A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles)
Page 3
“Cool building,” said Alex as they climbed the wooden steps of the old white house to the wrap-around porch.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Brandon. “Most of it’s about a hundred years old. Dad and Uncle Sam only bought it a few years ago. Before that, we worked out of that place over there for about forty years.” He pointed to an empty squat cinderblock building on the other side of the park.
“Wow, quite a step up,” said Alex. “You guys must be pretty successful. Are more people dying, or what?”
“Yes, they are,” said Brandon as he opened the door. “A lot of people moved to Snipesville in the past few years, most of them retired folks. They don’t live very long.”
Just inside the doorway hung a large portrait of a seated gracious-looking black woman smiling sweetly, and a man standing solemnly behind her, with one hand on her shoulder. “Who’s that?” Alex asked.
Brandon looked up respectfully at the portrait. “That’s my grandparents. They retired from the home, and they live next door.”
Alex scrutinized the picture. “Your grandma looks like a nice old lady, but, no offense, your grandpa looks kind of scary.”
Brandon laughed. “Other way round, man. Don’t trust appearances, Alex. Grandpa is pretty cool. But Grandma, well, don’t get me wrong or anything, she’s not mean, but I would put her in the same class as Mrs. D. You don’t mess with Grandma.”
As Alex followed Brandon down the hallway, he inhaled the gentle fragrance of air freshener, and took note of how opulent it all seemed, especially when the neighborhood was so poor. The beige carpet looked brand new, and the walls were lined with antique furnishings, including an ancient organ. “Does that thing work?” asked Alex.
Brandon nodded and said in a whisper, “Aunt Morticia, I mean, Aunt Marcia, plays it. She always plays depressing stuff.”
“Where are the dead bodies?” Alex suddenly asked.
Brandon pointed to the double doors ahead of them and smiled. “Straight through there,” he said.
Just inside, Alex paused in front of a chalkboard on which someone had written a couple of Bible verses and the stern admonition that This is a Christian business, and we are here to serve, whether or not our customers can afford to pay.
“That’s kind of crazy,” said Alex, gesturing to the sign. “How do you guys make a profit?” He immediately regretted saying it.
“It’s not about profits,” Brandon said heatedly. “Uncle Sam is the only one who makes a living here, and no way is he getting rich. My aunt’s part-time, and my dad helps out when he can. It’s just what they do. Kind of like Mr. Gordon in Balesworth. He wasn’t in dentistry for the money. He sometimes fixed people’s teeth without charging them.”
Alex felt sheepish. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Brandon said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lost it. I just get so tired of people thinking that everybody does everything for money. You know, the funeral home does all right, but it’s not like anyone in the family takes fancy vacations or buys big cars… Well, we buy the hearses, of course, but they don’t count, because they’re only used for funerals. Anyway,” he opened the door to the left, “this is the embalming room, where we get the bodies ready for burial.”
“Are we allowed in here?” Alex asked uncertainly.
“I think so,” said Brandon, a little less confident now. “Do you want to look or not?”
“Um, sure,” Alex said, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.
The embalming room was a disappointment. It didn’t smell of death or pickled frogs, as Alex had expected, but of bleach. It didn’t look like a dungeon, as he had secretly hoped, but like a kitchen, with sinks and cabinets. There wasn’t a corpse in sight. A long sloping table sat in the middle of the room.
“Is that where they put the bodies?” he asked, pointing to the table. Brandon nodded.
Alex pointed to what looked like a round fish tank on the counter. “And what’s that?”
“That’s for the embalming fluid. They pipe the stuff into the deceased through those tubes. It stops the body from decomposing.”
Just then, the door was flung open. The flinger was Brandon’s Aunt Marcia, the funeral home’s business manager and receptionist. She scowled at Alex and Brandon. “What are you boys doing here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Brandon, I want you and your little friend out of here,” she snapped. “Right now.” She normally looked sour, but Brandon thought that, this morning, she looked like she had drunk a pint of pickle juice.
He knew better than to argue. “Yes, ma’am. Just brought Alex to show him around. I’ve got Dad’s lunch. He’s here, right?”
Aunt Morticia jerked her head backward toward the office and grunted.
When Brandon and Alex arrived in Mr. Clark’s office, he was peering at a spreadsheet on his computer. He glanced up as he heard them in the doorway, then turned and eagerly clasped his hands on his desk. Usually, Mr. Clark worked across town at his own business, Gordon Clark and Son Insurance of Snipesville. But since Uncle Sam’s heart attack, he had been running the funeral home part-time while his brother recovered.
“Hey, boys, how’re you doing?” He gave the boys a big smile, his eye firmly fixed on the Jiffy Subs sandwich bag that Brandon was holding. “What do you have for me?”
In reply, Brandon gave him the bag, and he began rustling happily through the contents. “Italian special with extra salami, right?”
“No,” Brandon said apologetically. “Sorry, Dad. Mom told me to get you the veggie delight on whole wheat, no mayo. And that’s not Coke, it’s water. Extra lemon slice and chewy ice.” Brandon’s mom was a nurse, and she kept the entire family in line: When Brandon’s dad was diagnosed with high blood pressure, she had immediately put him on a strict diet.
Mr. Clark unwrapped his sandwich, contemplated it for a moment, and then pulled a face. “I guess it’ll do me good,” he said, grimacing, and took a large bite. As he chewed, he looked like a camel with bellyache. Through a mouthful of sandwich he said, “You two all set for your adventure? Pretty exciting, huh?”
“I guess we are,” Alex said. He hadn’t really thought of the petition drive as an adventure, but he supposed it was.
Now Brandon was looking at his father in absolute confusion. “Dad, are you talking about the petition?”
Mr. Clark, who had been about to take another bite of sandwich, paused. “What petition?”
“To save the park.” Brandon said.
But Mr. Clark shook his head. “A petition? Who put you up to that? Seems kind of like jumping the gun to me. The council doesn’t even vote on the park proposal until next month.”
The boys exchanged puzzled looks, and Brandon opened his mouth to point out that the council had approved the project just last night. But Mr. Clark had moved on. “Anyway, I’m talking about England, dummy. You’re going to England tomorrow with Alex and Hannah, remember? Lucky you.” He took a sip of his water.
Brandon and Alex were now totally confused. Brandon said, “But their England trip was cancelled. Remember I told you yesterday about Hannah’s ankle? And anyway, since when was I supposed to go with them?”
But now Mr. Clark was annoyed with his son. “Is this some joke? Brandon, this isn’t funny. It’s just irritating. Go on with you now.”
It was a bizarre conversation, and Brandon was deeply embarrassed. Was the old man’s diet giving him hallucinations?
***
Hannah, meanwhile, paced about the living room in total frustration. She had tried to reach her dad about five times on his cell phone, but there was no answer. When she finally called his office, his secretary, LaRinda, told Hannah that her dad was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.
“But it’s an emergency!” Hannah protested.
“What’s happened, honey?” LaRinda asked.
“My ankle, it’s better!” Hannah cried. LaRinda informed her that a healthy ankle did not count as an emergency.
“Grandma!” Hannah yelled excitedly. “My ankle’s fine! We can go to London!”
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I can’t hear you too well. This is a terrible connection. Look, I’m just calling from the airport to let you guys know that Grandpa and I are about to board our flight to Atlanta. How are you? Are you excited yet?”
“You guys decided to come anyway?” Hannah was baffled.
Grandma’s tone now grew very serious. “Come on, honey, joke over. Don’t be obnoxious. By the way, we heard from your friend Dr. Braithwaite, and he put us in touch with his friends near London. They’re going to have us over for tea. Won’t that be exciting, to visit real English people in their home?”
Hannah suddenly got chills. “Grandma, what are his friends called?”
“Let’s see… Their name is Powell. Verity and Eric Powell.”
Verity and Eric: Hannah and Alex’s best friends in World War Two England. How had Dr. Braithwaite arranged this so fast? Why had Grandma forgotten that the trip had been cancelled?
Hannah’s head was spinning. Just then, she heard the call waiting beep. It was her Dad. She promised to call Grandma back, switched to the other line, and took a deep breath. “Dad, I think Grandma has finally lost it. She says her and Grandpa are on their way from Sacramento, and they’re taking me and Alex to England tomorrow. But you know what else is weird? My ankle’s okay. It’s like it was never hurt.”
Mr. Dias sounded distracted. “What are you talking about, Hannah? Since when was something wrong with your ankle? Look, make sure you finish packing before your grandparents get here. And could you call Alex and find out if Brandon’s passport arrived yet?”
Now Hannah was completely confused. “Brandon’s going with us?”
“Of course he is,” said her dad, half-listening, “Why are you being so difficult? Look, I have to go. I have to fetch Alex. Don’t worry about the passport thing. I’ll call Brandon’s dad. Bye for now.” And then he hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Alex raced through the front door, and Hannah ran up the hallway to meet him. Simultaneously, they yelled at each other, “YOU’RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE…” and then both of them stopped in their tracks. “You first,” said Alex. “Whoa, what happened to your ankle?”
Hannah told him the story of her miraculously healed ankle, and of her bizarre phone conversations with her dad and grandmother. She saved the strangest part for last: “She even said we were bringing Brandon. I don’t think we’ve ever mentioned Brandon to her. It’s too weird. And Dad thinks Brandon’s coming with us.”
Then it was Alex’s turn. He was telling Hannah about the conversation with Brandon’s dad, when he saw that his sister’s hands were shaking as she anxiously ran her fingers through her long hair. “Come on, Hannah,” he said gently. “Come sit down.”
Alex took her by the hand and led her down the hall to the living room, where he persuaded her to sit on the sofa. He switched on the TV, hoping to make the day seem normal. But then he saw that the date on the screen was July 12. When he flipped channels, it was the same thing. As Hannah sat silently, Alex ran to the computer in the den and switched it on, only to see “July 12” on the desktop. He logged on… And there it was… July 12… All over the web.
“No,” he whispered to himself. “Today is August 17… It’s August.”
When Alex returned to the living room, he broke the news to Hannah, who was looking very young and very lost. In a small voice, she said, “I thought that if we, like, stayed away from the college, the weirdness wouldn’t happen again… Alex, I am so scared.”
“Me, too,” admitted her brother, “and when I left Brandon, he was pretty freaked as well. I think we’d better call him and tell him what Grandma said. I guess the only good thing about all this is we get to go to England after all, and see Eric and Verity.”
“Yeah,” said Hannah doubtfully, “but they’ll be old people. That’s different. I can’t imagine Verity as a wrinkly old lady. What will I say to her?”
Before Alex could reply, there was a loud knock on the front door, and he went to answer it. “May I come in?” asked a flustered woman standing on the doorstep. He recognized her at once: She was not very tall, quite thin, and had a heart-shaped face topped off with grey hair. Professor Kate Harrower was not the most likely-looking of time-travelers.
Alex had barely opened his mouth to greet her when the Professor ran down the hall and into the living room.
Chapter 2: The More Things Change
As soon as Hannah clapped eyes on the Professor, she jumped to her feet and exploded in fury. “Get out of our house! How do you even know where we live?”
The Professor ignored Hannah’s outburst. She looked very worried as she dropped her purse on the sofa, and shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Hannah, I just came to ask if everything is okay. Does anything seem different to you?”
“Different!?!” shouted Hannah.
Alex, who was standing behind the Professor, spoke up. “Yeah, you could say that things are kind of different. Hannah twisted her ankle yesterday, and our trip to England with our grandparents got cancelled. Then, this morning, it’s like none of that even happened, our grandparents are on their way from California, and now we find out that Brandon’s coming with us to London, even though this was news to all of us….”
“AND IT’S JULY AGAIN!” Hannah screamed, making the Professor stagger backward.
Alex added calmly, “Yeah, that too. Can you explain?”
“Oh, dear,” said the Professor, grimacing. “I was afraid of this.”
“So what, exactly, do you have to do with it?” demanded Hannah, crossing her arms.
“Me? Nothing. Nothing at all.” She didn’t sound convincing. In fact, she sounded a bit guilty. “Look, I’ve been wondering if either of you has come across my pocket calculator? It’s quite an old one. It’s metal, and it has…”
Hannah was about to spontaneously combust. She was so angry, she could barely speak. “Weird stuff is happening, time just went backwards, and you’re worried about a crappy old calculator?”
The Professor looked uncomfortable and tried to sound casual. “Well, not particularly… But if it should turn up, could you take good care of it, please? It’s a bit fragile, practically an antique really. Try not to damage it. I’m sure it will turn up. Don’t worry.”
“We won’t,” Hannah spat.
As the Professor retreated up the hall under Hannah’s stony stare, she said, “Hopefully, Time will right itself soon. I’m just as concerned as you are about what’s happening, believe me. And do keep an eye out for my calculator.”
Hannah, as Alex later explained to Brandon, used a bad word in reply. But by then, the Professor had already closed the door and fled.
****
The journey from Snipesville to Savannah Airport normally took almost an hour, but at the speed that Alex and Hannah’s grandfather drove, it was more like twenty minutes. Grandma spent a lot of time with her fingers pressed against the dashboard, fussing at Grandpa to slow down. Brandon and Alex crouched anxiously in the back seat of the rented minivan, behind Hannah, who spent most of her time silently staring out of the window.
As the traffic slowed on the freeway a few miles from the airport, Grandma turned to the kids. “You guys are quiet. Anyone would think we’re taking you to school, not to England. You aren’t nervous about flying, are you?”
Brandon thought he should be polite. “Yes, ma’am. Kind of. I’ve never been to an airport before.”
“Well, I’m not surprised to hear that. It is an expensive way to travel,” Grandma said.
“Oh, it’s not just the money. It’s just that mom and dad don’t have much time, and Mom says that Snipes County is God’s Country, so why would we want to go anywhere else?”
&
nbsp; Grandma looked doubtfully at Brandon in her rear view mirror. “Well, that’s one way to look at things, I guess. But how do you feel about it?”
Brandon smiled. “I’m excited. It will be so cool to see England again.”
Grandma exclaimed, “Again?”
When Alex dug him in the ribs, Brandon realized what he had said, and he added quickly, “I mean, after watching it on TV and stuff.”
Soon after they arrived in London, Alex began to feel like he had flu. Grandma said it was jet lag, and she prescribed lots of walking outdoors. Grandpa, meanwhile, had other plans, which involved visiting an insanely long list of attractions, starting immediately. Alex and Brandon soon found themselves on what seemed like a death march around a bunch of dusty museums. Alex envied his sister: Hannah had pouted and demanded to go shopping instead, and, as usual, got her way, while the boys set off for their Educational Experience. First up was the Science Museum. Grandpa desperately wanted to see the displays on the history of computers, and he convinced himself that Alex and Brandon were as fascinated as he was. He rushed the boys past some very cool science exhibits to get to his first stop, a complicated mechanical device that was eight feet high and eleven feet long.
“Would you believe that this is the first calculator?” Grandpa said grandly, throwing out an arm toward it. “This is Charles Babbage’s Difference Engine.”
“Where’s the motherboard?” asked Alex, peering through the glass at the cogs and dials.
Grandpa had been hoping for a question like this. “Aha! There isn’t one. It’s mechanical, works like a clock. Amazing. Wow, look! It says here that this was the second version, designed between 1847 and 1849. Babbage didn’t ever finish building it himself: This one was put together at the Museum a few years ago.”
While Alex examined the impossibly complicated machine, Brandon wandered off. To Brandon, the Difference Engine, with its hundreds of cogs, just looked like machinery, and that wasn’t interesting. Meanwhile, Grandpa had moved to the next machine, and he kept on talking, having completely failed to notice that he had lost Brandon’s attention. “Now, here’s a model of Babbage’s analytical engine. This was the very first computer, and it used punch cards instead of disks, but, again, it was never built in his lifetime…”