Storm Portal Page 3

He laughed at her. “And the Civil Rights Movement is still trying to get civil rights. The Beatles are still popular forty years after they stopped making music. So which was more successful?”

  “Oh, Josh, be serious.”

  “Why?”

  “Okay, okay, thank you both. Is there anything else?”

  “Mr. Russell,” said Susan, while Josh's antenna were raised, “my grandmother told me about Kennedy's assassination and said that it changed her generation's view of government. She said that before he was killed, there was a lot of hope in the country, but it was like when he died, the country started to wonder about all the things government did wrong. Like the Viet Nam war.”

  Susan plays counterpoint to Josh regardless of the topic. I think they like each other. Before class time ran out, I thanked them for their thinking and then reminded everyone that 1963 had been a very important year. I listed a few other events for them to think about. I asked them to consider the aftermath of Kennedy's assassination. “Do you think the Civil Rights Act would have passed if Kennedy hadn't been killed?”

  I mentioned the murder of Medgar Evers, the church bombing and protests in Birmingham, and Dr. King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. I reminded them that in eleventh grade, they had studied civil disobedience and Henry David Thoreau, who inspired Dr. King and Gandhi. I also mentioned the introduction of zip codes and instant replay. There was the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, which ended above-ground nuclear testing, the Supreme Court's forbidding prayer in public schools, and the Court's ruling in Gideon v. Wainwright that anyone charged with a crime who couldn't afford a lawyer had to be given one. And finally, I reminded them that we were at war in Vietnam.

  “Hey Mr. R,” Josh said. “You should teach a course about just 1963.”

  An extended lightning flash lit the room, and the thunder boomed as class ended. “You have your homework assignment. Take notes.” Lightning flashed again, and a sharp pain coursed through my head. When the bell sounded, I walked to the door to let the kids go. Grabbing the knob on the outside to hold the door open, I got a shock and let go. Standing in front of the door, I rubbed my head. Ashley came down to see if I was all right.

  “Yeah, but that last flash felt as if I'd put my brain in a socket.” I shook my head like a dog shaking off the rain. “I'm fine,” I said looking up at Ashley.

  “I'm not so sure about that.” His ruts were back. The next period was about to start, though, and he just said, “See you later.”

  My next class was waiting in the hall because I was blocking the way. I apologized and then got another shock when I touched the knob. I opened the door, propped it open with my right foot, and stared at my hand. The bell rang, and I headed inside.

  Chapter Five

  THIS IS CRAZY, or is it me? Time travel is real. I, we, did it. His eyes are brown, not blue. How did it happen? Look at these kids, as comfortable with General Lee as they are with each other. If we get back, can we go again, somewhere else? I've seen black and white pictures, but to see him as he really looked. Looks. Wow. His uniform more light blue than gray. So that's what cadet gray looks like. Even the braid is gold, woven to the sleeves, not like Hollywood yellow.

  But his eyes more than everything, not the blue I had read somewhere, but brown. Sharp, yet sad. Piercing and aware. He's a little taller than me. And he seems at ease with us, even glad to talk to the kids. I can't believe this. I'm talking to Robert E. Lee. This is amazing. I'd really like to spend some time with him, but is it safe here for the kids? Can we get back? He looks tired, but maybe willing to talk? I can hope. Those thoughts ran through my head when I'd first realized who the man on the hilltop was. I wanted a chance to think about the rest of our conversation, but I needed more time. Maybe at dinner.

  “SIR, PERHAPS I can prove my claim to you.” Lee gestured for me to continue. I had ID in my wallet, so I handed my driver's license to him.

  “I see your likeness. It is different from the pictures we see in our newspapers, and your picture has color, matching your own. But there is nothing else here.”

  I looked at the license. He was right. No address, no date of birth. So I pulled other identification from my wallet—my Social Security card, credit cards, health insurance card, auto registration. None had dates, and dates could have verified what I'd told the general. Or convinced him I had invested mightily in a very peculiar joke. I was confused. My final thought, my final chance, was to reach into my pants pockets; I knew I had started the day with money in my pocket. I withdrew blank pieces of paper. Perplexed, I handed General Lee the items from my wallet. Lee looked them over, but didn't know what they were.

  “These are things I have never seen, but they don't explain anything. What is an auto driver license?”

  “General, I don't know how much time we have together, but if you can spare some, and if we could speak openly, my class may be able to convince you. I thought these items would help, but I was mistaken.”

  Lee said, “Like you, Mr. Russell, I have little time I can count on. You are aware there is a war going on?”

  “Yes, General, but General Johnston will surrender to General Sherman on April 26, and in November of this year, your ship, the Shenandoah will offer the final surrender.”

  Lee again stared at me, his eyes wide, losing patience, more than skeptical. “That is preposterous. You are guessing, sir. No one can know for sure what is happening in the other theaters of this infernal conflict.” Yet I sensed he was curious.

  “I understand your skepticism, General, but perhaps there are other ways for me to prove it to you? May I bring my students back?” When Lee nodded yes, I waved the class back. When they were all gathered and quiet, I said, “Boys and girls, may I present to you, General Robert E. Lee, Commander of the Army of Northern Virginia of the Confederate States of America.”

  In spite of the shocked and doubtful looks on their faces, and the general's own uncertainty, Lee smiled and said gently, “It is a pleasure to meet y'all.”

  I explained that we had discussed my lack of money and the missing name or address on my identification. Dan Wilkinson raised his hand. “Mr. Russell, we have our textbooks.” I took one and opened to a random page. Looking at the page upside down, Dan said, “Wow! The pages are blank.” I asked the kids to see if they had anything written in any of their books. Reaching into her book bag, Carol Murray took out her laptop.

  The general observed all the activity and spotting the computer, asked, “Young lady, what is that?”

  “It's called a computer, General,” I said as I followed his glance to Carol. “It is one of our primary means of communication. Turn it on, Carol.” She did, and the battery was working. “Carol, see if you can find anything on the Civil War.” She clicked on Know It All, her browser, but a message appeared, “No Connection.” When I saw that, I told her, “Open a new word doc. Type something. Let's show the general something of how it works. Can you open pictures?”

  Another girl, Pat Leslie, said, “Mr. Russell, I have my cell phone.” I was oddly thankful she'd brought it with her.

  “Pat, would you bring it here, please?” I looked at my watch, knowing that the period would be ending soon but not sure what would happen then.

  Lee asked, “Mr. Russell, what is that on your arm?”

  “We call it a wristwatch, General. It is a timepiece.”

  “May I look at it?” I slid the expandable band and handed it to Lee, who removed his own watch from his pocket to compare. I was grateful to have refused to buy a digital model. “How do you wind it?” asked Lee.

  I wasn't sure how to answer. I said, “It's run by a battery, General.”

  “I am familiar with those. The battery was invented by Mr. Benjamin Franklin and then improved to create electric current. We have those batteries now, but I believe they only function in liquid and need a sizable container.” Knowing he would be surprised again, I removed the battery, a thin metal disk, and placed it in his hand. “This is quite amazing. Do you have ot
her uses for batteries?” he asked.

  I took Pat's cell phone. “General, this device allows people to speak to each other. Over long distances.”

  “Ah, like a speaking trumpet. I can speak to those men across that field. Sometimes hearing is difficult if the wind is up, but if they are closer it is quite acceptable, even when there is wind.”

  “General, this device allows us to speak to someone in California, or Europe, or even farther distances, regardless of the weather. And we can hear their response.”

  “If that is true, could you show me?” Lee asked.

  “I'm sorry, sir, but the transmitters we need haven't been created yet.” I handed the phone back to Pat.

  Lee asked, “And that operates with a battery?” Pat removed the battery and handed it to Lee. The general passed it from hand to hand, held it between his index finger and thumb. “As confounding as this is, clearly you do not live near here, and perhaps are not from this time.” He lowered his eyebrows and sucked in his lips, at least that's what it looked like. He was thinking, I think. “Quite interesting, I must say.”

  “Mr. Russell,” said Carol, “I have some pictures, and I've typed a note about what's happening here.”

  “Thanks, Carol. Would you show them to General Lee?”

  Carol walked over and offered him the laptop, saying, “If you'd like to hold it, sir…” He sat on a tree stump, and she knelt next to him. She tapped keys to move through her photo album. Lee looked at the pictures and then at Carol. He asked her if he could try. “Sure, General. Go ahead.” As though he were touching a baby, General Lee tapped the keys as he had seen her do. He smiled and looked at me. “Battery?” he asked.

  “Battery.”

  His curiosity overcame his reticence. “Mr. Russell, sir, why don't you sit down. It seems we may have a reason to talk for a bit more.”

  “Thank you, General. Class, sit!” The class crowded in close to the tree stumps where their teacher and their surprised host were sitting and found spots on the ground. The trees around us were bent, as if they were listening to this most unlikely conversation.

  “Yuck” came from Jason James as he placed his hand on the undergrowth. Everyone looked at him, and he held up his hand. General Lee told us that there had been fighting there early the day before and handed his handkerchief to Jason.

  “No thanks, General,” said Jason.

  “Please,” said the general. “Those were my boys. It's all right.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Jason, reluctantly taking it and wiping his hand. He handed it back, muddy and marked with dried blood. The general's eyes blinked, and he looked down briefly, sighing, as he placed the handkerchief in his coat pocket.

  A hand went up. “General, did you know George Washington?” asked Lauren Clinton. For the first time, the general chuckled. “I am sorry, young lady, but General Washington died before I was born. Although our families have been close for generations.”

  I asked General Lee if he would permit a few questions. Lee said, “As long as you don't tell me more about the near future, I'll answer what I can. But first, would you tell me about driving? Why is it necessary to have a license to drive cattle where you come from?”

  I thought a moment. “Briefly, General, a variety of powered vehicles were, I mean will be, built later in this century. You are familiar with the internal combustion engine?”

  Lee nodded, “I have seen schematics but nothing in operation, other than trains.”

  “Well, sir, a product called gasoline, is, um, will be, refined, from oil. It is highly combustible, and we have used it for more than a century to power vehicles. Take your wagons, as an example, General. Imagine if they were motorized instead of being drawn by horses or oxen. They might go ten miles per hour instead of ten miles in a day, and they could carry heavier loads.” A breeze blew through the clearing, spraying us with day-old rain.

  While the class did its best to dry off, Lee continued my thoughts, “Our tactics would have changed, certainly.” He stroked his beard as he listened.

  “Now General, picture that same vehicle traveling the seventy-five miles from Richmond to Appomattox in an hour.

  “You can do that?” asked Lee.

  “And faster, General.” Lee sat up straight, once again shaking his head, amazed. “We have vehicles that can go over 400 miles per hour. Not sustained speed, but that is the land-speed record. Of course, not on roads like those.” I pointed to the rutted, muddy trails off to our left.

  “Land-speed record? Can you go very fast on water also?” At this, the students and I grinned at each other.

  “Tell him, Mr. R,” said Clayton Waters.

  I told the general about airplanes, the Wright Brothers, Lucky Lindy, planes used in warfare, and that in 1969, Neil Armstrong would be the first man to walk on the moon. Abruptly, Lee stood up. “Now, sir, you have exceeded your believability!”

  “It's true, General,” said Marty Rose, jumping up. “My dad's a pilot in the Air Force. I have a picture of him with a plane here.” Marty handed the photo to Lee, who looked at the picture, back to Marty, again at the picture, and sat back down. The picture was there, the computer had pictures, why were the pages blank, and my ID?

  Turning to me, the general asked, “Air Force?”

  “General, there will be an entire branch of the military devoted to flying airplanes, which is what we call them. Our Navy has ships that are large enough for a plane to land on. Even though they are from my own time, I find that remarkable.”

  “Mr. Russell, I think that would be quite an understatement.”

  At that moment, a bell rang clearly. The sound was muffled, as if it were far off. I told the general that the chime signaled the end of the class.

  The kids had started to get up. “Kids, stay here. General, I'm not sure what is about to happen, but if you are willing, I have another group heading in, and I think they would benefit from our conversation.”

  Lee waved to bring them in but asked, “Where are they coming from?” I pointed, went to the outlined opening and, without leaving the grass, held the door open. One by one, the next class came in and looked around. I told them to follow me. When we reached the clearing, I said, “All of you take a seat. General, this is my next class. Class, it is my honor to introduce General Robert E. Lee.”

  “Right,” said Johnny Clayton. His deep voice resonated. Slim and muscular, Johnny can be imposing, especially on the football field.

  Dan Wilkinson said, “It is, Johnny, so shut up.” He's shy but gritty. Dan and Johnny are good friends.

  “You shut up,” Johnny shot back.

  “That's enough. Sorry, General. They are likely as skeptical as you.”

  “I can understand,” said Lee, nodding his head.

  “Fourth-period students, General Lee and the third-period class have been discussing some of our inventions. We were about to ask the general some questions. Just so you know, today is April 10, 1865, and we are at Appomattox. Third period, I will give you all excuses for your other teachers.” I'll have to figure out what I'm going to tell them.

  I heard soft knocking in the background and looked up to see Ashley peering through the window of the outlined door. He never knocks, I thought. I wonder what he sees. I turned and said, “General, yesterday you met with General Grant and surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia.” Lee scrutinized me. His expression registered his surprise at how much I seemed to know. He sighed and nodded yes. “Are you at all relieved the war is basically over?”

  Lee marshaled his emotions and replied thoughtfully, “Mr. Russell, I am exceeding glad to end these hostilities. My boys fought well, but there have been fewer and fewer of us over these past years.” He spoke with a soft accent, adding “and the Union seems to have endless amounts of men and armament, food and supplies. For the past week, my soldiers have been living on fried bread and toasted corn, if they can find it. In fact, right now, General Grant's men are provisioning all of my boys in the field.”
Lee pointed across the valley, which the fourth-period class only then noticed.

  Jack Massa asked, “General, don't you know General Grant?”

  “I have known him in many ways, young man. We have faced each other in the field for these past many months. I fought with him in Mexico, although we served in different units. We met briefly yesterday, and truth be told, I didn't have a clear memory of having seen him before. He spoke a bit about those times. But I was not there to reminisce. Frankly, when I arrived, I was unsure how I would be received. I was, after all, the losing general and would be viewed as a traitor by many.”

  “Were you? A traitor, I mean?” asked Sean Little.

  “I was an officer in the United States Army until 1861 and was offered command of the Union army by Mr. Lincoln. But I am a Virginian, young man, and when the Virginia legislature voted to secede, I believed it my sad duty to follow my fellow Virginians into the Confederacy. Am I a traitor?” He watched a flock of birds leaving the treetops. “I suppose I am,” he said, stroking his beard.

  Bob Bee asked, “How do you feel now?”

  “Now? I feel tired and dispirited. I have been away from home for a long time. It is my ardent hope that this war will truly end soon and that the Union will be re-established. I have heard that Mr. Lincoln has spoken of reconciliation. I will do all I can to help that happen.”

  “Excuse me, General, but didn't you own slaves?” asked Matt Christopher. Sorrow again visited Lee's face. He said, “It does return as always to our peculiar institution, doesn't it?” It seemed almost like he was talking to himself. “At one time, my family did own slaves. But I released them years ago, before this war.”

  “But I don't understand. That's what the war was all about,” said Cheryl See. “If you didn't own slaves, why did you fight to hold on to slavery?”

  Addressing Cheryl and then scanning the intent, upturned faces, Lee said, “This war was also about allowing people to live without the government in Washington giving orders to the states. Even Mr. Lincoln said if he could keep the Union together without freeing the slaves, he would do that.”