"Time and Again"

It was in June of 1915 when Henry Pearson disappeared from his farm in Bellevue, Nebraska, population around 600. Henry was a farmer with a small 40-acre spread, just outside of town, growing corn and alfalfa mostly.

But in June of that year one of Henry’s neighbors, Tom Wilkins, was headed into town when he spotted Henry digging holes for fence posts along the North Road. They waved greetings as Tom passed by.

But on the way home, a terrible storm came up and Tom had his horse and buggy going at full trot trying to get his animal and rig back to the barn before the cloudburst. As he came near the Pearson farm, a huge bolt of lightning struck ahead, scaring the daylights out of Tom and his horse. 

“Henry must have run for cover!” the neighbor thought as his rig sped along the fence line, Henry’s shovel was stuck half in the ground but Henry was nowhere around. 

The mystery of where Henry went only deepened when the Tom came by a few days later, spotting Henry’s shovel right where it had been the day of the storm. 

The neighbor reined up and brought his rig along side Henry’s house. He knocked at the door repeatedly, peered through the windows, walked around the house and into the small barn behind it. 

Henry’s two milk cows and his prize horse were in their stalls and began a plaintive cry on sight of the Tom. He saw they had no feed and were low on water, looking like it had been days since they were tended to.

Tom took care of the animals and got back on his buggy, clicked his horse to a full turn and headed into town. There he went to the Sheriff’s office, reporting what he thought might have been fowl play; that perhaps Henry had come to some harm.

That afternoon the Sheriff rode out to Henry’s farm where he and Tom repeated the knocking and search of the farmhouse, barn and acreage.

Back at Henry’s front door, the Sheriff tried the door handle, finding it unlocked, as was so common in that area then. Henry, though, was not anywhere on his property.

The Sheriff talked to farmers who knew Henry, asking if they knew of any relatives of Henry that they might contact. Everything came up blank.

The Sheriff appointed Tom to take in Henry’s animals so they wouldn’t be neglected and locked up Tom’s house to keep out the uninvited. A month went by and no sign of Henry. 

It was after that month had passed when another storm brought lightning and rain to Bellevue. In the General Store, as many as five men, farmers and townsfolk, sat around the pot-bellied stove swapping stories, waiting for the storm to pass. And it was with great surprise as in the door and out of the rain, walked a disheveled and soaking wet, Henry Pearson.

One of the men seated in the store was Tom Wilkins.

“Henry!” he exclaimed while he and others rushed to Henry’s side.

“Land o’ Goshen, Henry, what happened to you?” Tom implored as the others stood by, clapping Henry’s arms and shoulders in greeting their missing friend. 

“The strangest thing.” Henry replied in a halting monotone, his eyes seeming to stare off in the distance at some unknown place.

Tom and the others quickly ushered Henry to a chair right next to the wood-burning stove. Store- owner, Leland Garson, took a blanket down from the shelf and spread it around Henry’s shoulders.
 

When everyone felt Henry had been arranged properly, Bill Neffers, Henry’s neighboring farmer to the South said, 

“Where ya been, Henry, Where was ya? Tell us, Henry.”

Henry seemed to still stare in a far off way. "I was in a far off place.” he stated slowly.

“We know ya musta been somewheres, Henry” said Leland, “Tom said he saw you last month the day that storm hit here.”

“I was by the Oak tree,” Henry said, eyes still staring. The storm came up and I ran under the Oak tree when that big lightning hit”

‘Did it hit ya, Henry?” one of the other men asked. “Did the lightning hit ya then something happened to ya?”

“The lightning musta hit the Oak tree, I figure.” Henry answered. “It musta knocked me out ‘cause I remember a big noise then everything went dark.”

“Was ya hurt, Henry?” Leland pressed again.

“I don’t think I was hurt” Henry said. “But I woke up and everything was different.”

“Whadda ya mean, different?” Tom asked.

“Well,” said Henry, “when I woke up everything was different. The first thing I remember was looking up at the Oak tree, but it was way different.”

“What way was it different, Henry?” Tom Wilkins asked politely.

“It seemed like the same Oak tree, I mean it was right in the same place.” Henry replied, now raising his eyes to Tom for the first time.

“It seemed like the same spot but the tree was way bigger than before. It was like it had growed a whole lot more than when I ran under it.”

“Whatta ya mean, Henry?” Tom asked with a puzzled look.

“Well, it was like a hunnert feet tall. And you know, Tom, that tree aint but forty feet if anything. But I wake up and here it is, going way up in the sky like it growed higher in just a little bit o’ time.”

“Then I kinda shook the cobwebs outa my head,” Henry continued. “And I wasn’t on my farm anymore.”

“Where where ya if you weren’t on your farm, Henry?” said Walt Hastings, the town’s Postal Clerk. 

“Everything was different. I looked around and my Oak tree’s ‘bout a mile high and then I see, I’m not on my farm anymore.”

Some of the men in the group kind of exchanged glances or leaned back, Tom Wilkins, lifting his hat, stroking the hair on his head then replacing the hat.

“Anyways, I look around” Henry went on, “and I’m in this part of ground, it was like a park or a town square-like. There’s bushes and trees and a walkway that looked like that new road stuff, concrete.”

Obviously feeling warmed by the fire Henry began telling more of his bizarre tale.

“I walked around for a while and found a monument-like thing. It was like a stone and it had a plaque on it. ‘Pearson Park’ it said.” Henry seemed to chuckle a little while his friend’s brows only deepened. 

“Well I walked around some, and I don’t know where I was. There was buildings around and sidewalks, like ya see back East, maybe. But everything was so different.”

“I just seemed to wander around this strange town. Didn’t understand at all what happened to me. People was dressed funny, the womenfolk seemed to wear next to nothing!”

“What else happened?” said Walter, wanting to hear more.

“I looked as I walked along and some folks had this little thing in their hands, talkin’ to it and I could hear voices comin’ outa it!”

This drew more visible signs of disbelief from Henry’s listeners but no one got up to move away.

“They had store’s there too, like here in town with windows and such. Like I said, the folks didn’t seem to wear much, with the women sometimes showing parts of their breasts and hell, their dresses didn’t even go to their ankles! They didn’t go anywheres near coving up at all!”

“Then in one store I saw these things, rectangle like. And there was pictures on ‘em, like I saw in the nickelodeon in Kansas City last year. And the people in these boxes was talkin’ ‘cause I heared ‘em.

Well after stumblin’ around and not knowing just what was happenin’ to me, a man came up to me, looked like a Constable or somethin’, wearin’ a gun so I’s figure he’s a policeman of sorts.”

“This policeman starts asking me a lot of questions and he just wasn’t believin’ in what I was telling him. He took me somewhere in a vehicle that I just could not believe I ever saw.”

“Then what?” Leland asked, slowly patting Henry’s shoulder but looking around the room to gauge the reactions of his fellow townsfolk.

“This policeman took me to a place, and boy, that vehicle was faster than ‘ary horse and buggy I ever been on! And it had one of those talkin’ boxes in it too!”

“He took me to a building where a man and a woman asked me a whole lotta questions, just like the policeman did. The woman was using a little thing that reminded me of a typewriter like they use at the newspaper office. She’d type on it and when she was done she closed it up, just like a book.”

“They gave me some fresh clothes, nothin’ fancy, mind ya” as Tom looked down at his own attire, I was put in a room but they locked the door.”

“Everyday they’d bring me food, three times a day, food and drinks like I aint never had before. Tasted good, though. They had this big room where other folks like me could go in the daytime and just sit and read things or talk, or even listen to the folks talkin’ outa one of them little boxes that they hung on the wall.”

“So, I couldn’t really do anything except wonder just what had happened to me. Had I died under that Oak tree and gone to heaven, or even to hell! I had no idea. And the folks there weren’t too keen on letting me go.”

“So mostly, as I didn’t understand what most folks around me was talkin’ ‘bout, so I just watched the folks in that little box, talkin’ every day.”

Henry paused, not seeming to notice the looks on the faces of those who had known him for a good many years. At one moment Leland Garson nodded to one of the men who slowly got up and before quietly leaving, took one long look at Henry.

“Is there more to tell, Henry?” asked Tom.

“Well, mebbe” Henry answered.

“For days and days I watched this little box on the wall. The folks there told me somethin’ I just could not believe. They said it wasn’t 1915, it was two thousand and fifteen! They was sayin’ I was in the future a hunnert years!”

“So’s I watch these folks every day and I learned stuff. They talk to each other on those little things – they call them cell phones. And the guys in the box kept telling me something ‘bout an world wide web but I never learned what they meant – didn’t wanna know, actually.”

But they said things ‘bout a World War one and a World War two, and a place called Vietnam. And they was talkin’ somethin’ ‘bout ISIS and them Muslims on the other side of the world. Says they cut off people’s heads ifin they believe in Jesus Christ and how even in America, kids can get in trouble at school talkin’ ‘bout God”

“Then I found out,” Henry said now leaning forward a little with a little bit of enthusiasm, “They said that in some places men get married to men and women get married to women!”
 

”To top it off,” Henry added, “the government tells folks what their kids eat for lunch at school – and, their teaching young, little kids about sex in school!”

The group listening to Tom collectively drew back at this obvious nonsense coming from their friend. A few just shook their heads and looked at each other.

“And believe me or not,” Henry said, “If folks aint married and make a baby, the folks in Washington helps pay for it!  And…if you don’t have your own farm or a job in a town, the government pays you money so’s you don’t have to work! And get this, believe it or not, if two folks make a baby and they don’t want it, the gal can go to a doctor and they take that baby right outa her and toss it away!”

An audible gasp came from the wide-eyed listeners of Henry’s story. Tom Wilkins, having tilted his chair back, nearly went over backwards at Henry’s words. He went on.

“Well one day another one of those big storms came up and somehow the locks on all our doors didn’t work. I took that chance to skedaddle and got right back to that ol’ Oak tree. It was then a lighting hit again and …”, Henry just shrugged, “..here I am.”

The townsmen were now visibly upset at Henry’s ramblings. It was just then that the Sheriff came in, followed by the man who had left a short time before.

“How-do, Henry?” the Sheriff said to the rain soaked storyteller.

“Heard you got hit by lightning some time back, Henry.”

“I’m thinkin’ that’s ‘bout right, Sheriff, Henry answered.
 

“Well, Henry, as a precaution, I just thought you’d come with me and have Doc McDaniel take a look see, you know, just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Guess yer right, Sheriff.” Henry agreed, “Sometimes I’m aint sure I am alright.”
 

Henry arose and moved toward the door where the Sheriff stood. Just before reaching the door, Henry turned to the group.
 

”Fellas,” he said, “where I was in the future, the President of our United States….was a Negro.”

The Sheriff held the door and Henry exited, leaving his shocked friends the task of wondering just what had really happened to their friend.

The Sheriff took Henry to see Doc McDaniel but Henry never got back to his farm. The Doc and the Mayor got together with the Sheriff and, against Henry’s wishes, had Henry moved to a nice private home upstate.

In 1916 the story got around to one of the big-city newspapers, one sending a reporter to go talk to Henry and hear his story. It never got printed though. They just figured it was all too unbelievable and somewhere between lightning strikes the Good Lord took Henry’s mind. 

His farm went to public auction as the town found no living kinfolk. The Sheriff let Tom Wilkins keep Henry’s horse and cows, for the trouble he went through and also being the first to report Henry missing. 

Pearson Park remains as the only living tribute to Henry. 

The man who bought Henry’s farm felt bad for him and let the town set aside a small piece as a way to do something for a once good man whose mind the Good Lord took away. If you drive through Bellevue and take the Reservoir Road south, you can visit the park that still bears his name.