Tangled in Time 2

by Kathryn Lasky

  Rose picked up the almost-ready-to-bloom rose and transported it to the conservatory, a round south-facing room with arched windows that the sun poured through. It was also where they ate breakfast and lunch.

  “What time is it?” her gran asked when Rose returned.

  She was about to say, What time are you thinking of? Central standard time, twenty-first century, or Whitehall Palace time, sixteenth century? She jammed her hand into her jeans pocket and found her iPhone and the earbuds.

  “Nine thirty.” She’d only been gone four minutes. She wondered again why the earbuds had traveled with her into the past and the iPhone hadn’t. It was a mystery.

  “Nine thirty. I’m rather hungry. Are you?”

  “Well, yeah, maybe.”

  “Don’t say ‘yeah,’ dear. It’s so sloppy.” Rosalinda was fierce about grammar, enunciation, and proper word usage. “Do you think Little China might still be open?”

  “Maybe. I’ll check their website.” Ten seconds later she looked up. “Yep, still open. What do you want?”

  “My usual.”

  “General Tso’s chicken?” Rose asked, then added, “And I’ll have my usual—fung yung three treasures with shrimp.”

  “Throw in some scallion pancakes, dear.”

  “There, I placed the order.”

  “Can you tell them not to ring the bell? They can do that thing, can’t they? Textualize you when they are arriving?”

  “Text me,” Rose replied. Her gran winced a bit.

  “Sounds like a naughty word somehow. But I don’t want to disturb Betty. She would ‘freak out,’ as you say. Now there is a great word! Who would have ever thought of transforming ‘freak’ into a verb? Lovely idea.”

  While they waited for the food, they began two new trays of seedlings for a season Rose’s grandmother called almost-but-not-quite-spring. These seeds in almost-spring would be moved into cold trays in early March, and by mid-April would be ready to plant outside. Rose had just completed her tray when she felt her phone vibrate.

  “It’s here!” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

  The Little China delivery truck pulled up to the curb. Rose opened the door just a bit as a harsh cold wind was blowing. She felt sorry for the delivery boy who was making his way up the walk, hunched against the bitter wind, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. He wasn’t even wearing a parka.

  “Oh, thanks so much,” Rose said, taking the order.

  “De nada, I mean, nothing.”

  “Marisol!”

  “Uh . . .” A flash of fear like a comet streaked through her dark eyes. Rose set down the order and yanked Marisol into the entry hall.

  “You’re just wearing a sweatshirt. You’re freezing.”

  “It’s all right. Don’t worry.”

  “It’s not all right.”

  “Listen, I gotta go. Driver will be mad.”

  “Well . . . you can’t go out like that.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Just wait a second.” Rose ran to the coat closet. The driver of the Little China truck was honking by the time she got back.

  “Here, take this.” She handed Marisol the new parka her grandmother had just bought for her.

  “No, I can’t take it.”

  “Why?” The driver was honking louder.

  “I can’t explain. It would be bad.”

  “Why?”

  “People ask too many questions.” Marisol now tore down the walk.

  Rose stood with the door wide open. She was stupefied. Who asked too many questions? Was she mad at Rose for asking too many questions? Or someone else? She picked up the food and brought it into the greenhouse.

  “Aah!” Rosalinda said. “I can smell the General Tso’s from here. Yum!”

  The warm air of the greenhouse assaulted Rose. She suddenly felt a crushing guilt. She set out the food on some of the empty seedling trays. The howl of the wind wrapped around the cupolas, where the vines were suspended and jeweled with flowers. This was an unreal world in here. Warm, fragrant, safe, and tucked away . . . away from what? When Marisol had stepped into the front hall, shivering and frightened, it was as if she had come from another world. Blown in like a fragile leaf from some distant land.

  “You look worried, dear. Anything the matter?”

  “No . . . I . . . uh, was just wondering about that cat that is sometimes around. She must be cold out there tonight. I think I’ll check the alley. I left her a pan of milk earlier.”

  “Go along. But grab a coat. Check on her if it will settle you.”

  “Settle me?”

  “You look quite unsettled, dear.”

  “I . . . I just worry about lonely creatures in the cold on a night like this.”

  Rose went out the back door of the greenhouse. She hadn’t bothered with the coat. She stood there shivering, with tears running down her face. She clutched herself around the shoulders and walked over to the garbage cans where she had put the milk pan earlier. The milk was frozen solid. But she wasn’t worried about September. September might only have three legs, but she was a survivor.

  Rose wasn’t so sure about Marisol.

  Chapter 9

  Born to Bully

  Rose was in the last part of her report for Ms. Lafferty’s class. “The most famous of the nineteenth-century leper colonies was in Hawaii. But in the twentieth century, there was a well-known hospital in Carville, Louisiana, with a somewhat more enlightened view of the disease. It was found that leprosy, or Hansen’s disease, as it is now called, is not inherited and is rarely, if ever, spread human to human. One would have to have prolonged contact with a human who has the disease. Even then it would not be spread by hugging or shaking hands or sitting next to someone on the bus. As a matter of fact, the prime suspect in the transmission of the disease is armadillos, as they can carry the bacteria linked to the disease. But there are no armadillos in Indiana. Thank you very much.” Rose sat down next to Susan.

  “Great report,” Susan whispered.

  “Have you seen Marisol this morning?” Rose whispered back.

  “No, but it’s just second period. She’s often late.”

  “Now,” Ms Lafferty said. “I believe it’s Brianna’s turn to give her report.”

  Brianna nodded and went to the front of the room. “Uh.” Her eyes darted nervously around the room and then settled on Carrie. “We have heard from Myles on cerebral palsy that it is not an inherited disease but can be caused by birth trauma. And how Hansen’s disease can be spread often from special bacteria in armadillos, and that these bacteria might have been around in other animals long ago. I am not sure what to call the condition that I have explored, but I am ready to discuss if it is congenital, genetic, or caused by some trauma at birth.” Brianna took a deep breath and there was a long pause. Her eyes now settled on Lisa. Ms. Lafferty looked a bit nervous.

  “And what might that . . . er . . . condition be, Brianna?” Ms. Lafferty asked.

  “Evilness,” Brianna said. “Is evilness a disease? Are we perhaps born to bully?” There was a gasp from the class, and Ms. Lafferty’s jaw appeared to drop to the floor. “Is being mean genetic? Perhaps a brain defect?” There was not a sound in the room. Just a thick, dead silence. “In a study done recently at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana, it was found that the neural pathways in the frontal lobe of the brain had deteriorated significantly in patients who had become abusive. And in a study with rats it was discovered that neural connections could be repaired not through surgery but through training. Yes, rats can be retrained.” She now turned her gaze on Carrie.

  When Brianna finished her report, the class burst into applause—all except for Carrie and Lisa.

  “Wow! How do you explain that?” Susan said as the period ended and they left the classroom. “Is she repenting for seven years of bullying? Actually I was in kindergarten and preschool with her. So more like nine years.”

  “Right? Lucky you!” Rose paused briefly. “But Susan, I
’ve got something else to tell you.”

  “You look intense.”

  “Yeah, intense is the right word.”

  “Wanna go into the girls’ bathroom?”

  “No, that is a petri dish of gossip bacteria—talk about transmission!”

  “Where should we go?”

  “The cafeteria. It’s empty now. First-period lunch isn’t for another half hour.”

  They went into the lunchroom. There were some lunch ladies behind the counter getting ready and a man sweeping the floor.

  “So what is it?”

  “Still no sign of Marisol.”

  “She does miss a lot of school.”

  “Yeah, you would too.”

  “Rose, sometimes you can be so cryptic. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about last night when Gran and I got hungry. Gran loves Chinese food. So we ordered from Little China.”

  “Yeah, they’re the best. So what?”

  “Guess who delivered the food at almost ten thirty at night!”

  “Who?”

  “Marisol.”

  “She works?”

  “Yeah, weird, right? Who at Lincoln Middle School actually works, and late at night? And you know what else?”

  Susan, who was very pale, seemed to turn paler. Her eyes opened wide behind her round black-rimmed glasses. “What else?”

  “She wasn’t wearing a coat—just this beat-up sweatshirt.”

  Rose suddenly grabbed Susan’s hand. “Susan, it was the saddest thing. I offered to give her a coat and she refused. Absolutely refused. It was like she was scared to touch it. She said she couldn’t take it.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. She said she couldn’t explain and that it would be bad.” Rose paused as if remembering something. “Oh, and she said people asked too many questions. And I wasn’t sure if she meant me or someone else.”

  “It’s all so mysterious,” Susan said. “Do you remember when she got here?”

  “Not exactly. I think it was sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving.”

  “What kind of parents let their kid run around delivering Chinese food late on a winter night without a coat?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t have any parents. I don’t, after all.”

  “You have your grandmother and she lives in a nice house, a really nice house.”

  “She cares about me,” Rose said softly. But no one must care about Marisol.

  Rose remembered the crushing loneliness she had felt in the little room under the eaves in Whitehall Palace. How desperately she missed her father and Franny. How she felt so completely disconnected from anything she cared about, and in her isolation she felt no one cared for her. But of course she could not say any of this to Susan. Marisol wasn’t a time traveler—of that she was sure. How many could there be in Indianapolis? But she felt Marisol had come from a place far away. And Rose was sure she had come alone.

  There was a sudden crackle over the PA system.

  “Students and teachers, the blizzard that was predicted is cranking up. White-out conditions are expected by midafternoon, so we are having an early release day.” A huge cheer reverberated throughout the building. “Buses shall be arriving within fifteen minutes. Parents have been informed, as many as we could reach, and there have been radio announcements. If anyone has a problem going home early, please talk to Mr. Samm in the principal’s office.”

  They loaded onto the buses. It was wild out there, with great sheets of snow whipping through the air. Trees were bent and fire hydrants were quickly disappearing under pointy snow hats. They reminded Rose of elves. The bus driver announced that they would be taking an alternate route, as certain streets were closed until the plows came through.

  Rose was the last of her friends off the bus. Indeed, just her luck, as the only three others were the Mean Queens. Brianna was in exile, in a seat as far as possible from the sisters in crime. Carrie and Lisa were giving her the full treatment. Putting their heads together, whispering, and casting withering gazes at her. Rose ignored them all and stared out the window. The streets were virtually empty. One or two cars and no one walking on the sidewalks buried in snow. She wasn’t sure how far she was from her grandmother’s house when she spotted a figure trudging through the snow. The figure’s back was hunched, as if not only struggling against the wind but carrying a heavy burden.

  Some instinct overtook Rose. She was absolutely certain this was Marisol.

  “Stop!!!” she yelled out to the driver.

  “What?” he called back, looking into his rearview mirror.

  “I have to get off.” Outside in front of a store was an automated snowman mannequin, waving at nonexistent passersby as music spilled out. “Have yourself a merry little . . .” Oh, shut up, thought Rose. “I have to get off,” she yelled at the driver.

  “But this isn’t your stop—you’re down on Forty-Sixth and Meridian. This is Fifty-Sixth and Illinois. I can’t let you off here.”

  “Yes you can.” Rose had stood up and was already heading toward the door.

  “Young lady, sit down this minute.” If one more man called her young lady, she’d bust him in the chops.

  “You have to let me out! A friend of mine back there is in trouble. My uncle’s office is near here. He’s a doctor,” she lied. “I have to get her. She might die. Freeze to death. If you don’t let me out, you’re going to be blamed. Let me out now.”

  Suddenly the door on the bus opened. Rose was as stunned as the bus driver. Someone must have pulled the emergency handle. But she didn’t wait a second. She leaped out. It was actually a spectacular leap into a drift of snow. She began running, as best she could, for the snow was thick. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the bus’s exhaust as it pulled away.

  She spotted the figure of Marisol half a block ahead. It was uphill, and beneath the snow it was slick. She fell twice, slipping backward each time. But so had Marisol. Rose called out, “Marisol. Stop. Wait up a second.”

  “Rosa, what are you doing here?”

  “What are you?”

  “Going to school. I’m afraid I’m really late.”

  “School’s closed. They let us out early.”

  “You mean no one there?”

  “Right. Snow day. Blizzard.”

  “Oh.” Marisol looked slightly confused. “Uh, in Bolivia school never closes except for hurricanes.” She immediately looked alarmed. “I mean . . . Oh please, Rose, just forget what I said.” Her teeth were chattering. And that darned mechanical snowman was still blaring its soupy song.

  “Marisol, how far have you walked?”

  “Oh, just a little way.” Her voice was weak and gasping.

  “A little way?”

  Marisol looked at her. Her eyes were not focusing right. Suddenly she slumped over.

  “Marisol!” Rose cried out. The sound of her own voice was ragged. The dang snowman was now singing his anthem. Frosty the Guess What. This was a living nightmare. Rose looked around desperately for someone to help her. The song grew merrier and louder. Go to hell, Frosty, and melt!

  “Marisol!” she cried hoarsely again.

  Was she dead? Panic rose in her like a flood of torrential waters. What could she do? Calm down. Calm down, Rose told herself. She cupped her hands and began blowing her warm breath on Marisol’s face. She took Marisol’s mittenless hands and started blowing on them as well. “Marisol!” she cried. She knew suddenly what she had to do. Call Calvin. Calvin, her grandmother’s driver. She took out her cell phone and dialed. Please, Calvin, pick up. Please! she prayed. There were so many things she could not control in her life. She could not stop her mother from dying in that car crash. She could not find her father. They were forever missing each other in that other century. She could not avoid serving that awful queen, Mary, who would eventually slaughter nearly three hundred innocent people! But she could stop Marisol from freezing to death. Calvin, answer the phone! Finally she heard his scratchy vo
ice.

  “Rose, what’s up?”

  “Calvin. Pick me up at the corner of Fifty-Sixth Street. It’s an emergency.”

  “Which corner?”

  Rose looked around. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “The corner of Little China, the restaurant.”

  “Okay, I’ll be over as quick as I can.”

  “Quick! Calvin, quick.” She looked down at Marisol’s face. Her tawny skin had turned bright red. Was she still breathing? Rose wasn’t sure.

  She had to do something fast. She peeled off her parka and ripped off her stocking cap. She put the parka over Marisol’s chest, then the hat on her head, and finally lay down on top of her. She had to keep her warm. The entire time, which seemed to take hours, she talked to Marisol.

  Marisol, you cannot die . . . you can’t. She took off her boots, then peeled off her own wooly socks and wrapped them around Marisol’s neck.

  Soon she heard the crunch of tires. A door slammed.

  “Good gracious, Rose, what have we got here?”

  “Marisol. Her name is Marisol.”

  Chapter 10

  A Shadow World

  “She’s coming around.” Dr. Seeger bent over Marisol, who was murmuring in Spanish. He gently flipped one of her eyes open and peered at it. “Pupils normal. She’s almost finished the IV bag. Let’s see if we can get a few more sips of hot tea down her. Betty, can you help her sit up a bit?”

  Betty came over and lifted her. Dr. Seeger, Rosalinda’s doctor and lifelong friend, was almost as old as Rosalinda and looked as if he could barely lift the teacup he was holding. Even when he was not bending over, he appeared bent. His cane was propped up in a corner of Rose’s bedroom, where Marisol had been put in the other twin bed under an electric blanket.

  Now Marisol’s eyes opened wide.

  “Marisol, it’s me! Rose.” Marisol gave a weak smile.

  “¡Bueno! Marisol,” Dr. Seeger said, and patted her hand gently. “Hace mucho frío aquí.” Marisol’s eyes were suddenly wary. She turned her head away. “No hay nada que temer. Cálmate, cálmate.” He now turned to Rosalinda. “Would you and Rose and Betty give me a few minutes alone with Marisol?”