The Time Travelers, Volume 2 (11 page)

“I’m going to throw up,” said Devonny.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Tod. “Bad enough I have to take the dog to the vet’s—I’m not cleaning up after you!”

“You are a hateful rude unpleasant mean person.”

“You got it,” said Tod. “And now we have to think of an explanation to give my mother and father for why a hateful rude unpleasant mean guy like me is rescuing you.”

“I don’t call this a rescue,” said Devonny.

“You got out of the wedding, didn’t you?”

She began sobbing. “But my father will never forgive me! And he will take it out on my mother! It will all be my fault, even though I didn’t mean any of it to happen. And no man will ever marry me now. Not after leaving my groom at the altar!”

“He was standing there?” said Tod, looking happy. “Cool. I wonder what they’re doing. Wonder how he’s handling it? Is he the kind of guy who can deal?”

Devonny struggled with Tod’s vocabulary. She could not imagine Hugh-David doing anything but vanishing. A ship, a horse, a hotel—he would go, wiping Devonny from his thoughts the way his manservant wiped mud from his shoes.

“The problem is what to do next,” said Tod. “We have to think of a good lie for Mom and Dad.”

“It’s wrong to lie to your parents,” Devonny told him.

“Dev, my parents will not deal well with the truth. I know—you’re an exchange student. You’re from England. Can you do a British accent? Your host family didn’t work out, you’ve gotta have a place to stay for a few days, and I volunteered—since my sister’s on an exchange, it seemed only fair. Let’s hear your British accent. Talk for me.”

Devonny had practiced a British accent, but it embarrassed her. It was beautiful when the English spoke, but she just sounded pathetic. She mustered her courage and said in her most British voice, imitating
the plummy elegant sounds of Hugh-David, “How terribly kind of you, Mrs. Lockwood, to welcome me into your home in my hour of need. Your son is a hero in my eyes.”

“That’s pouring it on a little thick,” said Tod. “They know I’m not a hero, and I don’t want anybody to think I like you or anything.”

Devonny stopped worrying about their speed. In an even more British accent, she said, “How terribly kind of you, Mrs. Lockwood, to allow me to visit. My sympathies about your son. It must be difficult to live with such a cad.”

Tod howled with laughter. “They’ll love it, Dev. It’s perfect.”

The vehicle stopped in front of a strange-looking house, sharp angles with windows in the wrong places. The top piece of house was larger than the bottom piece of house, as if it had arrived at the wrong place. Tod drove straight toward two large wooden squares as if he meant to drive right into the building—and then he touched a button on the lid of his vehicle, the building opened and he
did
drive in.

Rusting containers and bent tools hung on the stable walls. Boxes of empty jars and cans stood next to a bicycle with a twisted wheel.

Tod slid out of his seat and strode into the house.

I must have hope, Devonny told herself. I am like a
Pilgrim from the Old World sailing with blind hope across the ocean. I, however, sailed across Time. Its shores are unknown to me, even as they were unknown to the pioneers. I must believe that Tod will reach my brother, and my brother will know what to do.

Devonny struggled with the black straps he had locked around her. They would not come away. She pulled at the one around her waist but it held tightly. She could not release herself. Dust and dark closed in on her.

Flossie was pressed up against the side of a brick building, furtively staring at the little park where she had expected Johnny to be. She had torn the frail lace of her gloves scraping them back and forth against the bricks. She had pulled her coat so tight against cold and fear that the seams were ripping.

She had sacrificed all … and Johnny was not here.

The grief that swept over her was hot. Shame was a fever.

She remembered every syllable Johnny had ever said in her presence. His gallant manner, the heavy accent that made each sentence so charming. His letters, his begging, his eyes.

All that—a joke. He had just been flirting. Those
beautiful words of love—a game. Perhaps he and the crew had placed bets on how much foolishness Flossie would believe.

He is at home, thought Flossie, among his brothers and cousins, laughing at me. I—like a stupid girl, like the whole history of stupid girls—believed every word he said.

Beautiful New York became grim New York. The magnificent horses pulling carriages were just huge sweating animals whose urine stank and steamed on the cobblestones. There was no soft romantic autumn air, just choking dust from cinder barrels that lined the sidewalks, waiting for pickup. Starched and courteous nannies pushing babies had gone home for tea, replaced by panhandlers and opium users.

She would stand on this terrible corner as the day turned to night, and warmth turned to cold, and ordinary street peddlers turned to threats in the dark.

A terrible desperation seized Flossie’s chest, as if Johnny had stabbed her without drawing blood.

Could she go back and pretend this had never happened? Was it possible just to rejoin the wedding party? What explanation would she give? It was too late to pretend that a sick headache had prevented her from going down the aisle. And she had torn her gown. Her hair was ruined, her flowers abandoned. And by now the wedding was over. There was nothing to rejoin.

Oh, Johnny! I loved you! I was going to live with you. Your family would have been my family; your church would have been my church; your life, my life.

Her tears were hot and useless.

He had not come.

Flossie thought longingly of the grave. Only death seemed a possibility now.

“Get a grip on yourself, Dev,” said Tod.

He was not treating her like a lady! He was treating her like—like—Devonny could not even say! Was this how men treated each other? This irritated refusal to help?

Since rescuing her from the seat belt, he had walked her through his terrifying house, demonstrating. How could anyone feel at home among so much machinery? It was like living in a factory. A tall glass box chewed food, handheld guns blew wind into the hair, a window box hummed while a dish circled inside, a large white box shuddered and groaned while throwing water over dishes, and most horrifying of all, a box of pictures talked by itself, while people who could not be seen laughed steadily.

“Here, siddown,” said Tod. His speech was appalling. Slangy abbreviated orders. “We’re gonna E-mail Annie, see if we can find out where Strat is. E-mail,” he explained, “is kind of like your telegram, but you do it at home, and it has a different kind of address.”

She was all right in the house as long as Tod did not leave her side, but he did not comprehend this and persisted in assuming that she would be fine on her own.

She could hardly wait till Tod’s mother arrived. A woman to cling to.

“Don’t say that!” warned Tod. “Women in our family don’t cling. It’s a rule of my mother’s.”

Devonny wanted to cry, but Tod made it clear that women in his family didn’t cry, either. Well, she had seen Annie cry a time or two, but she would not betray Annie to her horrible mean cruel rotten brother.

“We’re in luck,” said Tod, “since my parents are at work. Mom doesn’t go into New York on Saturday if she can help it, but today she had to, and Dad likes to straighten things up in his classroom when nobody’s around, so he’s gone too.”

“For what article is your mother shopping?” asked Devonny.

“She’s not shopping, she’s at work. She’s a stockbroker.”

Devonny was delighted. “I wanted to be a woman of business!” she told Tod. “When I was little, I was permitted to go into Father’s office and play secretary. Just before I was betrothed to Hugh-David, I asked Father for permission to start a telephone business, because I think those instruments will one day
be used by all the wealthy, but he forbade me to discuss it.”

“You’re right about phones,” said Tod, smiling, “and used by all the poor, too, and the rest of us in the middle. Maybe your father would let you be a lawyer, though, or a doctor.”

Devonny laughed. “Who would trust a woman pretending to be a lawyer or a doctor?”

“Dev, we have a problem here. My mother will put a knife through you if you talk like that. And never use the word secretary in front of her. It’s a swear word.” He dropped heavily into a chair at a strange shiny desk.

Her father’s office had typewriters, so she half recognized Tod’s typing machine, but he did not use paper. The words came out in front of him on a blue window.

“Tell me what happened today, Dev,” he said. The computer window flashed one picture after another. “How come you didn’t want to marry the guy?”

“You’ll laugh at me,” she said, not wanting to tell.

So of course he did. His laugh was big and raucous, like a tied-up donkey. How vulgar he would sound to Lord Winden, and Gordon, and Miles.

She found herself liking Tod the way she had liked Annie: against her will. “When the man I marry walks into the room, I want my heart to feel as if John
Philip Sousa were directing a hundred marching bands, and all the drums were drumming and all the trumpets calling.”

“No, huh?”

She shook her head. “Hugh-David is just a very well-dressed Englishman who needs pots of money to rebuild his estate.”

“Was,” said Tod. “He’s bound to be dead by now. Whatever happened to him has happened.”

Tod said this in his casual manner, as if it didn’t matter. But it hit Devonny like a slap. Whatever happened to anybody she had ever known had already happened. They were all dead by now. A hundred years had passed. They had had their marriages, their joys, their failures … and now they had their graves.

The room swayed around her.

Oh, Strat! she thought. You must be here. You must save me. I cannot occupy a world without the people I love … or even the people I don’t.

“So what about the dowry you told me about? The two million dollars?”

She shook her head. “There was no wedding. The contracts will be null and void. But had we wed, since I was the only living child, when Father died, the rest of the fortune would come to me, too, and my husband would control that. Lord Winden would have had all he could use. And more.”

“You ’re not the only child if Strat comes back,” said Tod. “What happens if we find Strat? Then he’s the heir.”

“I don’t care about the money. There’s enough to go around. I just don’t want to be forced into marriage and sent overseas with somebody who can’t bother to be nice to me.” She lifted her chin a little. “Somebody like you.”

Tod swung in his chair and made a face at her. “Hey, watch who you’re calling mean! I rescued you right at the altar! You called, I came. Women! You can’t please ’em.”

He finished his typewriting. His machine was thin and flat and ran on electricity, as if Tod’s fingers were too weak to depress the letters. She read over his shoulder.

I am the burden he doesn’t need, thought Devonny.

The hateful men’s clothing, the dreadful humiliating trousers, the terrible exposure of her body, Tod’s awful machinery and harsh language, the only woman in the house a creature who would accuse Devonny of swearing if she used the word secretary—well, it was too much.

“Come on,” said Tod. He bundled her out of the room, but there was no comfort in his touch. He could have been a policeman dealing with a striking worker. “We’ve killed most of a perfectly decent Saturday. I got a soccer game and I can’t be late, their parents go berserk, as if I’m not reliable and trustworthy. Get in the car.”

“The car?” she said fearfully. “But do we not await Annie’s answer?”

“You’ll get used to the car. I’ll teach you to drive. You’ll love it. Power. Everybody loves to drive. No, we don’t wait for Annie’s answer, because I don’t know when she’s gonna check her E-mail.”

He smiled, a softer expression than his grin, and surprised her with a gentle hug, a brotherly hug; she was even more surprised to realize that she would have preferred a different sort of hug altogether.

All the ladies were weeping with fear for Miss Devonny Stratton’s reputation and life, so Flossie’s father did not object to his wife’s tears. But he refused to let her tell about Flossie.

“We will not tell the police she is missing!” hissed Mr. Van Stead. “What are you thinking of? You told me you had her under control. As usual, you have done a very poor job of bringing up our daughters.”

“I’m sorry,” she wept. “Flossie has always been sneaky. But we must find her, because the boy is enclosed upon the ship. We cannot have Flossie alone in the city! Think of the dreadful consequences.”