty as she explained, "Mr. and Mrs. Wallace thought it best to keep them away while the doctor examined you. I think they felt if the news was bad the boys shouldn't find out in that manner."
Marty managed a wan smile. "And I thought they didn't like kids."
"I think they were as shaken as we were by your accident," Clara admitted.
Jules and Verne approached Marty slowly, looking uncertain. "You gonna be okay?" Verne asked for the both of them. "I swear I didn't think you'd get hurt when you went down the run."
"Accidents happen," the teen said.
"Perhaps," Clara agreed. "But I think we might want to end the sledding, now, before anyone else gets hurt."
"But we've barely begun to enjoy that!" Jules protested. "What else are we supposed to do with the time here?"
"There are other games one can play in the snow. I'm sorry, boys, but I really don't want you to sled down that hill any longer."
Jules sulked and Verne pouted at this news, but by the tone in their mother's voice, it was obvious they didn't see the wisdom in arguing against it. Marty, for his part, felt a little bad that his stupid luck had to ruin it for the kids.
Doc came back a minute later with Jon Wallace in tow. The innkeeper looked, as Clara had said earlier, a little pale and shaky from what had happened earlier. "We're going to help you to our room," Doc explained to the teen. "We'll try and go slow, and if you feel sick or like you might faint again, let us know."
Jon added, "Louisa's preparing you something that might make you feel a little better, once you get up there. We're very sorry for what happened."
"Not your fault," Marty half whispered as Clara helped him into a sitting position. The room whirled and dimmed around him and he had to lean against the back of the couch for a minute before things steadied out a little. When the spell passed, Doc and Jon each took one side and helped pull Marty to his feet.
Going up the stairs -- three levels of it -- was slow going. Marty wasn't able to help the men with the hike that well; in fact, he spent most of it with his eyes closed, resting his head on Doc and willing the dizziness and pain in his head to go away. They had to move sort of sideways, since the stairway wasn't wide enough to accommodate three people standing side by side. At long last, however, they reached the three rooms and Marty sat down on the couch in the common area, rather than the bed in his room, because, as Doc explained, it was warmer and they would be able to keep an eye on him better for the rest of the day.
"You can sleep, but we're going to have to wake you up every hour or so today," he said, almost apologetically, as Marty leaned forward on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands, groaning a little from the pain. "Those are my orders, which the doctor gave his approval over."
"Didn't you say you had something for the headache?" Marty asked, barely caring what it was Doc had to say.
"Oh, yes," the scientist said, just as Jon, who had started for the door, paused and said, "I'll send someone up with that as soon as it's finished."
Once the innkeeper had left, Doc went into the bedroom he shared with Clara, returning a minute later with a bottle of Tylenol. He handed Marty a couple of the pills, who couldn't resist asking, "How'd you smuggle that in?"
"I brought along the first-aid kit in one of the bags. I figured it might be a wise move, considering we'd be here for nearly a week, for better or worse. And based on past experiences, better safe than sorry."
Marty popped the pills in his mouth, swallowing them dry with a wince. "Thanks," he said. "Sorry I ruined everyone's day...."
"We're just glad you're all right," Clara said. She glanced to her kids, hanging back near the door, still dressed in their coats and winter gear. "Can one of you fetch a pillow and blanket from Marty's room?"
Jules went to take care of the errand. He had just returned with the requested objects, and Clara had just helped the teen settle down on the couch, when there was a knock at the door. Marty saw Clara's eyes dart over to it, her expression nervous and uneasy. Verne answered it before anyone could stop him, opening it only a crack at first. "Who's there?" he asked.
"Miz Louisa sent me up," a woman's voice said from the hallway.
Verne opened the door wider, stepping aside as one of the maids came in, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. "Miz Louisa made this for 'im," she explained, nodding to Marty as she carried the drink inside and set it on a small end table near the couch.
"Thank you," Clara said graciously. The maid smiled at Marty as she looked at him, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth.
"It's tea," she explained. "Should be helpin' to that headache you got."
"Thanks," Marty said, managing a faint smile in return. The maid lingered a moment, then headed back to the door with a promise that some dinner had been set aside for them when they were ready to eat it, by order of the innkeepers. Jules and Verne both perked up at the mention of food.
"Can we go eat now, Dad?" Verne asked for the both of them. "We're starvin' and it looks like Marty's not gonna keel over or anything, now."
"All right," Doc said slowly, then just as quickly changed his mind. "No, you'd better wait until your mother or I can go with you."
"You can go with them, Emmett," Clara said immediately. "I'll stay with Marty. I'm more comfortable up here, anyhow."
Doc looked carefully at his wife, catching something that was apparently unsaid. "What was it that Tannen did to you out there?"
"I'll explain later," Clara said, a quick glance at the boys standing near the door, very attentive to their parents' conversation. Her husband got the idea.
"I understand. I'll bring up something for you -- and Marty, if he's up to eating anything."
"Ask me again after my head stops hurting so much," Marty muttered, the mere idea of food turning his stomach at the moment.
Doc left quickly with Jules and Verne. Once they were gone, Marty couldn't resist questioning Clara. "So, what did Tannen do to you?"
"What makes you think he did anything to me?" the former teacher asked innocently as she adjusted Marty's pillow to help boost him up into enough of a sitting position so that he might have the drink the maid had brought.
"Well, you basically just said as much to Doc," Marty said. "And when we met you outside earlier, he was holding your arm and looked kind of ticked. And you looked upset. So what was it? What happened?"
Clara sighed as she handed him the tea, then sat down on the edge of the couch. She was quiet for a moment as Marty took his first sip of the tea -- Oh, nasty! This better work better than it tastes! -- before blurting it out. "Oh, Mr. Tannen just kissed me."
Marty almost spilled his tea. "What?!" he exclaimed, loud enough that his head gave him a sharp pain. "When did that happen?"
"Take it easy," Clara chided, obviously concerned. "After you had slipped and hit your head, once Emmett had run to your side. Mr. Tannen stopped me from joining everyone, pulled me over to him, and kissed me on the mouth." The woman shuddered, anger flashing in her dark eyes at the memory. "I slapped him, hard, and he let me go, more from surprise than anything else. He stayed at the top of the hill until Mr. Wallace came out to help move you, and I wouldn't doubt he's waiting downstairs now for me." She sighed. "I hope he doesn't say anything to Emmett...."
"No kidding, Clara," Marty said, the news stunning him enough to make him temporarily forget his own problems. "Doc'll kill him when he find out!"
Clara reached out and grabbed Marty's wrist with lightning speed as he started to raise the cup to his lips. He almost spilled it all over again. "You can't tell him!" she said firmly, looking him straight in the eye. "As you said, Emmett would be furious with Mr. Tannen and I fear he would do something foolish in his anger."
Marty was confused. "But Doc'll be more upset if you hide this from him."
"I'll tell him tonight, after the boys are in bed," Clara said. "In the meantime, Marty, please, don't do the telling for me."
"I'm not a snitch, so don't worry. But you better hope Tannen doesn't let it slip. It'd be like him to tell Doc himself, just to see his reaction."
Clara bit her lower lip, troubled. "Perhaps so," she murmured, quiet for a long moment. Marty drank some more of the disgusting tea, trying his best to ignore the taste by swallowing it in large, burning gulps. "Well, maybe the best we can do is avoid the man the rest of the day. It shouldn't be too difficult if I stay up here and keep an eye on you."
"I guess, unless he comes up here. But if Doc isn't around with you, maybe he won't gloat."
"I hope not." Clara sighed heavily. "This is a bit of a mess, isn't it?"
"Looks like it. Too bad we can't do something about Tannen. That guy's gonna be a pain in the ass the rest of our stay here."
"I'd almost rather leave things be. I don't want anyone getting hurt for my benefit. I think if I do my best to avoid Mr. Tannen the rest of our stay here -- and make certain I'm never left alone with him -- we might be able to finish our stay here without further incidents."
Marty sighed, the words sounding forced and false even to his ears. "Hope you're right."