Don't Know Where, Don't Know When (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 1)

by Annette Laing

  Brandon looked up at the man in absolute awe. “Oh, I don’t think I’m likely to forget this, Mr. Churchill. Not ever.”

  Mrs. Devenish returned home with a copy of a newspaper, and called outside to the children. “The vicar has just visited London, and he gave me this,” she said, as they came to the kitchen door. “He thought George might be interested to see that a colored boy is on the front page, and with the prime minister, no less. Come in for a minute and you can all take a look.”

  She unfolded it on the kitchen table, and Alex and George came to see. “Hannah, you won’t believe it!” said Alex excitedly, jumping up and down. “It’s him! It’s Brandon! I mean Braithwaite! The other Braithwaite! Whoever!”

  Mrs. Devenish put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Alexander, calm down. What on earth are you talking about?” But Hannah had already rushed over to look, and she had a delighted smile on her face. “You’re right! It is him!”

  George, Verity and Mrs. Devenish looked at each other in bewilderment.

  “Would one of you please explain this to the rest of us?” said Verity.

  They did their best.

  Later that afternoon, Brandon arrived at Balesworth Station once again. Walking up the High Street, he stopped in front of Mr. Gordon’s house, and hesitated. Finally, he decided to ring the doorbell.

  No maid answered this time. The woman who came to the door was smartly dressed, and in her early forties.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I was just wondering if I could see Mr. Gordon, please?”

  She looked startled. “Mr. Gordon? Oh, he’s been dead for years. It’s Mr. Hanbury and Mr. Wood who are the dentists, only Mr. Wood is gone for the duration of the war. Air Force, you know. Is this an emergency? Only we just ended surgery, and Mr. Hanbury has already gone home. I could give you his number at the house, if you like.”

  Brandon felt sick. Of course, 25 years had passed, and so much must have happened.

  “No, no emergency. I just stopped by to see Mr. Gordon. How long has he been gone?”

  “Since long before you were born, I reckon,” said the woman. “I’ve been the receptionist here for about ten years, and he’d been gone quite a long time before that. We never got around to removing the brass plate from the gate. A lot of our older customers have memories of Mr. Gordon, and it would upset them, so Mr. Hanbury and Mr. Wood thought we should leave it like it is. Look, I’m sorry, but I really must shut up shop. I’ve got ARP duty tonight, and I have to run home and have my tea first.” With that, she gave an apologetic smile, and closed the door.

  Because the evening was closing in, and all the shops had closed by 5:30 p.m., Brandon decided to ask in a pub for help finding Alex and Hannah. The Balesworth Arms was noisy and busy when he opened the door. He was also hit by a wall of smoke. He remembered how Hannah had not wanted to enter the pub when they first arrived, and he had never walked through the doors in 1915, either, thanks to Mr. Gordon banning him from alehouses.

  As soon as he walked in now, though, Ernie the landlord spotted him, and pointed him back to the door. “Out!” he roared.

  “Why?” asked Brandon, “You don’t allow black people to ask questions? What?”

  A furious Ernie lifted a section of the bar, and walked through, right at Brandon. Taking him by the scruff of the neck, he began to propel him toward the door.

  “There’s no kids allowed in my pub, I don’t care if they’re white, colored, or bloody purple, makes no difference. Now, hop it before I give you a good kick up the arse.”

  But just then, there was a shout from the bar.

  “Hang on, Ernie,” called over a man with a moustache and glasses. “Let me deal with this.”

  Brandon peered through the smoke, trying to see the man more clearly. He didn’t sound like Smedley, and as the man approached, Brandon was relieved to see that, although he looked familiar, he was not his old captor.

  Ernie let go of Brandon, who almost dropped to the ground. “Come outside for a minute,” said Mr. Simmons, “I just want a quick word.”

  They stepped out into the rapidly chilling evening. Mr. Simmons turned to Brandon, “Look, sonny, are you an evacuee?”

  “Not exactly,” said Brandon, “But I have some friends who are, and I think…”

  “Not exactly?” interrupted Mr. Simmons. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Before Brandon could answer, Mr. Simmons looked at him with a shock of recognition. “You’re that lad who ran off, aren’t you? I know exactly who you need to see.”

  Brandon turned, and began to sprint down the street, but Mr. Simmons called after him, “Come back! It’s all right! It’s not Smedley! He’s been arrested.”

  It was the word “arrested” that got Brandon’s attention. He came skidding to a halt.

  It was eight o’clock in the evening. In the drawing room, Mrs. Devenish was reading David Copperfield, Alex and George were playing chess, and Eric was sketching a Spitfire. Hannah and Verity were lying on the floor, listening to the wireless, and laughing at Tommy Handley’s radio show, ITMA. Hannah was astonished by how well she understood the show: It had made no sense at all to her when she had first tried to listen to it at the Archers’. Now, she thought it was hilarious.

  A knock at the door brought no response from the children. “Would one of you get that?” said Mrs. Devenish, turning a page. Nobody moved. She rolled her eyes, sighed heavily and got up to answer it.

  When she returned, she said, “That was Mr. Simmons. He brought us a visitor.” With that, she held open the door, and in walked Brandon Clark, with an enormous smile.

  Hannah was sure she would never forget the giddy feeling of that moment. Brandon, Alex, and Hannah enthusiastically hugged each other while the English people stood by in happy awkwardness. Then Mrs. Devenish sat in her armchair as the children all sat on the floor at her feet. To George and Brandon, she said, “I think it’s an extraordinary coincidence that both of you would be named George Braithwaite, and I’m not entirely sure I understand it. I suppose I shall have to call the older of you George Major, and the younger George Minor while you are both staying here.”

  Brandon thought quickly, “I usually go by my middle name.”

  “And what is that?” Mrs. Devenish asked.

  “Brandon,” he said, to smiles from Alex and Hannah.

  “An old family name I assume? Very well, Brandon, that is what we shall call you. But you know, I have far too many of you underfoot now.” She didn’t notice Eric suddenly hugging his knees to his chest, and looking frightened, but Verity did. She whispered to him, “You’re not going anywhere. I wish you would believe me. She would never, never get rid of you.”

  Brandon looked again at Mrs. Devenish and it was then that he recognized her. He couldn’t believe how much she had aged,

  “Hey, you’re…We met, don’t you remember me?”

  “No, I can’t say I do. I certainly think I would remember if I had,” she said.

  Of course, he thought. Their meeting had taken place 25 years before, and she would never think that a child she met then was still of the same age and appearance. She, on the other hand, looked very different, with gray hair and wrinkles. As Mrs. Devenish stood to poke the fire and add more coal, Brandon, unthinkingly, marveled aloud to himself, “Wow, you got old.” Alex and Hannah waved their hands and mouthed “No” at him.

  It was too late. “I beg your pardon?” said Mrs. Devenish in a deeply offended voice, as she straightened up and turned to look at him.

  Brandon noted how she had perfected the death rays since their first encounter, and he thought fast. “I said, you’ve got an old house here. Nice….”

  “Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, much of it was built in the eighteenth century.” She returned her attention to the fireplace. The kids gave Brandon the thumbs up and victory signs. He grinned.

  Eric leaned over to him. “You gotta mind your Ps and Qs around Mrs. D.,” he advised Brandon in a whisper,
“But she’s alright.”

  Verity tried to change the subject, saying brightly, “Isn’t this amazing? We must be the only house in Balesworth with not just one colored person, but two!”

  Eric muttered to George and Brandon, “If she keeps collecting, she’ll soon ‘ave the whole set.” They laughed, and Verity looked at them suspiciously.

  Mrs. Devenish returned her attention to the children. “Now, before I forget, we really must discuss the subject of finding billets for George and Brandon. And before you say a word, Verity Powell, I am not practicing some hideous form of color segregation as one hears about in America. The fact is, we haven’t the room, and it’s last in, first out. Brandon and George, I want you to know that I shall be conducting a full and careful inspection of your new billets, whatever they may be, and I will allow you ultimately to decide whether they are suitable.”

  Brandon suddenly said, “Hey, I have an idea. When I was with Smedley, I met this really decent chap on a train.” Hannah noticed how English Brandon’s speech sounded these days. “He said he lives in Balesworth, and he said that he and his wife might be willing to billet me. Look, I have his name in my pocket.” He pulled out a crumpled slip of paper, and read from it. “It’s Dr. Arthur Healdstone.”

  “Ah yes, I have met Dr. Healdstone,” said Mrs. Devenish. “He spoke before the parish council last year. A pleasant enough man, but he’s only just now managing to establish his medical practice. Too many older people in Balesworth find it hard to take him seriously, because they remember him as old Mr. Gordon the dentist’s little nephew, Oliver. Small wonder he’s decided to use his first name again. I think he’s hoping that people will associate him with his father, Dr. Arthur Healdstone the elder, who was a wonderful doctor.”

  Brandon was astounded, but, of course, he could not explain why.

  Mrs. Devenish continued. “I don’t know whether he and his wife would be prepared to take on two of you, because they have a small son of their own. Nonetheless, Dr. Healdstone would be a most suitable host, and he may be able to manage both of you, since he is rather young.”

  “By her standards, who isn’t?” whispered Verity to Hannah, who giggled.

  “I shall give the Healdstones a ring,” said Mrs. Devenish as she made her way to the telephone in the hall. “And I heard that, Verity Powell.”

  Chapter 14

  Returns

  The next morning, Alex, Brandon, George, Verity, Eric, and Hannah were playing tag in the garden when Mrs. Devenish came out of the kitchen. She was not alone. Behind her was Miss Tatchell, the Professor, who was carrying an enormous camera.

  Mrs. Devenish spoke slowly, and her voice sounded oddly weak. “This is Miss Tatchell with the WVS… I believe some of you have met her before. She has come to collect you three, Alex, Brandon…and Hannah. Your parents have decided that you should be billeted closer to them.” She paused for a moment, seeming at a loss for words, then appeared to collect herself. “She has also very kindly brought some photographic apparatus, so that we will all have a photograph as a memento of your stay in Balesworth. This is a tremendously generous gesture, as I’m sure you will agree. Now come along, let us take our photograph, and then the three of you must pack all of your belongings. Miss Tatchell has very little time before she must leave.”

  While the Professor set up her camera, Hannah, Alex and Brandon approached her. Brandon was first to ask the question.

  “Where are we going?”

  The Professor fiddled with the lens, and looked though the viewfinder. “Home, of course. It’s over, kids. We all did what we were supposed to do. We did good.”

  “Thanks,” said Alex. “But it does seem weird just to leave like this. It’s so sudden.”

  “That’s just how it is during the war. People are thrown together and torn apart at a moment’s notice. I know it’s hard, but it can’t be helped.”

  Brandon noticed that Hannah was gulping, and trying not to cry. He patted her shoulder, but she shook him off, and turned away.

  “Alright, guys, go join your friends,” said the Professor, “I’ll try to get the best picture I can.”

  They took the photo in front of the garden bench and the oak tree. Everyone managed a smile, except for Hannah, who was standing between Verity and Mrs. Devenish, and who looked into the camera with a very serious face. If I really do somehow get a copy of this photo, she thought, I will always know that I was thinking at that moment of how I would one day look back at myself in the future.

  As the kids brought their cases downstairs, Brandon thought with disappointment that he would never be reunited with grown-up Oliver. But it was good to know from their meeting on the train that Oliver had never forgotten him. Perhaps George would benefit from his generosity.

  Alex thought how sad it was that he would never walk down these steps again. He consoled himself with the thought that if he ever traveled to England in his own time, he could once again enjoy walking in the countryside. Hopefully, that would not have changed.

  Hannah tried not to think at all.

  Now, in the front garden, the boys all shook hands, and Hannah shyly kissed Eric on the cheek, to his huge embarrassment. Verity threw her arms around Hannah, and tried very hard not to cry, which was what Hannah was also doing. Normally, Hannah would have indulged in floods of tears, but Hannah wasn’t sure what “normal” was for her anymore.

  Finally, Hannah stood before Mrs. Devenish, and found that she didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Devenish leaned down, and kissed her cheek. Then she laid her hand gently on Hannah’s face and looked into her eyes. “Behave yourself, do you hear me? And don’t forget us. I shall expect a letter from time to time.” Hannah nodded, tears rolling down her face.

  “Goodbye, Hannah Day.”

  Hannah didn’t trust herself to reply, and just shook her head. She followed the Professor and the boys to the car. The last thing she saw as she looked back was Mrs. Devenish and the kids waving. And then they were out of sight.

  As the Professor’s car left, it passed another on the road. The driver was a man in his early thirties with horn-rimmed glasses and a kindly face. He barely glanced at the car that passed him. But only a second later, when he gave another casual glance in his rear-view mirror, he was astonished to see that the car had vanished. It must, he reflected, have been moving faster than he had realized. Soon, he put all thought of it out of his mind, when he caught sight of the small, sad-looking group gathered in Mrs. Devenish’s front garden. They watched him curiously as he pulled on the handbrake, and stepped from the car. Only Mrs. Devenish recognized him, and she walked forward with a hand extended. “Dr. Healdstone? I’m Elizabeth Devenish.”

  “Yes, good to see you again, Mrs. Devenish,” said Dr. Healdstone. “And I assume that this is the second of our two Georges?” He gave a kind smile to George.

  “Yes, this is George,” said Mrs. Devenish. “But he’s the only one who will be returning with you. The second George has just left with one of my colleagues in the WVS, to return to his parents.”

  Dr. Healdstone looked very disappointed, but he quickly recovered, not wishing to hurt George Braithwaite’s feelings. “I see…Well, all the more room in our little house for you, George. Diana, my wife, and our son, Robert, are looking forward to meeting you. They’re at home making a chocolate cake right now. Do you like chocolate cake?”

  George nodded happily.

  “Blimey, so do I,” said Eric longingly.

  Mrs. Devenish shushed him.

  Hannah landed with a bump, and Brandon and Alex were right behind her. One moment they were in the Professor’s car, leaving Balesworth, and now, in less than an instant, here they were on the grassy lawn in front of the oldest buildings of Snipesville State College, surrounded by pecan trees. A wall of heat hit them. Alex and Brandon were dressed in baseball uniforms, and Hannah was in T-shirt and shorts, her purse lying at her feet. All three kids looked at each other, bewildered. None of them could think of anything to say.
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  Hannah remained unusually quiet as they walked across campus. The boys, meanwhile, exchanged phone numbers, email addresses, and promises that they would get together the very next day, so long as they weren’t grounded when their parents discovered they had skipped out of camp. They talked excitedly about becoming famous. They even reached the point of speculating about book deals and appearances on Oprah, only to realize that they had no proof that they had traveled in time.

  “Would you two shut up?” Hannah snapped. “How do you know if this is even the right year? We might not have been born yet.”

  The boys agreed that she had a good point. But at that moment, the college clock struck noon, and ahead of them, they saw a line of boys in baseball uniforms walking toward the Union. The assistant coach, who was talking on his cellphone, made a U-turn, and headed back in the direction of the fieldhouse.

  Alex and Brandon did not see themselves in the line of boys. “Maybe we should try and catch up,” suggested Alex. “See you, sis. Hope you find writing camp. Tell...What was the babysitter’s name? Well, whatever. Give her a call and tell to meet us over by the baseball field at four.”

  The two boys ran off toward the Union, leaving Hannah in the middle of the campus, feeling very angry, and very alone.

  Hannah wasn’t surprised to learn from the secretary in the history department that there was no Professor named Tatchell at Snipesville State College. Just to be sure, though, she described the Professor’s short grey hair, and her odd, almost English accent. The secretary immediately knew who she was talking about. “Oh, you’re looking for Dr. Harrower. Her office is just down the hall. I’m not sure she’ll be in, though. She just got back from out of town.”