Ben Jameson and his fourteen-year-old son, Jay, always enjoyed their annual father-son bonding-trips to the museum on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Over the past six years, Jay’s interests had widened, and new sections of the museum piqued his curiosity.

Jay’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Ben was seeing with the wonder and excitement of his son’s eyes. He wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

“Hurry, Dad. It’s going to open.”

Ben’s step quickened as he hurried after his son. “Wait. We need tickets first.” Ben reached for his wallet and queued up. He smiled and stepped to the window. “One adult and one student, please.” With tickets in hand, they made their way to the attendant.

They stood in awe of the expanse of the building’s size and complexity. Although Ben and Jay had visited the museum several times, they were always overwhelmed with all the contraptions, mechanisms, and thingamajigs to see. Signs pointed this way and that, advertising the things Ben and Jay liked to see: cars, trains, steam engines, planes, and machinery of every description, and each had its own wing or section.

Jay tugged at Ben’s coat. “Cool it, Jay. We’ve plenty of time. What do you want to see first?”

“I wanna see the trains.”

“Me, too.” Ben checked the map the attendant had given him. “They’re in the back wing. There’s a replica of the first engine and even a full-size, 1941 steam locomotive.” He pointed out the direction they should go. “We go right, then third left.”

But Jay couldn’t contain himself and bolted.

Ben trotted after him. “Jay, wait for me.” But before long, Jay outpaced him and was out of sight. When Ben reached the railroad wing, he paused. “Where are you, Jay?”

Jay leaned out of an 1850-vintage locomotive’s cab and yelled, “Over here, Dad. Isn’t this engine neat?”

The engine was parked alongside buildings depicting a typical 1870s western railway station, a full-sized diorama. Ben waved and ran onto the loading platform. “Wow, this is a great setup.”

As he rounded the corner of the station, Jay poked his head through the cab again. “Hurry, Dad. Come see these controls.”

#

When Ben opened his eyes, he heard, “Pa? Pa, you alright?”

Pa? Jay never called me Pa before, Ben thought. What’s gotten into him? And why am I flat on my back?

“Get up, Pa. What happened?”

Ben’s head throbbed. He ran his fingers over a goose-egg sized lump on his forehead. Ben was disoriented and confused. “What do you mean, what happened?”

“We rode into town, turned the corner by the railway station, and you fell off your horse.”

“Are you crazy, Jay? We don’t own a horse.” Ben pushed himself to a sitting position.

“Pa, you’re plumb loco. Yah, we do. Have plenty of them. And why are you calling me Jay? You always call me Jesse.”

“Wait a minute. You’re not Jay. He’s fourteen; you look twenty or so. Where’s Jay? What have you done with him?” Ben stood, searching for Jay.

“Pa, get a hold of yourself. You’re my Pa, Reuben Samuel, I’m Jesse James, twenty-six.”

“I’m not Reuben Samuel, I’m Ben Jameson.”

“Cole. Hey, Cole. Come here a bit.”

“Sure, Jesse. Whatya want?”

“Tell Pa who he is and who I am.”

“You’re joshin’ me. Right?”

“No. Just tell ’em.”

“This ‘ere’s Jesse James, and yer his pa, Dr. Reuben Samuel.”

“Alright, Pa, get your head straight; we’ve business to attend to.”

“Oh, my head hurts.” Touching his forehead, Ben felt the lump above his left eye again. “Musta hit something that knocked me out.”

“Whatever it was, knocked you clear off your horse.”

“Our clothes look funny, too.” Ben felt the lapel of his overcoat as Jesse handed him his hat.

“Aw, Pa. You ain’t making no sense.”

“What’s the date, Jesse?”

“How’s that?”

“I said, what’s the date?”

“July 21, 1873. Ya musta been hit mighty hard not to remember the date.”

Ben pulled himself to a nearby bench to gather his wits. He was familiar with the history and myths surrounding Jesse James. Ben’s great-great-grandfather had changed his last name from James to Jameson, hoping to escape the stigma of being related to the outlaw.

July 21, 1873, thought Ben. The date was familiar, but why? Then he remembered: It was the James-Younger Gang’s first train robbery. With Cole and four others milling around, he was confident that somehow, he had been transported back in time, but how?

“Hey, Jesse. What’s this town?” asked Ben.

“Adair, Iowa.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure, Pa. You stay put. Me and the boys are going for a ride; we won’t be long. Mount up.”

Cole, John, Jim, and Bob Younger, Clell Miller, and Jesse rode out. Ben was torn what to do. Soon, the gang would derail the Rock Island Line train a few miles southwest of town. Would history play out regardless of what he did, or could he change it?

“Hey, mister,” Ben yelled to a passerby. “Where’s the sheriff’s office?”

“Down the street. Near the livery stable.”

Ben hurried across the open train yard and down the street. A dog barked when he passed the livery stable and approached the sheriff’s door.

What am I going to say to him? Ben thought. How do I explain how I’m here? I don’t even know that.

Ben knocked. No response. He pounded.

“Hold on, there, I’m a-comin’.”

The latch clicked, and the door opened.

“Sheriff, Jesse James and his gang are robbing the train southwest of town. We must stop them!”

“Whoa, mister. What you say?”

“Listen to me. The gang will derail the train, the engineer will die, and they’ll steal $3,000. If you mount a posse right away, we can save the engineer’s life. Come on, man, let’s go!”

“Hold your horses, partner. How do you know so much about a train robbery that ain’t happened yet?”

“I can’t explain. Besides, we don’t have much time. We must leave soon, or it’ll be too late to save the engineer. Just take my word.”

“Who are you, anyway? Never seen you ‘round these parts before.”

“I rode into town with Jesse James and his gang earlier this evening. I injured myself, and they left me behind.”

“But who are you?”

“I’m Ben... No, I’m Dr. Reuben Samuel, Jesse James’ pa, and he’s gonna rob that train unless we stop ‘em.”

“It don’t make no sense, mister, but I’ll figure it out later. Where’d you say they’re gonna do it?”

“Southeast of town. That’s all I know.”

The sheriff when next door to the livery stable and banged on the door. “Slim. Slim, get up. We need a posse.”

“What’s up, sheriff?”

“Gotta stop a train robbery. Get as many men as you can rouse and meet at the train station.”

Ten men assembled at the station.

“Okay, men. Jesse James and his gang will rob the train when it makes a sweeping turn near Turkey Creek. At least I think that’s their likely spot. It’s about four and a half miles down White Pole trail. If we burn leather, we’ll get there before the train does.”

“I’ll go with ya,” said Ben.

“No, Dr. Samuel. Better stay behind. No telling how bad it’s gonna be.”

“That’s why I’m going. Might need to take care of my boy.”

“Suit yourself.” The sheriff turned to the others. “Alright men, let’s ride. We’ve some distance to go, and time ain’t on our side.”

#

When the posse arrived at Turkey Creek, the gang was hard at work, trying to remove a section of track. John and Jim had pry-bars, jamming them under each rail-spike, prying it loose. Bob followed behind with a maul, knocking each spike off the rail. Jesse and Cole had ropes tied to the rail-section, ready to haul it off its ties once it was loose. Clell kept watch.

The sheriff and posse crawled within shooting-range.

“Can’t see too clear, but it looks like they ‘bout to get a rail loose,” said the sheriff. He turned to Henry, the mercantile owner. “Ride down the line and warn the train.”

“Alright, sheriff.”

“What’ll we do now?” asked Ben.

“We shoot it out with them. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a couple before they scatter.”

“But, Sheriff, you’re shooting at my boy.”

“Can’t be helped... Get ready, men.”

“I can get him to give himself up if you just give me a chance.”

“Ya crazy? That gang would shoot ya as soon as talk to ya.”

“I have to try,” said Ben as he jumped to his feet and ran toward the tracks. “Jesse! Jesse, it’s me, your pa.”

“Whatya doin’ here, Pa? Thought we left ya in town.”

“There’s a posse about ready to open fire.”

“Where?”

“Behind me. If you give yourselves up, there won’t be any bloodshed.”

“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout, Jesse?” asked Cole, loosening the rope from his saddle horn.

The other gang members dropped their tools and drew their weapons.

“A posse?” asked Bob, searching the darkness.

The sheriff yelled, “Drop yer weapons. Yer covered.”

The gang pivoted toward the voice.

“No need for any gunfire, Jesse,” said Ben.

“I figger they can’t see us no better than we can see them,” said Jesse. “We ain’t going peaceful.”

A mile down the track, the train’s whistle blew.

“Jesse, listen to me. Train’s coming, and you won’t be robbing it. The engineer won’t die in the derailment, and there’s only $3,000 aboard.”

“What ya mean, Pa. There’s thousands in gold.”

“No, Jesse. They shipped the gold on a different day.”

“How’d ya know that?”

“I just do.”

“That bump on yer head scrambled yer brains.”

“No, Jesse. I know a lot about your future, but you have time to change it.”

“Mount up, boys. My pa is plumb loco.”

“Last chance,” yelled the sheriff.

Jesse and Cole opened fire toward the posse while the gang mounted. The posse returned shot for shot, bullet for bullet; no one hit anyone except Ben. The gang disappeared into the darkness.

The sheriff rushed the tracks as the train came to a stop. In the brightness of its headlamp, he attended to the gunshot wound above Ben’s left eye. “Damn... I told him he might get hurt.”

Ben was out, cold, and bleeding.

#

“Dad! Dad, what happened?”

Ben opened his eyes and sat up. “I don’t know, Jay. One minute I was running up this ramp to see the engine, and the next, I was flat on my back.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Ben felt the wound above his left eye. Sticky blood coated his fingers, and his head throbbed. A visitor came over to see what had happened.

“Can I help? I’m a nurse.”

“Must’ve hit something on the building, and it knocked me out.”

“Let’s have a look.”

“Is it bad?”

“I’ve worked the ER for years and seen all kinds of injuries. This looks like a gunshot wound, mister.”

“Gunshot?”

“I’d stake my career on it.”

Maybe I didn’t dream, after all, thought Ben. But did I change history?