But If Not
But If Not
It was a cold day in Greenwich, but that didn’t stop the mail from coming. We had had a very cruel winter so far with endless blizzards and over twenty feet of snow. We received a telegram at about four o’clock in the afternoon. Upon receiving it, I immediately read it, hoping that it was my husband writing to us from Chicago, but instead, it bore no name and the three words, “But if not.” You see, my husband is on business in Chicago. He works as a stock broker on Wall Street usually, but this time, he was sent to Chicago to help one of his clients. Now, just because he is a stock broker doesn’t mean that we can afford even daily pleasures. In fact, we are dirt poor, being we live in what the papers are referring to as ‘The Great Depression.’ Now this telegram confused me. I even showed it to my child, who is 19 years of age today. We had hoped his father sent him birthday wishes, but instead, we held this very confusing note in our hands.
“Mama, what does this mean,” said my very confused son John.
“I haven’t the slightest clue dear. Perhaps the telegram operator mixed your father’s message with someone else’s,” I said to him with a hint of worry in my voice.
Perhaps it was true. Perhaps my husband did send a message, but it was either mistaken or sent to the wrong household. My son and I did not have any way of replying to my husband that day, so we waited for the morning.
The next morning we walked to the post office to send a telegram, but the people in the office had said to us that they had no idea what we were talking about. Upon hearing this, my son and I looked at each other with worried faces and rushed out of the post office.
With a frightened tone in his voice, “There must be something we can do mother. How can the telegram not have been invented yet?” He looks down at the note I was holding and took it out of my hands. It is dated December 22, 1957. “Mother, what is the date?” Confused, I answered, “Why, it’s December 22, 1927. What’s the matter John?”
John kept staring at the note with a look of shock. He didn’t understand what I had just said so he asked me to repeat, which I did. With a look of surprise, he handed me the note and told me to look at the date. Upon seeing this, I gasped. “John, do you think…” Without skipping a beat he answered, “Yes mother, I believe we have received a message from the future. How do we respond to this person? Better yet, what is he trying to tell us?” Looking up from the note, I replied, “John, maybe it is just a misprint. I bet that this isn’t a message from the future.
John looked at me as in disbelief. “How can you not understand mother? There are no such things as telegrams yet! Where else would this have come from?”
“My child, you needn’t worry. I will figure this out.” I flashed him a smile and walked up the stairs of our porch and into the house. With rage, John followed after me. “Who delivered the message? I must speak to them immediately!”
“Now, now John, it was Richard, our mail carrier. You may speak to him at four o’clock today, like every day.”
Four o’clock arrived and Richard came to give us another note that read the same three words, but was dated December 23, 1967. Upon seeing this I asked Richard if I could address the sender of this telegram. He handed me a slip of paper with an address on it. “I thought you’d want this,” he said with a sly smile.
With a small gesture, I closed the door. John stood behind me and asked if I received any information on the sender. “Yes John, the sender’s name is Bruce Wentwright.” The name sounded familiar, but neither of us could figure out exactly where we had heard it. With a small portion of doubt in our hearts, we wrote a letter to this man Bruce. In it we included our names and asked him as to why he sent such a mysterious note with mixed dates.
Three months went by before we heard anything back from Bruce. The telegram had slipped our minds until our mail carrier, Richard, brought us the reply to our letter. Inside the letter Bruce had said this:
Dear Mr. Carrington and his mother,
I am sorry to have confused you. As to the dates, they are correct. I have no idea what you are talking about when saying the date is 1927. The date is in fact is October, 2006. I believe that you and your son are confused as to the date. I am incredibly sorry I caused so much trouble.
Mr. Wentwright
Once we finished this letter, my son and I looked at each other. “Mama, he must be foolin’ with us. There’s no way that the year is 2006. It just isn’t possible. What does this mean?”
I glanced back down at the note to re-read it, and then I looked at my son. “John, this means that we are stuck in the past as either spirits or something else and somehow managed to communicate with someone from our future.”
After saying this, the house we stood in went completely black and we heard a voice, “Yes my children, you have solved the puzzle. You may now enter your eternal home now.”
“Mama, what does this mean,” said my very confused son John.
“I haven’t the slightest clue dear. Perhaps the telegram operator mixed your father’s message with someone else’s,” I said to him with a hint of worry in my voice.
Perhaps it was true. Perhaps my husband did send a message, but it was either mistaken or sent to the wrong household. My son and I did not have any way of replying to my husband that day, so we waited for the morning.
The next morning we walked to the post office to send a telegram, but the people in the office had said to us that they had no idea what we were talking about. Upon hearing this, my son and I looked at each other with worried faces and rushed out of the post office.
With a frightened tone in his voice, “There must be something we can do mother. How can the telegram not have been invented yet?” He looks down at the note I was holding and took it out of my hands. It is dated December 22, 1957. “Mother, what is the date?” Confused, I answered, “Why, it’s December 22, 1927. What’s the matter John?”
John kept staring at the note with a look of shock. He didn’t understand what I had just said so he asked me to repeat, which I did. With a look of surprise, he handed me the note and told me to look at the date. Upon seeing this, I gasped. “John, do you think…” Without skipping a beat he answered, “Yes mother, I believe we have received a message from the future. How do we respond to this person? Better yet, what is he trying to tell us?” Looking up from the note, I replied, “John, maybe it is just a misprint. I bet that this isn’t a message from the future.
John looked at me as in disbelief. “How can you not understand mother? There are no such things as telegrams yet! Where else would this have come from?”
“My child, you needn’t worry. I will figure this out.” I flashed him a smile and walked up the stairs of our porch and into the house. With rage, John followed after me. “Who delivered the message? I must speak to them immediately!”
“Now, now John, it was Richard, our mail carrier. You may speak to him at four o’clock today, like every day.”
Four o’clock arrived and Richard came to give us another note that read the same three words, but was dated December 23, 1967. Upon seeing this I asked Richard if I could address the sender of this telegram. He handed me a slip of paper with an address on it. “I thought you’d want this,” he said with a sly smile.
With a small gesture, I closed the door. John stood behind me and asked if I received any information on the sender. “Yes John, the sender’s name is Bruce Wentwright.” The name sounded familiar, but neither of us could figure out exactly where we had heard it. With a small portion of doubt in our hearts, we wrote a letter to this man Bruce. In it we included our names and asked him as to why he sent such a mysterious note with mixed dates.
Three months went by before we heard anything back from Bruce. The telegram had slipped our minds until our mail carrier, Richard, brought us the reply to our letter. Inside the letter Bruce had said this:
Dear Mr. Carrington and his mother,
I am sorry to have confused you. As to the dates, they are correct. I have no idea what you are talking about when saying the date is 1927. The date is in fact is October, 2006. I believe that you and your son are confused as to the date. I am incredibly sorry I caused so much trouble.
Mr. Wentwright
Once we finished this letter, my son and I looked at each other. “Mama, he must be foolin’ with us. There’s no way that the year is 2006. It just isn’t possible. What does this mean?”
I glanced back down at the note to re-read it, and then I looked at my son. “John, this means that we are stuck in the past as either spirits or something else and somehow managed to communicate with someone from our future.”
After saying this, the house we stood in went completely black and we heard a voice, “Yes my children, you have solved the puzzle. You may now enter your eternal home now.”
♠ ♠ ♠
© Janelle C. October 10, 2006