by Deborah Heal
“I told you,” Merrideth said with satisfaction.
“But it’s not really this house,” Abby said gently.
“I know it’s not identical, but they could have taken down the rose thingies.”
“The trellises on the front porch? Yes, and the carved wood trim at the eaves isn’t there anymore either.”
“Right, right. This picture must be from when the house was new. And see that smoke stack in the distance behind the house? That must be the grain mill Mrs. Arnold was talking about.”
“But it can’t be,” Abby continued. “They didn’t have photography back then—well, for sure not full color, high resolution photography like this picture.”
“When did they first have color pictures?”
“I don’t know for sure, but Mom and Dad’s photo albums are filled with black and white photos when they were growing up, until maybe the 1960s or 70s. And even though that may seem like the olden days to us, I’m sure no one had steam mills sitting around in their back yards then.”
But when Abby scrolled down, she saw there was a caption under the picture that read: The Residence of Col. Jonathan Miles at Miles Station, Macoupin County, Illinois.
“There!” Merrideth said. “Read that!”
“Merrideth, I owe you an apology. But I don’t understand. Why is this house—?”
“What do those do?” Pointing to the title bar at the top of the screen, Merrideth read, “Options, Setup, Location, Time Parameter, Extra Features.”
“It looks a lot like my brother Aaron’s architecture program. I wonder…,” Abby said slowly, “…if it works…the same way.”
When she clicked on the button marked with a little magnifying glass, the scene zoomed toward them.
“It does! See, you can use this tool to zoom in or back off.”
They marveled over each tiny detail in the picture— the grain of the wooden shingles and wrought iron lightning rods on the roof, the lace curtains and shutters at the window.
And pink roses bloomed from the porch trellis, just as Mrs. Arnold had said.
They zoomed out again and spent time focusing on the steam mill and the tiny church in the background. Abby would have spent the rest of the day zooming in on each section of the picture, but finally Merrideth convinced her to try some of the other tools on the menu bar.
When she clicked the first few buttons, she got dialogue boxes asking for input that did not make sense to them. She ignored them because she was afraid to change any of the settings until she knew more about the program.
“We’ll have to search for the program manual,” Abby said distractedly, her eyes locked on the screen.
“Or maybe we can get instructions from the Help button.”
“Right,” Abby said dryly. “That could happen. Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve never had much actual help with so-called Help.”
One button had a little wheel-shaped icon, and Abby let out an excited yelp. “Awesome! It has video capability.”
She saw the puzzled expression on Merrideth’s face. “Watch.” She clicked the icon and Colonel Miles’ estate came alive. She laughed and pointed to smoke coming out of the smoke stack on the mill and cows walking down to the pond to drink.
“Isn’t it cute? How did they ever make this program?” Merrideth asked.
“And why did they? Do you think it’s a movie set?”
“Maybe. But it sure looks real.” And then Merrideth shouted, “Look! There’s someone at the window!”
“I think it was the curtain. That’s cute. They’re having a summer breeze, too.”
“No, really. I’m sure I saw a person at the window. I want to have a turn.”
Abby obligingly got up and Merrideth took the mouse and zoomed in closer on the window above the trellised front porch. A young woman in an old-fashioned white dress stood peeking out from behind the lace curtain.
“What in the world! You’re right!”
“It must be Charlotte, you know, Colonel Miles’ daughter.”
“If it is, you realize, don’t you, that it’s just an actress playing the part? And besides, no telling how many girls have lived in this house. It could be anyone.”
Merrideth kept the view zoomed up as close as she could get to the window. “Well, I don’t care. I know it’s Charlotte.”
“Maybe this is the newest reality show,” Abby said. “Doesn’t it creep you out to watch her walking around inside her room? I’m not saying she’s real, but if she were?”
“She’s real. And that’s my room, too, you know.”
“Maybe the manual explains it. You did get one, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Merrideth said absently. “Maybe.”
“Well, where is it?”
“Probably still in the box,” Merrideth said, pointing vaguely to the corner of the room where several boxes had been stacked.
Abby rummaged through the Styrofoam and bubble packing in the computer boxes until she found the instruction manuals for all the components of the system. But there was no documentation for the Beautiful Houses software. She did discover an 800-number for the computer manufacturer but knew they wouldn’t help with the software.
“This is a lot more fun than Bubble Town,” Merrideth said.
“There you are,” Pat said from the door. “I called, but I guess you were so busy studying you didn’t hear me.”
“Mom, why are you home early?”
“I’ve got another migraine coming on.” Pat rubbed her temples and turned to leave. “I’m going to lie down and try to head it off at the pass.”
“Wait, Mom. Look,” Merrideth said, pointing to the monitor. “I told you I found this house.”
Pat looked over Merrideth’s shoulder at the screen. “Too bad it doesn’t look that good now. I wouldn’t have to remodel.”
“I think it must be part of a documentary, or something,” Abby said.
“Isn’t it cool, Mom?”
Pat pushed her hair off her forehead and exhaled. “It’s great, Merrideth, but I think studying math and English would be a better use of your time.”
“But, Mom—”
“Now that Abby’s here, you shouldn’t be wasting so much time playing computer games.”
"Sorry," Abby said, stricken. "I just thought...well, she seemed to like—”
"That’s okay,” Pat said. “Only from now on, keep the fun and games for after school."
Chapter 8
“You can do this, Merrideth,” Abby said, hoping none of her frustration was leaking out.
Merrideth sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the page of math problems before her. “Sure I can do it, if you let me have my calculator back.” She put her head on the table.
“Don’t you know your division yet?”
“I was absent that day.” Her muffled voice came from beneath her crossed arms. “And you don’t have to sound so shocked.”
“It’s just that you’re so smart.”
“I told you I’m stupid.”
“So you think Mrs. Arnold’s stupid?”
Merrideth’s head popped up, and she scowled at her. “Mrs. Arnold’s not stupid.”
“Of course she’s not. There’s a difference between ignorance and stupidity.”
“Oh, good. I’m not stupid. I’m just ignorant.”
“Yes, actually you are. But there’s a remedy for that. Come with me.”
Abby pulled Merrideth’s chair out from the table. “We’re going back to the computer room, but no Beautiful Houses this time.” She turned to look menacingly at Merrideth. “Or Bubble Town.”
Merrideth followed her, shuffling along in protest until Abby said, “Shh! Don’t forget. Your mom’s sleeping.” When she got to the computer, Abby opened up the math drills program she had noticed earlier. “Here, let’s see how you do.”
“But these are multiplication.”
“I know.”
“But the worksheet is division.”
“I know.”
It was painfully obvious after only a few problems that Merrideth was as behind in multiplication as she was in division.
“I thought so,” Abby said. “No wonder you can’t do long division. If you don’t know that nine times seven is sixty-three, how are you ever going to know that sixty-three divided by nine is seven? And therefore, how will you ever be able to do the steps of long division?”
“By using a calculator?” Merrideth said hopefully.
“Wrong. You won’t always have a calculator with you wherever you go. It’s so much faster and easier to have it in your brain so you can travel light.”
“So this is the miracle cure?”
“It’s the second step of the miracle cure. The first one is for you to make the decision you can and will learn the multiplication tables.”
“I didn’t know you were a math expert, too.”
“I, my dear, am practically perfect,” Abby said.
“Way to brag,” Merrideth said sourly.
“I’m kidding. That’s a quote from Mary Poppins. I’m sure not perfect.”
With a stern warning not to stop until she told her to, Abby left Merrideth practicing her multiplication tables, and went to see what she could rustle up for dinner.
It took a while to find anything promising. Most of Pat’s food staples were still in boxes on the floor of the pantry in a confused conglomeration with various plastic containers and kitchen gadgets. Apparently, Pat had left Chicago in a hurry.
Abby began sorting everything onto the pantry shelves as she went through it. She found a box of macaroni and cheese in a stack of dishtowels and scrounged in the refrigerator until she had enough vegetables for a salad.
When she went to get Merrideth for dinner, she expected to find her playing games. Surprisingly, she was still hard at work with multiplication drills.
“Wait a minute. I’m almost done,” Merrideth said. “I got a 93% on the last test, and so far I haven’t missed any on this one.”
Abby smiled but kept quiet until Merrideth finished the last problem and the digital version of fireworks burst across the screen along with the words, Congratulations. You scored 100%.
“That’s amazing, although I’m not surprised. I knew you could do it if you put your mind to it.”
“Actually, it is amazing,” Merrideth said, blinking in surprise. Then she stood and stretched.
“I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”
Pat never came down, so Abby prepared a plate in case she felt up to eating later. During dinner, she mentally prepared a speech about the responsibility of sharing the workload in a home, but Merrideth didn’t need to be prompted after all. When she was finished eating, she took her dishes to the counter and said, “Wash or dry?”
“I’ll wash,” Abby said.
“Go ahead. Ask me a multiplication problem,” Merrideth said, eager to demonstrate her new math prowess.
Abby gladly complied, and by the time the dishes were done they had made it to twelve times twelve. Merrideth missed only a few problems, and was sure she’d know them the next time. Abby smiled at her new self-confidence.
Maybe having to wash and dry dishes by hand wasn’t really a hardship at all, but a blessing. Not that she wouldn’t be happy to be back in the world of dishwashers when the time came. But how many mothers and daughters had spent time together talking around that sink? And time with her mother was something Merrideth was in short supply of.
She really was intelligent to learn that quickly. And yet it would be so easy for a teacher to miss that if they only went by appearances. Abby filed that thought away to be remembered when she had her own classroom of students.
“School’s over, right?” Merrideth said, placing the last plate in the cabinet.
Abby smiled. “Yep. Let’s go find out what Charlotte’s doing.”
Merrideth finally agreed her turn time-surfing was over and let Abby back at the monitor so that she could experiment with more of the program settings. Most of the icons on the menu bar still remained incomprehensible, and she wished more than ever for a manual.
But the volume control was familiar. She clicked on it to activate the sound feature, and the little world of Miles Station seemed even more real than before.
Once again, Abby marveled at the programmers’ attention to detail. Now they could hear the steam engine grinding the farmers’ grain, the cows stomping through the pasture on their way to the pond for a drink, the wind rustling through the trees, even the tiny sound of voices from inside the house.
Then came the eerie sound of a train approaching the village. It was like no train she had ever seen, certainly no speeding Amtrak. They heard the chugging of the steam engine and the screaming of its whistle for some time before it came into view. Finally, a black engine pulling its cars appeared, slowing as it approached the depot. A smoky haze hung in the air for a while before being dissipated by the wind.
The date indicated at the top of the screen was May 20, 1854, but Abby found that the Time Parameters drop-down menu allowed her infinite control of forward and backward movement on the time continuum, in actual real time or at any other speed. Laughing, they made the train back up across the screen at high speed then chug slowly forward out of sight again.
Merrideth was fascinated by how much detail they could see by zooming in on the train while it was in slow motion. Women in bright bonnets and men in hats peered through the windows of the passenger cars, and a man shoveled coal into the furnace in the engine. Abby found that by scrolling the screen with the two arrow buttons at the bottom of the monitor, she could move the depot into view and watch the passengers disembark at the Miles Station depot.
Merrideth could wait no longer. “Let me have a turn.” She sat down and began to fiddle with the controls, zooming in, increasing the volume, moving forward and backward in time.
Leaning over her shoulder, Abby said, “This is so cool, and I hate to be ungrateful, but doesn’t this just make you wish for more?”
Merrideth sighed wistfully. “I wish we could shrink and jump into the computer.”
“I know what you mean. I wish we could see the back of the buildings, especially the…” She blinked and said in a strangled voice, “No…there’s no way that would work. I mean, no one could invent a software program that could do that. No way.”
“What are you talking about?” Merrideth asked, staring at her.
Abby didn’t answer, but taking the mouse from her, she placed the cursor on the View icon on the menu bar and clicked. “This is so similar to Aaron’s architecture program,” she began, “that maybe we’ll be able to…”
A drop-down menu appeared, giving them the options of Flip, Interior, Exterior, Virtual, and Lock. She clicked on Flip. “Do this,” Abby said.
The screen view had rotated on its vertical axis and now they were seeing the back of Colonel Miles’ house. White sheets on a clothesline snapped in the wind. A woman in a long blue dress and bonnet was stooping to pull a wet sheet from the wicker basket at her feet. A gray cat came out of the barn and, stepping delicately through the wet grass, cautiously bypassed the flapping sheets to lie in the sun on the back step.
After a moment of stunned silence, Merrideth said, “It’s Charlotte. Quick. Zoom in on her.”
“Maybe it’s supposed to be Mrs. Miles.” Before she could manipulate the zoom function, the young woman picked up her wicker basket and, stepping over the cat, went through the back door into the house, saying, “Nice kitty.”
“Make her come back out so we can get a closer look,” Merrideth said.
“I’ve got a better idea.” She moved the cursor back up to the View menu and clicked on Interior and Lock.
And then they were pulled out of their time and into Charlotte’s.
Charlotte set the wicker basket on the floor, removed her bonnet, and hung it from a peg beside the back door. She walked dispiritedly to the chopping block in the middle of the kitchen and began to peel th
e potatoes and carrots that were heaped there. From time to time, she wiped perspiration from her forehead with her apron.
She glanced up at the clock that ticked on the wall and frowned. Nearly ten-thirty. Out the window she could see the depot down the street. The train to Alton would be arriving at noon, and on it would no doubt be many passengers on their way to the State Fair. But she would be stuck there sweating in the kitchen. She heard her father moving around in his study and felt anger well up again.
The day had started off so well. She hadn’t even minded doing her usual morning chores—fire up the stove, put the coffee on, make the biscuits, etc., etc., etc.—because she was thinking about the deliciously exciting prospect of going to the State Fair with Billy Reynolds.
She had not been able to work up the courage at breakfast to tell her father Billy had asked her, but as soon as she finished the dishes and got things started for the noon meal, she would march into her father’s study and tell him it was about time he let her have a little fun like everyone else.
Then she heard a curious thumping sound coming from the front yard. She put down her tea towel and went out to investigate.
“Mama’s beautiful roses!” Papa and her brother Frank were removing the trellises from the front porch. Their only explanation was a vague, “Never mind, Charlotte. Never mind.”
Mama had planted the two pink Queen Victoria climbing roses two years before she died. They hadn’t bloomed or even grown much the first year, but the second summer they had covered their trellises in a blanket of pink roses. Looking at the blooms and sniffing their sweet scent carried in on the wind had been Mama’s one sure comfort when she lay on the settee in the sitting room all that final summer, too sick to get up.
Oh, Papa and Frank tried to avoid injuring the roses, but pulling them from the trellis, no matter how gently, left them broken and ragged and with nothing to hold onto.
As if that weren’t bad enough, when she went in later to her father to ask about going to the State Fair, he immediately said a flat “no” without even considering it for one minute.