Revealed

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  “I don’t believe you,” Lindbergh said quietly.

  “Why should you believe them instead of me?” Jonah asked.

  “Because they’re the ones who say they’ll give me my son back,” Lindbergh said, staring out through the windshield into the darkness of Outer Time.

  How can I argue with that? Jonah wondered.

  He stared out the windshield too. Off in the distance he could see lights whizzing closer—always the first sign during time travel that it was almost time to land.

  What is there left for me to try? Jonah wondered.

  He could think of only one thing.

  Don’t do it right away, Jonah reminded himself, and it was almost like he had Angela and regular-age Katherine right there with him, telling him what to do. Think about the consequences.

  Jonah spent about three seconds thinking about the consequences, and he was still convinced he had only one choice. The lights of the future were getting closer and closer.

  “Here,” Jonah said, holding out the Elucidator and the two hairs. “Take this. Make yourself invisible and travel anywhere you want to in time. If you go to my time period in the twenty-first century again, you can get a DNA test that you can pick out yourself. Test the hairs again. See for yourself who’s telling the truth. Then meet me in the future, where we’re supposed to land. You’ve got that tranquilizer gun—we can hold off Gary and Hodge together.”

  Jonah had handed an Elucidator to Mileva Einstein back in 1903, and everything had turned out fine then. Ultimately.

  Wasn’t it possible that everything would work the same way this time around?

  Lindbergh at first made no move to take the Elucidator and the hairs. Did he think Jonah was just trying to trick him even more? Would Jonah have to grab the tranquilizer gun and use it himself on Lindbergh and Gary and Hodge?

  Jonah was just starting to inch forward and shift baby Katherine off to the side, when Lindbergh muttered, “Fine.”

  He took the Elucidator and the hairs from Jonah’s hand.

  And then he pointed the Elucidator directly at Jonah and cried out, “Send this boy back to August 15, 1932! So I can meet him there!”

  FORTY-NINE

  I’m stupid, Jonah told himself as he floated through time. Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

  He’d given away his Elucidator, and if Lindbergh did everything Gary and Hodge wanted, this would just mean that Jonah was stuck in the 1930s alone. Because Lindbergh would never get back, and neither would anyone else.

  “Waaahhhh . . .”

  For a moment Jonah was afraid that he’d become so pathetic that he was actually wailing. Then he realized where the wailing really came from: baby Katherine, still clutched in his arms.

  “Sorry,” Jonah whispered, which seemed to soothe her a little.

  So I won’t be alone, exactly, but now I’ve doomed Katherine to being stuck in my original time period for the rest of her life. It would have been better for her in the future. Women still didn’t get treated very well even in the 1930s, so Katherine will spend the rest of both of our lives telling me how I’ve ruined everything for her. . . .

  And JB would stay convinced that he was Tete Einstein, and he’d stay crazy and stuck in the twenty-first century. And Mom and Dad and Angela would stay kids—well, for as long as their branch of time lasted.

  I ruined everything, and I let Gary and Hodge win, Jonah thought.

  Why hadn’t he thought before he handed Lindbergh the Elucidator?

  I did think, Jonah defended himself.

  Why hadn’t he thought harder? Why hadn’t he thought of this as one possible consequence?

  Even if I had, I still would have handed Lindbergh the Elucidator, Jonah realized, a little startled at himself. And there wasn’t time to think any harder than I did. I really did do the best I possibly could.

  It was a surprise to be able to let himself off the hook like that.

  Sometimes you do your very best and you lose anyway, Jonah thought, and it seemed that he was quoting somebody—last year’s soccer coach maybe?

  So that’s it? Jonah thought despairingly as he floated through Outer Time. Life’s nothing more than a soccer game? Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose—and then the game’s just over?

  He didn’t want to believe this. He still wanted there to be something bigger at work.

  Well, who says this is the end of the game? Jonah told himself. I’m still alive; Katherine’s still alive—we’ll invent time travel in the middle of the 1930s if we have to. Or maybe the 1940s. Or the 1950s. Or . . .

  Jonah couldn’t really feel encouraged by these thoughts.

  The lights of 1932 rushed at him, and he braced himself for the tearing forces of the last stage of time travel.

  And then he was back in the dusty airfield office. Jonah realized that he was landing just a split second after he, JB, and Angela had left, because all the reporters were still streaming in through the door, pushing their way past the security guard and screaming out questions about Charles Lindbergh.

  As soon as he figured that out, his brain started an annoying short-circuit.

  Um, isn’t there something else you should be remembering? It kept asking him. That . . . that . . .

  Jonah blinked a couple times. With the hand that wasn’t holding on to Katherine, he hit the side of his head, trying to get his hearing back.

  And then he remembered the important detail he kept forgetting:

  He wasn’t invisible anymore.

  FIFTY

  Maybe they won’t even notice me, Jonah thought, blinking even harder to clear away the last blurriness of timesickness.

  But the first thing he could see clearly was all the reporters staring at him.

  And the first thing he could hear clearly was all of them screaming. “Who are you?” “Where did you come from?” “Who’s that baby you’re holding?”

  You’ve got to come up with a good lie, Jonah told himself. Think.

  Whatever he said could determine the rest of his life. He couldn’t count on time travel anymore to whisk him away from dangerous situations.

  Not that time travel had ever worked terribly well for him in the past.

  “I—I’m a big fan of Mr. Lindbergh’s,” Jonah stammered. “Colonel Lindbergh, I mean. I just wanted to see the man. So I snuck into this office with my little sister, and we’ve been waiting and waiting to see him.”

  “Out,” the security guard in the doorway said, pointing emphatically toward the door.

  At least the reporters stepped to the side to let Jonah go. Jonah had to lower his head as he walked past, so none of them saw the triumphant grin on his face.

  I convinced them! he thought. What kind of reporters are they, that they can’t even tell that the person with the biggest story of their lifetime is just walking right past them?

  It was hot out in the sunshine, and the airfield was dusty and deserted. Jonah took his coat off—he certainly didn’t need a winter coat right now, though he might later.

  What if I’m stuck here until winter? he wondered.

  Thinking so far out made his head ache. Jonah’s throat was so dry that it hurt; the bullet wounds in his legs throbbed; and his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since that one slice of toast back in the twenty-first century—decades ago, really.

  As if on cue, baby Katherine screwed up her face and started to cry.

  “I know, I know—I’ll get us something to eat,” he whispered to her. “I’ll have to find us someplace to live, find us a way to survive . . .”

  Would they have to go to an orphanage?

  When the last time around I starved to death in one of those?

  “Maybe in 1932 thirteen is old enough to just get a job,” Jonah whispered. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of us. We’ll do all right.”

  Even though she was sobbing and throwing her arms about, Jonah held on to baby Katherine even tighter. Telling her that everything was going to
be all right was the only way he could convince himself.

  Maybe it was the only way he could convince himself not to just give up.

  Behind him the security guard and the reporters were still shouting at each other. The security guard was yelling, “Out! Out!” at all the reporters, too. But the security guard was outnumbered.

  At least that meant that the security guard wasn’t going to come out and yell at Jonah again.

  The screaming inside the airfield office got louder and louder. Now Jonah could actually make out some of the words over baby Katherine’s wailing. Why were so many of the reporters screaming, “Airplane!” “I hear a plane!” and “Is Colonel Lindbergh coming back?”

  Jonah looked up.

  At first he saw nothing but a cloudless sky. But then there was a glint of silver overhead.

  “Look, Katherine,” he whispered in her ear.

  Maybe it was the awe in his voice that got her to stop crying; maybe she could even hear the hope. Maybe she could feel some hope herself.

  Just because it’s an airplane, that doesn’t mean it’s Lindbergh coming back, Jonah cautioned himself. It’s 1932. Maybe there are lots of airplanes, lots of pilots in 1932.

  Except Jonah was pretty sure there hadn’t been lots of airplanes and lots of pilots in 1932.

  The glint of silver drew closer, transforming itself into the shape of a plane. Jonah had the oddest feeling that he’d just watched an actual transformation—maybe even a time-travel compartment that had once held thirty-six babies putting on the appearance of an airplane that wouldn’t be out of place in 1932.

  The “plane” landed far down on the airfield and began taxiing closer and closer to the airfield office and Jonah. The reporters behind him stampeded past, crying out, “Colonel Lindbergh! Colonel Lindbergh!” “You’re back!” “Can you just answer a few questions?”

  Jonah stood frozen in place. Even baby Katherine seemed to be holding her breath, waiting.

  The plane seemed much smaller than the one Jonah had been on with Lindbergh only moments earlier, decades into the future. The belly of the plane was much too bulbous, its silver skin too shiny, its wings and tail too blunted.

  That’s just a disguise, Jonah told himself hopefully. Like an Elucidator always transforming itself to fit with a time period.

  The door of the plane opened, and Jonah couldn’t help shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  It was Charles Lindbergh who stepped out.

  This time Lindbergh was wearing the same brown suit and fedora Jonah had seen him wearing in Jonah’s own living room back in the twenty-first century.

  What does that mean? Jonah wondered.

  He wasn’t sure. But just seeing Lindbergh again meant that he had reason to hope.

  The reporters stampeded past Jonah in an absolute frenzy, calling out, “Colonel Lindbergh! Colonel Lindbergh! Where were you?” “Whose plane are you flying?” “Where have you been?”

  Lindbergh stood calmly in the doorway of the plane. His eyes seemed to take in the entire scene before him. His gaze passed quickly over Jonah and baby Katherine, as if Jonah really were nobody to him, just some poor star-struck kid who’d snuck into the airfield to get his autograph.

  “I’ll answer your questions,” Lindbergh told the reporters, and Jonah’s heart almost stopped. Exactly what did Lindbergh plan to tell them?

  “But I have to take care of some other business first,” Lindbergh continued. “Why don’t you wait by the gate and I’ll be over to talk to you in a half an hour or so?”

  The security guard hustled the reporters back toward the gate, and this time they went, even though they continued shouting out questions: “How’s your wife doing?” “When’s the new baby due?” “Are you worried about the new baby being kidnapped too?”

  The guard saw Jonah still standing by the airfield office, and the man growled, “You too, kid. Out of here.”

  “No, not him,” Lindbergh said. He jumped down to the ground. “I’ll sign an autograph for the boy before sending him on his way. He reminds me of myself years ago.”

  Now, what did that mean?

  One of the reporters swooped closer to Jonah and whispered in his ear, “Kid, come out and tell me your story before you go. Ask for Jimmy from the News-Herald.”

  Sheesh. These guys never give up, do they? Jonah thought.

  But, herded by the security guard, they did eventually leave, calling out behind them, “At the gate in thirty minutes, Lindbergh! We’ll see you then!”

  Jonah realized he was holding his breath. Once the reporters were out of sight—and earshot—he stepped closer to the airplane, but off to the side a little, so if Lindbergh decided to dash over and grab him, Jonah would have a bit of warning and could run.

  “What—what happened, sir?” Jonah called out to Lindbergh. “What did you do with the Elucidator after you sent me away?”

  Lindbergh tilted his head, studying Jonah quietly. Jonah kept holding his breath.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Lindbergh said. “But first I have something to show you.”

  He reached awkwardly back into the plane and emerged with a bundled-up baby in each arm.

  So this is the same plane with all the babies! Jonah thought, trying not to get too overjoyed. It didn’t matter—his brain kept running ahead of him with happy conclusions. And he still has all the babies! He must not have taken them to the future after all!

  Lindbergh jumped down to the ground, still clutching the two babies.

  “Here,” he said, holding them out to Jonah. “You can have them.”

  Jonah didn’t recognize either baby, but that wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t recognized any of the babies on the plane before except Katherine. These babies were just red-faced and sound asleep, and that was all he could tell.

  “Who are they?” he asked. “Why are you giving me these babies in particular?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out?” Lindbergh asked incredulously. He turned so Jonah could see the baby on the right up close.

  “This one’s Gary,” he said. Then he turned so Jonah could see the one on the left. “And this one’s Hodge.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Jonah suddenly didn’t care if the Lindberghs weren’t a hugging type of family. He didn’t care that he desperately needed Charles Lindbergh to understand that Jonah wasn’t his son. Jonah threw his arms around Lindbergh, with baby Katherine, baby Gary, and baby Hodge smashed between them.

  “You figured out a way to disobey them without them coming after you!” Jonah marveled. “You made them powerless little babies!”

  “You made it possible for me to make them powerless,” Lindbergh muttered. “I couldn’t have defeated them without the Elucidator you gave me.”

  He said this grudgingly. Jonah guessed Lindbergh wasn’t the type who liked to give other people credit.

  “This isn’t proof that I really am your son,” Jonah said, pulling back away from Lindbergh.

  Lindbergh nodded.

  “I know that now,” he said sadly. “Though I would have been proud to call you son.”

  “I already have perfectly good parents,” Jonah said quickly. “Parents I want to go back to.”

  Lindbergh nodded again.

  “I saw,” he said. “I saw your life, I saw mine . . .”

  Jonah glanced anxiously over his shoulder. Ever since the moment he’d seen Charles Lindbergh standing in the Skidmore living room back home, Jonah had been longing for JB or some other time agent to show up. But for the first time he was a little afraid of what they would say if they did.

  No time agent was anywhere in sight.

  Lindbergh put baby Gary and baby Hodge down on the ground.

  “Um, they are just babies,” Jonah said. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  “They’ll be fine down there,” Lindbergh said abruptly. “This is better than they deserve.”

  He pulled something out of his suit coat pocket—why was Lindbergh carrying around an electric
razor?

  Oh—that’s what the Elucidator’s using as a disguise now, Jonah realized as Lindbergh pressed the side of the razor and a tiny screen appeared on its surface.

  “I was trying to figure out a way to outsmart Mr. Gary and Mr. Hodge even before you showed up,” Lindbergh said, as if he needed to defend his own reputation. “When they gave me that first, very limited Elucidator, I tried to disassemble and re-assemble it. See?”

  On the screen Jonah saw a flight-suited Lindbergh floating through Older Time, peering intently at something in his hands.

  “I did get it to do a few seemingly useless tricks—like providing a change of clothes, which I hid from Mr. Gary and Mr. Hodge, just in case,” Lindbergh said. The scene on the screen shifted, showing Lindbergh alone at the bottom of the airport stairwell, where he was stuffing a 1930s suit into a modern-era pilot’s rollerbag. “I wasn’t sure what would come in handy. But I think I mostly just messed up that Elucidator’s commands. Especially concerning the aging and un-aging.”

  Jonah gaped at Lindbergh.

  “So you weren’t trying to make my parents and JB and Angela teenagers again on purpose?” Jonah asked.

  “What?” Lindbergh asked blankly.

  Jonah decided to leave that issue for later.

  “But after I gave you the really good Elucidator—and you zapped me away—what did you do then?” he asked.

  “Well, first I changed clothes so I wouldn’t stand out in that pilots’ uniform,” Lindbergh said, sounding proud he’d thought of that. “Since pilots are so rare and unusal . . .”

  Jonah decided not to tell him that wasn’t so much the case in the twenty-first century.

  “And then I went to your century and found an independent DNA test as you suggested,” Lindbergh said.

  On the screen Lindbergh appeared in what seemed to be some sort of sterile white-tiled medical lab. Nobody else was around. Lindbergh swiped something out of a cabinet and instantly vanished.

  “I remembered that I had seen one of your hairs on the chair in your family’s home, so I went back and took that,” Lindbergh continued explaining. “I wanted to make sure I was running the test with independent samples.”