The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 7 -- The Apology

Meandering down the stairs, he wondered what Mrs. Steers might say, hearing her voice in his head, "Oh, it's alright.  It's my fault for leaving it unlocked."

Or he could make up a fib.  "Well, Mrs. Steers, I thought I heard a squirrel running around.  You know how they are… doing squirrelly stuff… so when I checked the door, it was unlocked."

She might be grateful saying something like "Oh thank you for checking.  Squirrels can cause a lot of damage."  Sam knew that it wouldn’t work. His mom would check later to find out if he apologized.  Sam was relieved about one thing. He could apologize to Mrs. Steers by himself.  Sam hated when his Mom stood next to him and made sure he actually apologized, getting nervous and teary-eyed.  His mom wasn't mean, just stern.

Sam stepped out onto the front porch.  Mrs. Steers wasn't sitting in her rocking chair, which meant he had to knock on her front door.   Standing in front of the screen door, he saw the inside door was open, but the metal mesh screen made the inside dark from the outside.

"Maybe I shouldn't disturb her.  Maybe she's busy writing or something."  Sam paused, preparing to knock, when Mrs. Steers' voice came from inside.

"Hello, Sam."  Sam jumped, not expecting her.  Mrs. Steers pushed open the screen door.  "Why don't you come in and visit."    

Sam stepped into the hallway. The high ceiling made him feel short. The tall coat rack with a center round mirror stood across from the newel post at the bottom of the stairway.

To his left was a sitting room.  Bookcases lined the walls, packed with books, odd knick knacks, vases of all sizes and shapes, white ceramic statuettes and busts, and an assortment of weird objects he couldn't identify. An overstuffed red upholstered sofa and matching chairs sat in the middle of the room with a square coffee table stacked high with books.  He was amazed at the enormous green-marbled fireplace with a floor to ceiling wooden mantel dominating the wall facing him.  A painting of a wooded scene hung in the center above it.  Picture frames filled the mantel – some plain wood, some silver with fancy scroll work, and ones with gilded edges -- with photographs inside that looked as old.

"Let's go in here." Mrs. Steers led him to the right into the dining room.  An antique oak table and six matching chairs sat on a patterned oriental carpet of red, green, and blue.   In the center of the table sat a clear glass three-tiered cake stand.   A massive sideboard stood at the opposite wall, displaying green glass serving dishes such as bowls and platters.

"I've finished baking.  The cookies are still warm. They're your favorite -- snicker doodles."

How could she know that?, thought Sam.

"I'll pour some milk and bring the cookies," said Mrs. Steers.  "Why don't you have a seat and when I get back, we'll chat."  Before she exited through a swinging door which he assumed opened to the kitchen, she winked and said in a cheerful voice.  "I already know."

Pulling out a side chair, Sam squeezed between it and the table and sat waiting. Sam's stomach churned and wondered what she meant by "I already know."

Great! Mom already called her.  I'm gonna get it now.

Yet, there was something unusual about Mrs. Steers, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.  How did she know about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and now the snicker doodles?  And she certainly didn’t seem upset.  That is if she already knew.

Mrs. Steers returned carrying a tray with a pitcher of milk, two glasses, and a plate of fresh-baked cookies on it. The aroma teased Sam's nose. Mrs. Steers poured the milk and sat down.

"Now, what would you like to tell me?  Or even better, what would you like me to tell you?" said Mrs. Steers, looking right into Sam’s eyes.

"Well, my mom said I should come and apologize.   I mean… tell you that I didn't mean to..." Before he could finish, Mrs. Steers interrupted him.

"I see.  Well, let me help clear your conscience.  I'm not mad at you.   With that said, why don't you tell me what you found?"  Strangely, Mrs. Steers had an air of enthusiasm about his snooping.

Sam first thought of the newspaper but then felt confused.  "Mrs. Steers, I'm… not really sure… what to say.   Did my mom already call you?"

"No," said Mrs. Steers, shaking her head.   "Sam, tell me what you found and we'll talk." She sipped some milk then took a bite out of her cookie.

"Well… I found the attic door open when I accidentally knocked the ironing board over…"

"Yes, I know.  I forgot to lock it," she replied.

"So, I went up into the attic," continued Sam.  "I admit it…  My curiosity got the best of me…  There was so much neat and cool stuff…  And then I found this box…  And this newspaper... and the note saying it had a fingerprint of Jack the Ripper on it...  Then my mom came home and I..."

Mrs. Steers motioned for him to stop.  "Ah yes, Albert and I were in Indianapolis for a business trip one time.  We shopped in a local department store there. I bought something that they put in that box.   I want to say it was a blouse.  Anyway, it doesn't matter.   Later I used it to store the newspaper with the fingerprint."

She paused then said something Sam did not get at all.  "Scary time. I thought we were going to get caught.  I don't know why.   No one could see us."

Scary time? Getting caught? What is she talking about? Did she shoplift at that store?  Sam looked perplexed.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you? That's what I thought about Albert when he first told me about his experiments.   You see, Albert and I time-traveled a lot," said Mrs. Steers like it was nothing. "Not the kind you read about in books where the characters would travel back or forward in time and be there just like they lived there, but the kind where we could only see events or places or people..." she said.   "Whenever we traveled, it was like watching a movie in 3D or like being a ghost in another time."

Sam stared at her. His mouth hung open.  She's crazy!

"Have you ever read "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens?" asked Mrs. Steers.

"Yes… I have," stuttered Sam.

"Remember when The Ghost of Christmas Past took Scrooge back to see himself as a school boy, then later as a young man.  The Ghost said something about seeing shadows of people and events that had already been.  That's what it was like for us, I mean traveling back in time.  However, we could smell odors, feel the cold or hot air, and hear the sounds and conversations of wherever we were… "  Mrs. Steers took another sip of her milk.

"We couldn't touch anything, like fabrics or food or flesh.   Anything organic or alive...  It's hard to explain.   I remember the first time I walked through someone...   A elderly woman.   She never knew I'd passed through her…  Albert told me stories about watching armies march into battle as if it was a movie.  He watched Lincoln give the Gettysburg Address.  Albert was fascinated by history."

Sam sat perfectly still.  His eyes fixed on Mrs. Steers, thinking how crazy she was.  He blurted out.  "No way! There's no such thing.  It's not possible."

"But it is," said Mrs. Steers.  "Surely you believe in magic or spells or incantations?"  Before Sam could answer, Mrs. Steers continued, appearing to go off on a different subject.

"Albert read all the time.  He collected books.  When we were first married, he already had a huge collection of them.  Whenever we traveled, we had to stop at any bookstores we found." Mrs. Steers paused.

"Another cookie?" Mrs. Steers held the plate up. Sam felt for another one, not taking his eyes off her.