Backward Glass (11 page)

Anthony looked up at the rest of us. “What about you? Were you just laughing at me, is that it?”

“Nobody’s laughing at you, Anthony,” said Lilly.

Wald ran a hand through his hair. “Mayhaps, ’twere best to bide this pair alone. I wouldnay—”

He was interrupted by a call from the main house. By now we all knew Peggy’s father’s voice.

“Hush now, all of you,” she said, and doused the lamp the rest of the way. “I’ll duck around and come up from the creek, but there’s going to be words for me in there.” In the thin moonlight, I could see her turn to Anthony. “Buck up, AC. This was going to happen sooner or later.”

We stood and waited, silent and uncomfortable, until Peggy made her way around to the far side of the house and apologized to her furious father. When the door slammed, Wald spoke up. “I’ll hie out,” he said. “’Tis a fine night for walking. Goodnight to all.”

Lilly relit the lamp, but kept it shrouded.

“Did you know about this?” said Anthony, more to her, I guess, than me.

Lilly sat down. I couldn’t see her face from this angle, but I could imagine her sympathetic expression. She was always the one who wanted to make things okay. “Peg never told me anything,” she said. “But that’s not what you mean, is it? Oh, Anthony, didn’t you know there was something coming? She was getting cool, wasn’t she? I haven’t seen her let you hold her hand in weeks.”

“I thought … I thought it was just her dad and mom and all that,” he said.

“Maybe she’ll change her mind,” I put in. “Maybe if you … give her time.” The words sounded stupid the moment they came out of my mouth. I don’t know what I had been thinking. I didn’t know about how girls made up their minds in the first place, much less about how they changed them.

He stood up. “Forget it,” he said. “I’m finished. Why should I keep sneaking out for you people? You know how much trouble I got in when I came back muddy and half starved from a week in that madman’s stupid cave? But did any of you ask? Time? I’m taking some time, all right,” he said. “I’m taking it all. I’m going home and getting rid of that stupid mirror.” He turned to me. “Better figure out something to do, pal, because you’ve been hanging around long enough.”

“That’s hardly fair,” said Lilly. “Kenny is trapped with us. You can’t—”

“You’re right, he’s trapped.” He turned to me. “You’re trapped, Kenny. Might as well face it. They’re not saying it, but they’re tired of nursemaiding you here and there. If I were you, I’d just pick a decade. You’re an orphan boy now, kid, a hobo. Better get used to it.”

He stomped upstairs and thrust himself into the mirror.

“Oh, Kenny,” said Lilly after a few breaths of stunned silence. “It’s not true, what he said. We feel for you very much, Peg and I. And Anthony. He just isn’t himself right now.”

“He’s kind of right, though,” I said. “I can’t go on this way. I have to get home or—something.”

She didn’t have much to say to that, and just stood for a moment pursing her lips. “I suppose I’d better be going. It’s late. You should sleep, Kenny. Everything will seem different in the morning.”

Despite her advice, I didn’t get much sleep, but she was right. In the morning, everything was different.

T
w
o

That night, I stayed up late and killed two sets of flashlight batteries finishing my letter to Luka.

At five in the morning in the predawn light, I wrote my last line and began to pack up. I don’t know where I thought I was going. Wald’s lean-to? Ten years on? Ten years back? As I folded up the few extra clothes I had come with, and which I had been rotating through as Peggy sneaked them into her laundry, I tried to run through my choices. Lilly’s family sounded the nicest. In the middle of the Great Depression, they didn’t have much, but of all the mirror kids, she seemed the happiest. She was an only child whose parents had always wanted another. Maybe they’d adopt me.

Stupid. Never work. And I didn’t think I could keep going without television.

Staying with Peggy was out. Even without Anthony’s blow-up I had sensed my welcome wearing thin. Her mother and father had been in a constant battle ever since the war, each skirmish usually resulting in her mother taking off for her sister’s place for a week, leaving her father to drink, shout, and punch the wall.

Hanging out in Anthony’s time was the least appealing idea of all, but at least I’d be closest to home. I could keep checking out the mirror and hope that it would end up on dry land before my year was over.

My watch showed almost six by the time I had erased all signs of my presence. I had twenty minutes before Lilly poked her head through the mirror to see me on her way to her morning chores. I headed out across Manse Creek with a shovel borrowed from the carriage house and found the place where I was supposed to bury the box. Maybe when Luka found it in 1987, she could look up my parents and tell them. Not that they’d believe her. Hi, remember your son that disappeared ten years ago? He and I used to time travel through a mirror in your old house. He’s not dead, but he’s in his forties or fifties by now.

I lay the box in its hole next to a midsized tree that would be a gnarled giant in thirty years, and looked at it for a long time before covering it up.

It was only when I had patted down the loose dirt on top that I realized I wasn’t finished digging yet. It’s funny when I look back at this now, just a year later, and think about all the things I didn’t realize then, the questions I didn’t ask. Why didn’t I find out more about Lilly? Why didn’t I try to figure out how Peggy was going to disappear, or how a newspaper from 1947 was going to end up wrapping a dead baby that might be from many years before? Why didn’t I wonder how Luka’s initials were already carved into a piece of wood that I found not long after arriving in this time?

That last one I did finally start wondering about. Took me long enough.

The initials. She had carved them. We saw them when we dug the tabletop up in 1977. I saw them again in this year. So she had been back further.

Trembling with anticipation, I walked to where I remembered her July box was supposed to be, next to a large, half-buried rock, and without another moment’s thought, began to dig with mad energy. It was impossible that the box would be there. Wasn’t it? But I knew it was there in 1977, which meant she had buried it further in the past than my home time. Surely that meant that sooner or later, sometime before the year was over, she was going to travel again. And if she was traveling back, why stop at 1967? Why not go back far enough that I could actually use whatever it was she had to tell me?

“Hi.”

Startled, I almost dropped the shovel.

A tall, slim man in neat clothing had climbed up from the creek bed. I didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t saying much. The area was a lot less populated than it would be in my time, and I had tried to avoid the few farmhands and landowners I saw. Kingston Road wasn’t far, and there were a lot more houses and people there, but in the forties Manse Valley had more cornfields than commuters.

“I, ah
…
” The man gestured behind him. “I thought I’d take a walk. It’s nice around here. Not a lot of people.” He looked down at the hole I had been digging. “Treasure hunt?” His clothes didn’t look like what you’d wear if you were going to take a walk along a creek. White shirt, pressed grey suit, jacket slung across his arm, yellow tie, and a fedora.

“Kind of a time capsule,” I said, hoping they had such things back in the forties.

He grinned. “Oh, like at the World’s Fair? That’s keen. When did you bury it?”

“A couple of years ago.” I dug my shovel into the dirt again. Its weight felt reassuring.

“Oh, yeah? Isn’t it a little early to dig it up? Don’t you want to wait a few years?” He held up his jacket and took out a cigarette case and a lighter.

I continued digging, but kept my eyes on him. What was he doing here? “We’re moving soon,” I said. “My dad bought a house in the city. I don’t want to leave it here.”

The thin man nodded. Did I know him? He was clean shaven. Younger than my parents. “Sure. So you live around here?”

“Just past those trees,” I said. “You?”

“Used to. Moved away for a while. War, you know?”

My shovel struck the top of Luka’s box. The man must have heard the sound or read my expression. “Well, there’s your time capsule. What’s inside? Photographs? School essays?”

“A letter,” I said.

He lit his cigarette and smiled. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead.”

Watchfully, I edged around the shape of the box, then reached in and struggled it out. The thin man smoked his cigarette and leaned against a tree, looking off at the creek. “Place hasn’t changed,” he said. “Same old neighbors. Mostly. Not sure if I remember your family, though. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” I said. He seemed taken aback. It was useful to be a couple of generations ahead of everyone on smart-ass movie lines. I relented as I stood up with the dirt-covered box. “Bond. James Bond.” Something clattered to one end of the box.

The man smiled. “Beckett,” he said, and stepped forward, holding out his hand. He must have seen my eyes go wide, because he stopped, hand outstretched. “Sounds like more than a letter. Your name’s not familiar. What about mine?” He seemed more sure of himself now than when he had first climbed up from the creek bed.

I gulped, trying to think fast. “Sure. Beckett. My grandpa knew a Clive, but he died in the war.”

The thin man nodded, let his hand drop. “Aren’t you going to look? At the box.”

I had put it protectively under my arm. “I guess. I better head back home. I told my dad I was just coming for a few minutes. He’ll come out to find me if I don’t.”

“Aw, come on. Satisfy an old soldier’s curiosity. Maybe that box ain’t even yours.”

He was between me and the creek. Down one side, across, then up the other? A mad dash through the woods? Could I even get past him, much less to the carriage house?

But why was I worried about him?

“Okay,” I said. One-handed, I thrust the shovel into the ground in front of me, and set about opening the box. The hinges, which I had seen brand new only a few weeks ago, were stiff with rust and dirt, and the wood was warped, but I managed to wrench it open without spilling the contents: a large heavy coin, a folded piece of paper, and an envelope addressed to me.

“Hey, a coin,” said the man, who had taken the opportunity to step closer. I took a half step back, keeping the shovel between us. “Whoa, take it easy,” he said. “I’m just—hey, you know what that is?” His eyes narrowed. “That’s a Dead Man’s Penny. What’s a kid doing with one of those?”

He didn’t pass the temporary barrier of the shovel. I tried to keep my hand from trembling as I unfolded the paper. Despite the tension of the moment, I felt a twinge of annoyance at Luka when I realized how little she had written. All night I had stayed up finishing mine. But the mood went away as soon as I saw it actually was hers. Her handwriting. Her voice, after all this time. Talking to me. I tried to keep my wits about me, and held the paper high enough to watch the thin man as I read.

Dear Kenny,

Everybody’s okay. I don’t think I can say much more than that or you won’t be able to read it. I opened your July box early and the paper was rotted so I couldn’t make much out. I think you’re okay. There was something about a John Wald. Broke my own rules and look what it got me? There is one thing I can do, though. I can give you the letter. It’s from your grandmother. She said I should put it in the box for you. She said you have to open it right away.

Good luck. I miss you. I’m coming to get you.

Your friend for all time,
Luka

PS: Okay I can’t resist two things. One, your parents know everything and they’re waiting for you to come home.

PPS: Look at the name on the big coin. Keisha said the man who attacked her dropped it.

“Do you even know what that is?” said the man. “A Dead Man’s Penny? It’s funny, I have one. Always carry it.” His gaze never left mine as he reached into his pocket and brought out a newer coin. I could see why he called it a penny. It was copper, but larger than any coin. I looked down at the one in the box. A woman stood, a helmet on her head, holding out a wreath. A lion at her feet faced off to the right as did she. Below her hand, a name had been engraved.

Clive Beckett.

“That’s funny,” said the thin man. He rubbed his fingers on the coin. “Tingly. Like electricity shooting through it.”

I didn’t touch the coin. Fingers still trembling, I put Luka’s letter back in the box, and withdrew the envelope. Sure enough, that was my grandmother’s handwriting, same as on every birthday card and Christmas card. I shut the box and tucked it under one arm.

“What’s that?” said the thin man. His voice was showing some strain now. “The thing is, do I know you from somewhere? You ever … I don’t know … you ever wonder about your memories from a long time ago? Hey, what am I saying. You’re a kid. You don’t even have a long time ago, right?”

The seal on the envelope was old. It opened easily. Inside was a short letter.

Dearest Kenny,

I have a message I have waited twenty years to tell you. You are the little hobo boy. Come see us.

Oh, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to run. I think a bad man is coming to get you. He has a yellow tie.

With love always,
Your grandmother,
Harriet Maxwell

“Maybe I do know you from somewhere,” said the man. “I think I can help with something. I think you’re Kenny Maxwell.” He stepped forward again, frowned, and looked at the coin in his hand. “Hey, there’s that tingling again. What does that mean? I think I used to know.”

That was enough. I took the box from under my arm, the large coin still rattling inside it, and stepped forward, thrusting it toward him.

He screamed. Blue sparks flashed in his hand, and he almost dropped his coin. The box insulated me from the shock of same-meeting-same, but I could feel the coin struggling inside it. Using the distraction of the blue sparks, I slammed into the man’s side and rushed past.

It felt a little like the last part of that “Going on a Lion Hunt” song the kids who go to camp always come back knowing. Down the creek bank, through the mud, across the creek, up the bank. At some point, the man calling himself Beckett took up the chase, while all along the large coin that bore his name clattered around in my wooden box. As I ran, my brain raced faster than my feet. Wasn’t Clive Beckett dead? Why did this man call himself Beckett and carry a coin with the name on it? He seemed more charming than the madman in the raincoat who had shot me. Was he Prince Harming? Were we wrong about that other man?

I risked a glance behind me as I reached the overhang above the hiding hole, as John Wald called it. Beckett wasn’t running. “It’s okay,” he shouted to me. “I just want to sort it out, who the man was. I can’t remember all of it. I just want to talk.”

I didn’t slow down.

When I reached the hedgerow that hid the carriage house, I ran into Lilly and Peggy coming out.

“Oh, there you are,” said Peggy. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

I almost collapsed onto them, heaving shuddering breaths.

“Kenny, is something wrong?” said Lilly.

“Man,” I gasped. “Chasing. Mirror.”

“Come on,” said Peggy.

As they pulled me through the hedges, I looked back, but I had lost him in the woods.

Only when we got inside the carriage house did I notice that the two of them were carrying large suitcases.

“What is this?” I said.

“Never mind,” said Peggy. “What are you running from? What man?”

“Prince Harming maybe. I think it’s a man who’s supposed to be dead. I don’t know.” What to do now? We couldn’t all just jump into the mirror, could we? Physically, of course, we could. If Lilly went in, she could pull us all back to 1937. If I went, I could take us in the opposite direction to Anthony’s time. But that would leave the mirror unprotected. What if Beckett took it and sunk it in the lake just as the other man had?

We had to do something.

It was Peggy who took charge. “Come on, then, help us up the stairs with these. We’ll talk once we’re through in Lilly’s time. I suppose we can find something to do with you.”

When she said “these,” I saw that she had a lot more than just the two suitcases I had seen them heaving through the door. Smaller overnight bags, a makeup case, and three pillowcases that looked stuffed with clothing and all sorts of knickknacks covered the floor.

“No,” I said. “We have to go.”

“Hold your horses, charley horse,” said Peggy. “Who’re you rushing? I have a lot of important things in these, and I’m not leaving them behind.”

Leaving them behind? I shook off the strangeness of the remark. “Look, whoever’s coming, it’s probably bad,” I said. I looked to Lilly for help.

“I think we should listen to him, Peg,” Lilly said after meeting my gaze for a moment. “Just—let’s get in what we can. Come on.”

I grabbed one bag to show my willingness to help, and herded them up the stairs, each of them carrying a suitcase.

The mirror and the sofa I had been sleeping on for the last three weeks were at the top of the stairs. Just being on the same floor as the thing calmed me a little. Whoever this man was, he didn’t seem to have it all together. We had the mirror and we knew the mirror. While Lilly and Peggy each lugged a suitcase into the mirror, I ran to the hayloft window. The hedges were shorter now, and over the top of them I could see the thin man. He was standing in the yard of the main house, looking around. I ducked back down and returned to the mirror in time to see Lilly and Peg come back out.