Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

 As evil ones do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

PROLOGUE

The first thing that Dr. Sam Beckett saw as the blue light of quantum leaping phased away were bright brown eyes looking up at him. A sudden scream filled his ears as the owner of the eyes quickly hurried into a corner of what, at a quick glance, appeared to be a very small and old kitchen.

Sam watched with wide eyes as the boy curled into the corner, turned away from Sam and sobbed, clearly frightened by Sam’s sudden appearance. Realizing that the boy could see him for himself rather than the Leapee, Sam also noticed, by the size of the boy, that he was approximately three years old. Taking a couple of careful steps towards the curly haired child, he slowly squatted a few feet away, enough to ensure that he wouldn’t further frighten him.

“I won’t hurt you,” Sam gently assured. “I promise.” He was rewarded when a small androgynous face turned to look at him warily. “I promise,” Sam repeated, grateful for the little step towards trust the boy was making.

“Voglio Mama,” the boy said, causing Sam to frown slightly. “Dov’è Mama?”₁

“Umm…” Sam started, frowning at the boy’s words. He knew that the language was familiar to him but he also knew that he couldn’t speak it himself.

“VOGLIO MAMA! MAMA!” the boy started screaming, clearly not ready to trust the strange man that had suddenly taken his mother’s place. 

“Oh, boy,” Sam murmured, wondering how he could calm the boy without knowing how to speak the boy’s language. 

PART ONE

Manhattan, New York

Saturday, October 29, 1938

The sound of heavy footsteps behind him caused Sam to swivel on his haunches, to face the direction of the sound. The sight of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man of average height with a concerned expression on his face brought the Leaper to his feet as the man hurried to him. He didn’t try to free himself when the man reached out to take hold of him gently by his upper arms, the man’s expression was clearly concerned.

“Jillian, cosa sta succedendo qui? Stai bene?”₂ the man demanded, looking into his wife’s own dark eyes. Seeing the uncertain look in those beloved eyes, he took a deep breath and sighed, giving himself time to remember to be patient. ‘English’ was the single thought that flitted through his thoughts. He couldn’t count the times his wife had to remind him that she couldn’t follow the rapid fluency of his native Italian to which he always reverted when he got overly excited or upset. Sparing a glance at their little son still cowering in the corner between the end of the tiny counter and stove, he focused on his young wife. He gave her a reassuring smile, then said more calmly and in English, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He was heartened when she smiled at him, saying, “It’s okay.”

He relaxed a bit at her tone. “Good. Now, what’s going on in here?” he repeated his first question. “What’s wrong with Albert? Why is he screaming?”

As if on que, little Albert screamed again, “VOGLIO MAMA! MAMA!” Clearly still frightened of the strange man wearing his mother’s housedress, apron and shoes, the little boy just shook his head negatively when his father said in a gentle but firm tone, “Albert, come here and tell me what is wrong.” 

Sam, meanwhile, had remained quiet, absorbing everything said and all he saw. Now, seeing the child’s reaction to his father’s command, and understanding what the man didn’t, he placed a hand on the man’s arm nearest him. “Don’t be angry with him,” he began.

“Why would I be angry with him, Jillian?” the man replied with wide eyes. “I just want to know why he is frightened and calling for you but not going to you.”

“Well…” Sam started, looking between the man and the boy. “He’s a little… umm… well…”

The husband sighed slightly in frustration of not getting a direct answer from his wife. Going to the boy, he was heartened when Albert reached out his arms for his father to pick him up. Albert hid his face into his father’s shoulder and cried as the father brushed his son’s curly hair.

“Now, Albert, I don’t know what has gotten into you this morning but you have to be a good boy while Papa is at work,” he cajoled his son gently.

“Papa, don’t go,” Albert replied with a hiccup, finally speaking in English for the first time since Sam’s leap in. 

“I have to, bambino," the man told him plainly. “But I will see if I can come home early so that we can play.”

Albert seemed uncertain about his father’s words but figured that his father knew best, especially since he didn’t seem bothered by the strange man wearing Mama’s clothes. “Okay, Papa,” he finally agreed quietly.

The man rubbed the top of Albert’s head, gaining a smile and a giggle before he set the boy on his feet. He then went to Sam with a grin. “Don’t let him get to you, Jillian. He’s only four years old. He’s still learning.”

Four years old! Sam thought with surprise. He’s little for his age. Any further thoughts left his mind as he felt the man give him a quick kiss on the lips, causing Sam to grimace slightly as the man grabbed a lunchbox from the kitchen counter. 

“Ti amo!”₃ the father called back as he started towards the front door of the small apartment.

Albert quickly followed his father into the living area and to the door. “Ti amo, Papa!” As the door closed to his father’s wide grin, Albert’s own grin faded as he looked towards the strange man.

Sam gave the boy a weak smile as he thought about again being alone with him. “Umm…” 

“Who are you?” the boy suddenly demanded, folding his arms in front of his chest as if he were twenty years older than his four years. 

Sam stared at the little boy for a long moment, startled by the boy’s words and actions. There was something oddly familiar about the boy now. With the boy’s curly brown hair, round face and piercing chocolate eyes, Sam could almost swear that he was staring directly into the face of… 

“Al?” Sam questioned with wide eyes. The expression quickly turned into a frown of utter confusion. “Can’t be! That’s impossible! I wasn’t even BORN when Al was that young!”

“Who are you?” the boy demanded again. “Where’s Mama?”

To his astonishment, Sam’s response to the child’s forceful demand was a textbook knee-jerk reaction. “Sam,” he blurted. Only as he heard himself say his name did Sam realize what he was doing and instantly took a mental step and then a literal step backward. Not taking his eyes off the little boy staring at him in a way that uncannily made the Leaper feel like the boy could see straight through him, Sam took a calming breath then blew it out. It was long enough for him to regain a grip on his present reality.

Only time would reveal definitely whether the boy staring holes through him was truly the future retired Rear Admiral Albert Michael Giovanni Baptista Calavicci, co-director of Project Quantum Leap, holographic contact and the best friend Sam had ever had, bar none. However, until that moment came, Sam recalled what the boy’s father had said to him a few moments before leaving: “Don’t let him get to you, Jillian. He’s only four years old.”  

Having repeated experiences with children under the age of five seeing him for his true self, Sam reasoned that the child at least deserved some sort of explanation. On too many occasions of having to deal with the absolute and too often embarrassingly direct honesty of children under the age of five, Sam had learned the hard way that any situation involving young children was easier to deal with when the kid was on his side. Sometimes that meant wheedling, or playing “it’s our secret” about whom he was. More often than not though, it was simply behaving as a parent that worked best. If the thought presently boggling his mind turned out to be true, he had to get control of the situation and young Albert right now. More importantly, it had to be on his terms, not young Albert’s terms.

Looking around the tiny kitchen again, Sam went to the breakfast table and pulled out one of chairs. He started to turn it to face the boy but instead sat down at the table and picked up the untouched cup of coffee by the plate of bacon and eggs before him. He didn’t react to the sound of a third shrieked repeat of, “I WANT MAMA! WHERE’S MAMA?” 

As he set the cup down again, a small grin crept across Sam’s face as a fleeting memory of his mother dealing with his little sister during a temper tantrum crossed his mind. In the space of nanoseconds, Sam Beckett’s brain reviewed the memory, compared it to his current situation and adjusted it to the trying moment at hand.

Picking up the fork beside the plate, he started on the eggs then paused at the sound of a small foot stamping behind him. Turning his head slightly as if listening to something, Sam said aloud, thoughtfully, “Did I hear something just now?” 

Still standing in the corner, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, young Albert’s suspicious expression became an impatient scowl. “WHERE’S MAMA?!” he shrieked yet again, adding another stamp for good measure. 

At the table, Sam continued eating calmly, though his full focus was on the stubborn, dark-eyed boy behind him determined to make the Leaper dance to his tune. This time Sam couldn’t help grinning at the thought that if this was Al Calavicci at four years of age, his friend was unknowingly getting his first taste of his own inherited Beckett stubbornness.

Once more, Sam paused, this time turning his head a little more, able from this angle to glimpse the child from the corner of his eye. It took a lot not to chuckle aloud at the thought that occurred to him - If you aren’t the Albert Calavicci I know, then you’re close enough to be his double - as Sam asked calmly, “Albert, did you say something to Mama?”

It only took one more time of deliberately ignoring the child’s temper tantrum before Sam’s ploy achieved the goal he wanted. It came the second that Sam set down his cup again and said, calmly, “Albert, are you sure you didn’t hear someone say something to me?” Lightly, Sam patted one of his ears then started to reach for the coffee cup again. His hand never reached the cup. 

Behind the Leaper, still firmly in the corner, young Albert, had he known or understood the saying, would have totally agreed that, at that precise moment, his goat had been gotten. Even better than that, though, was the fact that he had completely forgotten his wariness and suspicion of the strange man wearing his mother’s clothing. His folded arms dropped to his sides as he ran the few steps over to the table, all but flinging himself to a standstill beside the man sitting in his mother’s chair.

“NOW CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Albert shrieked, glaring directly up into the stranger’s calm green eyes.

Sam allowed several seconds to pass before he said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What did you say?” Then, the instant he saw the red-faced little boy take a deep breath preparatory to screaming again, he added quietly, “I can’t understand people who scream at me. The sound is too loud.” Inside he grinned at the startled expression that appeared on young Albert’s face at the comment. Maintaining his gaze into the determined little boy’s big brown eyes, he added, “Maybe if you talked quietly, I could understand you better.” The ploy worked.

The boy curled into himself and lowered his head, a frustrated expression on his face. He huffed a sigh before taking a breath. “Who are you? Where’s Mama?” he asked, his voice much quieter.

Sam turned slowly towards Albert and looked at him gently. “I’m Sam and for a short time I’m going to take care of you while your Mama is away.”

“Where’d Mama go? And why does Papa call you by Mama’s name?” Albert asked, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Sam hesitated, thinking about the boy’s question, wondering how he was going to explain quantum leaping to a four-year-old boy. “Well… see, I have to look like your Mama in order for me to help. So, to your Papa, I look like Mama.”

The boy rolled his eyes slightly. “Sounds like Flash Gordon to me.” His own words caught his attention. “Is that what this is? Like Flash Gordon? Uncle Jack comes sometimes to take me to see the movies. I like Flash Gordon and westerns and Robin Hood and Mickey Mouse.”

Sam smiled widely at the boy’s words. “I like those kinds of movies too.” 

“You do?” Albert asked incredulously, gaining a nod from Sam. “Can we go see the movies?” Another thought came to him as quickly. “Mama doesn’t have money for movies. Do you?” Seeing the look on Sam’s face, Albert’s face dropped. “You don’t,” he concluded before shrugging. “I guess I’ll have to wait until Uncle Jack comes. You still haven’t told me where Mama is or why she’s gone. Who are you going to help?”

The kid’s smart as a whip, that’s for sure, Sam thought as he looked into those bright brown eyes. 

Watching as Albert leaned one shoulder against the edge of the table, his expression still willing to give the Leaper a chance to explain, Sam wracked his brain for the best answers to the two questions. A moment passed then another, then another before an obvious response – one Al had mentioned in the past - popped into his head. Mentally he crossed his fingers as he began to speak.

“The place where your Mama went to is like a hospital,” Sam said carefully.

“Why?”

It was one of a small handful of “kid” questions that Sam had learned to dread when faced with it. “Why is it like a hospital?” he questioned with a frown, unsure how to answer that question.

Albert rolled his eyes and huffed, wondering why this adult was so dense, in his view. “Why is Mama in the hospital?” he clarified.

“Well,” Sam said, choosing his words very carefully. “Since I came to be here for a while, to help someone, your Mama went to the... hospital to... to rest while I’m here with you and your Papa. It’s a very nice place, and the people there will take really good care of her.” 

“Who are you going to help?” Albert asked, unaware that he had moved closer to Sam to the point of now leaning against the Leaper’s knees. Bracing his hands on Sam’s thighs just above his knees, Albert leaned forward a bit, studying Sam’s face intensely.

Sam’s answer was totally honest. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “But when I meet that person, I’ll know that it’s him... or maybe her... that I’m here to help.” He mentally crossed his fingers a little harder, hoping the answer would be sufficient for the little boy. Apparently, it was.

Albert thought about the last answer for a minute then nodded. “Can I help?”

Sam smiled gently, taking a chance as he reached to gently ruffle Albert’s curly hair. “If there is any way possible, and you do what I tell you to, then yes, Albert. You can help.”

“Okay!” the boy enthused, his brown eyes as bright as his smile. The enthusiasm lasted only until Albert thought of something. His next question caught Sam a bit sideways. “Will the doctor at the hospital give Mama medicine so she won’t be sick anymore?”

“Your mama’s sick?” Sam questioned with concern.

Albert nodded slightly. “She’s always in the bathroom.” He grimaced slightly as he continued. “I think she’s got the pukies.”

The statement sounded so much like what Al Calavicci might say that Sam had to force back a smile as he considered the boy’s words. “Well… if your Mama really is sick and they can help her, they will. But that doesn’t mean that they will be able to help her. It really depends on what is making her sick.” 

“Oh,” Albert replied, his dark eyes showing that he was seriously considering the response. Even as he did so, the sound of a small cry filled their ears. Albert’s eyes brightened at the sound. “Sissy is crying,” he announced plainly as he turned and hurried from the small kitchen to follow the crying.

Sam heard Albert gently tell the baby not to cry as he followed the boy into the small living area. Approaching from behind, he saw that the baby was in a small crib that had obviously seen better days twenty years ago or so. The baby’s round face instantly caught Sam’s attention, casting out any doubts he had about the family he had leaped into.

“That’s Trudy,” Albert announced, pride in his voice. “She’s my little sister.”

Sam kept his thoughts from showing on his face as he smiled down at Albert before turning his attention to the still crying infant.

“I wonder why she’s crying,” he said as he moved closer to the crib and prepared to pick up the crying baby. Judging by her size alone, Sam guessed that little Trudy Calavicci couldn’t be more than nine months old. He had just lifted Trudy from her crib when young Albert darted a hand out to touch his sister’s bottom.

“She needs her diaper changed,” he announced matter-of-factly. 

As he carefully settled the baby in his arms, Sam had to choke back laughter. As the boy goes, so goes the man, he thought as he looked around the small spartanly furnished bedroom. Not seeing any sort of a changing table, Sam placed Trudy safely in the middle of the narrow but neatly made up bed against the wall opposite the crib. Not wanting to leave the baby unattended on the bed, Sam had Albert get on the bed beside his little sister.

Albert didn’t need asking twice, clambering quickly onto the bed. Scooting close to little Trudy, he put a hand on her tummy and began to very gently pat it. Looking up, he noticed that Sam was still looking around the room. 

“Mama puts the diapers in the top drawer,” he told the Leaper as he pointed to the small scuffed four drawer dresser in one corner.

It was a familiar phrase that fell so easily from Sam’s tongue. “Thanks, Al,” he said, a little grin on his face as he went to retrieve a clean diaper from the top drawer. This time there was no such thing as not laughing aloud when Albert added offhandedly, “I hope she doesn’t pee on my bed before you change her diaper.”

“We’ll take care of her quickly,” Sam assured the boy after he was able to regain control of his laughter. Opening the drawer, he saw several piles of heavy cloth diapers neatly folded. Picking up one diaper, he returned to the baby and her brother.

“You forgot the baby powder,” Albert told him plainly. “And the wet cloth.”

“Oh,” Sam said, looking clearly lost as to what to do next. He couldn’t recall ever changing a baby’s diaper except once and then Al the Hologram was there to help him with verbal instructions.

Albert sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve never changed a diaper before, have you?” he stated more than asked.

“Yes, I have,” Sam defended himself.

Albert gave him a knowing look. “And I’m the King of Siam,” he replied sarcastically before standing and hurrying to the kitchen. Returning with a wet cloth, he gave it to Sam. “Hold that,” he ordered before pushing the physicist out of the way. “You’ve got to clean her and powder her before you put the new diaper on,” he instructed as he showed Sam exactly what was needed. 

It was, to say the least, a humbling experience for Sam, receiving instructions on changing a baby’s diaper by a four-year old Albert Calavicci. The instructions were simple enough, and Sam deftly regained control of the situation when Albert picked up one of the safety pins to fasten the diaper.

“I’ll do that,” he said and after sticking the pin in one of his fingers only once, finished the diaper change. “There, all done,” he announced. He just sighed under his breath when Albert pointed out, “You have to put her pants back on.”

“Right,” Sam said and reached for the woolen cover pants he’d laid to one side. He was just slipping one of Trudy’s little feet through one of the leg holes when Leaper and child heard a loud knocking. By the time Sam called, “Albert, wait,” the little boy jumped off the bed and ran out of the room.

Quickly Sam finished putting the pants on the baby and lifted her into his arms. He was murmuring softly to the now placid baby when he heard the front door open.

“Good morning, Albert,” a woman’s pleasant voice said.

“Good morning, Mrs. O’Brien,” Albert said in a parroted respectful tone.

“Where is your Mama? I came to see how she’s doing this morning.”

“Uh… Sa… Mama’s fine. She’s changing Trudy’s diaper,” Albert announced clearly.

“Thank you, Albert,” the woman said again. “You’ve been very helpful.”

By the sound of the footsteps heading in his direction, Sam exited the small bedroom, coming face to face with a large woman with rosy cheeks, blue eyes and her hair done up in a tight bun on the back of her head. She was wearing a simple flower print housedress and red checked pinafore-type apron over it, and well-worn black lace-up shoes.

“Good morning to ya, Jillian,” Ethyl O’Brien greeted her neighbor and friend with a big smile. “I was just going to walk to the store for some onions and thought I’d stop to see if you needed anything.” Approaching familiarly close, she began cooing to little Trudy.

For a moment, the woman’s attention was on the baby in his arms. That moment was enough time for Sam to realize that Mrs. O’Brien wasn’t just a large woman; she was also pregnant, by his best guess, perhaps four or five months. He also noted how flushed her face was and without considering his words first, the doctor in him blurted, “Are you sure you should be walking... all that way... in your condition?”

Ethyl laughed heartily. “And if I don’t, who’s going to be gettin’ those onions that I need for James Patrick’s supper this evenin’?” Seeing the expression in her friend’s eyes, she just patted Jillian’s arm lightly. “Surely not him, since he’s been gone to work since before sun-up,” she said, her tone and manner unruffled by the question.

Guessing that Ethyl looked to be in her early thirties, Sam dared to hazard a guess. “One of the children?” he suggested carefully. That seemed to tickle Ethyl even more.

“I admit, t’would be nice to have one of them home to run to the store for me, but, no, the lot of them are in Catechism school. So that just leaves me. Besides, it’s a lovely Saturday mornin’ in October, and Wheeler’s Market is only three blocks. I’ll be there and back before you know it.” Assuming that satisfied her young neighbor, Ethyl asked, “Now, is there anything I can get for you while I’m at Wheeler’s?”

Before Sam could give any kind of answer, Albert spoke up loudly. “Mincemeat pie!” he exclaimed, turning towards Sam. “Please?” he then cajoled, seeing the confused look on Sam’s face.

“Umm…” Sam gave a little chuckle, looking up at the kindly Irish woman. “I guess mincemeat pie.”

Ethyl laughed heartily at Sam’s words. “Now, I don’t think Mr. Wheeler will be making that just for you, my dear. And it surely wouldn’t match yours, for sure.” She started familiarly towards the kitchen. “Do you have what you need to make it for little Allie there?” Before Sam could say anything, Ethyl was going through the kitchen cabinets, tsking with her tongue at the contents. “Your cupboards are a wee bare this week, aren’t they?”

“Well…” Sam started, wondering himself on whether he needed to go to the market with this woman.

“But it looks like you have most everything here. Perhaps some carrots?” Ethyl continued. She looked to Sam with questioning.

“Maybe I should go to the store with you,” Sam finally said, seeing the chance to get a word in edgewise.

“Oh?” Ethyl questioned. “And who will watch over Albert and Gertrude? And speaking of Gertrude, the poor lass is far too small for her age. Why, when James Junior was eleven months old, he was half Albert’s size. You need to feed her more often.”

So, Trudy’s eleven months old, Sam thought with surprise. Looking down at Albert, though, he supposed that the size issue was more of a genetic inheritance than a reflection of the children’s nutrition.

“I can watch Trudy,” Albert said firmly.

“You’re too young,” Sam countered. “I’ll have one of the other neighbors watch you while I’m away.”

“You mean Jan?” Ethyl questioned. “She and Bill went visitin' relatives in New Jersey. Paul and Lydia are preparin' to open their restaurant for the day. And I don’t think ol’ Mr. Landra has the energy to keep up with little Albert here.”

Sam sighed aloud. “I suppose we could all go together.”

“YES!” Albert exclaimed excitedly.

Sam gave him a hard look. “As long as you stay next to me and behave yourself.”

Albert nodded emphatically and then started for the bedroom again. “I’ll get Trudy’s basket!”

PART TWO

In the space of the next couple of hours, Sam Beckett got a firsthand snapshot experience of life as a woman, wife and mother in 1938. With Ethyl’s assistance, he got Trudy settled in the small carry basket that Albert had retrieved from the bedroom. That was followed by washing Albert’s face and hands, tucking the tail of his shirt into his trousers and retying his shoes. Last of all, after removing his apron, Sam looked around for his host’s purse. He was quietly grateful when young Albert piped up, “Want me to get your pocketbook from your bedroom, Mama?”

“Yes, Albert,” Sam said then watched the child run out of the tiny living room, returning, it seemed, in the blink of an eye with a small black handbag with a single strap.

“Thank you... son,” Sam told the boy as he took the purse and opened it. Inside, unlike most purses he had dealt with as a Leaper, the contents of Jillian’s purse were sparse. There was a small red snap-top coin purse, a comb, a small notepad and a short pencil. Opening the coin purse, Sam discovered two crumpled dollar bills plus seventy-eight cents in change. Closing it again, he smiled weakly when he looked up to find Ethyl watching him 

“I think I have enough for some carrots,” he said as he dropped the coin purse into the purse and snapped the clasp shut. Slipping the purse’s strap over his right forearm, Sam picked up Trudy’s carry basket then looked down at Albert. “When we get outside, you walk on the other side of Trudy’s basket and hold onto the handle. 

“Yes, Mama,” Albert responded obediently, giving Sam a cherubic smile. 

Ethyl just smiled, saying nothing as she went to open the door, allowing Sam and Albert to exit ahead of her. As she carefully descended the steps to the street, she understood her friend’s reticence about saying how much money she actually had. While open and willing to chat about almost anything, Jillian Calavicci had always been touchy about talking about how much her husband brought home. It didn’t bother Ethyl in the least, especially since both of their husbands worked at the same place and, hence, she knew, more or less, about the young family’s finances.

As Ethyl had said, it was a lovely crisp October morning and Sam found himself relaxing and enjoying the walk to Wheeler’s Market. Not only did it give him a chance to enjoy the exercise that it provided but it also gave Sam a unique glimpse at the life of his best friend in his youth. A couple of glances at the curly-haired boy dutifully hanging onto the basket handle with Sam, assured him that so far, Albert was being good as gold.

Most of the buildings, if not all, were easily forty or fifty years old and still held the unique charm of Victorian architecture. It seemed many buildings had some sort of shop at street level with apartments starting on the second floor. Other buildings were brownstones with steps leading up to the front door. All of the buildings looked as if they had seen better days, telling Sam that this was a low-income neighborhood.

Most of the shops they passed were open, which surprised Sam. He recalled when he was growing up shops were generally closed on Saturday. Then again, he'd grown up in a small farming community in Indiana, not in one of the largest cities in the United States. He wondered why Ethyl bypassed the grocery store that was on the way to the market but decided that it was probably because she preferred the selection at Wheeler's. He thought that it might also be a case of helping a small business owner. He learned from listening closely to the conversation between Mr. Wheeler - whose first name was Ed - and Ethyl that the older man was a widower and kept himself busy with his store 

The trip to the market and back again was accomplished in better time than Sam had expected. On the walk back, Sam took Ethyl’s teasing about having enough money for a bunch of carrots in stride. After all, how was he to have known that the large bunch of fresh carrots, now in a brown paper bag and being carried with an air of importance by young Albert, would only cost four cents?

Again, Sam marveled at the sights of the street where Al Calavicci grew up. Several children were involved in playing games, mostly stickball, jacks, or other games that Sam couldn't immediately identify. Shoppers mingled in and out of stores as more shops and restaurants opened.

Back at the apartment at last, after another couple of minutes of chatting with Ethyl by the front door - which led into a small foyer and the stairs to the apartments on the upper levels - the friendly Irish woman took her leave of him, admonishing gently, “Get on inside with you now. You look like a nap is what you need.”

 “But I’m not tired,” Sam replied lightly as he stepped through the front door, Albert following obediently beside him. Pausing and keeping the door open with his back, he looked back to the woman, adding, “In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

 Ethyl just chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she placed a hand on her prominent middle. “That may be, but it’s a wise woman who gets all the extra rest she can while she can.” Her chuckling increased as the younger woman blushed as she said, “After my third one, I didn’t need tellin' twice about naps.”

 “Okay,” Sam responded weakly, as he watched Ethyl continue on to the apartment house next door. “Come along, Albert,” he said as he closed the front door, allowing the little boy to precede him as they went up the stairs to the third floor.  At the Calaviccis’ apartment he unlocked the door, allowing Albert to enter ahead of him, instructing, “Put the carrots on the table.”

"Okay, Sam."

Sam was just closing the door when he heard Albert shriek, “Mama! There’s a strange man in the kitchen!”

Hurrying through the tiny living room to the kitchen, still carrying Trudy in her basket, Sam skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. For a minute all he could do was stare as his photographic memory imprinted a rare, once in a lifetime sight, namely that of Albert Calavicci, age four years, standing on one side of the kitchen table and staring up at himself as he would be some seventy-plus years later.

Al stared at the child in front of him, shock plain on his face. Having found himself in a familiar kitchen was one thing; to see a younger version – a MUCH younger version – of himself staring up at him was enough to cause the seasoned veteran to nearly have a heart attack.

“Ziggy…” he started just as the boy cried out to his mother about the strange man in front of him. Whatever he was going to say was lost as he saw the image of his own mother stop quickly in the kitchen doorway, a baby basket in her hands. It took a moment for Al to see past the aura and to look into the green eyes of his best friend, Sam Beckett.

Sam physically relaxed as he saw his Observer standing in the middle of the kitchen. “What took you so long?” he asked as he put Trudy’s basket on the table. The young girl immediately tried to get out, causing Sam to raise her into his arms.

For a moment, Al didn’t notice that Sam has spoken. “What took me so long?” he reiterated the question, annoyance tinting his voice. “You’re the one who's lost in time! I spent three hours straight in the Imaging Chamber, looking for you! And you know that epicnasalamagigit makes me nauseous. I nearly had the pukies.”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at Al’s words.  

“What?” Al questioned, clearly nonplussed by his friend’s reaction.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Al,” Sam told him. He opened his mouth to say something more when he felt a tug on the skirt he was wearing. Turning his head, he noticed the younger Al looking up at him with confusion.

“Mama, who is this?” Albert asked, anxiety tinting his face.

Sam smiled at the boy’s question. “It’s okay to call me Sam around him, Albert. He can see me, just like you.” He pointed to the Admiral. “This is my friend. His name also is Albert. He’s special in that only children, animals, and I can see him. He also can walk through things, so you won't be able to touch him.”

Albert frowned slightly, curiosity clear on his face. Going up to Al, he attempted to touch his leg only for his hand to go right through him. “Will Papa be able to see him?" he asked, clearly fascinated by this turn of events.

Sam shook his head. “No. Papa won’t be able to see him.”

Albert grimaced at the idea. “That’s strange.” His face softened slightly. “May Trudy and I go play?”

Sam looked at the girl in his arms and then at the boy. “Sure,” he finally relented, carefully putting the little girl into her brother’s arms. “Be careful with her.”

Albert rolled his eyes slightly. “Of course, I’m careful with her. She’s my sister,” he proclaimed before carrying her into the small living room.

Sam turned his head back to his friend to see a gentle smile on the latter’s face.

“I miss that,” Al announced. Seeing Sam give him a questioning look, he clarified, “Carrying Trudy around. Can’t do that now, not at our ages.” Taking a breath, he shook his head slightly. “This is too weird. I mean, you leaped into my mother when I was only four years old.”

Sam found a seat as Al spoke. “Speaking of which, what took you so long to find me? And how did I end up fifteen years before I was born? That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Actually, according to Ziggy, that isn’t true anymore,” Al replied, raising the handlink. “Apparently, because of the number of times you and I have switched places in time, our neurons and mesons are all mixed together which means that we are, quite literally, a part of each other now. And that means that you can now leap within MY lifetime and vice versa. As for why it took so long to find you… well, the Visitor went comatose the moment that she arrived. Ziggy couldn’t find you right off the bat because you aren’t in your own lifetime so we had to run one of those epic…epic…”

“Epochtonusalgraphic scans,” Sam filled in for him.

“Right. One of those. Lucky for you, I insisted that we scan backwards and keep scanning until we found you. After all, for all we knew, you might have leaped into your great-great-great-great grandfather who just happened to have enough of a genetic similarity to you to allow that to happen. Again.” Al took a quick breath to clear his thoughts before he continued. “Fortunately for us, that didn’t happen. Didn’t hurt that I had a hunch that you were sometime before 1954.”

“So…?” Sam questioned, raising his eyebrows indicatively.

Al looked confused for a moment at his friend before realizing what Sam wanted. “Right. You probably want to know who you are, why you are here, et cetera, et cetera.”

“It would be helpful,” Sam replied with a wry grin.

Al gave him a slightly sarcastic look. “Well, your name is Jillian Calavicci, you are a mother of two, and you live in Manhattan, New York.”

Sam exhaled loudly. “I already know that, Al. I also know that the man who came and kissed me this morning is probably your father.”

Al nodded slightly. “Julian,” he informed him.

“Julian?” Sam frowned again. “Your parents were Julian and Jillian Calavicci?”

“Hey, it happens. Not often, but it happens. But most people called my dad Gino.” 

“Point taken,” Sam responded. He started to speak, but instead watched as the hologram walked over to the doorway. Quietly he followed, drawn by the gentleness of Al’s expression as he glanced into the living room. 

Changing his position when he reached the door, Sam, too, smiled at the sight of young Albert sitting on the floor in front of his baby sister. A pleasant warmth flowed through Sam as he watched young Albert Calavicci, with the limitless patience of love for his little sister, playing peek-a-boo with her. Trudy’s pleasure in the game was exhibited by sudden high-pitched squeals of laughter as she waved her little arms excitedly when her brother uncovered his eyes suddenly, sing-songing, “Peek-a-boo! I see you!”

“We could play that game for an hour and she never got tired of it,” Al murmured softly. The notion brought his sister, now in her late sixties, to mind. Giving himself a slight shake, he sighed as he glanced at Sam and smiled. “It’s still one of her favorite games. You should have seen her teaching Jude to play it. And Jessica. And Helen.”

Having a chance to keep in touch with the lives of the people back at the Project was something Sam never let go away. The undisguised expression of love on Al’s face while talking of his sister and his grandchildren was such a moment, but even fond memories had to be set aside when there was the business of a leap to get through.

His act of returning to stand near the table was enough to regain the hologram’s attention as Al followed him. Sam wasted no time, without being abrupt, when he spoke. “Does Ziggy know why I’m here, who it is I’m here to help?”

“Hmm?” Al looked up at him a second before the penny dropped. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, Sam. Just... you know... taking a little detour down memory lane. Now, let’s see here.” Lifting the handlink, he rapidly pressed a sequence of buttons on the device. A moment later, information began to scroll across the tiny screen. “Well, according to Ziggy, my mother’s still passed out, but she’s okay. The doctors and Verbena are keeping an eye on her.” 

“That’s good,” Sam responded then waited for whatever other information might be forthcoming. He hoped like anything that it would be more that the all too frequent bits and pieces of information that usually were what he had to go on.

“Anyway,” Al responded, acknowledging Sam’s comment with a slight nod. “Today is October 29, 1938 and, naturally, it’s two days before Halloween.” He paused, a vague considering frown lightly furrowing his brow as his gaze drifted to the Leaper. “October 1938… why does that seem familiar?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Haven’t a clue in the world,” he answered. “You tell me. You’re the one with answers in your hand,” he added, indicating the handlink.

“That’s it!” Al exclaimed, just remembering to keep his voice down to keep from startling the children in the other room. “Now I remember! Tomorrow’s the night of the invasion from Mars!”

Sam’s eyes widened, staring at the hologram like he’d suddenly grown another head. “Invasion from Mars? What are you talking about?”

Sam’s response only added to the hologram’s enthusiasm as he grinned broadly, while continuing to peruse the scrolling flow of information. “Well, it’s not an actual invasion but on October 30, 1938, there were an awful lot of people who did believe that aliens had landed.” 

“Al, what are you babbling about?” Sam demanded, now moving to stand directly in front of his friend.

Now Al paused, still grinning as he looked up at Sam. “I’m referring to ‘The War of the Worlds’,” he said. “Orson Welles’ famous - or infamous, depending on your point of view - radio presentation of Howard Koch's adaptation of H. G. Wells’ novel that had a lot of the population, especially on the East Coast, believing that aliens from Mars had landed.”

Sam frowned slightly, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I seem to recall reading about it in school.” He thought a moment. “As I recall, it scared a lot of people.”

Al’s lightness receded as he nodded to the comment. “Yes, it did. In fact,” he added, his tone becoming somber, “it scared some people so badly they tried to kill themselves.”

“What?!” Sam exclaimed, incredulous.

The hologram nodded. As he read a new snippet of information, all lightness faded from his demeanor. “There were... will be quite a few suicide attempts tomorrow because of it.”

Hearing that, Sam’s instantaneous response was, “Then I must be here to stop it. To make sure that play doesn’t go on the air.”

Al’s response wasn’t the one he expected. “No, Sam, that’s not why you’re here. If you do that, you'll ruin Orson Welles' career. He won't go on to making movies and 'Citizen Kane', which inspired a great many filmmakers, won't get made.” He paused before adding, “Ziggy says that you’re here to prevent the one successful suicide.” He pressed a few more buttons on the handlink. “She’s giving it an eighty-three point nine percent probability that you’re here to prevent a young woman named Hetty Rose Calhoun from jumping off the roof of the four-story brownstone where she lives, tomorrow night at 8:43 p.m.”

PART THREE

Sam shook his head sadly, finding a seat at the kitchen table as he did so. “I don’t understand it, Al. How can the entire country be frightened by a radio play? I mean… I remember reading about it in school but…” He frowned with frustration. 

“Swiss-cheesing gets in the way, huh?” Al deduced. Seeing his friend sigh at his words, he nodded slightly. “Well, you have to realize the mindset of people in this era, Sam. Europe was on the cusp of going into World War Two. Hitler had annexed and invaded Austria and was threatening war with Czechoslovakia unless they handed over the Sudetenland to Germany. In fact, just last month, Britain, Italy, and France agreed to Hitler's demands and gave him the Sudetenland on the pretense that Germany wouldn't go to war. People were honestly worried that Hitler wasn't going to keep up his end of the bargain, which we now know he didn't. Not to mention we were just getting over the Great Depression. It was a time of great uncertainty and fear of the future. Some people really did believe that the end of the world was on the horizon. Radio was the only escape a lot of people had from reality. It was available and free to everyone who could afford to buy a receiver.” He smiled slightly. “We couldn’t afford one until I was five. Before then we'd go downstairs to listen to the radio on a weekly basis. Dad loved 'The Chase and Sanborn Hour' which featured Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. I didn’t get to spend much time with Dad. He was always working and came home late so I only really got to see him in the mornings during the week. But he always made sure that he was home every Sunday. We went to church and had lunch and then played all day before dinner. Then we'd go down to Ricardo's - that restaurant at street level is owned by the neighbors - and listen to Edgar Bergen.”

Sam looked up at Al and noted the slightly sad look on his face, knowing that the retired admiral was missing his father’s presence. “Al, I hate to spoil your reminiscences but what does this have to do with what happens tomorrow?”

“'The Mercury Theatre on the Air' played at the same time as 'The Chase and Sanborn Hour'. During the music portion of the latter, the neighbors always changed the channel and then turned it back when the music was over.” His face grew somber again as he recalled the past. “I doubt that we were the only ones in the United States to do that every week either. People changed the channel for a distraction and discovered what they thought was a news report rather than a radio play. I don’t think that it helped any that the play’s Secretary of State sounded eerily like Franklin Delano Roosevelt.”

Sam sighed, sinking into his chair, a disgusted look on his face. “Hell of a practical joke to play,” he complained.

“It wasn’t a practical joke, Sam. And it wasn’t a hoax,” Al clarified for him. “Both of those require the intent to fool the public. Welles honestly had no idea that his play would have such an impact. All he was doing was trying to find something unique to draw people away from listening to 'The Chase and Sanborn Hour' and to get them to listen to 'The Mercury Theatre'. When it comes to radio programs, Welles’ production was at the bottom of the totem pole. And if you listen to the play from start to finish, there are plenty of announcements telling the listener what they are listening to. People just happened to tune in at the wrong time." 

“You think that’s what happened with Hetty Rose Calhoun?” Sam questioned. “She tuned in at the wrong time and thought it really was happening?”

“She wouldn’t have been the only one, Sam. Our neighbors did it too. In fact, I remember tomorrow really well. We went down to listen to the radio but then Mama got really sick and Dad rushed her to the hospital. Never did find out what had happened but they were both very sad for a long time afterwards." Al shook his head at the memory. As he did so, his eyes caught sight of the carrots on the table. “You better put those in the icebox before they wither," he told Sam, using the carrots' lack of refrigeration as a means to refocus his thoughts. 

“Carrots don’t wither that easily, Al,” the physicist told him as he stood. Picking up the bag of orange vegetables, he opened the old icebox and put it inside. He looked in with curiosity, wondering at the old technology.

“Sam, close the door,” Al ordered plainly. “We may have been blessed enough not to live in tenement housing, thanks to Dad's job, but we weren't exactly well off either. We can’t afford a big electrical bill.”

“Sorry,” Sam told him with a sheepish smile. “Just… I never really understood how poor you were. There’s hardly anything in there except ground meat, milk, butter, carrots, cooked green beans, some fruit, a little sliced ham, and an onion. There isn’t even anything in there to make a salad.”

“It’s enough to feed a family and it's more than some families had in Italian Harlem. I can honestly say that I always had something to eat, even if sometimes it wasn’t a lot." 

"Italian Harlem?" Sam questioned with a frown. 

"In this time period, East Harlem has a high Italian immigrant population. The original Little Italy of New York City and a lot more honest than the one uptown where the brownstones cost a million dollars to buy in my time. In about twenty years from now, most of the Italians will have moved out of here. The Puerto Ricans will move in and the area will become known as Spanish Harlem," Al told him. "As for what's in the icebox, Mama usually did the grocery shopping on Monday so we're running a little low. And as for salad, we couldn’t afford lettuce; it was just too expensive in comparison. In fact, I never even tried lettuce until I ran away from the orphanage and lived with ‘Black Magic’ Walters for several months.”

“Not even on a sandwich?” Sam questioned with a frown.

“Most of the sandwiches I ate were meat, bread and butter.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam murmured mostly to himself. While seeing a glimpse of Al’s past was giving him a better sense of who his dearest friend was, there was still the issue of saving the life of Hetty Calhoun. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards his partner.

“Al, how do I stop Hetty from killing herself tomorrow night? Does your mom even know her?”

“Good question,” Al responded. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Got a good answer?” he came back.

Al paused in mid-punch to a button. “Hey, give me a break. At four years old, I wasn’t on a first name basis with my folks’ friends and acquaintances.” He finished the sequence. “Now if Ziggy could pull a rabbit out of her hat and find a picture of Hetty Calhoun, there’s a good chance I might recognize her.” Whatever else he had been about to say was forgotten when young Albert called excitedly, “Mama! I mean… Sam! Come see!” 

Sam and Al dashed to the doorway and into the tiny living room and immediately skidded to a stop.

“Look-it what Trudy can do!” the little boy enthused as he stood beside his sister, where she stood, wobbling slightly, in front of the faded brown sofa and clutching to one of the cushions.

As Sam hurried to the children, thankful that Trudy hadn’t been hurt and, at the same time, as tickled as any parent might be to see their infant standing on her feet for the first time, he forgot about anything else. With Al also joining in the happy moment, neither of them heard a soft knock at the back kitchen door of the small apartment nor, a moment later, the door opening.

A youngish woman, her sandy-brown hair pulled back, braided and pinned up, and wearing a simple tan dress, carefully opened the door. Keeping hold of the doorknob, she peered around the door while balancing a small laundry basket on one hip with her other hand. 

“Hello?” she called softly, peering around the kitchen. “Mrs. Calavicci? I’ve brought the laundry.” Hearing the excited voices in the other room, she realized that she hadn’t been heard. There was no such thing as going away with the laundry and coming back the next day. Even though Sundays were a day of rest, a baby had to have plenty of clean clothes and diapers, especially diapers. Besides, the ten cents she earned for every basket of washing helped to stretch her meager wages enough that ends met. If she really worked hard and the clothes weren't too difficult to clean, she could make a good thirty cents an hour.

Very quietly, she pushed the door open and walked the few steps inside to set the basket on the table. Pulling a scrap of paper and a bit of a pencil from one of the pockets on her dress, she wrote a note:

“I brought the baby’s washing but you were busy with the children and I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll come by Monday morning and you can pay me then.”

Signing her name, the woman laid the note atop the stacks of folded diapers and baby clothes. Before leaving, the young woman crept towards the living room and watched the excitement of her friend as she played with her children. Then, as quietly as she had entered the kitchen, she left again.

In the living room, after a few moments of interaction with the children, Sam saw Trudy yawn. Lifting her into his arms, he said, “Time for a nap, Miss Trudy,” and carried her into the tiny bedroom. With Al’s able directions about putting his sister down for a nap – “Just pat her back until she falls asleep”- it wasn’t long before the little girl was sleeping.

“Sam,” little Albert called out, starting into the bedroom just as Sam was closing the door.

“Shhh,” Sam admonished softly. “Trudy just fell asleep.”

The boy nodded then followed Sam, and the holographic version of his future self, into the living room again. 

Looking around the room, Sam noticed a simple wind-up clock on a small end table that held a reading lamp. It was a bit past noon. “Time for some lunch,” he said then remembered little Albert. Turning to face the child, he said, “What was it you wanted to tell me, Albert?”

“Just that the washer lady came.” 

Sam frowned. “She did?”

“Uh huh,” Albert nodded vigorously, pointing toward the kitchen. “The basket is on the table.”

Al noticed Sam’s expression. “Relax, Sam. People in this time period were more trusting. Hardly anyone in this time period ever locked a door, except maybe at night. She probably came in through the kitchen door while we were in the living room.”

“There’s a door in your kitchen?” Sam frowned. “On the third floor?” He hadn’t noticed any doors while he was in there. 

“Just a side door. Some of these old Victorian buildings had high-end apartments with servant’s entrances in the kitchen on every floor. When they got converted into low income housing, they turned those big fancy apartments into a whole bunch of smaller apartments and some of the servant’s doors were just left there. My parents just happened to get one with an old servant’s entrance.”

Entering the kitchen, Sam noted the door Al had referred to before seeing the small basket of clean laundry on the table. As he approached the table, he saw the note, grabbed it and read it, then swore silently. Dropping it, he rushed to the back door and jerked it open but the only thing to be seen was the narrow stairwell. The only living being in sight was a black and white cat who glanced at him before continuing down the stairs in search of mice. Sighing, he returned inside to find Al - younger and older - waiting for him beside the table.

Being a hologram, Al hadn’t been able to turn the note over and no amount of coaxing had been able to entice his very young self to, “Be a good boy and turn the note over.”

“I sure was stubborn at that age,” Al muttered under his breath just as Sam came inside again. “Well?”

“Nothing. She was gone.”

Al shrugged lightly but as his gaze left his friend’s face, his gaze drifted across the laundry basket and the note. “What did that note say?” Al asked, point at the bit of paper in question. 

Without a word, Sam picked up the note and held for it Al to see, pointing specifically to the name signed at the bottom of it: Hetty.

“I guess my mom did know her,” Al said.

Sam sighed. “Well, at least we know her relationship with your family.”

“Not that it helps us much,” the Admiral commented as he punched a few buttons on the handlink. Raising his head, he noted the irritated look on Sam’s face. “Sam, it was seventy years ago. I remember a washer lady coming to the house every week and I remember that I really thought she was cute. And I remember that Mama really saved up just to be able to have the convenience of someone else doing our laundry, something that didn’t last long when Dad lost his job.”

“Your dad’s going to lose his job?” Sam questioned with concern.

Al brushed off the subject. “He gets another within a couple of weeks at a pay cut, forcing my parents to cut back on non-essentials in order to stay in this nicer neighborhood. Nothing you can do about that. The only thing that matters for this leap is saving Hetty Calhoun’s life.” A curious look covered his face. “Sam… I may not remember what Hetty looks like in detail but my young self does.”

“Are you suggesting that I get Albert to tell me what Hetty looks like?” Sam questioned with a frown. “He’s four, Al. How reliable a description can I get?” Even as he questioned this, he felt the now familiar tug on his skirt.

“Sam, I’m hungry,” Albert told him bluntly. 

Sam, in his exuberance to find the truth, had completely forgotten the time before the boy had pointed it out to him. “Right. Lunch. Umm…” he started, turning towards the icebox, remembering what little he saw in there. “What do you want for lunch, Albert?” 

Al rocked on his heels slightly. “Well, I’m rather fond of a three-meat panini on focaccia bread with tomatoes and olives and lots of garlic mayo! Yumola!” He grinned at the frustrated look on Sam’s face. “Or we could go with what Allie likes.”

“Allie?” Sam questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. Allie,” Al told him. “That’s what my mom used to call me. So…” He turned to his younger self. “What do you want for lunch, Allie?”

“Mincemeat pie!” Allie announced bluntly. 

Al’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, Sam! My mom’s mincemeat pie is the best! You loved it!”

Sam frowned. “I’ve had your mom’s mincemeat pie?”

“Of course, you did,” Al told him bluntly. “When you leaped into my brother.”

Sam’s frown grew. “You have a brother?”

Al sighed. “You really are Swiss-cheesed this leap,” he commented. “I’ll explain later. Right now, you’ve got to feed the kid and yourself. But mincemeat pie is considered a dessert so you can't make that for a proper meal. Maybe make it for tomorrow's potluck…"

"There's a potluck tomorrow?"

"There's a neighborhood potluck the last Sunday of every month," Al told him. "And Mama usually made a dessert. Mind you, mincemeat pie is normally for Christmas but my mom's pie is so popular that I don't think the neighbors are going to protest. In fact, a lot of them went straight for her pie and bypassed dinner all together to make sure they got a piece. What kind of fruit is in the icebox?"

"Apples, cherries, figs… Why?" 

"Sounds like Mama was going to make it for tomorrow anyway. You'll have to prepare it tonight, though. My mom’s pie takes an hour just to prep and forty-five minutes to bake. But that’s in our modern ovens. In an old oven like the one you have, baking it will take at least an hour and there's no way you're going to have time to make it tomorrow.” Seeing the terrified look on his partner’s face, Al reassured him. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through it. But back to the issue of lunch, a meat and butter sandwich will do just fine.”

“Al, that sounds disgusting,” the physicist told him. “And extremely unhealthy.”

"You don't put a whole stick on the bread,” Al countered. “Just enough to keep the sandwich together. You know, the same way you like mayo.”

Allie stamped his foot as he stood in front of Al, looking up at him with a glare. “I want mincemeat pie!”

“Well, you aren't going to have dessert for lunch,” Al told him. Raising his head to look at Sam, he instructed, “Make whatever you want for lunch, then. Just be conservative with the food, okay? You’re going to need most of that ground beef and fruit for the pie and some ground beef for dinner tonight which, if you do it right, will feed the family until Mama goes to the grocery store on Monday.” He raised the handlink and started putting in the exit sequence.

“Where are you going?” Sam questioned, stopping in his short journey to the icebox.  

“I’m going to see if I can figure out where Hetty is right now and how we can stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life,” Al told him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time to help you with making the pie and dinner before my dad gets home.” He looked at his younger self, who was still pouting about not getting the lunch he wanted. “Good luck,” he bid his friend before stepping into the future.

PART FOUR

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

Emerging from the Imaging Chamber, Al paused at the top of the ramp as he thought about the brief time he’d just spent with not just Sam but also with his own young self, truly a once in a lifetime experience. That moment passed and, shaking his head lightly, he continued down the ramp and crossed to the main control panel. Returning the handlink to Dom for recharging, he asked aloud, “Ziggy, find all the information you can about a Hetty Rose Calhoun.”

“Place of birth?” the computer inquired as she began the search on the basis of the name given her. 

“I’m not sure,” Al said thoughtfully. “But I know she lived in Manhattan in 1938, probably in the same neighborhood where I grew up. And before you ask, I don't know her age either.” He waited a moment to see if the parallel hybrid computer was going to ask or comment further. When Ziggy didn’t comment further, Al turned away and started for the door. He stopped, his sigh more or less patient when Ziggy said, “Dr. Beeks would like to see you in her office, Admiral.” 

Al’s expression became considering. “Did she say why?” He just rolled his eye when Ziggy responded, “Something to do with the current Visitor (the word had long ago gained a capitalization when speaking about the Leapee) in the Waiting Room.” The fact that Verbena wanted to see him in her office to discuss the current Visitor ticked in Al’s mind that she had discovered something unique or unexpected about the person - in this case, his own mother. 

“On my way,” he responded then turned again, this time making his exit without further interruption. During the brief walk to Dr. Verbena Beeks’ office, Al pondered the facts already known about the leap; he also wondered about the unknown factors that would, he knew without a doubt, have an impact on how the leap would ultimately play out.

Arriving at Verbena’s office, Al knocked then waited to be admitted. Gaining permission, he entered, crossed the small office and dropped into one of the comfortable chairs set before his colleague’s desk. Getting comfortable, he met her steady gaze.

“Ziggy said you wanted to see me,” he stated rather than asked. “Is there a problem with the Visitor?” Hearing what he’d just said, a sheepish smile crossed his face. “Heck of a way to refer to my own mother,” he said softly. 

The smile that had appeared on Verbena Beeks’ face when Al had stepped into her office became a modest grin. “No,” she answered, shaking her head lightly. “There’s no problem at all. Not exactly.”

Al seized on the last two words. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’” he demanded. “Is she still unconscious? Is she sick?”

Verbena held up both hands before her in a placating manner. “Take it easy, Al. Your mother is fine.”

“Is she awake?” Al said, his expression easing even as he sat forward in the chair. “Can I see her?”

“No, not just yet. She’s….”

“What?” he demanded. “She’s...what? Is she still unconscious?”

Verbena glanced down at the folder open before her, her gaze going to a particular item of information for a second before she met Al’s gaze again.

“Relax, Al,” Verbena said firmly when Al leaned forward in his seat. “Your mother is fine,” she emphasized the last word. “After Aurora finished examining her, Mrs. Calavicci…” she paused a moment, shaking her head softly at the notion that she wasn’t using the title in referring to Beth. “Mrs. Calavicci asked if she could take a nap so, at the moment, your mother’s asleep.”

Al sighed expansively. “Thank goodness.” Reassured that his mother wasn’t in any danger because of the leap, he said, “Sorry for snapping. It’s just... she’s my mother.” He smiled when his colleague waved off his apology. However, he noticed that her smile had increased a bit. His light attitude took on a flavor of mischief. “You look like the cat that got the canary. What?”  

“One of the tests on your mother did find something,” Verbena began, her bright brown eyes complementing her light manner, a fact missed by the intent man before her.

Al’s eyes widened a bit even as he felt a knot form in his stomach. “What? What did they find? Is it serious?”

Looking steadily into Admiral Albert Calavicci’s eyes, Verbena knew she would forever remember every detail about this moment. “Yes,” she answered, her voice clear and calm. “It is serious.” 

“What is wrong with my mother?!” Al practically shouted.

Verbena licked her lips as she gazed steadily up at Al. “Your mother’s... condition will resolve itself in a few months.”

“Verbena,” Al sputtered, this close to crawling across the desk at her. “What condition...” 

“Your mother is pregnant,” Verbena said clearly.

Every wisp of steam and temper went out of Al like a released balloon as he stared at the psychiatrist, slack-jawed for several seconds. At last, he remembered how to speak. “Wh… what… did you say?”

Verbena’s grin broadened as she said, enunciating each word quietly but clearly, “Your mother is pregnant. Aurora said, according to the pregnancy test she gave her, your mother is about two months along.” As she watched Al slowly slumped back in the chair, Verbena couldn’t resist one more comment. “Congratulations, Al. You’re going to be a big brother... again.”

For a long moment, Al tried to process what Verbena had just told him. It just didn’t make sense to him. From the moment his mother had abandoned her family, Al’s family had only consisted of his father, his little sister Trudy, and himself. He didn’t even know he had a half-brother out there until Jillian Walker had called Al in his office that day in 1982, a call that he now knew was precipitated by Sam’s leaping into his half-brother that same year. What was more, Al knew for a fact that Jillian, if she really was pregnant, wasn’t carrying Robert Walker. Bobby wasn’t going to be born for another four years, two years after Jillian would leave her husband in favor of Les Walker, the encyclopedia salesman that had stolen her heart from Julian Calavicci. And if the baby wasn’t Bobby, that left a lot of unanswered questions.

“That’s impossible,” Al finally concluded, looking at Verbena Beeks with a shake of his head. “She… she can’t be pregnant.”

Verbena’s grin faded at Al’s seeming rejection of his own. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be happy with this news.”

Al leaned forward slightly to look into her eyes. “Did it occur to you that what you just told me shouldn’t be news to me at all? Verbena, there is no one but me, Trudy and Bobby. We’re my mother’s only children. If what you say is true and my mother is pregnant… something’s going to happen to that baby. Plus, I don’t remember my mother ever being pregnant except with Trudy, and I was only two at the time. At four, I’m sure I would have noticed my mother getting bigger and would have questioned it.” He took a deep breath and leaned back again. “Are you sure that she’s pregnant?”

“Aurora is,” Verbena told him gently.

Al swallowed with growing concern. “Then what happened to the baby? Why don’t I have another sibling?”

Verbena sighed slightly, standing to go over to her friend. Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, she noted the way he looked up at her as if she had the answers to every unspoken question running through his head.

“I don’t have the answers, Al.” She hesitated and then took another breath. “My suggestion? You may want to look into your mother’s medical records to see if they have the answers to your questions.” She paused for a moment, letting Al absorb what she had told him. “Did your mother smoke?” she finally asked.

Al inhaled slowly before nodding. “It’s probably one of the reasons Trudy came out… special, aside from the obvious genetic reasons. Ah, but they didn’t know better then, ‘Bena. In fact, some doctors back then actually thought smoking was good for a pregnant woman. I don’t blame her for any of that.”

“But it might explain what happened to your mother’s baby,” Verbena pointed out to him. “If she’s smoking while pregnant with this baby, any number of things could happen.”

She studied Al’s face as he considered her words. Judging by the degree of thoughtfulness she observed, Verbena decided that it was time to give Al some space to think about the unexpected news she’d just presented to him about his mother. Returning to her chair, she resumed her seat, glanced at the folder once more before closing it, then folded her hands atop it and waited. She allowed a full five minutes to pass before speaking up.

“Al, are you okay?” she asked softly.

Drawn back from the heretofore never considered scenario of having a third sibling – Hell, he didn’t have two siblings until he was forty-eight! – Al’s gaze drifted to the attractive black woman watching him with understanding. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you’re okay,” Verbena repeated.

Glancing about, Al realized what had happened and quickly rose from his seat. Brushing a hand lightly across his forehead, he said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just… just trying to wrap my head around this.” He paused as if about to say something else then changed his mind and went to the door. Opening it, he looked back at her a second then went on his way. Actually, once in the hallway, Al didn’t go very far. In fact, it was just to the other end of the hall and into his office. 

Sitting down at his desk, he booted his computer then, after entering the appropriate passwords, he sat looking at the waiting screen and the blinking cursor. Determinedly, he brushed aside the uncertainty trying to break his focus and typed “medical records for Jillian Stanislaus Calavicci Walker” then hit the ‘enter’ key.

As he sat back and waited for Ziggy to download the requested information to his computer, Al leaned back in his chair. His gaze roamed over the few photographs of his family placed to one side of the desk. He smiled at the picture of Beth and the girls and of Lisa Sherman and their daughter Julianna, taken during one Christmas in the late 1990s. The picture of his grandchildren, his favorite one of them laughing and being their unique selves, made him chuckle. The one of him, his mother, and Bobby, taken shortly after they were reunited, brought back fond memories. Then his gaze came to the most recent picture of Trudy, her short gray hair styled simply, wearing her favorite purple dress and a big smile. Sitting forward a bit, he picked up the picture of his sister and studied it closely. However, any further musings were dismissed when there was a sudden soft beeping from the computer. Replacing the picture, Al turned in his chair to face the computer and the document displayed on his monitor, entitled “Medical records of Jillian Marie Stanislaus Calavicci Walker”, now awaiting his perusal.

He had known for years that, thanks to his position on Project Quantum Leap, he could access all medical records for his parents, sister, and half-brother and, at various times over the years for various reasons, he had viewed them. All, that is, except those of his mother. He didn't know why he had never looked at hers. But then again, he supposed he never really had a reason to do so until now.

Several minutes passed as he sat there just staring at his mother’s name, mentally preparing himself for whatever information he was about to learn about his mother. Finally, Al gave himself a mental shake and reached for the mouse. Double clicking on the document, it opened and, with mixed feelings, he began to read. 

Scrolling quickly, he looked for all entries made in the year 1938; there was only one. It didn’t surprise him that there weren’t a lot of medical records for his mother so early in her history. Doctors were an expense that his family couldn’t afford unless absolutely necessary. But this entry, dated October 24, 1938, definitely caught his eye; it was the entry that confirmed Jillian Calavicci was pregnant for the third time in her life. Al read it twice before he did some quick mental calculations and then scrolled quickly forward through the document. It only took a moment to find what he was looking for. At first, it seemed as if nothing of importance was there, which according to what he just learned from Verbena was impossible. All he could do was stare at the words – or rather lack of specific words – on the screen. Yet as he was doing so, Al experienced a sensation he’d become familiar with since Sam had begun leaping. Specifically, it was the sensation of a subtle change in history... in his personal history... as he read the entry he had been looking for in the first place:

Name: Nicholas Jude Giovanni Calavicci                            

Date of birth: May 5, 1939

Mother’s name: Jillian Marie Stanislaus Calavicci

Father’s name: Julian Reno Giovanni Calavicci

Weight: 7 lbs., 11 oz.                                                      

Length: 20 inches

Time of birth: 6:22 A.M.                                 

Place of birth: St. Mary’s Hospital

City: Manhattan                                                     

State: New York

Order of birth: 3rd child                                                 

Live birth: Yes 

“Oh, my God,” Al whispered softly at last. “I…” he glanced at the pictures of his sister and half-brother before finishing his thought. “Trudy… Bobby, we… we have a brother.”

Again, his emotions became a mixed jumble as he continued scrolling through the entries following the discovery of the birth of a brother he’d never known he had. Correction, the brother he had never had before this leap.

Immediately, he had Ziggy search for his newly found younger brother’s medical records. Within moments, the requested record appeared on his computer and Al immediately began reading it. The first several entries were usual check-up notations over the first six weeks of Nicholas Calavicci’s young life. Clicking the mouse, the next page popped into view. Al read the brief entry and then just sat staring at the screen.

A thought flitted through his head that what he read just wasn’t fair but then he reminded himself that the universe rarely was “fair” and that Providence must have had a reason. But for the life of him, he couldn’t reason why God – and being a man of faith, he truly believed that it had been God’s doing through Sam – would give him a baby brother only to take the child away at such a young age.

“Why?” he finally asked aloud, knowing that the answer wasn’t just going to come from a booming voice in the sky. Even as he asked the question, he realized that there was a new memory in his mind: that of him, at five years old, holding Trudy up to a crib, telling her, “See Nicky, Trudy? See Nicky?” For the life of him, however, he couldn’t remember the face of the baby in the crib. All he remembered was showing Trudy the crib… and the sight of his father comforting his inconsolable mother the day Nicholas Calavicci died in his crib for no known reason. He also remembered how small the coffin had been, though he didn’t remember actually being at the baby’s funeral. 

Leaning back in his chair, he lowered his head and closed his eyes, rubbing his brow with the tips of his fingers with a sigh. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, all on the brother he never really knew and the various questions about whether or not to change history even further and prevent the baby’s untimely death. If Nicholas had lived, would Jillian have stayed with Gino Calavicci? If she did, would that mean Robert Walker wouldn’t be born? If she left, what would happen to little Nicky when his mother leaves her family? He had to know the answers.

“Ziggy,” Al called out, breaking the silence that had dwelt in his office.

“Yes, Admiral?”

“Run some scenarios,” Al ordered. “Give me the odds on Sam preventing the death of Nicholas Calavicci and the subsequent history if he is successful. 

While waiting on Ziggy’s calculations, Al re-read his baby brother’s medical records. He examined each word slowly, carefully as if doing so might reveal some tiny fragment of information he had overlooked in his initial perusal. Yet after pouring over the document twice with excruciating care, Al still came up against the same gnawing questions: Why? How? And… What if 

“Admiral?” 

At the sound of Ziggy speaking, Al felt his muscles tense in preparation to hearing the estimates that the computer had determined regarding his brother. He took a deep breath, blew it out slowly then licked his lips lightly before responding.

“What did you come up with, Ziggy?” he asked, settling back in his chair, bracing himself for whatever he was about to hear. He thought again about the questions that had tumbled through his thoughts about his baby brother before he finally spoke. “If Sam ensures that Nicholas lives, will... will my mother stay with my father?” In spite of having Ziggy do the calculations, as he posed the question, now he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. Yet, as Ziggy began to speak, he knew there was no other option; he had to know.

“No,” Ziggy pronounced without emotion. “Following the birth of your brother, having to deal with a newborn, as well as your handicapped sister, was an even greater strain on your parents’ relationship. This time, however, she leaves perhaps as much as a month earlier than in the original history.”

“Does that mean that she... runs off with somebody else, other than that encyclopedia salesman?” Al demanded, his emotions, by the quietness of his voice, clearly under tight control.

“No.  She still leaves with Mr. Walker.”

Part of Al was grateful that he hadn’t, thanks to the winds of time, lost his half-brother before he was even born. Another part wanted to rage against what Ziggy was saying but he held his tongue. “Go on,” he said tightly.

“I further theorize with a ninety-seven percent certainty that she will take Nicholas with her, most likely on the theory that it will be easier for your father to care for you and your sister.”

“So, what happens to my brother?” Al demanded, his emotions starting to wriggle free of the short leash he had them on for the moment.

“Which one?” That answer brought Al up short and sharp, his expression startled. However, Ziggy continued to speak as if the question hadn’t been asked. “Your father’s history does not change. Due to being unable to find work locally and, therefore, unable to provide for his children, he will still be forced to place you and Trudy Calavicci in an orphanage. Your history, Admiral, and that of your sister does not change. Neither does that of your half-brother, Robert Walker. He is alive and well.” 

“What about Nicky?” Al demanded, jumping up from his chair, tension in every line of his body.

“There is a ninety-eight percent probability that to avoid losing Mr. Walker’s affections, Nicholas Calavicci will be put in an orphanage somewhere along the way of your mother and Mr. Walker’s travels shortly after they leave the State of New York.”

“BUT WHAT ABOUT NICKY?” Al screamed furiously at Ziggy’s seeming delay in telling him about his brother. “What happens to him? Where is he?”

“The calculations I provided were contingent on Dr. Beckett preventing Nicholas Calavicci's death from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, Admiral,” Ziggy responded, her attitude and tone as unruffled as ever. “However, at this moment, there is an uncertainty in the timeline. I cannot tell if your brother Nicholas died or if he is still living.”

"So either Nicky dies in his crib or he's taken by my mother when she runs off with Les Walker and is subsequently left at an unknown orphanage," Al summarized. "And you have no idea about Nicky's timeline if he's left at the orphanage."

"Correct."

Al thought seriously about what Ziggy told him and what the medical records in front of him showed. As he thought about the changes in the timeline and how it was currently in flux when it came to Nicky, he came to several conclusions. The first was that, just by his leaping into Jillian Calavicci while she was pregnant, Sam prevented Jillian from miscarrying Nicky and insured a healthy live birth of Al’s little brother. The second was that, since Sam had leaped into Jillian Calavicci, there was a chance to be able to save Nicky from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The question was how they could do so when little Nicholas wasn’t going to be born for another seven months. 

There was also still the question of how they were going to save Hetty Calhoun from making one hell of a case of mistaken identity – mistaking a fictional radio program for a real live invasion. It didn’t help that Al still hadn’t caught even the slightest glimpse of her to point her out to Sam. He sighed, deciding to temporarily put the issue of his little brother to the side and to focus on saving Hetty.

“Ziggy, have you been able to find an address for Hetty Calhoun?” he asked softly.

“Negative, Admiral.”

Al rubbed his eyes roughly, hoping that somehow the movement would magically cause his memory to recall anything about Hetty. It didn’t work. Sighing again, he stood up from his desk, noting how his stomach growled at him.  

“No point trying to think on an empty stomach,” he murmured to himself. Looking back down at the computer screen, he pondered the words imprinted there before shutting the computer down and heading for the door. As much as he would've liked to talk to his mother and find out who Hetty Calhoun was, he remembered how Beth reacted to being woken up while pregnant. Besides which, having left Sam and Allie planning lunch, he'd grown hungry himself and really wanted the panini he'd described. That and his wife's presence would definitely do him a world of good. In addition, he wanted to tell his wife about the discovery this leap had already brought to him and to get her opinion on what to do concerning the matter. He would visit the Waiting Room later, after Jillian was well-rested.

To Be Continued....