Hannah awkwardly hauled herself into the city council building on her crutches. “I am totally embarrassed,” she whispered angrily to her brother as they took seats in the back of the meeting room. “This has been one of the worst days of my entire life. If we hadn’t gone to that stupid park, we would still be headed to England.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. Me and Brandon offered to go to the college with you,” Alex said reasonably. “We could have played on the computers. You could have gone to Starbucks in the Union. You were the one who didn’t want to go.”
But Hannah was adamant. “I’m never setting foot on that campus ever again. Not ever. She’s there.”
“Yeah, so you keep reminding me.” Alex groaned. He knew immediately who Hannah was talking about: Dr. Kate Harrower.
People in Snipesville, if they thought about Dr. Harrower at all, knew her as a middle-aged history professor at Snipesville State College. What they did not know, however, was that she also happened to be a time traveler (according to Hannah, an evil time-travelling genius), who had taken (according to Hannah, abducted) the Dias kids and Brandon Clark and spirited them off to World War Two England. Once there, the Professor, as the kids called her, had left them (Hannah: abandoned them) in Balesworth, reappearing only at various times to offer advice or assistance.
But all that was over now. Hannah had no intention of ever repeating the experience.
As the city council meeting came to order, she resentfully settled into her chair, and prepared for a very boring evening.
The meeting dragged on for what felt like centuries. Brandon was dropping into a coma. He had never been so bored, even in math class, and that was really saying something. He tried to stay awake by watching the city councilmen: Five white men, two black men, and no women. He smirked as he remembered the perfect word for the looks on their faces: Glaikit. It was a Scottish expression he had learned from Mr. Gordon, the kindly dentist who had employed him as an apprentice in England in 1915. Glaikit was a colorful Scottish way of saying that a person has a really stupid look on his face.
About twenty minutes into the meeting, the park development came up. Brandon followed the discussion with great apprehension. He had grown up playing in the park, and it was hard to imagine it buried under a bunch of apartments.
First, a man in a suit spoke in favor of the project, mostly in incomprehensible lawyer language.
Next up was Carter Howells, one of the two black councilmen. Mr. Howells rumbled in his deep voice, “The property in question is the only park within easy walking distance of West Snipesville, a predominantly African-American neighborhood.”
Now Councilman Cassius Shrupp spoke. Shrupp was the other black councilman, who owned a carwash in town. Brandon’s dad always called him “SuckUp Shrupp.”
Mr. Shrupp cleared his throat. “If I might intercede… While I appreciate the community’s concern for a park, this land hardly qualifies. It has never been officially designated as a park. It’s waste land, and it is ripe for development. This project will create jobs for West Snipesville, and I for one intend to vote for it.”
Discussion was now opened to the audience, and Dr. Braithwaite rose to his feet, lifting Brandon by the arm from his chair. “I would like to ask you, gentlemen, where you expect this lad and his friends to play?” The room hushed as the tall, distinguished black Englishman addressed the council. “The only other parks in this town are miles away. And I daresay that any children from our neighborhood who took the time to walk to them would not meet with a warm reception. It is not safe to play in our streets, where the traffic is so heavy and yet the sidewalks so few. Children like young Brandon here need someplace to be.”
Brandon was ready to die from embarrassment, but Dr. Braithwaite wasn’t done with him. “Brandon is an honors student, a fine young man from whom great things are expected. Will he remember his hometown of Snipesville with fondness, or as a place in which profit was put before children? I implore you, gentlemen, to tell Brandon where you stand.”
Brandon died from embarrassment. And his agony wasn’t over yet.
Dr. Braithwaite turned to address him. “Brandon, perhaps you could tell the council, in your own words, why they should turn down this proposal?”
Brandon was now burning in Embarrassment Hell. He coughed, and tried to think of something to say. What he said was, “Um. Ahem. Ur.”
“Speak up, lad,” Dr. Braithwaite encouraged.
Brandon took a deep breath and tried again. “I, um, agree with Dr. Braithwaite. I need somewhere to hang out. And so do my friends.” He began to warm to his subject, and his voice grew more confident: “Like, my friends Hannah and Alex. They live out in Magnolia Acres but they have to come to town to play in a park. So lots of kids use the park. And…er… that’s all I have to say.”
Brandon was about to run back to his seat, but a rush of applause stopped him, and so did the voice of Cassius Shrupp, who had just hurriedly consulted with the other councilmen. “Well, we certainly appreciate you coming to speak with us this evening, young Brian,” he said. “Now I’d like to make a motion that we bring this matter to a vote.”
Six heads nodded in agreement.
They voted. The plan was approved, six votes to one (Carter Howells casting the only “no” vote), and the park was condemned to be buried under houses and apartments. Dr. Braithwaite looked severely at the councilmen, and slowly shook his head from side to side. Alex’s dad sighed heavily, capped his pen, and tucked it into his jacket.
Alex understood why Brandon, Dr. Braithwaite, and Brandon’s parents were at the meeting. But he wondered vaguely why his own dad was there.
As they left the meeting hall, Brandon said to Dr. Braithwaite, “Man, you could have warned me.”
Dr. Braithwaite gave him a small smile. “And would you have said anything if I had?”
“Probably not,” Brandon confessed.
“There you are then. I had faith in you, Brandon. You were magnificent.”
Brandon raised his eyebrows. “Thanks. But we still lost. Don’t you have any ideas to save the park?”
“Right now, not an earthly,” Dr. Braithwaite said. “We can only hope for a sudden change of heart among the councilmen.”
On the way home, as Hannah sat hunched in the back seat staring out the window, Alex asked his dad why he had been at the meeting. Mr. Dias breezily waved away the question. “It’s just something the boss asked me to do,” he said. “Mr. Marshburn likes to stay abreast of anything that might affect property values. Oh, and did I mention, guys? He and Mrs. Marshburn invited us to dinner tonight. They’ve got two kids, a boy and a girl, so it’s a chance for you guys to make friends.”
The Marshburns lived in an expensive subdivision without a name that was hidden away in rural Snipes County. Mr. Dias said that the few people who knew about it called it the ‘super-secret neighborhood.’ He explained, “It’s beyond exclusive. You have to have an interview before you’re allowed to build there.” Getting to the super-secret neighborhood involved taking a turn onto an unmarked country road, then driving down a long and winding trail into the woods. Finally, the Diases arrived at an automated gate, where Mr. Dias punched in a number code he had written on a sticky note. Instantly, they emerged from piney woods into Beverly Hills. The super-secret neighborhood was dotted with impressive mansions, and centered on a country club with a huge kidney-shaped pool and fancy waterslide, tennis courts, and a volleyball court. The Marshburns’ home was in the very back of the subdivision, and it was enormous. Two cement lions stood guard at the front doors.
Mrs. Marshburn opened the door, and beamed at them. Everything about her sparkled: Her eyes, her teeth, her clothes, her nails, her earrings, her necklace, her rings, and even her carefully manicured blonde hair. “Welcome to our home, and welcome to Snipesville,” she gushed in a thick Snipes County accent, as she ushered them inside. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Alex and Hannah! Your Dad has told us so much about you. Oh my
gosh, Hannah, what happened to your leg, honey?”
Hannah thought about saying something sarcastic, but she just gave Mrs. Marshburn a wan smile as she hobbled into the house on her crutches.
Mrs. Marshburn, meanwhile, was still talking. “Well, y’all just make yourselves at home. We are so glad to have you in our community!”
Hannah wondered how she could be glad to have them living there when she didn’t even know them. For all Mrs. Marshburn knew, the Dias family could be a gang of axe murderers. Mrs. Marshburn showed no such concern, however, as she ushered them all into the living room. Fox-hunting prints and deer skulls were mounted on the walls, and all the furniture looked brand new. It reminded Hannah of one of those fake-looking show homes that parents drag kids around when they’re looking to buy a new house. “Would you all like a sweet tea?” Mrs. Marshburn asked, clapping her hands together as if she were about to pray. “My husband and the kids are already in the pool, so y’all just head on out back and introduce yourselves, and I’ll bring your drinks.” She pointed to the sliding glass doors.
In the back yard, the Marshburn daughter, who looked about fourteen, was sitting at the patio table, with a towel wrapped around her shoulders. She was talking nonstop on her cell phone. “So I can’t believe that she said that… and then she’s all like, ‘it’s no big deal, y’all fuss too much. And I’m all, you are such a total two-faced… Yeah.” Hannah flopped into a patio chair, laid her crutches on the cement, and began to inspect her fingernails, just as Mr. Marshburn climbed out of the pool, grabbed an enormous towel, and wiped off his face. “Hey there! Good to see you, Bill. You Hannah and Alex, right?” he boomed in a Georgia accent that was as strong as his wife’s. “Hey, Hannah, your dad told me you hurt your ankle. You sure you can’t join us in the pool?”
“That’s okay. I hate swimming,” Hannah said truthfully.
Mr. Marshburn paused a second in toweling himself off. “Well, never mind, Hannah, you just introduce yourself to my daughter Natalie, soon as she gets off the phone, and Alex, you go say hey to Trey.”
But Natalie showed no signs of getting off the phone. She glanced at Hannah, looked her up and down with distaste, and returned to her phone conversation with a smirk and a toss of her hair. Hannah slumped down in her seat and wished she had remembered to bring her own phone so she would have something to do, even if it was just to pretend to call a friend.
Trey made a half-hearted effort to converse with Alex, who had joined him in the pool. “So, you’re from California, right? Is it true y’all are crazy?”
Alex hadn’t a clue how to answer that, so he just gave what he hoped was an amused and sophisticated smile.
Trey stared at him.
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Not.
“Low Country Boil,” announced Mrs. Marshburn as she brought to the table an enormous steaming bowl of red potatoes, meaty sausage chunks, bright yellow corn on the cob, and huge pink shrimp. “Where’s the ball?” asked Alex, puzzled.
Even as she smiled, Mrs. Marshburn looked offended, and Mr. Dias hurriedly explained. “That’s boil, Alex. Not ball.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “Oh! Sorry. I’m not used to everyone’s accent yet. No offense, Mrs. Marshburn.”
Hannah wrinkled her nose at the steaming shrimp, and groused, “You eat shrimp hot?”
Marshburn’s smile looked even more firmly welded to her face as she gritted her teeth. “Yes, honey, that’s how we like it down here. Why don’t you try it?”
Trey was laughing. “You don’t know about Low Country Boil?” he whooped. “Man, y’all are backward in California. You got a lot to learn. Where you going to school?”
“We start at Snipes Academy in September,” said Alex.
“Is that right?” cooed Mrs. Marshburn. “Well, how about that! Trey and Natalie both attend S.A. It’s a very positive school, and I believe that’s so important for children, to have a positive learning environment. Don’t you, Bill?”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Dias hurriedly agreed.
Mrs. Marshburn beamed at Hannah and Alex. “I’m sure the kids at S.A. will make you very welcome. That’s the kind of positive place it is. Won’t you, kids?”
“Sure,” Trey said unconvincingly, suppressing a smirk. “We love Yankees.”
Mr. Marshburn had other things on his mind, and he turned to Mr. Dias.“Listen, Bill, I gotta tell you, the Renaissance Project is a major investment opportunity, one of the finest I’ve seen in many years. You know, I think it’s gonna revitalize downtown Snipesville. There’s big money there. And it’s great to have the city on board with this.”
Alex finally saw a chance to participate in the conversation. “Excuse me, Mr. Marshburn? Are you talking about the park in West Snipesville?”
Hannah’s eyes grew wide with alarm, and she discreetly drew her finger across her throat. But Alex didn’t take the hint. He said, “I don’t want it to be destroyed.”
Mr. Marshburn looked uncomfortable. “I’m talking about a patch of undeveloped land that some folks call a park, Alex, if that’s what you’re referring to.” Alex caught a look from his dad, and was beginning to sense that he had shoved his foot in his mouth, but he still couldn’t figure out how. He forged on. “Sir, I just don’t think it’s fair to kids. Our friend Brandon lives in West Snipesville, and he’s pretty upset about losing his park.”
Mr. Marshburn looked sternly at him, and then said in a steely voice, “Well, Alex, you tell your friend that this park, if you want to call it that, isn’t nearly as important to his future as bringing business to downtown Snipesville.”
Alex persisted. “Yes, but…”
“Um, okay, Alex, you’ve made your point,” said Mr. Dias, looking embarrassed and a little afraid of his boss.
But Mr. Marshburn had a point of his own to make. “Bill, let me tell you something. I’m excited about this project, because I care about this town. We Marshburns have lived in Snipesville for nearly 200 years. My great-great-greatgrandaddy built the first hotel, and we’ve been here ever since. So I reckon we know a thing or two about what’s right for our community, and that’s progress.”
“It’s not progress to have nowhere to play,” Alex said stubbornly.
Mr. Marshburn’s smile now looked as fixed as his wife’s. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. But you know, it’s always best to think positively.”
He turned back to Mr. Dias, and ignored Alex for the rest of the evening.
When they got home that night, Alex told Hannah how, after dinner, he had tried to persuade Trey to support the park. “But he just laughed at me. He had one of those Confederate flags in his bedroom. And you won’t believe what he said, Hannah. He said, ‘Why should I care about the stupid park? Only the blacks use that park.’” Hannah wasn’t shocked. “Hey, you’re surprised? This is the South, stupid. And even if it wasn’t, lots of people think like that in California, too. At least Trey was honest, not like his mom. She’s the kind of lady that Grandma calls sugar-coated dog poop.”
That night, Hannah was sitting in bed when she switched off the TV, and sighed heavily. Returning to Snipesville from her bizarre time-travel journey to England had been such a huge relief. But now, only a few weeks later, she was more bored and miserable than ever. Sometimes, she thought about faraway California, where her mother was buried. But Hannah realized uneasily that, more often, she thought about Mrs. Devenish, her English foster mother. It was painful to think that Mrs. D. was now long dead, and that Verity, her granddaughter and Hannah’s best friend, was very old indeed.
Now Hannah was laid up with a stupid sprained ankle, and the one thing she had been looking forward to, her trip to modern-day England, wasn’t happening. Life sucks, Hannah thought. That’s all there is to it. As if to agree with her, her ankle gave her yet another sharp pain.
Like most people, Hannah sometimes had strange dreams, but that night, her dream was weirder than most. She dreamed that she was floating on a soft fluffy cl
oud, when suddenly she was shot from a cannon, and her skin peeled away painlessly, as though she were a human banana. And then she awoke, with a huge sigh of relief. Hannah remembered her ankle, and scowled. Levering herself to sit on the edge of the bed, she gingerly placed both feet on the floor. And felt nothing. No pain.
Lifting her injured foot, Hannah was startled to see that the brace Dr. Braithwaite had put on had somehow vanished: She looked on the bed, but it was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, she reached down for her crutches, but they were no longer by the bedside. So she held onto one of the bedposts, and carefully raised herself to her feet. Her ankle felt fine. She did a little dance just to make sure.
Now Hannah whooped, punched the air, and cried, “It’s a miracle! I’m healed!” She dashed downstairs to tell Alex. But he wasn’t home. He had gone to Snipesville to meet up with Brandon.
****
Alex and Brandon were on their way from the sandwich shop on Main Street to Brandon’s family’s funeral home, Clark and Sons Home of Eternal Rest, Inc. They planned to walk the neighborhood together asking people to sign the petition to save the park, but first Brandon had to deliver lunch to his dad. He also needed permission to use the copier in the office to print out the petition. It was always better to ask for such favors when his dad was there, because if Brandon asked his scary Aunt Marcia (or Morticia, as he secretly called her) her answer was guaranteed to be no.
“I’ve never visited a funeral home before,” Alex said, with an excited shiver. “It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?”
Brandon shrugged. “Not to me.”
In fact, Brandon avoided the family funeral home whenever possible. Not because it creeped him out, but because he was afraid that if he appeared to take any interest at all in the business, everyone in the family would assume he wanted to inherit it one day. That was a terrifying thought.
A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles) Page 2
