Time Meddlers

by Deborah Jackson

  ****

  The next morning, Matt slipped out of the house before Nadine was awake. An empty wine bottle sat on the counter, so he guessed she’d sleep till noon, at least. He’d dressed in a ragged old ski jacket, another leftover in his father’s closet from the days when he’d actually inhabited the Barnes’s house. He wore thermal-weave long underwear and scruffy old jeans, of which he had plenty. He’d been warned to dress warmly and to dress down for crawling through tunnels layered with bat guano. He shivered with excitement as he rang the doorbell to Sarah’s house.

  Mr. Sachs opened the door. “My, we’re up early.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Matt, looking at Sarah’s dad. The man was clear-eyed and bouncing with energy. “Is Sarah ready?”

  “Not yet. She was more enthusiastic yesterday, when she had to scoot out the door before breakfast. Obviously, today’s adventure is more appetizing for you, Matt, than for our history buff. What was it that had her so keen yesterday?”

  Matt looked down. He shuffled. “Oh, nothing much. Just some old computer discs I had to show her.” He found it harder to lie to this man than he’d ever found it to lie to an adult before. Maybe because this was the first adult he’d ever liked, aside from his kindergarten teacher. At least it was only half a lie.

  Sarah’s father nodded, although his squint said something quite different. “Well, those discs seem awfully interesting to my daughter. She can’t seem to focus on our conversations anymore.”

  “Pretty boring stuff. Just some math and science,” said Matt.

  “All right,” he said, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

  It felt strange, but Matt resisted the urge to shrug it off.

  “I won’t ask again, unless I’m worried that you’re going to wind up in trouble. Secrets can be pretty important.” He invited Matt into the kitchen. “Did you have breakfast?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “You need to eat, you know. I thought about bringing a slingshot with us today. We could eat bat roasted over an open fire. But I didn’t think Sarah would appreciate the pioneer approach as much as you.”

  Matt laughed. “Well, I am a little hungry. But roasted bat?”

  “It’s probably a delicacy in some countries.”

  “I’m not that adventurous.”

  Mr. Sachs winked as he spooned thick oatmeal into a bowl.

  Matt stared warily at the mush. “I eat dry cereal mostly.”

  “Sticks to the ribs, Matthew, my boy. Hearty spelunker fare. Besides, I don’t think you eat right. You’re much too thin.”

  “You sound like . . .” He was going to say a mother, but he had no one with whom to compare.

  “Like a bossy parent?” said Sarah’s dad. “Which is what I am. Eat. No arguments. I can’t have you passing out in the cave. I may be young at heart, but the idea of dragging you up steep cliffs and through twisting tunnels just doesn’t appeal to these flabby muscles.”

  Matt glanced at Mr. Sachs as he plopped down in the chair and started eating. He didn’t see an ounce of flab on the man. He tried to grimace as he chewed, but gave up trying to fool Sarah’s dad as he shovelled spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. The thick porridge had been lightly sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar. It was delicious. It filled a hole in him that had been empty for years.

  Mr. Sachs smiled as he slopped a spoonful into his own bowl. He sat down across from Matt. “Shall I don my chef’s cap now?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” said Matt, grinning. “But it’s not bad.” A ferocious yawn made him jerk his head up from his bowl.

  The stairs protested as Sarah tramped down them, her russet hair tousled, her eyes cloudy. She looked from her father to Matt with arched eyebrows. “What are you doing here so early?” She stifled another yawn.

  “Early to bed . . .” said Matt. “You know the saying.”

  “You may be healthy,” said Sarah, smiling crookedly, “but you sure aren’t wise.”

  “Really,” said Matt. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re still wearing your pajama top.” She tugged on the Spiderman flannel that poked out of the sweatshirt he’d jammed on in haste.

  Matt flushed. “Oh. I guess I was in a hurry.”

  “For what? We have all day.”

  “To get out from under—you know,” he said. Except he shouldn’t have.

  Mr. Sachs’s sharp gaze swung back and forth between Matt and Sarah. “Out from under what?” he asked.

  “Under the covers,” said Matt.

  The man frowned. “Nadine does know that you’re spelunking with us today, doesn’t she?”

  “Of course,” said Matt, too quickly.

  “Should I call her?” he asked. He rose from his chair and reached for the phone.

  Matt jumped up from his own chair. “No, you can’t. She sleeps in on Sundays. If you wake her up, she’s like a bear.”

  Sarah bit her lip. Her eyes locked with her father’s.

  “I think,” he said, “that we’d better stop by your house on our way out.”

  Matt’s chest tightened in horror. “It’s not a good idea,” he said. “She’s kind of scary when she gets up. Her hair’s all over the place and the skin under her eyes is sort of pouchy.”

  “Matt,” said Sarah.

  “Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s got a wicked temper. It’s better if you just let her sleep. She won’t mind if I go out. She’s happier when I’m gone anyway.”

  The creases in Mr. Sachs’s forehead deepened with each word Matt said. “I see. Be that as it may, we need her permission. Don’t worry. I can be very persuasive. And, can I give you a little advice? There’s a word called ‘diplomacy.’ Try to be a little less honest when discussing your cousin with other people.”

  “Less honest?” said Matt.

  “You must remember,” said Sarah, “my dad’s a politician.”

  “Oh. Gotcha,” said Matt.

  Mr. Sachs looked unimpressed. “Maybe I’ve been teaching you the wrong things,” he said to Sarah. “Sit down and eat.”

  Sarah sat and obeyed. She protested just a little over the oatmeal—it wasn’t her favourite—but clamped her lips when her father eyeballed her.

  After breakfast Sarah went upstairs to get dressed. Her father cleaned up the dishes while Matt nibbled at his nails till he tasted blood. He tried to come up with some other excuse to avoid confronting Nadine, but his repertoire of lies was exhausted. When Sarah bounded down the stairs again, he was having trouble breathing.

  “Ready?” asked her father.

  Sarah nodded.

  “Matt?”

  “Uh-h no,” he choked out.

  “It’ll be okay, Matt. Trust me,” said Mr. Sachs.

  After donning their coats, the trio slogged through the snow to Matt’s house. Sarah and her father took the lead. Matt plodded behind, each step heavier as he approached the door. Mr. Sachs rang the doorbell three times before the curtains were thrust aside upstairs and a frightening face peered out. Matt had not exaggerated. Nadine’s bulging bloodshot eyes peered through clots of tangled stringy hair. At first no recognition registered on her face. Then her eyes protruded even more. “Right down,” she yelled.

  At least ten minutes passed before she appeared at the door. Her hair had been brushed, makeup dabbed on, but she could do nothing about her red eyes.

  “Donald, what brings you here?” She smiled, but as her gaze came to rest on Matt, there was fury in it.

  “Nadine,” said Sarah’s dad. “We’re on an expedition today. I just wanted to let you know where Matt was off to, so you wouldn’t be worried.”

  Matt stared at Mr. Sachs. The man wielded diplomacy like it was a magic wand.

  Nadine’s eyes softened as she met the politician’s. “Expedition?” she inquired.

  “Actually we’re spelunking in some caves north of the city. Nothing dangerous, I assure you. I’ll be with them the whole time.”

  “You’ll be with
them? Why that sounds quite exciting. In fact, I was quite a spelunker as a child.”

  “Were you?” he asked. “You’d be welcome to join us, if you like.”

  Matt blinked. The pressure in his chest grew as he saw exactly where this was heading. Sarah grimaced openly.

  “Yes. Well, I’m not exactly dressed.”

  “We’ll wait, of course,” said Sarah’s father.

  “That would be wonderful,” Nadine trilled. “Come in while I get changed. It sounds like an adventure. Had Matthew mentioned it yesterday, I would have had much more time to prepare. But I’ll do my best to hurry.”

  She ushered them in and dashed upstairs. Mr. Sachs looked intently at Matt. Matt looked away.

  “She wouldn’t have let me go,” he muttered.

  “You didn’t give her a chance,” he said. “She might surprise you, you know.”

  Sarah scowled. “‘You’d be welcome to join us, if you like?’” she mimicked. “Dad, ever the diplomat.”

  Her father lowered his head and growled, “You have to give people a chance, Sarah. She might be a lot of fun.”

  “Mom was a lot of fun, too,” said Sarah, “but you dumped her.”

  “I didn’t dump—” He gritted his teeth. “Things didn’t work out, that’s all. I was away too much. Your mother couldn’t handle—”

  “Couldn’t handle me?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “She loves you.”

  “So much that she made me leave.”

  “Must we discuss this here? I’m sure your friend Matt is not interested in our personal matters.”

  Matt shrugged. He made his eyes wander, to give them some privacy, but he didn’t really care.

  “There,” said Nadine, coming down the stairs. Sarah gaped. Mr. Sachs’s eyes opened wide in appreciation. Nadine was dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt that still managed to hug her curves, and a faded jean jacket. Her face was slathered with makeup, which made her eyes looked haunted instead of tragic, her severe face softer instead of jagged. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail, and she had what looked like an authentic Indiana Jones hat on her head.

  “You look like you’re ready for a treasure hunt,” said Sarah’s father. “But I must warn you, the only treasure we’re going to find is rock and bat guano.”

  Nadine’s smile flickered, but it didn’t go out. “Sounds interesting,” she said. “Shall we?”

  Mr. Sachs held Nadine’s coat for her. Sarah scowled and turned away. As they headed out the door, Matt tried to reignite his initial thrill, despite being roped into inviting Nadine along. He doubted very much that she could keep up with them anyway.

  Sarah still grumbled as she brought up the rear. “He’ll just never understand. He’s so bullheaded. Can’t he just make it up to her?”

  Matt swung around. “Maybe he can’t. Did you ever consider that? At least you still have a father.”

  Sarah staggered back. “I . . . I . . . suppose you’re right. I guess I’m lucky, eh?”

  “Sure are,” he muttered. “You could have been stuck with her.” His thumb extended furtively towards Nadine who was just getting into the car.

  Sarah agreed. “How are we going to keep her nose out of what we’re doing? And how are we going to keep her greedy claws off my dad?”

  “First things first,” he said. “Let’s get through the day.”

  In the car Nadine giggled and flirted incessantly in the front seat. Her hands kept fluttering onto Mr. Sachs’s arm. Sarah’s face turned an odd shade of olive. She flung her hand up to her mouth.

  “Don’t upchuck in my lap,” whispered Matt.

  She smiled and took a deep breath.

  Matt returned a quick grin, then gazed out the window as they hurtled through downtown to cross the Ottawa River at the Macdonald Cartier Bridge. When they reached the exit for the bridge near the Chateau Laurier Hotel, Sarah’s father looked in the mirror and spoke to him.

  “See the statue?” He pointed to the imposing figure of a man dressed in a seventeenth century tunic and sash, and holding a sextant in one hand. “Samuel de Champlain.”

  “Dad?” said Sarah.

  He pretended he didn’t hear her. “He was the first European to explore this region. He befriended the Algonquin people. Ottawa was named by the Algonquin, you know.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes.

  “It was called Odawa, meaning ‘traders.’ That’s what the French first did here, trade kettles and utensils for furs with the Algonquin. Champlain was scouting the land for riches and resources. He also made first contact with the aboriginal people of New York State, the Iroquois, although he decided to go to war against them because they were bitter enemies of the Algonquin.”

  “I know,” said Matt.

  “Really?” said Sarah’s dad. “Do we have another student of history in the car?”

  “Not exactly,” said Matt. “I just know something about that stuff. You know, First Nations history.” A lump formed in his throat when he thought about his father’s book.

  Sarah slipped him an understanding smile.

  “That’s great,” said her father. “You’ve read up on it a bit?”

  “And how,” he said.

  “Well, I’m glad someone in this car is interested in local history, rather than just European or African history.” He looked pointedly at Sarah in the rearview mirror.

  She shrugged.

  The Saturn swung onto Sussex Street, where the Prime Minister and the Governor General resided in elegant stone mansions, and cruised towards the Ottawa River. The river swept from west to east separating the province of Ontario from the province of Quebec. At this time of year, a thick crust of ice covered the water and made it shimmer like a jewel. Across the river in Gatineau, the Museum of Civilization, a construction of glass and steel squares and triangles, reflected the stray beams of light that pierced the cloud ceiling. Its windows winked at them like a bewitched ice castle.

  “Now just imagine the Algonquin traversing this river in their birch bark canoes,” Mr. Sachs continued. “Over there—” he pointed to the boiling rapids half obscured by a dam upstream from Parliament Hill, “—an effigy of one of their sacred spirits, Nana’b’oozoo, presided over the river.”

  “I don’t see anything,” said Matt.

  “That’s because the city built a dam to harness the rapids’ power. The backwash buried the figure.”

  “It seems sort of disrespectful,” said Matt.

  “You’d be the expert on that,” whispered Sarah, smirking.

  Matt ignored her. He stared at the rapids still rumbling through the river beyond the layer of ice. “What really happened to them all? The First Nations, I mean.”

  “Some still live around here, but many of them were killed by the Europeans. Surely you know this,” said Sarah’s father.

  “I do. But it still doesn’t make sense. If they were so fierce, why would they allow themselves to be wiped out?”

  “It was the European diseases mostly. They had no immunity to them. So eventually there weren’t enough of them left to fight. You must have read about the land grabs. The British, French, and Dutch governments bequeathed land that wasn’t theirs to begin with to their citizens who settled here. They also forced many tribes to sign treaties that tricked them into giving up their rights to vast tracts of land, while they were pushed into tiny reservations. It’s the saddest, cruelest part of our history.”

  Matt grimaced. “I remember reading that an Iroquois chief warned his people in the 1700s. He said, ‘Can you not see that it makes no difference whether these white men are of the French or the English or any other of the peoples from across the sea? All of them threaten our very existence. All of them! When they came here they had nothing. Now, like a great disease they have spread all over the east until for twelve days’ walk from the sea there is no room for an Indian to stay and he is made unwelcome. Yet this was not long ago all Indian land. How has it gone?’”

  It grew stra
ngely quiet. Matt looked up and noticed the others watching him with wide eyes.

  “Did you memorize that?” asked Sarah.

  “I . . . well, I read it a few times.”

  “Good for you,” said Sarah’s father. “I’m glad at least one young person has found the time to read about our land and feel compassion for the original people. It was a shame, what happened.”

  “Such a shame,” said Nadine, piping up for the first time since Sarah’s father had begun to talk about the First Nations.

  Matt rolled his eyes. As if she would have sympathy for anyone.

  They all fell into a heavy silence as the car rocketed over the bridge and left drowned Nana’b’oozoo behind. It careened over slushy highways and quickly climbed the snow-shrouded Gatineau Hills. Matt’s gaze followed the bouncing trees and shifting shadows as the car bobbed up and down—like a roller coaster ride through a tunnel of dense branches. An hour later Sarah’s dad turned down a snowy path through the woods to emerge in front of sheer rocky slopes. Sarah gripped Matt’s hand, her eyes glittering with excitement. He smiled at her and didn’t release her hand until the car came to a stop.

  As soon as they got out of the car, a guide stepped from a shack at the base of the hill. He wore ski apparel and a miner’s hat. He introduced himself as Guy.

  “Great day for spelunking, non?” he said.

  The kids nodded mutely. Nadine kept glancing at the hole in the mountain.

  Guy shook Mr. Sachs’s hand. “Great to see you again, Mr. Sachs. I’m glad you called yesterday. We don’t have many reservations in winter, but it is well worth the trip out here.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah’s dad. “I’m sure it is. The kids are very excited.”

  Guy turned to Matt and Sarah. “You will not be disappointed. Now, we all must wear the chapeau.” He pointed to his head, then motioned for them to follow him into the shack. He distributed miner’s hats with headlamps to each of them and a heavy battery pack to wear like a backpack. Nadine had difficulty adjusting her chinstrap, so, of course, Sarah’s dad had to gallantly step forward to help.

  “It is very cold in the caves, especially in winter. You are all dressed warmly?” He surveyed the group critically, smiling and nodding at their ski jackets and double layers. When he got to Nadine, he frowned. “That does not look warm.” He nodded at her jeans.

  “They’re a thick material,” she explained, her nose jutting into the air. “I’ll probably be warmer than you.”

  Guy elbowed Matt knowingly. “Never argue with a woman,” he said, chuckling. “Let them find out for themselves.”

  Matt chuckled, too. “This might be fun.”

  Sarah sputtered out a laugh.

  “What’s the joke?” asked Nadine, rounding on them.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Sarah. “Just looking forward to this.”

  Nadine’s eyes shifted back and forth, from Sarah to Matt. They shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze and could only escape it by looking into the woods. With one last withering glance, she grasped Mr. Sachs’s arm as they proceeded to the wooden doors in the side of the mountain.

  “What makes a cave?” asked the guide.

  “Water,” said Sarah. “I think.”

  Guy smiled. “Exactly. In what type of rock?”

  This time Sarah looked stumped.

  “Isn’t it limestone?” asked Matt.

  “Right,” said Guy.

  “But limestone’s made from seashells,” said Sarah. “There are only a few lakes around here.”

  Guy leaned forward as if to impart the closest-held secret in the world. “This used to be an inland sea.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Matt, studying the gigantic trees and well-established flora.

  “We’re talking millions of years. It created the limestone, which in turn, created the caves.” He opened the doors, revealing a drafty tunnel six feet in height leading downward.

  Matt tilted his head. Was this it? “It looks kind of small.”

  “You were expecting maybe the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky?” Guy chuckled. “It was a small sea.”

  Sarah’s dad placed his hand on Matt’s shoulder and leaned down. “Smaller caves are more interesting. Only a true spelunker will crawl around on his hands and knees.”

  Matt looked at Nadine. He turned away to hide his grin. This was just too delicious. He couldn’t wait to see her crawling around in a spider-infested bat-cave.

  They entered the cave, headlights on. The walls were slick and smooth, shimmering in the odd spot with icicles and tiny crystalline sculptures created by the ever-present moisture. At first they could walk upright and admire the fairy-quality of the cave, but soon they found themselves ducking and walking hunched over as the tunnel narrowed and closed around them. The light from the entrance disappeared quickly as they penetrated deeper into the network and the air grew denser, mustier. Eventually they reached a shaft downward, shaped like a funnel, where a ladder had been fixed to assist in the descent. More icicles dangled from the ceiling here, and bulbous extrusions of limestone stippled the wall.

  “Wow. Cool,” said Matt.

  “Yes, it is cool,” said Guy with a grin. “But we must be cautious. It’s a steep climb down.”

  He descended the ladder first, then gave a hand to the rest of the group. Sarah was thankful for his assistance when she nearly slipped off the ice-coated rungs. But when he steadied Nadine as she faltered on the ladder, she slapped his hand away in contempt.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” Matt whispered to Sarah.

  Nadine behaved quite differently to Sarah’s father, though. When she teetered on the scattered rocks at the bottom, she clutched his hand. In fact, she sidled so close to him that Sarah dug her nails into Matt’s arm.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Sarah.

  “Everything okay?” asked her father. He slipped out of Nadine’s pincers and turned around.

  “Yeah,” said Matt. “Just a spider bite.”

  “Spider?” said Nadine anxiously.

  Guy waved his hand. “Harmless,” he said. “They don’t usually bite. They are . . .” He paused, searching for the word. He snapped his fingers. “Sluggish in the winter.”

  Nadine shuddered. She nestled closer to Mr. Sachs. Sarah scowled and shot a glance at Matt, who merely shrugged and tried to hide his grin.

  “What’s down those tunnels?” asked Matt, pointing to some tubules split off from the main cavern.

  “Those are secondary shafts,” said Guy. “A maze, really. Dangerous without a guide.”

  “And with a guide?” asked Matt.

  “Well,” said Guy, looking at Sarah’s dad, “it’s a belly-crawl in places.”

  Mr. Sachs scrutinized the tunnels, then looked at Nadine. “It might be difficult.”

  “Not for us, Dad,” said Sarah. “We’re tough.”

  Nadine, who’d been casting nervous glances all over the cave, probing every nook and cranny for a spider’s nest, turned towards Sarah. She pressed her lips together. “Of course we can go. We’ve come this far.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Sarah’s dad.

  “Yes, Donald.” Nadine mustered a partial smile.

  “All right. Let’s do it,” he said.

  “Yay!” shouted Matt and Sarah simultaneously. They both leaped for the nearest shaft.

  Guy caught them by their coats. He yanked them backward. “Not that one, mes amis. You end up in the middle of the mountain and then you get lost forever.”

  Matt was undeterred. “Not a bad way to go.”

  “Only we’re not going today,” said Mr. Sachs. “You listen to Guy, or the only place you’re going is home.”

  “Gotcha,” said Matt, saluting.

  They aimed for the left-hand tunnel, the one Guy indicated with his hand. Nearly giddy from exploring this otherworld, Matt eagerly scrambled behind Sarah on his hands and knees through the narrow shaft. It slithered left, then right, angled up, then
down. Guy shouted at them to ignore the offshoots, branches that intersected with the main tunnel every other metre. Behind them, Nadine muttered curses as she scraped her knees or broke a fingernail. She screamed once when a spider dropped from the ceiling and landed in her hair.

  “If only I had a video camera,” he whispered, sharing quiet giggles with Sarah.

  Their progress slowed as the tunnel tapered down to the size of a heating duct. Soon they were slithering through the cave like snakes, measuring distance in centimetres instead of metres. The rock closed around them like a fist. Matt’s throat tightened in the confined space, but it was amazing, too, to wriggle like a bona fide caver into the heart of the mountain.

  “Now listen, mes amis,” said Guy, crawling right behind them. “At the end of the tunnel—”

  A loud scream drowned out his words and nearly blew out their eardrums. “Oh no! What is that! It’s a . . . snake! A snaaake!”

  Sarah snorted. Matt hooted. He’d never heard Nadine freak out like this before. It was awesome! They both continued crawling as the tunnel expanded, belling outward and becoming broader and higher. Soon they could stand and walk again.

  “It’s okay, Madame. Stay calm.” Guy tried to console the hysterical woman.

  “This is incredible,” said Sarah, looking back at Matt as she stepped forward. Matt’s smile instantly fell as she dropped out of sight.

  “Maaatt!” she shrieked.

  He leaped towards her and jammed his runners into the rock. He’d come to the edge of a cliff and teetered there, as Sarah dangled from her fingertips on a narrow ledge sixty centimetres below him. Beneath her feet, a gaping black void waited to swallow her.

  “Hang on!” he yelled. He called for help, but Guy and Sarah’s father couldn’t hear him over Nadine’s screams. He braced himself against a rock and leaned over the side. “Grab my hands.”

  Sarah swung a hand up to grip Matt’s. He caught it and hoisted her up, but her body scraped against the soft rock where Matt was standing. The limestone quivered, shuddered, then crumbled away.

  “Oh noooo!” she screamed, as they both plunged downward.