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

by Laing, Annette

  “I don’t know what you mean,” the Professor said, glancing at her watch. “Good Lord, is that the time? Come on, kids, we have to go. Say your goodbyes.”

  But Verity wasn’t giving up so easily, and she swiftly blocked the door. “I think the children and Eric and I deserve an explanation, don’t you? Who are you really? How do you have the power to travel through time?”

  The Professor spoke breezily while trying to inch her way past Verity. “Oh, I’m an historian, and we all have the power to travel through time. It’s the documents, you see, they’re absolutely transporting.”

  Verity would have none of it. “Nonsense. Now why don’t you… Wait, have we met before?” She peered closely at the Professor’s face.

  “She’s the WVS lady,” said Hannah. “Remember I told you?”

  “Yes, of course I remember you telling me,” said Verity, “But it’s not that…”

  The Professor was quite a bit shorter than Verity, and she suddenly ducked under her arm, pulling Alex behind her. Brandon and Hannah gave apologetic shrugs, and followed the Professor as she trotted up the garden path. “I’ll write, Verity,” Hannah called back. “Maybe I can convince my Grandma to bring us here next summer.”

  “If we’re still here,” Eric replied glumly. “We’re both knocking on a bit, you know. We’re not as young as we used to be.”

  “He’s right,” said Verity. “And so long as this Harrower woman is dragging the three of you around, perhaps you could persuade her to let you visit us thirty years ago? Or fifty? When we were younger? Granny would have loved to have seen you again, although I doubt she would have believed this time travel malarkey.”

  But the children and the Professor were gone.

  Verity turned to Eric. “Of course, it might mess up something in time if they visited us again in the past, wouldn’t it?”

  “We wouldn’t know,” said Eric, shepherding her back into the living room. “Rather like we have no memory of the kids coming to England with their grandparents. It would just be how things had always been.”

  “That’s a very strange thought, Eric,” said Verity. “Look, shouldn’t we at least ring George Braithwaite and ask him to keep an eye on the kids for us?”

  “From the sound of it, he already is,” said Eric.

  “All the same,” Verity said, “I’d like to be sure. I don’t like the look of that Harrower woman.”

  The kids sat in a first class carriage, and it was their best train journey ever: The seats were comfortable, and a steward served tea for them all in real china tea cups, which he presented along with shortbread cookies. “This is way nicer than the first class carriage we took with my grandparents,” Hannah said to the Professor. “Did it change because we messed with Time?”

  The Professor shook her head and smiled. “No, this is just proof that seeing is not believing. It’s nothing to do with that. When you were with your grandparents, you took one of the local commuter trains, and first class compartments on those are always a bit grim. This is a long-distance train, and their first class compartments are always much nicer. We were just lucky that Balesworth is the last major train station before London, so lots of long-distance trains stop there.”

  As the train began to pull smoothly out of Vauxhall Station, the very last stop before Kings Cross, a blond man in uniform entered the carriage, calling out, “Tickets, please!”

  “It’s Mr. Veeriswhat’shisname!” cried Hannah, jumping in her seat.

  “I beg your pardon, love?” said the startled ticket inspector. “Have we met before?”

  “Yes, when we were…” said Hannah, but Brandon elbowed her in the ribs.

  “Ow… No. I guess not. I saw your nametag.”

  “What about it?” said Mr. Veeriswamy, looking as though he dared her to make a joke of his name.

  Brandon intervened. “We’ve been researching the history of Balesworth Hall, and you have the same name as a butler who worked there.”

  “That’s right,” said Mr. Veeriswamy in surprise. “Well, well, well… how about that… You know, my great-great-great-grandad, he was the first Indian butler in England. He came from the Punjab, you know. Later on, he married some lady who’d lost her title, or so the family story goes. All very scandalous, I’m sure.”

  “Lady Chatsfield!” exclaimed Brandon. “He married Lady Chatsfield!”

  Now all the kids were agog. Lady Chatsfield had married her butler?

  “Might have been the name,” said Mr. Veeriswamy, pointing his ballpoint pen at Brandon. “Very well might be. Imagine, me, descended from aristocracy. That’s a laugh, that is!”

  Brandon said excitedly, “But that means you’re, like, related to some people we know.”

  About this, Mr. Veeriswamy seemed less surprised. “I don’t doubt it. I mean, some cousins of mine call themselves Vereham. They didn’t like people making fun of the name, so they changed it. Some of my Vereham cousins are very prejudiced against Indian people. Would you credit it, eh?” He rolled his eyes and tutted. “Mind you, even my part of the family called ourselves Vereham for a long time, until my old great-grandad got involved in Theosophy, this funny religion back in the 1920s, which made it very fashionable to be Indian. So he changed our name back to Veeriswamy, and we’ve been Veeriswamy ever since. Of course, at school, I did take a bit of teasing off the other kids, English and Indian.”

  Quietly, the Professor leaned over and whispered to Hannah, “Go into the restroom over there.”

  “Why?” whispered Hannah.

  “Just do it,” said the Professor.

  As Hannah got up, Mr. Veeriswamy put out a hand. “Hang on a sec. I need to see your ticket, if you don’t mind.”

  The Professor intervened. “Hannah thinks she dropped her ticket in the loo,” she said. “I’m going to help her look. We’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t be long, please, Mr. Veeriswamy said warningly. “I’ve got this whole train to inspect. Now, then, where was I… Oh, yes. My grandmother always said…”

  Brandon and Alex were nodding politely at Mr. Veeriswamy’s recitation of his family history, when Brandon spied the Professor frantically signaling to them over the ticket inspector’s shoulder. “Excuse me, I gotta throw up,” said Brandon, leaping out of his seat. Now Alex saw her too. “Me, too,” he squeaked, dashing after Brandon.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” yelled Mr. Veeriswamy. But the kids were already in the bathroom, and the Professor had locked the electronic door behind them.

  As Mr. Veeriswamy banged on the door, Hannah was holding onto the restroom wall to steady herself. “Your time machine is a toilet?” she asked the Professor in disbelief. “Wow, that makes sense. What do we do, jump in the bowl while you flush?”

  “No, this isn’t a time machine,” said the Professor. “I just forgot to buy train tickets. Hang on, it won’t be long until our stop.”

  Hannah was about to point out that Mr. Veeriswamy would be waiting for them outside the restroom when they arrived at Kings Cross. But at that moment, the train entered a tunnel, and the lights flickered out. They were plunged into pitch darkness.

  In an instant, the light flickered on again: The kids were in Alex and Hannah’s living room in Snipesville. The Professor had vanished.

  Alex sighed with relief. But Hannah, holding her breath, frantically rushed over to the table where her cellphone was recharging, snatched it up, and flipped it open. She peered at the date, and there it was: August 17, 11 a.m. They were home.

  Chapter 16: A Different Destiny

  On the evening of August 17, the smoky, meaty smell of barbecuing ribs hung deliciously over the park in Snipesville, Georgia. Church ladies toted grocery bags filled with paper plates, side dishes packed in plastic boxes and aluminum foil containers, pie plates, and jugs of punch. They laid out the food on the picnic tables, which they had covered in plastic tablecloths. A colorful home-made banner strung between two pecan trees announced the occasion: Dr. George Braithwaite Park Dedi
cation Celebration. Hannah and Alex were among a handful of white guests at the party, and Brandon soon spotted them. The three kids gazed at the banner.

  “Man, that’s weird,” Alex said. “When we left, the city council had said the park wasn’t even a park, and they were gonna build on it. Now we’re back, and they’re naming it after Doctor B. We must have changed something else when we travelled in time.”

  Just then, Dr. Braithwaite himself approached and hugged the kids. “Thank you for coming, all of you!”

  Hannah sniffed. “It was just lucky that we found the invite Scotch-taped to the mailbox when we got home this afternoon.”

  “Wait until you hear what we’ve been up to,” Alex said.

  “I dread to think,” laughed Dr. Braithwaite. “But you couldn’t possibly have done much damage since last night’s meeting, surely?”

  “What exactly happened at the meeting?” Hannah asked cautiously.

  Dr. Braithwaite looked puzzled. “But you were there…”

  “Dr. B., we’ve been time-travelling again,” said Alex. “You know? Balesworth? Please, just tell us.”

  Dr. Braithwaite was looking at them very seriously now. He cleared his throat. “The city council voted down the Renaissance Project. Instead, they decided to name the park in my honor.”

  “But I don’t understand, sir,” Brandon said. “We went to that same meeting, and the council voted to approve the development.”

  Dr. Braithwaite looked baffled. “Brandon, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You three know the economy is pretty rough right now, and the market for houses in Snipesville is terrible. Turns out, the bank’s main office in New York was considering withdrawing the proposal. But don’t you remember? We reminded the councilmen that the park is a traditional gathering space for black people in Snipesville. This isn’t a fancy park, but it’s what the English would call a common, or common land. That means that nobody really owns it: Everybody does, which is why the city has a responsibility to preserve it. Fortunately, they agreed to do so.”

  So Alex had been right: The outcome of the meeting had changed while they were away. And it wasn’t the only thing.

  “Where did all these pecan trees come from?” Brandon asked. When the kids had left on their latest adventure, there were almost no trees of any kind in the park.

  “Oh, it’s really very interesting,” answered Dr. Braithwaite. “You know, I learned that there have been pecan trees here for longer than anyone can remember, from back when this was part of Kintyre Plantation. Brandon, it is said that one of your ancestors, a slave named Jupiter, planted the first pecan trees here so all the Kintyre slaves could gather them. I don’t know if that’s true, mind you, but it’s a nice story.”

  Brandon was astonished. He excused himself to go and look for his father. Minutes later, he found his dad skulking behind a tree, sinking his teeth into an enormous barbecue pork sandwich. “Don’t you tell your mom,” Mr. Clark hissed, through a mouthful of shredded pork and bread. “Mmm, this is so good. Boy, I miss real food.”

  Brandon asked his dad about the story of Jupiter and the pecan trees, and to his amazement, Mr. Clark was not surprised. “Oh, sure,” he said. “That was one of those stories my Great-Aunt Constance was always going on about. She used to sit on our porch with all the other old ladies, and they’d tell stories about slavery times. I didn’t pay too much attention, to be honest with you.”

  “Can you remember that story?” Brandon asked urgently.

  Mr. Clark inhaled another mouthful of sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully for a while. “Um, let’s see… Jupiter was your several times great-grandfather. He was the slave driver, which made him pretty unpopular, because he punished other slaves. His master ran off, and Jupiter found himself in charge, although that’s the part of the story that I don’t buy. Anyhow, I guess he decided one day to plant some pecan trees, so folks would have some to eat, and so they could sell some to raise cash. The trees didn’t actually produce nuts until after the end of the Civil War, but folks have been picking them ever since.”

  “Are those the same trees?” Brandon was amazed.

  “Oh, sure. Pecan trees can live for hundreds of years.”

  Brandon was pretty annoyed with his father. “Dad, how come you never told me this before?”

  His dad shrugged. “It never seemed that big of a deal. I think I told your brother Jonathan once or twice, but he’s not much interested in family history. I’m glad to know you are, though. You know, now that I think about it, the old ladies used to say something else about Jupiter… He had a son, whose name was also Jupiter, and he ran off. Aunt Constance said he made it all the way to England, but I definitely don’t buy that. I think that was just the old ladies’ wishful thinking.”

  “No, it’s true,” interrupted Brandon excitedly. His father gave him a puzzled look.

  “Um,” he added lamely, “It’s true. It’s gotta be. It’s a family story.”

  His dad laughed. “In my experience, son, you have to take most family stories with a grain of salt. So I doubt young Jupiter ever made it to London. Wherever he went, though, he did come back to Georgia, I know that much. But that’s as much as I do know about him. Young Jupiter was kin to us, but he’s not directly related. He’d be like your several-times great-uncle.”

  Brandon had another question. “Dad, why is your first name Gordon? I mean, were you named after anyone?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe it’s an old family name. Or maybe my mama just liked it. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondered, that’s all,” Brandon said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Alex and Hannah, meanwhile, had spotted someone familiar. “Excuse me,” said Hannah, nudging Alex, “but look who just crashed the party.”

  The Professor was helping herself to thickly-shredded pork in a creamy mustard barbecue sauce, heaping it onto a bun next to a pile of coleslaw. “Hi, Hannah. Great food, isn’t it? One of the best things about the South, I reckon, is Southern food.”

  Hannah looked skeptically at her. “Uh, huh. Whatever. I have questions, so don’t take off, okay?”

  “I won’t,” said the Professor, settling down into a folding chair with her plate and a cup of sweet iced tea. She invited Hannah to sit next to her.

  Hannah sat down, leaned forward, and said, “First question: Why do you keep doing this to us?”

  The Professor sighed. “I don’t do anything to you, and I do wish you wouldn’t keep on about it. You can be very tiresome, Hannah.”

  Hannah sat up straight. “Okay, still not answering, no surprise there. Second, why did I end up in Dundee? What did that have to do with anything?” The Professor took a forkful of food. “Why not end up in Dundee?”

  Hannah started to lose her temper, but caught herself in time. “Okay, let me try asking you about Dundee another way. The people I stayed with were called Gordon, and Brandon’s dentist boss in 1915 was called Gordon…”

  “…And my dad’s first name is Gordon,” said Brandon, who had just arrived with Alex.

  “Goodness, is this an ambush?” said the Professor. “Gordon is a very common Scottish name, kids. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Hannah jabbed a finger at her. “Yeah, okay, whatever, but help me out here, okay? We three kids all end up in Balesworth, so I have to think that Balesworth is somehow connected to why this stuff keeps happening to us. And Alex was with Mr. Thornhill, which explains some sort of weird connection between Snipesville and Balesworth. But I totally don’t understand what Dundee has to do with anything…”

  “…Or Hitherton….” said Brandon.

  “Six degrees of separation,” the Professor said suddenly.

  “What?” Hannah said.

  “It’s a saying. It means, in short, that everyone on Earth is connected somehow. Everything you guys were doing had something to do with the Industrial Revolution, which is the big shift in the way that people live that began in England. Instead of most people farming the land
and making the things they need for themselves, people started working in factories.”

  “More and more people in the nineteenth century began to think that they really deserved a share of the money they were creating with their work. Then they saw the Great Exhibition, and it said to them: One day, you, too, will be able to afford stuff like flushing toilets and hideous ornaments.”

  “But if the slaves and the factory workers didn’t get the money that was being made,” Brandon asked, “who did?”

  The Professor said carefully, “Well, I think you know the answer to that, if you think about it. People like Mr. Thornhill and Lady Chatsfield, and the mill owners, like Mr. Sutherland, who…”

  “But where did he get the money from to start a factory?” Hannah suddenly asked.

  The Professor was taken aback by Hannah’s question. Then she smiled. “That, Hannah, is the best question you have ever asked. Since you ask, I shall tell you. Mr. Sutherland wasn’t born rich. Along with a couple of rather richer friends from his church, he got the money as a bank loan to start a jute mill. It turned out to be the best decision of his life: Jute wasn’t glamorous, but it was made into sacks, as you know, and sacks were like the brown cardboard boxes of the nineteenth century, used to transport all sorts of things, including cotton. He made a fortune. Now what’s the next obvious question, Hannah?”

  Hannah looked blank and shrugged her shoulders.

  The Professor sighed. “Well, I suppose it was too much to ask… Where did the banks get the money from, to loan to Mr. Sutherland and his partners?”

  “Okay then,” said Brandon. “Tell us. Where?”

  The Professor smiled. “That’s a story for yet another day.”

  “My brain hurts,” Hannah groaned. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you never answered my question about Dundee.”

  “No, wait, I get it!” Brandon said. “Okay, so Mr. Sutherland was like Mr. Spencer. They made money because they figured out what was a good idea at the right time, yeah? And so did the Earl who owned the mine I worked in, in Hitherton…”