A dusty smudge on the road ahead became a car. Wilfred slowed the horses, steering them to the side. As the shiny, old-fashioned vehicle putted past, Alyssa caught a glimpse of its inhabitants in their Sunday best. A hand lifted in a wave, and then they were gone.
“That’s the Russell family on their way to church in Chatham,” Deborah said. Charles, in her lap, was swinging his feet. “Does thee understand about meeting? About our silent worship?”
Alyssa wriggled in her cramped position. “My family goes to meeting,” she said. At least something was the same! That and the song.
After encountering one more car and two teams of horses taking families to church, Wilfred steered toward a treed area where an assortment of people and vehicles had gathered. The meetinghouse was a white clapboard building situated near a house and another small building that Deborah said was the Friends school. Except for these and the grove of large trees, the farm fields continued uninterrupted. MIDDLE RACCOON RIVER FRIENDS MEETING said the painted sign on the meetinghouse, though there wasn’t a river in sight.
Wilfred hitched the horses and Herbert jumped out, racing to a wooden swing set in the grassy area behind the schoolhouse. Deborah laughed. “It’s so hard for him to be still.”
Martha’s loose dress snagged as Alyssa stepped down from the surrey. George steadied her as she and Deborah both worked to free the flowered material. Alyssa looked quickly away from his face, for he, too, seemed uncomfortable with her new appearance.
When she followed him toward the meetinghouse door, Deborah pulled her back. “We sit on the women’s side,” she said.
“But —” Alyssa indicated Frances, holding her father’s hand. The little girl’s haphazardly cut hair hadn’t improved with the ride to meeting.
Deborah repressed a smile but her grey eyes laughed. “Frances sits with Daddy on the men’s side. Surely thee knows why.”
Alyssa felt the grin on her face. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Frances is a handful.” Eva had been so quiet that Alyssa had forgotten she was there. She was holding something made of cloth.
A mother and two girls looked curiously at Alyssa. “How is thy mother, Deborah?” the woman asked.
“She’s about the same. I thank thee for asking.” Deborah edged away.
“I’ll fetch Herbert.” Alyssa ran to the swings just as the woman asked about “thy friend.” By the time they got back, Herbert pausing often to swat at a bumblebee that was following him, most of the people had gone inside.
Deborah’s cheeks were pinker than normal. “I so wish I hadn’t cut thy hair!” she said. “If I’d known the fuss thy looks would cause …”
Alyssa touched her arm. “But how could … thee have known? Thee thought thee should, so I’d fit in better.”
“Thee’s ‘theeing’ us!” Herbert said exultantly.
“Shhh,” Deborah said. “We’re late.”
“Wait.” Eva blocked Alyssa’s way. “I told Margaret Knight that thy name is Alice Dixon, and that thee’s a cousin visiting from North Dakota.”
Alyssa nodded. “Okay. I’ll remember.”
“I felt so flustered, I couldn’t think what to say.” Deborah put her arm around Eva’s shoulder. “I’m glad my clever sister has her wits about her.”
Eva looked up at Deborah with a luminous smile that brought sudden tears to Alyssa’s eyes. She’d probably never have a sister. Not now.
Chapter Seventeen
Meeting had already started. Alyssa tried not to stare as she followed the two Clayton girls into the quiet room. The wooden benches made it look like a church, except that in front one bench faced the others. Deborah and Eva silently made their way to an empty spot near the back. Eva, sitting beside Alyssa, unfolded a homemade book with pictures pasted in. Words were hand-printed on every cloth page. Alyssa watched, intrigued, as Eva read. The book contained Bible stories, written in simple language.
The women and girls in front of Alyssa wore light-coloured dresses. A few elderly women sat on the front bench, facing everyone else. A wooden divider ran down the middle of the room. The benches on the other side were filled with men and boys, most of them dressed in white shirts, some with their long sleeves rolled up. Alyssa saw George with Charles on his lap, a wiggly Frances beside them, and Wilfred sitting tall between Frances and Herbert. One man on the front bench had a bushy beard. Alyssa suddenly remembered Warren Stanley in meeting, with the sun shining on his hair. His face had looked so gentle, so loving. While these people looked kind and peaceful, they also looked … foreign.
Homesickness crept through her. She was still in Iowa in 1931. What if nobody found the picture? Mom and Dad must be terribly worried. Ethan! she thought hard. Find the picture! Outside the open window, green cornfields stretched to a rolling horizon.
She thought of Rachel’s cheerful face. Was Rachel mad at her? There’d been no phone calls since the one Dad intercepted, and no text messages. Had Rachel seen the website?
On the men’s side of the meetinghouse, one of the old men stood up and said something about faith. Alyssa tried to listen, but he went on and on. A fly kept landing on her arm. After more silence, a woman spoke about being prepared to “meet that of God” in everyone, especially during disagreements.
A woman nearby shifted in her seat. Alyssa noticed curious eyes flicking her way. She ducked her head, but her hair wasn’t long anymore and couldn’t mask her face. If she looked so much like Bertha, maybe it was best to go sit in the surrey. It didn’t seem fair for the Claytons to have to explain, and what if George or one of the boys said something different from what Eva told that woman? With the plan formed, Alyssa whispered to Deborah. Before she could finish, Deborah held her finger to her lips and shook her head. Confused, Alyssa stood up and tiptoed outside.
The surrey was in a shady area near other horse-drawn vehicles. The horses were so big … Changing her mind, Alyssa veered to the grove of trees. She noticed hollyhocks and orange lilies blooming cheerfully all around the foundation of the meetinghouse.
If thee feels sad and all alone
If thy heart feels made of stone
Even as the tears begin
Find courage in the light within.
Deborah’s words to the Stardancer song rushed into her mind. How was it that her Great-Grandmother Newlin, as a girl, could make up words that fit so perfectly for how she felt? When she got home — if she got home — she’d sing it to Mom. Maybe it would help.
She thought of Marigold, up in a tree, and the way Herbert had gone after him. The trees here looked so inviting. Hitching up the skirt of Martha’s dress, Alyssa hoisted herself onto a low branch and sat there, swinging her legs. Really, she was the luckiest person in the world — to be able to slip out of her own life and meet her great-grandma as a girl! Ethan must be jealous. Rachel would love to come. Maybe even Mom? An idea riveted her.
Eventually, people came out of the meetinghouse. Some of them were her ancestors. Maybe the Claytons weren’t doing things that got in the news, but that didn’t mean they weren’t important. If Mrs. Fraser wanted the class to talk about big contributions, or how their ancestors helped protect freedom, she’d just say that most people didn’t get to be famous. And, maybe, that there were different ways of protecting freedom.
Frances skipped to the surrey. Herbert followed, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday clothes. “Thee’s not to tease!” Frances shrilled. “Debbie told thee so.” Then she backed up. “Lyssa’s not here! Susannah is nowhere, and now Lyssa’s nowhere too.”
Alyssa slid down. “I’m over here.” She beckoned.
Herbert got there first. He gave her an assessing look. “Why’d thee leave meeting? Daddy’s cross.”
Alyssa looked away from his direct brown eyes. “I thought it’d be hard to have to explain. Wouldn’t it be best if people didn’t see me?”
“But thee left meeting!” There was a trace of envy in his voice.
“I always sit through meeting at home.”
Alyssa brushed a tiny piece of bark off Martha’s dress.
Frances tugged at the skirt. “Daddy’s coming,” she said.
Was she in trouble? George strode toward them, and Deborah followed with a stricken expression on her face.
Sunlight glinted off the wire rims of George’s glasses. He didn’t exactly seem angry, but his face looked tense. “Alyssa,” he said, “I’d like to speak with thee in the meetinghouse.”
Alyssa made herself stand straight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know …”
“We’ll speak inside,” he said gently. “The children will be glad for a chance to run around.”
Quietly, Alyssa walked beside her great-great-grandfather. Her great-great-grandmother’s dress swished around her legs. When other people looked curiously at them, some asking questions, George explained that she was a visitor from North Dakota.
The meetinghouse still held the worshipful silence. George led Alyssa to a bench on the men’s side. “My wife and I sat in this meetinghouse as children,” he said. “It must seem very strange to thee, with thy different ways, and coming from wherever thee lives.”
“Yeah” would sound disrespectful. “It’s different,” she said. “I like it, actually. We have meeting in an office building.”
“Oh?” George seemed surprised.
For a few minutes they sat quietly. Alyssa’s heart pounded and sweat trickled down her back. What she’d done seemed like the obvious solution. But, as George had said, she had “different ways.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, breaking the silence. “I didn’t know it was wrong to leave meeting.”
“I know thee means well,” George said kindly. “Thee must realize, though, that thee sets an example for the younger children. Thee is new and … interesting.”
“I didn’t think about that,” she mumbled. “I just thought how hard it would be for you — thee — to have to explain.” Her resemblance to Bertha clearly was upsetting. Would Frances have cut her hair, on her own? “I didn’t know Frances would cut her hair,” she added. “I guess that’s my fault.” She waited for George to scold, as he didn’t seem the yelling type.
There was another prolonged silence. Alyssa looked at the benches with their dark-coloured wood and homemade cushions. In front, a vase of lilies and daisies sat on a table. She could see sweat glistening on George’s forearms. At breakfast the Claytons’ house had felt stifling, even with the windows open. How did Martha feel, confined to bed? She must be roasting! Despite the heat, Alyssa shivered. Would the baby — Alice Emma — be all right?
“I understand thee has had some hard times,” George said.
“My baby sister died when she was being born.” Her throat knotted.
George sighed.
“I hope everything’s okay for Martha and the baby,” Alyssa said in a rush. “It must’ve been so hard, when Bertha …”
He rubbed his forehead. “We can’t ever know why such things happen. The best we can do is have faith, so that we can try to keep love in our hearts and act responsibly.”
This was the strangest scolding she’d ever had! George Clayton seemed to expect her to think things through for herself and come to the right conclusions.
Act responsibly? What was it like for an extra kid to show up when things were already hectic? And she’d thought maybe she could help. What if her coming made things worse? She wished she could dissolve into a little pile of dust on the meetinghouse bench. Ethan! she thought. Get the picture!
What if it was lost? Or if it didn’t work anymore?
Alyssa felt she ought to say something, but words wouldn’t come. She longed to be outside. Running across the grass would get rid of the nervous energy — or maybe twirling herself dizzy on the swing Herbert had used before meeting. Instead, she was in this quiet room.
“I never thought about the consequences of coming here,” she said slowly. “I never thought how it might make everything harder for you.”
Surprisingly, her great-great-grandfather smiled. It was a slow, embracing smile, and warmed the scared places inside. “Thee’s quite a special girl,” he said. “When thee first arrived, I thought thee was selfish. I’m so glad I was mistaken.”
“Thanks.” Alyssa swallowed hard. “I don’t want to mess things up for your family. Probably I shouldn’t come back here again.”
“That would be wise, I think.” Her great-great-grandfather clasped her hand. “We don’t want there to be consequences for thy family, either.”
Hand in hand, they walked to the surrey.
Back at the farm, the first thing Alyssa did was to change into her own clothes. Pulling her t-shirt over her head, she was certain she heard a moan from George and Martha’s bedroom. Her skin seemed to shrink. Something must be terribly wrong.
She put Martha’s dress on a hanger and set her shoes neatly by the wall. Running down the steep stairs in her bare feet she found Deborah, who was on the porch trimming a protesting Frances’s hair. “Hold still!” Deborah snapped. “If thee doesn’t, I might snip thy ear.”
“My hair is good!” Frances wiggled out of Deborah’s grasp.
Deborah sighed. “Thee needs a good long nap,” she shouted, and ran after her.
Herbert clomped up the wooden porch steps. “When are we eating?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Deborah had caught up to Frances and was carrying her back; her face was flushed and her hair was messy.
“When are we eating?” Herbert asked again.
Deborah actually scowled. “Later,” she said. “This little miss needs to learn to sit still. I thought to trim her hair before lunch, and now that I’ve started, I plan to finish.”
This hardly seemed the time to tell Deborah about the scary sound coming from her parents’ bedroom. “I’ll make sandwiches,” Alyssa offered. “Herbert, thee can help me.”
“I can help thee?” Herbert was dumbfounded. “Cooking is girls’ work!”
“Not at my house. My dad fixes supper all the time.”
Suddenly Alyssa had an attentive audience. Frances, amazingly, was holding still. “Daddies don’t cook,” she said. Deborah, alert to the opportunity, resumed her snipping.
Alyssa repressed a smile. “Mine does,” she said. “What’s so special about that?”
“Thee comes from such a different time,” Deborah said. “For all we know, thee’s been on the moon.”
Herbert picked up a ladybug that was crawling on his arm. “That’s not possible. How could she get away from Earth?”
Was it wrong to tell them about the future? “People — scientists — went to the moon a long time ago, before I was born. They’ve sent a landing craft, with no people on it, to Mars. And there’ve been space probes, to take close-up pictures of places like Jupiter and Saturn. And —” In her excitement, Alyssa stumbled over words. “Now they’ve decided Pluto isn’t a planet after all! So there’s only eight planets, not nine.”
The Clayton children stared at her. “This is more than I can even imagine!” Deborah said. Frances made a dash for the rope swing that hung from one of the trees; Deborah chased after her.
“I’m hungry,” Herbert said mournfully.
“Help me fix lunch,” Alyssa insisted. “Do you ever have picnics?”
Herbert reluctantly followed her inside, but perked up at the prospect of slicing the bread. Alyssa had trouble finding familiar foods, and then realized the Claytons might not have things like mayonnaise. She kept talking so she wouldn’t have to hear noises from upstairs. The woman who’d come before meeting obviously was still here; every now and then her voice came through the ceiling. When there was a burst of laughter, Alyssa relaxed. Maybe the woman had just come to visit. Martha must get bored, in bed all the time.
Looking through cupboards, Alyssa found butter and jam. With no fridge, where would the milk and cheese be? Herbert solved that problem by opening a trap door in the floor and bringing them from a place he called the cool room.
“Where’s Eva?�
�� Deborah asked, once everyone had gathered around a blanket spread out near the garden.
Frances’s lower lip shot out. “The sandwiches look queer.” They did look strange and heavy, with their thick, crookedly-cut slices.
“Thee’ll eat one just the same.” George wrapped a sandwich in a cloth napkin. “Edith Smith likely wants some lunch.” He walked back to the house.
Deborah stood up too. “I’ll look for Eva,” she said. “Frances, thy job is to keep the flies off our picnic. Herbert, thee can pick some new lettuce for us.” She ran across the grass almost as if she wanted to escape. Wilfred followed her toward the house.
“I’ll look, too,” Alyssa said, and headed for the barn. The heavy wooden door creaked as she pulled it open. The feel of dust and straw beneath her bare feet made her think of her shoes, still in the girls’ bedroom. It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. A familiar meow came from someplace over her head. “Marigold!” she cried.
Marigold sat on a wooden beam bordering the loft. He meowed again with a lonely sound, and paced his way along, tail twitching behind him.
“Come here, Marigold,” she called.
A sniffling sound came from the loft.
“Eva?” When there was no answer, Alyssa started up the ladder. Halfway up, she saw Susannah on a pile of hay. Remembering the talk about Herbert’s teasing, she knew what had happened. Rescuing the doll, she went to find Eva.
Eva’s face was wet with tears and her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
“Eva, what’s wrong?” Alyssa set the doll in her lap, then tentatively put an arm around the girl.
“Mama’s terribly sick,” Eva choked. “I’m not to go inside. Edith Smith told me so.”
So she hadn’t imagined the moan. Then why had the women laughed while she and Herbert were making sandwiches? Unless … was Martha Clayton having the baby? Did the others know? What did families do when babies were born at home? They wouldn’t just make everybody wait outside, would they?
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