LOOK AHEAD, LOOK BACK
The Snipesville Chronicles, Book 3
By Annette Laing
For my husband, Bryan, and our son, Alec: my boys And in memory of Dr. Doris Pearce, a force for good in South Georgia.
Copyright © 2012 by Annette Laing
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Confusion Press. CONFUSION, CONFUSION PRESS and associated logo are trademarks of Confusion Press.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval sustem, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher, For information regarding permission, write to Confusion Press, P.O. Box 2523, Statesboro,
GA 30459.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012901398
ISBN-13: 978-0-9848101-0-9
Cover design: Deborah Harvey Inside Design: Kelley Callaway AnnetteLaing.com
Contents
ONE
Startling Discoveries • 1
TWO
Another Balesworth • 18
THREE
Changing Colors • 35
FOUR
The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Hannah Dias • 57
FIVE
Into the Woods • 80
SIX
Shopping and Slavery • 103
SEVEN
Work and Wonders • 120
EIGHT
Going Upriver • 138
NINE
Identities Revealed • 151
TEN
Up in Flames • 162
ELEVEN
Brandon and Alex Investigate • 180
TWELVE
The White Witch • 195
THIRTEEN
Going Quietly • 223
FOURTEEN
Look Back • 233
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1: STARTLING DISCOVERIES
Digging a ditch in Braithwaite Park wasn’t Alex Dias’s idea of a fun time on a hot September morning in Snipesville, Georgia. But his friend Brandon had promised him a burger and Coke if he would do some shoveling, and it wasn’t like there was anything else to do on a weekend in Snipesville, anyway. Alex sometimes missed San Francisco, and this was one of those times.
“So what are you making a movie for, again?” he asked, puffing heavily as he heaved yet another shovelful of soil over the top.
“History Day,” Brandon wheezed, stopping to mop his forehead on his sleeve. “It’s, like, this competition for social studies projects. I’m entering the video contest. Javarius and me, we’re going to play World War One soldiers. That’s why I need this trench. The armies fought that war with machine guns, so the soldiers spent most of their time hiding in holes in the ground . . .”
“Yes, I know about trenches,” snapped Alex. The heat and hard work were making him grouchy. At least, that was what he told himself.
“Okay,” said Brandon carefully. “But did you know there was a whole company of black American soldiers who got medals from France for distinguished bravery? That’s who we’re going to play. The lady in the college’s theater department loaned us the costumes, but I’m going to have to duct-tape Javarius’ pants because they’re too long.”
Alex smiled at the thought of Javarius’ duct-taped pants, and then thrust his shovel at the dry, hard soil. The blade clanged as it hit a large rock, and he let out a long sigh. “This is getting hard,” he said wearily. “How much farther we gotta dig?”
Brandon wished Alex wouldn’t complain so much, because he was making him feel guilty. Looking past Alex at the elegant old house that was the Clark family’s funeral home, Brandon felt even guiltier. His dad had asked him to help at the home with organizing some files, but Brandon had made the excuse that he absolutely had to get on with his History Day project this weekend, which wasn’t entirely truthful.
“Almost there,” he grunted. “Anyway, look on the good side. At least this isn’t solid clay we’re dealing with, like it is up where my Uncle Bob lives.” He lifted his shovel again, and, as he did so, a corner of the blade lightly scraped the wall of the trench.
The sandy soil crumbled away, revealing the end of a small bone.
Alex pointed at it, his eyes narrowed. “Whoa, what is that?” he said.
“Don’t let your imagination run off with you,” Brandon warned him. “Look, it’s just trash from somebody’s chicken dinner.” With two fingers, he began to excavate the bone.
But as more soil fell away from it, he stepped back with a gasp, collapsing against the other side of the trench.
Alex leaned forward to get a closer look. Now he could see why Brandon was in shock: The bone was not from a chicken. It belonged to a skeletal human hand, and a gold ring hung loosely from one of its fingers.
Within an hour, the park was crawling with police cars and police officers, and a straggling line of bystanders had formed to watch the spectacle.
A young Snipesville Online reporter in jeans and sweatshirt was interviewing Brandon and Alex, while acting as his own cameraman. “So why were y’all digging in the park?” he asked, squinting from behind the lens.
Brandon took a deep breath. “Well, sir, I was making a World War One trench for my History Day project, and Alex here was helping me. . . .” As he talked, a heavyset middle-aged woman in pigtails and a bandanna ducked under the yellow police tape, and marched up to them, wiping her hands on her overalls. Ignoring the reporter, she tapped Alex on the arm and asked in a heavy northern accent, “So, which one of you found the remains?”
Before either of the boys could reply, the reporter swiveled around and pointed the camera at her. “Dr. Barrett, good to see you!” he cried. He adjusted his lens, and then said into the microphone. “This lady is Dr. Sonya Barrett, professor of anthropology at Snipesville State College. I’m told she is leading the excavation. Dr. Barrett, I’m guessing from your presence here that this body that’s been discovered is pretty old?”
Meanwhile, Alex nudged Brandon. “Hey, isn’t that your Aunt Marcia?” he whispered. He nodded to a sour-faced middle-aged black woman standing behind the police tape, her arms folded. Aunt Marcia was the business manager at Clark and Sons Home of Eternal Rest, Inc., Brandon’s family’s funeral home.
“Yeah, that’s Aunt Morticia,” joked Brandon. “She can always tell when there’s a corpse around. She’s looking for business. She never lets up.”
Meanwhile, the reporter was asking Professor Barrett, “Are the remains from the War Between the States?”
“You mean the Civil War? No, they’re not,” she said brusquely. “The skeleton’s even older than that. Eighteenth century, I’d say, and not Indian.”
The reporter whistled. “Wow. So there were white folks in Snipes County that far back?”
She answered his question impatiently. “Not many, but yes, there were. And Africans.”
“So this was a long time before Snipesville was built,” said the reporter. “What was this place called back then? Do you know?”
“Actually, yes, I do . . .” she began.
Alex was so excited by the question, he butted in. “Me too! I know what it was . . . Ow!”
Brandon had kicked him.
Dr. Barrett glanced at the boys, and then cleared her throat. “By the early 1750s,” she said slowly, “this park was part of what was called Kintyre Plantation. My students and I plan to do a full excavation.”
The reporter eagerly leaned toward her. “Think we’ll find a secret hoard of Confederate gold?”
Dr. Barrett smiled tightly
and ran a grimy hand over her bandanna. “I’m an anthropologist, not a treasure hunter. Anyway, I don’t think . . .” she hesitated. Then she said, “I can’t imagine we’ll find a secret hoard, but we did find this with the remains.”
She held up a small plastic pouch. Inside, clearly visible, was the gold ring from the skeleton’s finger.
“Could you hold that still for me, please?” the reporter muttered, focusing his camera and zooming in. “That’s pretty, all those little circles.”
“Tiny whorls, yes,” said Dr. Barrett, dangling the bag next to her head. “It is a very strange design she was wearing for the . . .”
The reporter interrupted her. “So the deceased was a woman. Was she murdered?”
To Brandon’s surprise, Dr. Barrett seemed intrigued by the suggestion. “Possibly. Yes, it’s possible. It was a shallow grave, I think. But it’s too early to be sure.”
At that moment, a bearded student trotted over. “Dr. Barrett?” he said in a hushed voice. “We want you to take a look at something.”
The boys traipsed back up the hill on East Main Street to the center of downtown Snipesville, past the row of early twentieth-century shops, the pool hall, and the drugstore. Alex turned to Brandon. “What do you think?” he asked apprehensively. “Has this got anything to do with us?”
“Nah,” said Brandon. He knew what Alex had meant, but he kept on walking, avoiding his friend’s earnest gaze. He did wonder, all the same. Were they about to travel in time again? Was this discovery some kind of sign? He found the thought strangely exciting as well as scary. Brandon had never imagined that the arrival of Alex and his sister Hannah from San Francisco would totally change his life, that it would turn him into a time-traveler. He had always loved history, and he had thought over the years how cool it would be to travel in time. He had never seriously thought it would happen, of course. He still couldn’t quite believe it.
With a screech of brakes, a small blue car pulled up next to them, and the middle-aged woman behind the wheel lowered her window. “Hey, guys!” she called out, giving them a cheery wave.
“Hi, Dr. Harrower,” said Brandon cautiously. Alex gave her a shy, silent wave.
Dr. Kate Harrower was a history professor at Snipesville State College. She was also the kids’ occasional companion on their travels in time. She was not an easy person to know: Whenever the kids asked her why the time travel was happening, she became evasive, avoiding any direct answers to their questions. But she clearly knew more than she was saying, and she showed up at random times and places on their adventures to offer them help and advice.
Running into the Professor now, Brandon thought, was definitely another sign that something was up. They only ever saw her before the time travel started. In fact, Alex’s sister Hannah was convinced that the Professor was responsible for all their adventures.
“Listen, I don’t have time to chat,” the Professor said urgently, as a line of cars waited patiently behind her. It was normal in Snipesville for people to stop their cars in the middle of the road and chat, even when that meant holding up the traffic. “Meet me at the County Health Department at two. Call Hannah and tell her she has to be there. It’s important.”
The boys nodded dumbly. Brandon opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but the Professor was already pulling away from the curb. As she reached the traffic lights at the courthouse, she turned onto South Main Street just a little too fast, and then vanished from sight.
“I guess we’re going on another adventure,” Brandon said, after a small pause.
“Why do you think that?” Alex asked him.
Brandon gaped at his friend. “What? You don’t think it means something that we saw her?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Alex, matter-of-factly. “That’s kind of superstitious of you. This is a small town. I’m surprised we don’t run into her more often.”
“I’m not superstitious,” said Brandon defensively.
“Yes, you are,” Alex said. “Nothing personal, but you’re pretty religious, so you always think everything has a reason.”
“Of course it does,” said Brandon. “We don’t always know what the reason is, but there always is one.”
“No, there isn’t,” Alex said quietly, reluctant to get into an argument with his friend. “A lot of things are pretty random.”
A hostile silence fell between them as they walked. Brandon didn’t appreciate being called superstitious. Religion isn’t superstition, he thought angrily. Christianity and superstition are two totally different things, he insisted to himself.
While Brandon seethed, Alex texted his sister to pass along the Professor’s message. A few seconds later, he got Hannah’s reply in capital letters: NO WAY.
He showed Brandon her reply, and they both shrugged.
The Snipes County Health Department was a grim, whitewashed, cementblock, single-story building. Only a derelict old farmhouse and a cotton field kept it company on the very edge of Snipesville. Beyond were fields. At two in the afternoon on a Saturday, one car waited in the parking lot, and it was the Professor’s.
“I’m sorry, but I have to leave,” she said. “I’ve told the receptionist that I’m your guardian and we’re going to Senegal. So make sure you stick with the story.”
“Senny where?” said Alex. At the same time, Brandon asked, “Ma’am? What story? What are you talking about?”
“Senegal’s in Africa,” she explained breathlessly to Alex, turning the key in the ignition. “But we’re not going there. I just think some precautions might be necessary for the future. Just in case. So I’m getting you guys a course of malaria pills, and since there’s lots of malaria in Africa, I figured it was best to tell the clinic that’s why you’re getting the meds. Where’s Hannah? Well, fill her in when she arrives.”
“I don’t think Hannah’s going to . . .” Alex started to say, but the car was already pulling away.
“Man, doesn’t she ever slow down?” Brandon exploded. “What was that about?”
“I guess we better find out,” said Alex, heading for the clinic door.
The nurse was not happy. “I told her you’ll need yellow fever shots if you’re going to Africa, but she didn’t listen,” she complained. Then she looked Brandon square in the eye. “That lady is your guardian?” she said skeptically. “Both of you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, a little too quickly. “She’s great. She’s always taking us places. She took us to England this summer. It was awesome, wasn’t it, Alex?”
“It was awesome,” Alex agreed. “We went to London to see the Crystal Palace . . . .”
Brandon groaned. The Crystal Palace had burned down in 1936, so it was going to be hard to explain how they could have visited it.
Fortunately, the nurse didn’t know anything about the Crystal Palace, London, or England, and she wasn’t interested, either. “That must have been nice,” she said absently, as she made a note on her computer. “I’ll be right back. Wait here.”
Brandon and Alex exchanged glum looks, expecting the worst. But when the nurse returned, she handed each boy a slip of blue paper. “Here’s your prescriptions,” she said. “The doctor says to be sure to start taking them two weeks before you leave, and to read all the instructions. Have a blessed day.” She shooed them toward the door.
As they walked out into the stifling heat, Brandon said, “We better get these filled at SpeedyDrug. I don’t think I know anyone who works there. I don’t want someone asking questions. You know anyone in the pharmacy there?”
“No,” said Alex. Truth was, he really didn’t know very many people in Snipesville at all.
The gray-haired pharmacist in the white coat grimaced when he examined their prescriptions, holding one in each hand. “Malaria pills, huh? We don’t get much call for those around here. You boys going on a mission trip?”
“No,” Alex said, at the exact same moment that Brandon said, “Yes, sir.”
Alex tried very hard
not to look nervous. Then, to his horror, he heard himself asking, “Do we need our parents’ permission?”
Brandon glared at him angrily.
The pharmacist gave him an odd look, but then he shrugged. “No, I guess not, not unless your prescription is for a controlled substance.” He entered something into the computer. “Ready in fifteen minutes,” he said.
Alex’s dad dropped him off at home in their large house in the subdivision in rural Snipes County, then went back to his office at the bank downtown. Alex found his sister in the living room. She was listening to music, munching on an apple, and playing on her new phone.
Hannah pulled out the earbuds when Alex walked in. In a bored voice, she said, “So what did That Woman want?”
Alex ignored the question, and flopped into the recliner, flipping up the footrest. “Why didn’t you get back to me?” he said reproachfully.
“Oh, did you text me again?” Hannah said innocently.
Alex scowled. “You know I did. I texted, I called. I bet that phone hasn’t been out of your hands the whole time. You should have come.”
“Why?” said Hannah, returning her gaze to her game. “I don’t owe that witch anything. She’s not the boss of me. What did she want, anyway?”
“She got us malaria pills.”
Hannah sat up straight, and tossed her phone aside. It bounced on the sofa. “She did what?” she hissed. “Does Dad know?”
Alex made a face. “Of course he doesn’t know. You want her to get arrested?” “No skin off my nose,” Hannah huffed.
Her brother scowled at her. “That’s just stupid. Anyway, you should get some pills too. Maybe it’s not too late.”
“No chance,” Hannah said. “Maybe if I refuse to get vaccinated for weird diseases, she won’t kidnap me for her stupid adventures.”
“Don’t count on it, sis. And you don’t get vaccinated for malaria, anyway: You have to take these pills we got. Anyhow, you’re wrong about her. She doesn’t want to go time traveling any more than we do.”
Hannah groaned, and shook her head in disbelief. “Man, your Professor buddy has totally brainwashed you. You and Brandon are such total wusses, always doing what she tells you to. Did you even ask her why you need the pills?”
Look Ahead, Look Back (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 3) Page 1