A Stitch in Time

by Amanda James

  ‘I’ll get off home and you do the work, hon; I would hate to think of you more anxious than you need be in the morning. Don’t forget that by next weekend you will probably be asked to stitch again, so best get school work sorted.’

  She kissed him goodbye, watched him walk down the path, get into his car and drive away. They had arranged to meet mid-week, but she felt as if her soul had just left with him. They hadn’t said the L word to each other yet, but she guessed it would be soon. In fact, she would say it to him on Wednesday; bugger what had happened in the past with Neil and Karen and bugger her gran’s daft sayings.

  The school week hurtled past at breakneck speed. Sarah always felt as if she’d stepped into a whirlwind from the minute she entered school to the minute she left. The fact that she had loads of work to do and things to catch up on because of her lazy week with John, made it pass even quicker. But she didn’t regret even a second of their time together.

  The only slow spot had been the meal on Wednesday. It was like a clear cool oasis in the middle of a desert. They’d opted for Chinese and during a lull in conversation, Sarah had plucked up her courage. She took his hand and looked into his eyes, opened her mouth and then he said, ‘I love you, Sarah.’

  She laughed. ‘That’s just what I was going to say!’

  He frowned and then a smile curled his lips. ‘My name’s not Sarah … or did you mean you were about to tell me how much you love yourself?’

  ‘Just shut up and kiss me.’

  John had obliged and as he pulled her on to the bed later that evening she said, ‘I never did say it properly earlier. I love you, John … I love you more than I ever loved anyone in my whole life.’

  Their eyes met and both were suddenly filled with tears of happiness. ‘I feel exactly the same,’ he said, kissing the salty moisture from her cheeks.

  Friday morning found Sarah in the middle of the staffroom, laughing her head off. A few members of staff looked at her sidelong and nudged each other, but most were too busy to notice. In spite of worrying about what was to come over the weekend, Sarah enjoyed the light relief Gary Keynsham was providing.

  ‘I don’t see what’s so funny, I only asked if you had been anywhere interesting over the holiday,’ Gary said, flushing at the attention Sarah was drawing.

  Sarah fought to get her giggles under control. ‘I have as a matter of fact, Gary, though why you are pretending to care, I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m not pretending.’ He frowned. ‘I realise we parted on less than good terms on the Friday before the holiday. I just thought I would try and be more polite, I guess.’

  ‘Well, I’ll let you into a secret,’ Sarah said leaning in close. ‘On that very Friday night, I shot back through time to the year 1913. Had such fun, I can’t tell you. I think I’ll shoot off again somewhere over the weekend, too.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s the last time I’ll make an effort with you, madam, that’s for sure!’ Gary stomped off, his ‘peacock in heat’ shimmy well and truly absent.

  In the corridor on her way home, Sarah saw Janet Simms emerging from her classroom with an armful of folders. She hadn’t yet seen Sarah and was juggling folders and keys whilst trying to lock the door.

  ‘Let me help you, Janet,’ she said reaching her hand for Janet’s keys.

  Janet leapt in the air a good few inches, which was no mean feat for a lady of her stature. ‘God, Sarah you scared the bejesus out of me!’

  ‘Sorry, I guess I’m light on my feet,’ Sarah said, noticing how wary Janet had become of her. The other woman’s eyes darted up and down the corridor as if looking for help.

  Janet jiggled the key in the lock. ‘Oh, don’t bother, I can do it. You must be exhausted at the end of a long week, eh? Perhaps you should just go home and rest.’

  Go home and rest? What was she on about? Sarah suddenly realised that perhaps it was because of the last time they had met in the toilets. A little giggle capered up from her tummy and demanded release. ‘Ha ha, you think I have gone a bit potty don’t you, Janet?’

  Janet backed away slowly. ‘No, of course not, perhaps you are under stress.’ The backing away strides got longer and quicker. ‘I blame this teaching lark; there’s never enough time to do anything properly, is there?’

  Sarah giggled again, ‘To be honest, there’s loads of time, but it sometimes gets big fat holes in it; that’s the real stress maker.’

  ‘Holes in it? Hmm, yes, I’ve noticed that before.’ Janet flashed another hopeful glance at the empty corridor. ‘Anyway, must be off, have a nice weekend.’ Sarah watched her haring away, her red hair pumping up and down like a huge candyfloss confection. As Janet disappeared round a corner, Sarah expelled a huge guffaw that echoed around the empty corridor like the call of a giant Kookaburra.

  The light relief, courtesy of Janet and Gary, buoyed Sarah’s spirits a little and she could almost forget about the next quest. Almost. Back home, the scent from the honeysuckle in her garden wafted enticingly, beckoning her outdoors.

  Cup of tea in hand, and barefoot, Sarah enjoyed the feel of the grass underfoot and the warm, late afternoon sun on her face. The tinkle of her mobile phone broke the calm. A message … Sarah read:

  Hey, Sarah, sorry to ruin your weekend but you knew it was coming. Your next trip will be tomorrow morning around 6 a.m. You will be in Kansas 1874, and the sister of a Martha Klearny. More than that, I can’t say. I have been forbidden to see you before you go. It is believed I may unwittingly reveal too much and cloud your judgement. I love you, and we’ll be together again soon. Be brave, you can do it, John xxx

  Though the afternoon was still warm, the scent of honeysuckle still lingered and birds sang in the trees, Sarah felt a deep chill, as if she stood in a winter garden, or a freezer. All she wanted to do was have a quiet weekend with John, a normal couple, in love and enjoying each other’s company. They weren’t a normal couple though, were they? He was a Needle and she was a Stitch. ‘Needle and Stitch’; that sounded like some crazy detective agency or children’s animated movie. She pressed the keys on her phone and sent back just four words:

  I love you, too. xxx

  Sarah walked inside and ran upstairs. Her hands grabbed a tower of books from the shelves in the study and then, returning downstairs, she spread them all out on the floor in the living room. For the next three hours she pored over every little bit of information to do with the Old American West she had, just to make sure she was as prepared as she could be. Sarah realised that she knew it all anyway, and that it probably wouldn’t make much difference when deciding who she had to save, but at least it made her feel like she was doing something to feel more in control.

  At bedtime, the alarm clock felt heavy in her hand as she set the time to 5 a.m. Didn’t they say time weighed heavy on your soul? It was certainly true this evening. Still, the early bird catches the last stage to Kansas, as they say. Closing her eyes, Sarah was determined to look on the bright side. This time she knew when, where, and the date of where she was going. Hopefully she shouldn’t have to act like a dopey Dora too much. Most importantly, she was doing it to save lives, to strengthen the ties of humanity across time, and of course, to make sure she and John could be together. Positive thinking, Sarah. This will be the last time and then everything can get back to normal.

  In the end, the alarm clock wasn’t necessary, as by half past four, Sarah was up, dressed, breakfasted and wondering if she should try to smuggle some painkillers and travel sickness pills in her bra – just in case she felt nauseous or had a headache. John hadn’t mentioned anything about not taking physical objects through time, just that it wasn’t a good idea to mention anything from the present in the past.

  The packet of paracetamol looked light, innocuous and very necessary as she tossed them from one hand to the other. She sighed and put them back in the medical box. Better not tempt fate. Running back upstairs she pulled a scrunchie and a few grips from her bedside table and tucked those down her bra instead
. If she was going to be out on the windswept plains, she wanted to be able to keep her hair tidy. Sarah shook her head. That wasn’t the reason at all. She just wanted something familiar to help her through whatever crazy plan the powers that be had up their sleeves.

  Sarah spent a few moments wondering what kind of sleeves powers that be would wear. Did they have arms, or were they just ancient entities, shapeless, formless, controlling time and mortals and whirling about being powerful? If they did have sleeves, they would probably be long and sparkly, perhaps a bit medievally? She went back downstairs. Next time she saw Janet she’d share these thoughts. Sarah giggled at the imagined expression on Janet’s face if she did.

  The kitchen clock said 5.45 a.m. Time for a last cup of tea? She checked herself; she wasn’t going to the gallows, just to 1874. A blue tit perched on the cherry blossom tree outside the window as she filled the kettle. The garden looked so mysterious and otherworldly in the grey morning light. She flicked the kettle on. Perhaps she would take her tea outside; there may be a nip in the air, but a bit of fresh air would …

  Before her eyes, the garden began to waver and flicker, as if seen through the intense heat of a summer day or an open fire. Though the kitchen window was closed, her hair was lifted from her forehead by a warm wind, and the smell of detergent in her washing-up bowl was replaced by wild sage and dust. The waving and flickering quickened and then, creeping up from the grass, like watercolours seeping across a canvas, an entirely new scene pushed her little garden out of existence.

  Grabbing the sink for support, Sarah was surprised to find warm, rough wood beneath her hands instead of cold steel. Glancing down, she saw that the sink had turned into a wooden railing. Sarah took deep breaths and tried to calm her heart rate. Her heart was having none of this and insisted on doing a perpetual drum roll against her ribcage. Come on, you expected this, go with it, don’t fight it. This trip through time is a damned sight easier than the last.

  The scene settled like the dust at her feet. A vast flat plain rolled to an endless blue sky as far as the eye could see, but immediately in front of her was one of the weirdest sights she had ever witnessed. What looked to be a large cornfield, or had been a cornfield, had silvery brown mounds of soil moving and writhing at its roots.

  At first, Sarah imagined it to be the last little bit of transition from present to past, but everything else remained still. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Inhaling sharply, she realised what was happening. The writhing mounds were not earth, but thousands of heaving grasshoppers clambering over each other trying to reach the last vestiges of corn foliage.

  Stepping forward tentatively, she watched as some of the creatures devoured others and her stomach rolled with fear and revulsion as two or three took flight and landed on her head and arm. The vile thing on her arm was trying to bite through the cloth of a long-sleeved grey dress that had replaced her sweatshirt. Shrieking, she batted it off and flapped her hands at her head to remove the ones tangled in her hair. They felt dry and papery but their legs were strong and hooked into her scalp.

  Panicking now, she swallowed her revulsion, grasped hold of one particularly stubborn insect, yanked hard, hurled it to the ground and stamped on it. It wriggled its legs feebly then lay still. She turned to run, still flapping her hands at her head. Oh, thank God, another human! Sarah could see a running figure draped in a blanket, hurtling towards her from a small homestead about fifty feet away.

  ‘Hell, Sarah, what are you doing outside without a blanket? Get over here and away from those devils!’ a man’s voice shouted. From under his arm he tossed her a rolled-up blanket. She quickly wrapped herself in it and hurried with him back to the homestead.

  Once inside, the man slammed the door shut and removed the blanket. He wore rough blue overalls, was in his late thirties, tall, tawny haired and amber eyed. Sarah was reminded of the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz. Well, they were in Kansas after all, Toto. The cowardly lion rushed over to help a heavily pregnant woman tip a pot of boiling water into the fireplace, which was full of wriggling grasshopper bodies. Sarah shuddered. They must have flown in down the chimney.

  The woman wore a long navy dress buttoned at the neck, similar to the grey one Sarah was wearing, with a stained apron over the top. She looked to be in her late twenties, with curly, light brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. Sarah was reminded of Dorothy in the film, but this woman was obviously older. Perhaps the lion and the girl had got married and she was about to give birth to a scarecrow?

  On the other hand, perhaps one of the grasshoppers had bitten away a piece of Sarah’s brain that was normally responsible for rational and calm.

  While the man and woman were busy scooping the insect bodies into buckets, Sarah looked around. The dwelling had a dirt floor and two walls were built of sod. The third and fourth were constructed of various types of wood and had obviously been begged, borrowed, or stolen from the look of the irregular strips and planks roughly nailed together. Two small windows allowed in some natural light, but overall the room was a little dark.

  In the centre stood a rough table and chairs, in one corner was a rocking chair and a footstool on which knitting was placed, a battered armchair kept it company nearby, and in the other corner, looking strangely out of place in such rustic surroundings, a Welsh dresser displayed a few prized ceramic plates. My goodness, Sarah thought, Harriet Summers would be in her element here, though she imagined that a wind pump would be beyond this couple’s financial reach.

  Noticing an internal door, Sarah walked over and opened it. A short passage showed two small bedrooms at either side. Drawing aside a curtain in an offshoot, a smaller bed was revealed, and a few books and a writing slate propped on top of a chair were squashed in next to that. Sarah deduced that a child must be lurking somewhere.

  Through the tiny window Sarah watched the relentless devouring of the grasshopper army as thousands covered the ground like a wriggling, writhing carpet. She knew what was happening as soon as she’d seen them outside. This was the great grasshopper plague that had hit the Midwest and Great Plains in the summer of 1873, and had returned in even greater numbers in July 1874. Though they were called ‘hoppers’, they were actually Rocky Mountain locusts and literally millions of the creatures had descended on the prairies, eating everything in their path.

  Tales had been told of swarms so big they blocked out the sun, and the beating of their wings sounded like the buzzing of gigantic bees and heavy rainfall. They had eaten anything growing – even the wool off sheep’s backs and the clothes off humans. They even bit through skin, as Sarah had witnessed firsthand; she was lucky that her arms hadn’t been bare, as the reports of grasshopper bites described them as more painful than a bee sting.

  Last night Sarah had read the heartbreaking reports of the poor farmers as all hope for a new life disappeared into the bellies of those insects. Most of the homesteaders had left the overpopulated East Coast, or had even come from outside the United States to escape poverty or persecution. All had come with a hope to find a patch of land they could call their own and build a future for their families. The Homestead Act of 1862 had done much in fostering the American Dream. Under the Act, up to 160 acres of free land was allotted to a person. If the homesteader built a house and worked it for five years, it became theirs. This was something most poor people had only dreamed about and most had risked everything to realise it.

  ‘Sarah? Will you come out and help Joe burn the damned things? Hoppers or no hoppers, I have to prepare our meal,’ ‘Dorothy’ called. Sarah wondered if ‘Dorothy’ was Martha Klearny. Just in case Martha hadn’t yet stepped on to the set of Little House on The Prairie, Sarah decided to answer from the offshoot. If she was wrong, then at least she wouldn’t be standing face to face with the woman when she said, ‘What in the world has come over you, child? I ain’t Martha, I’m Dorathee!’

  ‘I’m comin’, Martha!’ Sarah called and was shocked to hear an American drawl come out of her mouth. Why
she was shocked, she didn’t know. She would hardly fit in if she spoke with a modern English accent, now would she?

  Peering round the door at the woman, Sarah was relieved to find that she was arranging flour tins and various other tins on the table. Must be Martha then … but was Joe her husband, brother, or what? Joe looked like he was preparing to go back outside. He shook out one of the blankets with his big farmer’s hands, doubled it and placed it back over his head.

  He lifted the blanket and peered at her like a lion from a cave. ‘Quit gapin’ and get the kerosene from the barn while I start rakin’ ’em, woman,’ he said, striding outside.

  Sarah turned to Martha. ‘I thought you meant burn the ones you just dowsed?’

  ‘Why’d we do that? We need to burn them live uns in what’s left of our field. This mornin’, Greg Olson told Joe that’s what they done yesterday. Damn critters stayed away after that, on account that they smelled the smoke of their brothers’ burnin’ bodies.’

  Sarah nodded and folded her blanket. She knew that burning hadn’t done much good. Whatever the farmers had done or not done, after a day or two, depending on the area, the grasshoppers had taken to the air swarming in formations resembling big black snakes as they moved south leaving bare earth where crops had once stood.

  Outside, from under her blanket, Sarah could see what must pass for the barn. A long lean-to shack was situated just behind the house, and as far as she could see was thankfully free of hoppers. Her rough work boots kicked up red dust as she made her way over. She wondered where the child was. It would be unlikely that it would be in school in the middle of a plague like this. Besides, many children were taught at home, if they were taught at all.

  Opening the heavy wooden door, she stepped inside. When her eyes got used to the dark interior of the barn, she could see a variety of tools, sacks of grain and a couple of horses tethered to a hitching post. A milking cow stamped at flies and six or seven hens scratched in the dirt. A ladder led to an upper level, presumably a hayloft, and a large jar marked kerosene stood just inside the door. That grain needs protecting, it’s a wonder the hoppers haven’t been at it already.