Elizabeth slept restlessly that night. She dreamed of large, misty figures that rose up over her bed, and once, she cried out, waking herself up. The next morning she dragged herself out of bed in answer to the alarm’s persistent ringing, dressed, and made her way to the kitchen where her mother was preparing breakfast.
“Good morning, Elizabeth. What’s the matter? You look miserable. Are you nervous about going to the new school?”
“No, Mom. School will be fine, I guess. I just didn’t sleep well —had some bad dreams.”
“Have your breakfast and you’ll feel better. Aren’t you wearing a dress for the first day of school? Those jeans look rather grubby.”
Elizabeth drank her orange juice. “Mom, no one wears a dress to school anymore, except for Christmas concerts. Come on!”
“But you look so nice in a dress! Oh, well, I guess times have changed.”
Times have changed! Elizabeth suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. Time had changed on her again yesterday, only this time it had been worse. She had met and spoken to someone from that other time. What was happening to her? Was she going crazy?
She looked at her hand. Yesterday she had removed the ring the moment she reached home and tucked it carefully away in her top drawer. Having convinced herself that it was the ring that was causing the time warp, or whatever it was, she was taking no chances on being suddenly transported one hundred years back in time while she slept. It was odd how bare her hand looked without it, though. Maybe she should put it back on . . ..
“Stop daydreaming, Elizabeth, and finish your breakfast. Get a move on! You have to do something with your hair before you go.” Joan Connell smoothed her own gently curling hair. “You’re so much like your father. Especially when you fall into one of your daydreams. Wake up and get moving.”
Elizabeth walked slowly. In spite of what she had told her mother, she was nervous about going to a new school. The Wells-Barkerville school, just a short walk from the Jack O’Clubs, served all the school-aged children in the Wells area, from kindergarden to Grade Ten. It was a small school, only six rooms, and she had heard that many of the classes were multiples — two or more in one room. Until now she had never been part of a split class, and she had certainly never expected to be in one in her Grade Ten year.
She hoped there would be someone in her class who she would like. Last year, in the big high school she had attended in Vancouver, most of the girls her age were interested in talking about boys and make-up and buying record albums — no one read science fiction. She felt different from the other girls and had become a bit of a loner over the last year, spending a great deal of time in the library and gradually withdrawing from the circle of friends she had known since elementary school.
Perhaps the kids here won’t be so hung up on boys and clothes, she thought. Styles in Wells seem to be about a year behind those in Vancouver, and nobody seems to care much about what they wear. Maybe I’ll fit in better. She arrived at the school and brushed past a cluster of small children who were giggling on the cement steps. Nervously, she pushed open the main doors and went in to find her classroom.
Grade Eight through Ten in the Wells-Barkerville school were in one room. There were only sixteen students in the three grades. Only six, including Elizabeth, were in the Grade Ten group — three girls and three boys. Elizabeth felt very much a stranger. Mrs. Carter, the teacher, made the introductions. Janice, a fat, pimply girl, hung her head and blushed. A tall blonde named Candy smiled and said that she was sure Elizabeth would find Wells terribly boring after living in the big city. The boys shuffled their feet awkwardly and muttered greetings before turning their backs to continue their own conversation.
Great, thought Elizabeth. They look like a fascinating bunch. It should be a good year for friends. She knew she shouldn’t be so sarcastic. She had only just met them, after all. Maybe they would turn out to be interesting people once she got to know them better. She was here in Wells for the year, so she’d just have to put up with the school, like it or not.
Mrs. Carter dismissed the class at ten, the usual procedure for the first day of school. Elizabeth watched other students leave the room. Little knots of friends formed and hurried off. Janice mumbled something that could have been “good-bye” before rushing out the door, but the others were too busy talking to each other to say a word to Elizabeth.
Mrs. Carter gathered up her papers. “I hope you enjoy our little school, Elizabeth,” she said. “It’s a good class. I’m sure that you’ll find some friends among the other students. Good-bye. See you tomorrow.” Then she left the room.
The classroom was empty, except for Elizabeth, still at her desk. The laughter in the hall make her feel even more lonely. She fought back tears. What’s the matter with you, Margaret Elizabeth! she thought. You’ve been in the school for only an hour. What do you expect! Instant friends! Most of the kids in her class had probably been together since kindergarten, and were in no hurry to introduce a newcomer to their little groups.
She picked up the school supply list, wondering if the Wells General Store with the sign that boasted that they sold Just Everything, would really have all the supplies she needed. Then she left the empty classroom.
After leaving the school, Elizabeth forgot all about making friends. All she could think about were her strange experiences in the graveyard. She had to find out if she could make the change in time happen again. The ring was the key. By turning it around on her finger she could travel to and from Steven Baker’s time. She had been turning the ring yesterday when Steven and the old graveyard disappeared.
Today was her last chance to visit the graveyard until the weekend. School would begin in earnest tomorrow. She didn’t think that she could go through three days of wondering about the ring, but not knowing for sure. She had to go back to the Barkerville cemetery and turn the ring around to see if the change would happen — and if Steven would be there. If I do see him, she thought, I’ll give him back the ring and then I’ll be finished with the whole business. No more time changes, no more bad dreams, no more wondering if I’m going crazy.
After lunch, when her mother had gone to work, Elizabeth took the ring from her drawer. She placed it carefully on her finger, making sure not to turn it, and set out on her bicycle for the Barkerville graveyard.
The heat wave that had made August so unbearable held through to the second day of September. It didn’t seem to bother the chickadees that hopped and fluttered noisily among the headstones at the Barkerville graveyard, but Elizabeth was grateful for the shade the big pine tree provided at her favourite spot.
She sat cross-legged with her backpack pillowing her spine against the trunk of the tree and stared into the ring’s jewel. “Okay,” she told herself. “Let’s do it. If I turn the ring and nothing happens, then I can write off the whole experience as a bad dream. If something does happen . . ..” Unable to finish that thought, she braced herself against the tree, took another deep breath and slowly turned the small gold ring on her finger.
Nausea gripped her. Her stomach again threatened to rise into her throat. She clenched her eyes shut and groaned. It is the ring, she said to herself as the sick feeling subsided and she could once more open her eyes.
The familiar mist swirled around her, and as it disappeared, revealed once again the treeless hillside and new graves of the Barkerville cemetery.
It’s not a dream! It does happen, and I can make it happen when I want to. I’m in a real-life science fiction story.
“Please don’t be frightened this time.”
Again the voice came from behind her, and again she jumped up and whirled around.
“Don’t do that! You scared me half to death!”
Steven stood before her, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m really sorry, Elizabeth, but you seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute I was sitting here reading, and the next minute I looked up and there you were. I don’t know how I missed seeing you come into the graveyard. I was watching for you, hoping I’d see you again today.” He smiled, and this time she was able to smile back at him.
“I wondered if I’d see you, too, Steven. You must have thought I was crazy yesterday.”
“Well,” Steven rubbed the right side of his nose. “I think you had too much sun. But when you ran off so suddenly, I was worried about you. I spent an hour looking for you and finally gave up. Where did you hide, anyway? And why did you hide?”
“I didn’t hide, Steven. I went . . . I went home.”
“But you don’t live in Barkerville,” said Steven. “I asked everyone yesterday and no family named Connell has come to town recently. Does your father have a claim up Richfield way? Or further down on Williams Creek?”
Elizabeth was a little hurt that he hadn’t believed she was from the future. But, of course he couldn’t have believed her. No one in his right mind would accept the fact that he had just spent half an hour talking to a visitor from the future. She could hardly believe it herself.
“I tried to explain yesterday, Steven, but I guess I wasn’t very clear. Sit down, and I’ll try again. I know it’s hard to believe, but I really am from 1980. That’s why you couldn’t find me yesterday. I just wasn’t here. I went back to my own time.”
Steven sat down beside her, a mixture of puzzlement and anger on his face. “I told you I don’t care for practical jokes, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “I don’t think it’s mannerly of you to tease me like this.”
“But Steven, I’m serious. Listen. It has something to do with the ring, with your ring. When I turn it around on my finger I go back to your time, and when I turn it around again I’m home in my time, 1980. It’s sort of — well, I guess you could call it magic.”
“I’m not a believer in magic, not that kind anyway. I think you’re having a joke at my expense, and I don’t care for it. If you’ll kindly return my ring, I’ll be leaving now. Your teasing seems to me to be uncalled for — and cruel.”
He stood up and held out his hand for the ring. Elizabeth found herself blushing, suddenly aware that she did not want this boy, no matter where he was from, to think of her as cruel.
“I’m not teasing. Please believe me, Steven.”
Then she had a frightening thought. If she gave the ring back to Steven, she might never be able to return to her own time. She’d be stuck in 1870!
“Please, please let me keep the ring,” she said. “I don’t think I can get home without it. Really I don’t.”
Steven looked down at her. “It was my sister’s ring. She’s buried here, in the other corner of the graveyard. She got mountain fever in the spring, the first year we were here, a year and a half ago. She gave me the ring when she was sick and I’ve carried it ever since. Amy was only ten, but she knew, when the fever got very bad, that she was going to die. Please, Miss Elizabeth, give me back my ring. It means a great deal to me.”
“But I can’t, Steven, I can’t give it to you or I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life. It’s my only way of getting back to my own time. Please let me keep it!”
“There you go again with your talk of other times. It isn’t proper for a young lady to have such wild notions. Miss Elizabeth, there’s a hospital at Marysville. Please come with me and see the doctor. I’ll get my father’s wagon and take you over, or we can walk. It’s just down the road.”
“No, Steven. I’m all right. I’m not sick.”
“Well, if you aren’t just trying to make a mockery of me with your talk of time, you must have some sort of brain fever. I don’t know what to think of you . . ..”
His voice trailed off and he looked very bewildered.
An idea flashed in Elizabeth’s mind. She stood up and said, “Listen, Steven. If I can prove to you that I’m from 1980, then will you let me keep the ring? If I can really prove it to you?”
Steven laughed, a husky laugh that echoed through the graveyard. “And how does one go about proving such an outlandish notion? What are you going to do? Take me to 1980 or wherever you say you’re from and show me miracles? Certainly! If you can prove to me that you are from some future time, then you can keep the ring with my blessing — and I’ll go to Marysville and have my brain fever treated.”
Elizabeth thought desperately. How could she make him believe her? There must be some way, something that she could use as proof. She looked around her. The headstones, she thought. If I can remember the name of someone who died in 1870 and I tell him that person is going to die, then when it happens, he’ll have to believe me.
She quickly tried to recall the epitaphs she had memorized on her first few trips to the graveyard: Peter Gibson, the first man to be buried here! No. Steven already knew about him. What about the baby, the seven month old son of John and Emily Bowron! No, he didn’t die until 1889.
She thought harder. Sacred to the memory of Donald Easter. 21 of September, 1864. Too long ago.
What about William Giles! She remembered his epitaph clearly: Native of Missouri, U.S. But he died in 1868, or was it 1869! Well, what about Marie Hageman! Native of Germany, Rest in Peace. What was that date! 1888! Too far ahead.
Think, Elizabeth, think! she told herself. You must have memorized fifty of those headstones. Surely there was someone who died in September of 1870. She sat down again and pulled a strand of hair across her face, nibbling on it as she thought. Steven remained standing and staring at her, amused. Think, Margaret Elizabeth, think! she told herself again.
Then she had it! Janet Allen! The Judge had told her about ’Scotch Jenny’ as she was known, and Elizabeth had searched out her grave and memorized the writing on the headstone. Native of Fifeshire, Scotland. Who departed this life September 4, 1870, aged 42. She could see the grave and the writing on the headstone clearly, even though in this graveyard it would not exist for a few days.
Excitedly, she turned towards Steven. “I think I can prove it to you, Steven. But it will be two days before you see the proof.”
“Go ahead then. I’m listening.” He settled himself down on the grass beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his green eyes serious. “I’m listening,” he repeated.
“Do you know a lady named Janet Allen who owns a saloon somewhere on Lightning Creek?”
“Of course,” Steven replied. “Everyone knows ’Scotch Jenny’. She’s a fine woman, always right there to help when a family is sick or in trouble.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth suddenly felt differently about telling Steven her proof. The name on the tombstone had become a real person, someone Steven knew and whose death would upset him. But she had to tell him. It was the only way to make him believe that she was from another time.
Taking a deep breath, she went on. “I’m sorry, Steven, but she’s going to die on September 4, 1870. That’s only two days from now, in your time. Her buggy is going to go over the bank into the creek and she’s going to fall out and break her neck.”
Steven’s eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. “That’s a horrible thing to say! It’s like wishing death on a person to speak of such things. How can you talk like that?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, “But it’s true. I’ve seen her grave. She’ll be buried right over there. I also know that she was so loved and respected that the flags in Barkerville were hung at half mast when she died.”
“I don’t believe you!” Steven looked angrily at her, one hand rubbing the side of his nose.
“I know it’s hard to believe. But look. Today is September 2. Sunday will be the seventh. I realize you don’t believe me now, but by then you will. Can you meet me here on Sunday, about the same time, about two? Let me keep the ring until then and if you don’t believe me by Sunday I’ll give it back to you. Please, Steve?”
“Steve? My family calls me Steven.”
“Well, Steven, if you prefer. I don’t know why I said Steve.”
“No. I like you calling me Steve.” He shook his head, as if to shake away an upsetting thought.
“Very well, then. I don’t believe you, and I pray to God that you aren’t correct about Mrs. Allen, but I will meet you here on Sunday and you may keep the ring until then. Maybe by then I’ll understand what’s wrong with you, or maybe you will have come to your senses and stopped believing in this ’different times’ nonsense.”
“Thanks, Steve, thanks. I’ll see you on Sunday, then. And don’t worry. I’ll take good care of the ring.”
Smiling at him, she stood and deliberately turned the tiny ring on her finger. “Goodbye, Steve.”
Then, after the nausea passed, she was home again. Back in her own time, back in the cemetery as it looked, or as it would look, in 1980.