SOJOURNS IN TIME

                                          By Atonia Walpole

                                                                   (Picture creations also by Atonia)

Chapter 1

Down in the subterranean vaults of the Metro Museum, Phillipa Dawson stepped back from the painting she was helping to restore. Her work was indistinguishable, as it should be, and her lips curved into a smile.

In another section of the vaults Artie Wilson’s lips also curved into a smile. His hands did not hold an artist brush but a wrench. Something had been brought in that caught his attention. To the untrained eye it looked little more than a pile of rusted gears and broken dials, but it was the mysterious purpose of the relic that had his attention. He’d taken photos from every angle and measurements and was about to dismantle it. He glanced again at his computer where a three dimensional drawing of the machine filled the screen.

“Hey, Artie, what happened to pizza?”

He nearly dropped the wrench. “Philly, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I didn’t realize I was sneaking. What in the world is that?”

“You might well ask, Philly. It was found in a barn in Texas of all places. How it arrived there I have no idea.”

“It isn’t anything but a pile of rust.” Philly walked around the odd-looking piece of machinery. “I don’t see how you can restore it.”

“Maybe not restore but…replicate.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is before you remember about the pizza?”

“I had forgotten about that.” Sighing, he lay down his wrench. There was plenty of time and the thought made him laugh.

“That was funny?” She was about to take offense.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Philly. Now that I think about it, I’m starved.” Artie lay the wrench down and went over to his computer. “Just be a sec.”

Philly looked at the oddly-fashioned machine. “Victorian?”

“Right on,” Artie answered. “The great industrial age.”

“Found in a barn.” She slipped on her coat. “Not sure farm machinery will gain a display up top.”

Artie pulled his knit hat down over his ears and grabbed his coat. “It never farmed.”

A photograph was attached to his worktable and she picked it up. “What did it do?”

“It traveled; now put that down and let’s go.”

Philly met Artie, when she first came to work at the museum. Artie was somewhere in his thirties and somewhat of a mechanical genius.  His dark-framed, studious-looking glasses were at odds with his long dreadlocks caught back at the nape of his neck.  He befriended Philly when she knew no one at the museum and their friendship had grown over the past year.

Outside the cold air coming off the melting snow was refreshing after the still cosseted air of the vaults. They walked quickly, Philly’s boots making clicking sound sounds on the pavement trying to keep up with Artie’s long strides. She pulled the hood up on her down jacket, trapping her long unruly light brown hair inside.

“What you working on in the ar-tiste department?” he asked, plunging his hands into his pockets.

“A Sully portrait of Mary Pringle.”

“Excitin’.” He smiled, a flash of white teeth in his dark face. “Umm, I smell Tony’s already.”

They neared the pizza parlor and Philly’s mouth began to water. Inside it was snug and warm, an old fashioned place where nothing had changed in twenty years. Faded photographs of Italy were framed and lined the walls. Dean Martin still sang That’s Amore over the scratchy speakers. They placed their order and found a booth. A bottle of Chianti and two glasses were brought to the table.

“What’s goin’ on with you and Mr. Dave?”

Philly wrinkled her nose. “Not much, you know. He’s just somebody to go to the movies with or a show. Nothing serious will ever happen there. How’s Jeannie?”

“She’s good.”

“You ever gonna marry that woman, Artie?”

“I don’t know. I think about it sometimes and then..." He shook his head. “She might cramp my style.”

“Ha, you don’t have a style!” She sipped her wine.

He grinned, “Well, now, I’m working on one. Don’t be puttin’ me down, girl.”

Artie was from Philadelphia and right away nicknamed Phillipa, Philly. She was from Atlanta and schooled in the art of restoration in Paris and in Venice. She’d worked in London before coming back to the States and obtaining a job at Metro. At twenty-seven she was an accomplished artist but preferred to restore rather than create.

“I wasn’t putting you down. Tell me something, what is it you’re going to make out of that pile of rusted gears?”

He sucked in his bottom lip and looked at her a moment. “If I tell you what that machine is-was, you have to promise me not to tell anyone. I mean not even your mama. You got that?”

“Why the big secret?” She moved her glass back so the steaming pizza could be put on the table between them.

He was serious. “It has to be a secret…'cause I don’t want word to get out about it. It could fall into the wrong hands and…God knows what might happen.”

She chuckled, “What is it, a Victorian nuclear bomb?”

“No…have you promised? All right…it’s a time machine.”

“You’re kidding me?” She stopped with her pizza mid air. “They were outlawed back in the 20’s. I remember reading about the last one being destroyed when I was in school.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pulled a slice of the pizza onto his plate. “That’s why you gotta keep quiet about it.”

“You…you can’t make it operational…can you?”

He chewed for a bit. “Probably not…no…wouldn’t want to do that. I’d get my ass in more trouble than I could handle. It’ll just be a…display piece. Wiseman brought it in and he didn’t have no idea what it was. He said it was a tractor of some kind…I reckon that’s 'cause he found it in a barn.”

“Well, Artie, what a scoop. I can’t wait to see the results.” She smiled broadly.

All through the winter months he worked on his secret project. He tested the parts in the lab to get the right metals. Far and wide he searched and obtained the necessary parts and where he couldn’t purchase, he had them made to specifications. He’d seen old photographs of time machines but this was the first one he’d actually seen in person…so to speak. He actually found some of the parts packed away in the museum  archives. Important parts…that he would need.

“It looks like a motorized sleigh,”  Philly commented one day when she stopped in his workshop. “How close are you to finishing it?”

Artie adjusted his glasses. “I figured I’d have it ready by summer.”

“Oh, that’s a good time for reveal. There will be a lot of tourists in town then. Good heavens, you don’t think you might get an increase in pay for this project, do you?”

He laughed, “Now, that would be nice but I’m not looking for it.”

“Anybody up top know about this yet?”

“Nope…not unless you blabbed.” He turned and looked at her.

“Not me…I sealed my lips. But, Artie, when are you going to let the director know what you have here?”

“I’ll get to that…in time,” he grinned.

Other projects crowded his workshop and the time machine sat under canvas drop cloths. It was autumn before he was again able to give it his attention. In the meantime he’d acquired some parts from the British Museum. It seemed they, too, had a time machine although they had no plans to display it.

Philly came by late one evening to find him working on his machine. She leaned on his worktable and watched him for awhile. “'Bout finished?”

“I’m not sure, you know. All time machines were not created equal.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I’m sayin’ is, I’ve got it back to the original as close as I can but I’m using some parts from other machines and I don’t know…it might not work the same.”

“What does that matter? It’s just for display.”

He chuckled, “Well, you know me. I’m a stickler for authenticity.”

“Really, I never knew that about you.  Bit of paint and some shiny screws. I’ve seen you put together some wild things.”

He turned a key and the machine began to hum and vibrate.

“Artie!”

“Heh, heh…gotcha!”

She moved closer to the machine. “You’ve made it operational, haven’t you?”

“I can’t say that I have because it hasn’t been tried.” He jumped down from the platform.

“You aren’t going to try it, are you…Artie?” She ran her hand along the brass side rails. “Don’t you dare!”

“I found this handbook.” He lowered his voice and brought out a dog-eared yellowed booklet from a drawer. “You can see  the design is not quite the same but all the important parts look the same. See here…tells you how to set the time…like the year 3000.”

“Artie, look…this has been fun, okay. Please…please promise me you’re not going to  try this thing out.”

He stared at the booklet. “I can’t make you that promise, Philly.”

“I won’t let you do it…I’ll go up top and tell them what you’ve got going on here.” She could feel the machine’s vibration through the rail. “Don’t you remember why the things were outlawed? Horrible things happened. People never returned and the ones that did were never the same again.  They went crazy, lost their minds. Remember the Mordocks? You can’t do this, Artie. The risk is too great.”

“I’m thirty-five years old, Philly. I can’t point to anything that I’ve done in my life that I’d be proud of. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life down here in this hole at the bottom of the museum and never see the light of day. This is a chance of a lifetime. I can’t pass it up.” He turned and put the handbook back in the drawer.

Philly hopped over the rail and sat down in the seat.

“Get out of there, Philly!”

“What makes it go?”

“Philly, come on out of that machine…Philly!” he shouted at her.

She reached out and grabbed the lever and pulled it down. The machine changed…no longer was it quietly humming. It roared and it scared her. She tried to push the lever back. Artie  was climbing up on the platform where the machine sat.  She really hadn’t meant to-

“Philly!” The force knocked him back to the floor. The machine disappeared…along with Philly.

ON TO CHAPTER 2

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