Tesla's Time Travelers (22 page)

“Good morning, students,” Nathan Greene said.

The Anderson twins replied with a grumpy good morning in stereo, but Bette, Minerva and Victor were cheerful in response.

“Please say hello to historian and retired Harvard professor Henry Adams…we will be reading his autobiography
The Education of Henry Adams
next semester.”

“Are you related to John Adams, Mr. Adams?” Bette asked.

“He was my great-grandfather,” the ghost replied.

“I sure am sorry we messed things up for him,” Bette said.

The ghost half-smiled.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Adams, don’t punish Mr. Greene,” Victor said. “Peggy Shippen asked us where we were staying and the only thing that came to mind was the Graff House, and she came looking for us I guess and met Thomas Jefferson.”

“So that’s it!” Nathan Greene said. “Victor, you…again?”

“It was just a chance remark, Mr. Greene,” Victor said.

“Don’t forget the Greene glasses, Mr. Greene,” Minerva said in defense of Victor.

Nathan Greene agreed that he was not entirely without fault, but that Victor’s faux pas was the far worse tear in the timeline, which led to an animated argument in the class, pitting teacher against students, each of whom backed up Victor, to Nathan Greene’s chagrin. They were even acting like rebels against King Nathan, he thought, and they were taking Franklin’s words to heart: “We should all hang together or surely we will all hang separately.” He was strangely ambivalent about his students, annoyed that they were challenging him, but at the same time proud of their fighting spirit. They were acting like teenage Patriots in a way.

Henry Adams intervened before anyone lost his or her temper. “There is enough guilt to share,” he said. “What one knows is, in youth, of little moment; they know enough who know how to learn.”

“What does he mean by that?” Heath Anderson asked.

“He means being young we don’t have a lot of experience,” Minerva explained. “But if we are willing to learn, we can learn, that sort of thing.”

The ghost of Henry Adams smiled at Minerva. “You are a wise child, my dear,” he said.

“She’s our valedictorian and I can’t even spell the word,” Justin said in a bit of self-effacement.

“Okay, everyone fasten your seat belts please,” Nathan Greene said. “I’m going to try to land us in the same wheat field we were in yesterday.” He waggled Ben Franklin’s cane around in a flourish then tapped it on the computer screen.

Henry Adams, unimpaired by a mortal body, floated effortlessly about the classroom as the portable took off for the past, shaking and rattling far worse than it had only the day before. WD-40, Nathan Greene thought. I need to crawl underneath the portable and oil a few things. Oh, and what have we here? Minerva Messinger and Victor Bridges were holding hands in his classroom.

Nathan Greene glared at Victor and he dropped his hand from Minerva’s immediately, as if the teacher’s Darth Vader look were a hot poker to his skin. Minerva gave Victor a frown.

So, Nathan Greene thought, it wasn’t only Peggy Shippen that found a boyfriend yesterday. Victor Bridges had sat across from Minerva Messinger for the entire school year, and Nathan Greene was certain the Victor was infatuated with Minerva, but too shy to make a move. He guessed he was wrong about that, Nathan Greene told himself as he readied the portable for a landing, pleased that he was placing it down in the precise spot in the wheat field where he had landed the classroom only the day and two hundred thirty-seven years before.

Let’s synchronize our iPods,” Mr. Greene said as the portable stopped shaking. “I have 8:01.”

As Mr. Greene spoke, ink bottles, quills and a roll of parchment appeared on all the students’ desks, and Nathan Greene’s teacher’s desk as well. Next came copies of
Common Sense.
Startled, Nathan Greene realized the book was a first edition with a publication date of 1776 and was signed by the author, Thomas Paine.

The ghost of Henry Adams took charge.

“I’m afraid today that you, Mr. Greene, are a student as well and will have to join your class in punishment. Students, please gather the materials on your desk and follow me out the door into the Philadelphia air.”

The newest student to the class, Nathan Greene followed behind his younger classmates as Henry Adams led the group to a row of public benches on Arch Street, only a few blocks away from the Betsy Ross house. Nathan was saddened to think that Betsy Ross wouldn’t remember him from yesterday, that no one would be there to catch Thomas Jefferson’s infernal horseflies or listen, that none of those things would occur if they just made it through the day without interacting with the local inhabitants.

“Everyone take a seat on a bench and unfurl your roll of parchment,” Henry Adams directed. “This morning, until noon, we will have a writing assignment, and in the afternoon you will have a reading assignment, which is
Common Sense.
Perhaps you have read it, but you are going to reread it. You are not to move from this spot unless accompanied by me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Adams,” the students said.

“I don’t believe I heard your response, Nathan,” Henry Adams said.

Nathan Greene could feel the blood rush to his face in embarrassment. How humiliating to be chastised in front of one’s own students. Suck it up, he thought, if you ever want to use the timeline again, grovel, Nathan, grovel.

“Yes, Mr. Adams,” he said grudgingly.

“Good. Okay, unroll your parchment and using your quills and ink to write the following sentence one thousand times: “I am sorry I changed history and I will never change history again.”

There were collective groans from the students, including Nathan Greene, but what else could he do? He was thinking of the commemorative coin for Virginia and the image on the back of Old Dominion’s coin: Their spring field trip should be to Jamestown. Yes, that was it, Nathan Greene, Jamestown in the spring. The mosquitoes should be really bad then and the kids would probably like to meet the real Pocahontas.

Nathan Greene smiled and dipped his quill into the ink bottle. His hand was going to be really sore by the end of the day, he realized.

THE END