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The aircraft touched down on the runway in Helena at one twenty-five. When it rolled to a stop, Grace stepped out of the plane and walked through the frigid air with four others to a terminal about fifty yards away. Once inside the modest but modern facility, she retrieved her luggage, a small suitcase, and sat down on a lightly upholstered bench by the ticket counter.

Grace watched with interest as the people who had followed her out of the plane – a bickering couple with bleary-eyed children – pulled warm clothing out of their luggage and adapted to the cooler climate. A moment later, they passed through a double door, piled into a taxi, and disappeared into the night. Except for the ticket clerk and another airport employee, she was alone.

The clerk offered to call another cab, but Grace declined his offer. She had not yet decided on her next step and told him that she just needed a few minutes to think. She stared blankly across the empty lobby and thought again about Joel Smith, her aunt, her friends in Seattle, and the violent attack in the Hawaiian Islands that had turned her country upside down.

Grace thought of her parents and wondered what they would have thought of her wild goose chase. Dad might not have approved, but Mom would have. Lucille Vandenberg had been a tolerant woman and the best mother a child could ask for. She had understood her daughter and affairs of the heart. Grace missed them, both of them. She wanted their guidance. She wanted their love. But most of all, she wanted their company on one of the loneliest nights of her life.

Grace settled into the bench, closed her eyes, and thought of Africa, her favorite home away from home, and then the Philippines. It was warm there, much warmer than Montana, and full of warm memories. Her mind slowly drifted north to China, but it never completed the trip.

When the ticket clerk called out to the woman on the bench, she did not hear him. She didn't hear anything. Grace Vandenberg was sound asleep.

CHAPTER 5: GRACE

Helena, Montana – Monday, December 8, 1941

Grace berated herself not once, but twice, as her taxi made its way from the airport to the Buick dealership on Kessler Avenue. She had slept past seven, which was perfectly acceptable on a lazy weekend morning but not on a day when the clock was running and the alarm that was your future could sound at any time.

"Can you hurry, please?"

"I'm going as fast as I can, lady," said the driver, a thin man who appeared to be on the short side of forty. He wore a leather jacket and had introduced himself as Pete.

"I'm sorry. It's just that this meeting is very important."

"I'll do what I can."

Grace took a breath and looked out a window from the back seat of the yellow DeSoto. The mountains here had fewer trees and smoother tops, but they were just as pretty as the ones she had left in western Washington. Snow accumulated atop the highest ones, which formed an impressive barrier to the east.

When Pete pulled into Helena proper and stopped at a light, Grace checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. Her platinum hair was slightly mussed and her crystal blue eyes unusually bleary, but she was presentable – presentable enough, anyway, for a car salesman who would likely give her no more than a few minutes of his time when he discovered that she was not interested in buying a car.

She had called the Buick dealership minutes after an airport employee had gently woken her at seven thirty. He had been concerned that she might miss a morning flight. Once on the pay phone, Grace had asked to speak to anyone who might have picked up a hitchhiker in May.

She had eventually talked to two people who gave her the same answer. Neither had picked up a hitchhiker in the past year. But when she had learned that the owner of the dealership was on his way in, she left a message for him and hailed a cab.

Grace walked into Bob's Buick at eight and asked for Bob, but Bob wasn't in. According to the salesman at the front counter, Bob hadn't occupied the owner's office in more than a month. A man named Sam had the office now.

Grace looked past the salesman and saw a man sitting in the office. He appeared to be busy filling out forms, but he jumped out of his chair when informed by the salesman that a visitor had arrived. When he reached the counter, he offered a hand and a warm smile.

"Sam Stewart. I got your message first thing. Can I give you a tour of the facility, Miss Vandenberg? Some new coupes arrived just last week."

"Perhaps another time, Mr. Stewart. My cab driver is parked out front and I probably shouldn't keep him waiting."

"Very well. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for an abandoned mine that I believe is located in this area."

"What kind of mine? There are quite a few just a stone's throw from the city."

"I'm not sure. What I do know is that a man my age, who said he lived in Helena, visited that mine sometime on or before May 30. He found himself without transportation and hitched a ride from a Buick dealer."

Grace knew she had struck gold even before the well-dressed businessman uttered a word. The growing smile on his face spoke volumes.

"I'll never forget that one. He was a good-looking kid – tall, brown hair, with a cowboy hat. He didn't say much. I think he might have been homesick or something."

"Do you remember where you picked him up? Was it near a mine?"

"As a matter of fact, it was," Sam said. "I found him walking on the side of Gold Mine Road. It's a few miles northwest of here. The mine itself is called Colter Mine, but it hasn't operated since the 1890s. There's nothing up there now but run-down buildings and tall weeds."

"Is it still possible to reach the mine by car?"

"It is, but I wouldn't recommend it. Not this time of year, anyway. The access road to the mine is probably sloppier than a pigpen. We got quite a bit of rain last week."

"That's OK. You've been very helpful."

Grace shook Sam's hand and then turned toward the exit.

"Say, can I get you some coffee?"

Grace heard the offer but didn't respond. She already had a foot out the door.

When Grace informed Pete of the next destination, he balked.

"There's no way I'm going up there today, lady."

Grace reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a bill, and held it high.

"Here's twenty dollars that says you will."

Pete turned his head and looked at the woman in the back seat as if she had just asked him to drive to Siberia. When Grace smiled and winked, he laughed and shook his head.

"You're lucky I'm a sucker for a pretty face, sister, and that I have a family to feed. That road is bumpier than some of the fields around here. But I'll take you there. Sit tight."

Grace beamed and put a hand on the driver's shoulder.

"You're a good man, Pete."

Twenty minutes later Pete – taxi driver, family man, sucker for pretty faces – turned west off of dirt-and-gravel Gold Mine Road onto a dirt-and-no-gravel access road that seemed better suited for horses and mules.

"Do you really want to do this?" he asked.

"I really want to do this."

Pete gripped the steering wheel tightly as he ascended the winding road, which rose gently and then steeply up a narrow gulch. Despite deep tire ruts, a few mud puddles, and the occasional protruding rock, the road was surprisingly navigable and fell a bit short of its nasty reputation.

"It's kind of funny, when you think about it," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I've driven this road only three times in twenty years, but I've driven it twice this year."

"You have?" Grace asked, suddenly interested.

"Oh, yeah. Some college kid in a funny shirt had me take him to the mine last spring. He said he just wanted to check the place out. Imagine that. There's nothing up there now but a bunch of useless shacks. But he insisted, so I took him. He wasn't as generous as you, though. He gave me only four bucks, barely enough to cover the wear and tear."

Grace smiled to herself.

Consider this twenty a return on your investment, Pete.

Grace found the driver's anecdote both amusing and comforting. She now had all the proof she needed that Joel had passed this way in May and had entered the mine. If that part of his story was true, then there was no reason to believe that the rest of it wasn't true as well.

When they reached the top of the incline, the road widened into a flat, peanut-shaped clearing about half the size of a football field. Snow-kissed Douglas firs and junipers formed a barrier on three sides of the open space. Three dilapidated structures occupied the fourth. Grace gazed into the distance and saw what appeared to be a badly rusted Model A Ford.

"You can stop here," she said.

Pete drove the DeSoto to the base of a short, steep driveway that led to the wooden buildings and a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. He turned off the ignition, set the brake, and turned to face his passenger.

Grace reached into a pocket and pulled out two bills.

"Here is the twenty for your services, and here is a five for your Christmas bonus. Buy your children something special."

Grace handed Pete the bills and opened the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Pete exclaimed. "Look, lady. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for your generosity and more than happy to take your money. But I'm not going to leave you out here alone. It's freezing out. Do whatever you have to do and let me take you back."

Grace gave serious thought to his offer. It made a lot of sense. It
was
cold out and Helena was at least a dozen miles away. Grace had seen only three or four houses on Gold Mine Road and all had looked unoccupied. She was not at all prepared for a long walk to town.

But she was convinced more than ever that what Joel had written was true. There was a time portal beyond the entrance to the mine, and she would either stop him from reaching it or follow him through it. Returning to Seattle alone was no longer an option.

"You run along, Pete. I'll be OK."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't do that. I won't leave you here by yourself."

Grace put a hand on Pete's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"But I won't be alone."

"What do you mean you won't be alone? There's no one else here."

"There will be soon," Grace said. "I promise."

"I don't understand."

"You remember the college kid you brought up here last spring? The one who gave you only four bucks?"

"Yeah," he said. "Of course."

"Well, I'm meeting him."

CHAPTER 6: GRACE

Grace needed only another minute to convince Pete that he would not be leaving her to the wolves, hypothermia, or a fate that might land him in a police station the next day. She left him with the clear impression that Joel Smith was more than just an acquaintance and that the mine was merely a departure point for bigger and better things.

When Pete drove the DeSoto through the lot and headed back down the mountain, Grace grabbed her small suitcase, walked toward the entrance to the mine, and sat on a boulder. She glanced at her watch, saw that it was eight forty-five, and returned her attention to the lot.

Despite the temperature and a brisk wind, she felt fairly warm. She had dressed for the occasion and come prepared for a long wait. But no sooner than she tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat, the doubts set in.

What if Joel did not show? What if he had already come and gone? What if he'd had second thoughts and was on his way back to Seattle? What was she prepared to do then? She pulled his letter from a pocket and reread a relevant line.

"On December 8, I entered the same mine and returned to my time."

She had the day right, all right. But did she have the time right? The sun had been up less than an hour. Was it possible that Joel had already passed this way? Of course, it was possible. He had been in a hurry to return to his time. He would not have sat on this boulder and waited for her or anyone else. He would have entered the mine without a second thought.

Grace looked at the black hole that defaced the mountain and again questioned the wisdom of this journey. Abandoned mines were inherently dangerous places. She had read on the plane that Montana had literally thousands of mines and that many had been boarded up precisely because they posed serious risks to anyone brave enough, or stupid enough, to enter them.

No boards or barriers, however, covered the entrance to Colter Mine, and no signs warned intrepid explorers about seeking answers within. The shaft appeared dark and dusty but otherwise no less inviting than Aunt Edith's attic or an alley in downtown Seattle.

Grace got up from the boulder and paced back and forth for ten minutes, as she weighed possible actions and consequences. There was a clear downside, of course, to waiting too long. If Joel had already passed through the portal, she would have only hours, maybe minutes, to follow in his path.

Joel had presumably left Seattle Saturday morning and arrived in Montana Saturday night. Grace could not imagine him loitering in a Helena hotel or eating a late breakfast, not after spending all day Sunday doing nothing. She
could
imagine him traveling to the mine with the rising sun and entering it at first opportunity. He knew what he was doing. She did not.

Grace glanced at the mine entrance. Did she dare enter the shaft without Joel? Did she dare wait another minute? She checked the time. Nine o'clock. The sun was higher now and brighter. Water rolling down icicles on nearby trees began to drop to the forest floor. The day was coming to life. It was a sign, she thought. It was time to get moving.

Deciding that there was no harm in stepping inside the mine and escaping the bite of the wind, Grace walked to the boulder and picked up her suitcase. It contained clothes, cash, documents, photographs, and the Christmas card she had given to Joel. She felt a tinge of sadness when she thought again about the January ski trip that she had had to cancel, but she vowed that her present to him would be a gift delayed and not a gift denied. She would deliver the goods even if it meant delivering them in the twenty-first century.