“It’s this physics theory that says even minor things can trigger major events. Like, for example, a butterfly flapping its wings in one place could lead to a hurricane in another.”
“I don’t know if a butterfly could single-handedly cause that. I’m a chemist, not a physicist. But I do know that any chain of events is subject to change when a new stimulus is introduced. A person suddenly thrust into another time and place could surely change the trajectory of lives.”
“Do you think I’m altering what is supposed to be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe this is what is supposed to be. Maybe you were always destined to be here. It could be that the course of my life depends upon your intervention. But there’s no way to know.” He shook his head. “Before meeting you, I never supposed that humans could travel through time the same as they travel between points in space.”
She glanced at him, studying his long, bristly sideburns, the hair on his chin. It was so easy to talk with him that she sometimes forgot he was a decade older.
“Maybe I’m here to introduce you to Velcro,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He laughed but soon resumed a more serious expression. “I could never take credit for something that’s not mine. There’s an honor code among inventors.”
“But the guy who invented Velcro would never know!”
“That’s beside the point.”
“If I were you, there would be things I’d want to know. Aren’t you curious about what happens in your life? I could tell you . . .”
“No,” Cornelius said firmly. “I don’t want to tamper with fate. I like to think that such things are in God’s hands.”
“If they’re only in God’s hands, then what does that make me?”
He stopped in his tracks and gazed at her earnestly. “His messenger, perhaps? An angel?”
Saskia was too embarrassed to respond.
Looking around, she noticed that they’d walked beyond the city proper. She’d been so focused on their conversation she hadn’t realized. Here on the outskirts of Philadelphia, the streets were dirty and littered with garbage. There were many animals, some roaming free, others in filthy pens. The stench of manure was strong. Fine architecture had given way to narrow row houses and rundown tenements. The people had changed, too. So many of them looked skinny and forlorn, clothed in tattered rags. Saskia’s heart especially ached for the children.
“It’s not safe here,” he whispered. “Disease has swelled. Smallpox, cholera, and tuberculosis. In the summer it’s always worse. My father says the Germans are responsible. He won’t let immigrants into our store even though he is one. But I don’t believe the Germans are to blame. I don’t believe anyone is.”
She nodded mutely. There was no way to observe so much hardship without feeling despair.
“We’d better head back,” he said, touching her arm lightly. “We’ve gone too far.”
CHAPTER NINE
Saskia felt all around her sheets. As she searched, she became increasingly frantic. It must be here: the copy of the paper Cornelius had bought for her. The Philadelphia Inquirer, issue June 18, 1840. If she could find it, then she would have hard evidence. A crisp paper without a single tear or yellow page from 1840—nobody would be able to deny it. She wouldn’t be able to deny it.
But it was nowhere to be found. Not in her bed or on the floor. Somehow she hadn’t been able to bring it back with her. She didn’t understand why she could bring things to the past—like the daguerreotype—but not bring them forward. It seemed unfair. And puzzling. Then again, just about all of this was puzzling.
At least she still had the memory of her walk with Cornelius. It lingered at the edge of her consciousness. She was sure that was what it was—the authentic memory of a perceptible reality rather than the unreliable memory of a dream.
Saskia spent the morning watching the tail end of Gaslight—she loved when Ingrid Bergman got revenge on her deranged husband—and searching for a summer job. Online, she scrolled through two dozen positions in and around Coventon. Most she wasn’t qualified for. Most were year-round, not summer work. She knew she ought to approach local businesses directly. She should put on a nice outfit, walk into pizza places and grocery stores, and apply in person. But the thought of going door-to-door, a résumé in hand, terrified her.
Despite what Cornelius had said, she didn’t feel brave.
At noon she gave up and went into the kitchen to have lunch. Another goddamn Healthy Choice frozen meal. Her father had stocked up on Chicken Alfredo Florentine, at least, but even that had grown old.
Afterward, she went for a walk. She made it two blocks under a sweltering sun before turning around and heading back, dejected and sweaty, to air-conditioning.
For the thousandth time that day, she found herself thinking about Cornelius. She wished she could conjure him right now. She wished she could bring him into her life, her real life. She was sick of seeing him only in her sleep . . .
Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a text from Paige.
P: all I can say is sam’s PERFECT. i’m blown away
S: what happened?!
P: what didn’t happen? i feel like i’ve known him for years & we only just met. Can’t stop thinking about him. maybe I’m under a spell?
S: maybe. tell me more
P: tell u everything tonight. Every juicy detail
S: how juicy
P: u won’t be disappointed. I’m falling fast. 8 pm - Ok?
S: c u then
When Lila picked her up that night, Saskia was already waiting at the front door. Her dad barely had a chance to say goodbye before she jumped into the car.
Saskia immediately started to talk about her newest dream, but stopped when Lila shook her head. “What? You still don’t believe me?”
“It’s not just that. I’m getting sick and tired of the whole daguerreotype obsession.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Saskia debated whether or not to call Lila out, to tell her what she’d seen. After all, if Lila owned up to the fact that she’d taken a daguerreotype, too, then she would also have to admit that she was at least a little bit invested in the Mercury Boys Club.
But Lila remained quiet. And Saskia didn’t press for more. As tempted as she was, she knew it wasn’t fair. Lila would confess in her own time, on her own terms. Besides, the truth was, Saskia was ashamed of demanding so much of Lila. She needed to give a little, too.
The front door of Paige’s house was wide open. Saskia and Lila let themselves inside and found the other girls in the kitchen, drinking again. Vodka this time. Sara Beth was squeezing limes with a fancy crystal juicer that was probably worth more than Lila’s car. Adrienne and Paige were sitting with their bare feet propped up on the kitchen table, painting their toenails and sipping from glass tumblers. Saskia glanced enviously at their mile-long legs.
“Hi, ladies!” Paige called. “We’re having a little nightcap. Want one?”
“Neat or on the rocks?” Sara Beth asked.
Saskia, not knowing the difference, replied, “Either, I guess.”
Sara Beth smiled and poured Grey Goose into a big tumbler. “And you?” she asked Lila. When Lila shook her head, Sara Beth added, “Oh, I forgot. You’re a good girl.”
“Where are your parents tonight?” Saskia asked the sisters.
“At a concert,” Paige replied.
“They go out more than we do,” added Sara Beth.
“I feel like we should give them a curfew.”
“Yeah, but who wants them home early?”
“Or at all.”
“Did they go out with those neighbors again?” asked Saskia.
“The Sullivans?” Paige said. “Of course. Where the Sullivans go, they go.”
Paige set down her glass, examined the seashell-pink polish on her toenails, and
straightened up. “Okay, enough with the small talk. Let’s get down to business. As most of you know, I met Samuel last night.”
“I’ve been waiting for this story!” exclaimed Adrienne.
Sara Beth rolled her eyes. “Can I leave? I’ve already heard it three times.”
“No, stay,” insisted Paige. “It’s important that we all know what’s happening. We’re in this together.”
“Fine,” said Sara Beth. “But can we at least go somewhere? Bonding in the kitchen makes me feel like we’re at a Tupperware party.”
“Where do you want to go?” asked Paige.
Sara Beth’s eyes lit up suddenly. “I have the best freaking idea!”
She dashed out of the room, excited as a little kid on Christmas. Minutes later she returned with an overstuffed beach bag. The girls followed her outside to the front yard, which struck Saskia as even more grandiose than the first time she’d seen it. In the darkness, the oversized fountain glowed. A series of spotlights illuminated it from all sides. At the center stood the mermaid, whose large stone boobs and water-slick surface made her look practically pornographic. The conch shell in her hand had a bright green patina. A burbling stream of water splashed out of the conch’s mouth down to a rock basin as big as a hot tub.
“Someone put a scarf around Meryl Streep’s neck last weekend,” Sara Beth said.
Saskia giggled and shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Meryl Streep—that’s the name of the mermaid. Or at least what Paige and I call her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s so dramatic. Obviously.”
“Someone put a scarf on the fountain’s mermaid?” Saskia said.
“Yep. Knotted it so tight that the housekeeper had to cut it off with scissors.”
Housekeeper? Saskia almost asked out loud, but she bit her tongue. It really was a different world on this side of the tracks. She wondered, grimly, if the housekeeper was Black. “Where did you get that fountain, anyway?”
“My dad had it custom made. The stone’s from a quarry in Italy. Some poor dude spent a year carving it. It’s probably worth more than a college education.” Sara Beth giggled. “My dad has a thing for mermaids.”
Saskia tried not to let her astonishment show.
Sara Beth kept walking, leading the girls past the fountain to the enormous tree. “Behold the Tree of Terror,” she said, with a flourish of her hand.
“We’re not toddlers anymore,” Paige replied. “It’s a weeping beech.”
Whatever its name, the tree was indeed scary. Shaped vaguely like an umbrella, it was almost as tall as the sisters’ house. Its branches cascaded down like long green ropes, the ends touching the ground. Together, the branches and leaves created such a dense canopy that there was no way to see what lay behind.
“Come on,” Sara Beth said, flicking on a flashlight. She parted a cluster of branches with her hand.
“We’re going in there?” asked Adrienne.
“Yup.”
“I liked the kitchen better.”
“Paige and I used to hang out here when we were little. It’ll be fun.”
“But,” Adrienne said, “what if something’s under there? An animal . . . or something worse?”
“Don’t be a baby. We haven’t spotted a psychotic, ax-wielding rapist yet,” chided Sara Beth, disappearing behind the leafy curtain. Paige went next, followed tentatively by Adrienne.
“Be my guest,” said Lila apprehensively, motioning for Saskia to proceed.
“You’re coming, right?” Despite the moonlight and generous outdoor lighting in the Sampras yard, Saskia could barely see. She wished she had Sara Beth’s flashlight.
“Yeah, against my better judgment,” Lila replied.
It was very dark under the canopy. Not pitch-black, horror-movie scary, Saskia thought, but close. She was relieved when Sara Beth’s flashlight swept the interior, proving they were quite alone.
Fishing through the bag, Sara Beth took out a cigarette lighter and a dozen small votive candles. She and Paige lit them and placed them in a large circle on the ground. The soft, flickering light had a transforming effect. Saskia could see now that the interior looked more like a kids’ clubhouse than an evil lair. There were even old toys strewn about: Barbies and a dilapidated plastic play kitchen, its parts dirty and cobwebbed. Two lawn chairs lay moldering near the trunk of the tree. The ground under the canopy was a combination of loamy soil and moss.
“Perfect,” Sara Beth said, looking around.
Saskia wasn’t sure perfect was the right word. She picked up a one-armed Barbie. The blond hair had been hacked off. Saskia could imagine the sisters playing hairdresser—and butcher—as kids.
Paige motioned for them to sit within the ring of candles. Sara Beth retrieved the bottle of vodka from the beach bag and passed it around. Saskia sipped tentatively. Since meeting the sisters, she’d drunk a lot. But she wasn’t yet used to the taste of alcohol, or the feel of it, warm and rousing in her belly, relaxing and distortive in her head.
“Let’s go ’round and tell each other what happened with our Mercury Boys,” said Paige. “Should I go first?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Adrienne, giggling. “The suspense is killing me.”
“Okay,” Paige said. “Well, the first thing I remember after falling asleep is being in a meadow. A huge meadow. I didn’t know how I got there or what I was supposed to be doing. But there were people, and they invited me to sit with them on a big checkered picnic blanket. Samuel was there, and the others looked about his age. College age. They were dressed differently. Kind of conservatively. The girls had on long skirts and blouses. One had a polka-dot scarf in her hair. The boys wore pants and blazers, even though it was hot. I could tell I was in England because everyone had an accent. They sounded so proper. So posh.”
“What happened?” Adrienne pressed.
“Be quiet and keep listening,” Paige said, smiling mysteriously. “It gets better.”
Paige
Sitting on the checkered picnic blanket beside Samuel, the meadow around her stretching as far as the eye could see, Paige was suddenly aware that she was the center of attention. Her back tensed, but her face remained placid.
“You must be one of Delilah’s chums,” said a girl with loose, sandy-colored braids.
Paige nodded brightly. She wondered who Delilah was.
“What’s your name?” asked the girl.
“Paige.”
“Are you about to go for a swim, Paige?”
Paige knew what she was getting at—her frayed cut-offs weren’t exactly nineteenth century–friendly. Still, the girl didn’t have to call her out on it. “Maybe.”
“Your bathing costume’s quite daring,” the girl continued.
“This?” Paige said, smiling and stretching out her athletic legs confidently. “This is just every day. My bathing costume’s much more revealing.”
The girl glowered.
“Delilah’s chums are always bright lights, aren’t they?” Samuel said. “Where are you coming from?”
“America, obviously,” the girl interjected. She stared at Paige coldly. “Your accent gives you away.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it.” Paige looked pointedly at Samuel. “And where are all of you from? Around here?”
He shook his head. “None of us lives in Cranleigh. We’re all on holiday.”
“Delighted to be away from our studies!” added a petite, black-haired girl.
“I think we all ought to properly introduce ourselves to our new American friend,” Samuel said. “You made quite an entrance. I swear you materialized out of nowhere like the divine Lampetia.”
“Lampetia?” Paige asked.
“A nymph in Greek mythology. The daughter of Helius and Neaera. Born to shine.�
��
Paige laughed. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I make no claim to divine lineage. I’m Sam Pendleton. Just plain Sam.”
“Good to meet you,” she said. “I don’t know why, but you look a little familiar.” He studied her face for a moment, making up for a lack of mutual recognition with a warm smile.
The others introduced themselves one by one. There were three boys and four girls in total: Sam, Sylvia, Iris, Adeline, John, Clara, and William.
“Can we finally begin?” Adeline, the snarky girl, complained.
“Sure. What are you guys up to?” Paige asked.
“This is our daily meeting of the New Transcendentalists Society. We have it every morning—usually right here.”
“This is our kind of church,” added William, gesturing to the vast expanse of wildflowers and long grass, which swayed in the breeze.
Paige’s eyes widened. Back in the eighth grade, she’d studied the Transcendentalists: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Walt Whitman, Margaret Fuller. She vaguely remembered reading Walden: a book about a guy living in the middle of nature in a cabin he’d built himself. But she didn’t know anything about the new Transcendentalists.
“Who wants to read first?” asked Adeline.
“Shouldn’t we start off with Henry?” said Iris, who seemed to Paige to have more freckles on her face than there were stars in the sky.
“Shouldn’t everything start off with him?” joked Sam.
“Indeed!” remarked John.
“I’ve got something,” said Iris. She stood up and smoothed out her voluminous silk dress. Trimmed with so much white lace, it reminded Paige of a tablecloth or a really big doily. Iris began reciting out of a little notebook.
All things are current found
On earthly ground,
Spirits and elements
Have their descents.
Night and day, year on year,
High and low, far and near,
These are our own aspects,
These are our own regrets.
Mercury Boys Page 12
