Juvenilia

By Lincoln Reed

Her target would arrive any minute.

Tatum Albright emerged from the portal dressed in the usual style of 1922—a travel suit comprised of a gray skirt, blouse, and coat—blending in with the bustling Paris travelers as Gare de Lyon’s clock tower chimed the top of the hour.

The train station hummed with a steady ambience. Cigar smoke lingered in the air with the scent of shoe polish. A breathy steam train whistled in the distance. Tatum turned her coat collar up and adjusted her hat.

The time traveler waited on a bench. Dozens of passengers strode past, but Tatum’s focus was honed on one individual—Elizabeth Hadley Richardson.

Tatum had studied the historical accounts of this fateful day and understood the stakes. Her mission was simple. After acquiring her asset, she would retreat from the train station and return to the alley where the portal would transport her more than a hundred years into the future. Her publisher wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than the original documents.

The time traveler removed The Sun Also Rises from within her coat and pretended to read. The novel’s 1926 first edition pages held a distinct musk of aged paper. Naked of its dust jacket, the tome was indistinguishable from any other of the period. At the present moment, it hadn’t yet been published, but none of the passersby took notice.

Elizabeth Hadley Richardson, known to her husband as “Hadley,” exited the train on schedule. As Tatum suspected, the woman walked empty-handed. All of her luggage had been left near her seat.

As Hadley made her way toward a vendor, Tatum started in the opposite direction. She stepped into the train car and ducked away from the ticket marshal’s gaze.

While passengers read newspapers and engaged in idle French chatter, Tatum carefully inspected several unattended suitcases until she discreetly opened a bag filled with stacks of paper—typed, handwritten, even carbon copies. Drafts of stories and unfinished chapters. This is it!

A surge of adrenaline pumped through her chest. Who had read these lines during the past century? No one. They had been lost. And, when she returned, they would be priceless.

Tatum studied the texts and quickly verified their authenticity.

With her rummaging complete, Tatum stepped from the seat with the bag in hand. A man in a fedora and brown suit entered the aisle. The barrel of a handgun jutted into her ribs. Tatum gasped. His lips pressed against her ear from behind. “Don’t scream.”

The attacker prodded her toward the back of the car into the storage area and closed the door. The man’s face was clean shaven, with eyes like black marbles. He tipped his hat, speaking with a British accent, “Ah, Miss Tatum. A pleasure, as always.”

Her grip tightened on the bag. “Nigel.”

“Let’s not make a scene. Hadley will be back shortly.”

“You won’t shoot me.”

Nigel grinned. “That would liven up the textbooks, I imagine. Might even inspire Hemingway. The man certainly loved inserting himself into his work.”

Nigel stood between her and the only exit. Tatum estimated the chances of rushing her adversary and escaping before the train started.

“You know what’ll happen if I don’t take this,” she said.

“Nobody does. That’s the beauty of it.”

“Hemingway wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t produce—”

“The Sun Also Rises. Yes, I’m familiar with your theories. Doesn’t matter now.” Nigel waved the small revolver. “Hand it over.”

“I’m not committing a crime.”

He stepped forward, extending his open hand. “Come now. Be reasonable.”

“Who made you Time Cop?”

Nigel shrugged. “Your publisher wants a huge payday—a bestseller a hundred years in the making. That’s all well and good, but I have a higher calling. As a scholar, I have always wanted to know: Would Hemingway have had a better—and healthier—career if he hadn’t fallen out with Hadley?

“Knowing Hemingway’s unfortunate demise, why not try? I’ll be doing the old chap a favor. Losing that bag ruined his first marriage. I could be saving his life!”

“By taking this,” Tatum said. “I’m not changing history. It’s supposed to be stolen.”

“I disagree,” Nigel said, lifting his chin. “And my dissertation will prove it.”

Tatum shook her head. “When everything Hemingway had written was misplaced on this train, he became a different writer. You let Hadley keep this, it could ruin his career. Besides, the man had several wives. Your theory’s bogus.” She jostled the luggage. “A hundred years from now, this will show up in an old warehouse. I’ll ‘discover’ it. The publishing world will rejoice. Everybody wins, even you.”

“Boarding!” called the ticket marshal.

Nigel’s face turned red with impatience. “What if you’re wrong? What if his best work is in your hands? Why not see it published now, not a hundred years from today? My dissertation’s success depends on Hadley keeping that bag.” He paused, waving the gun. “Is it worth dying for?”

The train started to move.

Tatum made a show of reluctance, feigning defeat as she handed him the suitcase.

“Funny,” Nigel said, frowning as he weighed the luggage in his hand. “Lighter than I expected—”

Before Nigel could react, she pushed him aside, hustled out of the car, and leapt onto the station platform, not slowing until she returned to the alley where the portal door opened. Tatum stepped through the glowing sphere and, a second later, disappeared.

Dim light filtered through the abandoned warehouse’s cracked windows as Tatum opened her coat and placed it flat across a worktable. Gone was her copy of The Sun Also Rises, having been swapped with her prize before Nigel ambushed her on the train.

Tatum’s jacket unfurled—pockets stuffed with every manuscript she could fit from the suitcase. Hemingway’s lost work was hers. His juvenilia.

She picked up a cellphone and dialed her publisher.

Checkmate, Nigel.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lincoln Reed is a professor, writer, and freelance editor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Miami University (OH). More than 30 of his short stories are featured in online publications and print anthologies.

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