No Ordinary Thing

by G. Z. Schmidt

  The stranger glared at the baker as if he were an irksome fly. “You may simply call me M.”

  “Nice to meet you, er, M. I’m Henry. You say you’re looking for a snow globe?”

  “Yes. Your nephew knows about it; ask the nice boy.” M gave a fake smile that looked more like a sneer.

  “Adam?” prompted Uncle Henry with a confused look.

  Adam’s hands grew clammy. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he answered with a shrug. His instincts told him he must not let the stranger get the item.

  “The snow globe.” M’s smirk wavered. “I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.” M scowled and jabbed a long finger in Adam’s direction. “Don’t play games with me, you little worm. I’ve been researching this object for thirty-one years. You are the current owner of an extremely valuable item. Do you have any idea how many people have tried to get their hands on it?”

  Uncle Henry stepped toward M and gave the stranger a warning look. Although Uncle Henry was shorter, he had a stockier build. M caught sight of Uncle Henry’s strong baker muscles and backed away slightly.

  “It seems we got off on the wrong foot,” M said. “All I want is the snow globe. I am willing to pay handsomely for it. Name your price.”

  Uncle Henry faltered. He turned to Adam and murmured, “Do you think you could give the fellow whatever toy it is he wants, so he could leave us alone?”

  Adam knew what his uncle was thinking: M had a few marbles missing, and the sooner they gave him the item he wanted, the better.

  Except the snow globe was not just a harmless toy. Far from it. Furthermore, Adam did not trust M.

  “Adam?” pressed Uncle Henry.

  “Oh, you mean that snow globe,” Adam said with a fake laugh. “Now I remember! Sorry, I broke that thing and threw it away a week ago.”

  “Listen to me, you imbecile!” spat M. “I’ll skin you like a potato—”

  Of course, making threats to a child right in front of his guardian is never a good idea. In an instant, Uncle Henry had grabbed the man’s arm and was firmly guiding him out the door. M tried to resist, but he was no match for Uncle Henry’s solid strength.

  “You’re making a terrible mistake,” M hissed.

  “Have a good day, sir. Please do not come back or I’ll call the police.” Uncle Henry slammed the door shut and twisted the lock.

  M looked daggers at them through the glass. He pointed again at Adam and mouthed something before disappearing down the street.

  “Are you all right, Adam?” Uncle Henry asked.

  Adam found he was still rooted to the spot. He was also trembling. “I—I’m fine,” he answered.

  “Just another crazy guy, don’t worry about him,” Uncle Henry reassured Adam. “New York’s full of bad seeds. They don’t call it the Big Apple for nothing.”

  Adam didn’t mention to his uncle that M was the stranger who had been stalking him. At least now he knew what the man was after.

  And he had no doubt M would return.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE GREAT BARON FAMILY

  Adam remained watchful for the mysterious M. He made sure to keep the valuable snow globe hidden deep in his dresser. Even so, he checked on it every day to see if the landscape had changed. The glass globe remained empty.

  He chewed on the facts. For one thing, he knew the candle factory had definitely closed down from a fire—a fire that had killed numerous people. It was his duty then, wasn’t it, to warn Jack and the other residents of Candlewick? Perhaps that was why the mysterious stranger in the raincoat had shown him the way to the magic snow globe in the first place. Because what else could the snow globe be good for, if not to bring him back in time to help people?

  Of course, what Adam wanted more than anything was to help his own parents. He wanted to warn them of their untimely deaths. But for anything to change, the snow globe had to change first. And that simply wasn’t happening. Late in the evenings, he’d sit cross-legged on his bed with the snow globe in front of him, and he’d close his eyes and wish very hard that the inside of the snow globe would change to…he wasn’t sure what, exactly. An airport? His parents’ old townhouse in the suburbs?

  He wasn’t sure what he’d say if he did meet them again.

  Then, four days after M paid Adam and his uncle a visit, Adam uncovered the snow globe to find it awaiting him with a new scene. This time, a tiny landscape of a cemetery stood inside the glass.

  Adam’s stomach churned. The sight of a graveyard was never a welcome sign. He thought of the burning candle factory and Jack. Something bad must have happened.

  He did not pick up the snow globe.

  It showed the cemetery all morning. Then, in the afternoon, the cemetery disappeared. Adam blinked at the empty glass, an unsteady feeling of regret in his stomach, the kind one might get after losing a twenty-dollar bill on the way to school, or after stepping in a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk.

  Before dinner, the snow globe changed again. This time, a tiny hillside town stood inside the glass. Adam couldn’t believe it. Candlewick.

  For a moment, Adam stood still, paralyzed by indecision. The doubts of continuing his adventures with the unpredictable snow globe washed over him. He was torn between staying in the safety of his invisible cocoon, and stepping out one more time in the name of curiosity.

  His curiosity eventually won out. If he was seeing the town in the glass, it meant everyone there should be fine…right?

  Adam took a deep breath, then gave the snow globe a gentle shake.

  He felt a light breeze against his hand just before his room disappeared. In its place was a wide garden, bursting with bright flowers and neatly trimmed green hedges. The air burst with the feel of late spring and the sweet smell of early summer. Above him, wispy white clouds—the kind that looked like thin strips of cotton candy—drifted leisurely across the pale blue sky. The same warm breeze ruffled the patch of dandelions at Adam’s feet, so that they brushed gently against his ankles.

  At the edge of the garden stood a small girl examining a rosebush. The girl seemed no older than five or six, and wore a simple white dress. As if she could sense him, the girl looked up at Adam. She lifted a pale arm and waved. The girl was barefoot and held a golden pocket watch. A single daisy was pinned in her blond hair.

  “Right on time,” the girl said, smiling at him with round brown eyes. “Just like you said.”

  Adam didn’t reply. He had no idea who the girl was or what she was talking about.

  The girl motioned for him to follow as she brushed past him and led the way across the garden. That was when Adam realized the enormous house behind him. It looked more like a cathedral or a fancy hotel. Above the lofty windows and engraved walls, a weathervane in the shape of a candle perched on the slender roof. Adam had read in a book that the direction the weathervane points is where the wind comes from. Today, the wind blew from the southwest, behind the hills and the faint outline of the factory in the distance.

  “Come with me,” the girl called, before disappearing inside.

  Adam hesitated, then followed her.

  The inside of the mansion was even more impressive. The sleek, wood-paneled walls were decorated with framed paintings of picture-perfect landscapes, as well as portraits of the smiling little girl and presumably her brother and parents, all of whom looked far more severe. The furniture, a mix of stiff-backed chairs and sofas made of glossy fabric, did not seem inviting, and instead gave off a do-not-touch vibe, much like items displayed at a museum.

  “Is this your house?” Adam couldn’t help asking.

  The little girl nodded, looking rather unimpressed by the magnificence around her.

  “Who are you?” asked Adam.

  The little girl gave him a weird look as she led him through the foyer. “You know who I am.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”
>
  Something odd was going on. Adam debated leaving, but then he smelled the delicious aroma of cooked chicken. His mouth watered. It had been close to dinnertime when he left home, but the sun here had been almost directly overhead. It must be lunchtime, then.

  “Mommy, Daddy!” the girl called. “Adam is here.”

  Adam blinked. “How do you know my name?”

  Before the girl could answer, a frowning couple emerged from one of the doorways. They were the same people he’d seen in the portraits, and they were stylishly dressed in nice, if old-fashioned, clothes. The man rubbed his sallow face and eyed Adam with distaste. Next to him, the woman looked down at Adam as if he were something rotten on the heel of her shoe.

  “I’ve heard about you,” the man said without a trace of friendliness. “Just so you know, we keep the business strictly within the bloodline. If this is some ruse to get part of the fortune, you can forget it.”

  “I—” stammered Adam, “I d-don’t know what you mean—”

  “It’s okay, Daddy, Adam is my friend,” the little girl said calmly. “He isn’t here for the fortune. He’s here for lunch.”

  Adam thought the man looked somewhat familiar, though he didn’t know why. He eyed the three people, not sure whether to make a run for it. He glanced at the snow globe in his hand, which still showed the hillside town. He gave it a quick shake. The snowflakes twirled, but nothing else happened.

  He stared at the confetti lying on the bottom of the glass. What if he got stuck there forever, with no way to get back to his own time?

  After a tense moment of silence, the mother said testily, “Very well, the more the merrier.” She said it with the same enthusiasm as someone being asked to swallow a live spider.

  The little girl beamed. Despite Adam’s protests, she urged him into the dining room. Plates of hot bread rolls, macaroni-and-tuna salad, and bowls of chicken soup awaited the family on a long rectangular table that could seat ten. Unlit candles rested in the chandelier holders. The green-and-white stripes looked strikingly familiar.

  A chubby boy in a velvet suit was already seated at the table and messily gorging on his plate of macaroni salad. The parents sat down at one end of the long table, and the little girl sat down at the other end, as far away from the rest of the family as possible. Adam followed her.

  “Look, this is all really nice, but I’m not hungry,” he said as his stomach let out a loud rumble.

  The girl grinned and passed a bowl of soup to him.

  “No thanks,” Adam tried again, lowering his voice. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  At this, the little girl crossed her arms. “You have a bad memory.” Then she sighed and held out her hand. “Very well, then. My name is Daisy.”

  “Could’ve guessed that,” Adam mumbled, glancing at the same flower in her hair. He shook her hand. “I’m Adam. But you knew that already.”

  “I did know. I don’t forget things like you do.”

  Adam blinked at the girl as he remembered something. Daisy. It couldn’t be the same person, could it?

  “Do you know a girl named Francine?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “Curly hair, dark skin, lives in New York City…?”

  Adam stopped talking when he caught the girl’s parents listening with suspicion. He decided to figure it out later. He knew there was a logical reason for all of this. And he supposed a small bite of lunch wouldn’t hurt in the meantime.

  He reluctantly settled into his chair. He picked up the gleaming silver spoon and carefully sipped his soup. His eyes widened. It was extraordinary, unlike any other chicken soup he’d tasted.

  Daisy was studying her bowl thoughtfully. “Grandmother taught me how to make this,” she said. “I think I did rather well.”

  Adam gaped at her, unsure if he heard correctly. “You made the soup?”

  Daisy nodded. “And the macaroni salad, too. The cook helped me.” Seeing the look on Adam’s face, she explained, “I like to make food. It’s fun.”

  “Wow. How old are you?”

  “I’m five.”

  “I keep telling her we have maids for that,” the girl’s father said from down the table, sounding unimpressed. “We own the entire town. We don’t have to lift a pinky if we don’t want to. She should be more like her brother, who demands proper respect. Isn’t that right, Robbie?”

  The chubby boy let out a loud belch, said, “It could use more salt,” and scarfed down his third bowl of soup since they’d sat down.

  Throughout lunch, the mother asked Adam to remind her who he was again, and how old he was, and what his parents did for a living—the type of steady questions adults ask when they’re trying to probe. Because of the long table, Adam had to raise his voice and practically shout, something he wasn’t used to. He answered as vaguely as he could, and left out the part about the magic snow globe.

  “New York City?” repeated the mother. “That’s quite a ways from here.”

  “He must’ve taken the train in,” said the father to the mother. “Shame, it used to be a mighty respectable way to travel, but any riffraff can ride them nowadays.” He added, “Can’t trust New Yorkers. Ask if he’s in cahoots with whatshisname and that ridiculous group of vagabonds that came by here the other day. They—”

  “I’m sure he isn’t. He is much too young.”

  Adam was indignant at this remark. Whatever they were talking about, twelve years old was certainly not too young.

  “Ask him,” retorted the father. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that crackpot magician’s recruiting children now, trying to claim our fortune.”

  “Now, see here, Robert…”

  As the parents continued arguing, Adam leaned closer to Daisy and murmured, so the others wouldn’t hear, “How did you know I’d be in the garden?”

  “Last time you saw me, you said you’d arrive again on the fourth Monday of May at eleven o’clock,” the girl replied. “And here you are.”

  “But I’ve never met you before,” Adam insisted. “When did I meet you?”

  “A month ago, not long after Grandmother’s funeral.”

  “Impossible.”

  “You’re just like Mommy. She has a bad memory too. One time she ate breakfast twice, because she forgot she already ate that morning. Another time she went outside in the rain without her umbrella, came back to get it, and forgot it again.”

  Adam glanced at the arguing adults, then asked Daisy, “So you don’t know anyone from New York City named Francine?”

  Daisy shook her head. “I’ve never been to the city. Mommy says it’s not safe.”

  Daisy’s parents finally ended their argument, and Daisy’s mother joined in Adam and Daisy’s conversation. “Yes, too many jealous folks in that city. They say the nastiest things to us, thanks to that ex-magician spreading rumors. Ever since he got out of jail—”

  Daisy’s father snorted. “That’s what you get when you’re a successful multimillionaire,” he gloated, and leaned forward to get another helping of salad. As he did, Adam caught sight of a golden pendulum glistening underneath his collar.

  The Gold Mold! Adam thought, recalling what Jack had told him. With a jolt, he recognized the man sitting across the table.

  “You—you’re Robert Baron!” he gasped, remembering the newspaper clippings.

  “The Robert Baron is my father,” the man said haughtily. “I am Robert Baron the Second. And this is Robert Baron the Third,” he added, motioning proudly to the chubby boy down the table.

  “What—what year is it?” asked Adam.

  Asking someone what year it is, of course, is as common as asking how many potatoes they have in their pocket. After a long, awkward pause, Daisy’s mother crinkled her eyebrows and said, “Well, it’s been 1922 for five months, hasn’t it?”

  It all made sense now. Adam was in the Baron household, the owners of Candlewick’s Candles Corporation. He began breathing heavily, the way he did after an intense run in gym class. />
  Meanwhile, the rest of the family was oblivious to how Adam had gone pale. Mrs. Baron excused herself and disappeared to another room with her half-full plate. Her son, who would one day become the actual Gold Mold, was now concentrating on a roll. His father, Robert Baron II, was boasting about his state-of-the-art electric dishwasher.

  “I can get the latest technology—the best telephone sets and radios,” he was saying. “In fact, I can get anything I want. If I want ice-cold lemon sherbet right now, I have someone who will pick it up for me from the finest dessert shop in the New York area. If I desire a brand-new Rolls-Royce—the finest automobile around—I can have it tomorrow. I can even get another pesky cat for Daisy to replace Mr. Flabbypaws.”

  Daisy shook her head. “No one can replace Dr. Tabbypaws,” she said sadly. Seeing Adam’s confused look, she proceeded to describe the daily activities of Dr. Tabbypaws, her strange orange cat who did not like Daisy’s father and often hid his shoes and cigars in the litter box. Adam thought the cat was quite clever not to like Robert Baron II.

  “I used to have a pet mouse,” said Adam, recovering from his initial shock. “It slept under my bed.”

  “Dr. Tabbypaws used to sleep under my bed,” said Daisy. “Now he’s pushing daisies in the ground.” She giggled at the phrase, then looked at Adam and explained, “That’s a euphemism. It’s a politer way of saying someone died.”

  Adam was taken aback. The little girl acted much older than five. “Sorry about your cat,” he murmured. Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Listen, speaking of death…” He tried to think of a good way to bring up the impending fire—one that wouldn’t happen for over forty years, but which would nonetheless kill one member at the table.

  “It’s inevitable,” Daisy answered before Adam got a chance to continue.

  “What?”

  “Death. It’s inevitable. That’s another word Grandmother taught me. It means ‘bound to happen.’ Just like how my flowers always die in autumn.” The little girl nodded to the window, where they could glimpse the garden. “But then new seeds will grow, and the cycle repeats itself, like the seasons do.”