Rush Revere and the Brave Pilgrims: Time-Travel Adventures with Exceptional Americans (18 page)

“Come in, Tommy,” said William.

“I happened to overhear your conversation about how some people work harder and smarter but how others get all the perks. I’m not sure why but it reminded me of the county fair.”

Tommy surprised me. I thought for sure he’d tell William about what his football coach said.

“I am familiar with fairs, since they have existed as far back as the Romans. But what is this ‘county fair’ you speak of, exactly?” asked William.

“Oh, well, it’s sort of this competition,” said Tommy. “People from all over come and see who has the biggest pumpkin or best pies or the largest pig. And the winner gets a cash prize like profits and a cool blue ribbon. People love it. They work really hard to try to have the best garden. They grow amazing vegetables like squash and cucumbers and tomatoes. My mom makes the best salsa and she enters it into the county fair every year and she’s won three times!”

“Your mother makes salsa? I’m not familiar with this. Is that something that Somoset showed you?” asked William.

“Oh, no, but it’s awesome. It’s this great dip for chips! She chops up tomatoes and onions and chili pepper and a little bit
of an herb called cilantro! My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

“I like this ‘county fair’ idea,” said William. “Do you think we could have a county fair here in Plymouth?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you would call it a county fair, but you could use the idea if you like,” said Tommy.

I looked at Tommy and smiled. I wanted him to know how very proud I was that Tommy was the one teaching!

“We could start by giving people their own plot of land to till, grow, and harvest their own crops on,” William said. “Perhaps this could motivate people to work harder and be more creative with their skills, knowing that anything they produce would be theirs to keep. Perhaps a little competition could be healthy!”

I agreed. “Yes, it’s quite brilliant! Those who work harder will likely produce more and then be rewarded more. Those who don’t will not.”

“Yes, I like it. I will consider this some more,” said William. “Thank you, Rush. Thank you, Tommy. Our conversation has been very helpful. And next time we should try the ‘salsa’ you speak of.”

The sound of footsteps made us turn toward the door as Freedom rushed in breathing hard. “Indians! Coming down the hill. About four or five.”

A second later the bell starting to ring as we jumped up and ran outside.

This time, five Indians approached the settlement from Watson’s Hill. As they drew near, I recognized that Somoset was leading them. I couldn’t help but feel relieved. I imagine William Bradford and the other Pilgrims felt the same way. The Indians
looked tall and strong. Each carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows and two carried several bundles of fur. Some were bare-chested and a couple had furs draped over their shoulders. The Indians stopped at the same place that Somoset had stopped during his first visit.

“Somoset return with Squanto,” said Somoset, the yellow feather still clipped in his hair.

An Indian with knowing eyes stepped forward. He held a small bundle of animal skins and furs under one arm. He wore a necklace made of small seashells and his smile was bigger and brighter than Somoset’s.

“I am Squanto,” he said. “I used to live here in Patuxet Harbor. That was many years ago. I’ve been sent by Massasoit, the sachem and leader of this land. He permits me to come and speak with you. He will come soon. He is eager to meet you.”

“Your English is extraordinary,” said William. “How did you learn to speak the English tongue so well?”

“You must be William Bradford. May I call you William?”

“Yes, of course,” William said.

The ease in which Squanto spoke English was unnerving. It didn’t seem natural. And yet he was a perfect gentleman as he stood there in his leather loincloth and bare chest.

Squanto spoke again. “We have brought some furs to trade as well as some fresh herring to share with you. A small token of our friendship.”

Myles Standish, who had also come out to meet the Indians, stood with his armor and musket and said, “When will Massasoit be here?”

“Before the sun sets,” said Squanto. “He comes when he is ready. He could be watching us now. Every great sachem has eyes
in all the forest. He watches. He waits. You are fortunate that he wishes to befriend you.”

“We thank you for the herring,” said William. “I’m sure they are delicious.”

“They are not for eating,” Squanto said. “They are for planting. If you’re going to plant corn and grow a successful crop at Patuxet, you will need to fertilize the soil with these.” Squanto held up the herring.

“Squanto know much. Smart. Listen to Squanto and live long,” said Somoset. “Me leave now. Long journey home.”

“Somoset is leaving with his men and returning to his people,” said Squanto. “He is a sachem in the land northward.”

Somoset nodded.

“But I will stay,” said Squanto. “I will help you and do what I can to help Massasoit see that you are his friend and ally.”

Somoset smiled and found Freedom among the Pilgrims. He walked up to her and held out his hand. Inside was a leather strap with what looked like a bear claw attached to it. “A gift for you,” said Somoset.

Freedom accepted it and said, “A fine gift. Thank you.”

Somoset gave one final look at the Pilgrims and then turned northward and left with his men.

Freedom turned to Squanto and asked, “You said you used to live here at Patuxet Harbor many years ago. Why did you and your people leave?”

“I have heard about the girl they call Freedom,” said Squanto. “The girl with midnight hair who speaks perfect English.”

“Thank you,” blushed Freedom.

“Seven years ago, I was kidnapped and taken from Patuxet Harbor, never to see my family or loved ones again. I was put on
a ship and sailed across the ocean to a new world called Spain. Eventually, I sailed to England and learned to speak like you do. Finally, I had the chance to travel back to my homeland. I was eager to see my family, my parents and brother and sisters. But when I returned, there was nothing. Everyone was gone. I soon learned that the plague, a great sickness, had swept over Patuxet Harbor and killed my people. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds . . .” Squanto stopped talking as he stared off into the harbor. He looked sad and distant.

“I’m sorry, Squanto,” said Freedom.

“Yes,” said William, “we are all sorry for your loss.”

Squanto blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. “You are kind. And you, too, have suffered great loss. Many of your people have died from sickness. This place has seen great sorrow for both Indian and Englishman. But I will try to change that. Together, we can learn from each other. Come, I will show you how to plant corn that will grow big and delicious.”

Tommy nudged William and said, “Sounds like he could give you some nice tips on how to win a blue ribbon for best corn at the county fair!”

William smiled and said, “I like the way you think, Tommy.”

As the Pilgrims followed Squanto, I called for Freedom and Tommy. “I think it’s time we find Liberty and return to school.”

“This has been a great field trip,” said Freedom.

“No kidding. Do we get extra credit for this?” Tommy asked.

“Where did everyone go?” asked Liberty. “I had a nice nap over by that oak tree. Do you want to hear about the dream I had?”

“Sure,” I said. “You can tell us all about it as we walk to someplace a little more private so we can time-jump back to school.”

Tommy and Freedom climbed on the back of Liberty. And as
we walked into the forest to open the time portal, Liberty ended the day the only way a magical horse could.

Liberty said, “I dreamed that I was racing from town to town while carrying your revolutionary hero Paul Revere! Suddenly, a giant bolt of lightning struck the ground in front of me. I dodged it just as another hit the ground and then another. Each time, I barely avoided the bolts. It was like Zeus himself was determined to stop our midnight ride. Just before we reached the final town a lone food cart selling Veggie Supreme sandwiches rolled in front of us and I had to make a split-second decision on what to do. Should I stop and indulge myself with mouthwatering goodness or jump the cart and win the day?”

“What did you do?” Freedom asked with great curiosity. Tommy looked like he was equally interested.

“I don’t know; that’s when I woke up. I think an acorn hit me on the head. I’m telling you, this forest is out to get me!”

“I think you stopped for a midnight snack!” said Tommy.

“I think you jumped the food cart and saved the day!” said Freedom.

I pondered both answers and said, “You are a time-traveling horse that can stop time! So I think you did both!”

T
he morning air
was crisp but not cold as we dropped through the time portal and landed on the grass near the back door to Manchester Middle School. Tommy and Freedom didn’t waste any time as they slid off the side of Liberty, grabbed their modern-day clothes, and rushed into the school to change.

Birds were chirping in the gnarled oak tree that shaded the back door. The sound of a large engine idling, like that of a garbage truck or a bus, was coming from in front of the school. It must be the school bus that Freedom heard right before we had time-jumped. As we peeked around the side of the school, I nearly stepped in a mess of pink frosting. Ah, yes, the incident with Elizabeth and her pink cupcakes. In a way, Elizabeth was like Massasoit. She was the leader or sachem of this school. Students either feared or revered her. She watched and waited for any
sign of weakness in her classmates or any opportunity to send the message that she was in control. I wondered when our next meeting would be. And I wondered what happened in the meeting between the Pilgrims and Massasoit. I doubt Massasoit had brought pink cupcakes. But, hopefully, the two groups had better success at getting along.

Liberty watched the students exit the bus. “I’ve always wanted to ride inside a bus,” he said, “but they simply don’t make the seats big enough for extra-large mammals like me. I’ve seen horses ride in those fancy trailers and get pulled wherever they want to go. They probably get their hooves manicured, their manes permed, and their nose hairs plucked! No thank you!”

Tommy ran outside with the bulging travel bag and handed it to me. “Here are the Pilgrim clothes, mine and Freedom’s. Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s a letter from William Bradford.”

I paused, not sure I heard Tommy correctly. “What is it? Who is it from?”

Slowly, Tommy repeated, “William Bradford, remember him?” He reached out his arm in my direction.

“Earth to Rush Revere, come in, Rush Revere,” teased Liberty.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I stammered, still trying to figure out how Tommy got a letter from William Bradford. “I’m here, I’m listening. You say it’s a letter?”

“Well, actually, it’s a sealed parchment, which I’ve always thought was cool because of the wax seal. Of course, the most common substance used to seal a letter was beeswax or resin. Did you know the pope would seal his documents with lead?”