The Time Travelers, Volume 2

by Caroline B. Cooney

  Mama could not endure such a thing. She was frail.

  I am a prisoner as much as Mama, thought Devonny. She, nailed into the coffin of an attic, and I, shut into another century, where women must stand alone.

  She fought tears while Tod unwrapped the packages. Sandwiches for dinner! How vulgar. Another package had little gold sticks, which Mrs. Lockwood salted heavily and began chewing on, one at a time. She used her fingers.

  Devonny felt ill. A woman who considered secretary a swear word would eat dinner with her bare fingers?

  Nobody had a fork. What had become of this country?

  But she was terribly hungry. Desperately she gripped the huge round thing in both hands and chomped down like Tod. Onion and salad dressing and lettuce spurted onto her fingers. She stayed brave, continued to hold the sandwich and finished her bite.

  “Why, that’s wonderful,” she said, astonished, staring down at the interior of the sandwich. “What are these called?” she said, forgetting she was English and should know these things.

  “Darling,” said Mrs. Lockwood, “you must live in a very rural area in England. Tell me all about it. Do you go to pubs and have shepherd’s pie or do you stay home and have a joint of mutton?”

  Devonny took another bite to give herself a little time to think. After all, everybody else was talking with a full mouth. Clearly, in this century people were barbarians. “We live in a castle,” she said. “It’s called Winden.”

  “Come on,” said Mrs. Lockwood, laughing.

  “She thinks you’re kidding,” interpreted Tod.

  “No, no. The castle has two hundred rooms and is in desperate need of a new slate roof. We huddle in one corner, it’s the only spot with heat and a bathroom.” Devonny went on and on, quoting Hugh-David. The British accent began to feel familiar and pleasant. Mrs. Lockwood’s fascination was delightful. Devonny felt like a social success. Even Tod was smiling. She finished her strange sandwich and wiped her lips. Papering her mouth, however, was not the worst moment of the dining experience. They had to clear their own table, as if they were scullery maids.

  People paid money to eat here like this, thought Devonny.

  She would not stoop to their level.

  “Mrs. Lockwood,” she said, inclining her head in a gracious bow, “I thank you for a lovely evening. I am most refreshed.” She turned to Tod. She had a smile in her repertoire that men never failed to return. Indeed, Tod warmed under the sunlight of her smile, and returned it. “I am grateful for your rescue,” she said, putting her hand lightly over his. “Your kindness overwhelms me. And how proud I was to witness your triumph on the soccer field.”

  Tod Lockwood fell in love.

  He could feel it coming and tried to dodge. Love had such a sharp point that for a moment he believed in Cupid, complete with arrow. He actually ducked under the tiny table, pretending to retrieve a bunch of paper napkins, but he was trying to escape Devonny’s smile.

  No, he said to Love. Not for me. I don’t have time. I’m not interested. Get out of here! Beat it!

  He composed himself, straightened up and avoided looking at Devonny.

  But it no longer took eyes to know that Devonny was there. He could feel her without touching her. Know her without focusing on her.

  She was proud to witness my triumph, he thought.

  A thousand other opportunities to triumph in front of Devonny Stratton invaded his imagination.

  He felt his body heating up, his face changing color, his mind losing track.

  Mrs. Van Stead had torn her handkerchief apart. The hem had come out quite easily, and then the lace, and now she shredded the linen thread by thread. Her lap was full of white debris.

  Since it was her fault that Flossie had misbehaved, Mrs. Van Stead must whisper the ugly truth to Lord Winden. “Sir, another dread event occurred at the church. We think it best to confer.”

  Lord Winden shuffled his pack of cards in a noisy slapping manner. He could hardly control his irritation.

  Mrs. Van Stead was accustomed to that in a man and she hurried on. “Our daughter Flossie fell in love with one of the Italian workmen putting in the stone walls and the fountain on the Stratton’s estate in the country. We intercepted notes between our daughter and the boy. They had hopes of eloping.”

  The man actually smiled. “Ah, yes,” he said casually, as if this did not matter, as if it were not the most awful thing to happen to a well-brought-up girl. “I remember how she would circle the bushes, as if we had not eyes to see, while the young man would ogle and flirt.”

  Mrs. Van Stead paled. “It was visible to all?”

  “It was visible to me,” said Lord Winden, shaking his head at the stupidity of young lovers. “What has that to do with my situation?”

  Her husband acquired a voice. Mrs. Van Stead was greatly relieved. Men handled things so much better. “Naturally I had the boy rounded up and escorted to the hold of a ship I own,” said Mr. Van Stead. “He will be taken back to Europe, although I would prefer to have him thrown off the ship while it is at sea.”

  “Clever of you,” said Lord Winden.

  “Today, before entering my pew,” said Mrs. Van Stead, bowing her head over her lap of lint, “I personally checked my daughter’s gown, hem, gloves and flowers. At fifteen minutes before the hour, my daughter stood with the other bridesmaids, awaiting the wedding processional. But she did not come down the aisle. Devonny is missing—and so is Flossie.”

  “I am so sorry,” said Lord Winden.

  “Had we but known Flossie planned to leave during the wedding and go to meet the boy, we would have restrained her,” said Mr. Van Stead. “My wife is completely responsible for this laxity of supervision.”

  “Aha,” said Lord Winden. He cut his deck of cards.

  Mr. Van Stead saw that Lord Winden did not think very clearly, so he said, “I assume that Devonny has done the same, and also went to meet her Italian stonecutter.”

  The Englishman grasped the situation at last.

  Nellie Fish stormed out of the bathroom, crisp apron flouncing. “Criminal!” she shouted at Mr. Van Stead. She shook her finger at him. “Evil man! Beast!”

  They gaped at Nellie Fish.

  “You kidnapped an innocent boy because your daughter wrote love letters to him?” shouted Nellie Fish. “I thought you were gentlemen! You are horrible terrible people. You do not deserve this dinner.”

  Nellie Fish flung the table on its side. Gravy splashed on the floor. A silver fork narrowly missed Mrs. Van Stead. Crystal smashed against the brocaded wall. Pastry filling clung to a lampshade.

  “You will stay here,” commanded Nellie Fish. “I will summon the law.”

  She sailed from the room, as much starch in her spine as in her apron.

  For a moment, it seemed reasonable to go after the silly woman and throw her into the hold of a ship, but even the Van Steads sensed that this was a bad plan.

  Hugh-David was swamped with rage.

  The woman with whom he had planned to share his life! his title! his castle! his bloodlines!—this woman ran away on their wedding day to some low-class, stone-dusted immigrant?

  He had offered the diamonds as a reward, trusting that Devonny had been kidnapped, and all along she had meant what she said on the veranda: I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.

  He, Winden, would get this Italian and torture the truth out of him. “Show me this ship! We must force the boy to tell us where the girls expected to meet him. We will then pick the girls up. I shall return Miss Stratton to her father, who knows the true meaning of the word punishment.”

  “Don’t hurt the boy,” whimpered Mrs. Van Stead. She did not care about Gianni’s fate, but what with hotel staff summoning police, perhaps murder or mutilation should not be added to their activities.

  “All right, my dear. When I kill him, I shall do it swiftly so he feels no pain.” Her husband glared at her. “Of course I’m going to hurt him! Defiling my daughter?”

>   Mr. Van Stead and Lord Winden stalked out of the hotel, even as Nellie struggled to find somebody, anybody at all, who believed her … even as Nellie was finding that yes, everybody believed her, gentlemen did that kind of thing, but nobody was going to take action. Did Nellie seriously believe the police would bother an English lord over some useless Italian going back where he belonged?

  “Cab!” shouted Mr. Van Stead. A covered horse-drawn carriage pulled right up. The door was flung open for them, and the driver given his directions to the dockside.

  Mrs. Van Stead sat awkwardly in a stranger’s hotel room, staring at the china and silver upon the floor. She felt quite faint. Would it be proper to nibble on one of the pastries that had landed in a relatively clean position?

  Flossie Van Stead recognized her surroundings. The men had walked her uptown, close to the train station. Why, whenever she visited the country, she took the train from Grand Central. She could take the train to Johnny’s town in Connecticut only a few miles from the Strattons’ seaside mansion.

  Did she have the courage?

  If Johnny had never had plans to wed Flossie, the Annellos would not even know her name. She would be a demented woman on their doorstep, making demented claims.

  And what if Johnny himself was there, having dinner? Would she stand bedraggled and red-eyed on the stairs while he led the laughter?

  But if she went to her own home, she would not be greeted by laughter. She could not begin to imagine what her father would do. She had never worried about this, because she had expected Johnny and all his kin to be at her side.

  I have been such a fool, she thought dully.

  And yet … and yet …

  Surely it had been true love! Surely Johnny had meant to come! Surely when he talked of their lives together, the children they would have, the joy they would share …

  But what excuse …?

  No, there could be no excuse. She just wanted him to have an excuse.

  I must find out. I must face him. I must hear from his lips that this was a joke. How can I go to his family? thought Flossie. But how can I go to mine?

  She had halted, and when at last she came to herself, she found her two escorts regarding her sadly. One of them patted her on the back, and the warmth and pressure of his touch brought her again to tears.

  How could I have been afraid of them, she thought, when they are afraid for me?

  She said to this rough pair, “Could you possibly lend me the fare for the train? I have friends to whom I can go.”

  The two men searched their pockets and wallets, uncertainly and with long exchanges between themselves.

  They had no money. “I’m sorry,” she said, sick at her lack of manners. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  They shrugged. Between them, counting carefully, they came up with train fare. They put the coins neatly in her palm, and her eyes overflowed. They had given her, quite literally, their last pennies.

  For me, thought Flossie, a stranger, they will go without dinner, and perhaps their children, too, will go without dinner.

  What beauty there was in the simple kindness of strangers. And she saw that in their ugly clothes, behind their dirty fingernails, they were heroes. Heroes whose names she did not know, and whose address she did not have.

  “I promise to pay you back. Write down your addresses for me,” she said.

  They were oddly embarrassed. It dawned on her that they could not write. Might not have addresses.

  They shook their heads and said not to worry about them. They asked God’s blessing upon her journey. They took her to the right train and told the conductor to look out for her.

  The train sped through the darkness, while Flossie Van Stead found light.

  Whether or not Johnny loved her, she knew now that there was another direction in life. She, too, could be kind to strangers. She could do what those women starting settlement houses were doing—helping the poor. Flossie and her friends had laughed at such ladies: how ridiculous to spend perfectly good money helping immigrants.

  But now she had been lost, penniless and deeply afraid.

  I will not be a silly girl anymore, she thought. I will be a woman, and I will honor what these men have done.

  On the way home from McDonald’s, Tod’s mother said, “Stop at the library, Tod.” To Devonny she explained, “I read by the armload. The greatest disaster is to run out of library books. We’ll just dash in, dash out.”

  “Not true,” said Tod, “it takes her half an hour. We’ll go in, too, Dev. I need to do a little research myself.”

  Devonny had been asked to contribute to the new public library being erected in New York City, but had not. It was such a peculiar idea. A library intended for all New York City? There weren’t enough people who knew how to read. Lower-class people didn’t need books.

  Yet one of her father’s colleagues, Mr. Carnegie, was building libraries in every small town in America. The man was amazing in his dedication to books.

  When the Lockwoods and Devonny entered the town library, Devonny expected to see a few shelves of darkly bound books by boring writers. She was stunned at the immense space. And on those shelves! Beautiful books! whole floors of books! books for babies and small children and people who gardened and people who traveled! There was a room for studying and a room for journals, and these rooms had the air of a men’s club (although she had never been in one) with comfy big chairs sprawled around for silent thought and uninterrupted reading.

  She was even more stunned to find a huge and wonderful music room with a bronze plaque over the door: GIANNI ANNELLO ROOM.

  Flossie’s Johnny? she thought. Her hair prickled. Her skin shivered with gooseflesh.

  If I stay here, I will miss my life. I will not know if Flossie married this Gianni, if they had children, if those children honored their father with this plaque. I will not know. I will not see or laugh or dine with Flossie.

  If I stay here, terrible things will happen to my mother. Father promised to destroy the letter writer, and I agreed that it should be done. He will relish the task. He will omit no pain or suffering.

  Devonny wandered past a section called murder mysteries. Back home, there was nothing she enjoyed more than a good murder story.

  It crossed her mind that nobody in her own time knew what had happened to her. Nobody could. Nobody would.

  No trace of Devonny would turn up. No body. No ransom would be asked. No news of her marriage to another would arrive.

  What if people thought it was murder? What if people said Devonny was on the bottom of the East River, cement weighting her ankles?

  Who would be accused of this deed? Whatever weakling stood closest.

  Mama.

  Devonny stared around the unfamiliar building, with its incredible number of reading materials, and the astounding number of men, women and children using them. It was difficult to breathe or think. Mama—accused of murder!

  She would be hanged.

  Only my return can save Mama, thought Devonny. There is no Strat to save either of us. I must get home. I must cross Time again. It will be too late to pacify Father by marrying Lord Winden. Hugh-David will be long gone; he will be England-bound, correct in his assumptions about America: brutality and ruffians and violence and stupidity and bad manners.

  I can save Mama from her fate, but I cannot save myself. I will have no explanation for what I did or where I have been. Father will shut me away just as he said he would.

  It was a terrible choice.

  For if she returned to her own Time, she would not return to the life she had led there, for she had destroyed it. But if she stayed here, and created a new life, in this Time, with these people, her mother would suffer a hideous end.

  Gianni’s mother spoke no English, and Flossie no Italian.

  Mrs. Annello was short and fat, as gray as a great-grandmother. She pushed Flossie into a chair, taking off the ruined slippers, bathing her feet and preparing hot-water bottles. Flossie’s deci
sion to be a grown-up dissolved the moment she was treated as a child. She sobbed without stopping, while the Annellos kept saying, “Gianni? Gianni?” Flossie held up her hands in a universal shrug.

  Mrs. Annello gave her something even more universal: a welcome. As if she were a daughter … a daughter who was expected.

  At last a cousin arrived whose English was perfect. Flossie gripped Mrs. Annello’s hands and told her saga to the cousin. “He just didn’t come,” she finished. “I waited and waited, and cried, and it was dark, and I could not go home, and I had to believe that Johnny meant to come. Then two strangers came over to me. They were badly shaven, their beards in need of trim, their collars filthy. I was so afraid of them, but they said they would take me to a shelter. And then I thought of just coming to you. I had no money for train fare. They pooled their coins, and put me on the right train, and made me promise that just because my lover did not appear, I would not jump off a bridge or hurt myself. They cared about me.”

  “We care about you,” said the cousin stoutly, and Flossie wept even harder and said, “But where is Gianni?”

  Where indeed?

  Tod drifted away from his mother and Devonny to locate the reference librarian. “I need to know how much inflation has taken place since 1898, please,” he said.

  The librarian tracked it down speedily. “Multiply by thirty-three,” she said, and moved off to help another patron.

  Thirty-three times two million dollars was sixty-six million dollars. That was what Devonny Stratton would have brought to Lord Hugh-David Winden.

  Wow, thought Tod. Bet he’s pissed.

  At the front desk of the great hotel, a telegram had been received and was awaiting the return of Lord Winden.

  DO NOT OFFER HEIRLOOM NECKLACE TO AMERICAN PUBLIC STOP I WILL BE ON NEXT BOAT STOP DO NOT ASSOCIATE WITH STRATTON FAMILY STOP CANNOT FATHOM YOUR CHILDISH BEHAVIOR STOP MOTHER

  SEVEN