{"id":3725,"date":"2022-10-11T17:24:43","date_gmt":"2022-10-11T17:24:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/garisonfitch.com\/?p=3725"},"modified":"2022-10-11T17:24:45","modified_gmt":"2022-10-11T17:24:45","slug":"saving-time-the-legend-of-garison-fitch-book-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/garisonfitch.com\/?p=3725","title":{"rendered":"Saving Time – The Legend of Garison Fitch – Book 2"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Book Two of The Legend of Garison Fitch<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two years ago Garison Fitch traveled through time and rewrote history. An accident in the eighteenth century created a whole new world, and even gave Garison a wife he had never met before. Now, he\u2019s got a daughter and he\u2019s coming to enjoy this world he created. Until he\u2019s attacked by men masquerading as Indians, and a funeral procession from out of the past enlists his help, and a tree grows from sappling to full-grown in a matter of minutes, threatening his daughter\u2019s very life. Time itself is unraveling and Garison\u2019s trips through time seem to be the cause. Garison must go back in time once again and keep himself from making the original trip that started the problem. But he can\u2019t use his time machine to go back. How does one sew up a rip in time?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Order today in paperback<\/a> or Kindle<\/a>
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Legend of Garison Fitch begins in \u201cFirst Time<\/em>\u201d and concludes in \u201ci\u201c. Read all three books!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Reading Sample<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Prologue<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

June 12, 1897<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The concussion rocked the walls of La Plata Canyon far away from the blast site. There, fire and smoke careened out of the hole and added more soot to the already blackened cave mouth. Deep within the mountain, one could hear the rocks reestablishing their equilibrium. It was as if the mountain were alive. To further the illusion, one could hear the mountain rumbling long after the blast, like an awakened grizzly settling back into sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jeb stood up from behind his barricade and watched as the last of the smoke seeped out of the mine. It looked like a fire-breathing dragon sleeping, snoring smoke through one open nostril. Jeb liked the thought for he remembered fairy tales from his childhood which told that dragons\u2019 bellies were covered with gold and jewels. Jeb grabbed his lantern and pick and prepared to head back into the dragon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jeb had been prospecting for over thirty years. He had missed the big strike in California, shown up too late for the one in Alaska, and was just barely in the right century for the Colorado strikes. He had been late for the strike on the Blue, just missed the boom on the Tarryall, and had shown up in La Plata Canyon about twenty years late. And while some might argue he didn\u2019t know it very well, prospecting was the only life he knew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not that he hadn\u2019t had a couple moments of glory. For three days once he had been a millionaire\u2013on paper. That had been up near Tincup, or was it Alma? He couldn\u2019t rightly remember. But three ladies depicted on stiff paper had forfeited his millions to a man holding four monarchs depicted on similarly stiff paper. Jeb always held that it had been a blessing\u2013that all that money had encumbered him\u2013but the truth was that he sometimes wished he\u2019d never gotten into that last hand. Jeb\u2019s life could be summed up with the phrase, \u201cIf only I\u2019d left earlier.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the other hand, he\u2019d never stayed too long. That was something, he guessed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Down in the bowels of the mine shaft, he set his lantern on a ledge and set about to survey his most recent prospects. He had won the claim in a came of three card monte; which should have tipped him off. If the claim had been worth anything, the dealer (whose winning streak had reached uncanny proportions) would have held onto it. Jeb was beginning to suspect\u2013no, be assured\u2013that the dealer had lost on purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jeb had found the claim easily enough, having been late for the La Plata Canyon once before in his life. The claim was located near where the Lady of Spain Mine had once stood and that gave Jeb hope. The Lady of Spain had struck a pocket of gold and its owners had been richer than the dreams of avarice\u2013until they hit the other side of the pocket. They blew their fortune trying to reestablish a vein that didn\u2019t exist, and the Lady closed down. Jeb was hoping he might find just enough gold to get him a stake. With that, he could head to South America, or maybe even Alaska again. There was a valley he had seen when he had been there before that he\u2019d been aching to try again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the dust settled in the area most recently blasted, Jeb swore. He knew better than to expect the mother lode to just appear before his eyes, but he had hoped for something promising. Anything. The early returns weren\u2019t good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He began sifting through the rocks, clearing a space to put up some more shoring timbers, when a glint caught his eye. He picked up the rock in question, and\u2013holding it close to his lantern\u2013spied just a hair of gold. He eyed it closely, not wanting to trust even his own sight until he was absolutely sure. This mine had disappointed him before, and he wasn\u2019t going to get his hopes up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After roughly an hour of work, he had collected maybe twenty pounds of ore with traces of gold. He had even found where along the wall they had come from, but he hadn\u2019t located the vein. But, even though it would mean putting a bend in his shaft where he hadn\u2019t intended to have one, he figured it would be worth a look-see. The current path of the shaft sure didn\u2019t seem worth sticking to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The end of the day proved that there was a very thin vein of gold in the new direction, but it wasn\u2019t enough for Jeb to get rich off of. In fact, it was probably just enough to make him poor\u2013what with the expense of digging it out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As Jeb sat in his shack, picking at the little gold he had found, he wondered if it would be enough. He knew it wouldn\u2019t get him to South America or Alaska\u2013or even California\u2013but then again, it might. He had known men to get a lot further on a lot less.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Word had it there was a greenhorn easterner over in Durango who was buying up old claims. \u201cSpeculating\u201d they called it. Jeb had heard that the city dude had bought Shorty Dillon\u2019s worthless mine for far more than Shorty deserved. If the greenhorn were still around, Jeb thought, and if he could convince the man that his claim was worth something. It might mean salting the claim, but all\u2019s fair, right? he thought absently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The more Jeb thought of the idea of leaving and getting on the trail again, the more he liked it. Jeb decided he needed some supplies, anyway, and might as well head into Durango and see what he could find out. He tossed a crust of bread over to the marmot that often hung around near his door, then turned out the light for sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jeb awoke to a sound he had never heard before and, just for a moment, figured it must be Satan coming with some hell-spawned machine to take him away. He had done a sight worse than salt a claim in his life, after all. It was a powerful, low, rumbling sound, like the machines at the smelter\u2013only more refined, more steady. To Jeb, that made the sound more ominous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sat up in bed and grabbed for his rifle. Slipping on his boots, he stepped outside into the night wearing only his dungarees and flannel underwear. He was shaking in his boots and sweating even though the night was as cool as any in a month. Slowly, he slipped outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The noise was coming from some sort of machine, all right. Jeb slipped on his spectacles for a better look\u2013even though they weren\u2019t much help in the moonlight. Whatever it was, it wasn\u2019t much longer than a buck-board, but it was made of metal and glass. It ran on four black wheels with silver centers that gleamed in the moonlight. But what fairly took Jeb\u2019s breath away with fright were its eyes. It had two eyes in front that shined brighter than day, lighting the way ahead of the beast\u2013or machine, or whatever it was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The beast began to turn in Jeb\u2019s direction and he dove behind the woodpile as the bright lights swept near where he had been. There were trees between he and it that might have blocked him from its sight, but he didn\u2019t want to take chances. It occurred to the back of his mind that he had no idea where the woodpile had come from, but the thought died of loneliness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The beast rolled a short way through the forest then came to a stop maybe fifty yards from Jeb\u2019s shack. Against his better judgement, he decided to crawl closer and get a better look. If he were going to die or get carted off to Ol\u2019 Scratch\u2019s hideout, he aimed to see what would be carrying him. Holding his breath, he moved toward the machine\u2013creeping through the forest quieter than a cat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He got close to the beast just as the light in its eyes went out and the fearful rumbling stopped. Then he watched in horrified awe as the sides of the beast opened up\u2013almost as if it had doors built into its rib-cage\u2013and two people got out. Jeb all but stopped breathing as he saw what appeared to be a tall, dark-headed man, reach back into the beast and pull out a blonde-haired little girl. She was little more than a baby. The man said something to the person who had gotten out of the other side of the beast and the reply\u2013though Jeb couldn\u2019t quite make out all the words\u2013sounded as if it came from a woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The trio began to walk away from the beast and it was then that Jeb saw they were walking towards a house. It was a great log house, with a light on the porch that didn\u2019t flicker and another light or two inside. Something in Jeb\u2019s brain registered that the lights were coming from those new-fangled \u201cbulbs\u201d he had seen in town, but that wasn\u2019t what occupied his mind. What occupied the parts of Jeb\u2019s mind that hadn\u2019t been completely frozen with fear was the idea that a house was there at all. He had walked that land just the day before and nothing had been there\u2013not even a stick of cut wood. And now there was a house and people and\u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not planning his actions too far in advance, Jeb carefully skirted the fierce beast and walked up to the porch of the house. The yard was carefully cut, there were flower bushes planted all around, and the walkway to the front porch was made of some sort of perfectly laid and cut stone\u2013as if of a single giant slab. All around was evidence that the house had stood for not just hours, but years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He crept up to a window and saw that the woman somehow made the whole interior of the house light up by touching a little square on the wall. Jeb fell backwards from the window, his hair literally standing on end. What sort of magic was this? When he had caught his breath, his curiosity got the better of him and he peeked in again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man and the little girl were nowhere to be seen, but the woman was standing not ten feet away from Jeb. She had dark hair that hung half-way down her back and she was, Jeb thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. He gulped as he looked at her. Not only was she beautiful, she was wearing the least clothes he had ever seen on a woman who wasn\u2019t dancing in a saloon. She wore a blue cotton shirt with no discernable buttons and britches that looked as if they had been cut off at mid thigh, revealing a more shapely pair of legs than he had ever seen before. He swallowed hard again and rubbed his eyes to make sure it wasn\u2019t all an illusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman bent over a little table and picked up a little black box. She held it before her and, suddenly, a large black box on the other side of the room seemed to spring to life. It glowed with a thousand colors and sound came out of it. Jeb watched in horror as the woman somehow manipulated the big box with the little box. His breath now only a memory, he saw the faces of people who were trapped in the big box. Some were laughing, some were crying, and some seemed to have somehow been drawn. Like moving art.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The box went dark as suddenly as it had lit up and Jeb screamed. It was a heartfelt scream from the bottom of his soul as it escaped his lips. Clutching tightly to his rifle, he fled as fast as his old legs would carry him. Back to the shack he went, just barely remembering to avoid the horrible hell-beast the demon people traveled with. As he skirted it, he prayed it wouldn\u2019t come to life and eat him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Reaching his shack, he bolted the door, piled whatever he could find in front of it, then sat cowering on the bed with his gun cocked and ready. When he finally fell asleep, it was to visions of the beautiful woman coming to him. She wore next to no clothes and beckoned him with long-nailed fingers and a sultry gaze. He fought against her advances for he knew she had come to take his soul and trap him for all eternity in her box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When morning came, Jeb was surprised to find himself still alive\u2013and not living in a box. He gathered up what he could carry, including some of the gold, and headed for his mule. He hastily loaded the animal up and started for town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He cast a glance at where the house had been the night before and found only an empty meadow. Taking an earlier than usual swig from the flask in his pack, he steadied his nerves and decided it was time to get shut of La Plata Canyon. He\u2019d heard a man named Stillwell say the place was haunted, and Jeb was thinking the old prospector had been right. If he could sell his claim to that greenhorn\u2013Wilson, he thought the man\u2019s name wasfine and dandy. If not, he\u2019d just cut his losses and head for Leadville or Georgetown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was sure it hadn\u2019t been a dream. The valley was haunted and he wouldn\u2019t spend another night in it. Let someone else deal with the demon woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chapter One<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

With gloved hands, Garison looped the newly strung strand of barbed wire through the come-along. Nodding to Heather to back away a bit, Garison began to work the lever and bring the two strands closer together. He had almost lost an ear one time when a line of barbed wire broke and he didn\u2019t want her near in case the incident repeated itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA hundred years ago,\u201d Garison told her, \u201cWe would\u2019ve had to do this all by hand. Working and pulling until we got the new wire tight enough to nail down\u2013then it would still have been far looser than we can get today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you said the tightness in the wire also contributed to it\u2019s demise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2018Demise\u2019?\u201d he chuckled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBreakage, whatever. You knew what I meant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded and said, \u201cTo an extent. This wire\u2019s a lot stronger than anything we would have been stringing a hundred years ago. My point is, though, with all the things I\u2019ve invented, I\u2019m not sure I\u2019ve ever invented anything just as flat-out practical as this come-along.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not true. If you could ever get The Box licensed, that would change the world.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He winced slightly and reminded her, Please don\u2019t say that. I\u2019ve already changed the world once, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat was an accident.\u201d Trying to cheer him up\u2013or at least get the conversation on another track\u2013Heather told him, \u201cIf you could license The Box, the world would never know another energy crisis. Besides that, it\u2019d probably just about get rid of smog. And think of all the waste we produce now that The Box could eliminate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded, but remarked, \u201cAnd think of how quickly Garison Fitch would be eliminated.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he finished cranking and began to tie the two strands of barbed wire together, he explained, \u201cEven if I got the thing licensed, I wouldn\u2019t stand a chance. We\u2019re talking about a self-contained nuclear fusion reactor small enough to fit into the trunk of a compact car but powerful enough to supply all the electricity Denver needs. The oil, gas, and electric companies would never let me make it even if the government licensed it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut all the good it could do\u2013\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t compare to all the money they\u2019re currently making. Almost twenty years ago a guy in El Paso figured out how to make his Lincoln Continental get eighty-five miles to the gallon\u2013with the air conditioning going. It was environmentally safe and easily manufactured.\u201d Garison looked at Heather with a rueful smile and asked, \u201cWhat happened to that car?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When she shrugged, Garison told her, \u201cThe guy sold the plans for the car to one of the major oil companies for several million dollars so that they could \u2018research it\u2019. That was the day it was guaranteed that car would never see the light of day. Oil companies are in the business to make money and a fuel efficient car would kill them. Remember the Tucker automobile? What do you think would happen if I suddenly showed the world that the oil, gas, and electric companies can all be circumvented by an inexpensively produced unit they could install themselves in the back yard?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just when Heather was afraid her new track would be more disastrous than the previous one, she decided to ask anyway, \u201cSo what happens to The Box? You\u2019re not just going to bury it, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shook his head and said, \u201cNot entirely. I applied for a permit to convert our house over to a generator.\u201d He smiled and added, \u201cI\u2019m just not going to tell them that my little generator has more power than the entire La Plata County Electrical Co-Op.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather laughed and Garison thought to himself how much he had come to love that laugh in the last two and a half years. Hers wasn\u2019t a loud laugh\u2013Heather was rarely loud about anything\u2013but it was a laugh that seemed to fill her whole body. Her mouth, her eyes, and\u2013somehow\u2013her entire self laughed together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather Dawson Fitch was an uncommonly beautiful woman. With long, dark hair and the face of an angel, she could have been a model or an actress or\u2013Garison thought\u2013anything she wanted to be. An All-American volleyball player for Southern Methodist during her pre-law years, she had remained athletically active since and, when she had given birth to their first child eighteen months before, she had quickly regained her figure. Now, unless one saw her with her daughter in hand, one might think she had never given birth. With young Sarah sporting the blondest hair imaginable, many who saw Heather guessed her to be watching someone else\u2019s child. However it is that mothers are supposed to look, Heather didn\u2019t strike most people as looking like one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison, however, was an obvious father. Though he, too, sported dark black hair and a matching mustache, he positively doted on little Sarah. A big man who might have appeared incapable of tenderness at first glance, Garison had to be reminded by Heather that Sarah wasn\u2019t made of china. He also had to be reminded not to spoil her, but that lesson often went over his head. Like his first daughter Helen\u2013dead almost two hundred years when Sarah was born\u2013Sarah had quickly learned that her father was tightly wrapped around her stubby little fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison looked at Heather standing there by the fence row, grabbing her hammer and preparing to nail the latest strand of wire into place, and winced slightly. He had no doubt that Heather could do the work, but all morning long she had been working far too hard. Each fence staple was hammered in with a vengeance and the next one was attacked in record time. He had tried to get her to take it easy, but she would only slow down for a few minutes before stepping the pace up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know you hate the idea of \u2018man\u2019s work\u2019 and \u2018women\u2019s work\u2019,\u201d Garison began, \u201cBut I still don\u2019t think this is the kind of work for you. Call me a sexist pig, but this seems like awfully rough work for a woman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, sexist pig,\u201d Heather laughed, \u201cI enjoy it. I never got much chance to work with my hands as a child. I like helping you with your wood-working and stuff like this. This stuff, especially, makes me feel like a cowboy or something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBelieve me,\u201d he chuckled in assurance, \u201cNo one will ever accuse you of being any kind of a boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison started to admonish her about working too hard again, but he knew it would do no good. He knew Heather was working so hard because Sarah was staying two nights with her grandparents in Denver and Heather was trying to take her mind off her worry with hard work. Garison knew it wasn\u2019t working because Heather\u2019s work was getting harder and harder. He just hoped he could find some more work for them to do when the fence was done or he was afraid Heather might have a nervous breakdown before having a physical breakdown. He figured a physical breakdown might be easier to recover from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were conducting what was a yearly ritual for most of the residents of the La Plata Canyon\u2013and, indeed, almost all of the rural west. While barbed wire could withstand the elements for quite a few years, it couldn\u2019t withstand the sharp hooves of deer and elk. As they jumped the fences, the animals would often clip the top strand with hooves as sharp as any wire cutters. The result was broken top strands that had to either be repaired or replaced all around the property every year. If not for the fact that his barbed wire helped to keep neighboring livestock out, Garison had thought more than once about just letting the wire go. But, like Heather, the work kind of made him feel like a real, old west cowboy, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was about to say something when they heard a car coming from up the canyon. They both looked up, as vehicle traffic in La Plata Canyon was fairly rare. They knew the vehicles of everyone who lived in the canyon and often waved when they saw someone they recognized. Heather had once groaned that they had become true country hicks\u2013looking up at the sound of passing motorists\u2013but the truth was she loved the friendliness after growing up in Dallas\u2019s most haughty suburb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They looked at each other with interest when they saw that the car going by was an old one. While Garison wasn\u2019t a car buff exactly, he knew enough to spot that the car was from the late 1940s. He was about to remark as such, showing off his limited knowledge of vintage autos, when Heather said, \u201c1947 Hudson and Terraplane. I haven\u2019t seen one of those in years. Looks like it\u2019s in great shape, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d say so,\u201d Garison nodded in more agreement than he really had. He was still marveling at the fact that Heather knew the car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather caught the look on his face and snapped playfully, \u201cWhat? Did I wound your chauvinistic pride? Don\u2019t think women can be motorheads?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he hastily replied, \u201cBut in the two and a half years I\u2019ve known you, you\u2019ve never said anything about cars. I mean, what little work we\u2019ve had to have done, I did it or we took it in. I thought you were just into planes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am,\u201d she laughed. With a chuckle she added, \u201cMy brother Hank\u2019s a car freak and I went to just enough old car shows and a few junk yards with him to pick up a little. He had a car like that at one time.\u201d Heather looked down the road where the car had already passed around a bend and added, \u201cAlthough his was never in that good of shape. He would have liked to have seen that car. Someone\u2019s really been keeping it up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the sound of another car coming from up canyon, Garison looked up. He remarked with surprise, \u201cHe\u2019d probably like this one, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather turned her gaze in the same direction as Garison\u2019s and asked, \u201cIs there an old car rally up canyon somewhere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot that I know of. Who would hold an old car rally up there where the road becomes dirt? Not the best way to protect your custom paint job.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The car in question was a hearse. It had a big Pontiac symbol on the hood and looked to be from the same era as the previous car. And, like the Hudson, it looked to be in excellent condition. Almost new, in fact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just as Garison was about to ask what year it was, Heather told him, \u201cBy the grill work, I\u2019d say this one\u2019s from about \u201846. That hood looks a little strange, but maybe it\u2019s because it\u2019s a hearse. I\u2019ve never seen one of those before. Not from that era, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As they were looking at the hearse, it pulled to a stop in front of them. They watched with interest as a tall, solidly built, middle-aged man got out. He smiled up at them and ascended the short incline between them and the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the fence, he extended his hand and offered, \u201cStuart Jameson, at your service.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison pulled off his right-hand work glove and took the man\u2019s hand. He suddenly realized the man had the largest hands Garison had ever encountered. The man\u2019s hand wrapped completely around Garison\u2019s own rather large paw almost as if taking an adolescent\u2019s hand. For a brief moment, Garison thought the man could probably touch Heather\u2019s elbow while shaking her hand. Besides just the hands, though, the man was big\u2013probably six-four or better, Garison mused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGarison Fitch,\u201d he returned. \u201cAnd this is my wife, Heather.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stuart Jameson nodded and said, \u201cI hate to impose on you like this, but I\u2019m with Holt & Jameson, the funeral parlor in Durango. Anyway, we just interred a young man on his parents\u2019 property and, well, my man hasn\u2019t shown up here with the digging tools. I wonder if I might trouble you to help me, um\u2013I really hate to even ask this. Could you, um, help me fill in the grave?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had a deep voice, much like what one would expect the voice of God to sound like. It was deep and sonorous, yet oddly soothing. Every word he said was in the tone of voice one would use when comforting bereaved loved ones. It occurred briefly to Heather to wonder if he talked like that all the time. She guessed that he did since he was talking that way to ask for help filling in a hole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather and Garison shared a puzzled look, then Garison replied, \u201cI guess so.\u201d They picked up their shovels and followed the man to the hearse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid we\u2019ll have to all squeeze into the front seat,\u201d he apologized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo problem,\u201d Heather quickly answered, shuddering as she even thought of riding in the back of the hearse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Walking to the car, Stuart Jameson was whistling something Garison couldn\u2019t quite place. After a moment, he realized it was \u201cAmerican Patrol\u201d. Odd, he thought, that the man would whistle a tune from the same era as the car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As they got in and Stuart started the engine, Heather complemented, \u201cThis car is in remarkable shape.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson cast her a somewhat puzzled look, but replied, \u201cThank you. I only got it a year ago\u2013so it hasn\u2019t seen much use. Ordered it direct from the factory.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t look like a kit,\u201d Heather mused, drawing another puzzled look from Jameson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison was only listening with half an ear. What he was paying attention to was the fact that the man\u2019s clothing was fantastically out of date. Jameson was wearing a conservative brown suit, but the lapels were too wide, the tie was too short, the pants were cut all wrong and the material was some sort of heavy woolen weave that looked like it would weight fifty pounds. Below the pants the man wore brown leather shoes that were polished but obviously worn. Even in their worn condition, though, Garison couldn\u2019t imagine that they were comfortable. The thought popped in his mind that they were the type of shoe formerly referred to as brogans, but he wasn\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was shaken from his study of the man\u2019s attire by a quick turn to the right. Garison looked up in surprise to find that they were taking a dirt road that followed along just outside his northern fence line. He had walked the selfsame road just two days before when checking his fence and it hadn\u2019t been in nearly as good shape. He figured someone must have grated it for the funeral, but was surprised he hadn\u2019t heard the equipment doing it. The sound of machinery often carried well in the La Plata, partly because it was so incongruous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They pulled up to a little clearing neither Heather nor Garison recognized and got out. At the edge of the clearing, a small man in another outdated suit stood next to an open grave and a pile of dirt. He was tapping his foot and looking impatient, until he saw Heather. She was just dressed in faded (if tight) blue jeans and an old sweat-shirt, but he gulped and watched her legs like he\u2019d never seen such a sight. Heather noticed the look and edged closer to Garison. She was used to men watching her, but this man was looking at her like she was a space alien . . . or a chorus girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you could just give me a hand,\u201d Jameson said, taking Heather\u2019s shovel and motioning for Garison to join him. Garison nodded and began tossing dirt in on what certainly looked like a casket. They could hear the hollow thump of the dirt on the wood and the sound gave Heather an uneasy feeling. For his part, Garison was noticing that it was a wooden box, and not the fancy metal ones he was used to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather watched for a bit, then opened, \u201cIf you don\u2019t mind me asking, who are you burying and why are you burying him here? Him or her. It\u2019s so far from a cemetery and all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson first said, \u201cHarris, spell Mister Fitch for a bit, won\u2019t you?\u201d Harris nodded and took the shovel like someone who had never worked one before. He was little help and Garison was thinking Heather could have done a much better job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson explained, \u201cIt is a young man in the grave, Mrs. Fitch. His name is\u2013was\u2013Guy Wilson and, sadly, he was killed in France during the war.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat war?\u201d Heather asked suspiciously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harris looked up with surprise and spoke for the first time, \u201cWorld War Two, of course.\u201d He said it like he was talking to someone who had to be a moron.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather looked from Harris to the grave and queried incredulously, \u201cAnd they\u2019re just now bringing his body home for burial?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson nodded and replied, with practiced sadness, \u201cThings move slowly after such a devastating conflict.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taking the shovel back from the slow-working Harris, Garison said, \u201cBut this has to be some sort of a record.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson shrugged and said, \u201cI just hope he\u2019s the last for me. I have buried far too many from this conflict\u2013or arranged memorial services for those whose remains were never recovered. A sad, sad business.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather mumbled, \u201cI don\u2019t think there\u2019s much chance of any more coming home. Not if they haven\u2019t come home by now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet us hope so,\u201d Jameson nodded. Heather and Garison shared another puzzled look. After all, did he really expect any more bodies from World War II to be found sixty years late?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, why here?\u201d Heather reminded them of the second part of her earlier question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, yes,\u201d Jameson nodded. It was a warm day and he stopped to remove his coat and wipe the sweat from his brow. It drew both Garison and Heather\u2019s attention that he still wore his tie. He finally told her, \u201cThis land is owned by the Wilson family; as you probably know, since you live nearby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cActually, I didn\u2019t,\u201d Garison told him. \u201cI mean, they call it the Wilson place, but no one\u2019s lived here as far back as I can remember.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson nodded and continued, \u201cThe Wilson\u2019s haven\u2019t lived here in, oh, must be ten years by now. The family had lived here for many many years\u2013since Carlton Wilson struck gold here back in the late 1800s, in fact. Guy and his brother John grew up here\u2013in the old house up the road.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather and Garison shared a look that meant, \u201cWhat old house?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson looked puzzled by their question, but went on, \u201cBut when the boys graduated from high school and left home, Lydia talked Harold\u2013he was Carlton\u2019s grandson, I believe\u2013she talked him into moving to Denver. They haven\u2019t been back until today, I believe. You may have seen their Hudson going down the road ahead of me. I believe Guy had said he wanted to be buried in La Plata Canyon. Boyhood memories of happiness here, I suppose.\u201d He said this in a voice that conveyed infinite sadness and sympathy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cInteresting,\u201d was all Garison could say. Heather just nodded, confused and bewildered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the grave was filled in, Jameson looked at his watch and said, \u201cI can\u2019t imagine what has happened to Phil. It\u2019s not like him to be late. I hope he hasn\u2019t met with any misfortune. He was supposed to be here by three, and here it is almost four.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather looked at her own watch and said, \u201cIt\u2019s not even noon, yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson smiled and offered, \u201cYour watch must have stopped.\u201d Showing her his own watch, he said, \u201cI have fifteen \u2019til four\u2013and my watch is running.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo\u2019s mine,\u201d she returned, shaking her watch as if that would change anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison looked at his own watch and said, \u201cHuh, mine matches Heather\u2019s. You sure yours is right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harris looked at his watch and showed haughtily, \u201cSee, a quarter of four.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garison shrugged, then put his shovel over his shoulder and said, \u201cWell, we\u2019ll keep an eye out for him in case he shows up later. Folks always have trouble finding our house even when I give them directions. Maybe he just got lost in the canyon. Took the wrong dirt road or something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d Jameson nodded. Harris made a motion that indicated he thought Phil had had to much to drink for lunch, but Jameson shook his head and said, \u201cNo, I don\u2019t think so. He\u2019s been dry ever since he came back from the south Pacific.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy was he there?\u201d Heather asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s where the Navy sent him,\u201d Jameson replied, wondering if Heather and Garison might possibly be mental. \u201cIn fact, I think he was on Iwo Jima.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat was a while back,\u201d Heather mumbled, though something about the whole conversation bothered her. It was as if she and Jameson were having two spearate conversations that sort of met in the middle\u2013but didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson extended his massive hands and shook those of Heather and Garison. He smiled and said, \u201cI certainly appreciate your help, Garison, Mrs. Fitch. Sometime when you\u2019re in Durango, allow me to buy you dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not necessary,\u201d Garison shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, we were planning on spending the day digging and working, anyway,\u201d Heather smiled, though still uncomfortable about the whole interchange. \u201cThis just took us away from working the fence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, I\u2019ve taken you away from your work,\u201d Jameson apologized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s fine,\u201d Heather smiled. \u201cNo one ever got mad about missing out on stringing barbed wire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson nodded with a deep chuckle and reminded, \u201cWell, the offer is still open if ever you\u2019ll take me up on it. Thank you again. Now, can I give you a ride back?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d Garison replied. \u201cWe can walk back. I want to look at the fence again, anyway. We may have to get a surveyor out here for a couple sections.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson nodded as they set off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When they were out of earshot, Harris remarked, \u201cWhere\u2019d they get those clothes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jameson shrugged and said, \u201cI have no idea. Mrs. Fitch certainly fit well into those dungarees, didn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was shameful,\u201d Harris replied snootily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot so shameful that you refused to let your eyes bug out at her every move, I noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harris harrumphed and walked to the hearse. Jameson chuckled and followed along behind. He hated to admit it, but Mrs. Fitch certainly had fit well into those jeans. And there was something about that torn patch on her thigh . . . He checked his watch and wondered if his wife were home, yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When they were out of earshot, Heather asked, \u201cWhat did you think of those clothes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLittle outdated, weren\u2019t they?\u201d Garison nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather, her voice low, agreed, \u201cVery. I don\u2019t know fashion as well I do cars, but I\u2019d guess those suits came from about the same era as the cars.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I was thinking. And I don\u2019t know if you noticed it, but that guy was whistling an old \u2018big band\u2019 tune. Granted, music\u2019s eternal, but\u2013\u201d He stopped walking just as she did and asked suspiciously, \u201cAre you thinking now what I\u2019m thinking?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am if you\u2019re thinking about sneaking back, waiting until they\u2019re gone, and finding out what was buried back there.\u201d He nodded and she looked at her watch, suggesting, \u201cLet\u2019s give them a few minutes then slip back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They walked quietly through the woods back to the little clearing. They hadn\u2019t heard the car drive away, but they hoped it had. If not, they figured they might spy for a while and see what the two men did alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They crept up to their fence and slipped through onto the old fenceline road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was no hearse, no funeral director, no Harris, no grave, and no clearing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Two years ago Garison Fitch traveled through time and rewrote history. An accident in the eighteenth century created a whole new world, and even gave Garison a wife he had never met before. Now, he\u2019s got a daughter and he\u2019s coming to enjoy this world he created. Until he\u2019s attacked by men masquerading as Indians, and a funeral procession from out of the past enlists his help, and a tree grows from sappling to full-grown in a matter of minutes, threatening his daughter\u2019s very life. Time itself is unraveling and Garison\u2019s trips through time seem to be the cause. Garison must go back in time once again and keep himself from making the original trip that started the problem. But he can\u2019t use his time machine to go back. How does one sew up a rip in time?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3726,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mo_disable_npp":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1983,1985,2006],"tags":[2045,1028,1564,2039,2041,2042,1596,1563,2046],"class_list":["post-3725","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fantasy","category-science-fiction","category-time-travel","tag-alexandria","tag-colorado-2","tag-fantasy","tag-garisonfitch","tag-laplata","tag-mountvernon","tag-sciencefiction","tag-timetravel","tag-virginia"],"yoast_head":"\nSaving Time - The Legend of Garison Fitch - Book 2 - After Time Ends<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Time is falling apart. Garison is pretty sure it's his fault. 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How can he repair time without using his time machine?\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/garisonfitch.com\/?p=3725\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"After Time Ends\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2022-10-11T17:24:43+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2022-10-11T17:24:45+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/garisonfitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/10\/ST21.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"375\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"600\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"samwhi371\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"samwhi371\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"29 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"samwhi371\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/07e2191f0ee4a8f05e16936d655346f1\"},\"headline\":\"Saving Time – The Legend of Garison Fitch – Book 2\",\"datePublished\":\"2022-10-11T17:24:43+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2022-10-11T17:24:45+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725\"},\"wordCount\":6647,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2022\\\/10\\\/ST21.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"#Alexandria\",\"#Colorado\",\"#fantasy\",\"#GarisonFitch\",\"#LaPlata\",\"#MountVernon\",\"#sciencefiction\",\"#timetravel\",\"#Virginia\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Fantasy\",\"Science Fiction\",\"Time Travel\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725\",\"name\":\"Saving Time - The Legend of Garison Fitch - Book 2 - After Time Ends\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/?p=3725#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/garisonfitch.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2022\\\/10\\\/ST21.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2022-10-11T17:24:43+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2022-10-11T17:24:45+00:00\",\"description\":\"Time is falling apart. 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