At that moment, the doorbell rang. When Verity returned with the visitor, it was the awful man from the train who had cheated on his rail ticket.
Verity shifted awkwardly. “Everyone? This is our son, Mark.”
Eric looked away, clearing his throat. When Grandma and Grandpa saw who it was, they looked very embarrassed.
“Hallo,” said the newcomer, extending a confident hand to Grandpa. “I’m Marc Pole. That’s Marc with a ‘c’”
“He’s the yuppie formerly known as plain old Mark with a ‘k’,” grumbled Eric, “and that’s Pole spelled P-O-W-E-L-L. Sorry we didn’t pronounce it trendily enough for you.”
“My dad has quite a sense of humor,” said Marc without smiling, and then, more loudly, “Isn’t that right, Dad?”
“I’m not deaf,” Eric said defensively.
Marc gave him a condescending smile. “No, of course you’re not.”
Marc tactfully pretended not to recognize Grandpa, Grandma and the kids. “Great to meet you. So, first time across the pond, yeah? Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed. England’s not all tea, the Queen, and old country houses. I think you’ll find that the UK is a modern nation these days. We’re a center of global commerce, with state of the art communications and a high-tech…”
Verity snorted. “Honestly, Mark, I don’t think we need all the jargon, do you? Are you staying for supper?”
Marc glanced at his very expensive watch. “Sorry, Mum. I’ve got a meeting this evening, so I’ll probably just grab a McDonald’s.”
Verity bridled at the suggestion. “You’ll do no such thing. At least let me make you something to eat.”
But Marc wasn’t enthusiastic. “Heat me up one of your ready-made supermarket meals in the microwave, you mean? No thanks, Mother.” He laughed at her. Alex disliked this man more than ever, and one look at his sister and Brandon confirmed that they felt exactly the same way.
Eric said triumphantly, “Don’t think that I don’t know you’re up to your ears in this development lark. You don’t think we’re letting you ruin this area without a protest, do you?”
Marc looked pained. “Look, Dad, you and Mum will be offered a lot of money for the house. Why don’t you just buy yourselves a nice little cottage out in the country? You’re always complaining about the crime in Balesworth.”
Eric bristled. “It’s nothing to do with money. This is our home. You haven’t given any of us the least consideration, not us nor your sister. Lizzie remembers Granny, too, you know.”
Marc was visibly irritated now. “Well, I’m sorry, but the old dear’s not really relevant, is she, not when she’s been dead and buried for decades?”
“More’s the pity,” said Eric heatedly. “She always said you would be trouble. If she’d been younger when you were a kid, she would have straightened you out with a bloody good hiding. Like I should have done when I had the chance.”
Suddenly Alex blurted out, “Mrs. D. wouldn’t have wanted this, all you guys fighting.”
Everyone stopped in surprise, and Alex’s grandmother looked ready to kill him. “Alex, you stay out of this,” she hissed. “It’s not our business.”
But Hannah was on her brother’s side, and her loyalty to Mrs. D. and Verity made her brave. “Don’t ask me how, okay, but all of us knew Mrs. D., and she was so cool. Marc, it’s totally cruel of you to do this to her house, and to your parents.”
Marc looked at her in bafflement. “You say you knew my great-grandmother? She’s been dead since long before you were born. You must have her confused with my grandmother.”
Hannah was about to say more, but Verity stepped in. “Marc, I think you’d better leave. We can discuss this later.” “No, no need,” said Grandma hurriedly, gathering up her purse. “We really must be going. Thank you for your hospitality. It was nice to meet you. Come on, kids.”
Grandma and Grandpa looked mortified. The kids were devastated. This wasn’t how they wanted the reunion to end.
“Grandma,” protested Alex. “We can’t leave, not now. We gotta help.”
Grandma’s face hardened and she pointed at the door. “Young man, you heard me. March.”
Alex did as he was told: He marched out of the living room. But he didn’t head toward the front door. Instead, he walked quickly in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen and the garden. He wasn’t leaving, he thought frantically, not until he saw Mrs. D.’s garden once more. There was nothing happening that he could control, except this. Wrenching open the back door, he could hear his grandmother behind him, calling his name. But it was too late.
He stepped over the threshold, and everything went black.
Brandon and Hannah were right behind him, and even as Brandon saw Alex vanish into thin air, it was too late to stop himself from following… The last thing he heard was Hannah yelling, “Alex!” before she, too, was swallowed up by darkness.
Chapter 4: Buy One, Get Two Free
Alex was lying on a hard, uneven surface, and something was poking into his back. His eyes were firmly closed: He was afraid to open them. His head hurt, and he couldn’t think clearly. He could tell he was lying on dirt, and he could hear birds, and he could smell… What was that? Cow poop? And pine trees. Definitely pines. He was desperately hoping that he was in Verity’s back yard, but in his heart he already knew he was somewhere else entirely.
When Alex finally allowed his eyelids to flutter open, his first thought was that he had died and gone to heaven: Two tiny puffy white clouds floated directly over his face. He rubbed his eyes, and focused. The tiny clouds, he now saw, hung on a brown stem. That was odd. He reached up and touched a cloud. It felt solid, and he grasped it more firmly. Suddenly, it pricked him. He snatched back his hand, and saw a drop of blood forming on his finger. Carefully, he felt the cloud again, and as the fog around his mind cleared a little, he realized that it wasn’t a cloud at all, but a cotton boll. He had cut himself on the razor-sharp edges of the pod from which the puff of cotton had burst.
Alex sat up. He was in the middle of a cotton field.
The cotton had been picked, and most of the dried brown twigs around him were stripped clean. This looked a lot like Georgia. But where, exactly? The field was virtually silent. All he could hear were the cries of birds, including, he saw with alarm, those of three vultures circling above him. A strong gust of wind blew through, and he shivered. It was pretty cold for July. If this was July.
Alex was afraid to look at his clothes, because they didn’t feel like his clothes. When he plucked up the courage, he glanced down. He took in what he was wearing: Unfamiliar black cotton pants, stiff cotton shirt, red woolen vest, heavy black jacket and uncomfortable black leather shoes. Where was he? And most importantly, when was he?
Reaching behind him, Alex grabbed the object that had been digging into his back. It was a small metal box, its front smothered in dried mud. Curious, he rubbed the mud away with his wetted fingers, and was astonished to find in his hand an old pocket calculator. He pushed on the switch with his thumb, and the calculator fluttered to life. Surely this meant he had to be in the late twentieth century, or even in the present day… But what would explain his clothes?
He was considering this question when he spotted a black teenager lurking at the edge of the field, watching him. His heart sank when he saw how the kid was dressed: A worn beige shirt, black trousers that ended at the knee, and no shoes. Alex hoped for the best, but he already knew that he was looking at a slave, and that meant that he had traveled in time. Hastily, he stuffed the calculator into his pants pocket, just as it dawned on him that it must belong to the Professor. Surely, she would soon show up and take him home.
Jupe was watching Alex, wondering why a white boy was sitting in the cotton field, and whether it was safe to ask him for an explanation. Jupe didn’t want to offend him. Offended white people were dangerous.
Plucking up courage, he called out, “You okay, massa?” Alex got to his feet and brushed off the dirt with h
is good hand. “Yeah, I’m cool, but my name’s Alex, not ‘massa.’ Where am I?”
Jupe answered cautiously. “You’re at Kintyre plantation, in Snipes County.”
Alex didn’t particularly want to know the answer to this next question, because he doubted he would like the answer, but he had to ask. “What year is this?”
Jupe looked blank. He was thinking, ‘You don’t know what year it is?’ But he didn’t dare say it. What he said was, “Don’t rightly know, massa… Say, you look to me like you need help. I can’t take you to the big house, because my massa’s gone, and he took the house slaves with him. But I can take you to our cabin, and my daddy can send for the doctor.”
Alex rubbed his head. “I’m fine, I think. I could use a glass of water and a lie down for a while, if you don’t mind.”
Jupe cracked a smile. What an odd kid! He had never met a white boy who spoke so politely to him, not even the poor whites who sometimes came begging for food. And the way this boy was dressed, he was no beggar, even if he did look a little beaten up. He helped Alex to his feet. “C’mon, young massa. I’ll take you.”
****
At that moment, Brandon woke up in the dark. He was crouched with his back against an uneven and rough wall, and his knees were drawn up to his chin. Opening his eyes, he could see nothing. His glasses were on, his eyes were open, but he could see absolutely nothing at all. He was blind. Whatever had happened had blinded him. He started to panic.
And then he felt something that was almost as bad. Oh, great. He had wet himself.
But, wait, no, he hadn’t, because the wetness was only under his bottom. He was sitting in a puddle. But he was still blind. Now he heard voices approach, and a deep, loud, rumbling. Where could he possibly be? Gingerly, he felt around him, running his fingertips across rough stone and dirt. He seemed to be sitting in a tiny alcove. Now his fingers alighted on a thin rope, made of rough twine.
The voices and the rumbling grew ever closer, and suddenly there was a loud shuddering slam just to Brandon’s left, followed by curses. He jumped up, pulling on the rope for support, and bumped his head. This knocked him back into a crouch in the alcove, just as a pool of dim light touched him. He could see! But what was he doing in a tunnel? Who was this bare-chested young man carrying a lantern, and leading a pony and cart?
The young man had halted his pony. He swung the lantern higher to throw light onto Brandon. “Some trapper you am! Bit late, were yer? Wake up, young ‘un, or me cart will teck your legs off at the knee!” He peered more closely at him. “Eh, look, that be not just the coal dust on yer, bin it? Yo am a darky! Dun yo spake English?”
Brandon groaned. He could barely understand what the man was saying. He reckoned it might be English, so he was probably still in England. But the chances were good that he was no longer in the twenty-first century. Of one thing he was certain: He was not in Verity’s garden.
And then he figured it out. He was in a coal mine.
****
Hannah also felt before she saw: A sudden rush of freezing air whipped her face, drying her skin, taking her breath away, and forcing her eyelids closed. When the wind dropped a little, she cautiously opened her eyes. But they were watering, and her vision was blurred. She felt weighed down by something, and so weak that she thought she might faint. Hannah rubbed at her eyes, and when her vision cleared, what she saw shocked her so much, she stepped back and leaned against a tree.
She was looking down from the top of a steep hill. Below her, a road zigzagged back and forth down to three long rows of tall stone buildings, each three or four stories, one behind the other. Beyond the buildings ran a fastmoving river, and to her left, a cascading waterfall. All around was woodland, except for a meadow that lay across the river, on the other side of a footbridge. The skies above her loomed gray and gloomy. Hannah’s ears were freezing, and the wind was giving her an earache. When she put her hands to her ears, she felt the brush of coarse fabric from her long sleeve, and looking down, she now saw why she felt so heavy, and she gasped. “No,” she cried. “Oh, no, no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOOO!”
Hannah’s long brown dress hung all the way to her ankles. A coarse, prickly grey woolen shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was pulled tightly into a bun. Her feet were crammed into thick stockings and heavy, uncomfortable shoes. At once, she knew that she had time-traveled, and she was horrified.
She hung her head miserably, and began to cry. At that moment, she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and she spun around in fear.
It was the Professor, and she was dressed just like Hannah.
Hannah couldn’t help herself. She ran at the Professor, and started slapping blindly at her, screaming in rage. “I HATE YOU! Take me back. I want to go home. Why won’t you leave me alone?”
The Professor grabbed Hannah’s wrists. “Calm down, honey. Please. Shhh… I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to be here, and I don’t want to be here myself. But we are, and that’s all there is to it. Now, please, hush, and calm down.”
Hannah went limp, and the Professor loosened her grip around the girl’s wrists. To her surprise, she fell into the Professor’s arms. Hannah closed her eyes and groaned, “But I never went to the college campus… I thought that was why it happened last time. Where are we now? Are we still in England? When are we?”
“Eighteen fifty-one,” the Professor replied.
Hannah stepped backward and put a hand over her mouth. She was wide-eyed. “Oh my God… We’re in the eighteenth century?”
The Professor rolled her eyes. “No, Hannah. You see, when the year begins with eighteen, it means we’re in the nineteenth century. Just like when we’re in the twenty-first century, the years start with twenty...”
Hannah screamed, “SHUT…UP! I don’t want any of your stupid history lessons. Okay, so we’re in eighteen fifty whatever…”
“One. We’re in eighteen fifty-one.”
“WHATEVER!”
The Professor scratched her head. “Actually, that’s pretty important to know…
“I said, WHAT-EVER! Why has this happened again?”
The Professor paused uncertainly, and said in a low voice. “I don’t know. I still don’t understand what makes us travel in time, but...”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Hannah said sarcastically. “Okay, at least tell me where we are.”
“Can’t you tell from the gorgeous view? We’re in Scotland. Down there is New Lanark, the famous cotton mill village near the city of Glasgow.”
Hannah looked at her skeptically. “If it’s so famous, how come I’ve never heard of it?”
The Professor smirked. “Oh, I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard of New Lanark, Hannah. But a lot of us have, you know. New Lanark was a clever idea for the early Industrial Revolution: The first owner, David Dale, built a cotton spinning and weaving factory here in the countryside, so the workers could have lots of fresh air, along with a school, clean and well-maintained housing, and all on site… It was the best deal for factory workers at the time, and it made Dale and his son-in-law Robert Owen plenty rich, too, although the current owners, the Walkers, are struggling a bit…It reminds me of China in the early twenty-first century, interestingly enough…”
Hannah waved at the Professor to be quiet. “Okay, okay, T.M.I… I can’t believe this is happening to me… Where’s my brother and Brandon? What have you done with them?”
The Professor looked primly at the girl. “Perhaps if you were more polite, you would find out.”
Hannah put her hands on her hips and curled her lip. “Why should I be polite to you? You’re a time travelling criminal witch! Just tell me where they are.”
The Professor sighed. “That’s the problem. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure. Brandon may be in a coal mine near Birmingham.”
“What’s Brandon doing in Alabama?” Hannah goggled at the thought.
“No, not that Birmingham. He’s close to the original Birmingham, the one in England. Alex is somewh
ere in South Georgia: Might be Snipes County, might be Savannah. Or he could be in London. Look, I can’t be positive about this, because my information is a bit flimsy, to be honest.”
Hannah exhaled noisily. “So you’re useless, is that it? What else is new? Oh, go away. Leave me alone. I’ll manage.”
And with that, Hannah defiantly stomped off down the hill, toward the cotton mill. The Professor watched her go, and said quietly, “You won’t manage, you know…Well, actually, you will. But it won’t be easy. That much I do know.”
****
Alex began to drift awake from his stupor. He shifted on the uncomfortable cotton-stuffed mattress beneath him, which was supported only by the floor. His head was pounding and his ears felt as though they were filled with liquid. Hearing voices, he kept his eyes firmly shut.
“Where you find him?” A woman’s voice asked the question, and she was African-American by the sound of it.
“I didn’t find him,” replied a man. “Ask Jupe. He found him, brought him back here.”
Jupe spoke up next. “He was in the middle of the big field by the new pecan trees. He was flat on his back in the dirt. I thought he was poor white, but look at his clothes, Mama. He’s a gentleman, all right.” Alex was surprised: Jupe now sounded so much more sure of himself.
“If he’s a gentleman,” Jupe’s mother said sharply, “What’s he doing on his back in the middle of a field?”
Jupe’s father laughed loudly at that. “Oh, woman,” he said, “You think that’s bad, you’ve not listened to my stories about our master. I’ve seen that man drunk out of his mind lying in his own vomit in the gutters of Savannah. No, fine clothes or not, they’re all poor white trash underneath.”
Jupe’s mother asked, “So what will you do with him, then?
There was a pause. Alex’s blood froze. Would they kill him?
But Jupiter sighed, and said, “Reckon we’ll see how he is when he wakes. Then I’ll take him home, or else have him write to his people, and leave him at the inn to wait for them. I can’t take no chance on leaving him in the big house, in case he steals something. He looks young to me. Maybe he’s a runaway.”
A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles) Page 6