The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 8 -- The Old Bookshop

Mrs. Steers sat back in her chair.

"Let me tell you when and how we first learned about time-traveling.  Let me see…  That must have been about thirty years ago, about this time of year, when Albert and I were first married.  We honeymooned in London.  Here, let me show you a picture of us while we were there."

Going over to the sideboard, Mrs. Steers opened a drawer and pulled out an old black photo album.  After returning to her seat, she thumbed through the pages filled with neatly arranged black and white photos hinged to the pages.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Steers pointing to one of a young couple standing along a riverfront. "This was taken on the Thames.  Look how handsome Albert was and I was so young."

Sam looked at the smiling honeymooners.  Albert wore a dark sports jacket and plain shirt with no tie.  Sam thought Albert looked like a nice guy.  The young Mrs. Steers wore a flowered dress that hung to her knees.  He recognized her immediately.   She hadn't changed much.   Laying the album on the table, Mrs. Steers left it opened to the photograph and returned to her story.

"This was taken the day before Albert found that bizarre little bookshop, tucked down a side alley in London.  It was an out-of-the-way place for a bookshop, but, like I said,  Albert loved books and any shop that sold them was fair game. I remember the bookshop's name. It  was painted in black with gold trim on a wooden sign hanging above the windows.  It said Rupert Jameson, Dealer of Rare and Unusual Books and an Assortment of Other Strange and Mysterious Finds.  Odd name for a shop, don't you think?"

Sam nodded becoming somewhat intrigued by Mrs. Steers' story.

"The outside of the shop reminded me of something you would see in old movies.  You know the ones that are set back in the 1800s.  And there would be jars of candy or dresses standing in the window.  The main door was solid wood with only a small window about eye level for someone to peek out.  When we entered the bookshop, the first thing I noticed was the smell of old paper and pipe tobacco.   My father smoked a pipe so I knew that smell well."  Mrs. Steers scrunched her nose.

"In the middle of the room was an oversized black pot-bellied stove with a stovepipe running up to the ceiling, across the room, and out a side window.  It was keeping that shop warm.  I could see a pile of glowing embers in it and thought 'I hope it doesn't catch the place on fire with all this paper.'  A long wooden counter stood on one side. And there were a couple of old tables and a few chairs on the other side.  Every flat surface was piled with papers, books, boxes…"

Mrs. Steers rolled her eyes laughing. "I'm glad I didn't have to clean that place…"

"Oh, but so many unusual yet interesting objects filled that shop.  Old books on witchcraft, hocus-pocus, fortune-telling were stacked everywhere, including the floor. I even remember a large crystal ball on a gold stand.   There were so many books I was convinced the whole shop was held together just by them.   And some of the photographs and pictures were strange.   There was a painting of a rather elegant woman.  I swear she was staring right at us and her eyes followed us as we moved.  Anyway...

While we were poking about, a voice with a heavy English accent came from somewhere behind a stack of books.  "Welcome to my shop.  I am Rupert Jameson. What can I find for you?"

It took me a moment to find where the voice had come from, but there behind the counter, sitting straight up on a old rickety-looking stool, was the shopkeeper with a open book in his hand.  He looked… well... strange.

His bushy gray hair stuck out from under a round embroidered cap.  He was clean-shaven despite his bushy hair.   He wore small round wire-rimmed spectacles." 

Mrs. Steers made circles with her forefinger and thumb and held them up to her eyes.

"And his clothes... They looked like something from a theater performance.  He had on a red velvet jacket... somewhat worn but clean and neat... I could see he had green and blue-striped pants, and a high-starched collar that stood around his neck, making it look like his head was sitting in a white bowl.  Around the lower part of the collar was a bright orange neckerchief... tied in a loose bow. He wore strange medallions on a chain...  A moon, a star, a triangle with a white stone in the center... I remember thinking he looked like someone from a Dickens novel crossed with the Mad Hatter."

"Oh, we're just looking," replied Albert.

"We are never just looking. There's always something we are seeking," said the shopkeeper.

"Well, I'm interested in history," said Albert. "Is there a section for that?"

The shopkeeper stared hard at him before announcing.

"I have one book that may be of interest to you."   The shopkeeper slipped down off the stool and walked over to a large display cabinet, the kind with latticed-work glass windows.  I could see an old hand-written sign on one of the doors that read Books Bound with Human Skin.

Sam perked up even more.  His eyes widened.  "Really?" said Sam.  "Were there books in there made from human skin?"

Mrs. Steers made a grimacing look and continued with her story.  "I was horrified!   I stood there thinking to myself -- Don't you even dare get one of those books out of that cabinet.   I would have been sick.  I have no idea if they were really bound in human skin or not.  Thankfully, he walked on by the cabinet and disappeared down an aisle of books.  Albert and I stood there waiting."

I whispered to Albert. "Odd fellow."

"Eccentric," whispered Albert.

In a few moments, the shopkeeper came back and handed Albert a leather-bound book, about the size of a paperback. It had beautiful gold scroll work on the spine.

"This is the perfect book for you, sir.” Jameson ran his hand over the spine. “As you can see, it is hand-bound in fine morocco leather.  The clasps are brass with fine scroll work.  It is in excellent condition. Please take it, as a gift.  You will enjoy it, my guarantee."  Jameson handed Albert the book.

"Oh, I couldn't just take it.  Surely, it's valuable.  How much is it?" asked Albert without even looking at the book's title.

"No charge, sir," said Jameson.  "The book... it is yours."  Albert looked at me then we looked at Jameson.

"Umm, well, okay.... Thanks," said Albert.  "Are you sure I don't owe you something?"  The shopkeeper shook his head and smiled.  I felt uncomfortable.  The whole situation seemed strange... the bookshop... the shopkeeper.

"Albert, let's go."  I nudged him a little.   I had no problem getting him to leave.  He was as uncomfortable as I was.   So, we left the shop with the book and walked about two blocks where we found a cafe.  It was past noon and I was starving.  We ordered fish and chips. Albert talked about that odd bookshop and the odd bookshop owner.  I cared only about eating.

"Lottie, that whole bookstore was strange.  That guy gave me the book for no reason.  Surely, it's valuable."   Albert pulled the book out the side pocket of his sports coat and started to examine it.  He unlatched the clasps and opened it.   

The end sheet had something written in what looked like Latin.  Neither Albert nor I could read Latin, but there was another note in English.  Albert read it out loud.

"This book is number seven out of seven known to have existed. Don't lose it.  Use it wisely. Your friend, AN."  We had no idea what that meant.  Albert turned to the title page and read it out loud.

"We should take it back," I said.  "It's nonsense. No one could learn to time travel. It’s all crazy."

"I agree," said Albert.  "Let's take it back."

After lunch, we retraced our steps right back to the bookshop... or at least where we thought it was.  It was gone. There was nothing but a solid brick wall where it should have been.  No door, no sign, no bookshop. Nothing. We stood there staring in disbelief.  We never did find it.   We searched other alleys, but I was positive we had gone down the right one the first time.

I remembered the shop next to the alley was a furniture store with an overstuffed chair with green upholstery in the window… which I liked so much I bought it and shipped it home. But as for the bookshop… It had simply vanished." 

Mrs. Steers stopped her story and gazed at Sam.

"There you have it," said Mrs. Steers. "The beginning of a whole new life."

"You never found the bookshop again?" asked Sam, trying his best to put this crazy puzzle together.  “And what about the book?”

"Yes and no, but that's another story," said Mrs. Steers.  "Albert read that book from cover to cover several times.  He would disappear for hours into the attic.  I was beginning to get worried.  He was obsessed with it.  One day, I decided to go up to the attic and see what he was doing.   I remember it was December, a couple of days before Christmas.   It had snowed the night before.

Anyway, so he always locked the attic door.  You know the one in the laundry room, but I had a spare key.  I crept up the stairs.  The attic was a little chilly.  At that time, it was cleaner and Albert had set up a reading corner for when he wanted to concentrate.  I saw Albert taking a nap in his high back armchair.  Or so I thought he was napping…

"Albert?"  I said.  "Are you okay?  What are you doing up here?"  He sat there, not moving.  I tiptoed over, hoping not to startle him.  Albert looked ill, all red in the face.  I put my hand on his arm; he was hot and clammy.

"Can you hear me? Albert!"   He didn't stir.  His breathing was slow but steady.  "Albert!"  I shook his arm.  Nothing at first, but then he started to move a little.  Then his eyes flew open. He sat straight up in the chair and yelled "No!  He's got a gun!"

I stumbled backwards, falling to the floor.  Albert sat wide-eyed for a few seconds, and then slumped back into the chair. He rubbed his forehead and looked down at me.  I stared up at him.

"Lottie?  What happened? What are you doing on the floor?"

"You tell me! I thought you were dead!"  I was so upset and shaken.

Albert sat staring into space, before getting up.  At first, he had trouble getting his balance, but finally stood up and helped me up off the floor.  Then he jumped about.

"What is wrong with you?"  I didn’t know what to do.

"Lottie!  It worked!  I did it!" Albert was laughing hysterically.

"Did what?" I asked while he still bounced around like a school boy who got out for summer break.

"Lottie.   The book...  The book... I did it.  I made it work.   I was right there.  I could see him.  Both of them!"  Albert was overcome with delight.  I hadn't seen him so excited.

I still stood there with my mouth hanging open.  Albert pranced excitedly around and rattled on about the night Lincoln was assassinated.  All I thought was Me, a young wife with a husband whose gone nuts!

Albert told me the most bizarre story.  "I was standing in the same theater box where Abraham Lincoln sat at Ford's Theater the night he was shot. I stood in the corner and saw John Wilkes Booth sneak in." Albert rubbed his forehead.  "It was awful.  I was about to shout something like "get out of the way" when I heard your voice coming out of nowhere."

Finally, he calmed down a little. Albert described the whole experience like being a ghost, but able to smell odors, hear sounds, feel air, and talk without being heard…  He was there, but not there to the people around him, that is.  He described it in great detail right down to the pattern in the carpet on the floor.  Albert had a photographic memory.

Sam was getting freaked out by her story.  He couldn't listen anymore.

"Mrs. Steers, I have to go," said Sam. "I've got homework to do and my mom… wants me to clean my room… and she'll be fixing dinner…  I don't have time for this stupid story about time travel and magic...  It's stupid."

With that, Sam jumped up, scurrying out the front door letting the screen door slam behind him.  Mrs. Steers sat perplexed.

"Well, that didn't go over as well as I'd hoped."