Tesla's Time Travelers (7 page)

Minerva knew where they were, but she wasn’t about to tattle. The Andersons had drifted away from the group to pursue Betsy Ross after the seamstress winked at them.

“Victor, where are the Anderson twins?” Mr. Greene asked.

Minerva wondered if Victor was a tattletale, but then he had been so busy polishing Mr. Greene’s apple, she thought, that he hadn’t paid any attention to anyone else. Victor was such a teacher’s pet, she decided. She was jealous.

“I don’t know where they went, Mr. Greene,” Victor said.

“Minerva?” Mr. Greene asked.

Oh no, Minerva thought. I’m on the spot. Help me, Lord, she prayed quietly.

Bette Kromer came to Minerva’s rescue. “They followed that trollop Betsy Ross,” Bette said.

“Trollop?” Victor wondered aloud.

“This
is
the 18
th
century, Victor,” Bette said. “Trollop was a perfectly acceptable word in this time. Would you prefer ‘strumpet?’”

Minerva looked at Bette Kromer as if she were her new best friend. She was thankful Bette had intervened. She looked at Mr. Greene. He appeared agitated. They moved out of earshot of the delegates to Congress.

“Victor,” Mr. Greene said finally, “I’m putting you in charge. Not because you are a male,” he said, looking directly at Bette Kromer as he said this, “but because you are the president. I’ve got to find the Anderson twins and bring them back. City Tavern on Second Street. It is close to the Ross house on Arch Street. Let’s meet there at noon in case I’m not back by then.”

“But, Mr. Greene…” Victor said.

“You can handle it. Bette can help you,” Mr. Greene said. “Can’t you, Bette?”

“Sure I can,” Bette beamed.

So what was she? Miss Stupid-Head? Minerva thought, peeved at being considered third in the pecking order among the three remaining students by Mr. Greene. Then she thought again. She was a “stupid-head,” she admitted to herself. She didn’t believe any of this was possible, she thought all of them were wacko and here she was in Philadelphia in 1776. She did not know history like Victor and Bette. This was totally surreal, but the idea of surreal wasn’t possible, Minerva thought, her academic mind taking over. Surrealism as a literary and artistic movement to express the workings of the subconscious didn’t begin until the 20
th
century, she told herself. This was no dream, not with those smells from Dock Creek, she thought. A surrealist painter like Salvador Dali might paint a dripping clock, but how would he paint the odor of Dock Creek? Minerva’s dreams never smelled, she thought—only reality did.

“Good, Bette, I’m off to the Ross house at 239 Arch Street.” Mr. Greene took off on foot after the Anderson twins, leaving Bette, Victor and Minerva to fend for themselves in the 18
th
century. Charles Beard floated ahead of Mr. Greene. Mary Beard stayed behind to assist the three students.

“Thank you for staying, Mrs. Beard,” Bette Kromer said.

“I think it’s terrible that the men went off and left you girls with only a boy for protection,” Mrs. Beard said.

Minerva was nervous. Bette’s conversation with a non-existent person was getting the attention of a number of the delegates to the Continental Congress.

“Bette,” Minerva warned. “People are watching you. Don’t look at Mrs. Beard directly. Let’s huddle up. Pretend that you are talking to me. Nothing personal, Mrs. Beard,” Minerva said.

“No offense taken, dear,” Mrs. Beard smiled.

“I suggest we take a walk around the town,” Victor ventured. “The delegates are returning inside anyway,” he added. Victor offered an arm to each of his classmates. The girls looked at each other and smiled.

“Victor, that is very gallant of you,” Minerva said.

“Yes, Victor,” Bette agreed, not raising her voice to sugar and spice level.

Minerva had noticed that Victor cringed when Bette Kromer used her high voice, and she had whispered such to Bette as friendly advice when they walked behind Victor and Mr. Greene. Minerva didn’t really know what Bette saw in Victor, although Victor was a bright boy, unlike his older brother.

“Let’s see the Delaware River,” Victor suggested. “The tall ships. The wharves where trade occurred.”

“Where Washington crossed the Delaware?” Minerva asked.

“That’s north of the city in New Hope, and it hasn’t happened yet. That’s December 1776, Minerva.”

“Oh,” Minerva said. Victor was such a history geek, she thought. She wanted to say, “Lighten up, Victor,” but that would have sounded funny coming from her mouth, as she was the most uptight girl at Cassadaga Area High School. She admitted to herself that she was totally surprised by the day—that she hadn’t ever thought such a thing was possible—but here she was with two classmates on the sidewalk of Philadelphia in the 18
th
century, practicing
Surrealism
before it was even a movement.

“That was interesting stuff about the Pennsylvania Navy,” Bette said to Victor as she took a firm hold on his right arm with her left. “Minerva, I hope you weren’t too upset by Betsy Ross. It really floored me when I first heard the truth,” Bette said.

Minerva wasn’t concentrating. She was surprised by the size of Victor’s left bicep. He was muscular. She hadn’t realized that he was so strong.

“You know,” Bette Kromer began as they trundled eastward to the Delaware River docks, Victor in the middle of the trio, Bette on his right and Minerva on his left, “they never capture the smell in movies. I’ve done my share of baby-sitting, and there’s an odor of diaper doo-doo in the air.”

Minerva laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She had been trying to figure out just what Philadelphia’s smell reminded her of, and Bette Kromer had nailed it: dirty diapers.

Minerva too had done her fair share of baby-sitting over the years and had changed a diaper or two.

“Did you ever baby-sit, Victor?” Minerva asked.

Victor blushed. “Ah no,” he replied.

“Isn’t that typical, Bette. Victor hasn’t babysat.”

“Sure is typical, Minerva.”

“Huh? What? Hey, what is going on here? You two are ganging up on me,” he protested.

“Well, Minerva,” Bette said. “He’s not dumb anyway.”

Both girls laughed. Victor took their teasing fairly well, Minerva thought, certainly better than his older brother would have.

A carriage turned the corner abruptly and Victor tugged Bette away from the curb as a carriage wheel hit a puddle, splashing the area where Bette had been walking.

“Thank you, Victor,” she said sincerely.

Minerva was a tad annoyed. Why hadn’t she been walking on the outside? Suddenly Bette, who had become a friend on this trip, was becoming a rival, as Minerva could feel jealousy flow through her veins. Bette’s obvious interest in Victor brought out Minerva’s competitive instincts, and she decided, suddenly, that Victor was a worthy catch. Maybe she would get lucky with an overhead chamber pot and Victor would save her from that fate. Get a grip, Minerva, she told herself. You are beginning to
think
like an 18
th
century woman. Don’t go all Jane Austen, she thought, not remembering that Austen was a
19
th
century woman.

Masts rising above the wooden wharves that extended into the Delaware River, the tall ships were moored at anchor, sailors unloading cargo from England onto the docks. All part of mercantilism, Minerva realized, as the colonies exported raw materials and the mother country imported finished products to the colonies. And Philadelphia, in the center of the thirteen colonies, was the largest and most important port. In the light breeze flapped an odd flag adorned with a green pine tree in the center of a white field with the motto “An Appeal to Heaven.” That was the flag Mr. Greene had mentioned, and it flew from the topmast of a rather small ship—a cute ship, she thought. Should warships appear “cute,” she wondered? Probably not. The Pennsylvania Navy was certainly no Spanish Armada.

The trio walked down to Front Street, three abreast, the girls arm-in-arm with Victor. Mrs. Beard, seemingly agitated that the three children ignored her, huffed and floated off on her own. By the Custom House, Minerva noticed a fashionable girl, whom she judged to be about sixteen, standing with an older man Minerva guessed to be her father. Unlike Minerva, the girl was wearing a riding habit, consisting of a royal blue tailored jacket similar to a man’s coat, worn with a high neck shirt, a waistcoat, a petticoat and a large, brimmed, matching royal blue hat. Minerva assumed that the girl was either going to ride a horse or had completed a ride and hadn’t bothered to change her outfit. She assumed she was an upper class young woman.

“Victor, do you recognize that young woman?” Minerva asked.

“No,” Victor said.

The young woman returned Minerva’s glance with diffidence as if Minerva were some gutter snipe. As the trio approached the scene, Minerva heard a dockworker speaking to the gentleman.

“Mr. Shippen, the count’s correct, sir,” the dockworker said. The man seemed a bit nervous, Minerva thought.

“I think you are one rum barrel short, Loughton,” Shippen shouted in a booming voice.

“Thrash him, father,” the girl said. “He’s a damn rebel.”

“Hush, Peggy, dear,” the gentleman said sweetly.

“Let’s turn around and get out of here girls,” Victor said.

“Why?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, why, Victor?” Bette added.

“That’s Peggy Shippen.”

“No way,” Bette Kromer said.

“Way,” Victor replied.

“Who’s Peggy Shippen?” Minerva said.

“Benedict Arnold’s wife,” Bette said. “She’s the traitor’s girl.”

“Well, not yet, Bette,” Victor said. “She married him in 1779 and he’s almost twenty years older than she is.”

“Gross,” Minerva said.

“Not in the 18
th
century,” Bette interjected. “It was actually quite common for men to be a decade or two older than their wives.”

“Some historians think Peggy Shippen was the reason Arnold became a traitor,” Victor said. “She introduced him to a spy, a Brit named Major Andre, and Arnold agreed to give up West Point to the British, which was like the most important fort in the colonies. See, Arnold was a great hero until he betrayed Washington. Broke George’s heart. The Shippens were Loyalists. Peggy was later kicked out of Philadelphia, and she and Arnold died in exile in England.”

“She was an evil witch,” Bette said with conviction.

“Arnold was a hero?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, he rallied the troops at the Battle of Saratoga, and our victory there was the turning point in the Revolution,” Victor said. “It led to France joining our side. And let’s face it—we wouldn’t have won our independence without the help of the frogs.”

“Frogs?” Minerva asked.

“Nickname for the French,” Bette interjected

Minerva had never realized that about Benedict Arnold. Arnold was a hero and a good friend of George Washington’s.
That
was why Arnold’s treachery was so heartbreaking to Washington. Arnold was the Judas Iscariot of American History, for Judas was Christ’s disciple until his betrayal. She glanced over her shoulder for another glimpse of Peggy Shippen. Benedict Arnold’s future wife was following them!

“Peggy Shippen is following us, Victor,” Minerva said.

“Huh,” Victor said, his head swiveling. Bette turned her head as well.

“Keep calm,” Victor advised. “Here’s our cover story. We are from Florida. Saint Augustine. Florida was a British possession from 1763 to 1783. You girls are my cousins…we are on our way to, ah, London,” Victor said. “Let me do the talking. I’m the man.”

Bette and Minerva looked at each other and exchanged raised eyebrows.

“She’ll expect me to start the talking, really,” Victor said.

Minerva evaluated Peggy Shippen as the future Mrs. Benedict Arnold approached. Her riding habit fit her snuggly, Minerva thought, and she realized Miss Shippen was wearing a corset beneath the coat. How repressive! Her tailor did her justice though, and the low neckline had a hint of cleavage that Minerva judged to be adequate. Her crème colored skin was a bit of a surprise; she certainly didn’t have the tan of the two Florida girls, and perhaps Peggy had thought them lower class because their skin wasn’t pale when she had returned Minerva’s glance with a glare. That would make sense. Minerva cattily wondered if Miss Shippen had lice crawling through her scalp, for that was a common problem for both men and women in the 18
th
century. Her perfume seemed to be masking a faint malodorous smell and Minerva realized that her morning shower and deodorant would certainly make her smell much nicer than Peggy Shippen. But the buckles on her shoes, in the shape of an
S
, were large and apparently made of real silver.

Peggy Shippen handed Victor her calling card.

“Margaret Shippen,” she said, smiling slightly, but eyeing them, Minerva thought, as if they were hicks from Hicksville. “But my family and friends call me Peggy.”

Oh no, Minerva thought. Victor had no card, did he?

Victor took her card and scanned it with a wince. So, Mr. Historian hadn’t thought of everything after all, Minerva mused and handed Peggy Shippen her own calling card.

Minerva Messinger

Cassadaga

“I’m afraid I don’t know ‘Cassadaga,’ Miss Messinger,” Peggy Shippen said.

“Florida, Miss Shippen,” Minerva replied. “My sister, my cousin and I are just visiting your fair city.”

“Cassadaga?” Peggy Shippen asked.

“The name of our father’s plantation,” Bette interjected.

Peggy Shippen nodded understanding. “Are you part Spanish, Miss Messinger?”

Minerva realized Peggy Shippen took their darker tanned skin color as Mediterranean in origin. And after all, the Spanish had developed Florida before the British took it over after the Seven Years’ War. She needed a fib.

“Ponce de Leon was our ancestor,” Minerva lied.

Peggy Shippen gave Minerva a look that Minerva took for doubt. “You’ve come a long way, Miss Messinger. So who is your handsome cousin?”

Why, the little flirt, Minerva thought, but smiled. “Allow me to introduce my sister Elizabeth and my cousin Victor Bridges.