Time Drifters

We left the famous trio with the promise that we would return soon. Thomas let them know that someone had stolen our white horse the previous day and asked that they keep an eye out while we wander along the trail into the woods.

We were back in the shelter of the bushes when we heard the clopping of hooves. I couldn’t say that I recognized him from any painting, but I knew looking up at him that it was Major John Andre. He sat so straight in his saddle, like someone who was competing in a jumping exhibition. His clothes were simple, but his face was composed and I’d have to say it was elegant.

After all of the build up, I was almost star-struck seeing this man who had been the focus of all of our attention appear within feet of us. And seeing him as a living breathing being, I also felt a sudden flood of guilt and sorrow, realizing that he was trotting past us and straight into the trap that we had helped to set. The neck that I had just seen was going to be surrounded by rope for his execution.

As he approached the elm tree, I wondered if any of the men were going to stop him. I held my breath, thinking for a second that they hadn’t even taken any notice. And then I watched as Major Andre himself slowed and pulled towards them. He called out something. John Paulding stiffened.

The rest of it became like watching the strokes of the event unfold on a documentary. The tilts of the men’s heads, showing rising suspicion. The pull of the Major’s hand on the reins to move off. Isaac Van Wart moving to stop the horse, and then the Major dismounting.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” said Marijka, breaking the silence.

“Not until the boot comes off,” said Thomas, never wavering from his observation.

“Well I might as well start back on the trail,” she said. “Not like they’ll listen to me once it comes to this kind of hand to hand conflict. Dearest.”

Thomas finally broke his stare and looked up at her, with a sour face.

“You were great,” Thomas said.

“We all were,” she responded. “And, thank you.” She gave his wrist a kind squeeze and he watched her hand until she withdrew it.

“There it is,” Thomas said. “He’s giving ‘em the boot. Goodbye, Benedict Arnold.”

“Hello America,” Marijka said, coolly.

I felt sick to my stomach. I don’t think it was from hunger or from being light-headed. I think I was sensing Major Andre in that moment.

I didn’t speak as we began walking north on the same trail we had followed into town. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in that man’s ill-fated boots and walking backwards across what I now knew had to be the Pocantico river only made me feel like I was marking the road to ruin, in reverse. I knew I wanted history to be this way, but I felt the human cost in those moments. Even one life.

“What now?” I asked. I actually wanted to know what I was supposed to do with this feeling.

“We’re likely done,” Marijka said.

“As soon as we’re done, we start disappearing,” Thomas said, staring straight ahead. “Meaning, that we begin returning.”

“Well we haven’t started disappearing,” I said, getting worried.

“Right,” said Marijka. “So we look after our own. As long as we can. Until we’re safe.”

“We don’t want Capucine left alone in the woods,” Thomas added. “And if we make it back together, we witness each other.”

We walked on and then Marijka turned to me, resolute.

“Liam, you have to be strong,” she said.

“Marijka,” Thomas cautioned.

“I have to tell him.”

“What?” I asked.

“You have a habit, at least in other times…” she said, stumbling over herself.

“Go ahead,” Thomas said. “Can’t turn back now.”

“You have a habit of being the last one,” Marijka said. I stopped and stared at her. “I don’t know if it’s going to happen this first time… I don’t know.”

“You mean you leave me here?” I asked, finally getting the point.

“I told you so,” Thomas said in a singsong voice.

“No,” Marijka said, sighing in exasperation. “Yes… but it probably won’t be for long. I just don’t want to tell you something that isn’t true. Nor do I want you to be upset.”

As we walked, we heard hooves and soon saw Walker’s horse galloping towards us. Thomas tried to slow it down but he had to veer out of the way. The horse wanted nothing to do with him.

“Come on, we must be close,” he said.

We ran. It felt important and actually good to run and to flee from where we’d been. Within a few minutes we saw Caelen and Capucine up ahead between the trees. I ran faster, happy to see them. She held up her hand to wave, but her arm froze. A yellow bubble grew around her, encompassing her entire form. It looked like she was standing inside of a giant glass egg with sparks of orange that floated like electric snowflakes over its surface. The yellow light got stronger and then it all disappeared. And Capucine was gone.

I stood and watched as Marijka and Thomas jogged towards Caelen.

“Walker was the first,” Caelen called out. “You should ha’ seen the horse take off when he went.”

“I’ll bet,” Thomas said. “It passed us.”

Marijka turned to find me and I realized I was standing with my mouth hanging open.

“It’s alright,” she said. “That’s just what it looks like to us. It doesn’t really hurt… most times.”

“Gwen just left,” Caelen continued.

“Liam!”

I turned to see Rufus and Barkley crashing through the woods. They were barely in sight and then they, too, froze in mid-stance. Green bubbles formed around each of them. This time, I could hear a kind of popping noise when the bubbles vanished and sparks from each of them shot up together into the air between the tree tops, crashing together like fireworks.

“Well that was weird,” Thomas said. I turned to find him and just caught a glimpse of Caelen vanishing in a navy orb.

“ I don’t like this,” I said, jogging over to join Marijka and Thomas. Marijka was forcing a smile.

“Goodbyes are difficult for anyone, Liam,” she said. But the smile faded for a moment. “It’s coming, I can feel it,” she said to Thomas.

“Don’t stand close to her,” Thomas warned me. “You can’t touch when she goes.”

“It’s alright,” she said to me. “Remember …”

But that was all she said. Her mouth froze, mid sentence. This time I was close enough to see the bubble form, as though it was emerging from the center of her body. Hers was a cherry red, with white sparks. I saw inside the bubble, how it looked like a growing mist, as though Marijka were rising up on top of clouds. The mist became more dense, like freezing water. And then her form, her face, everything about her started to disappear. Suddenly the bubble burst. There was a pop of sound, like a gust of wind or an air seal opening. In less than the blink of an eye, the bubble disappeared and the leaves on the forest floor rustled and settled. Marijka was gone.

Thomas glowered at me. I stared back. He tensed like he was going to lunge at me and I jumped back, frightened.

He started chuckling; he’d faked me out. But would he do it again, and for real? I felt genuine fear—for several reasons—and I know my lower lip started trembling.

“Oh, relax,” he said. “I like seeing you squirm but I don’t want to have to deal with you crying, kid. I’m not going to kill you. Now.”

“Why are you so awful?” I asked.

“To you?” he asked. He breathed in deeply and stared at me, shaking his head. “So many reasons, Trinder.” I felt a chill when he said my name.

“Besides, I wouldn’t have to lay a hand on you to mess you up,” he continued. “Just saying one wrong thing. It always comes down to one, doesn’t it?”

A bitter smile flashed across his face. He sauntered over to a felled tree and settled his butt, reaching down to pull at a long piece of grass. He started biting at the sweet stalk. He was looking around the forest, lost in thought.

“When I did my first Drift…” he began.

“Stop,” I exclaimed, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear it, or get messed up. And you promised.”

“No, it’s not that,” he said dismissively. “It’s uh…” He looked like he was struggling with something painful. “I was pretty messed up on my first Drift. I’ve always blamed you for that. But I might have gotten stuck if you hadn’t helped me out.”

“What do I do?” I asked. I wanted to know. Maybe it could help. He seemed too cautious to be leading me into a trap.

“That’s just it,” he said slowly, still mulling it over in his head. “I don’t know… how else would you have known? For six years, I’ve been waiting to see how you knew and heard, or if you’d read it… and now it just seems the most obvious thing is the opposite of what makes sense.” He paused another moment and then suddenly lurched into action.

“I can feel it coming,” he said. “Listen up. I come from Seneca Station. June 1975. Got that? Repeat it.”

“June 1975, Seneca Station,” I said.

“That’s right,” he nodded. “Again.”

I repeated it back to him twice more, as he nodded. Then he winced and grabbed at his chest. He looked like he was in pain. He raised his foot and thrust it at me, pushing me back away from him. I fell on my butt and stayed there. The shimmering bubble pulsed outward in spurts as though someone were blowing up a balloon with consecutive puffs of air. His eyes were growing wide.

“Don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, Trinder,” he said. His voice sounded muffled, and some parts were speeding up while others slowed down.

“But you’ll be … seeing … me.”

It was freakish the way his last words sounded. There was a sudden second burst of light from his chest. The light was white and a deep rust and as quick as a crack of lightning. I shielded my eyes and held up my hand, expecting something to land on me because of the explosion. But there was nothing. He was gone. All I could see was the after image in my eyes of that final, brilliant light.

I sat on the ground for a long moment. I expected something to happen. I had come in on all fours and I reckoned going back on my butt was as good a way as any.

Thomas came from a time closer to my own, but it had seemed painful for him to return.

I looked around. A bird started chirping. And then another. The sun was getting higher in the sky. The day was going on and the forest was moving again as though nothing special had occurred. A breeze snagged more brightly colored leaves from the tree tops and spun them out like confetti landing on a downtown parade.

“Hello?” I said, slapping my hands over my mouth as fast as the words had come out. I had thought I was calling whatever forces were at work to let them know I was ready to leave. But I realized it was more probable that I’d stir an answer from some human who happened to be in earshot. Fortunately, even the birds ignored me.

A little garter snake slithered amongst the grass and paused on the dry mud of the trail.

Still nothing.

You have a habit of being the last, Marijka had said. She was so nice. I was missing her already.

We look after our own, Thomas had said.

And who is looking after me? I wondered. If it was taking this long, maybe there was something else I had to do. What if something happened in town? Maybe Major Andre had managed to bribe his way out of custody.

The bottoms of my feet suddenly felt cold. Oh no! That was part of the story. I hadn’t mentioned it because I hadn’t remembered then. He had tried it. What if that was the missing factor? I felt desperate to talk to the others.

I started off down the trail back towards Tarrytown and then stopped. I was one kid. Small for my age, and I looked even younger in this century.

We don’t get to go back if we haven’t made it right, Gwendolyn had said. I could hear her chiding me for being worried.

Maybe it was something much simpler. I did have to pee. My folks were always nagging on me to go before a trip. I started walking towards some trees and stopped.

If I started and then the Drift took me… I began laughing. Not an impressive way to return. Not at all.

A white butterfly flitted around my head and dipped down towards a bulbous clump of mushrooms growing on the side of a birch tree stump.

“Hello, butterfly,” I whispered, still amused. “Hello…. Two-hundred and…. Twenty-one-year old butterfly,” I added, having ciphered in my head. I laughed. How amazing to be looking at a creature that only lives for such a short time, and this one was older than the Bicentennial. It landed for a second and then took flight again.

The air started to feel warmer and the smell of the fungus got really strong in my nostrils. The butterfly’s wings began to glimmer with iridescent colors, from pale blue to red to vibrant purple. The birch bark looked like it was slipping free from the tree and flitting in the wind. And then the light on the ground dimmed just as everything began to waver and shimmer.

It was making me dizzy and even though I put out my hands, I couldn’t reach the tree stump. My stomach was turning. I felt my knees buckling, although I was aware of them landing on soft earth to cushion the impact.

I felt air pushing into my lungs and my hand went to my heart, to touch my crystal. As soon as my hand felt it through my shirt, I noticed it was shaking madly. I pressed it to my chest, holding it as hard as I could. Instantly most of the spinning in my head stopped.

I had just reopened my eyes enough to see the butterfly in front of me, suspended in the air. Its wings slowed. And then they stopped in mid-wing-flap. Particles of dust hung in the air without moving. It was so still, my ears felt like the sound had been sucked out of them. It was so bright and colorful and peaceful, like floating inside of a drop of water in a fountain.

My eyes closed in relief. I might have been there for an eternity for all I knew. I felt wonderful, until a clammy coldness began to seep out from my stomach. I started shaking and it became an engulfing shiver. My whole body was trembling uncontrollably from cold. I buckled and had to release my hand from my chest, dropping to all fours.

I heard that shrieking noise that was like a subway train straining against its rails. I yelled and then something sharp pressed into my hands.

“Liam! Good God, is something the matter?”

It was Mr. Danby’s voice. I opened my eyes and I was back in the Drift House, in exactly the same place I had left.

“Didn’t it work?” he asked, rushing forward, stopping himself just short of where I was.

My neck was stiff, but I managed to turn and see Teabag, still lying splayed on the ground. My eyes searched up to Mr. Danby, seeing his shocked expression. He looked so concerned. But I couldn’t help the smile that was broadening across my face and I think he began to catch on.

“It worked,” I said. “Wow! Oh, Whoa! It worked!”