Colonial Madness

by Jo Whittemore

  It took me roughly two seconds of hesitation before I answered.

  “Yes, of course I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Eight

  You want me to what?” asked Angel. “You can’t be serious.”

  I clasped my hands in front of me. “Just for tonight. I already promised Caleb I’d meet him before I knew the contest rules.”

  Angel crossed her arms over her chest. “You know you could get disqualified. You really want to do that for a guy who lives hundreds of miles away?”

  “Nobody’s going to find out,” I said. “And Caleb isn’t going to say anything. Please just cover for me for, like, an hour.”

  Angel studied me closely. “One hour. Sixty minutes.”

  “Sixty minutes,” I promised.

  She sighed and waved me away. “Go. Have fun. Fall in love.”

  “Thank you!” I squealed, and hugged her.

  “Oh! Ack!” she cried, pushing me away. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to fall in love with that smell. What have you been doing?”

  I shrank back. “Picking vegetables in the hot, hot sun, and boiling rancid fat. You wouldn’t happen to have any all-natural body-odor remedies, would you?”

  “Vinegar and mint,” said Angel. “Mint to mask the smell, and vinegar to prevent more. I actually have a solution that combines both.”

  She disappeared into her bathroom and returned a moment later with a small bottle. I tried to take it from her, but she pulled her hand back.

  “I’m doing you three favors,” she said. “I want something in return.”

  “Three favors?” I repeated.

  “This stuff can be used as a deodorizer and mouthwash,” she said. “And I’m lying to your mother for you.”

  I nodded. “Fine. What do you want?”

  “Oh, I think you know.”

  I ground my teeth together but nodded again. “I’ll be right back.”

  Slipping into my bedroom, I shuffled through the feathers on the floor and got on my hands and knees. We’d chosen to stash all our fruits and vegetables under the bed, so I rolled the watermelon out and hefted it into my arms. Queenie mooed from her corner by the wardrobe.

  “Don’t tell Mom,” I said, closing the door behind me.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” said Angel when I presented her with the melon. She handed over the bottle. “And good luck in the afternoon challenge.”

  “Yeah,” I said, pocketing it. “You too.”

  But I knew neither of us really meant it.

  After a delicious lunch of second-story chicken, Mom and I joined the other families in a field where targets had been set up fifty yards away. Eli leaned against a post jutting from the ground, one of about twenty posts scattered at random around us.

  “It would appear that some of you lack in foodstuffs,” he said. “In colonial times, this was when it became necessary to find more. Therefore, we give you the opportunity to go ‘hunting.’ ” He crooked his fingers.

  “Did air quotes exist in colonial times?” Mom asked me in a low voice. I shushed her.

  “It would be truer to have you shoot and kill your own animals,” he said, causing Angel’s whole family to gasp. “But I do not feel as if you can all be trusted with weaponry.” I might have imagined it, but I was pretty sure his eyes flicked to Dylan.

  “Therefore, using bow and arrow, you will attempt to hit the target, the bull’s-eye specifically. The closest two will win a basket of foodstuffs.”

  “Easy,” said Mom. “I took archery at summer camp.”

  Several other people murmured confidence in themselves.

  “Let’s get shooting,” said Dylan, rubbing his hands together. “Where’s the gear?”

  Eli smiled and indicated a stack of bows propped against a tree. “I’ve provided the bows. You must provide the arrows.”

  “How’s that?” someone asked.

  “We have to make them,” I said.

  “Correct!” said Eli. “All you should require are sticks and feathers.” When he mentioned the first item, he pointed to the trees, and when he mentioned the second . . . Caleb rolled up in a wagon with another guy about his age in a hat that said TOM’S TURKEYS.

  “Uh-oh,” said Angel.

  Both guys jumped down and grabbed a roll of baling wire off the back. In five minutes’ time, they’d unrolled it all around the posts I’d noticed, and soon the families were enclosed in a large patch of field.

  And then . . . the demons were unleashed.

  A dozen turkeys who clearly did not want to lose their feathers sprinted from their cage to the far end of the enclosure.

  “You have until the sand runs out to prepare three arrows per family,” said Eli. He held up a large hourglass and flipped it over.

  Everyone burst into action, running straight for the turkeys. Mom grabbed my arm and held me back.

  “Everyone else is gonna get their feathers first!” I said, trying to pull free.

  “No,” said Mom, crouching low. “They’re going to drive the turkeys right to us.”

  Sure enough, half the birds were headed back toward our side of the enclosure.

  “There.” She pointed. “The one that looks like it has a perm.”

  We both dove for the same bird, which squawked and let out a Gobble of Doom.

  Mom held it tight. “Get four feathers!”

  I winced and said, “Sorry, Mr. Turkey.” Then I grabbed the feathers and yanked. The second they were in my hand, Mom released the bird and grabbed my free hand.

  “Let’s go!”

  She pulled me out of the enclosure, and I was happy to see we were the first ones free.

  “Grab the straightest, longest sticks you can find,” she instructed me. “I’ll split the feathers.”

  I scanned the ground for fallen branches, picking some up and throwing others aside. After I found the best, I glanced at the hourglass in Eli’s hand. It was halfway empty. I glanced into the turkey pen. One of the families was still inside.

  “Tori!” Mom called to me.

  I hurried over with the branches and she studied them, throwing away all but three.

  “Good job,” she said. Mom took a knife out of her pocket and sharpened one end of each stick into a point. “Now we add feathers.”

  “With what?” I asked. “Glue?”

  She sawed three grooves along the sides of the opposite end, sliding the vein of a halved feather into each groove.

  “Cool!” I said, admiring her handiwork when she finished the first one. “Where did you learn that?”

  Mom smirked. “I’m a dressmaker, sweetheart. My job is making pieces fit seamlessly.”

  She finished the second arrow, then the third, and cut a notch in the feathered end of each for the bowstring.

  “Shall we test them out?” she asked.

  But before she’d even nocked the first arrow, Eli hollered for everyone to stop.

  “Time has run out!” he cried. “Grab your bows and arrows and follow me to the targets.” He pointed to the family still in the turkey enclosure. “Except you. Your time has run out for the contest as well.”

  The rest of us fell into step behind Eli, and while we walked, I stared at other people’s arrows. They all looked pretty crude, with Angel’s family’s looking crudest of all.

  Theirs didn’t have feathers; they had leaves.

  “Um . . .” I pointed at Angel’s arrow.

  “We couldn’t do it,” she said.

  “How would you like it if someone chased you around the yard and pulled out your hair?” asked Aunt Zoe.

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “You don’t think those leaves are going to crumble under the pressure?”

  “It was either this or get disqualified,” said Uncle Deke.

  “Enough idle chatter,” said Eli. “You will surely startle your prey.” He gestured to some hay bales with bull’s-eyes painted on them.

  Dylan snickered.

  “Assemble a line an
d take your shots. The order matters not,” said Eli, ignoring him.

  And even though Mom and I were last in line, we placed first. Angel’s family came in dead last.

  “Congratulations,” Aunt Zoe told us as Mom shifted the weight of the food basket Eli had just handed her.

  “Thanks,” we both said.

  “Do you want help carrying that?” I asked Mom. We were walking back to the manor. “It looks heavy.”

  “I think I can manage,” she said. “You weighed a little more as a baby, and I carried you just fine.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said drily. But I couldn’t be upset with our recent success. Just when I’d been starting to lose hope, Mom and I pulled it off.

  “I don’t think anyone expected us to do so well,” I told her. “Not even me.”

  “Never doubt your mother,” said Mom. “Who was the one who told you butter could get you unstuck from the heating duct?”

  “Who was the one who got me stuck there in the first place?” I countered.

  “Was it not the perfect hiding space for hide-and-seek?”

  I was silent for a moment. “It was.”

  Mom grinned and bumped me with her shoulder. “So what do you say we eat dinner and then play a game I invented?” She held up a finger. “I promise it’s not Yarn.”

  I smiled. “Actually, I have plans with Angel tonight. We’re going to do something with that watermelon.”

  Mom nodded. “Okay, that sounds like fun.”

  After dinner, I snuck into the bathroom and slathered the vinegar and mint under my arms, even rubbing some into the fabric of my dress. I said good-bye to Mom and sprinted down the hall before she could see that I wasn’t stopping at Angel’s room.

  Once I was sure the coast was clear, I crept from shadow to shadow down to the craft hut. Caleb opened the door before I even knocked. And he didn’t look happy to see me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “My dad said it’s against the rules for any of the contestants to hang out with us.” He frowned and dropped his shoulders.

  “I know,” I said. “But . . . I still want to.”

  He perked up a bit. “Really? With me?”

  “Well . . . yeah,” I said, smiling. “But I’ll leave if it’ll get you in trouble.”

  Caleb took a step closer. “I won’t say anything if you won’t.” He glanced around and gestured for me to come in.

  I slipped through the doorway, feeling equal parts guilty and excited.

  We didn’t talk any about his family’s financial situation or mine. Instead, he told me about his regular life outside the 1600s, and I told him about life in my town. We quizzed each other on interests and likes and dislikes and teased each other about them.

  “You don’t like hummus?” I asked.

  “I don’t like the texture,” he said. “It’s like eating that white paste from kindergarten.”

  “You don’t like the white paste from kindergarten?!”

  Caleb laughed and placed a sheet of paper on the table beside us. “Tell me what kind of earrings you want.”

  “Ones that will give me superpowers.”

  “Cute.” He tapped me on the nose with his pencil. “But something more realistic.”

  I thought a moment. “Can we make flower earrings?”

  Caleb began sketching. “How many petals? Round or pointed?”

  “Five round ones.” I watched while he drew. “Perfect.”

  Caleb picked up a piece of sheet metal and got to work on the real thing. I wanted to stay and watch the whole process, but the hour passed quicker than I expected and I had to say good-bye.

  “Sorry, but my cousin will only cover for me for so long.”

  “Your cousin knows you’re here?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  “Angel,” I told him. “And don’t worry, she’ll keep it a secret.”

  Caleb nodded. “I should have these done for you by tomorrow, but I don’t know how I can get them to you.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Unless you want to hang out again?”

  My stomach did a flip-flop. “Sure!” I blurted. “I mean . . . whatever, yeah.”

  “Way to play it cool,” Caleb said with a smile.

  I laughed and we hugged good-bye, me praying the whole time that he wouldn’t smell me and change his mind.

  Before I left, he stepped outside and checked for signs of life. Then he turned and beckoned me forward. With one last wave, I darted from shadow to shadow again, all the way to the back door.

  Which was locked.

  “Shoot!” I whispered.

  There was no doubt in my mind who did it, but at the moment I had more important things to worry about . . . like getting back inside. I prowled the length of windows until I found the one for Angel’s room. Then I picked up a rock and threw it. It clicked loud against the glass and I ducked into the bushes. No movement from above.

  I picked up another rock and threw it, pressing my back against the building. The curtains over Angel’s window rustled.

  I jumped out and started waving my arms but froze.

  Mom was looking down at me.

  She drew open the window and leaned out. “Tori? Well . . . what on earth are you doing out there?” The confusion in her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I thought for sure you’d be here in Angel’s room. Isn’t that the strangest thing?”

  And that’s when I realized Dylan hadn’t locked me out. Mom had.

  “Please please please let me in!” I whispered as loud as I dared.

  “Gee.” Mom scratched her head. “I really wish I could, but since I’m not smart enough to figure out your plan, I’m probably not smart enough to unlock a door either.” She shrugged. “Sorry! Have fun sleeping in the barn!”

  And with that, she closed the window and shut the curtains.

  As I sulked down the path to the barn and tried to find a patch of ground not covered in poop, I realized I didn’t feel one bit guilty for what I did. If anything, Mom had brought it on herself for screwing up challenges and being a screwup in general.

  Nope, I decided, settling down against a hay bale. She was the problem, not me.

  Chapter Nine

  Angel didn’t share my opinion. We talked over breakfast, since I was in no mood to eat with Mom. Two cows had licked me during the night.

  “Honestly, I can’t blame her,” said Angel. “I would never trick my parents like that.”

  I gawked at her as if she’d just declared hot dogs wholesome.

  “You trick your parents every day!” I exclaimed. “Pretending to embrace their lifestyle and then borrowing perfume from me!”

  “That’s not the same,” she said, scooping up porridge.

  “How is it not?”

  “It’s not because it’s not,” replied Angel.

  “Strong argument.”

  Angel put down her spoon. “Look. You and your mom have a bond most people would kill for. And when you lie to her, you break that bond and become just like . . .” She pointed to Dylan and his dad.

  I scowled. “I am nothing like Dylan. You take that back.”

  “Okay, okay. But you still shouldn’t trick your mom. You guys are supposed to be a team in this thing.”

  Angel was right. Mom and I needed to work like a team, and that meant apologizing, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. Gritting my teeth, I approached the table where Mom was sitting with Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke.

  “Morning, honey!” chirped Mom. “Sleep well?”

  “Two cows licked me,” I told her.

  Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke exchanged mystified looks.

  “Well, that’s just because you’re so sweet,” said Mom with a sunny smile. “Did you need something?”

  “I wanted to . . . apologize,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Mom cocked her head to one side. “That doesn’t sound very genuine. Are you lying . . . again?”

  Aunt Zoe cleared her throat at Uncle Deke, and the two of them got up from the table
.

  “No, I’m not lying,” I said.

  Mom leaned closer. “Are you lying about not lying?”

  “No.”

  Mom leaned back. “Are you lying about not lying about not lying?”

  “No!” I said, but a laugh escaped. It was hard to stay mad at my mom. “Okay, I really am sorry I upset you.”

  “That’s better.” She smiled and held her arms open. I sat down next to her and let her squish me. “Who’s my favorite girl?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Me.”

  “Who’s your favorite mom?”

  “You are.”

  “Darn right. And never forget it.”

  But an hour later, when the morning challenge came, I kind of did. Each family had to build a chair. A simple chair. Four legs, a seat, and a back.

  Instead, Mom and I built the lovechild of stilts and a bookshelf.

  “Did they have giraffes in America during colonial times?” I asked as we stood back to inspect our handiwork. “Because I feel that’s the only creature who would benefit from this monstrosity.”

  “It’s not that tall,” said Mom, reaching up to pat one of the seats.

  I frowned. “And how did we end up with that seat . . . and then another two feet above it?”

  “I think one of the seats was supposed to be the back,” said Mom. “But that’s okay! The extra seat underneath just means you and a friend can both enjoy.”

  “None of my friends are two feet tall,” I said.

  “People were a lot shorter in colonial times,” Mom said solemnly.

  I shook my head and looked at the other teams’ chairs. And then I looked at ours again. “We should’ve followed the instructions better,” I said. “Why did you say you knew what you were doing?”

  Mom sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know, Tori. I built your crib without any instructions.”

  “It was a nylon pop-up crib,” I told her. “All you had to do was unfold it. This”—I patted our so-called chair—“was a little more complicated. We should’ve followed the instructions.”

  “I heard you the first time,” said Mom, sounding a little testy. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take things more seriously!” I said. “I want to win!”

  Eli started making the rounds and declared the family with the baby as winners. We, of course, came in last.