The rest of the week passed. Adam had no classes, due to winter break. He helped his uncle with the Biscuit Basket’s reopening Friday. By then, news of the most recent break-in had spread, and the regulars that the bakery had amassed were waiting in droves. All day long, the place was full of friendly faces, welcome-back flower bouquets, and the pleasant smell of warm pastries.
When Adam went to bed that night, his stomach full of gingerbread, he thought of something else he hadn’t told Uncle Henry.
The day after M attacked, while Uncle Henry was recovering in the hospital, Adam had briefly gone back to their apartment to snatch his pajamas and a book for the overnight stay in the waiting room. The music box lay against the foot of his bed, not a scratch on the wood. The glistening pendulum lay next to it. It was then that he decided to check on the magical snow globe inside his drawer.
The inside of the snow globe had changed again, back to Candlewick Cemetery.
Adam had pondered for a solid ten minutes before he made his decision. Earlier, he wanted nothing to do with the snow globe or the music box ever again. But then he zipped up his jacket, picked up the snow globe, and gave it a good shake.
He found himself once more at the entrance to the cemetery. This time, the weather was clear. He saw a little girl in the distance, standing beside one of the gravestones. She wore a familiar white dress.
At first Adam felt nervous approaching this strange girl who hung out alone in a sea of headstones. But then he quickly realized it was none other than Daisy.
He was back in the 1920s. Above him, the sky was soft pink and blue.
“Hey, Daisy!” he called.
Daisy looked up at him with startled, round eyes. “How do you know my name?”
“What do you mean? We’ve met before. I’m Adam, remember?”
Daisy continued to look at him in amazement. Adam understood.
Daisy hadn’t met him yet.
“Nobody comes here this early in the morning,” said the little girl. She motioned to the cemetery around her. “Are you here to visit someone?”
“Oh, no, my parents aren’t buried here.” Adam’s voice faltered, but under Daisy’s curious gaze, he went on, “They’re at a different cemetery.”
“How did your parents die?” she asked.
“They…died in a plane crash.”
The truth would always be sad. But saying the words aloud to Daisy, it was as if an invisible weight that had been crushing Adam’s chest had lifted. He would always remember that fateful day, but it was only one brief moment on the timeline, a timeline that held a million other moments, connecting a million other people. A timeline that continued to unfold with infinite possibilities. He would no longer dwell on a single point in the past. He was going to be truly open to the future. His parents would have wanted that.
He glanced at the name on the gravestone in front of Daisy, and said, “Your grandma, right?”
Daisy nodded.
Adam clasped Daisy’s hand. For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
“She was my best friend,” Daisy said softly. “We made all kinds of meals together. I don’t have any other friends. Besides my cat, Dr. Tabbypaws.”
“You’ll meet new people one day,” Adam promised. “There’s a whole world out there. You like cooking, don’t you?”
Daisy nodded again.
“One day you’ll make a friend in New York City. She’s a bit younger than you, but age doesn’t matter when it comes to friendship. She says you make the best candies ever. I agree. I’ve tried them myself.”
Daisy looked at him with wide eyes. “How do you know this?”
“The snow globe showed me.” Adam held up the snow globe with the tiny cemetery inside. “It belonged to my parents. It connects me to people, you see, from different times and different places.”
“Like magic?”
“Yes.” Adam went on to describe some of the adventures he’d had. Daisy listened in awe, and laughed when he described Charlie and his menacing eye patch.
“When it’s empty, it means it’s time for me to go,” Adam finished.
Daisy suddenly looked worried. “You’re going to leave?”
“I’ll be back.”
“When?”
Adam gave her a mysterious smile. “How about this? On the fourth Monday of May, at eleven o’clock in the morning, come outside and look for me in the garden by your house.”
“Really?” whispered Daisy. A smile lit up her face. “Does this mean we’re friends?”
Friends. There was that word again, one that had once seemed so foreign to Adam. But his cocoon days were over.
“Yes,” he answered. “We are friends. I might not see you every day, but remember: you’re not alone.” He held up the snow globe. “We’re not alone.”
“We are not,” agreed Daisy. Adam was reminded again how smart the five-year-old was.
The snow globe had turned empty again, and he knew his work there was done.
Before he shook the snow globe, he said, “One more thing. If someone is upset, what do you think is the best way to cheer them up?”
The little girl thought for a few moments. “I think a little bit of candy never hurts,” she said wisely, a spark of inspiration in her eyes. “Some sweet to temper the bitter.”
Adam thought that was the last he’d see of Daisy. He was wrong, of course. Though he didn’t know it at the time, in ten years he’d see her once more. But not through the snow globe. Rather, he’d find her in a town not far from Candlewick, thanks to a quick search on the rapidly developing apparatus called the Internet. Daisy would be recently retired from running a successful candy shop in Manhattan. She would welcome him warmly, and introduce him to her brilliant granddaughter, Rose, who was Adam’s age and made sweets just as well as Daisy did.
And the three of them would sit and laugh and munch on bonbons into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CLOSING THE TIME LOOP
Christmas Eve was a sight to see at the homeless shelter down the street. Adam had spent the morning helping decorate the place with vibrant lights and evergreen garlands. By the time of Victor’s memorial service, the building looked not so much like a run-down residence but more like a gingerbread house, with striped candy canes hanging from the wood panels, and colorful droplets of light woven through the white snow on the rooftop. A perfect green wreath balanced on the front door.
“The Hole isn’t really much of a hole anymore, is it?” said Uncle Henry as they admired the view.
“Don’t call it that, Uncle Henry.”
“You’re right. It’s not very respectful.”
“No.” Adam toed the pile of snow lining the edge of the sidewalk. “It’s not a hole. It’s a place for people to go when they’re lost, like”—he raised his head—“a lighthouse. A candle.”
“A candle,” murmured Uncle Henry with a nod.
The service went well. Adam even went up in front of the room and said a few words, something he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing a few months ago. The audience was a bit bemused by his speech on orange peels and permutations. But Adam knew every word he’d said was from the heart.
And that was when Adam fully understood that the snow globe was never meant to change the past.
From Francine, to Jack, to Daisy, to Robert Baron IV, the snow globe had instead shown Adam the ways in which people from every year and generation shared the same thoughts and fears. How they lost loved ones and had pasts they wished to change. But in the end, the clock only ticked onward, and that was the direction they needed to go. Including himself.
Later, in his room, he opened his drawer. The snow globe, the music box, and the pendulum rested peacefully in the white moonlight. The three pieces of time—past, future, and present. Jack’s grandpa had been right about the legend. Adam, who knew of the enormous power inside each object, couldn’t believe how harmless they looked now. Perhaps power was only dangerous when it was wielded incorrectly
.
He took them aside one by one.
Adam made one more trip to the attic that year, on that very evening, to store the snow globe and the music box safely away. He had no need for either anymore. The snow globe he’d keep hidden until he and J.C. Walsh met again. He had a good feeling they would. And he’d keep the music box hidden until then as well. Like Victor had said, some knowledge was best left unknown. And perhaps J.C. Walsh had a good-hearted grandchild to whom he could entrust this family heirloom.
That left the pendulum. Even now, the gold seemed to enchant Adam. He had to make sure it never fell into the wrong hands. He needed to conceal it someplace where no one would think to look for its glitter. Adam thought again of Jack’s grandfather and his magical ideas of time. A smile grew on his face. He knew exactly where to hide the pendulum: a place so obvious that even those searching for it wouldn’t think to look there.
He found Uncle Henry reading in the living room, and the two made plans to visit Candlewick Cemetery as soon as spring arrived.
At bedtime, he bid his uncle good night, then went to sleep. It was the night before Christmas.
Elbert Walsh looked outside his window. It was snowing.
Behind him, two white-and-green-striped candles lit the dim room, casting long shadows on the piles of maps and journals across the table. Those had been from his early days, days spent traveling the world in search of the elusive piece of the time touch that could right the wrongs he’d endured.
Fifty-one years. That was how long ago he’d first met Santiago.
The old clockmaker had warned him that the time touch was dangerous. Elbert had disregarded this advice and had gone forth, searching.
He grabbed his walking stick and shuffled to his bookshelf. Smiling faces from rows of photographs looked back at him. They had been taken from his various journeys around the world, from the dunes of the Sahara to the valleys of northern Europe. He’d met people of all kinds. He’d met strangers who treated him like family, who welcomed him into their homes. He’d celebrated with them on joyful occasions. He’d delighted them with his old magic tricks. He had cried with them on rainy days, and comforted those hurt in the wars. To those, he vowed to one day rewind time to prevent their sadness.
To his surprise, many of them had refused.
“This treasure you seek,” one of them had said, “is it worth giving up all you’ve gained on the journey to find it?”
As the adventures and memories piled on, the less eager Elbert became to reclaim the pendulum from the Barons, or to find the last piece of the time touch. In fact, a day came when he positively dreaded finding it.
Then, not long after, while exploring the shores of Spain with his group, he met a kind and thoughtful woman named Angie. Like him, Angie loved all things magic. But unlike him, she was not interested in changing history or gaining back lost time. She was interested in the future—their future together.
He abruptly quit his search for the key to the past.
At the center of the bookshelf was a photo of a man who looked like a younger version of Elbert. The man balanced a toddler on his leg. Elbert grinned as he touched the photo lightly.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called.
The door swung open, bringing in a gust of wind and snow. On his doorstep were the two people from the photo. They both carried an armful of gift boxes.
“Merry Christmas, Father. Is Mother upstairs?”
“Yes. Just getting ready for the party.”
The toddler ran forward and grabbed Elbert’s leg. “Hi Grandpa! I saw a plane today!”
Elbert greeted his family. For the first time in a very long time, the ex-magician felt content.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NEW YORK CITY, 2019
Ask anyone, and they’ll likely agree Mondays are the worst days of the week, the dreaded day of going back to school or work after a long, restful weekend. Adam, however, could tolerate Mondays. After all, if Mondays didn’t exist, there would be no looking forward to Fridays or the weekend.
The thirty-two-year-old stepped outside his office building during his lunch break. It was nice to give his eyes some downtime from his computer screen. His latest theorem required difficult calculations to prove, but he was certain he’d get there eventually. Mathematicians, after all, love a good challenge.
Rain splattered onto the streets of New York City. The trees had started to show their annual tinges of bright red and orange, and were decorating the sidewalks with the same. Adam thought about his lunch choices, and then headed for the nearest pretzel stand.
His cell phone rang. His wife, Rose, was calling to remind him to order cellophane wrappers for the Lugubrious Lollipops, and more cinnamon, too. Their joint bakery-and-confectionery shop was running low—all the pumpkin spice cookies had sold out within days. She also informed him they would have a special visitor that weekend.
“Good,” answered Adam. “We have that new batch of cakes for Uncle Henry to test.”
Uncle Henry made an appearance every now and then from the countryside where he’d retired, but each visit felt much too short. Adam and Rose were constantly testing new recipes, and the only person they could trust with the first taste test was Uncle Henry, who would always be honest—and, in Adam’s view, the best baker around.
As he waited in line at the pretzel stand under the safety of his umbrella, he peeked into his briefcase. The snow globe rested inside, wrapped in delicate tissue paper. Adam gently laid a finger on the package. He carried the snow globe with him every day, wherever he went, in case the moment came. He had been waiting for twenty years. It has to happen any day now. So he told himself.
If there’s one thing he learned from his youth, it’s that time can’t be rushed.
His patience paid off. And in fact, it happened on that very day. Past, present, and future looped together, tying themselves into a golden knot on that very sidewalk.
Someone accidentally jostled Adam as he stood in line. He did a double take as the person who had bumped him walked past. The dripping raincoat seemed awfully familiar.
Abruptly, Adam chased after the man. “Hey!”
The man turned and looked at Adam blankly. “Hello. May I help you?”
J.C. Walsh looked exactly the same as he had that first time he came into the Biscuit Basket twenty years ago. Adam stood still, at a loss for words. It’s him. It’s really him.
The older man lifted the sleeve of his raincoat to glance at his watch. “Er, if you don’t mind,” he said after some hesitation, “I have to get back to work.”
Adam snapped back to his senses. With a flourish, he placed the package in the man’s hand. “Listen carefully. There’s a boy, a boy named Adam Lee Tripp, who needs your help.”
“Excuse me?”
“His mouse, Speedy, is dying, and he’s afraid of a lot of things. You will find him in a time where your present self isn’t supposed to exist yet. He lives above a bakery—the Biscuit Basket, with velvet cakes and buttercream frosting. You’ll tell him to go to the attic, where great, fantastic adventures await him.” Adam nodded at the package. “And when you do, you’ll be carrying a snow globe. This snow globe.”
J.C. Walsh glanced around the street skeptically, as if checking to see whether this was a setup.
“Look, if this is some prank…” he began.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said with a reassuring smile. “This will make sense in due time. It will happen, because it has already happened. The boy is the one who will receive your music box—in which all is foretold.”
“In which all is foretold,” repeated J.C. Walsh with a confused look. The phrase sounded familiar, one he might have heard a long time ago.
The man scratched his gray-blond hair, a habit he’d acquired from his childhood due to constant itchiness from wearing his favorite aviator helmet. As he did, in the back of his mind, Jack saw his father sitting on the living room sofa, lighting the eleven striped candles on
Jack’s birthday cake, made with the family’s special homemade buttercream frosting.
“Your grandfather always said candles are extraordinary things,” Jack’s father had commented. “Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the first candle will not be shortened.”
He then handed over a handsomely carved music box. “Happy eleventh birthday, Jack Charles Walsh,” he’d told Jack. “This is a special gift passed down from your grandfather. He made a promise to a close friend to always keep this safe. He also made me promise to pass on this note he wrote.”
There had been a small yellow card tucked in the crease of the lid. On it was written,
One in which all is foretold,
One in which lie gifts of gold,
One in which past days unfold.
Life goes round and round like a clock, dear Jack. Enjoy it while you can.
“Grandpa Elbert always said only the second one can be controlled, and is worth pursuing,” his father had said, chuckling. “Don’t know what he meant by that. He was an odd fellow, always too cryptic for my taste. But a good man all the same. Take good care of this, you hear?”
Jack had kept the music box, right up to the day he had to leave his house behind.
After remembering all this, a look of stunned realization dawned on J.C. Walsh’s face. He stared at Adam. “You’re…” he whispered.
Adam smiled. “Good to see you too, friend.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a village to produce a book. None of this would have been possible without the following people.
A big thank-you to the wonderful team at Holiday House. An especially warm thank-you to my brilliant editor, Kelly Loughman, whose sharp eyes and attention to detail have improved this book tenfold. A thank-you to copyeditor Sue Wilkins, who caught inconsistencies the rest of us missed, and a thank-you to Gilbert Ford, for designing such an amazing cover.
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