The Timepiece

This is the beginning piece of one of my longer works (much like a prologue). There will be more added to the story soon. This is an ongoing story, so all comments and reviews are helpful.

*Please note the characters in this part of the story are of course relevant to the plot but aren't necessarily the main characters...the main characters show up later in the story.*



Alaska, 1954

Hunter’s cabin



Mr. Topper filled his cup to the brim and brought it to his lips. A deadly frost still bit at his skin like claws of crabs aboard the old fishing boat his father used to own before he passed. He reveled in the thread of hot steam floating up to his nostrils. The heat of the mug he held in his bare hands warmed him. He never knew when he would get another hot meal. Stacks of sliced meat lay like steaming pancakes on his platter. The cottage kitchen in the room next door smelled of broth. Mr. Topper decided he would make this sound his favorite, the sound of clinking forks, clanging pots, and breathing friends.

“We thought you was near dead, Mr. Topper,” said a grim voice. The speaker sat among the men gathered at a long wooden table. Eli was his name. He wasn't a native to this barren land of ice, evident since instead of the accustomed parka of the Eskimos, he wore jean overalls, with leather straps over his round body. Even so, locals came to know him as a regular hunter in the village. His long rifle leaned up against one side of the cottage. His dogs, the huskies bayed into the darkness. Though everyone knew his gruff exterior layered a gentle heart. It was Eli who’d found them clinging to life after roving for countless miles on the ice.

“Was most likely,” Mr. Topper said, dipping his head. “Much obliged, Eli.”

“This is bear’s country,” a second, timid voice said. “We were trespassing on their territory.” A young man lowered his head. His chin was buried in his thick overcoat. He looked to be around twenty years old with a lean build and dark brown eyebrows that furrowed when he spoke. The boy seemed to be the type to know things, what with his level gaze and the way he twiddled his thumbs as if he had been thinking long and hard.  “It’s our fault, Mr. Topper,” the young man finally said. He glanced up and his eyes were wide, his pupils trembling in his sockets. “A man died.”

Eli scratched at his rugged beard. “It be a week’s walk from here to the next town over. Death ain’t the least of your problems, Harley.”

“He speaks the truth,” Mr. Topper said. “Men go insane from the cold. Frostbite gets to their heads.”

The young man trembled, though not from the cold. “I don’t like what I saw out there.” He motioned to the cottage window. Snow carried on the wind, whacking against the glass.

“What’s all this talk of death, Mr. Topper?” A slender woman walked into the room. Her smile was bright in the dreary weather, but her eyes were locked on her father, Eli. “It isn’t a proper way to welcome guests into the house, hm?” She narrowed her eyes in a warning.

Eli made a grumbling noise deep from his throat. “This is man’s talk, Marlene.”

The tense silence that weighed on the air could have been cut with a knife. Marlene slammed a pitcher of tea onto the table. “Would you like some more tea, Mr. Topper?”

Mr. Topper nodded. “Thank you, Marlene. Haven’t seen your family in a while.”

“Ah, you should visit more often, Mr. Topper,” Marlene said in her thick foreign accent. “We miss you here. All there is, is snow, wind, and more snow. Not much to see I suppose, but you never know what strange thing will show up now and again.”

Marlene smiled politely, her eyes lingering on Harley as the boy struggled to choke down the bitter liquid in his mug.

Mr. Topper glugged down the rest of his tea and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his parka. He could hardly remember the last time he had visited Eli and his family. It was right around the funeral, he believed, of Eli’s wife. It had been a dismal time for everyone. Eli was a tough one, but the pain of losing his love seemed to drain some of the life out of him. All he had left now was his dear daughter, Marlene.

Marlene turned to the young boy still shivering at the end of the table, his eyes still glazed with fright. “And what about you, lad? Tea?”

The boy nodded and watched quietly as Marlene filled his mug. Her hair had fallen over her face in sandy strands and locks.

Eli nudged Mr. Topper, shooting a toothy grin over at Harley. “The cold’s got you good, eh, boy, or you love struck for my Marlene?” He hooted and slapped at his knee as the boy blushed bright red.

Marlene brushed a curl of hair from her cheek and blinked kindly at Harley.

Mr. Topper chuckled. “The lady just poured you a cup, Harley,” Mr. Topper reminded the boy.

Harley struggled to find his voice and stammered, “Thank you kindly, Miss.”

Eli nearly fell out of his chair with laughter. “That’s a pretty fine novice you got there, Mr. Topper. Remind me next time Marlene’s looking for a good husband.” He banged his fists on the table, howling.

“Father,” Marlene gasped. She snatched up the pitcher and spun around, her long hair slapping her back as she marched from the room.

Harley didn’t take his eyes off her.

Mr. Topper fixed a stern glance at the boy, an unnoticeable look passing quickly between them. Mr. Topper stood instantly to his feet and slid the chair back against the hardwoods.

Eli collected himself, wiping a tear from under his eyes. “You headed in for the night already, Mr. Topper?” He said. “Let’s stay, eh? Have a few drinks, talk like old times.”

Mr. Topper's smile tightened. “I’m afraid that’ll have to wait until the morning,” he said.

Harley glanced at Mr. Topper, frowning. What’s he got planned? He wondered.

Marlene walked back into the room with a stone-faced expression. Her lips pursed and her nose pointed skyward. She began to collect the dirty platters that had been pretty grimy to begin with. “Father,” she said tightly. “They have to rest in their condition.”

With all of the excitement of the day, Harley had nearly forgotten his mangled arm that was held up only by the inside flap of his parka. He squeezed it self-consciously but drew back in agony at the pain. His arm throbbed as if it were his own heart.

“I’m awful tired,” Harley admitted. Unlike Mr. Topper, he meant it. He had never felt so exhausted. He had seen enough for the night. So many unspeakable tragedies. A man had died and the others acted as if this were commonplace. Well, everyone except Marlene. His eyes strayed and before he thought to stop himself they had met with her almond eyes. Harley had never been a romantic gentleman. His gait was awkward, and he hunched while others would stand tall. Marlene’s eyes reminded him of two pools of sapphire…

“Harley!” The young man jumped as Mr. Topper took him roughly by the elbow. He was muttering something fiercely to himself. Harley didn’t have a choice but to follow the man down the cottage hallway. “Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Eli,” he called behind him. Harley nearly tripped on the hardwoods.

“…we cannot afford to be distracted,” Mr. Topper was rambling on.

“What?” Harley asked dumbly.

Mr. Topper thrust the boy into one of the wooden rooms. A cot was jammed up against the far wall and a lit candle sat on a minuscule dresser.

“I mean, Marlene,” Mr. Topper said. He sighed, composing himself as he rubbed his temples. “Let’s face it, man. There is no way the two of you could ever be. We’ve much too many things to do.”

Harley sighed. “That’s hurtful,” he said.

“You know what I mean,” Mr. Topper snapped. “You and I…” he lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “We are from the future.” 

Now, Harley found no thrill, no buzz or shock from this news. Others, however, would most likely have looked at Mr. Topper as if he were insane. In truth, Harley had been one of the skeptics, until he had found out the truth. Until he had learned that the greatest secret, in possibly the history of mankind, had been under his very nose.

“We cannot afford to become distracted,” Mr. Topper repeated. “Remember why we came here…”

“I know,” Harley interrupted. He gazed into Mr. Topper’s eyes, nodding his head in agreement.

“Good. You’ve got your head in the right place then.” Mr. Topper slapped Harley once on the shoulder and the boy lurched, grabbing at his injured arm. “We leave in the morning,” Mr. Topper said.

Harley pinched his nose in pain. “Okay,” he rasped, “the morning.”