“It’s not working,” Doc said.
“Anytime now!” Abby told the hat.
“We’re ready to go!”
Amelia asked, “Who on earth are you talking to?”
“We have no idea,” Doc said.
“Wonderful,” Amelia muttered.
Abby said, “Other history people, you know, Lincoln, Abigail Adams. They figured out ways to move around in time.”
“You mean, I could go home anytime I want?” Amelia asked.
“Maybe,” Abby said.
Doc laughed. “Remember the desert island, with the pirates chasing us? And Abigail and John Adams jumped into that barrel?”
Abby smiled. “They almost had us.”
“Yeah,” Doc said, “like a wooden thing, for holding water or—”
“I know what a barrel is,” Amelia cut in. “It’s just … you’ve given me an idea …”
She stared straight ahead, lost in thought.
Then, turning to Doc and Abby, she said, “Let’s go find Mr. Lincoln.”
“We should go back to your time,” Abby said. “If you can, I mean. So you can do your flight.”
“Not yet,” Amelia said. “First we’re going to figure out exactly what’s going on. And, Abby, I haven’t forgotten about finding your glasses.”
“Thanks,” Abby said.
“What about my hat?” Doc asked. “How come no one cares about my hat?”
“Here we go, to wherever Mr. Lincoln is,” Amelia said. “Hold on tight, children. This is called a barrel roll.”
“A wha—?” Doc started to ask.
The plane flipped over and flew upside down.
Abby and Doc screamed as the plane rolled over and over—right side up, then upside down, right side up, then upside down—and disappeared.
And reappeared in a cloudy sky. Doc and Abby were still gripping the bench.
Abby hooted, “Best ride ever!”
“It worked!” Doc shouted. “Or, did it? Is this Washington, DC?”
Amelia looked to both sides and straight ahead. Nothing in sight but clouds.
“I can’t tell,” she said. “But it’s not a good day for flying.”
The plane bounced in the wind as it dropped through the clouds. A city came into view. Brick buildings and church steeples. Dirt streets laid out in neat square blocks. Wooden ships docked on a wide river. The lower they got, the less it looked like Washington. There was no Capitol building, no White House.
Amelia picked out an open field just outside the city and brought the plane in for a bumpy landing. Doc and Abby hopped out and looked up at the dark rain clouds.
“Storm’s coming,” Abby said.
“At least we have a hat,” Doc said, setting the tall black hat on his head.
A voice boomed,
Abby and Doc spun around.
A tall man in a black suit was walking toward them. He had a beard but no mustache.
It was Abraham Lincoln.
Abby clapped. “We found you!”
“You did, indeed,” Lincoln said, smiling and shaking their hands.
“But we’re not in Washington,” Doc said.
“Philadelphia,” Lincoln said. “Fall of 1753.”
“What are you doing here?” Abby asked.
Lincoln reached into his jacket and pulled out something brown and furry. He put it on his head.
It was a thick fur hat. A long tail hung from the back.
“Who do I look like?” Lincoln asked.
Abby and Doc were stumped.
“Famous writer, scientist, diplomat, one of our country’s founders …” Lincoln said. “Picture me with long hair and a bit, um,” he patted his belly, “rounder.”
Amelia Earhart stuck her head out of the plane. “Benjamin Franklin!”
“We have a winner!” Lincoln called, tossing her the fur hat. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Earhart.”
“Likewise,” she said. “Do you really believe this is Franklin’s?”
Lincoln took his own hat from Doc and set it on his head.
He said, “Let’s go find out.”