I hold back my laughter. “So, what’s up?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about everything you said, and I’m trying to find a way to prove your story.”
I sigh. I thought he believed me.
“Yesterday I did some research in the university archives and discovered something I think you’ll find interesting.” He pulls a large yearbook out from under his arm.
Just then the front door opens, letting in a blast of cold air and snow. I pull my sweater tight and see Sharon struggling through the doorway with her luggage.
“Let me help you.” Smitty rushes forward to take her large suitcase and carries it to the middle of the foyer.
“Thank you,” Sharon says, brushing snowflakes off her coat, her cheeks rosy from the cold air.
Smitty gives me a smug lift of his chin that says, “See, I can talk to a girl.”
“You’re back!” I run past him to hug her.
Sharon smiles weakly. “Father insists he can take care of himself and that my mother wanted me to finish school and get my teaching degree. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I changed majors to archeology.”
Smitty watches us with interest.
“Sharon, I’d like you to meet my friend Smitty. Smitty, this is my roommate, Sharon.”
He raises a knowing eyebrow in my direction. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.” He zeroes in on her, and I immediately know what he’s thinking.
“How do you do?” Sharon replies politely.
I yank him aside and whisper through clenched teeth. “You are not dating my grandmother!”
“Why not? You told me to find a pretty girl. She definitely qualifies.” His gaze travels from her bright eyes, over her stylish figure, down her slender legs, and back up.
I turn my back to block Grandma from hearing us. “Because I know who my grandfather is, and it’s not you! You might screw everything up. Including my existence!” I hiss. “And you can’t ever tell her what I told you. Ever! At this rate I’ll probably disappear right in front of you.”
Smitty cocks his head. “From what you’ve told me, you won’t be here. So, you’ll never know.”
That cannot happen. I’m starting to understand why the professor was so stubborn about not talking about the past—or the future. I give him my most lethal stare-down.
Finally Smitty whispers, “Fine! But I hope you’re not screwing up my fate while fixing your own!”
I peek to the side and find Sharon watching us with interest, so I leave it alone. “Thanks for stopping by Smitty, but I need to help Sharon get her things back to our room.” I push him, not so gently, to the door.
“Oh, but the yearbook.” He holds it out.
“Great. Thanks.” I take the heavy volume and tilt my head toward the exit. The less time he spends near Sharon, the better. “See you later. Bye-bye!”
I grab Sharon’s large suitcase and lug it toward our wing.
“All right, bye then. Nice meeting you, Sharon,” Smitty calls after us.
She catches up with me. “Your friend is kind of cute. What’s the story?”
“It’s recent. He asked me out, but I said no.”
“He’s adorable, in an academic kind of way. Why would you say no?”
I don’t like the way she’s looking back at Smitty. “You know, you’re right. I think I’ll talk to him tomorrow and tell him I changed my mind.”
* * *
Once we’re back in our room with the door securely shut, I put the book Smitty gave me face-down on my bed and turn to Sharon. “So, how are you?”
She frowns, hangs up her coat, and sits on the edge of her bed. “It was horrible. I’m exhausted from crying, and when my mother’s casket was lowered into the ground, I thought my father was going to crumble. He’s destroyed by her death. I still can’t believe he brought me back to school so soon.”
I sit down next to her. “Maybe he needs some time alone to process losing her.”
“Maybe. It’s all so strange. The house is eerily quiet without her. She used to play the radio and bake bread every day. The smell always warmed the whole house. I don’t think she had baked bread since I was home over Christmas. Dad says she went downhill so fast.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go to class when all I can think about is my mother.” Her eyes well up and she wipes away a stray tear.
“There’s no reason you have to go back to class right away. Take as long as you need.” Heck, I hadn’t gone to a single class until three days ago, and I’ve missed more since then.
I go to my dresser drawer and dig for candy bars. “Let’s eat chocolate, and if you feel up to it, you can tell me more about your mom. I’d like to know about the woman who produced the most amazing girl ever.”
“Abigail, you’re the best.” She hugs me.
Sharon puts on a Sinatra album, placing a penny on the needle to keep it from skipping. I pile all our pillows onto her bed, and we climb on top. I open a Baby Ruth bar, eager to hear stories about my great-grandmother.
Sharon takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and starts talking. “My mother was wonderful. You see, I’m pretty certain my father wanted a son, but he only got me. He taught me to do all sorts of boy things like shoot a gun, play basketball, and ski. Mother never seemed to mind. We’d come home tracking in mud from our boots. She’d ask if we saw any bears or elephants.” Sharon giggles a bit, remembering. Then she adds quietly, “I don’t think my mother received much love as a child, and that’s why she was so good with me.”
“Why do you say that?” I gnaw off another bite of the candy bar.
“Like I told you before, her mother died when she was a baby. Later, when her father remarried, she got stuck with a nasty stepmother. I met the woman a couple of times when I was young. I remember my mother standing between me and this shrill, prune-faced lady as if she was protecting me.”
“She sounds terrible.”
“My mother was shipped off to boarding school when she was young. I guess I’m lucky. At least I got to have a mom for more than eighteen years. That’s better than she got. What’s your mother like?”
I choke on my chocolate. She’s asking about her future daughter. Tears spring to my eyes, but I quickly shake them off. “Um, she’s great. She isn’t much of a housekeeper, but she’s super smart. She works at a job she loves, and she’s always been there for me.”
“She sounds very progressive. I think I’d like her.”
“I know you would.” But I can’t help the ache in my heart, missing my mom and Grandma both. I know I’m lucky to be with Sharon now, but I miss the older version of her too.
She climbs off the bed and comes back clutching her purse. “Abigail, I’ve discovered a dark secret that I have to share with you, but you must swear not to tell a soul.”
I set the rest of the chocolate bar on her nightstand. “Of course.”
She opens the purse and pulls out a small folded piece of paper.
Suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the door. Sharon jumps and stuffs the paper back into her purse before opening the door. “Oh, hello, Betty,” she says.
“Hi, Sharon. I have an official letter for Abigail. Mrs. Chaplin told me to put it directly in her hands.” Betty wears a somber expression.
I join them at the door. Betty holds out a white sealed envelope. I stare at it, afraid I know what it is, but I don’t want to worry Sharon. “Thanks for dropping it by,” I say in a cheery voice, accepting the envelope.
Betty disappears without another word. Sharon closes the door. “What’s that about?”
“I’ll look at it later. Tonight is about you.” I toss the envelope onto my bed.
But Sharon picks it up and reads the return address. Her brow creases with concern. “Abigail, this is from the dean of student
s. Maybe you should open it.”
“I already know what it says. I made the Dean’s List,” I lie.
“That’s wonderful!” she says with relief and sets the letter down.
“I know, right? Now what were you about to tell me? The suspense is killing me.”
“Oh my gosh, yes.” She again removes the slip of paper from her purse and hands it to me.
An ominous feeling comes over me as I recognize this piece of paper with its torn corner.
“Read it.” She urges. “It’s my birth certificate.”
But it’s not just any birth certificate. It’s the exact same copy as the one I saw in the hatbox that first night. I glance at my bed where the hatbox rests in the lower corner against the footboard. Somewhere in time, my version of this very birth certificate has been left behind.
My mind races as I scan the paper. The print is tiny with names of a hospital, doctors, and officials.
Sharon peers over my shoulder.
“What am I looking for?” I ask, not sure what she wants me to see.
“Look at the part where it lists the mother.” She points to the line.
“Yeah?” It reads “Ruby M. Phelps.”
“Next to that. It says number of live births.” She slides her finger to the spot.
I squint. Sure enough, in fine print there’s a small box next to the words “Number of Live Births.” “It says two,” I say and glance up at her for explanation.
“Don’t you get it? I’m an only child. But, according to this, my mother gave birth to another child before me.”
“Maybe you had an older sibling who died while you were still a baby?”
“Abigail, I couldn’t have had another sibling. I was born a year after my parents married. This baby had to have been born before they were married.” I can tell from her expression that this is a terrible scandal.
“Maybe your mother was married before your father and had a child with her first husband,” I offer, trying to ease her away from thinking badly of her mom.
“No, that couldn’t be.” She paces our small room. “Mother was eighteen when she met my father, nineteen when they married, and twenty when I was born. She was never married before. I’m sure of it.”
“You should ask your dad. I bet he could tell you.”
“Heavens, no! I could never speak of such a thing.” She sits beside me. “And even if I did, what if he didn’t know about the baby? What if it was some secret my mother kept? Father would be devastated. He loved my mother so much.”
“He’s probably seen your birth certificate before. He must know,” I say gently, handing it back to her.
“I suppose, but I could never ask about a baby born outside of wedlock. It’s too shameful.”
“So, basically, your mother had a baby as a teenager. So what?” I assume there wasn’t much in terms of birth control back then. Heck, I have no idea what women use for birth control in this era either. Do they even have any?
Sharon shakes her head in denial. “It doesn’t fit Mother’s character. She was always so proper and well mannered. It would have been a terrible scandal. I just lost my mother, but now I know that I have more family. Somewhere out there I have a brother or sister. I have to find them. But why didn’t Mother ever tell me?” Sharon grabs a pillow and hugs it. “There was a girl from my high school who suddenly moved to Kansas to take care of her sick aunt. But later I heard that she didn’t have an aunt in Kansas. Her parents sent her away because she had disgraced herself. What if the same thing happened to my mother?”
“Maybe it’s a clerical mistake, and it was supposed to say one.”
“No. I don’t think so.” She shakes her head slowly. “When I was eight years old, I begged my parents for a baby brother or sister. Looking back, they acted strangely. When I wrote to Santa Claus that year, I said the only gift I wanted was a baby for our family. When I read my letter aloud, my mother started to cry. My father took the letter away and asked me to write another one asking for a toy instead.”
“Wow.”
“So you see, maybe Mother was crying because she had to give her first baby away.”
I have to agree, it sounds likely. “But how could we ever figure it out?” I ask gently. I can’t imagine tracking a lost baby down, especially without the Internet.
“I don’t know, but there must be a way.”
I love her determination. “All right. We’ll do this together. We’ll search everywhere we can think until we find that baby.”
She turns to me with hope in her eyes. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” I make the motions across my chest. “We’ll start first thing in the morning.”
Sharon hugs me tight. “Abigail, you’re the best friend a girl could ever have.”
Later, after she’s finally fallen asleep and I’m sitting up awake, I open the letter from the dean. My heart pounds as I unfold the single sheet.
Notice Of Expulsion.
My breath goes out of me. It’s official. I’ve been kicked out of college and must vacate the dormitory in twenty-four hours. I glance over at Grandma, sleeping through the turmoil of losing her mom and now the mystery of a secret baby.
Time isn’t playing fair. If I fall asleep, I might be sent to another time. But if I don’t, I’ll be kicked out of here with nowhere to go. What will become of me? Will I be stuck in this time forever without my bed in room 4418 to transport me home?
Not sure what to do, I lie in bed frustrated and miserable. I run my fingers over the different patches of fabric that make up my quilt. I wish Smitty was already a professor. He’d be able to help us. I’ll have to track him down tomorrow and break the news that I’m getting kicked out. My arm brushes against the yearbook he brought. Trying to figure out what he wanted me to see requires more energy than I’m up for tonight. I can’t even think straight. I crumple up my expulsion letter and toss it at my wastebasket, but miss.
My thoughts wander to Grandma’s lost sibling, the missing baby. I gasp. Could this be what she was mumbling to me about before she died? She said I’d promised to help find the baby and to keep trying. At the time I thought she was delirious or losing her mind to the brain tumors. But she wasn’t. Is that the whole reason I’m traveling? To help Grandma solve this mystery?
But how can I keep my promise? When I can’t come up with any obvious ways to track down a missing baby in 1951, my mind wanders to Will. I wonder where he is and if he’s having a better time of it. My eyes slip closed as I picture him walking along the lakeshore path with that blade of grass in his mouth.
CHAPTER 12
I wake up slowly with my face pressed against something hard. I open my eyes and realize it’s the yearbook Smitty gave me. I fell asleep. Shit! I jerk upright.
Everything on Grandma’s side of the room is wrong. Her bed is covered with a navy blue bedspread and embroidered throw pillows. She’s gone.
No!
How could I have let this happen? Grandma just returned from her mother’s funeral, and now I’ve abandoned her when she needs me most. “Arrgh!” I punch my pillow.
I don’t know where I am in time yet, and I don’t care, because it probably doesn’t include Grandma. I finally thought maybe I had an idea of why I’ve been tumbling through time. But I’ve been yanked back again. How can I help Grandma if I’ve left her behind?
I sit on my bed, my only oasis from this storm, surrounded by foreign objects that belong to a stranger. A pit of dread grows in my gut. Of course there’s a new wall calendar. I groan. It can’t be good. Other than landing in Grandma’s time, it’s never been good.
My new plan is to stay in bed and hide from time, but curiosity eventually gets the best of me. I climb out and glare at the cursed calendar. September 1948. Too early for Grandma to be on campus. I hate this place or time or whatever it is. Without Grandma, I wa
nt to go home more than ever.
I glance out the window. Leaves cover the branches of the trees outside. A few are turning a golden hue. At least it isn’t winter anymore. I pull on a scratchy cotton shirt, plain wool skirt, and shoes that I make sure are from my own closet.
Out in the hall on the door, I see my name printed neatly on a paper acorn alongside the name Dorothy. I haven’t seen her yet, and that’s fine with me. With any luck I can avoid her all day. I’ve conveniently wasted so much time this morning that the halls are empty.
After cleaning up, I return to my room, which looks so unfamiliar now after weeks spent sharing it with Grandma. She made the room a haven filled with fun, laughter, and safety from the elements of time travel. What do I do now? I’m not up for discovering this new year.
And then I think of Will and his buried treasure. It’s September—the ground won’t be frozen yet. I can go find it! With renewed energy, I pull on a gray sweater and pull my hair back into a ponytail. Probably not the style in 1948, but I’m beyond caring. I grab a pen and fold up a piece of loose-leaf paper from the desk to write my note. I push them both into my macramé purse, which is bound to look out of place here, and dash down the back stairway instead of the main entrance. I might be stuck in the forties, but I have no intention of mingling with the other students unless I absolutely have to.
The rich fall air smells like paradise after the snowy winter of 1951. My feet crunch on the cinder path along the shoreline as I rush past Adams and Tripp Halls.
Is the young professor here? Probably, but he’ll have no idea who I am, so I’m not even interested in looking him up at the moment. I’ll worry about that later. But this must be the time I meet Will.
As I make it down the peninsula of Picnic Point in search of Will’s tobacco tin and the message he promised he’s left for me, I’m surrounded by a colorful rainfall of gold, orange, and rust leaves.
I find the first trail off the main trail and take it. What did Will say the directions were? Right, left, and left? Shoot. I make it to the first split and take a right, scooting along the thin trail. I take the next two lefts, but nothing looks familiar. Then again, Will brought me here nearly fifteen years in the future, so things will have changed. I search for the fallen tree but find none. So much for my sense of direction.
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