“Thank you,” he said. “Josh has been through so much. He really didn’t mean to—”
“We know,” Zhai interrupted. And he reached out a hand. Nass clasped it and shook it, and the Flatliners and the Toppers all sat down together to wait for news on Bran.
* * *
They were in total darkness. Aimee switched the flashlight on and saw that they had landed right where she’d hoped. They were standing on the X of the crossed railroad tracks, at the center of the Wheel of Illusion. The Wheel was a massive round platform made of age-darkened brass with railroad tracks running across it. Directly in front of them stood the Wheel’s wooden control panel.
“Everybody okay?” she asked.
“That was awesome,” said Maggie.
“Incredible,” agreed Miss Pembrook. “Where are we?”
“Inside the tunnels,” Aimee said. “We’re right in the middle, where the tracks cross.”
They all turned, looking around at the massive dome above them.
“In the tunnels to be sure,” said Kate. “But what is this place?”
“In the olden days when the trains were still running, it was a switching station. The big metal plate we’re standing on was once used to turn the locomotives around,” Aimee explained, and she had a quick spark of memory. She had come here before—with that boy they were always talking about, Raphael—but she couldn’t remember why. “It’s called the Wheel of Illusion.”
“What’s it for?” asked Dalton.
“For one thing, it sort of controls time,” Aimee said. “Or at least the layers between times. I don’t know what else it’s supposed to do.”
Miss Pembrook and the other girls were staring down at it. Aimee saw that its control panel, once lit with an amber glow, was now dark. Attached to one side was a lever that looked like it belonged on an old-fashioned slot machine.
“Okay, so what now?” Dalton asked. Aimee noticed that she didn’t look impressed like Maggie or intrigued like Kate and Miss Pembrook. She looked worried. “How is this going to work?”
“I’m not sure,” said Aimee. She had another quick memory flash. The first time she’d been here someone—she thought it was that Raphael guy—had fitted an old pocket watch into a circle that was molded into the Wheel’s console. Moving closer so she could get a better look at the control panel, she spotted the concave circle. She took the three pieces of the shattered ring out of her jeans pocket and looked at them in her open palm.
“When I first found the ring, it was underground, in the middle of a bunch of machinery that’s right beneath us. Its energy was used to power the Wheel,” she said. “When it blew apart, the Wheel stopped working.”
Orias had told her that. He knew a lot about this stuff, and she wished with all her heart that he was here now. The last time she’d been in the tunnels, she’d had his voice directing her, which had made her feel safe, and suddenly she longed to be with him, to run back to him, and hide in his house, in his arms. She missed him like crazy, but she had to keep her mind on her mission. Fixating on Orias was what had made her forget about finding her mom in the first place, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again.
“We only have three shards,” she continued. “If we can somehow connect them to the Wheel, that might power it up enough for me to teleport us all to 1877.” She thought all she’d have to do was keep the shards closed in her fist and then put her fist in the circle. And then, when they were ready, use her other hand to pull the lever.
It was as if Miss Pembrook could read her mind. “I think you’re the conduit, Aimee,” she said.
“Let’s hope,” Aimee replied. “Grab hands and somebody hang on to me. And it’s really, really important that we all think about where we want to go. Like, we have to visualize Middleburg in 1877 and my mom there in that time. We get that fixed in our minds and then I pull the lever. I think it’ll work.”
“And how do we get back if the Wheel stays here, in this time?” asked Dalton.
Aimee was about to say she didn’t know when Miss Pembrook spoke up again. “No—it’ll be okay,” she said. “The Wheel was there in 1877, just like it is now.”
“Okay, then,” Aimee said. “Everybody ready?” They all assured her they were, and Maggie and Dalton each put an arm around her waist. Miss Pembrook held Maggie’s hand and Kate took Dalton’s hand.
Aimee clutched the crystal pieces and placed the hand holding them against the circular indentation on the Wheel’s console. As she reached for the lever she reminded them all, “Think about Middleburg in 1877. Think of my mom. Try to imagine the old town, the way it was then, but with her trapped there. . . .”
But when she pulled the lever, she was still thinking about Orias, wanting to be with him, and wondering what he’d done to make Azaziel so angry. She tried to force her thoughts back to her mother as they slipped through a whirling, multicolored vortex of light, falling . . . falling . . . falling . . .
* * *
And landing with a thud on a sawdust-covered floor. Honky-tonk music was playing, and the only thing louder than the piano was the raucous laughter of the dance-hall girls.
Dalton opened her eyes. They were in a bar—or rather, a saloon that looked like it belonged in a movie about the old west. It was complete with spittoons and a long counter where a few cowboys were slugging back mugs of beer and shots of whiskey—and at the entryway, it had the same kind of swinging doors that Rack ’Em Billiards had.
“Wow,” Maggie said. “I think we did it.”
“Indeed we did,” said Kate. “But where’s Aimee?”
* * *
An hour and a half after they’d gotten Bran to the hospital a doctor came through the set of double doors and into the waiting area. Zhai had called Bran’s family, and they had wasted no time in getting there.
Zhai glanced at the faces of the guys around him. The Toppers looked miserable, inwardly freaking out as they wondered if their friend was alive or dead. The Flatliners looked equally tense, and Josh was as pale as the moon outside.
The doctor nodded and shook Bran’s father’s hand and walked away as Mr. Goheen fiercely embraced his wife. She was crying, but Zhai couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or tears of grief.
“What happened?” Dax whispered. Zhai only shook his head.
After a moment, Bran’s father noticed them watching, and he walked over to them.
“Hey, kids,” he said, his warm Southern drawl even more pronounced than Bran’s. “The doctor said he’ll be okay. The bullet didn’t hit any major organs or anything, and they were able to patch him up pretty easily. He lost a good bit of blood, but they have him on a transfusion now, so he should be feeling better in no time. He’s gonna have to stay on the bench for basketball this season, but he’ll be okay.”
In unison, it seemed, every Topper and every Flatliner released the collective breath they had been holding and relaxed. Zhai didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or shout or just go home and go to sleep, but he was relieved and it felt amazing.
“Now, how did this happen, anyway?” Mr. Goheen asked, his hands on his hips.
The guys all exchanged a quick look, and then Zhai spoke up. “It was just an accident, Mr. Goheen,” he said. “Josh was showing us the gun. We didn’t know it was loaded. It was a stupid mistake, and it won’t happen again.”
Mr. Goheen looked at them, Zhai thought, as if he was trying to figure out if they were telling the truth. “You boys weren’t fighting?” he asked.
“We were messing around. Wrestling and stuff—but we weren’t really fighting,” Nass said quickly.
“No,” D’von Cunningham agreed. “We’re all friends.”
“That’s good. Life is too damn short for fighting.” Mr. Goheen’s eyes swept over them all once more, coming to rest on Nass’s forehead. “You
better have that looked at, son,” he said.
“I’m okay,” Nass told him. “It’s just a scratch.”
Mr. Goheen nodded, satisfied.
Nass added, “Did Bran say anything—about what happened?”
“He says he doesn’t remember. The doctor said that’s not unusual with a traumatic injury. That cop wants to talk to Bran and then he’s going to rest for a while. You kids should go home now and come back tomorrow to visit him.”
* * *
Kate was right. There was no sign of Aimee. “Maybe she landed outside,” said Dalton.
“Let’s go out and see,” said Miss Pembrook. “We’re already attracting too much attention in here.” She gave a slight nod toward the bar where a rough-looking cowboy eyed them suspiciously. He had a gun on each hip and his right hand rested lightly on one of them. “Come on,” she finished and led them through the swinging doors, out into the moonlit night.
“Okay, I’m gonna say it,” Dalton warned them.
“What?” Maggie asked.
“Something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“Yeah, we are,” said Maggie. “Like . . . about a hundred and forty years ago.”
Amazed, Miss Pembrook added, “Not a telephone pole in sight—and no paved roads. I think it worked. I think we really did go back in time.”
“I hope Aimee came with us,” said Dalton.
“Maybe we got separated when we slipped,” offered Maggie.
“So now what should we do?” asked Kate. “How will we get back?”
“Okay—look,” said Dalton. “We’ll find her—or she’ll find us. She wants to get to her mom. Aimee’s here somewhere or she will be soon. We’ve just got to keep the faith. In the meantime, we should lay low and try to blend in. And we need to stay out of sight until we can find some other clothes.”
“Dalton’s right,” said Miss Pembrook, and then she spotted a boarding house across the rutted dirt road. The sign out front read rooms to let and beneath that a smaller sign swinging on two hooks declared there was a vacancy. With Miss Pembrook leading the way, they hurried to it and the teacher knocked on the front door. When there was no answer, she turned the knob and found it unlocked and they stepped into the foyer, which seemed to serve as the reception area. There was a desk with a registry book on it. Beside it were a little silver bell and a sign: Please ring for service.
Dalton picked up the bell and shook it.
“I’m back here!” a voice called. “Please come through!”
They walked into a pleasant sitting room furnished with a tall corner cabinet and a writing desk that both looked like they were made of oak, and a beautiful sofa with a mahogany frame and green cut-velvet upholstery. The fireplace was broad and the mantle was stained black at the top from constant use.
From there they went through a lovely dining room, and they could hear a rhythmic sound: scrape, whack, scrape, whack. Dalton moved cautiously, as quietly as she could, in that direction. “Hello?” she called out, and the sound stopped.
“Constance—is that you?”
Dalton thought she recognized the voice. “Mrs. Banfield?” she said and peered through the door, into the big, old-fashioned kitchen. A woman sat on a wooden chair in the middle of the room. She was wearing an ankle-length dress topped with an apron almost as long, and she was plunging a wooden paddle up and down into a long, thin barrel. Maggie and the others came in quietly to join Dalton.
“She’s churning butter,” said Miss Pembrook, her voice a whisper.
The woman had beautiful youthful features, bright playful eyes, and long blond hair she wore pulled back in a bun.
“Mrs. Banfield?” Dalton said again. “It is you!”
Emily Banfield looked up, surprised, and then she rose and hurried to them. “Dalton? My goodness!” she exclaimed. “How did you get here—and Maggie?” She sounded stunned. “Oh, I am so glad to see you girls—but I don’t understand.”
“We don’t either—not really,” said Miss Pembrook. “It seems your daughter has a rare gift for travel. She brought us here—and she can get us back—but she can explain it better than we can. I’m Anne Pembrook, Aimee’s history teacher.”
“Aimee brought you here?” asked Emily.
“That’s right,” said Maggie. “We came to get you and take you back home, to Middleburg. Our Middleburg, in the twenty-first century.”
“But—where is she?” asked Emily.
“We got separated somehow,” Kate explained. “But we think she’ll be here soon. I’m Kate, a friend of hers. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“And I you,” said Emily. “Please make yourselves at home. As soon as I wrap this butter and put it in the icebox I’ll get you something to eat and you can tell me everything that’s been going on in Middleburg.”
At that moment there was a loud knock on the back door, and Dalton noticed the sudden look of dread that clouded Mrs. Banfield’s eyes. Silently, Emily motioned for them to go into the dining room. “Wait in there,” she whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
She closed the swinging kitchen door, but Dalton managed to catch the bottom of it with her toe, leaving it slightly ajar so they could hear Mrs. Banfield’s greeting.
“Good evening,” she said. “It’s late, Mr. Crawford. What do you want?”
A rough male voice asked, “You get any new boarders tonight?”
“How is that possible?” countered Emily. “Don’t you and your men have the entire town on lockdown?”
“Someone coulda slipped in,” he said. “I’m going to ask you again, ma’am. Anybody new show up here tonight?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” she told him. “Some ladies looking for a room—a teacher and three of her young charges. With all the armed guards you have posted around the town, I’d think you’d already know that. They’re just a few inconsequential females. What’s the problem?”
“If they can get in, someone else could get out.”
“Well, maybe you should have a word with your men,” said Emily. “Perhaps they’re imbibing a lot more spirits than is good for them—or you.”
“I’d like to have a word with the ladies.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily said. “They’re getting ready for bed. Surely a gentleman such as yourself wouldn’t interrupt their toilette.”
There was a moment of silence and then he said, “Make sure they’re at the counting tomorrow morning. And there better not be anyone missing.”
When they heard Emily close the back door, they ventured into the kitchen again.
“What’s going on?” asked Dalton. “Why are guards posted around the whole town?”
“Maggie, please go and lock the front door,” Emily said as she checked the back door. When Maggie returned she continued, “It’s a long story.” She invited them to take seats around the big kitchen table and then opened a cabinet and took out a huge pie. “It’s apple,” she said. “Freshly made, with all fresh ingredients. That’s one of the only good things about living back in this time. No preservatives—the food tastes amazing.”
She cut them generous slices and took a big pitcher of milk out of the icebox. “We get the ice from Macomb Lake,” she explained. “It’s plentiful in the winter—but I sure miss my big Kenmore side-by-side.” She poured a mug full for each of them and then she sat down to tell them about the outlaws.
“They rode into town about two weeks ago,” she said. “The first thing they did was take the sheriff and his family hostage—they’re holding them all at the jail. Then, at gunpoint, they herded everyone into Middleburg United Church—it’s the biggest building in town, in this time—and they counted everyone. Every morning when they ring the church bells, we have to go stand in a lineup in the town square and be counted again to make sure no one has tried to snea
k away and get help. If anyone is missing, they’ll start killing us—a dozen at a time.”
“What do they want?” asked Miss Pembrook.
“They’re waiting for the train,” said Emily. “They say it’s carrying the payroll for all the railroad workers from here to California. For some reason, it has been delayed. They’ve told us if we just stay calm and cooperate, they’ll be out of here as soon as they get that payroll.”
“And if something’s happened to the train?” asked Maggie. “What if it doesn’t come?”
“I don’t know,” said Emily. “I think they’ll just line us up and shoot us all—after they’ve taken everything of value that these people have.”
“That’s awful,” said Dalton.
Emily nodded. “At first, some of the men talked about trying to sneak away, to try to get to Topeka and bring back help. But I got their womenfolk to talk them out of it.”
“Why?” asked Dalton.
“Don’t you see? It’s not just these people who are in danger. Dalton, your great-great-great grandparents are here. So are Aimee’s and Maggie’s—and the ancestors of hundreds of people who live in our Middleburg. If people get killed here—then you might not even be born.”
“Wow,” said Dalton. “That’s twisted.” She was having trouble getting her head around the idea that she wouldn’t even exist.
“What are we going to do?” asked Anne Pembrook. “We’re kinda stuck until Aimee gets here.”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” Maggie suggested. “We have to get rid of them.”
“Like I said before,” Dalton told them. “We’ve got to sit tight and wait for Aimee and then we’ll figure out what to do. Mrs. Banfield—can you get us some old-timey clothes so we can blend in?”
“Indeed I can,” said Emily. “Constance—she owns the boarding house—is also the town seamstress and she has a trunk full of samples. I’m sure I can find something for everyone.”
“Is she here now?” asked Maggie.
“No. She went to visit her sister in Topeka a few days before the outlaws arrived. She’s not due back for another week. I’m worried about what they’ll do if a stagecoach shows up before the train gets here.” By now they’d all finished their pie and milk. “Let’s get you all settled in for the night,” Emily said. “We’ll have to get up early to get to the counting.”
Shadow Train Page 32
