Fiction: The Later Journeys - Prelude

The Later Journeys of Dr. Benjamin Franklin

This is the first of what I hope will be a long series. At present, I don't know exactly where it will go, but we'll find our way somehow!
Vol-E
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November 7, 2030, 10:30 pm

I have nothing to do at the moment except stare out the window, which is silly because all I’m seeing is my reflection. That’s clear enough: an average-looking woman in a mobcap and an ornate dress with a horrible corset and pettiskirts underneath. Outside the window it's black as coal, more so because of the cloud cover. I will see light sooner or later, and can only hope it will be soft yellow light from an oil lamp like the one in here, and not 21st-century auto headlamps, or worst of all, the revolving red and blue beacons of a police car.

Warren and Trevor are confident that they have spent enough time out at night, letting their eyes adjust to total or near-total darkness, and then letting their oil lamps guide them. Learning how to operate the modified 4-passenger stagecoach was an entirely separate endeavor. Once they felt reasonably assured of not running the coach and the poor horses into a ditch, they considered that part of the project licked. When the coach comes back with the three of them safe, I can let this go and start worrying about all the other innumerable things that could go wrong with this experiment.

Trevor is driving, though both of them have been avid students and passed the rather grueling instruction provided by Mr. Haggerty. I have not passed or even begun instruction. It irks me that we’re all having, at least for now, to conform to likely stereotypes, so as not to alarm our guest. So the little lady stays home and keeps the fires going; the loyal black retainer drives the rig, and the white guy keeps the whole charade going until we get Dr. Franklin back inside this house.

Cloud cover...please o please let the rain hold off until they get back. Yes, they’ve both driven through mud, at increasing speeds, without incident, but they never had a 79-year-old Founding Father as a passenger.

He’s bound to spot something out of place that none of us thought about, despite two years of preparation. It’s only a 4.6-mile journey from the inn to here. The paved roads were torn up months ago, with all lighting and signage removed. But the thing I worry about is planes. Never mind that Gerry did his bit of money magic and got everything re-routed just far enough off the paths to and from Philly, Newark and DC to keep anything from passing overhead. If a person has never heard the sound of an airplane before (or a helicopter or a fucking drone), it will immediately intrude on the senses, even dozens of miles away. It will sound as though the wind suddenly got very strong. I remember that from my childhood. Not sure why; I didn’t live in a place with no planes overhead, but something about the sound got my attention when I was no more than three. I kept asking my parents why it made that noise. Later, on TV, I saw a movie that featured an old-fashioned bi-plane and wondered why the engine sound was so different from the roar of the jets that passed above us. So if a three-year-old in the 20th century was struck by this phenomenon, I can only imagine what will happen when Franklin hears that far-off sound. They say he was tinkering with a hearing-aid type of device, but whether or not he needed one, he will still hear the sound of a jet engine. I hope Warren and Trevor know enough to talk loudly and distract Franklin from focusing on any anomalies.

Stop worrying, Jasmine! Dammit. I just want this thing to get off the ground. I want them to get back, and maybe in a few weeks I want my electricity back, I want to wear pants and Nikes again, and I want Benjamin Franklin to still be alive and sane after we reveal to him that he’s time-traveled from 1785 to 2030.

Is that too much to ask?
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