The Time Garden

by Edward Eager

  "That," said the Natterjack, "is the general h'idea."

  "But that makes it dandy," said Eliza. "We can go biffing and banging around to our heart's content, and no harm done to anybody!"

  The Natterjack eyed her coldly. "I 'ave also 'eard," it said, "that one good turn deserves another."

  The three children thought about this.

  "You mean," said Roger again, "that unless we do a good deed in each adventure, we don't get another one?"

  "That's fair enough, isn't it?" said the Natterjack.

  "What good deed did we do this time?" said Ann.

  "If any," said Eliza.

  "We got six extra minutemen," Roger reminded them. "Would that count?"

  "Under the circumstances," said the Natterjack, "I would say that it was h'almost h'adequate." And it seemed to smile as it digested a passing midge.

  "Good," said Eliza. "Then we can go on and on, the whole summer. How long does the magic last?"

  "Till the thyme is ripe," said the Natterjack. It hopped away. Then it changed its mind and hopped back again.

  "One other thing," it said. "I'm 'ere to mind this 'ere garding, and you're 'ere to mind me. Try any tricks when I'm not looking, and beware!"

  "We won't," said Roger.

  "We'll be good," said Ann.

  Eliza nodded in agreement, but Ann saw her cross two fingers of one hand, behind her back. "When do we get our next chance?" she asked.

  "Time will tell," said the Natterjack. And it gave an extra-long leap and landed on a cushion of purple blossoms, and promptly went to sleep.

  "Look at it," said Eliza, enviously. "It's probably ages away, back in purple time by now, whenever that would be."

  "Probably the Roman Empire," said Roger. "The Emperors were born to the purple, weren't they?"

  "If we were there with it," said Eliza, "we could rescue a martyr from a lion. That'd be a really good deed."

  "I'm glad we're not," said Ann. "I don't feel like lions today."

  "Anyway, we'd probably do something wrong," said Roger. "Probably make Rome decline and fall sooner than it would have, even. We've got to plan better for next time."

  "Yes," said Eliza, "only not now. We've the whole South Shore to explore."

  And for the next few days the three children did just that, learning to dig for clams and learning to like the taste of them after they had been dug (and fried), swimming and looking for seashells and cast-up treasure and then swimming again. One night was the Fourth of July and they saw a fireworks display in a nearby town, and on another night they went to a wonderful place called Nantasket where there were roller coasters arid Ferris wheels. Old Mrs. Whiton on the roller coaster was terrible and wonderful to behold.

  Sometimes Jack was with the other three, but mostly he wasn't. Because, even though he hadn't found Gretsie Kroll in the phone book, he had met two teenage girls on the roller coaster called Barbara Granbery and Joan Chapin, and after that when he wasn't on the phone he was mostly hitchhiking to the house of one or the other. Eliza and Roger and Ann despaired of him, but old Mrs. Whiton said he was going through a phase.

  And so the days went by, full of happy events and marine life. But no day is too full for the thought of magic to creep in now and again, and once Roger stole off to the garden by himself and found Ann already there looking for the Natterjack (only it wasn't to be seen), and on another day Eliza and Ann and Roger all met by chance and at once on the fragrant blossomy bank. The scent of thyme hung in the air, but the Natterjack was conspicuous by its absence.

  "Time will tell!" snorted Eliza disgustedly, as they trailed back past the sundial into the main garden. "Only it never says a thing!"

  Ann sat down on a stone bench. She had absently picked a sprig of thyme blossom from the bank. Now she held it to her ear.

  "What good do you think that'll do?" said Eliza, jigging restlessly up and down the borders. "Do you think a dear little fairy's going to peek out of a flower bell and talk to you? More likely a dear little bee!" She gazed across the garden. "What's Roger supposed to be doing?"

  Ann looked. So far as she could see, Roger wasn't doing anything, just standing and staring at the sundial. Now he spoke. "Come here," he said, and there was something in his voice that made Eliza and Ann go there right away.

  He pointed at the sundial. "Look," he said. "It isn't working!"

  "Sure it is. You just can't see it," said Eliza. "It's like trying to watch a tree grow."

  "Or a watched pot," said Ann.

  "No, honest, it hasn't moved," said Roger, who was a noticing kind of boy. "The shadow's exactly where it was when I went by here this morning. It ought to be way over there by now." He pointed. "It must be stuck or something."

  Eliza clutched Ann's arm excitedly. "No! Don't you see what this means? It means time's standing still! And you know what that means! It means it's trying to tell us something! Time will tell!"

  "Well!" said the Natterjack, appearing suddenly in the grass at their side. "I wondered when light, would dawn."

  Eliza wasted no time in greetings. "Do you mean to say it's been standing like that for days, waiting for us to notice?" she said. "Of all the mean tricks!"

  "Not that we're not grateful," put in Roger quickly, but Eliza had small regard for the niceties.

  "What happens next? What time will it be when it starts again? Where'll we go?" she was saying. "Oh, and we meant to plan it all out beforehand and we never did! Never mind, we'll plan now. Now / think..."

  "Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the Natterjack. "Take your time. Oh, I see you already 'ave." It had noticed the sprig of thyme in Ann's hand. Now Ann held it closer so the Natterjack could take a good look.

  "But we don't know if it's the right kind!" said Eliza. "We haven't decided a thing!"

  The Natterjack eyed the tuft of thyme with its crimson blossoms. "That's a very 'elpful sort," it said. "Some may call it thymus coccineus splendens, but I calls it splendid thyme. An' that ought to be good enough for anybody."

  Roger looked at the blossoms. "They're sort of red," he said. "Maybe we'll get the Great Fire of London."

  "Or the Russian Revolution!" said Eliza, her eyes kindling.

  "Or a volcano," said Ann, timorously.

  "Don't worry. It ought to turn out splendidly, from the ñame," Roger reassured her.

  So without further ado, Ann crushed the blossoms in her hand, and each of the children took a spicy whiff. There was a pause.

  "It's just like last time," said Ann, wonderingly.

  They were still in the garden by the sundial. Not a thing seemed to have happened, except that the sun had crossed the sky and was rapidly sinking in the west, just as it had before.

  "Well, of all the cheating things!" said Eliza. "It's just going to be that old Paul Revere thing all over again! The red stands for the Redcoats, I suppose."

  "I don't think so," said Roger. "It doesn't feel quite the same, somehow."

  "The house isn't the same," said Ann. "It's got trimmings."

  Sure enough, the house now had a front porch all covered with gingerbready fretwork that hadn't been there in modern times, nor in Revolutionary War days, either.

  And when, a second later, a woman appeared silhouetted against the house, with a lantern in her hand, the shape of her skirts was different, and her voice was different, and the names that she called were different, too.

  "John! Abigail! Samantha!" she cried. "Come into the house immediately, out of the night air!"

  "I get to take the Natterjack this time," said Eliza, scooping it up quickly. Ann thought that it looked alarmed at the prospect.

  "Don't squeeze," it said.

  Eliza dropped it in her pocket, and the three children ran to the house.

  The mother this time was a stern one, with seemingly unprogressive ideas about child welfare. Either that, or she had something on her mind.

  "Children, go to bed at once. It's late," she said, in contradiction of all facts. There was a worried expr
ession in her eyes, and she hardly looked at them as they filed into the long hall.

  "You'd think she wanted to get us out of the way!" hissed Eliza to Ann, as they went up the front staircase. There seemed nothing to do but obey, particularly as the woman followed them upstairs and came into the girls' room (the same one they had shared in modern time) and watched to see that they got undressed and put on the old-fashioned nightgowns that were lying in readiness. Then she gave them each a quick kiss and went away, taking the only oil lamp with her, but leaving a single candle to burn in the hall.

  As soon as she was out of sight and earshot, Roger stole in from his room, bringing the candle with him, and sat on the foot of Ann's bed.

  "What do you suppose is going to happen next?" said Ann, when they'd finished laughing at Roger's red flannel nightshirt. "And when do you suppose it is?"

  "Kind of Civil War days, I'd say," said Roger, "going by the clothes and the oil lamps."

  "Only we're too far north. We'll miss all the fighting," lamented Eliza. "I know one thing, though. I didn't come back through untold decades just to be sent to bed without any supper!"

  "You're not hungry yet, are you?" said Roger. "It's only three o'clock in the afternoon by real time."

  "We know that, but my stomach doesn't," said Eliza. "Dinnertime is dinnertime to it!"

  And strangely enough, now that Eliza mentioned it, Ann and Roger found that theirs felt exactly the same way.

  "Let's raid the icebox," said Ann.

  "Only there wouldn't be any, would there, back in these times? It'd be a larder, more," said Roger.

  Ann thought it would be safer to take the Natterjack along, but when Eliza went to look in the pocket of her dress, where she'd hung it up, the Natterjack seemed to be asleep and they hated to disturb it.

  Luckily time had wrought no changes inside the house, and they were able to find their way to the kitchen easily, by back passages and stairways, Roger carrying the candle. And luckily the kitchen, when they got there, was deserted. And luckily there was a row of small apple turnovers set out in the larder, to cool.

  "Where do you suppose that mother is?" said Ann, between bites.

  "I'll reconnoiter," said Eliza. And before the others could stop her, she went tiptoeing toward the front of the house. A few seconds later she was back. "She's watching out the front window," she said. "You mark my words, strange things are afoot in this house tonight!"

  After that nobody said anything for a while. There was a sound of munching.

  Suddenly Eliza froze, the last bite of crust halfway to her lips. "Hist!" she said.

  The others had heard it, too—a stealthy knocking at the front door. Then came quick footsteps, and the sound of bolts being shot back and locks creaking. There was a whisper of voices in the front hall, then more footsteps, those of several people this time, and coming nearer.

  The three children had just time to dart behind the door before a strange procession entered the kitchen.

  The mother came first, followed by a man in traveling clothes, followed by three others. And at sight of those three forms, Ann and Roger and Eliza knew in a moment what the secret of the house was, and why the mother had been so anxious to get them to bed and out of the way. The time must be just before the Civil War, and the house was a station on the Underground Railroad, and the three forms were runaway slaves being helped to escape from the South.

  "Only it's out of their way, isn't it, if they're trying to get to Canada?" whispered Ann.

  "Shush. Maybe they had to detour," said Roger.

  One of the runaway slaves was a boy no older than Roger; the other two seemed to be his father and mother. The boy's eyes gleamed with excitement and he wiped his shining forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief.

  And now the mother of John and Abigail and Samantha was saying something about the travelers' being hungry after their journey, and Ann was just wondering what would happen when she found three turnovers missing, when there was an interruption.

  A loud clatter of hoofs sounded from without, followed by a banging at the front door. The faces of the runaways turned gray with fright. The boy jumped, and dropped his bandanna.

  "Quick!" cried the mother of John and Abigail and Samantha. "Out through the summer kitchen and across the well yard into the barn."

  "I had best show them the way," said the man in traveling clothes. And he and the runaway slaves hurried out a farther door. The mother waited till they were safely gone, then went to answer the knocking.

  "Look!" muttered Eliza hoarsely, in their hiding place. "That boy dropped his red handkerchief! It's incriminating evidence!"

  "Don't worry, I'll suppress it," said Roger. But before he could venture forth, more people came into the kitchen.

  There was a splendidly dressed man and a queenly woman and a little girl in lace pantalettes, with long golden curls and a spoiled expression. They stood looking around the kitchen as though disdaining it utterly. They did not see the red bandanna, as yet. Their noses were too high in the air.

  The mother of John and Abigail and Samantha followed them in, conversing indignantly with another man.

  "What is the meaning of this intrusion, Sheriff Watkins?" she was saying.

  "Beg pardon, ma'am," said the sheriff. "Must uphold the law, you know, whether we believe in it

  or not. Three runaway slaves be hiding somewheres in this here neighborhood!"

  "Nonsense," said the mother. "Why should runaway slaves proceed to Canada by way of the South Shore?"

  "It so happens," interposed the splendidly dressed gentleman, in lofty tones, "that I was called to Boston, for business reasons. My family accompanied me, to observe the customs of the North."

  "And we don't think much of them," shrilled the golden-haired little girl, unexpectedly. "Do we, Mamma?"

  "Hush, Lily Sue," said the lady fondly, toying with her offspring's ringlets. Eliza, behind the door, exhibited symptoms of nausea.

  "We of course brought with us," continued the lofty gentleman, "our personal slaves. My valet, my wife's maid, and our daughter's boy. But whilst we were attending a performance of Uncle Tom's Cabin (a drama which I believe should be stopped by law and its author jailed), your base abolitionists have stolen our property! They were followed to this place."

  "There be fresh tracks of horses in the yard," added the sheriff, noncommittally.

  "To be sure," said the mother of John and Abigail and Samantha. "My brother has just returned from Boston."

  "Riding several horses at once?" sneered the lofty gentleman.

  "Bringing several newly purchased mounts with him," continued the mother, with apparently unruffled calm. "He is in the barn, seeing to their stabling now."

  At that moment the man in traveling clothes returned, by the farther door. "What is amiss, Amelia?" he said.

  A babble of explanation and contradictions followed. In the midst of it another rather loutish looking man appeared. He seemed to be the sheriff's helper, but he seemed more interested in toadying up to the lofty gentleman.

  "I been searching the upstairs premises," he said. "There be three beds turned down but not slept in!"

  "My children's beds," said the mother. "But they should be in them asleep at this hour! Where can they be?" And for the first time she looked alarmed.

  "A likely story," said the lofty gentleman, his eyes traveling to the open larder where the forgotten candle now guttered. "And what of those pastries yonder? Why are there three missing from the line?"

  "Crumbs on the floor, Beauregard!" cried his wife, looking down and around her with eagle eyes. "Short piecrust, to judge by the flakiness!"

  "And there's Bono's handkerchief," put in the unpleasant Lily Sue, seeing the red bandanna at last and picking it up. "I'd know it anywhere!"

  This was too much for Eliza. "Oh, you would, would you?" she cried, abandoning all concealment and springing forth into the midst of the group. Ann and Roger were only a second behind her. "It so happens th
at handkerchief is mine," went on the intrepid girl. "I always use red handkerchiefs. Give it to me." And she laid hold of the bandanna.

  "Manners, Abigail," cried the mother, but Ann thought that she sounded admiring.

  A short tug of war followed. Eliza won easily. The child Lily Sue began to cry.

  "We ate the pies, Mamma," said Ann, remembering that she was supposed to be the mother's daughter Samantha.

  "We were hungry and couldn't sleep," said Roger.

  "You see?" said the mother to the others, rather proudly, Ann thought.

  "I don't believe it," said the lofty gentleman. "Why should abolitionist children tell the truth any more than their parents?"

  "They have nasty lying faces, Beauregard," said the queenly lady, "and they made Lily Sue cry!"

  At this the wretched Lily Sue began to cry louder.

  "I'm afraid, ma'am," said the sheriff, regretfully, "I'll have to search the outbuildings."

  But at this moment help came from an unexpected quarter.

  The Natterjack had apparently wakened, found itself alone, and wished for company. Now Roger, looking through the open door into the front hallway, watched in fascination as it appeared, hopping nonchalantly down the staircase. At the bottom it turned, and started along the passage. From the kitchen door it took an immense leap and landed full in the face of the queenly lady. The queenly lady uttered a shriek.

  "Ugh! The horrid thing! Take it away!" she cried, beating at the air about her head.

  The Natterjack regarded her coldly from a perch on her shoulder. She met its gaze, moaned, and sank half swooning into a chair.

  "Remove that beast!" commanded the lofty gentleman, taking no steps to remove it himself, and eyeing it with distaste.

  "It's only our pet toad," said Ann, hoping the Natterjack would forgive her for this insulting description.

  "Yes," said Roger, getting a sudden idea. "We forgot to feed it and it came down for its supper."

  "Take it out of the room, take it out of the room!" cried the lady, in a faint voice.