Karen D. Badger - Yesterday Once More (6 page)

Jordan touched the side of Kale’s face. “Thank you. I really appreciate your looking out for me.”

Kale blushed under her praise. “Nothing to it. Sorry if I was a bit rough. I guess I acted before I thought.”

Jordan grinned. “Oh really? I thought you liked forcibly stripping helpless women.”

Kale turned bright red. “Ah, gee, Jordan. I…”

Jordan laughed. “Relax, I’m just teasing. You did a good thing here. Thank you. Now, could you do one more thing for me?”

“Sure, anything.”

“How about finding a blanket to cover my scantily-clad ass?”

* * *

The next morning, Jordan was up and dressed before the contractors arrived. When Kale emerged from his room, she was in the kitchen removing a pan of muffins from the oven. She smiled up at him. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Kale bent over the muffins and inhaled deeply. “Hmm, that smells heavenly, but I thought I was supposed to do breakfast on weekdays.”

“I was up early and too hungry to wait for you. Pour the coffee?”

“You got it.” Kale poured two cups and carried them to the table. He placed one in front of Jordan, grabbed two muffins, and sat down. “How are your legs?”

Jordan shrugged. “I suppose if I could feel them, they’d be tender, but so far, no blisters.”

“That’s good. Sounds like we caught it in time. So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“The contractors are supposed to start ripping out my bedroom walls today, and we’ve got a second crew coming to begin restoring the kitchen. Would you mind helping me pick out cabinets? The contractors will need them in a week or so.”

“You want me to pick out cabinets?”

“Sure. You use the kitchen more than I do. My culinary skills are pretty much limited to soup and muffin mix. We might as well design the layout around what’s convenient for you. I don’t really have a preference other than to keep it as original as possible.”

“Cool. I could probably be home by three o’clock. We’re making the final adjustments to the sensory connections on the new implant. Our goal is to have it ready for the first test subject tomorrow morning. I’ll call you before I leave the lab so you can be ready when I get here.”

Jordan sat back in her chair and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Now get going before Peter calls out the National Guard. Oh, and take a few of those muffins with you so I won’t eat them.”

Kale finished his coffee and took two more muffins. “All right then, I’ll see you this afternoon. Have a great day.” Kale kissed her on the cheek.

“You, too. Good luck with the final sensory tests.”

No sooner had Kale left than she heard a knock at the door. She maneuvered her chair to the door and welcomed the contractors. The foreman took off his baseball cap and greeted her formally. “Good morning, ma’am.”

Jordan touched the man’s arm. “Tom, didn’t I ask you yesterday to call me by my first name?”

Tom twisted his cap between his hands and blushed. “Well, to be honest, ma’am, for the life of me, I can’t remember what you said your name is.”

Jordan laughed. “I applaud your honesty, Tom, truly I do. My name is Jordan.”

Tom grinned. “Jordan. So, do you still want to give us a hand with the demolition, ma’am... I mean Jordan?”

Jordan clapped her hands excitedly. “You bet I do. Just let me know how I can help.”

Moments later, baseball hat perched on her head, Jordan sat in front of one of her bedroom walls, polarizer in hand. For the next half hour, she used the tool to extract nails from the sheetrock. She freed the lower half of one sheet, pushed the elevation button on her hover-char, and floated up so that she could reach the top of the sheetrock. Once it was loose enough, she grabbed it with both hands and pulled hard.

Jordan watched the wallboard fall to the floor. “What a mess. Look at all this junk between the walls. I wonder how it got here.” Jordan reached for the polarizer once more and poked at the objects she found resting near the floor between the studs. “Insulation, an old sock, shredded paper... critters must have dragged all of this stuff in here.”

She moved on to the second piece of sheetrock. When she grasped the wallboard and pushed it aside, an object fell forward, hitting her on the legs. “What the hell is this?” she exclaimed. It was rectangular-shaped and wrapped in cloth. Jordan pushed it off her legs, and it fell to the floor with a clunk.

Intrigued, Jordan reached down and retrieved the object from the floor. She removed the cloth wrapping. It was a book. Jordan opened it and read aloud.

“This is the private diary of Maggie Downs, age sixteen.” Jordan held her breath as she felt a surge of warmth spread through her. “2004,” she whispered. “Well, I’ll be! That was a hundred years ago.”

A noise behind Jordan startled her. “How are you doing in here?” Tom’s voice boomed.

Jordan quickly snapped the book closed and looked up at the man. “Oh, you scared me, Look at what I found inside the wall.” Jordan held out the book. “It’s a diary.”

Tom took the book and fanned the pages. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve found odd things between the walls of an old home. You can learn a lot about the former residents that way. Is this the only one you’ve found?”

Jordan took the book back from Tom. “Do you think there might be more?”

“Let’s see,” Tom said. He picked up the polarizer and removed the next wallboard.

By the time all of the boards were removed, they had discovered five more diaries.

* * *

Jordan was waiting outside in the driveway when Kale arrived home to take her cabinet shopping. She waved her hands at him, signaling that she wanted him to hurry. Kale glided the vehicle to a stop and climbed out. As he reached for the passenger door, Jordan moved her chair close and prepared to transfer herself to the vehicle. Kale noticed the wide-eyed look on his friend’s face. “You seem quite excited this afternoon.”

Jordan seated herself and fastened her seatbelt. Kale looked at her as he climbed into the driver’s seat and fastened his own seatbelt. “In fact, you look like you’re about to explode. Want to share?”

Jordan turned in her seat, her hands moving quickly as she spoke. “You won’t believe what happened this morning. It was incredible.”

Kale guided the vehicle down the driveway. “Whatever it is, it must be big. I’ve never seen you this animated.”

“You bet it’s big. Tom and I were—”

“Who’s Tom?” Kale asked.

“The foreman of the construction crew. Anyway, Tom and I were tearing down the sheetrock in my bedroom and guess what we found hidden in the walls?”

“You were tearing down sheetrock? You’re not supposed to be overdoing it,” he scolded.

Jordan’s frustration was evident. “Will you please shut up and listen? I wasn’t overdoing it. All I did was pull a few nails. Tom did the rest. Anyway, guess what we found?”

Kale thought for a moment. “I haven’t a clue.”

“We found six diaries hidden in my bedroom walls. Can you believe it?”

Kale frowned. “Six diaries? Who wrote them?”

Jordan tucked her hair behind her ears. “I only looked closely at the first one. It was written by a girl named Maggie Downs in the year 2004. She was only sixteen. How cool is that?”

“2004? Wow. That was over one hundred years ago. What kind of shape are they in?”

“Actually, pretty good. The print is a little faded, but structurally, all six of the books are pretty much intact. Each one was wrapped in cloth, so they were shielded from the dust.”

Kale glanced at Jordan. “Were they all written by this kid, Maggie?”

“I don’t know. I assume they were. Like I said, I haven’t looked at all six books yet. By the time Tom and I finished ripping down the wallboard and clearing out the mess, it was time to clean up to meet you. I’ll take a closer look at them after dinner.”

Kale let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I was feeling guilty about leaving you alone tonight while I worked on the machine.”

“There’s the specialty cabinet shop, Kale. Turn right here.”

Kale parked and retrieved Jordan’s chair from the storage compartment. Within moments, they were perusing the aisles, looking at various styles of kitchen cabinetry.

“May I help you find something?”

Kale shook hands with the salesman. “Yes. We’re restoring the kitchen of an old farmhouse, and we’d like to keep things as original as possible. Authentic hardwoods.”

“I think I have just what you need,” said the salesman. “Follow me.”

* * *

Kale slammed the trunk lid and climbed into the driver’s seat. He glanced at Jordan. “I really like the cabinets we picked out. Thank you for allowing me to choose them.”

“No problem. You do most of the cooking anyway.” Jordan glanced at the time projected on the vehicle’s console. “Hey, it’s only 4:00 p.m. I wonder if the town records office is still open?”

“It should be,” Kale said. “I think most of the town offices are open until 5:00 p.m. Why the sudden interest in the records office?”

“I want to research the history of my farm from the time Maggie Downs lived there until now. I looked online, but the records are so old that I couldn’t find anything of substance. After finding those diaries this morning, it’s all I can think about.”

My name is Maggie. I am sixteen years old. This is my first diary. I am amused with myself as I sit to write these words. You see, I have never been very comfortable expressing my feelings, and I will not allow myself to become caught up in the typical emotional frenzy of so many girls my age. So why am I writing now? Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

I was born Margaret Michelle Downs on April 16, 1988 to Gary and Sharon Downs at the Fletcher Allen Medical Center in Burlington, Vermont. I really hate the name Margaret. I was named after my grandmother. Don’t get me wrong—I love my Nana, but her name sounds so old-fashioned. I prefer to be called Maggie.

We live on a 250-acre farm in Shelburne, Vermont, with miles of waterfront on Lake Champlain. We raise Mustang horses. I’ve made it clear to my parents that when they are ready to retire, I‘m interested in buying the farm from them. Someday, I hope to start a riding school here for underprivileged and handicapped kids. We have about fifty horses right now, which is plenty for Mom and Dad and me to handle.

Many of our horses have won blue ribbons and national titles. We take them to competitions all around the country, but my favorite shows are right here in Vermont at the Champlain Valley and Tunbridge Fairs. The awards aren’t huge, but there’s something wonderful about a small country fair. Cotton candy, sausage and peppers, and fried bread dough are among the things I look forward to the most. There is nothing like it anywhere.

I am currently a sophomore at Mt. Mansfield Union High School. My plan is to graduate in two years, then go to the University of Vermont in Burlington to study agriculture and animal husbandry. When I graduate from UVM, my parents have agreed to allow me a more active role in planning programs for the horses and running the basic functions of the farm. I will have to be ready to take on more responsibility around the farm before they’re ready to retire.

Well, I’ve been rambling here, and I haven’t explained yet why I started this diary. I guess one reason is because I don’t know how to find the words to say out loud what I am about to put down in print. You see, I’m not like the other kids at school. I’m different in a lot of ways. The girls I go to school with are all about acting silly, making an impression on the boys, and competing with each other for attention. They are so immature! There is so much jealousy and name-calling and so many cliques. I almost hate to admit that girls can be so brutal to each other. I always thought guys were rough and tough, but the girls have them beat by a mile!

The girls think I’m pretty weird because I don’t care what the boys think. I’m not into wearing makeup and dressing up in trashy-looking outfits like most of them do. That’s such a waste of time. Quite frankly, I find the boys boring. Their immature macho behavior pretty much makes me sick. I… damn—this is hard! I sometimes wonder what’s wrong with me. I just don’t get it. I mean, what is it they find so attractive about sweaty, sex-crazed boys? I actually went on a date with a kid in my class this year, and he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He made me feel used and dirty. By the end of the evening, I felt nothing but disgust for him, yet the other girls I hang out with think he’s “to die for.” I just don’t get it!

Jordan was fighting to keep her eyes open. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was 11:30 p.m. She was exhausted. She’d spent nearly the entire day working with Tom, ripping out the old tile floor in her kitchen. Jordan yawned loudly as her eyes closed once more. Forcing them open again, she looked at the book in front of her. “Okay, I give up. Got to get some sleep.” Jordan placed a bookmark in the diary, closed the book, and placed it on her nightstand. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The alarm clock beeped loudly. Jordan rolled over and groaned. “Why did I stay up so late last night?”

She pushed her upper body forward until she was sitting with her legs dangling off the side of the bed. Transferring herself to her hover-chair seemed more difficult than usual. The muscles in her shoulders were sore.