Robledo Mountain

Railroad

By P.C. Allen

Copyright 2019 P.C. Allen



This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved by the author, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of their respective holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does it express any endorsement by them, or of them. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, service mark, or registered trademark.

DEDICATION

For my parents. Each, in their own way, encouraged not only my love of both the written word and music, but reminded me at every opportunity to ‘Follow That Dream’.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As always, first and foremost, my family who put up with my late nights, muttered responses, and unfocused wanderings as I conversed with characters in my books.

The Robledo Mountain series would never have been possible without the encouragement and support of my First Readers, Robert Green, Joyce Ward Kelly, and Robert Leger. I’m both blessed and thankful for their continued support, time, creativity, and encouragement.

I owe a tremendous debt to my editors, ‘TeNderLoin’, ‘TheRev’, and ‘zap292’ who continue to give selflessly of themselves to make this a better work than it was when they received it. Wading through the gibberish masquerading as prose, adding punctuation, discovering disappearing words, and reining in the loose and forgotten plot lines, is a task I don’t envy. The book you are reading now is largely a result of their selfless efforts. Any issues you may have with this book remain my sole responsibility as the decisions on what to include, what to change, and what to ignore were mine.

My thanks to John Bush, President and Chief Executive Officer of the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic RailRoad for his assistance with this book. If you’re ever in the Antonito Colorado or Chama New Mexico areas, the C&TSRR ride is great fun.

The cover of any book is just as important as the story. My sincerest thanks to Donna C. Cyr, another of the very talented photographers who call the Mesilla Valley home. She graciously allowed me to use one of her photographs taken near Chama, New Mexico as the background of this book’s cover. I encourage you to visit her on Instagram @ThruHisEyesPhotography to see more of her incredible work.

Once again, a special thanks to Tatiana Fernandez at Vila Design for the cover design. Her talent continues to astound me. See more of her work at viladesign.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

A Few Words From the Author

About the Author

Books by P.C. Allen

Prologue



. . . Girl-Without-Parents gathered everyone together to listen to Creator. 
"I am planning to leave you," he said. "I wish each of you to do your best toward making a perfect, happy world. You, Lightning-Rumbler, shall have charge of clouds and water. . .  You, Earth-Daughter, take charge of all crops and Earth-People. You, Pollen-Girl, care for their health and guide them.
"You, Girl-Without-Parents, I leave you in charge over all". . .

~ Excerpt from Apache Creation Story ~

Ujesh, senior shaman of the Mescalero Apache, sat down heavily, cross-legged on the old buffalo blanket, near the warmth of the small fire. It took a few moments but, eventually, he finally settled in a position his old aching joints and bones found almost comfortable.

He’d selected this forest clearing, high on the sacred mountain, with care as the location for the coming meeting. It would have been nice if it was summer or early fall, but it was mid-winter. Still, he couldn’t have asked for a better day to hold council with the war leaders of the various bands of Mescalero warriors. The early morning sky was clear, the weather, while cold, was crisp, without wind. He'd sent his latest apprentice off to hunt their evening meal. Glancing over at the small amount of wood stacked near the fire, he decided it would last until his apprentice returned.

With a last glance around the clearing, he looked back at the fire, becoming lost in thought. It would have been nice if he knew who was coming to the council he’d called after his last set of visions but, as usual, the tribe was scattered throughout the land in all directions, many days or, in some cases, weeks travel from the sacred mountain. The war leaders he’d called for this particular meeting were a cantankerous bunch at the best of times and these certainly weren’t the best of times.

Admittedly, he’d had a hand in creating the animosity between those war leaders who advocated cessation of hostilities with the white man and those who demanded not only to continue the raids but, to increase the effort and drive the white men from their land once and for all. His visions had always been, and remained, remarkably clear. Warrior raids against the white man had been going on for hundreds of years and, at least until his last vision, would remain a fact of life for hundreds of more years.

Things changed two years ago though, when Santana, THE war chief, had returned victorious from an epic battle with the hated white man and declared, for no apparent reason, that the war, indeed, the raids, were over. He’d talked to Santana for many hours and, despite relating his detailed visions of continued war with the white man, had been unable to change Santana’s mind.

Those who heard of the decision quickly broke into two camps. One group, relatively small, sided with Santana. He was the war chief after all and the long years of continued war with the white man had significantly reduced the numbers and fortunes of the tribe. The other group, supported by Ujesh, were much more traditional. After all, raids were a necessary part of life, and who better to raid than the hated and despised white man. They also believed Santana had gone far outside his mandate as war chief. A war chief was only elected after the matriarchs, in a tribal council, had determined that a dedicated war, not the more common annual raids, against a particular enemy was necessary. Once begun, a war was continued until the war chief declared to the matriarchs that the tribe was victorious, or recommended cessation of hostilities as a lost cause. It was up to the matriarchs, not the war chief, to make a final decision during a tribal council.

A decision of the magnitude declared by Santana required a tribal council. Luckily, the time for the annual tribal meeting and council was near. Santana reluctantly attended the council and expressed his thoughts to the gathered matriarchs. It boiled down to one set of facts; after hundreds of years of war there were more white men today than ever before. More white families, more white settlements and towns, more white soldiers. There were fewer Apaches. Fewer Mescalero Apache, fewer Chiricahua Apache, fewer Lipan Apache, fewer Jicarilla Apache, fewer Plains Apache, fewer Western Apache. He saw no end in sight to the arriving whites and the losses of the Apache in general and the Mescalero specifically.

Some, especially the small group of old warriors led by Santana’s father, Barranquito, agreed with Santana. Most, including the matriarchs, sided with Ujesh.

Still, there were warriors, like Cadete and Roman, who sided with Santana. Warriors like those of the southern Garcia families who had listened to the words of one of their cousins, a white cousin, and moved to a land near Las Cruces under his protection. A white man’s protection.

Ujesh found it hard to believe that his old mentor Jaime Garcia had encouraged the move. In fact, the southern Garcia families had only sent their leader, Miguel, to the tribal council that year. Even then, Miguel had only attended to let the council know the words of his cousin’s vision and the family’s decision to gather on his land and support his efforts.

The vast majority of warriors sided against Santana. Well respected warriors like Cha and Agua Nueves and those of the northern Garcia families. They too had heeded the call of Jaime Garcia, visited the land, and heard the words of the white cousin. Listening to both their leader and Nantan, their shaman, they had rejected what they considered false visions and the subsequent offer.

The final vote against him, Santana, along with a few of his supporters and immediate families had left the tribal council to live in seclusion away from those who voted against him. Oddly - for Santana’s temper was renown - the parting, while swift, had been amicable without threats or recriminations.

Life for the Mescalero settled down following Santana’s departure. Annual raids against the white man and other tribes continued as usual. True to their word, Santana’s band kept to themselves and did not participate in any raids against the white man. It was no great secret where Santana’s band was living but his self-enforced ostracism effectively precluded their participation in most tribal events despite Ujesh’s best efforts.

The stalemate had continued until last Spring, when the tribe had received word of the death of the northern Garcia’s leader, and the details of Nantan’s vision. Beside himself with anger over Nantan’s apparent betrayal, Ujesh had done his best to hold the tribe firm in their war against the white man, but it was becoming harder and harder as the number of warriors lost in battle continued to mount. Despite winning the majority of the battles, the Mescalero weren’t able to replace their lost warriors quickly. Additionally, game animals were becoming scarcer, forcing the remaining warriors to spend more time hunting further away from their camps, reducing the number of warriors available for raids even more.

Then came the night of visions. Four visions in a single long session. Four! A powerful number! If the number wasn’t powerful enough by itself, the visions themselves were overwhelming. Each vision was strong in and of itself; but combined, the four visions simply could not be ignored no matter how much Ujesh wanted to do just that.

Given the power of the number four, Ujesh spent a day on each vision, carefully examining them to ensure the conclusion he reached was correct. Finally, unable to argue with his conclusion, he sent the fastest riders to each of the warrior bands asking that the leaders attend him here in the clearing today. Once the riders had been dispatched, he girded himself and asked all matriarchs within a day’s ride to attend an important meeting in two days’ time.

Ujesh had been surprised that all the available matriarchs had attended his hastily called meeting. Granted, it wasn’t the entire matriarchs’ council, but the numbers were sufficient for his purposes. The meeting, though long, had served its purpose. Ujesh had given the matriarchs his visions, explaining each one individually and then given his conclusion based on the combined visions.

As usual, the matriarchs’ council spent hours discussing each vision as well as Ujesh’s conclusion. Well into the night the talk continued. Ujesh had abandoned any hope of gaining immediate approval for his warriors’ meeting. Surprisingly though, the council had given their approval almost immediately after reconvening early the next morning.

As he sat staring into the fire, Ujesh was worried. Every warrior band, including Santana’s, had acknowledged receiving his summons, but few had indicated whether they would attend or not. For many reasons it was imperative that as many leaders as possible, of the various camps, attend today’s meeting. Chief among those he needed to attend were Santana and his brother Cadete. Santana because he already led the pro peace faction of the tribe and Cadete because he was far more diplomatic than Santana. Cadete’s acknowledged diplomatic skills were going to be sorely needed.

Ujesh was startled out of his thoughts when his shoulder was firmly clasped and a hand bearing a cup of hot broth was thrust in front of him. Looking up he saw the firm visage of Santana bent over in front of him.

“Losing yourself in thought is an easy way to die old one. We’ve all been here for over two hours. Shelters have been built, food and wood brought in, and lunch prepared. Through it all you have ignored us. What has you so disturbed that you’ve forgotten the way of the warrior?” Santana asked calmly as Ujesh accepted the cup of broth he’d offered.

Ignoring the frown on Santana’s face, Ujesh looked deeply into his eyes. Seeing nothing but his own reflection, he couldn’t help but wonder if the man in front of him, with his mercurial temper and violent outbursts, was truly the man to lead the tribe in the coming years.

Glancing around the camp as he took a sip from the cup, he saw that his worry had been needless. Every one of the leaders he had invited had arrived and was, in fact, sitting around him and the fire waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Let us eat and catch up before settling down to discuss what has disturbed me and the reason for this warrior’s council,” he replied.

Nodding, Santana accepted a cup of stew from one of his warriors and gracefully settled himself on the robes next to Ujesh. For the next hour, in between bites of food and drink, the talk was of births, deaths, and the young men who would be eligible to become warriors in the coming season. Raids, both victory and defeat, the scarcity of game near their camps, and the locations of plentiful game. Finally, with the food gone and conversation topics exhausted, Ujesh began to speak.

“Much has happened since our last full tribal council. Are there any among you who have not heard of last year’s death of Alvaro Garcia or of Nantan’s vision?” When none of the warriors indicated a need for explanation of these events, Ujesh continued. “As a result of these two things Nantan moved the northern Garcia family south to the land of their white cousin. For the first time in tribal memory the Garcia’s are united into a single family camp. This year, along with the followers of Santana, not a single Garcia warrior participated in any raids. There are now more warriors following the way of peace than the way of war.”

Ujesh stopped talking as various warriors, startled by this announcement, gave voice to their dismay, concern, or approval. As he waited for the warriors to calm, he glanced to the side and was surprised to see that Santana had no reaction, calmly sipping hot tea as he waited for Ujesh to continue. Once the warriors had calmed down and resettled themselves, he began speaking again.

“Yes, I had the same reaction. Without the warriors of Santana and the Garcia family we no longer have enough young men to replace warriors fallen during the raids. When the season of raids was over for this year, I became very concerned. Four weeks ago, I entered the sweathouse in the hope of contacting the spirit world for a way forward. They did not disappoint.” Ujesh hesitated before continuing. “Usually, when I get a vision, and it’s never guaranteed that I’ll have one, the vision is fairly short and requires much interpretation and thought afterwards to determine what the spirit world is saying. This time, not only was the vision long and clear, but there were four separate visions, instead of just one.”

Again, he paused, looking out over the warriors to determine if they all understood the power of four. Satisfied with the warrior’s he again began speaking.

“Yes, four visions. Not one vision with four parts, but four distinct and separate visions. I spent four days examining each vision and its relation to the other visions. At the end of those four days, I sent the summons for this meeting and then held a meeting with the matriarchs’ council. After listening to me the matriarchs agreed with my conclusion and approved the warrior’s council I had called. Before I give my conclusion let’s examine each vision.

“In the first vision, I was visited by Lightning-Rumbler. His vision showed me a few years of flood followed by many years of drought in a repeating cycle. The cycles were separated by a few years of balance as we have come to depend on. Distressingly, the years of drought were most numerous with rivers, fed by mountain snows, dried up completely. Yes, even the largest river, the Rio Grande, was dried up for years at a time. Rivers fed, by springs, became slower and often salty, too salty to drink. The smaller, usually reliable springs, seeps, and water holes were often dry. In the dry years lightning storms caused fire to sweep through the dry mountain forests, prairie grass, and even the deserts.

“In the second vision, I was visited by Earth-Daughter. Her vision showed me the same years as Lightning-Rumbler. In the years of flood, the plants we rely on for food and other things are drowned by the water. Game animals decrease as the plants they rely on for food can’t grow. Likewise, in the long dry years there are few, if any, plants or game animals. Most distressing, the years of balance aren’t of sufficient length to allow the land, plants, and animals to recover sufficiently before the next cycle of flood and drought begins.

“In the third vision, I was visited by Pollen-Girl who also showed me the same many long years as had Lighting-Rumbler and Earth-Daughter. Hers was a most terrible vision as the constant wailing of women was heard. In the years of flood, terrible sickness swept through the tribe, killing the very young and very old. In the years of drought there was little sickness but just as many died of starvation as there were few plants to gather and fewer animals to hunt. Most worrisome was that with fewer babies born each year, and the increased death of those babies that are born, we are unable to replace the warriors killed during raids by the Comanche and Navajo, much less our continued war with the white man.”

The shock and outrage of the warriors, as they listened to Ujesh, reached a point where he could no longer be heard. He sipped hot tea his apprentice brought him as he waited for the warriors to express themselves. Again, he was surprised to see that Santana had not reacted to his visions and was calmly sipping water as he waited for Ujesh to continue. Once the volume of the warrior’s conversations had reached an acceptable level Ujesh continued speaking, effectively silencing the warriors as they struggled to hear him.

“In the final vision I was visited by Girl-Without-Parents. This vision came so fast, and lasted so long, I was dizzy by the time it ended. Even though I couldn’t immediately understand much of what she showed me in this vision, I soon came to understand it was what was happening to the white man during the same time of our years of flood and drought. Far to the east, I saw large groups of white men in towns so vast it takes many days to cross from one side to the other by horse. I also saw two groups of warriors in uncountable numbers spread out across vast fields and forests fighting each other. Long lines of warriors died from rifle fire and huge guns, only to be immediately replaced by more long lines of warriors. Huge wooden and metal ships, each holding tens of hands of warriors fought other huge wooden and metal ships, with both sets of ships belching fire smoke at each other. Huge buildings with tens of hands of people inside were working with fire and hot metal building things I did not recognize.

“Eventually, the fighting stopped, and large numbers of white men began moving west towards us. Some walking in small groups. Some riding in long lines of wagons with white tops. Some riding in long lines of rectangular boxes being pulled across the prairies and mountains by those unrecognizable metal things I saw before.

“To the west, I saw long lines of warriors coming towards us to replace men who had gone east to become warriors in those large battles. Closer to us, I saw groups of men digging water from deep in the ground using large wooden stands the size of trees. More and more people began arriving from the east. The white man’s towns began getting larger and larger. New towns and forts were being built while old, long abandoned towns and forts were being rebuilt.

“As the vision closed, I saw a large group of Navajo living side by side with Mescalero and Lipan Apache on the same land along a mostly dry river. There were many, many more Navajo than Apache. All of the people I saw, regardless of tribe, were starving and sickly with their clothes hanging off of them. Babies were crying and women were wailing. Men, who should have been warriors, were listless, without the will to live, much less to fight.”

Again, Ujesh was forced to quit speaking as the voices of outraged warriors drowned him out. After a few minutes he began speaking again.

“Just before the vision ended, Girl-Without-Parents herself, told me that she and the others had shown me one of many futures. Other futures are possible but the one they’d shown me was the most probable. To change the future, we must change the present. According to her, an opportunity to change the present, and therefore the future, is already available to us should we choose to grasp it.

“From these visions I’ve concluded that we must change to follow Santana’s path. The matriarchs’ council know of my conclusion and now support Santana’s path.”

As he’d expected, this announcement created an even louder uproar from a few individuals. Cha and Agua Nueves were clearly the angriest, yelling their denial the loudest, before they and their followers, mounted their horses and galloped from the clearing.

Those warriors remaining, most of those who’d originally gathered to hear Ujesh, spent the rest of the day, and well into the evening, discussing the visions. Ujesh remained silent unless he was asked a question directly. Early the next morning, while the temporary wickiups were knocked down and the few buffalo hide tipis were struck, Ujesh took Santana aside.

When Ujesh was certain that no other could overhear him, he said, “Girl-Without-Parents gave me a message for you.” Seeing Santana’s startled look, Ujesh gave a short laugh. “Yes, I was startled too. It’s the first time she has used me as a messenger.”

“So, what’s the message?” Santana asked, frowning at Ujesh.

“Your way of changing the present is good but can be much better for the people if you heed the advice of Garcia’s white cousin. He will be sending a messenger to you later this year for a meeting on his land after the long rains are over. You will be tempted to ignore the meeting request. Remember that every plan can be improved but you can’t improve your plans if you do not listen to advice from others.”

Done conveying the message he strode over to where his apprentice waited with his horse and mounted. Before kicking his horse into motion, he turned back to Santana.

“The spirits have selected you to lead us through this trying time. Why? I have no idea. I would have selected the much more diplomatic Cadete. You are too volatile for my taste. Regardless, you are the one Girl-Without-Parents singled out. It seems to me that you owe it to all of us to attend that meeting, listen to what is said, and carefully consider the consequences.

Having said his piece, he rode after his apprentice, leaving Santana wearing a look of surprised concern.

Chapter 1



I awoke, as I usually have since Anna and I had been married, cuddled up with her. I’m not sure why we bothered with a pillow since she started and ended her sleep with her head on my right shoulder. Not that I was bothered by that. As a matter of fact, I rather enjoyed it.

As I lay there listening to her deep even breathing, I thought about last night’s unexpected visit with Dream Laura. Pancreatic cancer took her fifteen years ago in 2008. Well, fifteen years ago, if you discount the fact that for the last six years, I’ve been living one hundred and sixty years in the past. Confusing, I know. Throw in the fact that I was now fifty years younger than I was before I came back to the past and you might begin to understand why things like a spirit dream don’t faze me at all.

Most of her visits revolve around the back patio of our home, outside Las Cruces, or at the table in the RV we used for camping trips in our later life. This one was different though.

As usual, I went from blissful sleep to being completely immersed in, what to my mind, was a real setting. Laura and I were sitting around a campfire just before twilight. With just a glance it was easy to tell that the setting was Lake Roberts, back when it was still a wilderness area, with only a single lane dirt road leading to it from Silver City.

That lake was one of our favorite camping areas when we got married. It was a wilderness area with no designated camping spots. Tents were the only form of protection available as camping trailers couldn’t make it over the rough single lane track. The last time we were there, a couple of years before Laura died, it was almost surreal. Paved roads in and out, concrete pads for camping sites, raised metal grills for cooking. You get the idea.

Now though, everything was perfect. I sat, sipping coffee from an old, beat up, enameled porcelain mug, listening to the tinny sound of the small, portable, transistor radio playing “Dream a Little Dream”, and gazed up at the sky, as the Milky Way, in all its wonder, began to peek out with the setting of the sun. The combination of shadowy landscape, the night sky, the song, and the dancing fire was absolutely perfect. Well, perfect if I overlooked the fact that radios and Lake Roberts didn’t exist in 1857.

“This is well done Laura, I must say,” I said looking over at her, as she sat down on the other side of the fire, just as the song finished, to be replaced by “Angel in Disguise”.

Laura’s giggle in response to my raised eyebrow wasn’t completely unexpected nor unappreciated.

“I enjoy spending any time I can get with you, but you’ve outdone yourself with this one. It brings back a lot of memories of the good times we shared. Thank you for this,” I said taking another sip of coffee. “And the coffee is pretty darn good as well!” I added.

“Paul, as usual, I don’t have much time, so, while I too enjoy our time together, let me get this out. We both know Mr. Greenburg is hiding something. More importantly, we both now know not only what he’s hiding, but that he knows your secret as well.

“His reaction to your secret leads me to believe he’s met other time walkers. Time walkers who weren’t doing things for the good of the people around them. Perhaps really evil things.

“You need to get him to tell you his story and the stories of the other time walkers he’s met. Once those are out in the open you must convince him that you aren’t like the others he’s met. While I don’t believe he’s evil or a danger to you, he’s too important to your plans to allow him to remain antagonistic.”

Laura took a sip of her coffee when she’d finished speaking, waiting for me to respond.

“I reached the same conclusion before falling asleep, Laura. When Anna and I wake up, I’ll talk it over with her, and we’ll come up with a plan. Most likely we’ll invite Mr. and Mrs. Greenburg into the study for a meeting after breakfast and go from there. From the reactions of Hiram and Levi it doesn’t seem that they know their father’s secret, but I can’t imagine he’s never told his wife,” I mused between sips of coffee.

Laura was nodding her head in approval as I finished talking. “Good. I’m glad to hear you already figured it out and decided to address it head on, as soon as possible. I’ll listen in to the conversation and give you my thoughts if I think you need them,” she said and then added, “it’s time to go,” as the song on the radio changed to, “If There Hadn’t Been You”.

“Thanks Laura. You know, there doesn’t have to be a problem for you to bring me into one of your visions. I wasn’t kidding when I said I enjoy spending all the time I can with you.”

As the scene began to fade, I heard Laura’s smiling voice say, “Count on it, Paul. But if that happens, I’ll bring Anna with you so we can compare notes.”

“Like you haven’t already been comparing notes with her through her great grandfather!” I replied with a smile of my own.

The only response I received as the scene turned black was Laura’s laugh echoing in the vast dreamscape.

Turning my thoughts from the dream to all the conversations and planning that still needed to be done before our guests departed for home in the next few days; I continued to lay in bed despite hearing others beginning to move around as another day started on the Estancia.

“Deep thoughts, mi Pablo?” Anna said as she shifted her head off my shoulder and stretched what looked like every sinuous muscle in her body.

Watching her lithe body as she stretched, I was momentarily dumbstruck.

“Hmmm? What was that?” I asked when she was done.

With a girlish giggle she rolled back toward me putting her head back on my shoulder.

“What were you thinking so hard about when I woke up?” she asked again.

Rubbing my eyes, while shaking my head, I tried to clear the memory of the sight of her stretching and the subsequent thoughts that immediately sprang forth in my mind. I stopped myself just short of saying, ‘Damnit Anna, I’m a rancher not a eunuch!’ She wouldn’t have understood the reference.

After another moment of silence to compose myself, I said, “I was thinking about the best way to confront Mr. Greenburg.”

“Confront him? Why in the world would you want to confront him?” she said with wide eyes, before I could explain.

“Because, my love, I figured out what’s been bugging me about the elder Greenburg,” I replied smiling down at her. “It came to me last night just as I was about to fall asleep.”

“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense! Why do think you need to confront him? What did you figure out?” she rapidly asked in a rising, questioning voice.

“Because he’s like me. He’s what your great grandfather called a time walker.”

“What?” Anna asked, jerking her head up off my shoulder, as she sat completely upright, staring at me with a stunned expression.

“Yep,” I nodded at her. “I’ve been trying to figure out what caused Mr. Greenburg to go from a calm, even tempered friend, to a grouchy, suspicious, antagonistic, old man.”

“So, what caused you to decide he was a time walker?” Anna asked, in an exasperated voice when I paused.

“There were three clues my love. The first two clues were so subtle that I completely missed them. The third clue wasn’t so subtle, but I still missed it. Taken all together, the three clues lead to no other conclusion than he’s a time walker.”

“Pablo, quit beating around the bush! What were the clues?” Anna said as she fetchingly folded her arms under her breasts and glared at me.

Impure thoughts again sprang, unbidden, in my mind. How she thought I could rationally answer her, given the picture she presented, I had no clue. I closed my eyes and turned my head so that when I reopened them, I was looking at the curtain covered French doors. I felt the bed move as Anna shifted impatiently while I tried to get that picture out of my mind.

“Bear with me here, my love, it will take a few minutes to fully explain. The first clue happened just before we were married. It was when I was in El Paso and picked up our signet rings. I was enthralled with my first look at them and told Mr. Greenbug that he was an artist. He replied something to the effect that it was the least he could do for a fellow Cervantes admirer. I was so busy admiring the rings that I completely missed that reference. Looking back, it’s obvious there was no way he should have connected the rings with Cervantes. I think Mr. Greenburg suspected me of being a time walker at that point and was looking to see what kind of reaction I would have to what he said. Because I wasn’t really paying attention, I didn’t give him any kind of reaction, so he decided I wasn’t what he suspected.

“The second clue was his reaction to my singing “Impossible Dream” on our way back to the Hacienda from the party in the village plaza just before Christmas. He recognized the song and knew it wouldn’t be written for another hundred years. He knew, without a doubt, at that point that I’m a time walker. That’s what’s been causing his strange behavior since then.

“Like I said, those two clues were subtle and because I was in a good mood both times, thinking about other things, I missed both of them. The third clue though, wasn’t subtle. I should have picked up on it immediately. I think the only reason I didn’t was that I was angry, really angry, not to mention confused by his reaction to our plans.

“The third clue happened near the end of our revealing our plans for statehood and the railroad to the group. He used an expression that, while common in my time, won’t even be thought of for another fifty years, and certainly won’t enter into common usage for another thirty years after that.

“Take those three clues, connecting our rings to Cervantes, knowing that “Impossible Dream” is from one hundred years in the future, and using a phrase that won’t be around for another eighty years, and there’s really only one conclusion I can draw. Mr. Greenburg is a time walker!”

I finally looked over at Anna to see her open-mouthed look of astonishment.

“Dios mio,” she whispered, crossing herself in the process. She gathered herself after a few more moments and, with her composure regained, asked, “What was the phrase he used?”

“It’s from a board game that will become popular in about eighty years, near the end of a world-wide economic depression. The game is called Monopoly. ‘Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars’ is the phrase.”

Reminding myself to focus, I quickly turned my head back towards the French doors. Trying to have a serious discussion with Anna while her charms were on full display was proving to be impossible.

Eventually, Anna asked, “You think the best way to handle this is to confront Mr. Greenburg?”

“I’m not sure it’s the best way, my love, but he and his family are too important to our plans to just let it go,” I replied still staring at the French doors. “As it stands, he’s not going to approve a new bank in Las Cruces. I wouldn’t put it past him to tell his sons to close our accounts and refuse any further business with us. I really don’t want to go into banking along with all the other new businesses we’re going to be starting. I also don’t want to lose Hiram and Levi as friends. Not to mention losing access to their banks.

“Confrontation is probably too strong a word but it’s the only word I can think of. All things considered; it seems to be the best approach. What I’m thinking of is asking the elder Greenburgs to meet you, Tom, Yolanda, and me in my study after breakfast. There, I’ll tell them my story and then ask him to tell us his. Once that’s done, the four of us will try again to convince him that our motives are not to take over the territory or build an empire but to change history for the better.”

My eyes still firmly fixed on the French doors, I waited for her response.

After what seemed an eternity, but I’m sure was only a few minutes, I heard her sigh and say, “Well, I don’t know if you’re right about this, but I can’t think of any other way except to get it out in the open. At least out in the open with us. Perhaps you should include grandfather and grandmother in the meeting. They are, after all, much closer in age to the Greenburgs.”

Just as I opened my mouth to reply I felt the bed bounce as Anna jumped out of bed, grabbed my hand, and led me to the shower.

“Think about it and do what you believe best. You know I’ll support you, whichever way you decide. In the meantime, I saw you looking and doing your best to ignore what I was showing you. We can’t start our day off with all those thoughts that were running through your head as you tried to ignore the show I was giving you. And what better place to make your thoughts a reality than in the shower?”

I decided she was asking a rhetorical question and quickly followed her into the shower.

Coming out of our room a short time later, we split up at the head of the stairs with Anna continuing down the hall to see about the little ones while I went down to the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza along with the elder Greenburgs were the only ones in the room. Seeing them already sitting at the table, quietly talking with each other as they sipped their morning coffee, I decided that Anna was right and quickly asked the four of them to meet me in the study after breakfast.

The Mendozas responded with a relaxed, ‘of course’, while the Greenburgs looked at me curiously before nodding their heads in acceptance.

Over the next few minutes we were joined by the men of the Hacienda, as well as the visitors, exchanging pleasantries and wishes for a happy new year, as they sat and poured their coffee from the pots scattered along the tables. By the time the last of the men was seated, Anna led the lady’s contingent, herding the little ones into the dining room, to begin breakfast. As usual, with so many people visiting, breakfast was served buffet style with the ladies going first to help the little ones with their plates and drinks.

I was the last one at the buffet and as I sat down at the table, Anna shot me a questioning look. I simply nodded at her and she smiled knowing my nod was a response to her question of whether or not I had invited her grandparents to the meeting with the Greenburgs.

Breakfast was the usual cacophony of sounds, plates and silverware rattling, and conversations in multiple languages, between multiple people, on both sides of all the tables. Leaning towards me, Anna quietly told me she had let Tom and Yolanda know about the meeting and had let Christina know that we would need coffee for eight in the study immediately after breakfast.

With the day declared a holiday, breakfast was much more leisurely than usual, but, eventually, Anna and I left the table and waited in the study for the others. The last to arrive, Tom received a concerned look from both Greenburgs as he closed and barred the door. Noticing their look, I hurried to alleviate their concern.

“I asked you all here to discuss a very sensitive topic. No, it’s not about the bank. At least not directly. With the exception of you and your wife, everyone here knows the topic and knows that it’s only raised in this room after the door has been barred.” I swept the room with my gaze, lingering on the Greenburgs to judge their demeanor. Seeing the concern in their eyes change to curiosity I stood up, walked over to lean back against the desk, where I could face everyone at the same time.

“I asked you all here to hear a story. My story. Everyone but the Greenburgs have heard it before. Once I’m done with my story and have answered everyone’s questions it will be Mr. Greenburgs turn to tell His story. A story that, from all the clues, I’m guessing is very similar to my story.

“To begin, almost everything you think you know about me, except my name, is probably wrong. I am not twenty-one. As best as I can figure, I’m seventy-two. I was born in El Paso in 1952.”

For over an hour I told my story and answered questions. I went into a lot more detail about my previous life than I’d previously discussed; and everyone but Anna, heard about new parts of my life. Most of the questions came from the two Greenburgs but the others took the opportunity to ask more detailed questions they’d thought of since they’d originally heard the story.

With my story told and all the questions answered I turned to Mr. Greenburg, “I presume that Mrs. Greenburg knows your full story.”

“She does,” he replied while looking at his wife before turning back to look at me.

“In that case sir, the floor is yours,” I said, as I walked over to take my seat next to Anna.

Mr. Greenburg replaced me, leaning back against the desk and patiently waited while I settled into my seat and replaced my cold cup with fresh coffee. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention he began.

“To the rest of the world I’m 67 years old. I’ve told everyone that asks that I was born in 1790. As with Paul, that’s not true. The best I can figure I recently celebrated my 125^th birthday.”

I’d been expecting something along this line but gasped at his age just like everyone else in the room did.

“I was born outside Sarajevo, Bosnia, in 1912 and lived a normal life until 1970 when I somehow found myself back in 1810 as a 20-year-old. My story isn’t quite as straight forward as Paul’s, but it is indeed very similar.

“Less than eighteen months after I was born, Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo, igniting the Great War or World War I, as Paul would know it. As my family was Jewish, neither my father nor his brothers were called to the army until the third ban or levee if you prefer. As the last of those called for duty, they were issued great coats and caps and placed in support roles as there were no more uniforms or weapons available. Somehow, my family survived the four years of war intact despite the battles raging in and around Sarajevo. We lost everything, of course, but that is the nature of such things. The farmhouse and buildings were destroyed by shelling, crops were stolen or destroyed in the fields, and the animals were slaughtered for food by whichever army found where we had hidden them.

“With nothing left of our farm, we moved to Sarajevo, like so many others, and settled into the Jewish ghetto with the rest of my father’s family. Life was tough, as you can imagine, and the entire family struggled to regain our former prosperity. I was apprenticed to one of my uncles, a watch maker and jeweler, shortly after my twelfth birthday when I proved I had learned to read, write, and do math at the level required by my parents.

“One of my uncles moved to New York about that time and set up business as a jeweler. Over the next few years we received numerous letters from him telling of the wonderful opportunities in the United States and encouraging the entire family to join him. Eventually, the men of the family decided to heed his advice, scraped together everything they could and, like so many others, with high hopes, emigrated to the United States in early 1929.”

Mr. Greenburg’s previously strong voice faded to nothing at this point. The direct eye contact he’d been making with me, and the others, as he told his story changed to a look I quickly recognized. He was no longer focused on us, instead, his eyes wore the glazed veil of someone looking back into the past, contemplating the reality of what was, and what could have been. After a few moments, with a small shake of his head, he continued his story.

“New York was everything my uncle had written it was. We lived next door to him in a vibrant Jewish community in the Bowery. At first, jobs for watchmakers and jewelers were steady enough that we could all make a living. I found I could make extra money for myself by tinkering in the evenings and weekends. It didn’t seem to matter what it was, as long as it had metal in it, people would pay me to repair or sharpen it. Yes, things were exactly as my uncle had written.

“There were also things my uncle hadn’t written about. The crowding, the poorly built houses, and the gangs. While we all could see these things, we generally ignored them, doing our best to fit in. For the first few months we managed just fine, building our reputation and our wealth with every job. Then, overnight, everything changed. The stock market crash in October of 1929 changed everything as the Great Depression set in. Our jobs dried up as no one could afford to buy jewelry or get their watches repaired, much less buy new watches.

“My tinkering was the only thing that allowed us to survive in those early days, but it didn’t take long until there were tinkers at every corner. In desperation, many young Jewish men in the Bowery, including me, turned to Arnold ‘The Brain’ Rothstein for jobs.”

Mr. Greenburg’s eyes glared at me as he continued. “Much like Paul here, Rothstein was extremely well organized, and he definitely had style. His support of new business opportunities and community was legendary. Unfortunately, behind the public façade, was a nightmare. Rothstein was the head of the Jewish gangs in and around lower Manhattan. If it was illegal, he controlled it, and he was ruthless.

“I was mad at my father and uncles for moving us to this strange place where there were no jobs, and few spoke either of the languages I knew. There were few Sephardic Jews in New York City at the time and even fewer Serbians or Spaniards. We were forced to learn a third language just to survive. In my youthful ignorance and anger, I rebelled against both my family and my religion.

“For almost two years, from 1930 to 1932, I worked for Rothstein. While I didn’t understand what he was doing at first, I eventually came to know that he was doing things that were illegal, and that he was ruthless with those that failed their jobs. I spent those two years as a messenger, eventually working my way up to the point where I was his chief messenger. I was never directly involved in anything violent, but I did witness every violent act I could ever imagine. Everything from arson to murder. After two years I was sickened by the whole thing and gladly left New York City, moving to upstate New York when my father and uncles all got manufacturing jobs with Revere Copper in Rome.

“While my father and the others were all working at Revere Copper, I decided to stick with tinkering. With a broken-down horse and a cheap, old, barely serviceable wagon, I developed a monthly circuit covering all the small towns, dairies, and farms of the Mohawk Valley. For the next nine years I rode the circuit, day in and day out, trying to forget the violence of New York City. After a couple of years of continuously living in that old wagon year-round, I had enough money to replace it with a gypsy style tandem wagon set, where I lived in the enclosed travel wagon pulling a tarp covered wagon loaded with my tools and supplies. I not only survived but prospered and had mostly succeeded in forgetting the brutality and violence. Then, it all came roaring back, with a vengeance, in early December 1941. The world was at war yet again.

“I was drafted six months after the war started and, after basic training, assigned to the First Infantry Division. The four years of war changed me forever as we fought in Africa, Sicily, Italy, and Germany. By the time it was over, I’d not only seen every cruelty one-man can do against another, but I’d also committed or assisted in most of those cruelties myself.

“Like so many others, I turned to liquor to help me try to forget. Even before I returned to New York and was discharged, I spent most of my pay on cheap liquor, and most of my nights drunk. Instead of returning to my family in Rome, I decided to stay in New York City and found work with a squad mates’ family as a jeweler.

“It didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t drink myself unconscious every night and still expect to hold a job, especially a job doing the extremely fine detailed work I was supposed to be doing as a jeweler and watchmaker. I couldn’t live with myself if I’d let my old squad mate down, so I quit drinking during the week. I struggled with my demons at night during the week, did my job during the day, and spent every weekend in a drunken stupor.

“A few years later, at the urging of my parents, who were aging and now sick, I returned to Rome to take care of them. That of course meant no more drinking and, again, my nights were filled with the horrors of war while my days were spent taking care of my parents. They both passed away two years later, one right after the other.

Suddenly, I was left with no real responsibilities, and discovered that somewhere during the last year, the horrors I’d been living with had been reduced to a level I could usually live with. Most nights were easily survivable as the violence faded into the past. That’s not to say there weren’t nights that it was a real struggle, but my heavy drinking was down to a few nights a year.

“Now in my forties, and with time on my hands, I took my savings and opened a jewelry store in the neighboring town of Utica. It wasn’t a large store by any means, but it was in the middle of downtown, just off Bagg Square, and included a small apartment above the store. One of my first jobs was a custom set of wedding rings with a matching engagement ring for the son of the owner of the Rome Wire Company. The design and the rings were instant hits and my reputation was made.

“Yes, I’d found my true calling, and, for the next ten years, I prospered and prospered significantly. I added a store in Rome and another in Syracuse. I found good jewelers to manage those stores and the money just rolled in. I bought a nice house a couple of blocks away from the original store and did my best to enjoy life. Despite my business success, I continued my focus on the art of designing and creating unique jewelry of all types.

“Then, one cool, windy, fall, Friday night, in 1970, when the demons and horrors of war wouldn’t let me work or sleep, I left the store, buying a bottle of cheap booze on my way home. When I came out of the store, fog was, strangely for that time of year, beginning to form. For some reason I could never explain, that fog gave me a sense of foreboding gloom. That uneasiness, coupled with the remembrances of war, increased my need for a drink and I quickly ducked into the alley beside the store. I hurriedly opened the bottle and, with the bottle still in the paper sack, took two drinks.

Feeling appropriately fortified at that point, I looked up from the bottle to see nothing but thick white fog no matter where I looked. I knew with certainty that I was within inches of a building wall on one side, and no more than three feet from a building wall on the other side. I knew I was holding a bottle of cheap rotgut whiskey in my hand, but I couldn’t even see that unless it was directly in front of my face. As a matter of fact, the last thing I remember before passing out was that it was strangest fog I’d ever been in or seen. That damn fog changed my life!”

Mr. Greenburg’s body language completely changed at this point. Where he had previously been stiff, clearly uncomfortable telling his story, with a faraway look in his eyes, as he focused on remembering the important points of his life, he now transformed into the genial old man I had first met four years ago. With a small smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eyes, he reached over, gently took his wife’s hand, and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss, before settling back against the desk, once more entering story telling mode, and continuing where he left off.

“In most respects it ended up changing my life for the better. I thank the good Lord every day for that fog, for I believe the fog is what caused me to come back in time and my age to regress. I’m getting ahead of myself though, so back to the story.

“I woke up, sometime later, in the dim twilight of a warm summer evening, holding a wet paper bag full of broken glass. The stench of alcohol permeated the ground around me. I smelled like how I’d intended to end my evening – like a drunk. Shaking my head, trying to clear my thoughts, I couldn’t think of a single reason I’d have passed out from two small drinks of whiskey. It just didn’t make sense. Thinking I could better reason out what had happened back at home, I went to stand up, and discovered three more things I hadn’t noticed before.

“First, I was positive that the alley was smoothly paved with asphalt, and recently at that, when I stepped into it take a drink. Now, it was dirt. Hard packed, wheel rutted, dirt.

“Second, when I’d stepped into the alley, all the buildings around it were brick. Now, the building behind me was wood. I don’t mean the building was wood sided. I mean the building was a large log cabin style construction with mud daubed between logs.

“Finally, when I’d been able to make it to an upright position, I discovered that I wasn’t in an alley at all. The log cabin was at my back but there were no buildings, of any kind, in front of me. There was perhaps one hundred yards of clearing or meadow in front of me with forest stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Picking up my satchel from where it had fallen when I passed out, I started towards the front of the building to see if I could figure out where I was. It was five steps along the cabin wall to the front of the building. Again, I was sure I’d only taken two steps into the alley. More concerning, at that point, was what I could see in the dim twilight that was quickly fading to black.

“I saw a road. A hard packed, wheel rutted, dirt road. No asphalt, no macadam, just dirt. On both sides of the road where roughly fifteen more log cabins. Some with rough porches, some with unreadable signs, all made of logs. Hitching posts were in front of the cabins with the unreadable signs. I could see well enough through the gloom to tell that there were some horses tied up to two hitching posts in front of a cabin at the far end of the street.

“None of the things I was used to seeing were anywhere to be found. No concrete or asphalt roads, no sidewalks, no brick buildings, no automobiles, no noise. I was confused!

“I stared dazedly down the road until the last light fell and all I could see was vague shapes. It was then I noticed how clear the stars and the Milky Way were in the night sky. It had been years since I’d seen them so clearly. Shaking my head, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Dressed as I was, smelling like I was, it would be better to wait and ask questions the next morning rather than now. Having reached that decision, I listened in the still of the evening and heard water running off in the distance from directly in front me.

“Roughly four hundred yards away I found a small river and made a cold camp nearby in a copse of trees. Hanging my satchel, suit coat, and vest on a tree limb, I washed up the best I could and settled back against a tree to sleep.

“I woke up, about eight o’clock the next morning. I was a little stiff but had slept much better than I’d expected. After a quick scrub of my face and hair with river water, I redressed and then thought about my next actions for a few moments. Not knowing where I was, I didn’t want to take the chance that my satchel would be stolen. It contained my personal set of tools, forty ounces of gold, thirty ounces of silver, and numerous small bags of precious and semiprecious gems including diamonds, sapphires, and rubies.

“Looking around, I found a deadfall with the roots partially exposed, and stashed my satchel there after removing one of the small one-ounce gold wafers I used as raw stock when making jewelry. I didn’t normally carry more than five dollars in my wallet as I seldom needed cash. With my valuables hidden, I retraced my tracks back towards the little village.

“In the full light of day, I could see that I’d underestimated the size of the village. The fifteen houses on either side of the road I’d estimated the previous night was correct but what I hadn’t seen was that was only half the town. There was a crossroad of sorts after those fifteen cabins and the village continued on the other side of the crossroad with another fifteen or so cabins on either side of the road. The crossroad, slightly offset where it crossed the main road forming a plaza of sorts, had roughly ten cabins on each side as well.

“As I walked down the road it quickly became obvious that I stood out like a sore thumb in my three-piece business suit and wingtip dress shoes. Everyone I could see was wearing trousers, shirts, and vests of homespun, leather, or a combination of both and were either barefoot or wearing leather boots with a non-rigid sole of some kind.

“To make it more confusing I heard people talking in something I could only vaguely recognize as English, and other conversations in what sounded like Dutch and German along with a smattering of French. I was beginning to wonder if I’d finally snapped and gone crazy.

“About halfway down the street was a store advertising itself as selling ‘General Merchandise’. I walked in and found myself staring at floor to ceiling shelves stacked with items, most of which I didn’t recognize. Some things I did recognize easily enough, clothes, bolts of cloth, hats, and the like, but most of what was on the shelves was incomprehensible to me.

“A middle-aged man standing behind a counter looked up from a ledger he was writing in, looked at my clothes, and asked, in something approaching English, what could he do for me. It took me a moment to figure out even that relatively short sentence before telling him that I was lost and just wanted to know where I was. You could have knocked me over with a spoon when he said I was in Utica, New York.

“I stood there stunned for long enough that his greeting smile turned to a look of concern. I assured him that I was fine but that I was a little confused. I introduced myself and explained that I’d been traveling from New York to Albany yesterday, when something happened, and I must have hit my head. I couldn’t seem to remember anything other than what I’d already told him. I didn’t know if I’d been traveling by horse or wagon or who I’d been traveling with, if anyone. All I could remember was waking up on the side of the road not knowing where I was. Somehow, that story sounded better to me than the truth – I wasn’t really sure what the people of 1810 would do to someone they suspected of being crazy.

“He commiserated with my situation and was nice enough to tell me it was Saturday, the 8^th of July, in the Year of our Lord 1810. He was also nice enough to answer my question about how to get to Albany (Well, young feller, take a left at the crossroads, when you hit the ‘turnpike - you can’t miss it - turn left again and, in ninety miles or so, you’ll come to Albany). I was turning to leave, took my watch out of the vest pocket, and checked the time. As I was putting the watch back, I saw he was interested in it. I was quite proud of that watch as I’d built it from scratch myself. Everything about the watch, from the case, to the gears, to the face, and hands was custom made by my own hands.

“I pulled the watch back out, removed it and the fob, and showed it to him, telling him that it was the best sample of my work as a watchmaker. Clearly impressed, he offered me twenty dollars for it. A few minutes of negotiation later, I left his store with thirty dollars in coins, and a recommendation for Bagg’s Tavern, at the crossroads, for breakfast.

“On my way out of the store I caught a glimpse of myself in some small mirrors that were displayed just to the side of the door. Yet again, I was stunned into immobility. The face I saw staring back in the mirror was of a much younger me than the one I was used to seeing. I don’t know what the owner was thinking as I stood there staring at myself in shock. Eventually, I came back to myself enough to know that I was making a spectacle of myself by standing there. As casually as I could, I told him he had an impressive collection of mirrors, gave a small wave and left the store.

“I’d stayed at the Bagg’s Hotel a couple of times, but the sturdy, log built, Bagg’s Tavern I entered, was far different from the large brick building I was familiar with. Moses Bagg was an amiable man as one would expect of someone who built, owned, and operated a tavern. A small, heavily bearded man, he was gregarious and willing to express his opinion on any subject a customer cared to bring up. His eyes twinkled in merriment the entire morning but seemed to have an added sparkle when expressing his disagreement with someone else’s opinion, whatever the subject.

“Moses sat with me during my late breakfast, managing to pull my story from me, in between bites of the surprisingly robust breakfast. In return, I was delighted to find that he had an agreement with a stable in Albany and would happily rent me a horse, with all the tack I needed, for a small fee. After wearily eyeing my clothes, he did recommend that I get something more suited to riding and camping along with a horse pistol, if I could afford it. Apparently, road agents were one of the more common hazards travelers faced, especially on the remote sections of the turnpike.

“I did as he advised, and when I left Utica I was dressed in homespun clothes and wearing high heeled riding boots. The clothes reminded me of growing up in Sarajevo and, while slightly scratchy, weren’t of much concern. I rode north, to pick up my satchel, before skirting the town back to the south towards the turnpike. An hour outside of town I stopped for rest – I hadn’t ridden a horse in over thirty years and knew it was going to be a long trip if I overdid it and got saddle sores – and practiced with the flintlock horse pistol I’d bought. Firing it was relatively easy, although accuracy proved to be a problem. Loading it, on the other hand, was a time-consuming task. It took a while to get the hang of it, but by the time I remounted to ride on I was sure of what I was doing in both loading and firing it. What I would do if there was more than one bandit, I had no idea.

“The trip to Albany, which I’d been told was normally a three to five-day trip, depending on weather, took me nine days as I slowly but surely got used to a saddle again. The first five days I spent as much time walking as I did riding, but it did give me time to think.

“At first, all I could think about was how I’d ended up 160 years in the past and almost 40 years younger. I’m not the smartest guy in world, I know, but I had lived fifty-eight years and had experienced many things. Still, I couldn’t come up with any explanations except that damn fog. I’d never seen or heard of a fog that acted like that one did. If I couldn’t figure how it was done, there was no way I could reverse it and go home. Eventually, I gave it up as a lost cause.

“The next thing I thought about was where I was going and what I was going to do now that I was in 1810 New York. I’d originally selected Albany as a destination just because it made my story to the store owner believable. The more I thought about my immediate needs the more Albany made sense. I vaguely remembered that the Albany of 1810 was one of the largest cities in the newly formed United States. That meant it should be able to support multiple jewelers while few, if any, small towns of the time period could support even one jeweler. With multiple jewelers available, I could sell some of my gold, silver, and gems without raising suspicion. I would certainly need the funds to live on in the short term, no matter what I decided to do in the long term.

“I also thought about who would miss me. Although my extended family was large, with lots of brothers and sisters still living and a host of nieces and nephews, they were centered in Rome and points west. I lived in nearby Utica, but visits from relatives to their old spinster uncle were rare as I’d never been close to any of the them. Likewise, my business was really run by my managers who rarely saw me except in the Utica store. Even then, my office was on the second floor and had a separate entrance, so I rarely encountered the manager. It would be a while before anyone missed my presence or, sadly, even cared.

“I suddenly realized that I’d been a loner my entire life. Running from the violence I’d been forced to witness and participate in had only reinforced my lone existence to the point where I’d driven off my entire family and most of my friends.”

Mr. Greenburg’s eyes refocused and stared straight into my eyes, holding my own eyes for a few moments saying, “I decided, then and there, that I wouldn’t waste this opportunity I’d been given. Violence is a fact of life and can’t be run away from. Instead, it must be faced and overcome, for all violence is an expression of evil and evil must not be allowed to prevail. No, this time I would build a family and a network of true friends. I would not watch from the side as evil men worked to corrupt those around me nor would I cower from directly confronting them.”

The tone of his last statement had been hard edged, as were his eyes, and I knew then that he had been talking directly to me. Clearly, Mr. Greenburg had equated my time travel and the presentation we’d given with his experience in New York working for Rothstein and later, his experiences during World War II. I needed some way of convincing him that it just wasn’t the case and we were trying to do good not evil. Perhaps the others would know how to address this as I couldn’t think of a way. I refocused from those thoughts back to Mr. Greenburg when he began talking again.

“That decision became the guiding principle of my life from that time on. It hasn’t been easy to live up to of course, and to make it harder, I began having dreams that same night. Horrible dreams that seemed to mock my decision. I usually don’t remember much of my dreams, but these I remembered in every detail. They were the same dreams I’d been having about Rothstein in New York and my experiences in the war, but now I was a willing, gleeful participant in all facets of the violence. The dreams came almost every night, all night, for weeks. I refused to accept them though and eventually they came less often and after a couple of years stopped happening at all.

“Jumbled in with the thoughts on those three major subjects and the dreams were random thoughts on how nice it was to be young again. The aches and pains from long abused joints and bones were magically gone. My eyesight was perfect and the glasses I usually wore were packed away in my satchel. All in all, the weather was pleasant, the air was clean, and even the sore muscles from riding were easier to take.

“I finally made it to Albany and was not disappointed. It was more than twice the size of Santa Fe today and, in fact, seemed to adequately support no less than six jewelers and watchmakers. I stayed in a tavern for a few days, as I learned my way around town, and sold a few ounces of gold as well as most of my lesser quality gems to four of the jewelers. I was quite wealthy at that point, with enough money to live for three or four years, if I was careful.

“I moved, for a while, to a boarding house in the center of town as I cast about trying to decide what I wanted to do with this new life. I knew that building a business as a jeweler in Albany would be difficult so that wasn’t in my immediate future. The Jewish community in Albany was Ashkenazi, with not a single Sephardic Jew among them, and I knew, from experience in New York City, I wouldn’t be accepted among them as an equal.

“After a few weeks, I decided that living in Albany wasn’t the answer, bought a horse and pack mule and made my way south drifting from town to town in search of my future. Every large city was the same and I continued drifting until I found myself in Philadelphia. Philadelphia was just as disappointing as Albany had been and for the same reasons. I knew I couldn’t just keep drifting or I’d never realize the goals of family and friends.

“I woke up in a tavern one morning after several weeks and realized I missed hearing my native language and the presence of other Sephardic Jews who I could relate to. I’d lost the ability to speak Serbian after we emigrated, but Spanish was spoken almost exclusively in our home and at the synagogue, so I’d retained it without difficulty. I racked my brain trying to remember where I could find a Sephardic Jewish community. The only place I could come up with was New Spain. It was either there or eastern Europe. Trips to either would be dangerous and difficult, but travel and life in New Spain seemed far safer in the long run given what I’d experienced in Europe.

“With my destination vaguely set as somewhere in New Spain, I decided that being a tinker, at least initially, was the best way to see the country, meet people and, based on those results, decide exactly where to live.

“Decisions made, I spent the rest of the winter in Philadelphia outfitting myself for both the trip and the tinker trade once the trip was finished. By the time I began my trip, in the early spring of 1811, I was well supplied on all fronts. I had my horse, three pack mules, two horse pistols in saddle scabbards, a shotgun, and a well-made, almost new, rifle that had proven accurate at up to one hundred yards. One of the pack mules carried my daily travel supplies while the other two carried everything I’d need as a tinker once I got to New Spain.

“Immediately after setting out, I ran into the one, and only, road agent I encountered anywhere in my travels since that damn fog carried me back in time. I was heading west, just outside of Philadelphia, when he rode out of a small copse of trees and demanded that I ‘stand and deliver’. Realizing I was just outside of town, I knew that his intent was to steal everything I owned and kill me. He wasn’t wearing any kind of mask, so I knew he wouldn’t want me walking back to town to see the sheriff.

“Without any more thought than that, I pulled one of my horse pistols and shot him. From the look on this face, as he tumbled backwards off his horse, he was quite surprised at my resistance. He was also quite dead. Surprisingly, I felt little remorse in killing him and there was no evidence of flashbacks to the war.

“When I checked his belongings, I found that business must have been good, both saddle bags were full of money. I stuffed all the paper money inside his shirt, taking the coins from the money belt he was wearing. The paper money was all from local banks and of no value where I was going. The coins added up to a little over five hundred dollars. There were a lot of coins as the largest were ten-dollar gold eagles, and few of them. Most of the coins were small denomination, with a few silver dollars and five-dollar half eagles. Needless to say, there were a lot of coins. I added his belongings to mine, added his horse to my string of mules, left him lying beside the road and rode west with much heavier saddlebags than I’d had when I left Philadelphia.

“I took my time traveling west and, in a few weeks, reached the Ohio River which I followed until reaching the Missouri River. By the time I got to St Louis it was well into fall and, after hearing stories of winters in the mountains, decided to spend the winter in St Louis. To say that St Louis was a raw frontier town would be overstating the conditions. I forced myself to wait out the weather and was quite thankful to leave St Louis behind me as I continued my travel towards Santa Fe.

“At some point, where exactly I was never sure, the language switched from predominately English to Spanish. The Spanish I had grown up with! The language of Sephardic Jews! By the time I reached Taos, in the mid-summer of 1812, I knew that I’d made the right decision. Despite having discovered early on that there were no obvious Sephardic Jews anywhere in New Spain, I remained confident that they were present, hiding among the conversos of northern New Spain.

“A year and a half after I left Philadelphia, I finally arrived in Santa Fe, the largest town I’d seen since leaving Philadelphia. I wintered in Santa Fe that year as I made a nuisance of myself at the Palace of Governors in my efforts to obtain the best maps and information available. The same went for every cantina that I could find.

“In between visits to the Palace of Governors and the various cantinas, I bought a good freight wagon and turned it into my tinker’s shop and dry goods store. I filled it with everything I’d brought from Philadelphia and then added every kind of kitchen and farming utensil I could find in Santa Fe. I also bought as many iron ingots as I could find as well as a portable forge with travel anvil and bellows.

“I began my new life as a tinker in northern New Spain in the spring of 1813. I worked my way back north to Taos along the east side of the Rio Grande. I made an eastern loop through the mountains and back south towards Santa Fe.”

He stopped talking at that point and his face softened. He turned towards his wife and spoke softly.

“That was when I met Rachael for the first time. I knew as soon as I met her that I’d made the right decision in coming to New Spain. From that point on, until after Rachael and I had married, the little town of Mora was my home base. The next three years found me starting and ending my three-month circuits in Mora. There wasn’t much in Mora back then, but it was close to Rachael, and I was able to survive the winters quite well in a house I bought in the small town.

“Rachael’s family were indeed conversos. To all outwardly appearances they were good Catholics but, in the secrecy of their home, they remained devout Jews. It took a few visits before I tumbled to the fact that all their names were from the old testament. There wasn’t a single new testament name anywhere in their family. When I broached the subject with Rachael’s father, I admitted I was a lapsed Jew, he admitted that they were crypto Jews, practicing their religion in secret.

“After we were married, we ended up settling down in Santa Fe, although I was gone six months of every year as I continued working my tinkering circuit for another ten years. I then opened a small jewelry shop making jewelry and repairing watches. After another ten years we finally decided to move to El Paso to be closer to my suppliers and have access to more people than Santa Fe afforded.

“The move to EL Paso proved to be a good thing. Shortly after we arrived, Santa Ana passed through leading thousands of troops toward San Antonio to stop the rebellion led by Sam Houston. He stopped there to rest his troops for a couple of months and, by chance, at a party held by one of the local hidalgos, saw one of the rings I’d designed and made. The next day he called me to his camp and commissioned a vast array of men’s and women’s jewelry for he and his courtesans. Again, my reputation was made. Orders and money from as far away as Mexico City began pouring into my little shop. I had more money than I ever dreamed possible.

“I’d been helping the hidden Jewish community with much needed loans, so it was no great stretch in 1845 to get Santa Ana to smooth the way for a bank charter. Once I had the charter in hand, I sent Hiram to Santa Fe to establish a branch there and, just a couple of years later, had Levi build a branch in El Paso. Both branches help locals build their dreams. While they also both make profits, their primary purpose is to improve the lives of those in the surrounding area.

“The rest as they say is history. Wars came and went as Britain invaded America, Mexico fought for its independence from Spain, the Texans revolted against Santa Ana, the Americans fought Santa Ana to gain more land, and all the while the Indians fought the ‘white man’ who have been encroaching on ‘their’ land for over three hundred years.

“I missed all those wars and haven’t fought anyone since I killed that road agent just after leaving Philadelphia. Things have been relatively peaceful and that suits me just fine.”

For the first time in two hours, Anna spoke up. “That’s quite a story. It certainly explains a lot and I’m sure we all have questions, but right now we all need a break. Let’s meet back here in ten minutes and we can talk more then.”

There was a mad dash for the door as everyone was in need of the facilities after more than two hours of drinking coffee. I held Anna back and when everyone else had left and I was assured we were alone quietly voiced my suspicion.

“Anna, for some reason Mr. Greenburg has compared me to that Rothstein thug he worked for in New York City and believes everything we have built and will build is just so we can control the territory, regardless of how benevolent it may seem to be. Somehow, we need to convince him that he’s wrong. I don’t want to lose his friendship over a misunderstanding.”

“I agree, mi Pablo,” she quickly replied. “I reached the same conclusion early on during his story and I’m sure the others did as well. Perhaps the questions and answer session will give us something to work with. In the meantime, I really need to use the toilet.”

In a flash, she was out the door, and up the stairs to our room. For some reason, despite what she’d just said, I had the distinct impression that Anna already had a plan in mind to bring Mr. Greenburg’s around to our way of thinking. It was times like this that I regretted not having a nice cold Diet Coke. That, along with fresh brewed coffee, always had a way of making even insurmountable problems seem small.

With a shrug, I wandered off to the kitchen to arrange for coffee and iced tea. I also wanted to see if my plea for more biscochitos had been heard.

Ten minutes later I returned to the den carrying the coffee services on a tray while Clara carried the iced tea. Once she placed the tray on one of the tables and left, I quickly glanced around the room to make sure everyone else had returned before closing and baring the door.

When everyone was settled with their drinks, the question and answer session began. By common consent, the questioning went around the room beginning with Mr. Mendoza, who was seated closest to the desk.

“David,” Mr. Mendoza began, “I’m very interested in what the future records about this time period. What can you tell us about the history of the United States and this area in particular? I’m mostly interested in what Pablo calls the Civil War and the activities leading to us becoming a state.”

“Unfortunately, Jose, I have to disappoint you. I don’t have that information to give you.” Mr. Greenburg took a few moments before explaining. “You see, I never went to a formal school. My schooling was all at home, in Sarajevo, with my brothers, sisters, and cousins. Most of what we were taught was reading and writing, both Spanish and Serbian, and basic math. What history we were taught was connected with Judaism in general, and Sephardim in particular. As I said earlier, I was apprenticed once I’d proven basic mastery in those areas. I did eventually learn to speak, read, and write, English once we emigrated, but I never had the time, or inclination, to learn the history of my new home. I did pick up some during my tinkering time, but it all concerned the history of the Mohawk Valley and New York State.

“I can’t tell you anything about New Mexico. I can tell you that the Civil War Paul has told you about, is real, it will happen in the near future, and it will be extremely violent and bloody. I don’t remember when it starts and ends but it was sometime in the 1860s. I also can’t tell you much about where battles were fought nor who led the battles much less who won any specific battle. I’m very sorry, but I’m just as much in the dark about what happens as you are.”

Mr. Mendoza nodded his head in understanding before asking a couple more questions about Mr. Greenburg’s experiences as tinker before telling his wife it was her turn.

Mrs. Mendoza asked quite a few questions, all regarding education, which Mr. Greenburg answered the best he could although, again, he couldn’t answer with specificity. Tom was next and he only asked one question.

“Sir, I’ve been to Santa Fe and traveled through the area around it. The farms are far and few between and most are barely able to survive year to year much less pay someone to fix small items. How in the world did you make enough to support a family as a tinker when you only worked six months a year?”

Mr. Greenburg had a faraway look in his eyes as he thought for a few moments on how to answer Tom’s question. When he had marshalled his thoughts, he turned to Tom.

“There are many parts in the answer to your question young man,” he said animatedly. “First, you need to understand that a good tinker is just as much a trader as a tinker. Instead, of money I bartered for my work. I also bartered for any goods I was carrying – usually kitchen utensils and farming hand tools – as well as for any items I’d previously bartered for.

“People who wanted and valued my services were more than happy to barter with me. I usually finished each circuit with a wagon load of goods. When I pulled into the stable behind our house, after finishing a circuit, my wagon had furs, tanned hides, silver and turquoise jewelry, preserved vegetables, piñon nuts, smoked meats, and crates of live chickens, just to mention a few of the things I took in.

That was a preview of Railroad. To read the rest purchase the book.

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