Clockwise Read online

IT WAS WEDNESDAY. Wednesday was officially mean girl day. So was Thursday, and Friday and every other day of the week, because I was on Jessica’s hit list. Which meant whispers and giggles as I passed by in the hall. Disparaging comments about my wild hair. If I hadn’t had my nose in my biology textbook, I would have heard her coming.

  “Move, people. Move it.” Jessica’s cheerleader trained voice pitched through the hall. Instead of floating past me like she usually did, she and her posse stopped to gawk. “Looky here,” Jessica said, popping bubble gum. “A weather vane. How’s the air up there?”

  I looked down on her red/blond head, her naturally wavy locks mercilessly hot ironed into sheets. “Suddenly cooler,” I said.

  “You mean, hotter.” She flicked her bangs off her face.“Right, girls?” The posse laughed. “Nice shirt, Casey.” I peered down at the 725 logo on my brown long sleeved T-shirt. “Isn’t that from WAL-MART?” Her girls giggled. They all dressed like Jessica—Lululemon hoodies in every pastel color of the rainbow, Guess miniskirts and Ugg boots.

  “Do you need something, Jessica?” I said. “Tutoring?” It was rumored that when Jessica had first heard that Nate was from Canada, she’d asked him where he’d learned English. Parlez-vous francais, anyone?

  “I don’t need anything from you, flag pole. Oh, there’s Nate.” I glanced over and saw Nate watching us from the door of the science lab. How long had he been standing there? Jessica ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. He didn’t stop looking at me, even as he guided her into class. Was he mocking me?

  It hadn’t dawned on me during the Fall Dance discussion that to go to the dance meant having to wear a dress. Not that I had problems with dresses; I owned a trendy skirt that I sometimes wore on weekends. But I’d made a career out of staying under the radar, something I had failed at miserably the last few days, and dress wearing was absolutely “radar” worthy. That, along with the necessary accompanying makeup and fancy hair, definitely didn’t fit in with my commitment to blandness and blending in. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much I could do, except stay away from reds and satins, seeing as I'd already agreed to go.

  Saturday was dress shopping day. Mom was already up drinking coffee in the living room flipping between the news channel and the home design network. Magazines on kitchens, bathrooms, living rooms, outdoor space, you name it, anything that can be made over, were found in stacks in most rooms of our house. Paint samples were spread out like a fan on our table, along with fabric samples and short wooden and metal blinds samples of every color. Tucked next to them was a bulkier suitcase sized sampler with swaths of carpet choices. The collection had turned into a small mountain since Mom had gone back to work.

  I sat beside her with my bowl of cereal and said between mouthfuls, “I’m going into Boston with Lucinda today.”

  Mom muted the television. “What for?”

  “Dress shopping. Lucinda has this crazy idea about going to the Fall Dance.”

  Mom’s expression turned serious. “You’re going to a dance?”

  I hedged. “Only because Lucinda talked me into it. It’s research for THE Prom, still eons away.”

  “Do you want me to come?” Mom suddenly looked excited. “I should help you pick out your dress for your first dance.”

  That didn’t go the way I’d thought. “It’s really not a big deal, Mom. I’m actually just going to help Lucinda pick out a dress.”

  Mom’s shoulders slumped a bit. I felt terrible, but Lucinda wasn’t bringing her mother and it would be weird for me to bring mine.

  “You can help me pick out my Prom dress, Mom. I promise. Okay?”

  Mom shrugged off her disappointment. “Okay, you have fun, then.” She stood and gave me a soft smile. She was shorter than me, which I only really noticed when we hugged. She had blond hair cut stylishly short and not curly. The only thing I inherited from my mom was her fair skin and hazel eyes.“You can show me what you bought later,” she added before heading to the kitchen for a refill.

  I met Lucinda at the train, just in time to catch the red line subway to the Downtown Crossing station. When we emerged, we were in the middle of Boston. Downtown Crossing was a pedestrian mall, and a palette for the senses: pungent smells from the hot dog vendors, boom boxes blasting as athletes “danced” with their basketballs, and the chatter of many languages.

  “Ooh, I love coming into Boston!” Lucinda was almost glassy-eyed as we stumbled along the cobblestone walkway, peering in the shops, stopping every few seconds to admire some item of clothing or accessory in a window.

  “Looove that top!” Lucinda’s never quite herself when shopping.

  “It’s nice, Luce,” I said. After dipping into numerous boutiques we couldn’t afford, I begged Lucinda to please just pick a place. Shopping was fun for some, but for me it was laborious. Thankfully, Lucinda finally came to her senses and picked Filenes Basement. At least that was a place where I stood a chance at finding something I could afford. We weren’t alone. Could it be that every teenage girl in Metro Boston was dress shopping at this very hour? All at Filenes? It was shoulder to shoulder, which in any circumstance was nerve wracking. I needed space. I tugged nervously on my long sleeves.

  “Hey, can we pick it up here? I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.”

  Lucinda took charge. “Check this rack out.” She selected a number of dresses and thrust them at me. Then her cell rang and she answered it, wandering off to converse in Portuguese. At least I could be alone in the changing room.

  I breathed deeply for a few minutes before stripping down. I decided on the first one. Why not? Why go through the agony of pulling countless dresses on and off, over my head. I knew what static did to my hair. Hello, Afro.

  Mine was yellow. No, Lucinda corrected me, saffron. It was a plain princess style dress with narrow pleats gathering under my chest, a low-ish neckline and a hem just long enough to conceal my knobby knees.

  “You look great,” Lucinda said when I showed it off. “Oh, come on,” I said.

  “It’s true. That color looks really nice with your hair and eyes. It’s just perfect for your skin tone.”

  Perfect for my skin tone? “Well, thanks. Does it make me look tall?”

  Lucinda tilted her head. “But, you are tall.”

  “I know, but do these vertical pleats add to my tallness?”

  “Casey, it looks good on you.” Lucinda chose blue and I thought she looked stunning. Our dresses would be perfect for standing around in a large, dark, cavernous room for a whole night of watching other people dance. Mission happily accomplished.

  Well, almost happily. Just as we approached the exit I spotted Nate. What was he doing here? Seeing him outside of the context of school was weird, though any context seemed to have the same effect on me. Dry throat, butterflies in my stomach, the urge to squeal.

  I tried to make a smooth maneuver out of his line of vision, but instead ran directly into a rack of blouses, almost knocking it over. He saw me. Of course he saw me! The whole store stopped to observe. His eyes didn’t flick away. Okay, I’m a train wreck, you don’t have to stare.

  He finally looked back at what he was watching before—Jessica presenting a pretty ivory dress. At first, she seemed startled to see me but then she grinned her evil grin. What? Did she think she was getting married to him? It looked like a dumb wedding dress. I really hoped she didn’t pick that one.

  A wave of dizziness smacked me as I tried to stand. Then a flash of bright light.

  I was nine years old the first time it happened. Mom was tucking me in and had just turned out the lights. The red digital numbers on my clock read 8:31. Like a lot of kids, I was afraid of the dark and monsters under the bed, and I had, without my parents knowing, watched a scary B movie that afternoon. Every time Mom had checked in on me, I quickly clicked the remote to switch to the family channel. So, as soon as Mom closed my bedroom door and left me in the dark, I panicked. I lost my breath, felt dizzy and fell into the brightness. />
  And yes, I freaked out. But, you can only do so much crying and screaming in the middle of a dense forest, which I figured out later, was the same piece of land my house had eventually been built on. To make matters worse, it was raining and by the time I had finished my emotional breakdown, my PJs were soaked. I'd finally gotten my wits about me and spotted a large tree with a hole worn out on the side, and crouched in it, out of the rain. I spent the whole night shivering, scared out of my mind.

  The next morning the sun shone brightly, so I removed my PJs and set them out on a rock to dry. Basking in the sun had warmed me up, but I was hungry. I searched around for food wearing only underpants. I must have looked like the Jungle Book boy with my nine year old, prepubescent body, and my shorter dark curly hair. Eventually, I found some berries and ate them without considering that they could be poisonous. I've since done my homework, so I know, and fortunately those berries were fine and I didn't get sick.

  I didn't know what triggered the trip back. Probably emotional and physical fatigue. I felt dizzy, but nothing happened right away, not like when I traveled from the present to the past.

  I headed back to where I'd left my PJs, but couldn't find them. I was lost! However, it turned out I didn't need to worry about that. I fell into the tunnel of light and the next thing I knew, I was in my bed, with my PJs on, and my mother was just closing the door behind her. I looked at the clock—8:31. No time had gone by at all!

  But now, here, I was whirling through the light in downtown Boston. Until this trip, I'd always traveled near my home in Cambridge, and similarly, near my stash and the Watson Farm. This was the first time I'd traveled while hanging out in Boston. I didn't know why. Nothing had ever triggered it before. I blamed it on Nate Mackenzie and the way he affected my pulse. At any rate, I was in foreign waters, so to speak. Actually, I was in someone's little wooden shack.

  A dirty faced woman with a dirty long dress and a dirty apron to match was staring wide eyed at me. I could tell I was doing the same back at her. Then her eyes narrowed and she practically hissed. “Get ye out of me house, ya thievin'...laddie? Lassie? What are ye anyway?”

  I didn't hang around to answer. I dashed out the door and onto a dusty street, narrowly missing getting run over by a horse and buggy. The lady didn't let my intrusion go. I could hear her shouting, “Thief, thief!” as I dashed away. I couldn't imagine what she thought I had taken. It didn't look like she had anything worth stealing.

  I darted through the crowds, hoping to get out of sight before anyone could seize me. I shuddered at the thought of being arrested, and there was no way I could explain the way I looked—blue jeans, T-shirt, and long, out of control hair.

  I turned a sharp corner and found myself in a dimly lit alley. A large rain barrel sat up against the building and I ducked in behind it. I didn't let myself breathe until I was certain I had not been followed. Thankfully, all the pedestrians continued walking past me, without taking a single interest in what was down the alley. Once I caught my breath, I took in my surroundings. My eyes had adjusted to the dimness and I was rewarded with a line of laundry hanging a short ways behind me.

  I snagged a buttoned-down stained, white shirt, and shimmied on a pair of men’s trousers on top of my jeans. A quick scour of the trash on the ground produced a piece of twine. I tied my hair back into a low ponytail and stuffed it into the back of the shirt.

  Keeping my eyes to the ground, I stepped into the flow of foot traffic and headed towards Longfellow Bridge. Which turned out to be a long way away. After a while, my legs ached, my head hurt and I was dying of thirst. I had to find a way to speed up my journey. When I got close to the bridge I spotted a carriage, the fancy kind with trims and a bumper. I ran behind it, grabbed on and pulled myself up. These were the days before shocks and efficient suspension systems. Thin wooden wheels riding on cobblestones and gravel rattled my ribcage. I held on tight.

  People we passed by hooted and hollered at me; some thinking that hitching a ride like that was cheap thing to do, and others cheering me on, like a hero. I just kept my head down, glad that the large team of horses made a ton of noise with their clip-clopping and whinnying, and that the carriage didn't have any rear view mirrors. It came to a stop in Lexington. I hopped off and scooted into the neighboring forest. I wasn't home free yet, but at least I knew how to get to the Watson’s from here.

  Finally, I got to the property. I stopped at the water pump and filled my gullet. Cold water never felt so good! I didn't even care that I was soaking myself. After I had enough to drink, I gave my face a good scrub. Then I headed to the house.

  Time passes differently in the past and I guessed a month or so had passed for the Watsons since I'd caught Nate's ball, so I wasn't so sure how Sara would take my sudden reappearance, but I had no other options than to hope that Sara would give me another chance.

  Sara scowled when she saw me. “You’re back.” A statement, not a question. I nodded.

  “I wish to ask your forgiveness, ma’am, for my bad manners, leaving so suddenly as I did.” I could hear myself slipping into the speech patterns of the time. Another survival tactic I’d picked up along the way. “I was afraid. I’m hoping you will give me a second chance. I’m still in need of honest work.”

  She stared at me like I was a new project. “I suppose there was no real harm done.” She studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Besides, you look like you could use some help.” I was certain I looked a complete and total mess. I was sweaty and dust-covered, and still dressed like a boy. Sara led me back upstairs, removed the same dress and shoes from the closet then squinted at me before leaving. I imagined her standing guard on the other side of the door. The first thing I did was peel off my clothes and sponge bath with the tepid water in the pitcher and basin on the dresser—ever so happy to see a bar of soap.

  Once dressed, I carefully opened the door. Sara was nowhere in sight. I tentatively tackled the steps with my heels, grateful for the railing to steady me. I found Sara in the kitchen, and when she saw me, her jaw dropped. “My word, Cassandra. I'd never have recognized you.”

  I must've cleaned up nice, because for the first time, Sara smiled. There was a heady, yummy scent coming from the room, and my stomach growled loudly. Very unladylike!

  “Missy,” Sara said to the ruddy-faced, stout helper in the kitchen. “Please give our guest something to eat.”

  Sara watched me as I ate a slice of warm, buttered bread—home made and an inch thick—and sipped on soup that was also really tasty. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I'd eaten and I was famished. But still, with this getup on, I forced myself to maintain the table manners my mother had taught me. Sara noticed, too.

  “I see, Cassandra, that you are well-bred. Your manners and behavior seem inconsistent with your presentation earlier. I am perplexed.”

  “Miss Watson,” I started.

  “Please, call me Sara.”

  “Sara,” I continued, “even though my family has suffered hard times, my mother taught her children manners.”

  “How happy for you,” Sara said. “And apparently you were availed of an education as well? Can you read?”

  “Yes.” She paused, and then seemed to come to a decision. “I'm going to the bookstore, presently. Would you like to accompany me?”

  More than a bit surprised by her invitation, I nodded. “I'd like that.” Besides, what else was I going to do? After I finished my meal, Sara ushered me back upstairs, where she presented me with a hoop underskirt and a bonnet.

  “Meet me at the front door when you are ready.”

  I put on the big hoop skirt, and almost burst out laughing. How on earth was a woman to function efficiently when her clothing virtually pushed her two feet away from the very thing she was trying to grasp?

  Sara started speaking the moment I entered the foyer. "Mr. Kelsey is at the bookstore most days. I want him to see that though he and those other buffoons won't permit us to attend university, the
y can't stop us girls from learning."

  She handed me a shawl and a parasol. I felt like a little girl playing dress up. She had a driver take us by carriage into Boston. I found it more than odd to be going back into the city so soon, this time riding in the carriage and dressed like a lady. Could this day get any stranger?

  At least this time I could take in the scenery in comfort. I stared out the window. No automobiles, no trains, no Mass Pike. This was the part that really messed with my head. I had been here in my time just this morning, shopping with Lucinda at Filenes! Nate had been there too, and his dumb girlfriend. Now Filenes didn’t even exist and there were far fewer buildings. It felt like a movie set.

  Lots of horses, too, which also translated into lots of horse dung. The air in the city had a sour smell. The sewer was unmanaged, every chimney pumped out ash and smoke, and dirty children ran amuck, the effect of their once a week bath from a shared tub not lasting nearly long enough. The upper classes compensated by excessive use of perfume. After a while, my sniffing sensory just shut down.

  I followed Sara into the Good Ol’ Book Shoppe, stunned by the great and ancient literary works. I picked up a volume of Gray’s Anatomy, Descriptive and Surgical. And here I thought Grey’s Anatomy was just a TV Drama.

  “Are you interested in medicine?” A masculine voice with a tinge of amusement said this. He was tall, (I always notice if a guy is taller than me), maybe in his late twenties, with dark eyes and hair. He wore a tailored suit, and had the confident smugness that came with having a lot of money. I glanced around to see if someone else was also perusing a medical journal. Nope. He must be talking to me.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. No need to commit either way. Though I didn’t think medicine would be a good choice for a time traveler. Imagine giving someone a needle or stitches and taking off for a mid-appointment holiday to a destination a hundred and fifty some years away.

  “Nursing is a fine profession for young women,” he continued. “If, of course, teaching is not of interest.”

  Why was he talking to me? He stretched out his hand, “Excuse my manners. I’m Robert Willingsworth.”

  “Hello, I’m Case, uh, Cassandra Donovan.” I shook his hand while nervously tucking a fly away hair under my bonnet. I was sure I looked horrid. I couldn’t conceive why this man was still standing here, waiting for me to say something. Sara came to my rescue.

  “Oh, Mr. Willingsworth! How do you do?”

  “Miss Watson.” He bowed slightly. “Always a pleasure.”

  “I see you have met my companion, Miss Donovan.”

  “Indeed.” He turned to me. “Are you recently to town?”

  “Yes, I arrived just this morning.”

  “My, your accent is endearing.” Robert’s eyes twinkled when he spoke and I blushed. Was he really flirting with me?

  “From what town do you originate?”

  “Springfield.”

  “Really? I once had the privilege of visiting Springfield. I don’t recall the accent.”

  “Oh,” I said quickly, “I’m actually from west of Springfield. A village no one’s heard of.” He studied me for a second and I worried that he would keep quizzing me. Then he smiled widely, splashing a set of large, straight teeth.

  “Might I inquire, would you ladies allow me the good pleasure of a stroll? It’s a beautiful day for a walk through the Common.”

  “What a delightful idea,” Sara said. “Come along Cassandra, the fresh air will do us good.”

  He linked one arm through each of ours. The sun shone brightly and warmed the autumn air. Too bad these shoes were killing my feet!

  Beacon Hill, Boston’s most prestigious neighborhood, lined the north side of the generous park. A row of attractive, red brick townhouses trimmed with white lined the street with the Statehouse on the eastern end. Its famous gold dome was only made of copper in the year 1860, yet stunning all the same.

  “Mr. Willingsworth is a recent graduate from Harvard, Cassandra.”

  “How nice.” I racked my brain trying to recall the name Willingsworth from my history lessons. Though I excelled at the subject of American History, I drew a blank.

  “What do you think of the coming election, Mr. Willingsworth?” Sara said.

  “Oh, such conversation is not fitting for young ladies such as yourself and Miss Donovan.” His little black mustache twitched. I wasn’t used to being talked down to and I couldn’t help releasing a small ‘hrumph’ of air through my nose.

  “Nonsense, Robert,” Sara said. “I have a mind that can think.”

  “Very well. Lincoln hopes to win.” He paused as if deciding whether to go on or not. I guess he decided we had brains enough to understand what he was about to say next, as he continued. “But, I fear he has alienated all the voters in the south due to his lack of, shall we say, enthusiasm regarding the institution of slavery.”

  “Slavery is barbaric,” Sara said with feeling. I loved her feisty attitude and that she didn’t let this guy intimidate her.

  “Perhaps slavery is a bit extreme,” Robert added, “but you must admit, they are great workers. Better than horses.”

  Better than horses? Mr. Willingsworth’s charm had definitely worn off.

  Sara lifted her chin. “If I could vote, I would vote Abraham Lincoln president of the United States of America.”

  “Voting is very serious business, Miss Watson.”

  “As is freedom.” Even though I knew the best policy for me as a “visitor” was to just keep my mouth shut, I couldn’t help myself. Robert and his ‘I’m a man and therefore I’m better than you, a mere woman’ attitude got on my nerves.

  “Certainly, Miss Donovan,” Robert conceded. “Freedom is a serious business as well. As are economics and rights of owners to their purchases.”

  “Even when the purchase refers to human beings?” I said with a tight smile.

  “I meant no offense, Miss Donovan. I’m not necessarily stating my personal opinion.”

  “Blacks are persons and should be treated as such,” Sara said.

  I tried to keep it in, but it just popped out. “One day we may have a black president.”Chew on that, Robert. He and Sara stopped, staring at me wide eyed.

  Robert cracked a smile and then laughed. “Or we might have a woman for president! Miss Donovan, you are the most intriguing individual I have met in a long while.”

  We waited as a horse and buggy passed along a trail in front of us. “Mr. Willingsworth,” Sara said, tugging on his arm. “Cassandra and I are attending the meeting at Faneuil Hall this afternoon.”

  We were?

  “Abby Kelly Foster from Worcester is speaking,” she added.

  “The famed female abolitionist,” Robert said, nodding. “Indeed, if you two beautiful ladies will be attending, I shall certainly be there as well.” Robert said his farewells, holding eye contact with me a little bit too long for comfort. He promised to meet us in an hour.

  Sara and I continued by foot to Quincy Market. “He seemed quite taken with you.” Sara stared at the ground when she said this. I didn’t think she was too happy about it, but I wouldn’t insult her intelligence by denying it.

  “For the life of me, I can’t see why,” I said.

  “My dear Cassandra. Women who don’t recognize their own beauty are the most attractive of them all.” What the heck was she talking about? Unless opinionated, overly tall women with frizzy hair were considered beautiful in the nineteenth century.

  “He’s too old for me, anyway.”

  “Hardly. Girls our age marry men older than Mr. Willingsworth all the time. Cassandra, you say the most peculiar things.”

  I really should keep my mouth shut.

  A crowd gathered on the steps of Faneuil Hall, a two story brick warehouse-like building with a weather vane sprouting from the middle of the roof. A farmers’ market took up the whole ground floor which was filled with bustling shoppers and merchants. On the upper level an assembly hall was
supported by several white pillars. An extra level of seating surrounded the room and increased the view of the podium. It was the only building of the three yet to be built which makes up the Quincy Market I knew. Fish stalls filled the lanes infusing the air with the tangy scent of the sea. I much preferred the sweet and savory aromas of the food court in my time as well as the festive air and craft shops.

  Sara and I sat in the wooden chairs near the back of the first level of the Assembly Hall. Men and women occupied most of the seating, all murmuring with troubled expressions on their faces. I asked Sara about it.

  “The city is much divided,” she said. “Though we are a northern state, there are still many who think we should keep our noses out of the south. And others, like myself, think the problems of the south belong to us all.”

  Robert joined us as promised and, to my chagrin, chose the empty space next to me rather than the one beside Sara. I offered a sugary sweet ladylike smile, all the while comparing his features to Nate’s. Eyes? Nate wins. Nose? Nate wins. Smile? Nate definitely wins.

  Stop! What was the matter with me? Why do I keep forgetting that I Hate Nate? The meeting suddenly overflowed with abolitionists and anti-abolitionists from the south, each group with their placards yelling at each other across the aisles.

  “Slavery is evil! Abolish the Fugitive Act!”

  “Slavery is the American way! Keep your nose out of the South!”

  Two men from opposing sides went to blows, like a modern day ice hockey fight. Cheers erupted from both sides, and I feared someone would get thrown over the balcony and onto the shoppers below.

  “Miss Foster should be beginning shortly,” Sara said, winding her face with her hand.

  All the bodies and excitement in the room caused me to feel heated and flushed. I felt light-headed and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do for me to faint. They really had too many people in this room. There would be a stampede in an emergency. Did they have fire safety standards in place yet in 1860? I grew dizzy. Dizzy? Oh. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I had to get away from Sara and Robert, ASAP.

  “Excuse me,” I said, pushing my big hooped skirt past Robert, narrowly missing his nose. “I need some air.”

  “I’ll assist you.” Robert grabbed my arm, holding me back. In a panic, I shook him off.

  “No, I’ll be fine!” I ran down the stairs, dodging people trying to make it to the meeting upstairs, nearly tumbling down the steps with my hoop skirt knocking the unsuspecting out of my way. At the bottom, I mingled with the crowds to hide from Robert. I hunkered low in the mass of people knowing that a few would question their eyesight or maybe their sanity when I suddenly disappeared.

  And then I was gone.