Willow's Journey

Her sleep is disturbed by a steady, rhythmic motion. Refusing to open her eyes, Willow takes a deep breath, somewhat frustrated. “It’s too early to be up,” she thinks to herself. When the rocking motion fails to cease, Willow is rendered fully awake. “This hotel bed should not be rocking,” she says aloud as she sits up.

What her eyes behold extracts a gasp. She is located, not in her hotel room, but instead, what looks to be a cargo area. Based on the incessant rocking motion, she conjectures it must be the cargo area of a train.

Startled at this revelation, she scrambles to a standing position, but immediately loses her balance and falls backwards. Knowing the hard floor of the boxcar will inevitably strike her backside, she grimaces with the anticipation of pain. However, her fall is broken by an unexpected soft object, which, upon contact, voices, “Oh!” Willow expresses with anxious concern, “Goodness! Is someone there?”

The cargo area is so dark Willow cannot make out whom she has fallen upon. She questions further, “Hello? Are you alright?” The voice responds, “Yessum. Well, I think so anyway.” Willow replies, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall on you. I honestly don’t even know how I got here. Speaking of, where is ‘here’?”

The voice has determined Willow to be non-threatening. A nearby lantern is lit. Once the area is illuminated, Willow observes her surroundings to indeed be a boxcar. Wooden crates, bales of hay, and stacks of news print fill the interior. As Willow’s eyes further adjust, she is able to finally make out who cushioned her landing.

Willow smiles at a petite, African-American lady. However, Willow’s smile is not returned. The dainty lady chooses only to scrutinize Willow. Willow takes a step forward, extends her hand in greeting, and says, “My name is…” This advance frightens the woman, who quickly withdraws. In an attempt to soothe the woman, Willow voices, “Don’t be afraid. I was only introducing myself. My name is Willow. How about you?”

The lantern-yielding woman looks down, apparently not desiring to make eye contact. She does, however, respond to Willow’s question. “My name, ma’am, is Isabella Baumfree. But I’ve decided I’m gonna change my name. From now on, I want to be known as Sojourner Truth.”

Willow raises a single eyebrow in curiosity. “Sojourner Truth, huh. Well, if you’re going to choose a hero, she’d be a good one.” Sojourner is now the one perplexed. She asks, “Have myself for a hero? What does that even mean?” Willow frowns and shakes her head, “No, I mean it’s great for you to have Sojourner Truth for a hero.”

Sojourner returns the frown, places her free hand upon her hip, and states, “Ma’am, I am Sojourner Truth!” Willow grins and replies, “That’s not really possible since she died well over a hundred years ago.” Sojourner simply shakes her head and voices, “Mm, mm, mm. I think you must’ve hit your head before you fell on me. I am quite alive. And for the record, I’m only forty-six years old.”

Willow persists with a confident declaration, “You can’t be Sojourner Truth. It’s 2022.” Sojourner shakes her head yet again and responds, “No, ma’am, it is 1843.” Willow is now considering the fact she may indeed have hit her head. Another sudden curve throws Willow to the floor of the boxcar. She looks up at Sojourner, who is unaffected by the violent curve. Willow asks, “Is the train supposed to be going this fast?”

Sojourner says, “Seems quite normal to me.” She then kneels down, reaching eye level with Willow. Sojourner focuses upon Willow’s eyes and says intently, “You see, dear, it only feels that way to those who aren’t supposed to be here.” Willow swallows hard and asks, “What do you mean, ‘aren’t supposed to be here’?” Sojourner offers a smile, “I can tell by the clothes you’re wearing, you’re one of those time-travelin’ folks.”

Now Willow is completely bewildered. “Time, what? I’m no such thing. I arrived at my hotel in New York, laid down for a nap… woke up here ….wait. This has to be a dream.” Sojourner reaches out and pinches Willow hard, procuring an, “Ouch! Why did you…” Sojourner interrupts, “Because they always think they’re in a dream. The pinch was to show you this is real.”

Willow inquires, “They? I’m not the only one to magically appear in this boxcar?” The train again seizes a tight curve and Willow barely manages to hold her footing. She is frustrated at this point and begins to explore the boxcar. Sojourner asks, “What do you seek?” Willow responds without looking, “A way out. There has to be a door. I want off this speeding nightmare.”

Sojourner strides to where Willow is and places a hand on her shoulder. “There is no conventional way off the train for you. When your time here is done, you’ll simply move on.” Willow turns and peers at Sojourner. “When my time here is done? I’m really growing tired of these riddles. I don’t even know how I got here, or why I’m here.”

Sojourner nods and replies, “I understand you’re confused, and probably a little scared. But don’t be. You have a purpose here. Meeting me is only the first step. Those to follow me will help you understand.” She pauses to set the lantern down before making an important query. “Do you know who I am?”

Willow nods, “Of course. In my time, you’re remembered for your contribution to women’s rights and the abolition of slavery. The speech you’ll give just a few years from now asserting, ‘Ain’t I a woman?’ will be life-changing for so many people. Indeed, you’re a hero.”

Sojourner acknowledges with a nod. “Now you must take your knowledge of me and merge it with your next encounter.” Although a feeling of dizziness swiftly overcomes Willow, she manages the question, “Next encounter…?” The urge to lay down becomes so heavy, Willow can only succumb. She finds a soft spot in the hay and is instantly asleep.

Her slumber is disrupted by a steady, rhythmic motion. Willow feels so tired. She takes a deep breath and announces with irritation, “It’s too early to be up.” The rocking movement prompts her to sit, revealing only blackness. She observes, “This hotel bed should not… '' Willow’s statement stops abruptly as she remembers the boxcar experience. This recollection causes her to draw a sharp, quick breath. She whispers, “Sojourner?” There is no response. She repeats a little louder, “Sojourner Truth, are you there?” Again, no answer.

Willow shakes her head and states, “This has to be a dream.” As the darkness around her begins to lighten, and her surroundings come into focus, a voice asks in a heavy, German accent, “Das muss ein Traum sein? (What has to be a dream?)” Willow’s German is a bit rusty, but she understands the question enough to respond, “Es tut mir leid, ich spreche nur ein wenig Deutsch. (I’m sorry, I only speak a little German.)

The man’s voice replies in excellent English, “Your German pronunciation is very good. And even your grammar. Very nice for an American.” Her eyes have now completely adjusted and Willow finds herself in the dining car of a passenger train.

Based on the clothing of those around her, she guesses the timeline is later than her initial meeting with Sojourner. The gentleman across from her is dressed in a suit, she guesses, from the 1940’s. She smiles and nods, acknowledging his compliment with, “Danke.”

The man asks, “I wonder why an American would be so obviously educated in the German language.” Willow responds, “I studied German in college. But I’m a little rusty. It’s been several years.” The man smiles again, “Not so rusty. With a little practice, you might even be mistaken for a native.” Willow returns the smile and states, “My name is Willow.” The man responds, “And I am Oskar. Very nice to meet you. I have a second question.”

Willow nods, “Okay.” Oskar inquires, “I am most curious why an American would be on a train in Poland during these chaotic days.” Willow quickly analyzes Oskar’s statement. Based on her prior assumption he is dressed in 1940’s attire, and her now-known location of Poland, she surmises herself to be in the middle of World War II. “Good grief,” she thinks silently. “This can’t be good.” She gazes out the window to observe the countryside. As she does, she realizes this train, too, is traveling at an extremely high velocity.

Willow asks, “Sir, does this train always run so fast?” Oskar, who has been writing in a ledger book, puts the book aside and replies, “This is a Luxtorpeda.” Willow frowns, “Luxtorpeda?” Oskar smiles, “Poland’s most luxurious, and fastest, passenger train. But yes, our current speed exceeds the Luxtorpeda’s normal speed of 68 mph. However, that fact would only appear to someone who isn’t supposed to be here.”

Willow is struck with the reminder of Sojourner's similar disclosure. Her jaw drops as she asks, “Why would you say that?” Oskar gives her a sly grin, “Because you asked. But more specifically, because you had to ask. Let me pose one more question.” Willow again nods.

Oskar quizzes, “Do you know who I am?” Willow replies, “I know your name is Oskar. Beyond that, sir, no.” Oskar says, “I am presently on my way to Warsaw to order building supplies for a subcamp outside my enamelware factory in Krakow.” He pauses to see if he has divulged enough for her to discern his identity.

Willow grins with amazement, “Are you Oskar Schindler?” Pleased, he smiles and replies, “Yes.” Willow then asks, “Did you know I would be on this train?” He again replies, “Yes.” She inquires, “Do you know Sojourner?” Oskar shakes his head, “No, but I know you spoke with her.” Willow leans in, elbows upon the dining car table, and asks with a tinge of irritation, “How can you know that I spoke with Sojourner Truth in 1843? What year is it now, anyway?”

Oskar sighs, then answers, “Today is July 14, 1943. And I’m sorry to say I can’t tell you how I know. You were meant to speak with Sojourner, just as you were meant to speak with me.” Willow shrugs, “I don’t understand why. None of this makes sense. Tip-toeing through time on trains I am not supposed to be on, meeting people I have only dreamed of meeting.”

Oskar reveals, “And therein lies your answer, your purpose. Before you embark on your third and final encounter, you must determine why Sojourner and I have been the first two.” Willow is confused. “How am I supposed to determine that?”

Oskar smiles, “The answer lies within why you are familiar with Sojourner and me. Your answer is the common ground between us and your third individual. This time train has extracted you from your timeline and inserted you within the timeline of two influential, historical figures.” He pauses, takes a deep contemplative sigh, then affords, “I’ll give you a hint. How am I similar to Sojourner?”

Willow instantly makes the connection. “You fought for… or, you will fight for… the rights of the lives of your Jewish workers. And Sojourner fought for the lives of slaves and women’s rights.”

Oskar nods, “Exactly. Your third and final encounter will be of a slightly different nature, as this person needs to be encouraged to lend support to something very special to him. When you meet, you will understand.”

An intense feeling of sleepiness hits Willow yet again. She looks at Oskar, “It was such an honor to meet you, sir. You will save so many…” She falls asleep before the completion of her sentence. Willow dreams of her two historical, yet fantastical, meetings. Sojourner and Oskar’s words resound within her dream. She is awakened yet a third time by the clicking sound of the train upon its tracks. The rhythmic motion is now familiar. “Who will the third person be?” she wonders.

She opens her eyes and finds she is seated by a window. She monitors the countryside in an effort to determine her location. Willow observes an array of stone fences defining borders for what appear to be grazing land. She thinks to herself, “This could be a number of different places.”

She continues to examine the landscape when a sign reading ‘Peak District hiking trails’ reveals her exact location. Peak District means she is in England, and she can tell the train is moving north. She must be near Sheffield. “Okay, what historical figure would be near Sheffield, England?” She cannot think of a single one, and sighs heavily with disappointment.

Shortly thereafter, she is startled by her growling stomach. Time-hopping has left her very hungry. “When did I eat last?” she wonders silently. She rises from her seat and begins the search for the dining area. Willow’s venture unintentionally leads her to the first class car. The moment she enters, Willow knows she should not be there, but an overtly strong feeling compels her to stay.

Willow walks slowly through the first class car, wondering if her third mystery person is present. She reaches the end of the car, and unfortunately, sees no one she recognizes. Feelings of dejection divert her hunger for the moment. She sits down upon an unoccupied couch wondering what her next step should be. Willow revisits her first two encounters, going over the details again. Both Sojourner and Oskar were champions of compassion.

What other individual whom she admires falls in that same category? She shakes her head, unable to think of a single one. “Maybe this is not the correct car, or maybe Oskar was mistaken.” One thing for sure, Willow knows she must exit the first class car. She has no ticket for the train at all, and certainly none for this accommodation. She takes a deep breath and prepares to stand when she hears an unmistakably familiar man’s voice say, “We play Sheffield United Saturday. The lads bloody well better win.”

Willow gently shakes her head and whispers, “It can’t be.” She rises from the couch and turns in the direction of the voice. Her gaze rests upon the face of none other than Sir Patrick Stewart. She knows instantly this cannot be 2022 as Patrick appears much younger. She glances down at a paper on the nearby table and discovers the date – May 8, 1986.

Willow wonders if he has begun filming The Next Generation yet. Is it possible Sir Patick is her third person? Willow considers his possible connection to Sojourner and Oskar, but cannot immediately link him to her first two visits. Regardless, she is not passing up the perfect opportunity to talk to the man she considers not only someone she admires, but her absolute favorite actor… her hero.

Patrick concludes talking with the train steward about the upcoming Huddersfield game, and Willow seizes the moment. She walks up to the couch where Patrick sits. He pauses reading his book and shifts his gaze to Willow. She finds herself face to face with her hero. She thinks, “This is unbelievable!” Patrick smiles at her and inquires, “Did you need something, my dear?” As she ponders his gentle, hazel eyes, she is inwardly driven to return the smile. However, she finds herself unable to voice a response.

He asks, “Young lady, are you alright?” Willow knows she must say something, but she is absolutely starstruck. She forces out a reticent response, “Uhm, yes, sir.” She looks down at the floor and internally scolds herself, “Settle down.” She takes a deep breath, then returns her attention back to Patrick, who has now developed a bit of a frown. Willow clears her throat and politely requests, “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir Patrick, but would it be okay for me to join you for just a few minutes?”

Patrick raises a single eyebrow and repeats, “Sir Patrick?” He grins and grants her permission with a chuckle, “Yes, please sit down.” Willow is delighted. “Really?” Patrick nods and motions to the seat beside him. She sits down next to her hero and says, “Thank you, Sir Patrick. It’s such an honor to meet you.”

Patrick sets his book aside, crosses his arms, and states with amusement, “Although I’m flattered, my dear, I don’t recall Her Majesty knighting me.” Willow grimaces. Of course; it is 1986. He has not been knighted yet. She replies, “Yes, of course. I suppose in my opinion, she should have.” He grins good-naturedly and teases, “Feel free to pass that on to Her Majesty the next time you speak with her.”

Willow grins at Patrick, recognizing his offer of humor. “I absolutely will.” Enjoying the conversation, Patrick shifts his position to face Willow more directly. He asks her, “I am actually quite interested to know how you recognized me. Rarely do Americans ever know who I am." Willow gushes, “I feel confident I am your biggest fan. I’d recognize you anywhere.” Patrick is intrigued. He cannot fathom an American being his biggest fan.

He smiles at her and states, “I am happy, then, to meet my biggest fan.” He extends his hand and says, “I’m Patrick Stewart. And you are?” Willow can manage only short, shallow breaths. She takes her hero’s hand and replies, “My name is Willow Davies. And again, it’s an honor to meet you.” Willow inquires, “May I ask you a question?” Patrick nods.

Willow proceeds, “Have you begun filming for The Next Generation?” Patrick’s smile instantly fades into an intense frown, “What? Why would you ask me such a question?” Willow is horrified to see her inquiry has angered him. She answers quietly, “I’m so sorry. I was just curious.”

Patrick now eyes her with suspicion. He states with obvious irritation in his voice, “I auditioned for a role. The audition lasted all of six minutes and I was asked to leave. The executive producer was not interested in a middle-aged, bald, Shakespearean actor. So, to answer your question, no I haven’t begun filming. Nor do I plan to be part of any filming for The Next Generation. Ever. Period.”

He pauses when he perceives Willow’s eyes have welled up with tears. Patrick adds, with less intensity, “I simply don’t understand how you’d even know to ask.” Willow wipes her eyes and realizes Patrick is not like Sojourner and Oskar. He has no knowledge of why she is there. Oskar explained she would understand, and although at this point she is unsure, Willow speculates if she continues talking, the answer may present itself.

Willow wishes to answer Patrick, but is uncertain how she can do so truthfully. He would never believe the actual facts, so she hesitantly responds, “I try to keep up with your career. I read a lot of articles and have seen many interviews. I guess I learned of it that way.” Patrick shakes his head. “Impossible. There has been absolutely no press on this. And, to what interviews do you refer? Not sure I’ve done any you would have access to.”

Willow answers with a question, uncertainty ringing in her voice, “I have a friend who told me?” Patrick again frowns and questions her accusingly, “Young lady, why are you lying to me?” Willow’s heart sinks. “This is not going well at all.” She regards Patrick with respect and replies contritely, “Because, sir, if I told you the truth, you’d think I’m crazy.” He challenges, “Try me.”

Willow sighs. “I’m not sure I understand the truth enough myself to explain it. I was brought here to talk to you.” Patrick’s countenance displays skepticism. “Brought here by whom?” Willow shrugs, “I don’t really know. But I’m certain I am meant to talk to you.”

Patrick counters, “Talk to me about what?” Willow, her voice full of empathy, replies, “I want to encourage you, sir. You will be given the role of Jean-Luc Picard. Your interpretation will create an incomparable character who will become the greatest Star Trek captain of all time.”

Willow now has Patrick’s undivided attention. He is astonished. “You even know the character’s name I auditioned for. Who are you really?” She replies, “I’m no one of importance, although I truly admire you with all my heart. My purpose here is to encourage you to lend support to something special.”

Patrick’s eyebrows raise with curiosity. “Something special?” Willow breaks into a huge grin as she experiences an extraordinary epiphany. She is suddenly cognizant of Patrick’s connection to her encounters. She hesitates, not sure she should venture into such a personal area for Patrick. However, she knows she has found the answer she has been waiting for.

Willow states, “I think it’s related to the environment you grew up in. A day will come when your childhood experiences will ultimately prompt you to share them publicly. Your testimonial will bless many people who have also experienced domestic violence.”

Patrick is completely floored at Willow’s last statement. He stares at her, mouth slightly ajar, a confused frown etched upon his brow. He whispers, “How? How could you know? That is not something I ever talk about.” Willow instinctively reaches over and takes her hero’s hand.

She gently squeezes and says, “You understandably don’t talk about it now. However, one day it will be so important to you, you’ll not only share your past, you will patron charities championing battered women and military veterans dealing with shell shock. You will bring honor to your mother and your father.”

Patrick is speechless. Willow says, “My purpose here has simply been to encourage you. Don’t worry about your audition. You will get that role, and you will be amazing. And when the trauma of your past creeps up and tries to rob you of your joy and confidence, just remember–one day you will defeat it.”

Patrick observes Willow still has a grasp of his hand. He squeezes her delicately and says, “My dear, I still have no idea who you really are, but to say you’re ‘no one of importance’ is quite inaccurate. Your sweet encouragement has truly uplifted me. Your extreme confidence in me may not be deserved, but I’m genuinely appreciative. I’ll not forget these words of wisdom.” He then lifts her hand and gives it a gentle kiss.

Willow beams a smile at Patrick, awe surging within her at his kind gesture. She states, “Thank you. Thank you for being so kind, and for allowing me this time.” As he gives her a smile of appreciation, Willow suddenly gets that sleepy feeling. She knows this means her time here is over. She says aloud, “No, I’m not ready to go!” She looks at Patrick, lightly touches his cheek, and says as she drifts off, “Thank you, most of all, for being everything I ever imagined.”

Willow opens her eyes. Her first realization is that the room is not rocking. She sits up and immediately notes she is back in the hotel room in New York City. She picks up her cell phone and checks the date. July 20, 2022. She closes her eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. “I hope I haven’t missed it,” she says and quickly hops in the shower to get ready for the convention.

An hour later she stands in line to gain entrance into the exhibition hall. She has paid for several photos and autograph sessions. The lines are very long, but her first autograph is the most important and definitely worth waiting for. Two more hours pass and her turn is imminent. Willow approaches the table where Sir Patrick Stewart has been graciously signing autographs.

As Willow prepares to step to the front of the autograph table, Patrick is suddenly summoned by a worker with a clipboard. He turns his back to speak with the man. After several moments of conversation, Patrick says as he swivels back to face his fans, “Okay, who is next?” When his eyes fall upon Willow, his thoughts are instantly transported to the train.

He takes his glasses off and studies her with amazement.

After several seconds of silence, Patrick says, “It’s you.” Willow smiles at him and replies, “Sir?” He grins back at her, “Don’t you ‘sir’ me, young lady.” Patrick stands and addresses the hundreds of fans still waiting. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” He then motions for Willow to accompany him. Willow follows Patrick through the curtain immediately behind the signing tables.

Once beyond the curtain, and with a bit of privacy, the two can talk about their train ride some thirty-six years prior. Patrick takes both of Willow’s hands and contemplates the woman intently. He smiles and says, “Yours is a face I knew I’d never forget. You haven’t aged a day.” Willow returns the smile.

Patrick shakes his head, “I’ve always wondered why I never saw you again after that day. Especially at an event like this.” Willow replies, “I just never had the means until now. When I learned you’d be at this ComicCon, I felt it was definitely time to finally pursue talking to you again. But honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

Patrick is incredulous. “Not remember? I’ve never forgotten our discussion on that train.” Although his eyes are locked on Willow, Patrick pauses. She observes he must be reflecting on their conversation. His purposeful gaze into Willow’s eyes exudes a tenderness which melts her.

Patrick says, “All those things you told me–the role of Jean-Luc Picard, filming The Next Generation, and my ability now to share a traumatic past–they were all right on target. How did you know?” She shakes her head and says, “Perhaps I was simply full of hope and well founded confidence in my hero.”

Patrick gives her a sly grin, shakes his head, and says, “Hm, no. It really seemed a lot more like foreknowledge, but whatever the case, I’ve never forgotten that conversation–or you. I must say, it’s certainly good to see you again.” Willow knows her mission has been successful. She planted a seed of encouragement which grew into the tree of Sir Patrick Stewart. There could be no greater fulfillment.

Willow is aware Patrick still has hold of both her hands. She views this unlikely event, smiles, and grasps his hands tightly. “Sometimes I still can’t believe this ever happened.” Patrick responds with a warm smile. Willow interjects, “I wanted to note, sir, that you forgot to mention I was also right about the most important thing.” Patrick frowns with curiosity. “Yes?” Willow smiles, “When I called you Sir Patrick, I was justified. Her Majesty did knight you.” Patrick’s smile of approval is the last thing she remembers as she drifts into a deep slumber.

Her sleep is disturbed by a steady, rhythmic motion…