The Time Travelers, Volume 2

The Lost Songs

Three Black Swans

They Never Came Back

If the Witness Lied

Diamonds in the Shadow

A Friend at Midnight

Hit the Road

Code Orange

The Girl Who Invented Romance

Family Reunion

Goddess of Yesterday

The Ransom of Mercy Carter

Tune In Anytime

Burning Up

What Child Is This?

Driver’s Ed

Twenty Pageants Later

Among Friends

The Time Travelers
, Volumes I and II

The Janie Books

The Face on the Milk Carton

Whatever Happened to Janie?

The Voice on the Radio

What Janie Found

What Janie Saw
(an ebook original short story)

Janie Face to Face

The Time Travel Quartet

Both Sides of Time

Out of Time

Prisoner of Time

For All Time

ONE
 

D
evonny Aurelia Victoria Stratton was smuggling a love letter.

It was not a love letter to Devonny, but that was all right. Devonny was not ready to fall in love with an unsuitable man. It was much more fun to help her friend Flossie who had fallen in love with an unsuitable man.

The folded letter lay inside her glove, hidden by lace and ribbons.

No one must suspect.

If Flossie’s father caught the boy who wrote the letter, Mr. Van Stead would throw him into the quarry and smile as he died. This added a certain excitement to every stolen moment.

As for Devonny, her father had been stomping around in a rage lately, throwing things at the servants and beating his horse. He was a heavy man, fond of his whiskey and pipe. Packed into his
starched white shirt and closely fitted black jacket, he looked as if bad news would burst him. Devonny would be in trouble if Father discovered her part in Flossie’s flirtation.

Devonny intended to fall in love with a man like her father. Well—not mean, dishonest and brutal. Not that part. But like the man who left school in the eighth grade, began by delivering coal, and forty years later was one of America’s wealthiest men. Self-made.

Devonny loved that: taking your self and making it. Father had glimpsed Fortune, and then went out and created it.

Devonny, too, would be self-made. A Self-Made Woman. These were new times. And not only that, Devonny had heard about women who had done incredible things. Achievements as important as a man’s. Of course she wasn’t sure it was true, because she had heard this from a peculiar source—a person who had visited from a future century. Devonny pushed all those memories from her mind. The end of this century was only a few years away. She could see for herself how life was changing. Why, a woman in New York City was writing articles for a newspaper just as if she were a man! Women were opening settlement houses to help the poor. They were marching to get the vote.

Devonny was not interested in journalism, the poor or votes. She wanted to be a woman of business. Sometimes she could not fall asleep at night for thinking about the business she would create.

But in Devonny’s circle, a lady’s first concern must always be men. Devonny must constantly plan how to make the lives of men more comfortable. She must be an adornment, so men could be proud of her. Luckily she was very beautiful and had very fair skin. Her father continually reminded Devonny that nothing mattered except her complexion and
his
money.

Soon it would be time to tell Father that he was wrong. Something else mattered. She, Devonny Aurelia Victoria Stratton, was going to make a fortune of her own. She smiled happily, thoroughly enjoying the danger and the pleasure of Flossie’s forbidden romance. Love letter crisp against her palm, she strolled onto the veranda, pretending leisure and boredom, so that nobody would guess she was on an urgent mission of love.

There sat her father’s houseguest, also writing a letter. The moment Lord Winden saw Devonny, he set blotting paper over his paragraphs and rose to his feet, bowing to her.

Devonny could not help herself. Knowing Lord Winden would approve of a sweet demure smile, she made sure to grin with a rude display of big white
teeth. Then, instead of addressing him properly, she said, “Hello, Winnie. Have you been out whipping the world into shape?”

This was intended to offend Lord Winden, who would never bother enough with the world’s condition to get out a whip—although he might whip people who called him Winnie instead of Lord Winden.

“Good day, Miss Stratton,” he said, smiling. She hated to admit to herself that he had a wonderful smile. “In fine form, as always.”

He had not known her always. He had known her only two weeks. He’d attached himself to Father like a son. The only good thing about the man was the hyphen in his first name, Hugh-David. And his authentic title. All Devonny’s friends were mad about British titles. Even her father, usually so sensible, had fallen for this person just because of the title.

Of course everybody adored the English. They were so civilized, and had all those sweet things like coats of arms, and castles, and servants. (Devonny had servants, but American servants were immigrants who got tired of it in a week and moved on. In England, people actually liked to be servants, and even trained their children to do it, too.) The best books were by English writers, the most wonderful ceremonies were for the Queen, and the handsomest soldiers in the brightest of uniforms served the British Empire.

But it was one thing to love Britain; it was quite another to love an actual person. There were three Englishmen staying at the Stratton estate that week, and Devonny found them all boring, stupid and useless. Hugh-David and his friends Gordon and Miles did nothing with their lives. They were like women. They thought mainly of Society: what they would wear, whom they would meet, how the flowers would look on the table. Devonny was embarrassed for them.

“You are covered with dust,” observed Lord Winden in his charming British accent. “I cannot think what you have been doing, Miss Stratton.” Everything the man said was half accusation, as if he hoped to repair Devonny.

“I was admiring the new fountain, Winnie. Have you seen it yet?” Devonny’s mansion had been very stylish a decade ago, but styles change. The new fountain would be as magnificent as Rome.

And just as magnificent as Rome were the Italian workmen. It was warm for October, and the men had taken off their shirts. Devonny was still reeling from the sight of a half dozen men with no shirts on. Of course Lord Winden hadn’t seen the fountain; he would never walk where workmen labored. Stone dust and sweat and swearing immigrants were not attractive to him.