The Last Present

by Wendy Mass

  “I hope you’re right. But how do we know we won’t wind up at someone else’s birthday party? Think of all the parties that must have been held here on July fourteenth for the past hundred years, and we still don’t know what year we need.”

  Leo smiles. “It doesn’t matter what else happened here or what year Angelina’s party was. We know all we need to know.”

  “We do? How?”

  “Ask Rory,” he says. “She’s had a busy afternoon.”

  At the sound of her name, Rory looks up from impaling a marshmallow with a stick. I sit on a log beside her and she hands me the stick. Wiping her hands on her shorts, she says, “So get this. I went with my mom to pick up Sawyer at this camp he goes to at the community center, figuring maybe I’d catch Bucky there. I didn’t find Bucky, but remember my friend Sasha, who takes those ballet classes upstairs? She’s Kira’s older sister. You know Kira, the who kissed Jake during the play and then fainted?”

  “Amanda might not have met Sasha,” Tara says, joining us. “She didn’t sell cookies with us that day when the rest of us met her.”

  I let my marshmallow hover over the fire. “Yeah, I’m glad to have missed that one. Although I heard the uniforms were really something.”

  “I think I still have a wedgie from those shorts,” Leo grumbles.

  “Anyway,” Rory says, “Sasha was there today, coming out of her dance practice. Sasha and Kira’s family is related to Angelina somehow, like, really distantly, but they call her Auntie Angelina. So I said, ‘I thought you were all up at the lake,’ and she says, ‘That’s not till next week.’”

  My marshmallow drops into the fire, but I barely notice. “So where is she, then? Did you find out?”

  Rory shakes her head. “But I found out something else. Sasha asked me what I was up to this weekend, so I told her we were camping here, and without even asking, she said, ‘Auntie Angelina talks about that place. People used to have parties there before the mall went up. Auntie says none of them could equal her eighteenth birthday, though. It was the first one ever held there.’”

  “She didn’t happen to say when it was, did she?”

  Rory shakes her head again. “I asked, but all she said was that Angelina never reveals her age.”

  “It doesn’t matter, though,” Leo says, reaching into his pocket. “We know enough now.” He pulls out Angelina’s notebook and flips it open to the first page after Angelina’s handwriting. I see he’s already written down what Rory told us. How long was I sleeping?

  I stand up and grab a bottle of water out of the cooler. “Okay, so we know it was the first party ever held here.” I start pacing in circles around the campfire. “But we don’t know what time the party started or where to stand in order to be sucked into the past. We could be in the totally wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Or the totally right place at the right time,” Leo says, grinning.

  “Why are you smil — oh!” And just like that, we’re in the middle of the biggest party I’ve ever been to. Instead of David’s voice coming from Tara’s iPod, an orchestra is playing a waltz. The air smells clean and fresh and strongly of apples, so much more so than in our time. No car exhaust from the mall parking lot. No mall at all! I guess we were in the right place after all!

  I turn around to take it all in. The trees! Their full branches spread low and wide, forming a natural canopy above the dancers. Gas lamps sway in the branches, glowing although it is not yet sunset. The apples are full and ripe, even though it is still early summer. I can’t take my eyes off them. “Leo, do you think the apple seeds Angelina gave us on our fifth birthday came from one of these trees?”

  He’s staring up at them, too. “I don’t know. I think those were on our great-great-grandfathers’ property.”

  “But Angelina told us Apple Grove was their property. Didn’t she?”

  Leo holds out his hand. “Let’s skip the history lesson till later. Would you care to dance, Miss Ellerby?”

  “Sure, why not.” I take his hand and we join the couples swirling on the dance floor. A dance floor in the middle of the woods! Really it’s a huge plank of wood, but still. Someone really went all out.

  “Pardon us,” a dancing boy in a top hat says, stepping neatly around me. His partner waves a white-gloved hand as the boy twirls her away, her long dress skimming the dance floor. Everyone is dressed a lot more old-fashioned than I would have guessed. I knew Angelina was old, but I didn’t think she was this old!

  Leo reaches for the water bottle that I’m still gripping and slips it in a pocket of his cargo pants. “Best to keep this out of sight. Judging by the clothes these people are wearing, I’m pretty sure plastic wasn’t even invented yet.”

  I lean in for the dance. He puts his hands on my waist and I put mine on his upper arms. I murmur in his ear, “I hope whatever we look like now that we’re dressed well enough.”

  “No one is pointing at us and laughing,” he says, “so we must be okay. Unless they’re just being polite and we’re really farm kids dressed in overalls.”

  “Well, safe to say we’re not cows anymore.”

  I let him lead me across the dance floor, doing my best not to trip or bump into any of the couples twirling around us. We reach the end of the dance floor and find ourselves in front of the old fountain. Except now it’s shiny, new, and bubbling with water. It’s the first familiar thing I’ve seen and is more proof that we’re really here, maybe a hundred or more years in the past. For sure no one we know is even born yet. There are no cell phones, no email, no airplanes overhead. I shiver in the warm air, and pull closer to Leo. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “We’ll be okay.”

  I nod, trying to remember what my mom does when she gets anxious before a big job. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. I do this a few times until I feel brave enough to suggest we explore.

  Leo takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor. There are more people here than I’d originally thought. All ages, too, and not all of them are dressed as fine as the couples on the dance floor. There really are farmers in overalls, and they’re chatting it up with businessmen in three-piece suits. Kids of all ages run around chasing one another and stealing cookies from the centers of the tables. All of the women are in skirts, and most wear bonnets or carry parasols. Everyone’s feet are muddy since other than the dance floor, we are walking on the bare earth.

  A waiter in a white tuxedo walks by with a tray of oysters. He holds it out to us. I can tell Leo is tempted, but we both politely decline. The aroma of simmering meat mixes with the sweet smell of apples and my stomach growls.

  “This is so fancy!” Leo whispers. “I can’t picture Angelina wanting this.”

  “Mother!” a young woman screeches behind us. “Please tell Amanda and Leonard they must go home now! They are RUINING my party!”

  Leo and I freeze. Angelina sees us! She knows us! And she must be really angry if she’s using Leo’s full name. I wish we could instantly disappear back into the present but it just doesn’t work that way. We slowly turn around, ready to face Angelina’s wrath. The young version looks almost nothing like the old one. Eighteen-year-old Angelina is fashionably dressed in a long skirt and a tight blouse, her dark hair in one long braid. In her heels she stands taller than I’ve ever seen her. I push through the fear and say, “We’re so sorry, we didn’t mean —”

  But Angelina is not looking at us. She’s watching two kids, no older than eight, shoving each other by the fountain. Angelina’s mother, an attractive woman with hair piled high beneath a light blue bonnet, hurries over to split them up. “Leonard Fitzpatrick!” she scolds, pulling the boy aside. “I know your mama taught you better than to fight with a girl.”

  Leo and I gasp and grab on to each other for support. The red-faced boy has a head full of black curls and the girl has wavy blond hair, half of which is coming out of the pins used to keep it off her face. I can’t take my eyes off them. It’s like looking in that warped mirror agai
n, from Grace’s party at Mr. McAllister’s.

  The boy (Leo’s great-great-grandfather???) points into the crowd. “She was standing up for that mean Rex Ellerby! I know he’s here somewhere! Stop hiding Rex and stand up for your own self!”

  The girl stomps her foot. “Rex is not mean! You’re mean!”

  Angelina’s mother’s lips twitch into a smile but she smothers it when Angelina taps her foot at her. “Children,” her mother says in a calm, yet firm voice, “why don’t you go back up to the main house and ask Cook for some ice cream. Everything looks brighter with ice cream in your belly.”

  A very handsome man in his midtwenties steps forward. He tips his tall white-brimmed hat at Angelina’s mother. “I’ll bring them up to the homestead,” he says. “I was headed that way.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smithy. And how are your plans coming to turn our little patch of land into a real town?”

  “Very well, Mrs. D’Angelo. It’s up to the county judge now, and then the state legislature will have to sign off, of course.”

  The boy Leonard stops glaring at little Amanda long enough to ask, “What will the new town be called, Mr. Smithy?”

  “Well, I’m not quite certain yet, young Mr. Fitzpatrick. I am considering the name Willow Hills. Or perhaps Maple Falls. What would you suggest?”

  Leonard puffs out his chest. “How about Fitzpatricktown?”

  The crowd laughs.

  He tries again. “Leonardville?”

  “All right, all right,” Mrs. D’Angelo says, pushing the boy toward Mr. Smithy. “We get the idea. Now go get that ice cream.”

  Leonard and Amanda run off into the woods, their fight seemingly forgotten. Mr. Smithy tips his hat before picking up a lantern and following them.

  Leo (the one by my side) leads me over to a table, which has been laid out for a fancy meal. I grab on to the edge and lower myself into a chair. I realize I haven’t taken a full breath since Angelina shouted our names. When I recover enough to speak, I finally notice that Leo has been uncharacteristically quiet. “Are you all right?” I ask him.

  He nods his head, and when he does, a tear flies from his cheek.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Amanda, those kids …”

  “I know.”

  “Without them, we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be us. Their blood is in our veins. But they’re just kids, like real people. Whenever I thought of them before, I pictured them in black-and-white, you know? Like those old photographs.”

  I nod. I knew exactly what he meant.

  “Even the town founder, Mr. Smithy,” he says. “Remember Angelina told us when we were eleven that Smithy was a quiet sort who only confided in his journal? But this guy doesn’t seem like that. Maybe everyone is destined to be remembered wrong.”

  I hand him a cloth napkin from the table and he wipes his eyes. “I know it’s all really hard to handle,” I tell him, “but we have to shake it off. We don’t know how long we’ll be here and we need to find out why Bucky said everything changed after tonight.”

  Leo wipes at his face and takes a last look in the direction our great-great-grandparents went. “I know. But what if Bucky was leading us in the wrong direction? If he tried to ruin Angelina’s plans all those years, maybe he’s not on her side after all.”

  “But what about the card he wrote her?”

  He sighs. “There’s just so much we don’t understand.”

  I lean back in my chair, resting my neck against the top. Even with the gas lamps on, the number of stars I can see takes my breath away. I point them out to Leo. “We’re back before electricity. There’s no way we’d be able to see this many stars otherwise.”

  “I think we’re in the 1880s or early 1890s,” he says. “I figured out once that our great-great-grandfathers’ feud was somewhere around 1905. Angelina never told us they didn’t get along even as kids!”

  “Or that she knew them when they were kids!” I add.

  Leo’s face is suddenly very grave. “Amanda, we always knew Angelina was old, but she’s REALLY OLD.”

  “I know.”

  He lowers his voice. “Do you think she found the fountain of youth or something?”

  “If she did, you’d think she’d have made herself young forever, not old forever.” I stand up and hold out my hand. “Come on, it’s time to find out some secrets of the past.”

  “How?” he asks, letting me drag him along.

  “The same way we learn secrets at home. By eavesdropping.”

  He grins. “Oh, right. Good idea.”

  We spot Angelina giggling with some girlfriends by the fountain, a glass of something bubbly in her hand. The girls are all swinging their parasols, which they no longer need in the absence of sunshine. I wish Tara and Rory could see this — they’d never believe it. Now that we’re closer, I can see that Angelina is wearing heavy powder makeup. It does an excellent job of covering up her birthmark. I can only vaguely see the outline of the duck.

  Now that it’s fully dark with just the gas lamps to illuminate the night, it’s easy enough to hide in the shadows of the trees. We pick one nearby and lean up against its trunk.

  The girls begin to giggle. “When is he going to be here?” one of them asks.

  “Any moment now,” Angelina answers.

  More giggling. “And you are certain he’s going to ask you tonight?”

  “He better! I’m not getting any younger.”

  Clearly Angelina doesn’t yet know how very long her life is destined to be.

  “Oh, here he comes!” one of them says. “The stars shine on you, Angelina D’Angelo. Arbuckle Whitehead is the most charming boy in the whole county.”

  “Come,” says another, “we ought to give the lovebirds some privacy.” With a last round of giggles, they run past us. Unable to help ourselves, Leo and I peek out from behind our tree.

  “Wow!” I exclaim, unable to keep it in. “Move over, Jake Harrison! There’s a new kid in town!”

  Leo elbows me. “You’re drooling over a man who’s over a hundred years old!”

  “Not from where I’m standing!” That whole “tall, dark, and handsome” thing is really working for Bucky. He’s definitely movie star handsome. Not that they have movies yet. At least I don’t think they do. I watch as he takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “You look beautiful tonight, Angelina.”

  “You clean up real nice, too, Bucky Whitehead.”

  “How you flatter,” he says, smiling. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” She lets him lead her to the center of the dance floor. The crowd makes room for them and then closes back up around them. I join Leo on the other side of our tree.

  “So far, the night seems to be going great,” I report.

  “I give it another five minutes,” Leo says.

  But it happens in only two. A woman pushes her way through the crowd, shouting, “Where’s the girl? I must find her!” I lean around the tree to look. She’s dodging waiters and strolling violists, her eyes wild. The music is too loud for the dancers on the dance floor to hear her yet, but Mrs. D’Angelo does. She grabs hold of the woman’s arm and pulls her aside. Leo and I inch farther around the tree so we aren’t discovered.

  “What troubles you, Sarah?” Mrs. D’Angelo asks. “Did the yarrow root not work for your toothache? Come over tomorrow for some clove if you —”

  “My son Joshua is very ill! Please, you must help me.” She tries to drag Angelina’s mother away with her but has no luck.

  “It is not I who can help you but my daughter. It is her birthright, not mine. Wait here, please. It’s her birthday, as you can see.”

  The woman has no choice but to wait as Mrs. D’Angelo plunges into the crowd and pulls a red-faced Angelina off the dance floor. “Please, not now, Mama,” she begs. “Not tonight. You promised me one last night of being a normal girl. Bucky just proposed, Mama. I said yes!” She holds her left hand out to her mother. Even from here I can see the small stone catching
the light of the flickering lamps.

  “You’re not a normal girl,” her mother replies in hushed tone. “I’m sorry, darling, I truly am. He’s a lovely boy. He’ll understand that this comes first.” Angelina glances back at the dance floor. Bucky stands where she left him, watching, his hands pressed deep into his pockets.

  When they reach her, Sarah grabs on to Angelina’s arm as she had Mrs. D’Angelo’s. “Please, you must come to the village. My son is only five. This morning he started feeling ill, and now at nightfall he is much worse. He complains of cramps in his legs and his feet. They have turned in. He cannot walk without falling.”

  Angelina’s mother gives her daughter’s cheek a gentle stroke, then steps away. Angelina looks pleadingly after her, but Mrs. D’Angelo doesn’t turn around. Sarah continues her pleas for help. I can no longer hear their conversation, but Angelina holds up two fingers repeatedly. Sarah finally drops Angelina’s arm and hurries back through the crowd, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Without a second glance, Angelina runs back to Bucky and slips her arm through his.

  He bends his head to hers. “Is everything all right, my darling?”

  She tosses back her braid and nods. “Now that I’m with you.”

  I can tell without looking that Leo is rolling his eyes.

  Waiters begin to flock to the tables with trays of hot food. Angelina and Bucky take their seat in the center, where they are joined by Angelina’s girlfriends and a few other young men. None, I can’t help notice, as handsome as Bucky.

  “Look at her mom,” Leo whispers.

  I find Mrs. D’Angelo seated a few tables away. The guest beside her is chatting animatedly and pointing to the large red roses in the centerpiece, but Mrs. D’Angelo isn’t paying her any attention. She’s looking over at her daughter with the same disapproving look that all mothers give their daughters when they don’t approve of their choices.

  I guess some things never change.

  While everyone eats, Leo and I sit under our tree. “Do you think what just happened with that woman is what Bucky was talking about?” I ask.