Return to Sender: A Civil War Time Travel Novel (Dyna-Tyme Genetics Time Travel Series Book 1) Read online

“We also discovered that anything foreign couldn’t move through time, only the physical cells that contained the DNA. Whatever you had back in time, you assumed when you got there, but the same did not happen when you came forward because you weren’t there to be replaced. The clothes, ring, and crowns were on the table when Ralph left as well as when he returned. He came back naked. The only thing that changed was that time had elapsed while he was gone. If he went back for ten minutes, ten minutes would also elapse in current time, that time having been spent in the past.

  “We realized we had something significant, but we didn’t quite know what to do with it. Ralph sent us in the right direction. He reasoned that if we were restricted to traveling back in our own time, we really couldn’t do much because we only had the knowledge of the person who was taken back. If this person existed back in time, we could only go back and forth between the traveler and what we called the copy.

  “Ralph posed the question, ‘What if we sent someone back in time before his own time, essentially out of his timeline?’ Following down that trail and knowing that DNA is never destroyed, we obtained some DNA from a person older than Ralph.

  “We performed the splicing over Ralph’s DNA, changing the current time marker to the older person’s time marker. We didn’t change the GPS location or any other DNA. We set the overlay time marker back to 1955, prior to Ralph’s birth in 1976. The overlay was programmed for one hour. After the hour, the spliced overlay would run out and Ralph would return to the present. Listen to this:

  This building wasn’t here in 1955, so I appeared in a cornfield, naked, without my ring or crowns. I decided to stay in the cornfield for the hour so I wouldn’t have to find clothes, but I needed a landmark to refer to when I went back to the present. I knew this was the Dixon property where the Dyna-Tyme building now stands, as you hadn’t changed my location. Needing proof, I wandered around in the cornfield until I found a rusty 1951 steel-wheel tractor with a single-bottom plow. Assuming it belonged to the Dixon farm, I thought it would be something missing in the present. When I returned, I found your family scrapped it back in 1973.

  Rummy continued. “Ralph put us onto something. It seemed that we avoided the cloning effect if we got out of our time traveler’s timeline by using the DNA of another person.

  “We performed several more experiments and, by making minor historical changes, we found we could change things and they would remain changed when we returned to present.

  “But if we went back again in time equal to or before the first trip, the changes were revoked. If we didn’t like the results, we could go back and, in essence, reset them.

  “We couldn’t be selective; we had to accept all changes or reset them all, at least for that particular time traveler. We could also change the GPS marker and send the time traveler anywhere, as long as we had the coordinates.

  “We considered multiple travelers but, even though we felt we could pull it off, it was so complicated that we decided to stick with one time traveler and a couple of specific changes in our selected time and events.

  “The reason for secrecy and maintaining our focus is the significant nature of our mission.

  “We recently came upon some viable DNA from a well-preserved corpse of a soldier who fought for the Confederate States of America from 1861 until 1865 and lived into the 20th century. Here is where you come in. By overlaying with his DNA, we want to modify your DNA and send you back in time to the Civil War to make changes we are convinced will alter the outcome of a few key battles and result in the South winning the War Between the States.”

  “But… but… why me?”

  “Because, Carleton, the well preserved corpse is that of your distant cousin, Wexler Venable. And your DNA is a great match. You’re the perfect candidate. You even look alike and are close in size.”

  Rummy stood and walked to the wet bar in the corner. “Would you like something a little stronger in your coffee while I tell you more?”

  Carleton was stunned, speechless, and lightheaded. He was not prepared for this and just sat, letting the information on time travel, the Civil War, his farm, his fiancé Katie, his father, and his other responsibilities coalesce into an indigestible mass of decisions. He couldn’t begin to put the information into any kind of sensible order.

  Rummy walked over, reached down, took Carleton by the shoulder, and shook him lightly. “Carleton?”

  Carleton realized he had been holding his breath for some seconds and exhaled audibly. “Phew… I think I’ll trade the coffee for a double sour mash with a splash of water.”

  Chapter 2

  Dyna-Tyme Executive Offices

  Present Time

  CARLETON AND Rummy drank their bourbons with little conversation. Carleton had an impulse to say yes, then immediately switched to no, and then he just couldn’t speak at all. He had, it seemed, a thousand questions that needed asking, but none of the possible answers would be satisfactory. He was in a quandary.

  Rummy could see that Carleton was uncomfortable in his thoughts. Rather than let him languish, he spoke up.

  “It’s getting late. Why don’t we stop for today and meet tomorrow morning at nine. I’m certain you already have plenty of questions, and you’ll have even more by morning. A good night’s sleep might help you organize your thoughts and we can start fresh.”

  The Queen

  Carleton drove his SUV through the wrought iron gate with a large CV in ornate scroll centered in the arched header above the narrow rain roof.

  Pulling up in front of the entrance, he left the keys in it so Joshua could put it in the garage. He mounted the steps wearily and pulled open the large double door.

  “Dad, I’m home.”

  His father rolled into the entrance way in his wheelchair. “Been wondering where you were,” he said. “We’re harvesting soybeans, you know.”

  Carleton Venable V had disabled legs from a tractor accident twelve years ago, but he still looked the part of a successful Southern plantation owner. His sandy hair was mostly white and full, capping a craggy face and powerfully built torso. The elder Carleton kept himself in good shape by wheeling a manual chair and lifting weights. He kept his mind sharp by overseeing many of the details involved in operating the five-hundred-acre farm. At sixty-eight, he was supposed to have retired several years ago, leaving the day-to-day operations to his son. That was not to be, and he constantly inserted his ideas and opinions like briars in the younger man’s socks.

  “Joshua has been working this farm for nearly fifty years now, and I don’t expect he needs me to examine each soybean. Besides, I had an important meeting. I’m really tired, so I’m going to lie down for a few minutes.”

  “Fine, fine,” his father said irritably, as he often did when his demands were not met. “Don’t forget, Katie will be at The Queen for dinner at seven… sharp.” He spun his chair and rolled out onto the veranda where the late afternoon sun warmed his legs, and the soft smell of jasmine wafted from the gardens below.

  The farm was called The Queen for short. It was named after Carleton VI’s great-great-grandmother, Kara Queen Venable who personally saw to the rebuilding of the large antebellum home after the Civil War. It was always called “The Queen” after her forceful ruling personality. Down through the lineage, the Venable men always married strong women. Unfortunately, Carleton VI’s mother died of the flu the year after Carleton was born, so he didn’t have the benefit of her wisdom. But he felt the full force of his grandmother’s until she passed away three years ago. Now it was Carleton and his father running the show. If Katie Lindsay had anything to do with it, she was going to be the next Venable matriarch.

  Five hundred acres qualified The Queen to be called a plantation. But in Northern Virginia, it was more likely classified as a farm. It was originally over one thousand acres with thirty workers, including twenty-five slaves. Post-Civil War economics led to the sale of some of the holdings, as the cost of labor made farming more expensive. Tobacco was the or
iginal cash crop, but partly for lack of a market, as well as ideological issues, they stopped raising it in the nineteen-eighties. The biggest current income producer was broilers, young chickens. They had several large chicken coops with over ten thousand chickens in various stages of growth. The Venables prided themselves on the cleanliness of their facilities and the excellent care of their flocks. Their motto was “A happy, healthy chicken is a tasty chicken.”

  Much of the rest of the farm produced the feed for the chickens. By raising their own corn, oats, and other grains, they controlled the ingredients of the feed, thereby avoiding additives such as growth hormones, antibiotics, and other harmful chemicals.

  Since they had gone into the chicken business in a big way, The Queen climbed back to breaking even, and in some years even made a little money. They recently added soybeans as a cash crop to beef up the balance sheet.

  Carleton stumbled up the stairs and down the hall to his room, the third off the west mezzanine. He kicked off his boots and collapsed on the bed. The soft afternoon sun filtered through the lace curtains and washed away the disturbing events of the day.

  As he drifted into a troubled sleep, the boyhood stories of the Civil War, carried from generation to generation and told to him by his father and grandfather, tumbled through his light sleep. Antietam, Gettysburg, the Wilderness… he could nearly smell the smoke and black powder and hear the rattle of the muskets.

  “Suh, suh, it’ll be time for dinner soon. Suh, you’d best be gettin’ up,” Jetty said, shaking him lightly.

  He awoke with a start, smelling the barbeque smoke on her arms, and realized the rattle was coming from the dishes in the kitchen below him as dinner was being prepared.

  “Yes, thank you, Jetty. Do I have time for a quick shower?”

  “Yessuh, if you hurry.”

  Carleton undressed and, adjusting the water to hot, stepped into the refreshing steam.

  “Carleton? Carleton, are you decent?” Katie asked from outside his door.

  “I’m in the shower.”

  “Do you want me to wash your back?”

  “I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you go downstairs and fix us a drink?” Between his father and Katie, he never had much privacy.

  “Ok darling, hurry now,” she said as she tripped down the stairs.

  Katie was the quintessential Southern belle. Nearly as tall as Carleton VI, she carried her slender frame regally, and her long auburn hair floated after her as she entered the dining room, leaned over Carleton V’s chair, and pecked him on the cheek.

  “I’m making drinks. Bourbon on the rocks? I’m having a glass of white wine, if you’d rather something lighter,” she said to the older man.

  He couldn’t help but notice the beauty of her flawless milky complexion offset by deep green eyes. She always smelled of some kind of flowers. He wasn’t sure, perhaps gardenias.

  “Bourbon will be fine,” he said.

  Carleton VI came into the room and took his place across from Katie and to his father’s right. The old man still maintained his position at the head of the table.

  Young Carleton held up his glass of bourbon. “Cheers! Here’s to good production this year.”

  They all toasted, and his father said, “Prices are down a little.”

  “Yes, but our broilers are fat and the soybean yield is up. We’ll still make enough to keep us in bourbon.”

  “Humph,” grunted the older man.

  Katie said, “Enough shop talk. I found the most gorgeous dress today. It’ll be perfect for the Harvest Ball.” Nodding towards the older Venable, she turned back across the table. “Daddy says you were out most of the day. What kind of trouble did you get into?”

  Everything seemed to irritate Carleton since the talk with Rummy. They treated him like a child, and he thought that many times he was, putting up with the two dominant personalities. Katie was beautiful, smart, and he really loved her. But sometimes she irritated him. He was considering going back in time and risking his life, and they were worrying about gowns and soybeans.

  He shrugged and lied, “Nothin’ important.

  “I stopped to see Wilbur, and we talked about the hundred acres of bottom land he wants to sell us. That’s all.”

  “He wants too much,” the older man said. “Don’t forget he’s in the real estate business.”

  “It’s a fair price. If we don’t buy it, someone else will!” Carleton felt guilty over the lie, thinking he might tell them what really happened, yet knowing there was no way they would do anything but think he was losing his mind.

  As he thought of the events of the day, he wasn’t so sure they wouldn’t be right. Lying was not in his nature and he knew that if he pursued this adventure, more lies would be required, and that bothered him. His hand shook slightly as he sipped his bourbon, and he brushed off a couple of drops that spilled on his grey flannel slacks. I must be a little tense. Dinner dragged on and to no avail, he tried to eat and put the events of the day aside.

  Carleton senior begged off dessert and with aching legs, headed off to his room. As soon as he could reasonably suggest it, Carleton asked Katie, “It’s nearly eight. Maybe I should take you home soon?”

  “Aw, Carleton, I thought we could go to your room and watch a little TV.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Your Daddy’s had several bourbons and won’t even know I’m still here and as you said, it is only eight.”

  Carleton thought of her passionate love and warm embrace accented by her Southern grace. For a minute, he was tempted. “Between the soybeans, chickens, and real estate, I’m really pooped. How about a rain check?”

  Katie was a little concerned. Her sensuality was her trump card and always made Carleton easier to control. She really wanted to talk about the subject he had been avoiding and she was going to bring up again. The M-word… marriage.

  “Well if you insist, but you’ll be missing out.” She was slightly vexed. At twenty-six, she was a couple years of younger than Carleton was, but her biological clock was nagging her. She put her arms around him, pulled him into a warm embrace, and whispered in his ear. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m exhausted tonight, darling; maybe tomorrow.” He held the door for her, climbed in, and headed down the road, two farms away, to the Lindsay farm. Unlike his place, this farm was not prospering. It seemed to be cursed. Just when something good was imminent, some disaster came along and wiped out the meager gains. Winston, Katie’s father, had switched from tobacco to chickens just in time for a virus to come along and wipe out half his brood.

  The farm was about two hundred acres, down from the twelve hundred before the Civil War. Many Southern families suffered large losses in death and destruction, but the Lindsay’s genes seemed infected with the memory of an especially horrible event. In 1862, one of Katie’s great, great, great aunts and her daughter were kidnapped, assaulted, and murdered in a most vile fashion.

  The perpetrators were never caught, but evidence pointed to a trio of Southern renegades who were suspected of various other atrocities, as well. After the war, the family appealed to the Union conquerors for justice, but their pleas were ignored as little sympathy was shown by the carpetbaggers.

  Although Katie was normally kind, gentle, and generous to those less fortunate, occasionally her familial distaste for the criminal white trash element boiled to the surface and she grouped poorer folks harshly without considering individual circumstances. As the old cliché said, “she painted them all with the same brush,” and her brush was dirty white.

  Carleton had heard all the stories, but sometimes her bitterness overpowered him with its ferocity and reminded him that tolerance was an area where he hoped to help her improve.

  As he drove, his mind was not on the Lindsay farm’s trouble or Katie’s changeable personality. He had one overpowering question on his mind.

  Why did Rummy think it was so important for the South to win the war? There had been some tough times post-Civil War, but the
y were behind us now. The South was prospering, and even the blacks had attained some equality. It wasn’t perfect, but Carleton wasn’t sure the South could have done any better. He wasn’t sure at all.

  Chapter 3

  Dyna-Tyme Laboratories

  Present Time

  SITUATED ON the outskirts of Beernersville, Virginia, Dyna-Tyme Genetics was located near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. A town of about five thousand residents, it was ten miles or so west of Leesburg. Dyna-Tyme was the largest employer in the area and occupied the only truly modern offices in a town of older, quaint Southern homes.

  Lining Main Street were most of the local businesses, housed in no more than two-story architecturally-approved structures. If they weren’t already two hundred years old, they were made to look the part. This was an old Southern town, complete with a Civil War monument atop the fountain in the center of the town square. A statue of a Confederate cavalry trooper astride a rearing horse with reins in one hand and a saber in the other set the tone for the history and prevailing attitude of many older residents. For many in Beernersville, the War of Northern Aggression was still an unpleasant historical footnote in an otherwise proud heritage.

  Had not Rummy been from one of the first families himself, the chances are his building wouldn’t have been approved and he would still be cramped in the small brick building next to the hospital where he had started ten years ago. To be approved he had to take ten acres of his family farm and turn the grounds into a campus-like area. He held out for three stories to make security easier than it would have been in several freestanding buildings.

  Besides, he liked the sign over the front, “The Dixon Building” and just under it “Dyna-Tyme Genetics.” Unlike Carleton’s large plantation-like farm, Rummy’s family had eked out a living on fifteen hardscrabble acres on the outskirts of town. His parents had scrimped and saved to put him through college, and his VMI experience was partially funded by washing dishes in the school cafeteria to pay his room and board.