On Ephraim’s fourth day of school, Ms. Little announced that they were going to visit the Van de Graaff generator. Ephraim’s face lit up. A Van de Graaff generator meant they were taking a trip to the Museum of Science in Boston to see the machine that re-created lightning. There couldn’t be one any closer than Boston—that meant going home. As he was reaching up his hand to ask when the field trip would be, his classmates were getting out of their seats. “Where’s everyone going?” he asked Will.
Will shook his head. Maybe Ephraim had some sort of attention deficit disorder, Will thought, and that’s why he was so dim. “To the Van de Graaff generator.”
“Right now? Don’t we need permission slips or anything?” Ephraim hadn’t packed a lunch, and he didn’t think he would have enough money on him to buy anything at the museum cafeteria.
“It’s not like it’s dangerous,” Will said, stuffing his notebook into his backpack.
Mallory walked by and said, “It’s here. In the school.”
“You have a Van de Graaff generator in the school?”
Mallory liked the way it was so easy to surprise Ephraim. He might have been the one from the city, but he sure was a bumpkin. “Sure. It’s right next to the planetarium. Will built it.”
Ephraim’s eyes grew even wider as he swiveled his head back toward Will. Will didn’t say anything. He had built it, it was true, but it was from a kit paid for from an alumni grant, and Ms. Little had helped him. At the time he’d thought that maybe his World’s Science Fair project would have something to do with electricity, but now he felt he needed to do something more ambitious.
The rest of the class had already gone ahead, leaving the three to follow behind. They didn’t walk together, though, but staggered themselves, each making sure not to get too close to the others.
The Van de Graaff generator was at the far end of the school. They went down a narrow set of stairs and then into a room that opened up several stories high. In the center were two large poles, each with a ball on top, the two balls pressed together. A pole with a smaller ball was in between them. At the base was a station with a control board, all surrounded by a metal cage. Will dropped his bag by the bleacher-style seats and went to the command center.
“Ephraim, why don’t you join your lab partner,” Ms. Little suggested.
Ephraim shook his head. “No, that’s okay.”
“Yeah, Ms. Little. I got it,” Will said, his eyes fixated on the control panel.
“I don’t know the first thing about Van de Graaff generators,” Ephraim said. That wasn’t entirely true. He had seen the show at the Museum of Science seventeen times. His favorite was the one he’d seen about Nikola Tesla. The presenter had pretended to be Tesla, and talked about how he was always in Thomas Edison’s shadow. Ephraim could relate to that.
“See. He doesn’t know anything about it,” Will agreed, and even though he was only saying what Ephraim had said, it still annoyed Ephraim.
“The best way to learn is by doing. Hop on up there, Ephraim.”
Ephraim, miffed and out to prove himself, did as he was told. He shut the door and locked himself into the cage with Will. The array of dials and buttons was dizzying. He tried not to get too close to anything.
“As I’m sure you all remember, a Van de Graaff generator is an electrostatic generator able to produce high voltages of electricity. We use it to study how electricity works. Why don’t we review how it functions just so we’re sure we’ve all got it before we start our experiment for the day?”
Everyone, Ephraim included, knew that Ms. Little was only reviewing for Ephraim’s benefit. Ephraim tried to listen carefully as Will explained.
Looking bored, Will pointed to the tower that held the two large spheres. “So there’s a rubber belt in there that goes around.”
“At sixty miles per hour!” Ms. Little interjected.
“Then there’s an adaptor there that sprays electricity onto the belt.”
Ephraim nodded, though he had no idea how electricity was sprayed.
“Then the belt brings it up and the spheres get a negative charge all around the outside. Then when you bring the neutral point close”—he pointed to the small ball on the pole—“it’s like the negative charges jump over to the neutral and you get the lightning bolt.”
“You got that?” Ms. Little asked. “It’s as if the negative charges are all bottled up and when that small ball comes close, it pops the cork, and out spills the lightning.”
Ephraim nodded. This all sounded vaguely familiar from his visits to the museum. His dad had told him it was just like when you got a static shock. The charge built up on you and then you touched another person or something metal and the electricity jumped. He and Price had spent whole afternoons rubbing their fleece sweatshirts and chasing each other around trying to zap one another. The Van de Graaff generator was like a really big version of that.
“So let’s see a few test trials before we get down to business,” Ms. Little said.
Will started fiddling with the dials and the machine purred into action. Ephraim had never been so close to the generator before. It loomed above him, and the vibrations seemed to go all around and through him.
Will pushed a button that raised the small ball a little higher. A lightning bolt jumped from the large spheres to the small one. Ephraim rocked back. Will snickered at him.
Ephraim set his jaw. “I just didn’t realize it was all warmed up and ready to go,” he explained.
“It’s ready,” Will said. He moved the ball on the pole around, and soon another bolt shot out. This time Ephraim managed to keep himself still, though his insides were quivering.
“Want to see something really cool?” Will asked.
“Sure,” Ephraim said, though he had serious doubts about what Will might think was really cool.
“Hold on,” Will said.
Slowly the cage started to rise.
“What are you doing?” Ephraim asked.
“We’re going to shock the cage.”
“What?”
“It’s completely safe. We’re in a metal cage; it’s just like being in a car.”
“Except we’re not in a car. We don’t have any rubber wheels.”
“That’s not actually what makes a car safe. Rubber is a good insulator, but it’s not that good.” He looked at Ephraim’s perplexed face. “Never mind. If this were dangerous, Ms. Little would be stopping me, wouldn’t she?”
Ephraim looked down at Ms. Little, who was smiling up at them. She probably thought that she had brought Will and Ephraim together. He turned toward his classmates, none of whom looked concerned. A little jealous, maybe, but not concerned.
The hum was getting louder and louder. It sounded an awful lot like the house.
“You’re sure this is safe?” Ephraim whispered.
Exasperated, Will said, “Yes. You could just reach right out and grab the lightning bolt if you wanted to.”
It sounded like a dare to Ephraim, a chance to prove he wasn’t a wimp—or an idiot. He reached out his hand.
Will turned just as Ephraim’s wrist passed through the bars of the cage. “Ephraim, no!”
The bolt jumped from the cage to Ephraim’s hand. Ephraim stumbled backward, slipped, and hit his head on the metal floor of the cage. The last thing he saw was Will’s face hovering above his own. “Ephraim? Ephraim? I didn’t mean it.” Then he closed his eyes.
Will knew that everyone thought he had shocked Ephraim on purpose. Probably even Ms. Little, who was Will’s favorite teacher. His dad would be proud of him. This gave him a sick feeling.
He weaved through the fallen leaves as he rode his bike home that afternoon.
Even if he had done it on purpose, like if there were some deep, dark part of him that actually wanted to hurt Ephraim, how would he have known that he’d fall down and hit his head? That’s what had knocked him out: not the shock but the fall.
The truth was he didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to actually reach out and try to touch a lightning bolt. It was Ephraim’s own fault for being just so plain dumb.
He rode over the leaves now, liking the noise they made when they crinkled under his bike’s tires.
No one else saw it that way, and he guessed he didn’t really either. It was his fault. It was that simple.
At the end of his driveway, he turned at their crooked and dented mailbox; the y in their name had turned upside down. People drove by and saw the mailbox, the broken-down cars and tractors, and shook their heads. Will pedaled hard and wondered if he would always be “that Wylie kid.”
October 26, 1908
When Nora went to fetch the morning newspapers, the postmaster handed her a letter addressed to her. She had never before received mail and tore into it as soon as she was outside.
The letter was from Harry.
Dear Ms. Darling,
I hope you do not find me too forward for writing to you. I noticed when we met in the bakery that day that you were reading about Robert Peary.
Nora pursed her lips. That day in the bakery, when he had just stood there while Winnie Wylie insulted her and his great-uncle.
I did not get a chance to tell you that I, too, am an aficionado of Arctic exploration. I keep a map in my dormitory room on which I mark the progress of the expedition. I imagine that you do something similar.
He was right. She kept a map down in the laboratory, and Dr. Appledore allowed her to keep all the newspaper stories related to the expedition. She had them pasted into a scrapbook made from an old history book that Dr. Appledore said was of no value.
As no one on this campus seems to understand the import of this journey—perhaps they lack the intellect—I hoped that you and I could correspond about their progress. I am sure that in this attempt they will be successful. I hope you will not laugh when I confess that I actually dreamt of it.
Nora, too, was certain that this would be the time when Peary and Henson finally made it to the Pole.
The last I heard they were still in Greenland. Preparing for such an endeavor must be a monumental task. I should like to see the inner workings of the boat. Such a machine it must be to cut through the ice off Greenland. I would like, even, perhaps, to taste the pemmican.
I hope to hear from you. Please share any news you hear of the journey, and I shall do the same.
Sincerely,
Harold Appledore, Junior
Nora held the paper in her hands as a smile warmed her face. He wrote as formally as he spoke, but for the first time she felt she saw beneath his surface and she admired what she saw there.
Before she could revel too long in this moment, the letter was snatched from her hands.
“What’s this? Reading your master’s mail?” It was Winnie Wylie, of course.
“I have no master. My family never has.” Her family had arrived as free blacks in the 1760s, working on steamships. They’d traveled up the river from Portland and settled in Crystal Springs.
Winnie, though, was no longer listening to Nora. She was looking at the signature. She looked up with her eyes flashing. Winnie had all sorts of names for Nora, most of which did not bear repeating. She chose some of the worst on that day. They buzzed around in Nora’s head like angry wasps. “You’re nothing, Nora Darling, and never will be. Don’t let those foolish Appledores let you believe anything else. Harry is a sap, and Dr. Appledore is an old coot!”
Nora clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. She would not rise to Winnie’s bait. She would not sink to Winnie’s level. “Dr. Appledore is a renowned scientist who is at work on a very special project.”
“Is he? What sort of a project?”
“His work is confidential.”
Winnie laughed. “Oh yes, his work is certainly confidential. My mother says the family keeps him locked in a room so he doesn’t embarrass them.”
Nora knew that Orlando’s reputation was that of a wealthy eccentric. It was true that Orlando Appledore had several interests outside of his quest for the fountain, and some of these experiments had ended poorly or in near disaster. As Dr. Appledore explained it, though, great science did not happen without great risks.
“Orlando Appledore is a very wise man, and when he makes his latest discovery, you’ll be thanking him.”
Winnie raised her eyebrows. Then a smile spread across her face and she leaned in close. She whispered: “My family knows what Orlando is looking for. We’ve always known. We already found it.”
Nora watched as Winnie dropped the letter, pivoted on her heel, and walked away with determined strides. As Winnie’s curls bounced on her back, Nora’s heart sank to her feet.
Orlando Appledore was also a cautious man, some might say paranoid. What he feared most was that someone would find the Fountain of Youth before he did. So, when he decided to build a laboratory to test the properties of the water he found, he had it built under the house. Harold—Harry’s father—thought it was an unnecessary expense, but realized it meant his uncle would be out of the public eye. The tunnels were already in place for the water operation, so all that was needed were some adjustments and the carving out of space.
Nora popped open the door and walked slowly down the stairs. At the bottom she found a kerosene lamp, lit it, and made her way down the tunnel.
Nora had a key, one of only two copies, that she used to unlock a door with no handle or knob, and then she pressed on the door and let herself into the lab. It was lit by electric lamps designed specifically for the laboratory by Orlando’s friend Nikola Tesla, the one who believed in life on other planets. Orlando stood behind a long black table and watched as water filtered from one set of glass bottles through glass tubes filled with a variety of substances and into another set of glass bottles.
“Winnie Wylie says they found it.”
Orlando looked up from the filtration apparatus. “It?” he asked.
“The Fountain of Youth.”
Orlando put down his pen, but he did not yet look concerned. “What did she say precisely?”
Nora made sure she was telling it to him exactly as Winnie had. “She said she knew what you were looking for, and that they already found it.”
Orlando picked up his pen and began writing. “Has your Mister Henson found the Pole yet?”
Nora didn’t understand this shift in conversation, but she answered, “Not yet. I believe they are still in Greenland.”
“And when they do find it, how will they know?”
“By the latitude,” she explained.
“A very scientific process.”
“It is a scientific expedition,” she said, still confused.
Orlando put down his pen and looked Nora in the eye. “Here is something that I am sure Peary and Henson understand. It’s all very well and good to say that you’ve found it, but without proof, what’s the bother? It’s not enough to find it—or claim that you have—you need to understand it. Understanding is something we never have to fear from the Wylies.” He turned to his large oak desk, the surface of which was strewn with papers that she would have to organize later. “Copernicus, you will recall, was one of the world’s greatest scientists. He understood what the Wylies never will. To wit, nature can be controlled by man, but only through observation and experimentation. You cannot simply bottle it up and claim it is so.”
“But they will bottle it, and sell it. Just like Mr. Appledore and his Dr. Appledore’s Crystal Water, only they will claim that it is actually from the Fountain of Youth. Then when you truly find it, no one will believe you.”
He inspected his bottles again, noting how quickly the water passed through each filter.
“Perhaps the Wylies will try to sell this new water,” he said. “But it will fail.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“This is the age of enlightenment and science! A new century has begun and we shall all be awakened to possibilities of our world. A man is going to find the North Pole, is he not?”
Nora nodded, though she still wasn’t sure what Henson and Peary’s expedition to the North Pole had to do with the Wylies and the water. What she did know was that Henson and Peary weren’t the only ones looking for the Pole, and if they didn’t find it soon, someone might steal their glory from them.
Orlando reached out his hand and placed it on her shoulder. “You are a lucky girl, to have been born into such a wonderful age. Fallacies will fall by the wayside.”
Nora wasn’t sure what the word fallacy meant, but she could tell by his tone that it was something Dr. Appledore disdained.
“We are entering a new Renaissance. And with your help, my dear, I will be there to see it all!”