A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles)

by Laing, Annette

  Sarah was slumped against a tree, dirty and exhausted, but happy. She was part of something important, she knew that, and she had done something useful, helping with the digging. She seldom did anything useful. Brandon wiped his brow, and muttered to Hannah and Alex, “Okay, so now where do we put the other copy of Henry’s document?”

  “Somewhere in the house, I guess,” Hannah suggested. “How about underneath a loose floorboard or something?”

  “Okay,” Alex said, “but we should leave Henry and Sarah out of this, in case they decide to tell someone and give the game away. Leave it to me.”

  While Brandon and Hannah distracted the others, Alex slipped to the front of the house, and ran upstairs. In what would become his and Eric’s bedroom in 1940, he got on his knees, then pressed, pulled, pushed, and finally yanked out a short floorboard near the wall.

  “Well, if it wasn’t loose before, it is now,” he muttered to himself. He slipped the letter into the small hole, and replaced the floorboard, pushing it down hard to make it stick. As he did so, he heard a horse and cart pull up outside. Mr. Letchmore and Jupe had come to fetch Mrs. Watson’s belongings.

  All the kids helped old Mr. Letchmore to load up the furniture to be moved. Sarah, who rarely exercised her arm muscles, found lifting difficult, and she hesitated, until Hannah teased her about being weak and helpless. She tried to tell herself that Hannah, being a servant, was somehow more suited to grunt work, but the more she spoke with Hannah, the more she realized that this maid wasn’t at all stupid, unlike poor Flora. Sarah couldn’t stop thinking about what Brandon and Hannah had said to her earlier. She also wondered what her future would be, now that she was leaving Balesworth Hall.

  Jupe loaded a chair onto the back of the wagon, wiped off his hands, and smiled at Alex. “Lady Chatsfield told me this morning that she’s going to send me to my auntie in Massachusetts, and that I should thank you. So I thank you kindly, Alex, with all my heart.”

  Alex was genuinely happy for him. “That’s awesome! So you really will be free. But I’m sorry you can’t go home to Kintyre.”

  “I’ll get home again, don’t you fret,” Jupe said, as they walked back into the cottage. “I promised my momma I would. I can’t stay away from Georgia forever. It’s my home.”

  Alex hoped that Jupe would make good on his promise, but not until slavery had ended.

  ****

  Two days later, Alex, Brandon and Hannah were sitting at the table in the servants’ hall, going over what they had accomplished. But Brandon was stressed out. Everything seemed to be done, yet they were still stuck in England in 1851. What had they missed?

  “Maybe we’re supposed to save the park next to your house?” Alex said to Brandon.

  Hannah was not impressed. “Now you’re making stuff up. Like, what does that have to do with anything? It’s in Snipesville.”

  But Alex was insistent. “I think it might. But we have to figure out how.”

  He thought again, and asked Brandon and Hannah to think, too. Nobody could think of anything.

  Just then, a voice behind them said, “Sorry I’m late. I forgot how long it takes to walk from the station, and it was raining rather heavily.”

  Hannah jumped up, but she wasn’t exactly welcoming. “Well, it’s about time! Where have you been? I was starting to think I was stuck being a housemaid until I died.”

  Brandon had also leapt to his feet. “Professor! Man, am I glad to see you! But what are you late for?”

  The Professor shook the rain off her coat. “To take you home, of course. I suppose you will all be weepy, like last time…”

  “No,” said Brandon. “Definitely not. I don’t think any of us have any regrets about leaving 1851. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t speak for Hannah and Alex, but I’m pretty sure you guys feel the same way, right?”

  “You think?” Hannah said with a groan.

  The Professor held up a hand. “Well done, everyone. Hannah, have you got the calculator?”

  Hannah reached into her apron pocket, and handed over the calculator to the Professor, who had already opened the door.

  But Hannah wasn’t budging. “It’s freezing out there! And it’s already dark. I hope you have a coach or something.”

  The Professor smiled and said, “No, I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. It’ll be light soon. Come on.”

  Following her, the three kids stepped uncertainly into the night. It was cold, even for May in England, and it was dark. The wind was blowing, and the freezing air stung their ears.

  “Please tell me we’re not walking,” Hannah protested.

  “It’s not far to Balesworth,” said the Professor firmly, crunching her way briskly down the gravel driveway.

  As the boys trudged behind, Hannah caught up with her. “Are you mad? Yes, it is a long way to walk in the freezing cold at night.”

  “Look, the sun’s coming up,” said the Professor calmly.

  And it was. There was the beginning of a dawn. As the kids watched in amazement, the sun rose as though in fast-forward. It was light, it was sunny, it was warm, and small puffy clouds were scudding across the blue sky. They were still walking through the grounds of Balesworth Hall, but ahead of them was the freeway buzzing with traffic, and the squat skyline of New Balesworth. On impulse, the kids turned around and looked back. Balesworth Hall was still there, but very much changed. It was larger than before, and it now looked like a medieval castle.

  “A later owner decided it needed updating,” explained the Professor. “After the Great Exhibition, Gothic architecture became very popular. That’s the sort of churchy style you saw in the Medieval Court at the Crystal Palace.” She pointed to an empty parking lot, and a sign showing the way to a tea room. “It’s open to the public these days. It costs a lot to run a house this large, and not everybody who inherits one can afford to keep it,” she said. “The last owner gave the estate to the National Trust. Now anyone can enjoy visiting the house and playing in the park. But let’s hurry. People are waiting for you.”

  It was quite a different walk into Balesworth in the twenty-first century than it had been in the nineteenth. At the end of the gravel driveway, there was a gate, a ticket booth, and a sign reading, Welcome to Balesworth Hall. Then the small group crossed a bridge over the busy freeway, and walked through an area of office buildings and traffic circles.

  “I still don’t like New Balesworth,” Alex said.

  “Me neither,” Brandon agreed, “but I’d rather work in one of those,” he pointed to a tall glass building, “than down a coal mine.”

  Alex still wasn’t impressed. “I worked in an office, and it was really boring. That’s what my dad does too, but I hope I don’t have to work in one when I grow up.”

  “Oh, hey,” Hannah said, “Anything would be better than working in a factory. At least you guys got to sit on your butts and stare into space. I was on my feet all day, and I had to totally concentrate the whole time.”

  As the group neared Verity and Eric’s house, the kids grew nervous and excited. But the Professor stopped about a hundred yards away. “Okay, here’s where I leave you for now. Go ahead and knock. But don’t worry, I’ll be back very shortly. I promise.”

  Hannah cried, “Don’t you leave us now! Wait…” But the Professor ignored her. She dashed across the road, turned a corner behind a hedge, and disappeared from view.

  Alex said what Hannah was thinking. “How are we going to explain to Grandma how we vanished, and then reappeared? What happens if it turns out we’ve been gone for months?”

  “Face it, it’s going to be weird,” said Brandon. “Our lives are now officially weird.”

  Reluctantly, the three of them walked through the front garden and knocked on the door. They waited anxiously, shifting from foot to foot. When the door opened, Eric greeted them impatiently, as though they were strangers. “Yes, can I help you? I’ve already given money for the school charity appeal, if that’s what you’re here for.”

&nbs
p; The kids looked at him. He looked back at them with a remote stare. Something had clearly happened. He didn’t recognize them. Finally, Hannah broke the silence. “Is our grandma here?”

  “No, love, I’m sorry, you have the wrong house.”

  He was about to close the door, when Hannah took a deep breath. “Eric, it’s me, Hannah. This is Alex, and that’s Brandon. From 1940. The evacuees? George Braithwaite? Mrs. D. looked after us?”

  Eric staggered backward, and the kids were afraid he was having a heart attack. He sputtered, “Is this a joke?”

  “No,” sighed Hannah, “It’s not a joke. Do I look like I’m joking? Let us in and we’ll prove it.” Hannah was freaked out to realize that the trip to England with Grandma and Grandpa had ceased to exist: Time had wiped it away. But at least, she reflected, it had given them practice in persuading Eric that they were who they said they were. It took much less time to convince him the second time around.

  Eric and the kids were all talking excitedly in the living room, when the back door slammed shut.

  “That’ll be Verity,” said Eric, slowly getting to his feet. He wagged a finger at the kids. “Now don’t start in on her, you three. Give her time, all right?”

  At that moment, a tired-looking man with a suitcase appeared in the doorway of the living room.

  “Mark?” said Eric in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Dad,” said Mark Powell. “I’ve come to stay for a bit, just to get myself sorted out. Mum will explain. I’m going upstairs for a lie-down, okay?”

  Verity was standing behind him, clutching her car keys. “You do that, dear,” she said acidly. “Eric, Mark has lost his job at the bank, he’s been evicted from his flat…”

  “Apartment,” corrected Mark wearily.

  “It’s a flat,” Verity said firmly. “I speak English, not American. Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, our son has lost his job, flat, and car, none of which are his fault, I suppose. But it’s worse than that. He’s up to his ears in credit card debt. So he’s coming home…”

  “It’ll just be a couple of days, Mum,” Mark protested, “Just until I can get back on my feet.”

  “Mark, don’t interrupt,” said Verity, who didn’t notice her husband desperately trying to hint that they had company. “He’s moving home until he gets it through his thick skull that his job is gone, it’s not coming back, and he’s going to have to rethink his future.”

  Mark groaned and muttered before carrying his suitcase upstairs.

  Now Verity walked into the living room, and she saw the kids for the first time. She frowned at her husband. “Eric, you could have told me someone was here. Who’s this?”

  Then she looked at the three kids’ faces, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Impossible! It can’t be…” she stammered.

  With a sly smile, Brandon muttered, “Here we go again.”

  An hour later, the kids were tucking into home-made scones and jam. “These taste just like Mrs. D.’s!” Alex said happily through a mouthful of crumbs. “They ought to, dear,” said Verity, offering him the plate. “It’s Granny’s recipe. She was famous for her scones. Here, have some more tea, Hannah. You know, it must be very strange for you to meet me as an old lady.”

  “It’s okay,” said Hannah politely. “I’ve had months to get used to it.”

  “You have?” said Verity in surprise.

  Hannah sighed. “I guess I’m gonna have to explain that.”

  And so, Eric and Verity sat spellbound as Hannah and Brandon told their stories of the visit with their grandparents, and of life in 1851, while Alex remained quiet, looking very uncomfortable. It was Brandon who told the story of Mr. Thornhill and Lady Chatsfield.

  When Brandon had finished his tale, Verity said thoughtfully, “You know, Granny once or twice made a dark reference to some wicked ancestor and a scandal involving her own grandmother. I wasn’t really listening, more’s the pity. But I had no idea that our family ever had a claim to Balesworth Hall. Just think, Eric, I could have been lady of the manor!”

  Eric shook his head. “Not through your mother and grandmother, you couldn’t. You can’t inherit one of those aristocratic titles through the female line. And quite right, too,” he said with a wink to Brandon and Alex.

  “You old sexist,” said Verity, digging him gently in the ribs. “I have to say, though, it’s very odd that you kids would encounter other members of our family in your latest adventure. I’ve never thought of us as being especially interesting, or prone to time travel, come to that.”

  Brandon suddenly sat up. “Oh, that reminds me…We have good news. That writer you guys told us about, Henry Watson? We can prove he was born in this house.”

  Eric and Verity looked at each other in puzzlement. “But we know that,” said Eric slowly. “We’ve always known that.”

  “How?” sputtered Hannah. The three kids exchanged confused glances.

  Alex was most disappointed. “Man, after we went to all that trouble burying that box in the garden…”

  Eric held up a finger and said, “Here, let me show you.” He stepped over to the old writing desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a crumpled yellowed document, then handed it to Brandon.

  Brandon took one look at it, and said excitedly, “No, guys, it was all worthwhile.”

  Alex looked. The ink had faded a little, but it was unmistakably the note that Henry had written out for them. “Eric, where did you get this?”

  Eric furrowed his brow as he reached back in time for a distant memory. “When I was a teenager, just after the Second World War, I was looking for a loose floorboard to hide a few cigarettes where Granny wouldn’t find them.”

  Hannah interrupted him, “Hey, when did you start calling Mrs. D. ‘Granny’? You always called her Mrs. D. when we knew you.”

  He smiled. “Oh, when she decided to adopt me…”

  Brandon turned to Hannah. “Come on, let Eric tell his story!”

  Irked, Hannah slumped on the sofa, her arms clasped across her chest. Eric continued. “Anyway, it took me a while to pry open the most likely floorboard in my room, the one that always creaked when I stepped on it. When I finally managed to open it, I found this document. I got so excited, I rushed downstairs to tell her, only I’d completely forgot I was holding the ciggies in the other hand. What’s worse, I’d pinched them from her handbag. She recognized the type.”

  Verity laughed. “I’m surprised she didn’t kill you.”

  “She very nearly did,” said Eric with a grimace. “But this bit of paper here saved my bacon. She was fascinated, even though she had always said that Henry Watson was the most boring writer ever.”

  Alex was delighted. “We planted this letter,” he said proudly. “And we planted a second copy in a box in the garden.”

  “Getaway!” laughed Eric. “That’s extraordinary.”

  Verity turned to the kids. “You know, it’s been very helpful, us knowing about old Henry. Since the War, Balesworth New Town has been growing and growing. There have been various efforts to build on the land around us, and Granny was once even threatened with compulsory purchase…”

  Eric explained: “That means the council was going to make her sell the house to the government, and then knock it down.”

  Verity took up the story again. “But the Henry Watson connection has always helped us. You didn’t notice the little blue plaque next to the front door, did you? It says that this house was his birthplace. We have supporters called the Friends of the Henry Watson Country, who have helped us time and time again to stop the land being built on. This year, the council finally approved plans for Henry Watson Country Park, to include all the land around us, so we can relax a bit.”

  Eric was curious. “So you three met Henry Watson, then? What was he like?”

  Brandon minced no words. “He was a jerk. Full of himself.”

  “That makes sense,” muttered Verity. “Now, to change the subject,
how are you three getting home to America?”

  Hannah raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea,” she said. “The Professor is going to take us, I guess.”

  “The Professor? Who’s that?”

  Hannah sighed. “You might remember her, but probably not. She was the WVS lady who came to take us home in 1940. She took that picture of all of us in the back garden.”

  Verity looked doubtful. “Well, I remember somebody took you away, but I don’t remember her.”

  Hannah said, “She wasn’t really with the WVS. She’s an evil time-traveling witch, and she’s responsible for dragging us all over the place, and all over time.”

  “Witch or not, I’d very much like to meet her,” said Verity. “And she can’t be that bad, Hannah. It sounds as though you three have been doing some good on your travels, and you’re having an adventure that the rest of us can only dream of.”

  Hannah pouted, but Brandon, nodding enthusiastically, agreed with Verity. “Yeah, I mean it’s way more interesting than hanging out in Snipesville for the summer.”

  Hannah looked dubiously at Brandon. “Oh, yeah, like you had tons of fun down that coal mine…”

  “I didn’t say fun,” Brandon shot back. “I said it was interesting. That’s not the same thing, is it?”

  Suddenly, Alex said very quietly, “I hated it.”

  There was a silence. Then Alex said in the same small voice. “1851 was awful. I don’t want to go through this again.”

  The doorbell rang, and when Verity opened the door, the Professor introduced herself. “Hello, Verity. Lovely to see you again. I’ve come to take these three home.”

  As the Professor entered, Verity, following her, said, “Yes, I want to talk to you about that. Who are you, exactly? Do I know you?”

  The Professor seemed surprised to be asked. “Me? Oh, I’m Kate Harrower. I teach history at Snipesville State College in America.”

  “No, that’s not good enough,” said Verity, perching on the edge of the sofa and folding her arms. “I’m talking about this time travel business, about three kids, and they are just kids, being involved in it. Please take a seat, because I want to talk with you.”