“I don’t know. I assume they were. Like I said, I haven’t looked at all six books yet. By the time Tom and I finished ripping down the wallboard and clearing out the mess, it was time to clean up to meet you. I’ll take a closer look at them after dinner.”
Kale let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I was feeling guilty about leaving you alone tonight while I worked on the machine.”
“There’s the specialty cabinet shop, Kale. Turn right here.”
Kale parked and retrieved Jordan’s chair from the storage compartment. Within moments, they were perusing the aisles, looking at various styles of kitchen cabinetry.
“May I help you find something?”
Kale shook hands with the salesman. “Yes. We’re restoring the kitchen of an old farmhouse, and we’d like to keep things as original as possible. Authentic hardwoods.”
“I think I have just what you need,” said the salesman. “Follow me.”
* * *
Kale slammed the trunk lid and climbed into the driver’s seat. He glanced at Jordan. “I really like the cabinets we picked out. Thank you for allowing me to choose them.”
“No problem. You do most of the cooking anyway.” Jordan glanced at the time projected on the vehicle’s console. “Hey, it’s only 4:00 p.m. I wonder if the town records office is still open?”
“It should be,” Kale said. “I think most of the town offices are open until 5:00 p.m. Why the sudden interest in the records office?”
“I want to research the history of my farm from the time Maggie Downs lived there until now. I looked online, but the records are so old that I couldn’t find anything of substance. After finding those diaries this morning, it’s all I can think about.”
Chapter 5
My name is Maggie. I am sixteen years old. This is my first diary. I am amused with myself as I sit to write these words. You see, I have never been very comfortable expressing my feelings, and I will not allow myself to become caught up in the typical emotional frenzy of so many girls my age. So why am I writing now? Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
I was born Margaret Michelle Downs on April 16, 1988 to Gary and Sharon Downs at the Fletcher Allen Medical Center in Burlington, Vermont. I really hate the name Margaret. I was named after my grandmother. Don’t get me wrong—I love my Nana, but her name sounds so old-fashioned. I prefer to be called Maggie.
We live on a 250-acre farm in Shelburne, Vermont, with miles of waterfront on Lake Champlain. We raise Mustang horses. I’ve made it clear to my parents that when they are ready to retire, I‘m interested in buying the farm from them. Someday, I hope to start a riding school here for underprivileged and handicapped kids. We have about fifty horses right now, which is plenty for Mom and Dad and me to handle.
Many of our horses have won blue ribbons and national titles. We take them to competitions all around the country, but my favorite shows are right here in Vermont at the Champlain Valley and Tunbridge Fairs. The awards aren’t huge, but there’s something wonderful about a small country fair. Cotton candy, sausage and peppers, and fried bread dough are among the things I look forward to the most. There is nothing like it anywhere.
I am currently a sophomore at Mt. Mansfield Union High School. My plan is to graduate in two years, then go to the University of Vermont in Burlington to study agriculture and animal husbandry. When I graduate from UVM, my parents have agreed to allow me a more active role in planning programs for the horses and running the basic functions of the farm. I will have to be ready to take on more responsibility around the farm before they’re ready to retire.
Well, I’ve been rambling here, and I haven’t explained yet why I started this diary. I guess one reason is because I don’t know how to find the words to say out loud what I am about to put down in print. You see, I’m not like the other kids at school. I’m different in a lot of ways. The girls I go to school with are all about acting silly, making an impression on the boys, and competing with each other for attention. They are so immature! There is so much jealousy and name-calling and so many cliques. I almost hate to admit that girls can be so brutal to each other. I always thought guys were rough and tough, but the girls have them beat by a mile!
The girls think I’m pretty weird because I don’t care what the boys think. I’m not into wearing makeup and dressing up in trashy-looking outfits like most of them do. That’s such a waste of time. Quite frankly, I find the boys boring. Their immature macho behavior pretty much makes me sick. I… damn—this is hard! I sometimes wonder what’s wrong with me. I just don’t get it. I mean, what is it they find so attractive about sweaty, sex-crazed boys? I actually went on a date with a kid in my class this year, and he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He made me feel used and dirty. By the end of the evening, I felt nothing but disgust for him, yet the other girls I hang out with think he’s “to die for.” I just don’t get it!
Jordan was fighting to keep her eyes open. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was 11:30 p.m. She was exhausted. She’d spent nearly the entire day working with Tom, ripping out the old tile floor in her kitchen. Jordan yawned loudly as her eyes closed once more. Forcing them open again, she looked at the book in front of her. “Okay, I give up. Got to get some sleep.” Jordan placed a bookmark in the diary, closed the book, and placed it on her nightstand. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The alarm clock beeped loudly. Jordan rolled over and groaned. “Why did I stay up so late last night?”
She pushed her upper body forward until she was sitting with her legs dangling off the side of the bed. Transferring herself to her hover-chair seemed more difficult than usual. The muscles in her shoulders were sore.
The aroma of muffins drew her down the hallway. “Wow—that smells great, Kale.”
At the end of the hall, Jordan stopped and stared. “What the hell is going on here?” Jordan looked around at the unfamiliar furnishings: tan sectional sofa, oak coffee tables, and a very large entertainment center with a widescreen TV. Sunlight flooded the room through lacy white curtains. Jordan frowned.
“Kale, what have you done to my house? Kale?” Jordan moved her chair toward the kitchen. “Huh. He must have left for the lab already.”
The smell of muffins and coffee grew stronger. “Something isn’t right here,” she mumbled. “Kale wouldn’t leave without waking me first.”
As she reached for the kitchen door, it suddenly swung open and a middle-aged woman poked her head out. “Maggie, time to get up. You’ll be late for school.”
Maggie? Did she say Maggie? What the hell was going on here?
Jordan reached again for the kitchen door. A young redheaded girl came up from behind and brushed by her. The girl pushed the door open and burst into the kitchen, leaving the door ajar.
The girl grabbed a muffin and said, “Mom, why did you let me sleep so late? I’ll miss the bus.”
The woman placed a kiss on the girl’s cheek. “You’re so dramatic, Maggie. The bus won’t be here for another few minutes. Sit down and have some juice with your muffin.”
Maggie sat at the table and tucked her unruly red hair behind her ears. Her mother handed her a glass of orange juice. “Thanks. Is Dad calling the vet this afternoon? I’d like to be here when the mare gives birth.”
Maggie’s mother poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “If she lasts that long. With any luck, you’ll be home before anything happens. The vet doesn’t believe she’ll foal until later tonight.”
Jordan sat in the doorway, not believing the scene before her. She inched her way into the room. “Ah, excuse me,” she said. “Excuse me, but what you are doing in my kitchen?”
“Your bus is coming, sweetie,” said the woman. “Have a good day at school.”
Maggie smiled at her mother and grabbed the backpack that was sitting on the end of the table. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Let’s hope the mare waits for me to get home. Love you, Mom,” the girl called
before the door closed behind her.
Jordan sat there, incredulous. The woman carried her coffee cup and Maggie’s juice glass to the sink, rinsing them before placing them in an old-fashioned dish washer. What happened to the sonic cleanser? It was then that Jordan realized the kitchen was intact. The walls, the ceiling, even the floor that she had just spent the previous day scraping—everything was in order.
“What’s happening here?” she asked aloud.
A searing pain shot through Jordan’s head. She grasped her head between her hands. “Oh, my God, make it stop! Please make it stop.” The woman remained oblivious to Jordan’s presence as the pain increased and her throat began to seize. Jordan jerkily moved her chair to the sink. She needed a glass of water. She stretched to reach the glasses on the bottom shelf, but in her haste, she neglected to stabilize her chair. Before she realized what was happening, the chair tilted forward and slipped out from under her. Unconscious, Jordan fell to the floor.
Jordan awoke to an incessant pounding on her bedroom door. Kale called, “Jordan, get your carcass out of bed. The contractors will catch you in your skivvies if you don’t get moving. It’s not like you to sleep so late.”
Jordan looked over at her clock. It was 7:00 a.m. She blinked to clear her vision and then pushed herself into a seated position. She felt disoriented.
“Come on, get a move on. There’s coffee and muffins waiting for you in the kitchen. If you don’t get up soon, I’ll feed them all to Tom and his crew.”
Jordan looked at the closed door. Coffee and muffins? The dream. It must have been the aroma of muffins, but it was so real. Jordan pushed the remnants of the dream aside and called to Kale, “I’ll be right out. Don’t you dare give my muffins away.”
Jordan eased into her hover-chair and made her way to the kitchen. She slowed as she approached the living room. She stopped and looked around at the familiar Victorian and Queen Anne furnishings. Back to normal. She sighed with relief. It was only a dream. Jordan muttered to herself, “I don’t know what you ate last night, Lewis, but whatever it was, you’d better avoid it like the plague from now on. It gives you nightmares.”
As Jordan approached the kitchen door, it swung inward. A feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She half expected Maggie’s mother to appear. Instead, Kale’s familiar face poked out.
“Ah, there you are. I was just about to yell at you again. I hope you’re hungry.”
Jordan grinned. “Good morning to you, too, and yes, I’m famished.”
“Good. Blueberry muffins and fresh coffee await, my lady.”
Jordan laughed. “Lead on, fair knight, or risk skid marks on your face.”
Kale chuckled and held the door open for Jordan. He followed her into the kitchen and grabbed a sanitary wipe to clean the dust from the table. “I’ll be glad when this room is finished. It’s kind of tough to produce an edible meal in the middle of all this mess.”
Jordan looked around and readily agreed. She looked at the floor, stripped clean of the old faded tile. “I knew I stripped this floor yesterday.”
Kale frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Huh? I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you were all right. You seem a little preoccupied this morning.”
Jordan moved her chair closer to the table and grasped her coffee cup. She sat and stared into the dark liquid. “I’m fine. I had a really strange dream last night. Kind of creeped me out.”
Kale sipped his coffee. “A dream, huh? Want to talk about it?”
Jordan shrugged. “It was nothing, really. You’re just going to say it’s a bunch of mumbo jumbo.”
He touched her hand. “If it creeped you out, it wasn’t nothing. And for the record, I happen to believe dreams have meaning.”
“Really? I’ve always thought dreams were your subconscious thoughts brought to life, so to speak. You know, your hidden thoughts, fears, and dreams.”
Kale nodded. “I can see where that would make sense. You must have some pretty scary thoughts if this particular dream made you so uncomfortable.”
Jordan frowned. “I’m not really sure how it made me feel. It wasn’t creepy in a scary kind of way, it was just... I don’t know. In every dream I’ve had since I broke my back sixteen years ago, I have never been in my chair. I’m totally intact and totally unharmed, walking around like the accident never happened. Every dream, that is, until the one I had last night.”
“You were in your chair in the dream?”
“Yeah. It was way too real. It didn’t feel like a dream.”
“Well,” Kale said, “I’ve got to get to work. Promise me you’ll tell me about it tonight?”
Jordan nodded. There was a knock at the kitchen door.
Kale rose to his feet. “That would be Tom,” he said.
“Good morning, Mr. Simmons.”
Kale placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Please, call me Kale. My dad is Mr. Simmons. Help yourself to some coffee and muffins. I’m off to work.”
Kale grabbed his briefcase, took another muffin, and bid them both a good day. Seconds later, he was gone.
Jordan moved her chair to the cupboard and poured a cup of coffee for Tom.
“Okay, Tom, fill me in on the plans for today.”
* * *
Kale noticed the new ceiling as soon as he stepped in the door. “Wow, that looks great!”
“Kale, is that you?” Jordan called.
Kale made his way into the living room where Jordan was curled up on the couch, reading Maggie’s diaries. He dropped his briefcase on a nearby chair, kissed Jordan on the cheek, and said, “Hey, you. How was your day?”
Jordan smiled and patted the sofa beside her. “We got a lot done today. The kitchen ceiling was first, but since the cabinets won’t be here for another week, we put up a new ceiling and walls in my room. My room is a wreck right now—the bed is in the middle of the floor—but Tom thinks it will only take a few more days to finish the floor and trim work.”
“You aren’t being too much of a pest to the guys, are you?”
Jordan punched her friend in the arm. “When am I ever a pest?” she demanded, quickly adding, “Don’t answer that. I didn’t realize home repairs were so much work.”
Kale nodded. “Judging by what’s already been done, it will all be worth it in the end.”
“I think you’re right. So, tell me about your day.”
Kale grinned and repositioned himself on the couch so that he was facing her. “We’ve been banging our heads against the wall trying to figure out how to make the synapse connections. Today, it all came together. We’ll try our second test with the lab animals tomorrow. If things work out the way we hope, the implant should be ready in about two weeks.”
“Wow. I see Peter again on Monday. Everything should be fine. I’m feeling great.”
“I think you should talk to Peter about coming back to work. You really should be involved in the final testing and preparations. After all, you’ve put a lot of work into this thing as well. It would be great for you to be there and have a voice in the wrap-up.”
“I agree. Being out of the loop for the past few weeks has been hell. I’ve missed being in the middle of the action. I’ll talk to Peter about it on Monday.”
Kale stood up. “Okay, sounds like a plan. So, what do you want for dinner?”
* * *
“Mmm, this is good. You’re a great cook.”
Jordan and Kale were sitting side by side on the couch with plates of spaghetti balanced on their laps. Large pillows were positioned on each side of Jordan, propping her up.
“My grandma taught me well.”
Jordan looked over at him and grinned. “She forgot to teach you how to comb your hair.”
Kale tried to keep from smiling. “What do you mean by that?”
Jordan coyly covered her mouth with her hand and batted her eyelashes. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Very funny, Jord. Very funny.”
/> She grinned at Kale. “I thought so. Are you doing the dishes tonight or am I?”
Kale rose to his feet and took Jordan’s plate from her. “You go ahead and read your old diaries. I’ll do the dishes. Then we’ll talk about this dream of yours, okay?”
Jordan looked up at Kale. “How about you rinse, I’ll load the sonic cleanser, and we’ll talk about the dream while we work?”
“Okay then. Let’s do it.” Kale scooped Jordan from the couch and gently placed her in her hover-chair. “Lead the way.”
Kale handed the first dish to Jordan. “Tell me about the dream.”
“Well, I dreamed that I woke up at 6:00 a.m., just like I do every morning. I got up, got dressed, and headed for the kitchen. The moment I opened my bedroom door, I could smell muffins and coffee. I thought you were treating me to breakfast, but when I got to the living room, it was all changed. My furniture was gone, and in its place was this stuff that looked like it was from the early 2000s. That really freaked me out. I thought you might be responsible, so I went to the kitchen looking for you—so I could kick your ass. But when I got there, the door opened and a middle-aged woman poked her head out. She called out for Maggie. Can you believe it?”
Kale handed Jordan another dish. “Maggie? You mean the Maggie from the diaries?”
“Yes, or at least, I think so. Just then, this young red-haired girl breezes by me like I’m invisible and goes into the kitchen.”
“What did she look like?”
“She looked to be fifteen or sixteen years old.”
Kale frowned. “I can see why the dream creeped you out. What happened next?”
“The kid left for school and I asked the mother why they were in my house. She ignored me, and when I tried to get her attention, a really sharp pain shot through my head and my throat started to close up. I tried to reach for a glass of water, but my chair tilted forward and dumped me. The next thing I knew, you were pounding on my bedroom door.”
Karen D. Badger - Yesterday Once More Page 5