He took them aside one by one.
Adam made one more trip to the attic that year, on that very evening, to store the snow globe and the music box safely away. He had no need for either anymore. The snow globe he’d keep hidden until he and J.C. Walsh met again. He had a good feeling they would. And he’d keep the music box hidden until then as well. Like Victor had said, some knowledge was best left unknown. And perhaps J.C. Walsh had a good-hearted grandchild to whom he could entrust this family heirloom.
That left the pendulum. Even now, the gold seemed to enchant Adam. He had to make sure it never fell into the wrong hands. He needed to conceal it someplace where no one would think to look for its glitter. Adam thought again of Jack’s grandfather and his magical ideas of time. A smile grew on his face. He knew exactly where to hide the pendulum: a place so obvious that even those searching for it wouldn’t think to look there.
He found Uncle Henry reading in the living room, and the two made plans to visit Candlewick Cemetery as soon as spring arrived.
At bedtime, he bid his uncle good night, then went to sleep. It was the night before Christmas.
Elbert Walsh looked outside his window. It was snowing.
Behind him, two white-and-green-striped candles lit the dim room, casting long shadows on the piles of maps and journals across the table. Those had been from his early days, days spent traveling the world in search of the elusive piece of the time touch that could right the wrongs he’d endured.
Fifty-one years. That was how long ago he’d first met Santiago.
The old clockmaker had warned him that the time touch was dangerous. Elbert had disregarded this advice and had gone forth, searching.
He grabbed his walking stick and shuffled to his bookshelf. Smiling faces from rows of photographs looked back at him. They had been taken from his various journeys around the world, from the dunes of the Sahara to the valleys of northern Europe. He’d met people of all kinds. He’d met strangers who treated him like family, who welcomed him into their homes. He’d celebrated with them on joyful occasions. He’d delighted them with his old magic tricks. He had cried with them on rainy days, and comforted those hurt in the wars. To those, he vowed to one day rewind time to prevent their sadness.
To his surprise, many of them had refused.
“This treasure you seek,” one of them had said, “is it worth giving up all you’ve gained on the journey to find it?”
As the adventures and memories piled on, the less eager Elbert became to reclaim the pendulum from the Barons, or to find the last piece of the time touch. In fact, a day came when he positively dreaded finding it.
Then, not long after, while exploring the shores of Spain with his group, he met a kind and thoughtful woman named Angie. Like him, Angie loved all things magic. But unlike him, she was not interested in changing history or gaining back lost time. She was interested in the future—their future together.
He abruptly quit his search for the key to the past.
At the center of the bookshelf was a photo of a man who looked like a younger version of Elbert. The man balanced a toddler on his leg. Elbert grinned as he touched the photo lightly.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called.
The door swung open, bringing in a gust of wind and snow. On his doorstep were the two people from the photo. They both carried an armful of gift boxes.
“Merry Christmas, Father. Is Mother upstairs?”
“Yes. Just getting ready for the party.”
The toddler ran forward and grabbed Elbert’s leg. “Hi Grandpa! I saw a plane today!”
Elbert greeted his family. For the first time in a very long time, the ex-magician felt content.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURNEW YORK CITY, 2019
Ask anyone, and they’ll likely agree Mondays are the worst days of the week, the dreaded day of going back to school or work after a long, restful weekend. Adam, however, could tolerate Mondays. After all, if Mondays didn’t exist, there would be no looking forward to Fridays or the weekend.
The thirty-two-year-old stepped outside his office building during his lunch break. It was nice to give his eyes some downtime from his computer screen. His latest theorem required difficult calculations to prove, but he was certain he’d get there eventually. Mathematicians, after all, love a good challenge.
Rain splattered onto the streets of New York City. The trees had started to show their annual tinges of bright red and orange, and were decorating the sidewalks with the same. Adam thought about his lunch choices, and then headed for the nearest pretzel stand.
His cell phone rang. His wife, Rose, was calling to remind him to order cellophane wrappers for the Lugubrious Lollipops, and more cinnamon, too. Their joint bakery-and-confectionery shop was running low—all the pumpkin spice cookies had sold out within days. She also informed him they would have a special visitor that weekend.
“Good,” answered Adam. “We have that new batch of cakes for Uncle Henry to test.”
Uncle Henry made an appearance every now and then from the countryside where he’d retired, but each visit felt much too short. Adam and Rose were constantly testing new recipes, and the only person they could trust with the first taste test was Uncle Henry, who would always be honest—and, in Adam’s view, the best baker around.
As he waited in line at the pretzel stand under the safety of his umbrella, he peeked into his briefcase. The snow globe rested inside, wrapped in delicate tissue paper. Adam gently laid a
