On the desk, between the two globes, sat a leather-bound book. It was green with a gold fleur-de-lys symbol stamped into it. She was about to open it when she heard people approaching in the gallery. She grabbed it and ran back to the little storage room.
“I wanted to see what’s in this book, but people were coming,” she explained.
“Looks really old,” Jack observed.
Ruthie found that the green leather was just a cover to protect a book inside, which had a plain brown cloth cover. She opened it to the first page.
On the right, they saw an illustration of a man with long silvery hair, in velvet clothes with lots of buttons down the front, sitting in a tall straight-back chair. The title page was written in Latin but she could read the name of the author and the date at the bottom in Roman numerals: MDCCXXVI.
“Wow, 1726!” Ruthie said.
“Principia,” Jack pronounced the title.
Ruthie wasn’t sure what that meant, but Jack seemed to know.
“That’s Isaac Newton.” Jack pointed to the picture. “The gravity and calculus guy. He wrote an important book and this must be a really old copy of it. I bet whoever owned all this must have been a scientist.”
“And I figured out why there were two globes—the other one was of the stars in the sky.”
“A celestial globe. Cool!” Jack said. “Those were used for navigation. I should’ve figured that out.”
“I’m going to put this back,” Ruthie said, closing the book carefully now that she knew how old it was.
Slipping into the room, she sensed immediately what she hadn’t felt just moments before: the room was dead now. The view out the window showed fake bushes and a faded painted backdrop. The brushstrokes were clear, and she even saw a little patch of blank canvas near the bottom. It’s the book! Sure enough, no sooner had she put it in its place on the desk than she heard faint far-off bells and once again felt magic surround her, like a ribbon of velvet gently stroking her arms, her cheeks. Somewhere out there the dog still barked.
Upon returning to the storeroom, she found Jack looking through the third door. “That was awesome!” he exclaimed. “When I opened the door, it was just the painted outdoor diorama. Then I heard the magic sounds and it came alive—the sunshine got brighter and the breeze picked up right as I was looking!”
“The book is the animator. I felt the room come alive as soon as I put it on the desk!”
“Let’s go outside. Just for a few minutes,” Jack said, one foot already out the door before she could even reply.
It occurred to Ruthie as she looked at him, ahead of her in the sunshine, that Jack was actually standing in eighteenth-century England and, until she crossed the threshold, she still stood in the twenty-first century, only the small doorway separating them by nearly three hundred years! She paused for a second to shake off a slight shiver before joining him.
5
LUCY
RUTHIE JOINED JACK ON THE patio, paved with the same red bricks that made up a low wall at its edge. A row of geometric topiary bushes—the ones Ruthie had seen out the window—lined the wall, hiding the patio from the road beyond.
At an opening in the wall, they saw modest houses across the way, with lushly planted gardens. Three steps led to a path that ended at a dirt road. Jack walked down into a garden. Just when Ruthie was about to remind him of his modern attire, they heard the voice of a girl!
“Hello! Where did you come from?”
Ruthie considered staying just where she was, out of sight, but decided she shouldn’t leave Jack alone.
“And you?” the girl said when Ruthie appeared at Jack’s side.
Jack answered in as vague a manner as he could. “We’ve just been out walking.”
“But … I didn’t see you at all. It’s as if you just … appeared.” The girl looked at them with a puzzled expression. Ruthie and Jack knew that was exactly what had happened: the Thorne Rooms acted as time portals, and the space immediately outside the rooms was invisible to the people of the past. The patio was such a space, and when they stepped out of it they entered the time the room represented. “Well, now, that’s impossible, is it not? I guess I was so consumed with this.” She held up a long metal tube, about twice the length of a drinking straw and just as narrow. A bowl with liquid in it sat on a stone table next to her. She bent down, dipped the tube into it and sucked gently. She blew out a perfect grapefruit-sized soap bubble. “Exquisite, don’t you think?”
Ruthie thought this girl—actually she looked more like a young woman—was too old to be playing with bubbles. She appeared to be older than them, even older than Claire. It was hard to tell exactly, because her clothes gave her a very grown-up look, but her skin was youthful and unlined. She wore a full-length dress cinched tight at the waist, with a broadly scooped neckline edged in lace. The fabric was shiny, like silk, with tiny blue flowers all over it. Her hair was piled high on her head with a little lace square pinned on the top. She spoke with a crisp English accent.
“Can you do a double?” Jack asked.
“A double?” She handed the tube to him. “Please.”
Jack blew one bubble, then took another breath and deftly blew a second inside the first.
“Bravo!” the girl cheered, and clapped her hands. “I’ve only just learned how to use it. I’m trying to understand surface tension. Forgive me; I’m Lady Lucy Badgley. Have we met before?”
“No, I’m Ruthie Stewart and this is Jack Tucker,” Ruthie said, since Jack was busy trying to blow a triple.
“Are you from the colonies?” Lucy asked.
“Yes, that’s right. But we have relatives here.”
“I think I should enjoy visiting someday. I hear there’s much to explore.” She looked them up and down, finally noticing their clothes. Ruthie wore blue jeans and a plain blue T-shirt, Jack cargo pants and a Chicago Bulls T-shirt. “Is that a bison on your tunic? Is that what everyone wears there?”
“People our age, mostly,” Ruthie said. They’d been asked this question before, so Ruthie was ready to change the subject. “You’re practicing blowing bubbles?” Ruthie had never heard someone talk of “surface tension” when blowing bubbles. It was just a toy, after all.
“Yes. The sphere is such an interesting phenomenon. How large can the bubble grow before it can no longer support its size? And look at the light effects on the surface!”
Lady Lucy seemed captivated by the weightless orbs as they floated in the air, catching the sunlight. She gazed at them and said, “The smallest possible surface area for a given volume.” It sounded like poetry when she said it. Then Ruthie remembered the notebooks and collections in the room behind them.
“Are you a scientist?” she asked.
“It is a dream of mine to become one. My father supports it. He brought me this pipette and bowl. But my mother …” A hint of a scowl intruded onto Lucy’s otherwise cheerful expression. “She is of the opinion that it is not proper for a lady of my station.”
“What are you supposed to do instead?” Jack asked.
“I am betrothed to the Earl of Sussex,” she replied. “The earl is a fine man, and I will maintain a household. But no one has ever asked me that before.” She sighed heavily but then brightened. “Tell me, do you know of Mr. Benjamin Franklin and his experiments?”
This was the third time Ben Franklin had been mentioned during their trips to the past. Ruthie was beginning to understand how famous he had been in his day.
“Sure,” Jack answered. “He’s invented a lot of things.”
“I’ve read he believes in the new wave theory of light.” Lucy bit her lip in contemplation. “But that goes against Newton’s theories of the particle nature of light. I’m not certain which position I subscribe to yet.”
Ruthie wasn’t at all sure she followed this, but Lucy appeared to be in deep conflict over the subject.
“Tell me, do you go to school in the colonies?” Lucy wanted to know.
“We d
o,” Ruthie responded.
“Do they teach science to girls?”
“Yes,” Jack replied. “Girls and boys take all the same subjects.”
“It must be wonderful.” Lucy blew several more iridescent bubbles into the breeze. Then she stiffened when they heard a stern-sounding woman’s voice calling insistently. Lucy put the pipette down. “I would love to stay and hear more about the colonies. But my mother doesn’t know about this.” She gestured to the pipette and bowl. “If you should meet her, please say nothing.”
“We won’t say a word,” Ruthie promised.
Jack nodded.
“I do so hope to run into you again.” Lucy lifted her skirt, running out of the garden, down the dirt road and out of sight.
“C’mon, Jack. We should leave now before anyone else sees us.” Ruthie turned back to the steps.
“That was pretty great,” he said, following Ruthie into the storeroom.
“It’s so sad that she didn’t think she’d be able to become a scientist.” Ruthie tried to imagine what it must have been like for Lucy. Teachers at Oakton always encouraged everyone to do well in science—it was one of Ruthie’s favorite subjects.
“Yeah. Not fair,” Jack agreed. “But there were lady scientists back then. I read about some of them.”
“Think of all the scientific discoveries that have happened since her time,” Ruthie said. “Like electricity.”
“Like going to the moon,” Jack added. “Like antibiotics and computers. Like everything.”
They poked around a little more. Ruthie turned the pages of one of the notebooks, impressed by the fine renderings of plants and insects, a few rabbits and birds. The drawings of feathers and fur, leaves and petals were finely observed and detailed. Who made these? she wondered.
“Oh!” Ruthie exclaimed. “I just remembered.…” She went back to the door that led to the room and, opening it a crack, said, “The catalogue said the portrait—the one hanging in there—is of Lucy, Countess of Sussex.” She peeked out to the right. “Look. It’s her! A different outfit but the same face!”
Jack spied through the door to look at the painting. It was an oval portrait of a woman, easy to see.
“You’re right,” Jack said. “I bet all this was hers!”
That thought—at least the possibility—made Ruthie happy. At least Lucy had gotten a start.
6
HOT AND COLD
BACK OUT ON THE LEDGE, Ruthie asked, “Are you feeling anything with the coin?”
Jack placed his hand over the pocket. “No. Still quiet. Did you figure out a way to get to the American side, so you can show me Phoebe’s ledger?”
“Yep.” She pulled the rolled-up length of crocheting out of her bag. It was about the size of a tennis ball, maybe slightly bigger, and had a battery tied to the end. “We can climb with this. Our feet will fit into the loops—you know, instead of a ladder.”
She unrolled a foot or so of the ball. He nodded in approval.
“What’s the battery for?” Jack asked.
“Weight. There’s another one inside the ball tied to the end of the crochet chain.”
“Excellent. So what’s the plan?”
“Wait here,” she replied.
Wasting no time, Ruthie tossed the key to the ground and leapt from the four-foot-high ledge. The feeling of growing while falling had become one of Ruthie’s favorite sensations in the whole adventure. Her attitude had changed since the first time she had tried it, which had been hair-raising. Leaping into thin air was as close to flying as she could imagine! Weightless, her hair flowed behind her and for a few seconds, while still small, the air passing under her outstretched arms gave her lift. She felt as free as a bird. And she had become skillful at landing completely balanced as her full-sized self.
“Head down that way, till you’re under the vent. I’ll be right there,” Ruthie directed tiny Jack. Then she jogged to the end of the corridor where the cleaning supplies were kept and retrieved the industrial-sized bucket. Returning, Ruthie stood on the upside-down bucket and unrolled the ball until the battery hit the floor. Taking aim, she lobbed the rest of the ball into the vent, leaving a length for her to climb.
“Ready?” she asked Jack.
“All set.”
Ruthie cupped her hand and lowered it to him. He fell right in, accidentally tickling her hand as he righted himself. She lifted him above her head, being careful to keep her hand level so he wouldn’t spill out. Jack’s tiny fingers grabbed hold of her skin just in case and she felt the small pinches. When her hand was just at the vent, he climbed out.
The crochet ball had landed about six feet in so it was almost half its original size, coming up to about Jack’s waist.
“I’ll push it through. Don’t start climbing till I’m done, okay?” Jack called back to her. “Even with the battery, I don’t want to risk your weight pulling it back. That would be a nasty fall.”
“Right,” Ruthie replied.
Jack trekked off into the inky darkness of the duct. Ruthie imagined what he looked like—all five inches of him, pushing a big ball of yarn, although it would be getting smaller with every inch it unrolled. Sort of like making a snowman torso in reverse.
Ruthie hopped off the bucket and put it back where it belonged. She returned to the climbing chain and paused before picking up the key; she was used to being small in the enormous corridor, but she’d rather wait for Jack to give her the all clear as her big self. Remembering that they would also need the climbing ladder on the other side, Ruthie rolled it up and put it in her now almost empty bag.
“Okay, Ruthie,” Jack hollered down. “It’s all the way through. You got the length perfect—it looks like it just reaches the floor on the other side.”
Ruthie picked up the key and before she knew it she was standing in front of a giant battery, the word alkaline as long as her forearm. She looked up at the crochet chain, which appeared to vanish in the vast distance above her, and wished there was some other, faster way to reach the vent.
The first step was the hardest. She clutched the very fuzzy yarn just above her head and stepped onto the battery. It was like standing on a slippery log. She teetered for a moment before placing one foot in a loop and then another foot. It took a few feet of climbing to get the hang of it. She had used a crochet hook that was about as fat as a Sharpie, so the loops were big—plenty of space for her pint-sized feet. The yarn gave somewhat under her weight and she sank a little with every step. She decided to skip a few loops and take bigger “steps” as she climbed. The battery really did help to keep the chain in place; she visualized how it might have swayed uncontrollably beneath her had it dangled freely.
As she neared the top a quick glance down caused her stomach to tense—nothing but looped yarn supporting her. She had reached the height of a nine-story building! Ruthie was pretty certain that the battery on the other end was heavy enough to counter her weight. Even so, she tightened her grip as she hoisted herself onto the horizontal floor of the duct, relieved. The climb had taken about fifteen minutes.
“How was it?” Jack said as Ruthie stood up.
“Not as scary as the duct-tape strip because you have something to grab on to the whole time,” she answered.
They marched off into the duct with no light to guide them. The air-conditioning was on and blew a strong, cool wind against their backs. It was like being swallowed deep into the stomach of something alive and breathing. The journey seemed to take forever because of the blinding dark. Ruthie told herself not to think about the fact that she was five inches tall and running around in the ductwork of the museum, but of course she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had become so much braver over the last few months and had gotten used to the feeling of being just on the edge of unnerved. Nevertheless, that edge was still there, especially in the dark, making her heart beat like a hummingbird’s. Anything could happen, a small, annoying voice in her head cautioned. Ruthie was glad when the first glow of ligh
t from the other side appeared, about three-quarters of the way through.
They made the final approach to the opening on their hands and knees, holding on to the yarn chain so as not to be blown out of the duct by the air. Ruthie discovered that climbing down was smoother, partly because she’d had practice. After a while, both of them were able to do a little shimmy-slide on the chain without actually placing their feet in the loops, almost like they were going down a firehouse pole. But they couldn’t go too fast, as Ruthie felt the beginnings of rope burn on her palms.
“This is great,” Jack proclaimed. “I bet you could make something like this big, for mountain climbers.”
They nimbly descended to about the level of the ledge when Jack said suddenly, “The coin—it’s heating up again!”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. What room are we near?”
Ruthie looked at the ID on the back of the framework. “A12. It’s a room from Massachusetts. Eighteenth century.”
Jack tried reaching into his pocket to retrieve the coin but he couldn’t quite manage it while holding the chain with only one hand. He fumbled and nearly fell.
Once on the floor, though, he took the coin from his pocket. “Strange. It was really hot but now it’s cooled off again.”
“And it’s not shining as brightly either,” Ruthie observed.
Jack put the coin back in his pocket.
“I wonder what that was all about. It was really hot up near the ledge. Maybe it’s something about that room.”
“We can check it on our way out,” Ruthie suggested. She went ahead and dropped the key in order to regrow, then placed the toothpick ladder across the corridor on the ledge at the room from Charleston, South Carolina. She shrank again and the duo scaled the height in no time.
Ruthie and Jack waited and listened outside the door. This room had led them to the garden where they’d met Phoebe Monroe. They slowly turned the brass knob and pushed the door open just enough to see the mirror that hung on the far side of the room reflecting the images of any viewers who might be looking from the museum side. Two heads were just departing the window.
The Pirate's Coin Page 3
