Chapter Seven: The Thornton Farm

The sun was setting as they approached the Thornton farm.

It lay hidden in a hollow between two hills, a small white farmhouse with smoke rising from the chimney. Charlie, the Confederate drummer boy, had given them the name: Margaret Thornton. M.

“She’s home,” Jude said quietly.

They’d left Charlie at the prisoner camp with strict instructions to tell no one. General Chamberlain had provided horses and a pass through Union checkpoints, though he expected a full report by morning.

The front door opened before they reached the porch.

The woman who stepped out was perhaps sixty, her gray hair pulled back severely, her face lined with intelligence and calculation.

“I wondered when you’d come,” Margaret Thornton said. “The Martin children. I’ve been expecting you.”

The interior of the farmhouse was surprisingly technological. Strange devices cluttered every surface, and a large humming machine dominated the back wall.

“You’re from the future,” Jude said.

“2039, to be precise. I was a historian—specializing in the Civil War and time travel.” Mrs. Thornton settled into a chair. “Your grandfather and I were colleagues once, before our disagreements became irreconcilable.”

“The Thornton Paradox,” Jude said. “Papa named it after you.”

“After my research, yes. William sees time travel as a tool for observation. I see it as something more—a tool for correction.”

“Correction of what?”

“History’s mistakes.” Her eyes gleamed. “The Union victory set in motion a century of suffering. I came back to give the Confederacy a fighting chance—to change the trajectory.”

“By preserving slavery?” Clara felt sick.

“By creating a different path. A Confederate victory would have led to negotiated peace, gradual modernization.” Mrs. Thornton’s voice was passionate. “I’ve studied the alternatives. My way leads to a better future.”

“That’s insane,” Flynn said.

“Your grandfather thought so too. That’s why he sent you to interfere.” She smiled coldly. “But he made mistakes. Sent you to the wrong moment.”

“The forged letter,” Jude said. “The assassination warning—you wrote it to distract us.”

“A necessary misdirection while I completed my real work.” She shook her head. “It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. Lee lost anyway.”

“Then what’s Operation Independence?”

Mrs. Thornton moved to the humming machine. “Tomorrow’s finale. Not assassination—revelation. President Lincoln will receive documents from the future, proving that Union victory leads to a century of division. Documents that might convince him to seek peace instead.”

Clara’s mind raced. This wasn’t murder—it was manipulation. Even if they stopped her tomorrow, she’d simply try again. Unless…

“Your machine,” Clara said. “If we destroy it, you’re stranded. No more messages. Your plan falls apart.”

Mrs. Thornton laughed. “You’re welcome to try.”

Clara drew Chamberlain’s pistol. Mrs. Thornton lunged for the controls. Flynn dove forward. And Jude, acting on instinct, grabbed a heavy brass cylinder and hurled it at the machine’s central housing.

The impact rang like a bell. The hum rose to a scream.

“No!” Mrs. Thornton shouted. “You fools!”

The machine exploded.

Clara woke to ringing ears and destruction.

The farmhouse was demolished—walls collapsed, roof caved in, Mrs. Thornton’s machine reduced to twisted metal. But Flynn was alive, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. And Jude—pinned under a beam, his leg bent at a terrible angle, but breathing.

“Mrs. Thornton?” Flynn asked as they freed Jude.

Clara looked around. The woman was gone.

“We need to get back,” Jude gasped. “Tell Chamberlain. The documents she was planning to give Lincoln—they might still be out there.”

They carried Jude to the horses and rode for the Weikert farm, knowing they’d stopped Mrs. Thornton’s immediate plan but not the woman herself.

And somewhere out there, her “asset” was still waiting.