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Before Anne After |
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In her left hand was the insert from the newspaper, the ad for fine handmade furniture in an exclusive showroom in Summerville – Low Country Wood Artists , celebrating forty years serving South Carolinians. It was the first day of a month-long sale. Her right hand followed the smooth scripting lines cut into the fine wood spelling out the name, Annabelle. Her name. An inch high. Five inches long. Carved by a craftsman. The entire inscription read, “For my mother, Annabelle.” The initial tingle in the tips of her fingers began spreading up her arm, prompting a vision, a memory actually, of a man and a young girl, a memory she didn’t understand. She had never seen this piece of furniture before, had never seen the carving before, and had no recollection of the man or girl. She pulled her hand away and realized she had been holding her breath with her eyes closed. She began breathing again and then jumped as she realized someone was standing near her. “I’m terribly sorry to scare you,” the woman said. “I guess I should have announced my presence, but you seemed to be rather involved with this desk.” Anne felt the flush and attempted to explain. “I was just remembering something. Very strange. It’s gone now. Not important.” “Can I be of assistance to you then?” the woman asked. “Oh, I wish. It’s just too far out of my budget.” “We can work up a payment plan, no interest.” “My husband would kill me.” The woman laughed. “I understand. Here’s my card in case you should change your mind. This is actually an antique, built by my father a few years before I was born, well before the business was started. It’s a very cherished piece.” She glanced at the card and then slid it into her pocket. “Your father is quite a craftsman.” “Yes, he was. He passed away six years ago. My brothers are the craftsmen now. Actually, we prefer to call them artists. They’re as good if not better than their father.” Anne looked around the showroom. “They must stay very busy.” “They only do the finest pieces. We have to contract out a lot of work or we simply couldn’t keep up. Everything still meets my father’s standards though, so you can count on quality with everything we sell.” The movement of the roll top felt exceptionally smooth to Anne. “I can’t believe this is, how old?” “About 55 years give or take a year. None of us kids know for sure.” “This is a family heirloom? Is Annabelle your grandmother then?” “Annabelle?” the woman said with a blank expression. “The name is carved here, under the roll-top, rather hidden actually.” The woman peered in at it, and ran her fingers over it. “I don’t remember that.” OK, Anne thought. It’s not an heirloom. She is just trying to sucker me into a sale. But I still like it and it’s built well. “Why are you selling it?” The woman looked at Anne, blinked several times and then turned back to the desk. “I don’t know.” She was then silent for a very long time. “This is really strange. I can’t for the life of me remember why I put it out. I don’t remember the carving, although Annabelle was my grandmother’s name. Do you want to know something else that’s very strange?” Anne only looked at her. “When I was a little girl -- five, maybe six -- I was told by someone – I wish I could remember who – that I would sell this roll top desk today.” “You’re kidding!” She’s pulling my leg, Anne thought. This is a sham. “And I didn’t remember that until this very moment. This is very, very weird.” “Why today?” “We are fifty years old today, Low Country Wood Artists. This was the day I was told I would sell this, by a woman named . . . I don’t remember.” Anne continued to feel she was being led into some kind of con, but when she looked into the woman’s eyes she saw only confusion. The woman backed away from the desk and said to Anne, “You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t know what’s come over me.” “That’s quite all right. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment to get to. It’ll give me some time to think about it. If I come back and it’s gone then I wasn’t the person meant to buy it.” Anne wasn’t sure the woman heard her. She simply turned and stepped through a door marked “PRIVATE.” Anne ran her hands over the roll top once more and then left for her appointment.
Anne Waring finished dressing, and then waited. She liked clinics. She looked around and wondered why. Was it the aura of cleanliness, the strong sense of sterility, the strict organization, or the soft silence in a busy environment? She didn’t like being a patient and had no secret drive to go to medical school. She just liked the atmosphere. She mentioned that to Steven one time but he only made a face at her. Anne rested her hands on her swollen belly and looked at the posters and literature on the walls. They depicted various health issues a responsible and health conscious individual should be concerned about. She was reading about mothers nursing babies when the exam room door opened. “A girl, Mrs. Waring. It certainly looks like a girl to me.” Dr. Rose handed her an ultrasound photo after she settled in the chair. He pointed with a pen to a spot on the photo, which, if it were a boy, would show some kind of appendage or at least some shape. “Sometimes we can’t tell. In this case I would be willing to put five bucks on it.” “Typically, Steven wants a boy,” Anne said and then lowered her voice to imitate her husband. “The first born should always be a boy. That way the other siblings will always have a big brother to look up to. It’s got to be a boy, Anne, no other choice about it.” Anne grabbed Doctor Rose’s arm. “Jeez! He said that last night and I had this vision of a gang of children in single file parading down the street, the oldest, a boy, leading the way. Was I relieved when he said he only wanted three.” Doctor Rose chuckled. “Believe me, when she’s born your husband will be the happiest man alive. It’s amazing how they change overnight.” He picked up her records and stuck them in a slot on the exam room door. “So far everything is just fine. By my calculations I still hold you due . . . let’s see . . . four weeks from today.” “I know! I’ve got it circled on my calendar.” She shifted her position in the chair. “August seventeenth and it had better not be a day later.” “First births are often late, so don’t get too upset if we slip past the twentieth.” “I know! I know!” “How is the Lamaze coming?” “It isn’t. I’ve only gotten Steven to go once. He says it’s just a bunch of hype and was invented by women looking for employment.” Dr. Rose laughed. “I haven’t heard that excuse yet.” “What’s the point in going without a partner?” She had tried that once and felt completely out of place. It was a source of stern disagreement between her and Steven. “Even by yourself there’s a lot you can learn, Mrs. Waring. It really is important. Would you like me to call your husband?” “I don’t know if it will do any good, but if you think there’s a chance, you’re welcome to try.” “I certainly will. Stop at the desk before you leave. They’ll setup your next appointment. And keep walking!”
Anne Waring wrestled her husband’s old truck out of the clinic parking lot. No power steering, no power brakes, no air conditioning and you needed to be a Sumo Wrestler to roll the windows up and down. That plus eight months pregnant and a hot and humid South Carolina summer afternoon, didn’t make for a very pleasant drive. She was stuck with the monster, as she preferred to call the truck, because her Celica decided to quit on her in the middle of rush hour traffic the previous day. “The timing thing broke and $350,” was all she could remember to tell Steven on the phone after the shop called midmorning. In fifteen minutes she was again standing in the furniture showroom, only thinking about the cool air, dreading the fact that she would have to go back out in that heat again to go home. “May I help you?” Anne turned to find a pleasant young man approaching. “I was looking at something with . . .” she pulled up a mental picture of the card handed to her earlier by the sales lady and said, “Heather Browning . Is she available?” “She left about an hour ago. Let me see if she’s back.” When Heather appeared, Anne was admiring the desk again. “I was kind of hoping it would already be sold so that the decision would be made for me.” “Afraid not,” Heather said coolly. Her earlier pleasant personality was gone. Anne sighed. Walk away now. You can’t afford it and you know it. Steven will have a fit. “When could you deliver it?” “We don’t deliver over the weekend. Would Monday morning be OK?” What are you doing, Annabelle? Leave your credit card in your purse and tell her you’ve changed your mind. “Monday morning would be just fine.” “Wonderful. Please step over here and we’ll do the paperwork. Let me get you a chair, too. When are you due?” “August 17.” Anne looked at the desk again, swore at herself one more time and then followed after Heather. “Will that be check or charge, or can we work up a payment plan for you?” Don’t even open your purse. Just leave it in there and go. You don’t need the payments and you certainly don’t need Steven getting upset with you. “Visa,” Anne said and felt her hand pass the card to the saleswoman. “Please fill this out. We’ll need directions to your residence for the delivery van. I’ll be right back with your receipt and warranty certificate.” Anne picked up the pen, filled in the information and then waited nervously for Heather Browning to return. She had never done anything like this before – making a big purchase without consulting with Steven first – and she felt as though her nerves were going to poke through her skin. In a way, she hoped the card would be rejected. Heather returned and sat before Anne. “Please sign here,” she said. Anne did so. “Here is the warranty. We guarantee it for five years, unconditional. If you or someone can be home between 10:00 and 12:00, Mrs. . . .” she looked at the delivery form, “Waring, our delivery guys will . . . ah . . .” Her mouth closed and she looked at the charge card she was starting to hand back. “Annabelle Waring?” she said quietly and then looked at her customer. “Yes.” Anne said. Heather’s mouth slowly came open. “Oh my!” “What’s the matter?” Heather’s mouth closed again. “Nothing. Nothing. You just look so familiar and your name is so similar, but it has been so many years. It may just be my bad memory. Never mind. Just a coincidence I guess.” “What kind of coincidence?” “The person I told you about earlier, who told me I would sell this desk today. I would swear she had the same name as you. But that was nearly 50 years ago. I was just a child so how could I possibly remember the name? Very strange.” “It certainly is.” “Well, congratulations on your purchase, Mrs. Waring. Do you have a place picked out for it in your home?” “No, I don’t actually. That might turn into a problem.” She stood and extended her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Browning.”
Anne noted 97 degrees on the bank clock and then had to brake hard for a sudden yellow light which she knew she couldn’t run. The red light glared at her while her leg strained against the clutch pedal. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. She had a nearly overwhelming urge to lie down on the seat. Instead she closed her eyes, for only a second she was sure. A honk snapped her eyes open. The light was green. Her aching leg gave up the clutch with a jerk and she, the monster, and her eight-month-old fetus bounced into the middle of the intersection where she found the brake and clutch at the same time, bringing them all to a halt. Then, with the skill of an Indi driver and a scream of burning rubber, she left the intersection and the angry honker behind. By the time Anne pulled into her driveway, her embarrassment
had eased, but her frustration with the heat, and her anger at having
to deal with the truck had not. Her
body ached and she felt like she had just oozed out of a sauna. She struggled out of the truck, slammed the
door as hard as she could and marched into the townhouse. It was a brand-new unit they could hardly afford,
but, thank God, it had central air conditioning. I do not want to ever again be
pregnant in the summer, she told Steven. After spending two summers in
Charleston, we should have known better then to plan a summer pregnancy. There was no blinking light on the answering machine, so she poured a glass of orange juice and went directly upstairs. A cool shower was all she could think about. It was 5:15 and she had to be out the door by 6:30 in order to pick up Steven by 7:00. Plenty of time. She dropped her clothes into a pile and stepped into the shower. The cool, hard spray beat against her head, cascaded off her face, down her swollen breasts and around her protruding belly. She thought she heard the telephone, slid open the shower door and listened. Nothing. She stepped back into the spray and ran her hands around the skin-covered cocoon in which her baby girl grew. She smiled. Since the day they were married she dreamed of having a little girl, but Steven was insistent on a boy. They had already agreed on her father’s name, Robert, and his father’s name, Troy. Steven wouldn’t even discuss a girl’s name. Anne felt a kick. “Hi, Elizabeth Anne,” she said in response. “This is your Mommy.”
On the fourth ring, the machine came on and Anne’s voice told the caller they had reached the Waring residence and to please leave a message. “Anne Honey, it’s me. It looks like we’re going to have to work late. I should be able to get a ride. I will call again if I don’t. I love you.” Steven stepped from the office into the lab and glanced at the clock. 5:20. His concern that Anne wasn’t home left him and his mind returned to “The Project.” “The Project,” as it was referred to by everyone involved, had been going on for more than four years. They called it by no other name and didn’t talk about it outside the building. Funding was coming from a company called Broad Horizons. His paychecks were regular, drawn on an account out of Atlanta. Although secrecy was of the utmost importance, money always seemed to be tight, so security was the responsibility of the team members. Besides, there was less of a chance of someone snooping around if it didn’t look like there was something to hide. He approached Jerry who was bent over a computer terminal, scrolling through a series of Pie charts. “The spectrograph is calibrated. I believe we can do the test tonight if everyone is in agreement. What do you think, Jerry?” Jerry stared at Steven for a couple of seconds, appearing to calculate things in his head. “Get the word to everyone to meet in the conference room at 1900 and we’ll do the final talk-through. After the meeting we’ll perform the full power test, and check grid and RP3 alignments.” Jerry was the team leader, and nothing happened without his knowledge and say so. Everyone knew it, and accepted his authority without question. “And if everything is ready?” Steven beamed. He wanted to throw a fist in the air and yell aloud, “Yes!” but he was a professional and was expected to maintain his professionalism at all times. He had been waiting over a month for this test. Back in early June they did one test with a baseball and it was successful. It was more than successful. It was beautiful. The ball was sent forward 24 hours. That was 24 of the longest hours any of them had ever spent. Of the seven, few slept. Right to the second, 24 hours after it disappeared, it reappeared exactly as calculated. After analyzing the data, the team decided that in two weeks the live test could happen. And then disaster. A lightning strike. Visible damage was minimal; however nothing could be trusted to chance so every piece of equipment, every circuit board, every component had to be checked. Expensive surge protection equipment was installed along with four lightning rods. Now, finally, after nearly a month delay, they were ready once again. He headed for the control room to tell the others.
Anne stepped out of the shower, feeling much better. She went into the nursery to borrow the baby
powder again. It made her feel
elegant and right now she needed to feel anything but pregnant. The nursery was ready, had been for weeks,
but it seemed every other day they were buying something else for it. She thought about Doctor Rose’s declaration
that it would be a girl and felt the urge to go shopping. No!
she thought. We can’t afford to buy anything else until Elizabeth Anne is born. Especially after the desk. She started to throw on anything to go pick up Steven, and then decided she deserved to be taken out to dinner – a good place to break the news of Elizabeth Anne and the roll top desk. Instead, she chose her best maternity outfit. Hair, makeup, nails, perfume and suddenly the bedside clock radio read 6:43. She cursed at herself for losing track of time. He would pick at her. Until she became pregnant, she was never late for anything. The most time-driven person he had ever met, he told her. In the last few months she couldn’t seem to keep track of anything if it involved timing and he always made fun of her. Moving as quickly as her swollen body would allow, she grabbed her keys and purse and went straight out the door. The monster started on the second try. “A record!” she cheered out loud then backed out and headed for the Navy base.
At 1850, Jerry instructed the team to power up everything so that they could go straight into full power tests after the meeting. Steven had already brought the time controller on line and started double-checking various time scenarios. Anything beyond seven days was no longer counted in hours but in 24-hour periods. Tonight’s live test with Charlie was again going to be only 24 hours ahead, but the entire system had to be tested at full power. Checking to be sure the test/live switch was in the test position, Steven punched in, “Back - 44 years.” The computer displayed 16,437, the number of days in that time period, and the date, July 17, 1943. He checked the power level displays on all three phases of the retro-loop, and the platen levels, as well as the buildup voltage in the progressive separator. Everything matched the graphs they had developed over the last year. “Let’s go, Steven,” Jerry half suggested and half ordered as he headed for the conference room. Steven paused briefly to reset everything back to zero, which was the routine when walking away from the controllers. “Steven!” Jerry yelled, this time from down the hall. Steven paused one more time then turned away. The computer display still read July 17, 1943; 16,437 days. He didn’t want to delay this meeting. “Be back soon, Charlie!” he announced and then rushed to catch up with Jerry. Charlie had already been placed in the huge, glass transport cage. He wiggled his nose but otherwise sat still. His overly floppy ears drooped by his side. He hadn’t been fed in eight hours in the hopes that this test would happen tonight.
The Marine guard eyed the sticker on the windshield of the old truck, and then with the efficiency of a New York traffic cop, waved Anne onto the Charleston Navy Base. The lab was set up in an old World War II barracks at the North end of the base, in the area of the Navy Shipyard. She parked in the gravel lot. The five vehicles also parked in the lot told her that everyone was still there and that they were probably working late. It wasn’t unusual for them to work late, but Steven hadn’t called. He always called. She was irritated that she had rushed out the door and he wasn’t ready to go. To pass the time she pulled the ultrasound photo from
her purse. Now that she analyzed
it she really couldn’t see how the doctor could see anything, but she
wanted to believe him so much. “A girl!” she thought with a smile and
put the photo in her pocket to show Steven.
The heat in the truck was unbearable.
Knowing that the outer office, the only room she was allowed into,
was air conditioned, she decided to go inside and wait.
She was wearing sensible shoes, however, the mixture of dirt, gravel
and dried up ruts nearly caused her to fall several times.
By the time she stepped into the office her ankles hurt more than
usual. There was no place to sit. Well,
at least it’s cool, she thought. Beats the hell out of that
damn monster truck. She wandered around the room, analyzing the pictures of ships and men in the old uniforms, until she was totally bored. A large clock on one wall read 7:13. Looking down the hall, she could see that the door with the cipher lock, the one that was always closed, stood open. She listened for sounds but heard only the hum of equipment. “Hello!” she announced apprehensively. No response. Moving slowly down the hall, she announced her greeting once more. Again, no response. She looked at the ten-button security lock on the open door, poked her head in and once more said, “Hello,” assuring herself that the room was indeed empty. She started to proceed on down the hall in hopes of finding someone. She knew that she should have stayed in the front office, but, Hell, what are they going to do to a pregnant lady? It was then, as she started to pass the door, that she spotted a rabbit in a large, glass box which took up a good portion of one end of the room. Being a sucker for animals, she went in. “Oh, how cute!” she exclaimed. She placed her purse on a shelf above a panel of gages and switches, and then stepped across the room and into the glass enclosure . The rabbit sniffed her hand and finding no food, lay back down. Anne sat cross-legged next to him. “You’re hungry, aren’t you baby?” She stroked his soft fur. “Sorry I don’t have anything for you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move and then heard a noise, like a click. When she looked, she saw nothing. She returned to the rabbit. Several seconds passed and she heard another click and again sensed something from the corner of her eye. She looked and saw her purse was dangling from the panel by its strap. Lights were coming on throughout the room, from equipment she only half noticed when she entered, and there was the sound of motors starting up. She started to struggle to her feet but was forced back down by a deafening high pitch wail. She covered her ears, and attempted to suppress the panic. She tried again to struggle to her feet, but without her hands, it was nearly impossible. Uncovering her ears wasn’t an option. She made it up to one knee and was then blinded by an intense white light flooding the glass enclosure. She collapsed to the floor, trying to cover her ears and eyes at the same time. Just when she thought she would go insane, the sound stopped, but the white light persisted. Instinctively she curled into a ball to protect herself and her baby, scared of what she couldn’t see. The rabbit startled her as it searched for a safe haven in her arms. She pulled it in and hugged it close. She lost track of up or down and she felt her head spinning as though she was coming off a carnival ride. Then she heard Steven’s voice, foggy and far away, the words confusing. “Steven,” Anne whispered. “Steven!” she screamed, taking all her remaining energy. Then there were darkness and silence. And sleep. Deep, deep sleep, and dreams.
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