by Ann Hood
“Our father moved to Qatar,” Felix blurted out. “Nothing is the same anymore.”
Maisie took in all of the things around them: the barn, the rolling hills, Clara herself. She smiled. Nothing is the same anymore at all, she thought excitedly. She walked ahead of them up a hill in search of a flat area to play baseball.
Felix watched his sister disappear over the crest.
“Your father moved away?” Clara asked. “Without you?”
Felix sighed. Being in 1836 was hard enough without having to explain his parents’ divorce.
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Over here!” Maisie called to them.
Relieved, Felix ran toward her voice. Clara ran alongside him, then hitched up her skirt and took off ahead of him.
“Hurry up,” she said, glancing over her shoulder before she, too, disappeared over the crest of the hill.
“Maybe you guys can find something to use for bases!” Maisie said.
She watched as Felix and Clara ran around the fields searching for things to use as bases and home plate. Why, she wondered, did Felix always manage to make friends so easily while she seemed to offend people? Even in a different century he was able to connect with someone who he didn’t—couldn’t!—have anything in common with.
She sighed and dropped onto the warm grass, unzipping her fleece and using it as a pillow beneath her head. The sun shone high in the sky now, directly overhead. Noon. Her mother was probably breaking for lunch in her office on Thames Street back in Newport. Maisie could imagine her turning off her computer and taking out her egg salad sandwich and banana from her lunch bag.
Felix’s laughter floated around Maisie, mixing in with the lazy buzz of a bee. Fine, she thought. Be friends with a person who’s, like, two hundred years old, technically. Thinking how old Clara would be felt too creepy. Maisie sat up quickly. What would Clara think about computers? She’d never heard of anything like them, that was for sure. Maybe she’d never even heard of egg salad sandwiches. Even sandwiches had to get invented, right?
Clara had her arms full of leaves, and she and Felix were running toward Maisie now.
No baseball, Maisie thought as she watched them. No phones. No divorce. Deep inside, Maisie’s chest fluttered. An idea was taking shape, an incredible idea. A brilliant idea. What if we didn’t go back?
Maisie wondered. What if we stayed right here on Captain Stephen Barton’s farm in 1836?
As Felix explained the game to Clara, he was impressed with how quickly she caught on. Back home, he thought, and then he caught himself and changed to back in New York, he’d played on a Little League team, the Knights, made up of boys and girls. Charlotte Weinberg was the team’s best player. Once she even pitched a no-hitter. Maisie liked to tease him and call Charlotte his girlfriend. Deep down, Felix didn’t mind that at all. Every time he stood close to Charlotte, even when she
was all sweaty from running, he felt a little dizzy. She had strawberry-blond hair that practically shined in the sunlight and just enough freckles
to make her perfect.
“So,” Clara was saying, “I throw the ball to Maisie, aiming so she thinks she can hit it, but hoping she misses. And that’s called a strike. Three strikes and her turn is finished.”
“Three strikes and she’s out,” Felix corrected her. “Which is the same as being finished.”
“Three outs and we change places,” Clara said.
“Right,” Felix said. “Really baseball teams have nine people, of course,” he said, suddenly crabby. He would probably never see Charlotte Weinberg again. Or any of the Knights, for that matter. Even if they did manage to get back to the twenty-first century.
“It’s a pity my cousins have all left,” Clara said. “They’re always ready for adventures.”
Felix saw something in Clara’s face then. Something he recognized. She was lonely.
“Who needs them?” he said, marking off first base with a pile of leaves. “We’ll do just fine.”
Clara grinned at him. “Yes, we will,” she said. “How does that arm feel?”
He rubbed the spot that still vaguely hurt. “Sore, but better,” he said. Felix grinned at her. “I didn’t want you coming at me with those leeches,” he said.
By the time they were finished laying out the bases, they still had more leaves left over. Felix couldn’t resist. He took a big handful from Clara and tossed them right at her. They landed in her hair and on her shoulders.
“Oh!” she cried, startled.
But then something gleamed in her dark eyes, and Felix knew to run, fast. He wasn’t fast enough for Clara, though. She caught him easily and knocked him to the ground, where she held him down by his good arm and deposited the rest of the leaves and twigs right in his face.
“You win!” Felix said, laughing and spitting out bits of grass.
“See?” Clara said, releasing him. “Wouldn’t I make a very good soldier?”
“I think you would, Clara,” Felix said seriously.
His stomach felt all caught up in knots as he realized that Clara Barton would go on to live an entire life, a life that began and ended long before he was even born. Maybe she actually did become a soldier. Maybe she . . . he stopped himself from thinking any more on the topic.
“Don’t look so glum,” Clara said, tossing a few leaves back at him.
Felix surprised himself by grabbing her and giving her a good, hard hug. He surprised Clara, too. She squirmed out of his arms and stepped back awkwardly.
“Whatever was that for?”
“I . . . I . . .” But how could he explain his feelings to her when he couldn’t even understand them?
“It’s just that,” he began, “that being a soldier is so dangerous.”
Clara laughed. “Pshaw! It’s exciting. And noble.”
“Like your knights in The Lady of the Lake?” Felix said.
“Yes! Like that. And like my father, of course.” She studied his face a moment. “Wasn’t your father in the war?” she asked.
Felix shook his head.
“Hey!” Maisie shouted. “Are we ever going to play ball? Or are you two running off to get married or something?”
Clara looked horrified.
“No, no,” Felix told Clara quickly. “She’s just teasing me. She does that all the time.”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Clara said, stomping away from him toward what they’d marked as the pitcher’s mound. “Not at all.”
“Play ball!” Felix called from the outfield.
Clara turned on the pitcher’s mound to face him.
“That’s what we say to start the game,” Felix called out to Clara. “Now remember what I taught you.”
Clara turned and met Maisie’s eyes. Then she wound up and let the ball fly to Maisie, underhanded.
“Sta-rike!” Felix called.
Maisie took a step back to catch her breath. “Wow!” she said. “Nice arm!”
Clara didn’t acknowledge her at all. She just wound up again and pitched, hard.
“Sta—” Felix called.
“I know!” Maisie interrupted him.
She glared at Clara. Clara smiled back at her.
“Sure. She’s never played baseball before,” Maisie muttered.
This time the pitch went into the grass, exploding at Maisie’s feet. Felix explained to Clara that that was called a “ball” and that Maisie got another turn.
Clara’s next pitch was perfect. Maisie smacked it out into left field where it dropped right into Felix’s waiting hands.
“She’s out, right?” Clara asked Felix.
“This baseball is a wonderful game,” Clara said after they’d each taken several turns at bat. “I can’t wait to teach everyone.”
The three of t
hem walked down the hill toward the well behind the house. The idea of a well excited Felix. It was like something from a novel or an old movie.
“You should see it when two entire teams play,” Maisie said. “Like out at Shea Stadium when the lights come on and the field is almost a fake green.”
Felix grinned. Shea Stadium had been replaced by Citi Field a couple of years earlier. Last Christmas, their father had given them both T-shirts that said: IT’S STILL SHEA TO ME. Going to Shea Stadium meant taking the subway all the way out to Queens after school. It meant hot dogs and giant sodas and pretzels with mustard. It meant their parents weren’t divorced.
“You mean the game is played at night?”
Clara said.
“Sometimes,” Maisie said. “Oh,” she added, realizing what Clara must be thinking, “they can light the field. It’s . . . um . . . complicated.”
Up ahead, Felix saw the well. It looked just like he’d hoped it would. A wooden box, painted white, with a kind of roof above it and a silver bucket on a pulley.
“Look at this,” he said excitedly, cranking the handle to send the bucket down into the well.
Clara laughed. “You are the most peculiar boy I’ve ever met,” she said.
The bucket made a splash when it hit the water. Felix lowered it even farther, then brought it up, water sloshing as it came back to the surface.
Clara took a big ladle from the side of the well and dipped it into the bucket, offering it first to Maisie, who took a big drink.
“That’s . . . delicious,” she said, drinking some more.
She handed the ladle to Felix. “I guess we’ve never really had such pure water,” he said after drinking two ladlefuls himself.
Clara took her turn, staring at them over the ladle as she drank.
“But it’s not just the water,” Maisie said. “It’s the blackberries and the air and everything. Everything here is just better.”
“Maisie,” Felix said, feeling panic rising in his gut. “We are going back. You know that, right?”
“Back to what? That crummy, stuffy apartment? Life without Dad?”
“Dad will come home for Christmas. He said so.”
“You can go back if you want,” Maisie said. “But I might just stay here.”
Clara cleared her throat. “Well, you two can stay the night and decide when to go home tomorrow,” she said in her soft voice. “We have lots of extra beds in the attic.”
“That’s a great idea,” Maisie said quickly. She even remembered to add, “Thanks, Clara.”
“Thanks,” Clara repeated. Then she said it again. “Thanks.”
“It’s like shorthand, you know?” Maisie said. “For thank you.”
“Shorthand,” Clara repeated. “Curious word,” she said to herself. Then, as if she remembered Maisie and Felix, she said, “Why don’t I go inside and see what there is for supper?”
She began to walk in the direction of the side door of the house, but when she realized Maisie and Felix were following her, Clara stopped.
“I don’t mean to be ungracious,” she said carefully. “But maybe you should wait outside. How ever could I explain who you are to my family? What will they say if I tell them I found you in the barn?”
“But I thought you said we could sleep in the attic?” Felix said. He didn’t like the idea of staying at all. But staying in the barn sounded even worse.
“Yes! Of course! But I’ll sneak you up the back stairs after dark.”
“This is so exciting,” Maisie said.
“I’ll be right back,” Clara told them. “Wait here.”
“We have to go home,” Felix said.
“I thought you’d like to hang around longer,” Maisie said. “With your new girlfriend.”
“Oh stop,” Felix said, dropping onto the grass. “Don’t pick on me just because Clara likes me better.”
“She does not!” Maisie said.
The sun had started to set, and the air was turning cooler. Felix wished he had on long pants and his own warm fleece rather than a T-shirt and shorts. He could practically picture them in his room back home.
“Let’s not fight, Maisie,” Felix said. Goose bumps traveled up his arms. “Let’s just try to figure out how to get back.”
Maisie took a deep breath. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I promise. For tonight, let’s just enjoy 1836.”
They sat on the grass in silence for a moment.
“It is so quiet here,” Felix said.
“I like it,” Maisie said.
Felix sighed. “It’s nice,” he admitted. Then he added, “For one night.”
Maisie patted his knee. “Right,” she said, grinning to herself.
It seemed to Felix that they waited hours and hours before Clara finally reemerged carrying a picnic basket. He was so hungry by then that he thought he might eat almost anything. But still he watched her approaching with some trepidation. Felix was a fussy eater. He didn’t like tuna fish or mayonnaise or things that were too crunchy. He liked tomatoes, but only if they were cooked. He didn’t like runny eggs, either. Maisie, on the other hand, liked everything. Curry, sushi, capers. For all he knew, everything was crunchy or made with raw tomatoes and runny eggs in 1836.
“Sorry that took so long,” Clara was saying as she spread a quilt on the grass. “I didn’t want to rouse suspicions.”
She opened the basket and set two china plates on the quilt. They were blue and white with some kind of picture of trees and things on them. Next, she took out heavy, silver forks and knives that looked like they were from a scary slasher movie. She placed the silverware on two floral, cotton napkins.
“Fancy,” Maisie said.
“You didn’t think I was going to make you eat with your hands, did you?” Clara said.
“We just use paper plates and plastic forks on picnics,” Maisie said. “That’s all.”
Clara burst out laughing. “Paper plates?” she managed. “If you put hot food on paper, it would fall right through. Honestly!”
Of course, Felix realized. Things like paper plates and anything made out of plastic weren’t invented yet. He didn’t like how excited Maisie looked as she realized the exact same thing. The more she grew intrigued by things here, the less likely she would be to help him figure out how to get back home.
“You must spend a lot of time washing dishes and stuff,” Felix said. Maisie hated doing kitchen chores. That should make her think twice about going back on their deal and trying to stay here instead of going home.
“You are the oddest boy ever,” Clara said, still chuckling. She continued to unpack the basket, laying out bowls of steaming food.
String beans. Asparagus. Phew! Felix thought. Not only did he recognize them, but they looked nicely overcooked. Sliced potatoes, also mushy. Some kind of meat with bright green peas. Nothing crunchy so far, Felix thought as he peered at the contents of the last bowl.
“What in the world?” he said softly.
“Are those hooves?” Maisie shrieked.
Clara looked baffled. “Calves’ hooves,” she said.
“Calves’ feet?” Felix asked.
“You eat them?” Maisie said. Even though she liked sushi and other things that some kids didn’t want to eat, she drew the line at hooves.
“Don’t you?” Clara said.
“Uh. No.”
Surprisingly, Clara brightened. “I’m also a vegetarian,” she said. “I haven’t eaten meat since the day I saw some farm hands struggling to get a large, red ox into the barn.”
Felix liked the idea of an ox. Like the well, an ox was something straight out of a novel. He tried to picture what one looked like exactly but could come up with only a cartoon version. Still, he was happy to have the distraction from those hooves, which ap
peared to have some kind of jelly on them.
“They finally did get him inside, and then one of them raised an ax high in the air and struck him here.” Clara rubbed the back of her neck. “The ox fell, and I fainted!” Clara blushed deep red, remembering. “When I opened my eyes and remembered what I had seen in the barn, I began to cry. From that day on, I lost any desire for meat.”
“Yes!” Maisie said. “Exactly! I’ve lost my desire for meat.”
Clara seemed to consider this.
“Everything looks great,” Felix told Clara, who was unwrapping a napkin with cornbread tucked inside. He touched her arm. “Thank you for all this.”
“Well,” Clara said, smoothing her skirt. “You are welcome.”
Maisie had started to fill her plate with food— except the hooves. She sniffed each thing, frowning slightly. Felix didn’t want to offend Clara, so he made a big show of saying how delicious everything looked, how string beans were his absolute favorite, and how the smells were making him even hungrier.
To be polite, Maisie pierced a piece of meat with her fork and studied it. If Clara’s family ate feet, Maisie couldn’t imagine what this was.
As if she read Maisie’s mind, Clara said, “Lamb.”
“I love lamb,” Felix said, scooping some onto his plate.
What a liar! Maisie thought. Felix cried once when their mother made a leg of lamb. At least that had been marinated in spices and grilled. This lamb had a greasy, stringy quality to it. If Maisie hadn’t been so hungry, she wouldn’t have even tasted it. But she had no choice, did she? She didn’t want to be rude.
She bit the piece of her meat, and immediately the taste of something wild and gamey filled her mouth. As she chewed, the meat seemed to get bigger instead of smaller. When she tried to swallow it, she gagged. It just wouldn’t go down.
Felix took a great, big bite. Immediately his face twisted into disgust.
“Isn’t it yummy?” Maisie said, forcing her piece down at last.
“Uh-huh,” Felix said.
Maisie filled her mouth with the bland potatoes. But even they couldn’t quite get rid of that taste of wild animal. Felix looked about as miserable as he could look. But he kept chewing the tough meat. When he saw Maisie smirking at him, he forced a smile at Clara just to bug his sister.
