by H. L. Sudler
Roxanne looked at Perry with disbelief in her eyes.
“What kind of game is this that you’re playing?” she screamed.
“This is not a game, Rox,” Bart said from behind her. “I woke up here too—”
“Okay, you know what? You all don’t want to tell me what’s going on? Fuck you all.”
Roxanne stormed to the carriage house entrance and swung open the door. She walked to the cobblestoned street and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“What the hell is going on here?”
David ran outside and picked her up. He carried her back inside the carriage house and Bart slammed shut the huge door.
“What are you doing?” Roxanne screamed.
“Stop it! Stop screaming!”
“Don’t tell me to stop screaming!”
“STOP IT NOW!” David bellowed.
She broke down, slowly at first, then all at once. Her hands flew to her face and the tears came suddenly. She crumpled to the hay on the floor.
David looked at Perry and then to Bart.
“Rox…”
“Leave me alone! This isn’t funny!”
David sighed. “I know, baby. But it’s real.”
“Those men beat me! They hit me! They called me names!”
“I know, baby,” David said kneeling and taking Roxanne in his arms. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. It’s just been a rough couple of days.”
Roxanne snatched back from David, looked into his eyes. Her mouth trembled. “Days…?”
David closed his eyes, let his head fall. “Days.”
Roxanne looked to Perry, who nodded, then to Bart, who also nodded. She could hardly find the words to speak.
“What do you mean days?”
Perry spoke first. “I’ve been here three days.”
Roxanne looked at Perry. He was sitting on a bale of hay.
“I fell asleep in Conway’s Spanish cram session. I woke up here, in a park. I ran around like a crazy man. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Everything was changed, was different…was quiet. No cars, no electricity, no people hardly. Nothing I knew. I cried. I hid. I realized something crazy was happening. I thought I was crazy. That maybe I was dreaming. I actually tried to go to sleep to wake up in Conway’s class. But I only woke up back here. I was going to kill myself because…I thought I had gone crazy.”
“Then I saw Perry,” Bart said. “I woke up in the cemetery at Christ Church, but it looked different. I was talking to Pat Papadopolous one minute, after we had pizza, and the next I was so tired and sleepy that I had to sit down on the front steps of the school. When I woke up, I was in the cemetery. Everything had changed. The people, the buildings. I thought I’d gone crazy too. There were so many rats. I tried to talk to people, but they only looked at me strangely. I thought that if I kept talking, they would figure out that I didn’t belong here. So I stayed on the run. Stayed near the church. Hid out there. The nights are so dark here. There’s hardly any light. No electricity. And the food…”
“Where the hell are we?” Roxanne asked quietly.
David turned her face to his. His eyes were still banked with tears. Still haunted.
“We’re in Philadelphia, baby.”
“In Philadelphia?”
“Yeah.”
“But why does it look like this?”
David was quiet a long time. “Because it’s 1879.”
Roxanne’s eyes widened, and she started to scream again, started to get angry, started to ask what type of joke this was, started to claim that this game had gone too far. But then she looked at Bart, and saw a tear slip from his eye. She turned to Perry, and saw his head buried in his hands. She looked at David and saw that he was crying fully now. But before she could say anything, before she could cry out her own anguish, the carriage house door opened loudly. There was a man there, dressed in a fine suit. He was young and handsome. His eyes searched them.
“Which one of you is Bartholomew Tennison?”
Bart frowned, looked at Perry, Roxanne, and David. He turned to the man and raised his hand.
“I am.”
The man looked Bart up and down.
“Are these your friends?”
Bart looked back at Perry, Roxanne and David. They all stood.
“They are my friends,” Bart said defensively.
“Come with me, then,” the man said. “Jane Hightower sent me to get you. I am her husband.”
They rode in a large but beautiful horse-drawn carriage, mostly in silence.
“Stop here,” David said.
The man who claimed to be Janey Hightower’s husband looked at David. He called to the driver.
“Coachman, kindly stop here please.”
The carriage slowed and came to a halt and David turned to Roxanne.
“I want to show you something. So that you know I’m not lying to you.”
They stepped from the carriage, and suddenly Roxanne knew where she was, although everything was different. They stood at Penn’s Landing, but there was no mall, no Benjamin Franklin bridge connecting Philadelphia to Camden, New Jersey, no Campbell’s Soup factory, no elevated train, no entry onto the Interstate 95 Expressway, no tarred streets with painted medians, no Old City shops, or restaurants, or boutiques, or cafés, or wine shops, or art galleries. Only dirt roads, only horses and carriages, only tall wooden ships and wooden docks, and rats, and a wide dirt road that was in her time Market Street.
Roxanne turned slowly, and looked toward downtown, where there should have been Franklin Charter Academy, where there should have been LOVE park, where there should have been skyscrapers. Instead she saw horses, carriages, sheep in the middle of the road, and one thing that made her sick to her stomach. City Hall, home of Philadelphia’s courts and the mayor’s office, which should have been constructed, which should have had a statue of William Penn, the founder of the state of Pennsylvania, was not there at all. There was nothing there but a pile of bricks. The only building she could see in the distance, that she recognized, was Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence had been signed a little over a hundred years ago. Which meant that the Civil War had not long been over. Not even fifteen years since the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed. And then it hit her all at once. They were in 1879. This was not a dream. This was not a joke.
Roxanne vomited right in the middle of the road. She could not stop shaking until she and David were with the others again in the safety of the carriage.
They arrived at a beautiful brownstone on Walnut Street, not far away from Rittenhouse Square. Each house on the street looked the same, and Bart, David, Perry, and Roxanne came to realize that the Rittenhouse neighborhood was the same now as it was in the future. Filled with rich people.
Janey’s husband pointed to Perry and Roxanne. “There’s a service entrance beneath the stairs. You two can go in there.”
“They may enter by the front,” a voice called, and when they all looked at the top of the stairs, Janey Hightower stood there, regal in the glass doorway, her hands clasped in front of her.
Her husband climbed the stairs and spoke to her, his back to them below.
“Our neighbors are watching,” he whispered.
Janey smiled a little, her eyes darting all over the neighborhood. And yes, there were figures at their windows, watching her friends below as their carriage took off. Her eyes found her husband’s face.
“The war is over, dear. They shall use the front entrance.”
“Dressed like that?” her husband asked, his voice strained.
“Dressed like that,” she answered, cool as ice.
“So, would someone like to explain to me what’s going on,” Janey’s husband asked when they were all in the parlor. His name was Herbert Strickland. He was from a family who’d made their fortune after the Civil War, mostly in steel and lumber. He was considered the b
lack sheep, wanting instead to be a hotelier.
Herbert had drawn the drapes to keep out prying eyes.
“What would you like to know?” Janey asked.
They all sat across from each other. The door to the parlor was closed, the house quiet and still, despite the servants moving about.
Herbert gave his wife a look. “How are you all acquainted?”
“From school,” Janey said.
“School…” Herbert’s eyes fell on Roxanne and Perry.
“Yes, school,” Janey said with some finality.
Herbert sighed and then swallowed. His mouth was dry. He went to the bar to pour himself a scotch.
“Jane, I’d like a word with you. Alone. In the library, please. Now.”
“In a moment, my dear,” Janey said sweetly.
“Now.”
Janey raised an eyebrow, her smile vanished. “In a moment.”
“There are plenty of liberties being taken here today.”
“There are others that can be extinguished,” Janey said, tapping her nails on the polished wooden table.
Herbert opened his mouth, then closed it. He raised a finger. “One minute.”
“One minute, my dear. I have something I want to say to my friends, and I’ll be right along.”
Herbert’s eyes fell on Roxanne, Perry, David and Bart. They sat still, their eyes cast down.
“I’ll be in the library,” he said.
“Thank you, darling.”
Herbert exited with his drink, and Janey remained quiet until she heard him close the library door down the hall.
“You’re here,” she said to the group.
Roxanne ran over to her and Janey rose to give her a tight hug.
“What’s going on? Please tell me,” Roxanne whispered.
Janey hesitated. “I’ve been here a while now, waiting for all of you.”
“How long?” Bart asked.
“Months.”
“What?” David said, standing.
“All I can remember was that I was sleepy. Tired after our lunch. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, so I took a nap. I fell asleep in the student lounge, and when I woke up I was in Rittenhouse Square park, dressed like this.”
“I don’t understand something,” Perry said, standing. “How were you here before us? We just got here a few days ago. Roxanne got here today.”
“I don’t know,” Janey said.
“Pat Papadopolous,” Bart announced. “He has something to do with this.”
Janey shook her head. “Yes, he does. I’ve seen him. I’ve spoken with him. But I need you all to listen, because we all don’t have much time together. I’m supposed to be here, but you’re not.”
“What are you talking about?” Bart said.
“It’s too complicated to explain. But I was supposed to be here, in this time, to find you all, to bring you here to this house…and to send you away.”
“I don’t understand,” Roxanne said. “Why would you send us away? We can’t survive out there. This is—”
“This is 1879,” Janey said, tightly grasping her friend by the arms. “It’s 1879, Rox. Not 1979. Not even 1999. You have to remember what time you’re in. You have to remember to operate in the time you’re in. It’s important you remember that. All of you.”
Suddenly, Janey looked upset. And despite her beautiful dress, her beautiful house, and the fact that she looked so right here in this time, so at ease, she was genuinely upset.
“It hurts me to send you away. But after I do, you’ll understand why. You’re the best friends I ever had. And I’m going to miss you. Thank you for accepting me. Thank you for being my friends. We’ll see each other again, in one way or another. We’ll see each other again.”
David held Roxanne by her shoulders.
“Now I’m going to show you something that’s going to shock you. We did not come here alone.”
Janey walked over to a long velvet rope and pulled it. A bell rang somewhere in the house. Soon, the parlor door opened.
“Come in,” Janey said.
The door opened and Missy Alexander walked through in a maid’s uniform.
“Oh, my God,” Bart said, shocked.
“What is she doing here?” Roxanne said, looking at Janey.
Missy closed the door, and stood trembling. Gone was the bitchy girl they knew from school. The queen of the hive. Missy was terrified. Her face ashen, her lips trembling. At first, she said nothing, but then she marched over to Roxanne and hugged her tightly. She began to sob into Roxanne’s shoulder.
“What’s happening?” she managed. “Why are we here? Why can’t we get back?”
Roxanne looked at Janey.
“Missy found me. She got here before I did. She woke up as Herbert’s maid. She introduced us. Herbert was very taken with me, and he and I were married within a few days. I needed a place to live, to survive. And the rich now are the same as they are in the future. There’s the boys’ club and the women who serve them. Except I know how to play that game very well.”
“Does he know that you’re not from this time?” Bart asked.
“He thinks something’s strange about me. He thinks that Melissa and I know more than we’re telling. We act too liberated for this time. And it’s part of the reason why you can’t stay here. The longer you’re here, the more he’ll know something’s not right. And then we’ll call attention to ourselves—and then there will be trouble. And I can’t have you go through that.”
“Come with us,” Bart said.
“I can’t. I’m stuck here. I’m…not fit for travel right now.”
Everyone stared with their mouths open, as Janey rubbed her stomach.
“Now listen, all of you. I need you to do exactly what I say.”
Janey fed them, gave them some new clothes, some money, told them to stick together as long as they could. They ran under the cover of night. David and Bart found a hotel and booked a room. They snuck in Roxanne and Perry. Bart and Perry slept on the floor. Roxanne and David on the bed.
When they awoke, times had changed and America was at war. Again.
There was electricity.
When Perry woke up, he was on a subway. The Broad Street subway to be exact. It was old and dark, not like in his time. Orange and white plastic seats, lots of harsh overhead light. The seats here and now were leather, the handle straps were leather. The windows in the train opened slightly. The lights were dim in the cars, a very soft white. And the wheels squealed, the brakes desperately in need of oil.
He sat up as the train left the Race-Vine station for City Hall. The cars rocked side to side and the lights flashed off and on in the tunnel. The train entered the City Hall station, chugging along as if on its last leg. He looked around at the crowded car, wondering not where he was but when. It was obvious he was still in Philadelphia by the train stations, but the time was harder to pin down. The women were stylishly dressed in pleated skirts, gloves, suits, printed dresses, heels and hats. The men were in two- and three-piece suits, with flowers on the lapels, ties, and pocket squares, or pleated pants worn high on the waist, and sweater vests. Most wore two-tone shoes.
He got off and followed the crowd. There were more Black people this time around, though not that many. He looked like them, was dressed like them. He had on brown pleated slacks cuffed at the ankles, black shoes, a wide red tie and a white dress shirt. He wore a leisure coat that was brown and tan, and a brown fedora. He had a rectangular red metal lunch pail and a newspaper under his arm.
He opened it. It was the Philadelphia Inquirer. That, he knew. The paper was still printed in his time. He looked at the date and gasped out loud, prompting heads to turn on the stairwell. It was Saturday, March 28, 1942. He stopped and thought a minute, once outside. His eyes widened and he looked around. There were more women than men on the street, and he now noticed, more women wore pan
ts, on their way to work, particularly the younger ones.
Of course. America was at war now. Many of the young men were in the military, training or overseas. He had learned about it in History class.
He was on Market Street and he looked up and saw the large Art Deco Pennsylvania Savings Fund Society skyscraper. He knew it as the PSFS Building. It was a hotel in his time, not a bank. City Hall was erected now too, with the William Penn statue at the very top of the tower. Perry walked the streets, trying to think of every old and iconic building from his time that would now be erected in 1942. He thought of the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts at Broad and Cherry Streets, which in his time sat around the corner from Franklin Charter Academy. It was up. The Academy of Music at Broad and Locust Streets. It was up, and had been since 1857 (not long before their arrival in 1879). He ran to the Union League of Philadelphia, at Broad and Sansom Streets. It was up, and had been since 1865.
Perry breathed in relief. He had no idea why seeing things he knew gave him so much happiness. Maybe if he kept going, fell asleep again, he would get back to his time. Maybe if he kept going, he would wake up back in class, in Mrs. Conway’s Spanish cram session, with Roxanne. Maybe he would get to see Bart again. He knew one thing for sure, when he did get back, he was going to run home and hug his mom and dad. Hug them like crazy. Even his little sister.
But where was everyone else?
Perry looked out into the street, to the large metal cars, rounded and Deco inspired, in black and brown and blue, all with white wall tires. Many of them were Fords, Oldsmobiles, Chevrolets, and Pontiacs. He walked the streets in a daze, not knowing where to go, until he heard a voice calling from across Locust Street.
“Perry? Perry, is that you?”
Perry felt faint as Melissa Alexander crossed the street toward him. She was dressed in a green and white floral print dress, white heels, white gloves, and a flowered hat.
“Missy?”
She walked up to him and gave him a brief hug, then whispered, “Remember what Janey said. We have to operate in the time we’re in.”