Chapter One Chasing Eternity

A new and improved chapter.



Fate is the coincidental act of one’s lifestyle colliding with time and circumstance. A grieving widower, a heroic Civil War general, and a great president struck down in the prime of his life are on the same coincidental collision course headed towards their own separate fates. The universe stands still for a brief moment just long enough to listen to the widower’s life story designed by fate and written by the hands of destiny.
 
 
Chapter One
Washington D.C. April 16, 1865
 
 
 
 Colin sat by his wife of sixty years bedside, fatigued because of the constant vigil and worry. Every day she became weaker. Colin feared every breath would be her last. Holding her hand, he dozed for a brief moment for some overdue rest. Death frightened him, not his death, but the death of a loved one. Being immortal had turned into a curse. Hey wasn’t ready. Everyone had to die, he knew this, but why Beth and why now. Beth smiled at her husband and attempted to subdue a cough but it exploded into a wracking, body-wrenching convulsion culminating with expectorating into her fine handkerchief. She opened the handkerchief now stained with fresh blood.

Colin nodded weakly, unable to speak.

She placed her husband’s hand in hers and raised them to her bosom, while he sat next to her on the bed. “I won’t be able to go to the theater with you my dear, the doctor was here today; it won’t be long.” Referring to their invitation to attend the theater with President Lincoln and his wife the following Friday. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Colin responded with uncontrollable sobs, his face in his hands. “Colin, you knew I was mortal. I have no regrets.”

“But…” Colin spurted but his wife’s gentle touch prevented him from continuing.

“Colin, I will wait for you in heaven. Even though you are immortal, my love will not die with me. It is yours for as long as you live and for long after. But you need to make me a promise, Colin.” He leaned closer as she labored with every breath and her voice softer. “You must promise me to keep in touch with the family- your grandchildren, great-grandchildren and beyond. They will not forget you. You must not forget them. One day the scarab will be finished with you and when it is, I’ll be waiting for you Colin, I’ll always be waiting for you.”
The President and Mary sent their sympathies but Colin was oblivious to all. He sat alone in the corner for two days- unshaven, unwashed, and staring longingly at the one thing capable of filling the void in his life, an unopened bottle of whiskey yet unable to tarnish the memories of the one woman he allowed to become one with his soul and one with his heart by drowning his sorrows in intoxication. Instead, he let his mind tiptoe through the plethora of life-giving memories of his time with Beth. She was not his first wife. He had loved many times before, loved with all his heart, but never fulfilled his love to its end. Always there would be someone to notice his hair never grayed, his strength never weakened, wrinkles and age spots never graced his face. Then the ugly whispers would begin whispers of witchcraft and bargains with the devil. Colin always prepared in advance and stockpiled so his family would never want when it became necessary for him to say his last goodbyes and to disappear in the night like a thief.
Then he wandered from town to town aimlessly- consuming too much alcohol, brawling, gambling, and volunteering for adventures and wars all in the hope his pain would finally end and the stubborn heart in his chest would stop beating. But that was before Beth came into his life. Beth was different, or perhaps he was different. Perhaps he learned that in this life one must fight for what is important to you.  One must fight for family and love.
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Colin sat on an ornate wrought iron bench outside the Willard Hotel with his elbows propped on his knees and his head buried in his cupped hands.  He looked down the road towards the Ford’s Theater. He had always thought of it as a joyful place and it held many fond memories of his wife. Now he shared those memories with the thought of what had happened to Lincoln.  He remembered sitting next to his wife and listening to her laugh and cry as she watched the scenes. When she was most excited, she would set her delicate hand on his knee, turn to him, and smile. The thought started him sobbing again.
Across the street the soldiers patrolled, rifles ready in case of rioting, their faces etched with sorrow. A steady stream of officers and members of Congress wearing black mourning armbands entered the Treasury building across the street from where Colin watched blankly, his sobs momentarily subdued.
From everywhere around him he heard women sobbing and saw men walking stiffly, betraying tears filling their eyes. Colin looked across the rooftops to the incomplete memorial; construction began in 1848, seventeen years ago. He and Beth had proudly watched the start of the work on the memorial to George Washington, our first President and she often commented on it as they took their daily walks. She loved to hear the stories of the young lieutenant in the French and Indian War and the Commanding General in the Revolutionary War. The work had stopped on the monument because of the war to allow the workers to join the army. It is no secret that some of them chose to join the Army of the Confederacy. He and Beth had planned to watch the monument construction to the end.
He loved Washington D.C. He would always love the Nation’s Capital. He had lived here off and on for the past sixty years. He had known true love here. His children were born here. He watched his children grow to maturity, marry, and have children of their own here and their children as well. He and his wife had walked along this very road together with their children and grandchildren. It was here that his oldest daughter had told him and Beth that she was to have her first child, Beth’s first grandchild.  Colin’s heart would forever remain in Washington D.C. 
Water welled in his eyes, tears tumbled down his cheeks, and the inevitable sobs soon followed. Colin learned something new today. It was difficult to leave your love after twenty-years, but it was much more painful to leave your love after sixty wonderful years together.
A smartly dressed man wearing the uniform of a Union General crossed the street, turned, and walked past Colin. As the General passed the bench, he slowed, turned his head, watched the weeping man, and then continued on his way a few more steps. He stopped again, turned, and handed a clean handkerchief to Colin.
“There, there. It isn’t all that bad. Yes, we lost a great man. Probably one of the greatest, but I am confident his dreams for this country will not be abandoned. The Union will survive this catastrophe. That is, if I have anything to say about it. Let me assure you I will make sure that Southern Democrat and charlatan Andrew Johnson does nothing to taint the efforts of our beloved President,” the general said sympathetically but with enough conviction to make Colin look up, take the proffered handkerchief and smile briefly. “I was invited to attend the theater with President Lincoln last night however my wife Julia has a great dislike for Mary so we declined the invitation. God only knows what my fate would have been had I accepted.”
Colin wiped his eyes, stifled his sobs, and handed the wet handkerchief back to the stranger. The stranger smiled and waved the handkerchief away. “You may keep it, I have many more.”
Colin folded the handkerchief, noticing the monogram USG on the corner, and placed it in his pocket. He thought it best to keep his invitation to the theater to himself.
“Thank you,” he said, patting his vest pocket. “And I agree we lost a great man yesterday, but that is not the instigator of my tears.” He wiped a tear from his cheek with his knuckle.
Surprised, the stranger asked, “If I may be bold, what event has occasioned this sadness?”
“You wouldn’t believe me, sir,” Colin said shifting nervously on the bench.
“I’ll be the judge as to whether I believe you or not. I have seen many things in the last few years.”
“I buried my wife of sixty years yesterday, Sir.” Colin searched the stranger’s face for any sign of disbelief.
The stranger looked Colin up and down. He noticed the healthy head of black hair, the taut skin, and the finely chiseled muscles of a fit man in his thirties. His eyes widened as he tempered the laughter, which tickled, in his thoughts at the idea of this young man married for even ten years. “I’m sure you meant to say your mother.”
“I am somewhat older than I appear. I meant what I said. I buried my wife, a woman I adored and devoted my every breath to, a woman who I could never replace anywhere or in any time. This I know. Now, if you don’t mind, I would rather be alone,” he said holding back another bout of sobs.
The stranger said, “I can understand your need for solitude.” He turned away and took several steps before turning back to the man on the bench; his sense of intrigue sparked. “I am sorry, please accept my humble apology,” the stranger said as he sat down next to Colin, “You must realize it is hard to believe a man that looks as young.”
Colin reached inside his shirt and produced a plain scarab on a chain. The chain had seen better days and looked ancient.
“What is that?” asked the stranger, crowding Colin to get a closer look.
“That, Sir,” said Colin with despair “is both my blessing and my curse,” he said returning the talisman beneath his shirt.
“It looks like a very old chain with some kind of insect attached.”
“Yes, the ancient Egyptians called them scarabs. This scarab and I go back a very long time. It is because of this wretched object that I am here today. It is why I was here sixty years ago and sixty years before that.” Colin rubbed his hands on his trousers as if he were trying to get the feel of his necklace from his hands.
The stranger eyed Colin warily, “Where are my manners? General U.S. Grant here, but you may call me Ulysses. Please continue, if you don’t mind.”
“My name is Colin, Colin Harcourt. Are you sure you have the time General?”
The General scratched his beard and nodded, “I will make time”.
Colin cleared his throat. “I was born in Kent County, England on the twentieth day of March in the year of our Lord, 1066. My mother called me a miracle because I was born the day a comet graced our English sky, we know the comet by a different name now, Halley’s Comet. I was only the fifth of sixteen children to survive. My father looked upon me as another hungry mouth to feed. My family was dirt poor, but at least we owned a small strip of land. We produced our own food and raised a few pigs, sheep, and chickens enough to be self-sufficient. Unfortunately, I was born the year the Duke of Normandy, William the Conqueror carved up England. Our land became his land, which he gave to the newly appointed Earl of Kent, Odo the Bishop of Bayeux, William’s half-brother. We went from being poor to being peasants almost overnight. Shall I continue?”
The General thought a moment. Colin’s story was unbelievable, so unbelievable he doubted the validity but the story captivated him, true or untrue. He pulled his tarnished pocket watch from his vest and opened the US ARMY imprinted casing. He decided with all the confusion he would not be missed. Mary Lincoln could wait. He wanted more. “I have some spare time between appointments, go on.”
****
Ten-year old Colin lay shivering on his straw bed. Dim sunlight trickled through the thatched roof. Pale dust-mites amalgamated with the lingering smoke from the dwindling fire. A cold winter wind chilled the lone hazy room. The wattle-daubed walls of the wood structure were no match for the winter wind. His threadbare blanket offered no help at all. Pigs snorted in their sleep under the roughhewn table against a wall and the family’s chickens clucked while searching the frigid dirt floor for meager crumbs.
Colin’s one remaining brother lay motionless a few feet away. He listened for any sign of life, a slight breath, a movement, anything, but the room was silent Colin feared the worst.
His two eldest brothers left home a few months after Colin’s birth to defend London against the armies of William the Conqueror. Both were disappointed when the officials of Kent signed a treaty with the French conqueror without a fight. They were determined to keep England free from the Duke of Normandy. London fell soon after and the brothers and never seen again. His father, a heartless, cold man refused to mention their names. His mother held silent vigils in hopes they would return. Another brother died after a mule kicked him in his head. The barber drilled a hole in the skull, the prescribed cure, but his brother died anyway. His father could not afford to pay the burial fee to the church so he cremated his brother a few yards from the family’s front door.
“Father, where is Mother?” inquired the young boy eyeing the ground where his mother had slept... There was no answer. He glanced at his brother. “Father, I fear the worst for John.” There was still no answer.
Two weeks earlier, his brother, and his mother broke out with sores around their mouths. Two days later the rash appeared followed by raging fevers, body aches, headaches, and chills. Bloodletting did little to ease the pain or the symptoms. His father dispatched an urgent request to the Archbishop. The clergy responded with their own message, the priest was too busy to come to their aid. However, for a small fee, they would send an underling to perform last rites.
Their latest taxes left his father penniless. There was no money to pay unnecessary fees.  It caused his father great ire when it came time to pay taxes to the Earl of Kent. He complained regularly about paying exorbitant taxes on what was once his own property. Colin reminded him the King or the Duke owned the land and he was now required to pay a percentage of his meager holdings to the new King’s half-brother, the Earl of Kent. In return, the Earl of Kent was required to keep his vassals safe. The safety seldom arrived in time.
The Earl allowed his father, as well as other farmers, to stay and work their land as long as they paid taxes to the proper authority, which in this case was the money-hungry Earl. Colin’s father argued his land was outside the limits of Canterbury and as such belonged to the King and subject to a more lenient tax. Colin’s father refused to add a surname, the fashion after the recent Norman Conquest. As far as his father was concerned, if Ailwin, Son of Philip was good enough for his Saxon father. It was good enough for him. The Earl disagreed and as punishment refused to hear his father’s argument on the taxes.
Colin wrapped the thin blanket around his shoulders and ventured into the cold. The putrid smell of animal and human waste gagged him. He had not become accustomed to the smell of the animals even though their waste always remained indoors until the spring thaw as it had every winter of his young life.
“Colin, come help and be fast about it.” His father’s gruff voice came from behind the rough wooden door. “Stir your brother. If he will not stir then I will stir him.”
Colin opened the door to a sight that would haunt his dreams for a lifetime. The flames of a large fire danced in the wind, licked, and consumed the thin, tattered body of his mother. Without turning his father said, “Your brother would not stir? I feared that. Watch the fire. Keep it from spreading while I go prepare your brother.” Tears welled in Colin’s eyes.
His father returned with the limp body of his brother. “Go take care of our morning meal, Colin. There is nothing you can do now. The small pox has taken their souls.” Colin stood in disbelief as his father piled his brother into the fire. “We do not have the fees to give them a proper burial thanks to the Earl of Kent and his property taxes.” His father spat onto the ground. “Go make our meal. I have wood to chop and you have pigs that need tending.”
The boy lingered, staring at the fire. He jumped and ran back into the house when his father shouted, “Boy, move when I tell you to move.”