The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 6 -- Into the Attic

In their apartment, Sam saw that the light was on in the laundry room.

"Mom? Are you home?"  Sam glanced in the bedrooms.  There were no signs of her.

Sam entered the laundry room and tried the knob on the door into Mrs. Steers part of the house, but it was locked.  After switching the light off in the laundry room, he bumped into the folded-up ironing board.  It fell into the attic door, causing it to pop open.  Sam stood surprised looking down at the ironing board now flat on the floor, trying to remember if his Mom had left it out.  She had finished ironing the day before.  Sam looked at the attic door.

"Why is the attic door unlocked? It's usually locked.”  Sam peeked into the crack of the slightly open door.  Since his mom wasn't home yet, he figured a quick check wouldn't hurt.

"Wait," whispered Sam, remembering that scary movie from the other night.   

"That woman heard a noise from the basement…  When she checked… without turning the lights on… a bunch of little monsters dragged her away."  Sam slowly pulled the attic door open further, just enough to see it was dark and dusty.

Taking the flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen, Sam opened the attic door the rest of the way.  Sam flashed the light up the dark stairs.  Cobwebs in the corners swayed.  From somewhere at the top of the stairwell, dim sunlight entered the attic.

 "Hello?  Anyone up there?" said Sam.  "Mrs. Steers, are you up there?"

Silence.  Nothing stirred.  Nothing moved.

"Anyone?" He said a little louder.  "Mrs. Steers?"

Sam crept up the stairs, stopped, and listened.  Still nothing.  Reaching the top of the step, he flashed the light around the dimly lit attic.   His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark.  Cobwebs stretched from the high-pitched ceiling to the exposed rafters.  He could see the joists and the dormers.  Curtained windows allowed some sunlight in.

Sam found a light switch at the top of the stairwell.  Click.  A few light bulbs began to glow, lighting up a main aisle.

"Look at this!  It looks like a museum!"   The attic was a packed treasure trove of stuff, waiting for exploration.  His curiosity skyrocketed as he tiptoed down the center path.

Sam brushed past stacks of cardboard boxes, trying to avoid getting dusty.  Old worn-out sheets covered what looked like chairs and tables. An old rocking horse waited for a young rider to straddle its red leather saddle. Antique trunks stacked three high at most. A gramophone with a large brass horn. Large paintings covered with sheets stood against a bookcase packed with well-loved books.  Sam pulled back a sheet to reveal a portrait of an elderly yet stately gentleman in a suit.

He knew little about the Steers, but apparently, they didn't throw anything away.

Sam brushed up against a dress-makers dummy causing it to sway back and forth.  He shone his flashlight between two towering stacks of cardboard boxes.  Two glowing eyes peered from the shadows.  Sam jumped back, falling against a stack of trunks. Dust flew from all directions.  Coughing, Sam fanned the fog of dust away from his face. Timidly, he shone the light between them again.  This time, a mounted head of an open-mouth tiger greeted him, staring right at him.  Sam stopped wide-eyed.  Its eyes sparkled from the light.  It didn't move.  It wasn't alive.

"Whoa!  Nice kitty," said Sam, sighing with relief, with his heart still racing.

He stooped down to look in a partially opened cardboard box.  He could see wrapped bundles of brittle yellowed newspapers.  It was March 4, 1968.  He reached in and felt one of the wrapped bundles.

"Is that a cup?  Hmmm… this one feels like a vase."  As he reached for another wrapped bundle, a grey mouse ran from between a couple of wrapped items and looked up at him.  Sam quickly pulled his hand out of the box.

"Hey, Mr. Mouse. Better watch it.  There's a large cat hanging out back there." More scared of Sam, the mouse scurried its way back into the depths of the crumpled newspaper.

Flashing his light around, Sam noticed a square table, not covered with a sheet.  On top of it, placed dead center, sat a long, rectangular red box, the kind that clothes were often wrapped in at Christmas.  Sam focused the flashlight on it and walked over to the table.  Sam saw the box had a decorated Christmas tree in the center under which was printed in green letters "L.S. Ayres Department Store, Indianapolis."

Sam was puzzled and looked around at the other sheet-covered furniture.   Sam ran his hand across the table, then the lid of the box.  "Why is there no dust on the table or the box? Everything else is covered in dust."

His streak of curiosity got the best of him and his imagination raced.

"What could be inside?  A treasure map?  Gold coins?  Jewels?"  Sam muttered.  

Laying the flashlight down, he removed the lid.  Inside was a folded newspaper.  Across the top, it read "The London Times" and dated August 23, 1888.  After staring for a moment, Sam picked up the newspaper and unfolded it.  Unlike the newspaper in the boxes, this one was like new.

"This has to be a fake. It unfolded too easy."  Sam read a couple of headlines and then saw something strange on the upper left edge.  He picked up the flashlight and focused on a weird smudge.  Glancing inside the box, he saw a hand-written note on a index card.

This newspaper may have the only clue to the identity of London's most notorious serial killer.  A bloody fingerprint of Jack the Ripper.  It was found at the murder scene of Catherine Eddowes on September 30, 1888. #39

The past few weeks of Sam’s history class had focused on Victorian England.  He remembered reading something about Jack the Ripper murdering several women in an area of London know as Whitechapel.

Sam scoffed at the idea. "Pffft... Someone's playing a stupid joke.  This can't be for real."  Leaning over the newspaper, he began to read more of the headlines, but he was interrupted.

"Sam, I'm home.” It was his mom. He heard the front door close.

Startled, Sam quickly refolded the newspaper, put it back in the box, and put on the lid.  He started to walk away, but then he picked up the box.

"No.  What are you doing?" whispered Sam.  "You can't take this. It's not yours."  Sam really wanted to ask Mrs. Steers about it, but he put it back on the table and tiptoed back to the stairs. If his mom found out he had been where he wasn’t supposed to be, he would be in big trouble.  When he reached the bottom step, his mom came into the laundry room.

"Why is this door open?  Have you been up there?" she said in her "you're-in-deep-trouble-mister" tone.

Sam explained about the ironing board, the unlocked door, and possibly a burglar.  Being honest with his mom, he explained no one was up there, but his curiosity had taken over.

"You should have gone downstairs for help. You know we are not to go up there." Emily shut the attic door.  Sam nodded in agreement staring down at his feet.

"I saw Mrs. Steers on the front porch," said Emily.  "Go downstairs, apologize for being somewhere you were not supposed to be, and ask her politely to come up and lock it. When you come back up, you are to finish your homework, if it isn't done already.  That is a direct order."  A direct order from his mom meant do it or else.  This was not the time to argue.

"I have groceries to put away."  His mom went to her bedroom to change clothes.

"Now I'm in for it.  What will Mrs. Steers think?" said Sam under his breath.  “I hope she doesn’t kick us out.”

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 5 -- An Idle Conversation

The school day passed quickly. The sun shone bright and short gusts of wind swirled the fallen leaves on the ground.  Sam felt confident about his spelling test but had new homework due the next day.   Fractions!

Reaching the front of the house, he could hear a squeaking noise.  On the porch, Mrs. Steers rocked back and forth in her favorite rocking chair. Her metal knitting needles click-clacked as she worked blue and green yarns into what appeared to be a scarf.

"Good afternoon, Sam.  How was school today?"

"Okay, thank you," said Sam, arriving at the top step. 

"I had a great talk with your Mom the other day about her books.   She's a very good writer who needs the right publisher.  Do you like the apartment?"

"It's nice. I like the view of the park across the street.  I can see it from my bedroom window.  I'm also glad you're willing to help my Mom.  She writes and writes but never has any luck with the publishers.” 

Sam, trying to be polite, said goodbye. and headed towards the screen door to their apartment.  He wanted his favorite after school snack -- a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich.

"That's nice to hear, Sam," said Mrs. Steers.  "Would you like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Sam?  It's your favorite -- strawberry."  Sam spun around and looked at her.  "I prepared it for you."

On a plate on the side table next to her laid a perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  He couldn't believe it.

"What?  How did you know strawberry was my favorite?  Did my Mom tell you?"

"A lucky guess. I know it's strange for me to offer, but I thought it might give us a chance to visit."

Sam pondered for a moment before taking her up on her offer and sat in the chair next to her.  After a conversation about school, Mrs. Steers asked him what he liked to read.  They enjoyed many of the same favorite authors and books.

"I love to read some of the latest novels," said Mrs. Steers.  "There are many good books being published these days, but I'm partial to mysteries, tales of suspense, and anything that has wizardry.  I have stacks of books all over the place."

"My books used to be stacked," said Sam.  "They're organized now. Alphabetical by author then title.  Just like a real library."

"Good for you.  I've always enjoyed reading.  Albert was a voracious reader.  History, biographies, travel guides...  you name it."

"Albert and I have one thing in common," said Sam.

"Really.  What's that?"

"I like travel guides, too." Sam finished the last bites of the sandwich and talked with his mouth full.  "My dad moved us a lot.  I got to see a lot of places.  One day in math class, some of the other boys were talking about their trips to summer camp.  I tried to talk about my trip to Mount Rushmore with my parents."  Sam stopped and looked disheartened.

"They didn't care about Mount Rushmore?" said Mrs. Steers.  Sam shrugged and shook his head.

"They called me a B.F.L.”  Sam stared at his shoes, scuffing them on the porch floor.

"B.F.L?  What's that?"

"Big fat loser."  Sam sighed, believing it sometimes to be true.

"That's rude!" Mrs. Steers shook her head.  "Don't even think about that.  Why don't you tell me about other places you've been? We'll see if you've been to any place I've been."

"Other than Mount Rushmore, I've been to San Francisco."

"Loved it.  Both before and after the earthquake."  Mrs. Steers returned to her knitting.

"What earthquake?" said Sam.

Mrs. Steers knocked her ball of yarn off her lap.  It rolled to the edge of the porch.  Sam ran after it and caught it before it dropped over the edge.

"Thank you, Sam.  That was a close call."  She took the ball and rerolled the yarn.  "Have you ever been to Baltimore?  Edgar Allen Poe is buried there."

"Nope.  We did go to a cemetery in Boston and I saw where Mother Goose is buried."

"That's right, she is buried there.  I wonder what she really looked like."   Mrs. Steers paused.  "Note to self. Look for sketch of the real Mother Goose."

"Well, I have homework to do. My mom will be home soon.  Thank you for the sandwich, Mrs. Steers."

Mrs. Steers smiled. "You're welcome. Maybe we can talk again soon. I'd like to hear more about your travels.   And never mind those other boys.  They're just jealous.  They probably have no idea what Mount Rushmore is."

"Really?  You think so."

"I know so," said Mrs. Steers. "Sometime you will have to show me your photo albums.  I bet you have lots of great photos of places you've been."

"Sure."  Sam walked to the screen door then ran up the stairs.  Excited, Sam had found someone to talk about traveling.  Nobody else cared about his adventures.  Sam had tried talking to his mom a couple of times, but she passed saying "Maybe later."  Sam knew it was hard for her.   His dad's death had changed their world.   Now, Sam only had the photo albums and travel books to remind him of what life was like.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 4 -- An Ordinary Day

Sam rose early, showered and combed his hair, only one more day until the weekend.  After a quick glance out the bedroom window, he knew from the swaying bare trees outside it would be a perfect day for a warm sweater.

Digging through the closet, Sam found his favorite blue bulky sweater, the one that made him feel thinner.   Each time they shopped for school clothes, his mom would reassure him with "You're not overweight.  You're husky." or "You're big boned like your father."   Other boys at school teased Sam about his weight, making him self-conscious and feeling bullied.

After getting dressed, Sam ate breakfast of cold cereal and crunchy wheat toast. His mom came into the kitchen.

"Are you ready for your spelling test?" asked his mom cutting a bagel in half. 

Sam looked up from his cheap mystery novel he'd checked out from the library.

"Yes, I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

Emily poured herself a cup of coffee adding, "Don't forget to brush your teeth.  The last time, the dentist said you need to brush more."   She disappeared back into her bedroom.

Finishing breakfast, Sam put his dirty dishes in the sink and went to brush his teeth.   During the whole ritual of 'up-down-front-to-back,' he practiced spelling in his mind.  Apothecary... A-p-o-t-h-e-c-a-r-y... Apothecary...Brushing... B-r-u-s-h-i-n-g... Brushing...

Cuckoo!  The cuckoo clock in the living room sang out, signally 7:30.   Sam spit out and rinsed into the bathroom sink.  After washing his hands, he grabbed his jacket and book bag from his bedroom.  Emily put on her coat.  They hustled down the stairs.

Sam enjoyed their morning ritual of walking with his mom.  Somewhere deep inside, Sam feared his mom might leave him as well, like his dad.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” said Sam.

Emily was surprised by his comment.  “Why would I do that?”

Sam dropped the conversation and shrugged his shoulders.

Throughout their neighborhood, Sam noticed the several houses had been decorated for Halloween.

"Mom, can we get a pumpkin?"  Emily nodded, adding that the grocery around the corner had some.  "Or... I could call Grandma and Grandpa and see if they would be willing to take us to that enormous pumpkin farm up north."

Every October, people could choose their own pumpkin directly out of the pumpkin patch. Sometimes the farmer and his wife had other activities to do such as candle-making, old-time games, carving lessons, hay rides, or Sam's favorite, sampling pumpkin pie.

"That would be awesome!" said Sam.  "We haven't seen them for a few weeks."  Sam was building a better relationship with his grandparents.   His Grandpa Henry looked like an older version of his dad.

"Want me to get some movies for the weekend?" asked his Mom.

"Sure.  See if you can get something scary."

"Okay.  I'll see if we have any with Vincent Price."

"Who?"

"You know.  Remember the ones loosely based on Edgar Allen Poe stories."

"Oh, yeah.  Those were strange. They didn't follow the stories that well, but I still liked them." Sam was an avid Poe and movie fan.

Now he had even more to anticipate -- scary movies, a trip out of town with his Grandpa and Grandma Henry, and pumpkin pie tasting.  Sam wished they owned a car, but the costs were too much.  Beside his school, the library and the grocery were both nearby.

Sam's mind wandered to a conversation he had with his dad a few weeks before the final trip to the hospital.

"Sam, you would make a great travel agent," murmured George, his throat bright red and blistered from the radiation treatment.   Sam showed his dad the Midwestern travel guide from which he planned a long weekend trip to Indianapolis then up to Detroit.  Sam remembered his dad's bald head, the smell of sickness, and the medicine bottles lined in a row on the table next to his bed.

Sam slightly shook his head, chasing away the memory. Stopping at their usual corner where they parted company, Emily reminded him to be safe and go straight home from school.  Sam said the same to her.  She went one direction to the library.  He went another to school, making a stop near the school to wipe his tear-filled eyes on his jacket sleeve.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 3 -- Organizing

A couple of weeks later on a sunny Saturday morning, the Henrys watched the movers carry their belongings into their new home.

"Where do you want these boxes marked Sam's books," asked a burly man wearing a gray jacket with "Mark's Moving" in red-embroidered letters across the back.

"Those go in my room over there," pointed Sam to his bedroom.  "Put them anywhere in there."  The mover lumbered across the living room to the front bedroom.

Two other movers followed behind him carrying Sam's old blue-painted desk.  Since his bedroom faced the park across the street, he asked them to put it in front of the window.  A perfect place with plenty of light for doing homework and watching squirrels race around the park.

Heading to the kitchen, Sam ran into Mrs. Steers who had magically appeared from nowhere.

"Oh, excuse me," said Sam startled by her.  "I didn't see you come in."

"Sorry, Sam," she said.  "I shouldn't have come in unannounced.  I came through the front door instead of the laundry room."

Sweaty and flushed from moving boxes, Emily came into the kitchen.  "Oh hello, Mrs. Steers.  I didn't hear you come in. I would offer you something to drink, but who knows where the glasses are."

"Oh, don't worry," said Mrs. Steers.  "I wanted to make sure all was well.  I could hardly wait for your arrival.  It's nice to have good tenants again." 

One of the burly movers pushed past them, plopped a box “marked kitchen” onto the floor, and pushed past again.

"What do you think of the furniture?" said Mrs. Steers.  "I hope the dining table and chairs will be adequate. Hmmm…  I don't see the bookcases."

"Sam claimed those.  He drug those off into his bedroom," winked Emily.   "He couldn't resist the idea of creating his own library and finally being able to organize his books."

 "Good to hear.  Well, I'll leave you to your unpacking," said Mrs. Steers.  "Oh, I almost forgot the real reason I came up.   I brought you some food and snacks."  This time, she left through the laundry room.  Sam caught a glimpse of a dark hallway where piles of books lined the walls.  He heard the door’s lock click.

Sam liked Mrs. Steers. Even more, she had lots of books.  She had told them little about herself, remaining reserved, slightly tight-lipped, and somewhat introverted.  Mrs. Steers was proving to be a mystery.

All they really knew about her was she wrote detailed historical fiction and retired as the curator at the local historical society.  Emily had talked with Mrs. Steers about her books. Sam had seen them because his mom had checked one out about the early years of the reign of Czar Nicholas the Second and his family.    Mrs. Steers' husband, Albert, had left her financially comfortable, which maybe explained the cheap rent.   Sam figured she wanted the company more than the money.  Whatever the reason, the apartment was perfect.

The next day, Sam stood in the doorway to his new bedroom, looked at all the boxes, and began to think. To his right was the wall where on the other side was the laundry room. Straight forward was a shallow built-in closet. To the left were the two large windows that overlooked the street and the park. The windows were clean. The plain heavy curtains hung neatly.  Sunbeams hit the polished floor between the cardboard boxes.

Between the wall and his bed, Sam placed a light-weight narrow green-painted set of shelves. The paint was worn in places and peeled revealing darkened wood underneath, but Sam didn't care.

Sam dragged two boxes marked "Sam's books" next to the bed and opened them.  He was greeted by Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and a graphic novel version of Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Next came different illustrated versions of A Christmas Carol, then The House with the Clock in Its Walls by John Bellairs. Sam laid them on his bed so he could see the spines on the bed and put them in alphabetical order.

Sam stopped and had to organize the six titles for Bellairs. "Carroll. Dickens. Jackson." Sam looked at the cover of The Haunting of Hill House, a gift from his Grandpa Henry. A house standing alone among some trees. This book had kept him up a couple of nights after he first read it.

"Lewis. Milne. Poe. Rowling." Another stopping point to make sure the Potter series was in proper order. "Tolkien. Verne. And last Mr. Wells." The cover of The Time Machine was embossed in gold letters, a nice new edition hardback of one of his favorite. Classics mixed with the new. All of Sam's favorites.

With his books in order, one by one, Sam put them on the shelves. He stood back and admired his work. Sam turned and glanced out the window to see Mrs. Steers coming up the sidewalk. A dark- complected guy, at least six feet tall, walked beside her carrying two paper grocery bags. Sam had never seen such a towering man. He was dressed in an grey heavy coat that hung to his knees and wore a Greek fisherman's hat. They made their way up the walk to the house and disappeared under the porch roof.

Sam turned his attention to the desk and the last box to unpack. He opened the box and looked at the hodge-podge of stuff.

"This is going to take a while," said Sam. An hour later, books, desk, and clothes all neatly in their new places, Sam sat down on his bed, ready for a nap in his new bedroom.

Two hours later, Emily woke him for dinner.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 2 -- For Rent

One late September afternoon, Sam perused a well-read book about World War One, waiting for five o'clock to arrive when he and his mom would walk home.  He quietly read about the infamous Tower of London and its villainous prisoners.   Not that interesting until he started reading about severed heads on pikes, hangings, and bloody beheadings.   Sam's imagination was flooded with gruesome images.

Nearby at the reference desk, Emily finished a reference question for a young man when a slender elderly woman with silvery hair pulled back up into a bun approached her.

"May I help you?" asked Emily looking up and smiling.

"Yes, my name is Mrs. Charlotte Steers, but most people call me Lottie," she replied in a prim yet warm voice.

Emily immediately recognized the name.  Mrs. Charlotte Steers, the locally-known author of historical fiction, stood before her, reminding Emily of Miss Marple, the fictional English detective.   Last May, Mrs. Steers turned seventy-six and remained active, spry, and quick-witted.  Emily remembered Ms. Judy Depp, the head librarian, mentioning she found it odd Mrs. Steers only checked out paperback mysteries and never researched at the library, yet wrote in-depth historical novels.

"You must be new," said Mrs. Steers.  "I've not seen you here before."

"I recently moved here with my son. I started a few months ago," said Emily. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I have a notice for the community bulletin board."  Reaching into her brown leather handbag, Mrs. Steers pulled out a blue note card.  Emily read the stylish-written note:

For rent – a spacious two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a private home.  Separate entrance.  Overlooks a park, close to the elementary school, public library, restaurants, and local shops.  Reasonable rent to the right person or persons.  Very quiet home and area.  Utilities and some furniture included.  Call Mrs. Lottie Steers at 555-4567 for further details.

"May I wait to post this?" said Emily, thinking What luck.  "I’m looking for a new apartment.   Something close to here and the school.  Perhaps we can be the first to see it?"

"I think that would be excellent," said Mrs. Steers.  "How about tomorrow after work?  Sam will also be out of school then I could meet him.  It’s just a few streets over.  Close to the school and here."

"Yes, that would be perfect," said Emily.  Mrs. Steers wrote her address on the back of the note card and said goodbye.  A few moments later, Emily had a thought.   How did she know Sam's name? I don't remember mentioning it.   Emily shrugged her shoulders and returned to work.

The next day, Emily and Sam hiked to an area with old homes from bygone eras.  Many of them still belonged to the original families who had built them.  Their groomed yards were green and occasionally bushes or flower beds lined the walks to the porches.  Shading the cracked sidewalks, the roots of old oaks and elms trees pushed up from under concrete.   Sam remembered the old wives tale about cracks, mothers, and their backs, and made a game of not stepping on them.

"This one's number 454," said Emily looking at a stately Victorian home, but Sam paid no attention instead he daydreamed about what might be hidden in the attics and basements of them.   Cool old treasures.  Old books.  Trunks filled with forgotten toys.

"Oh my goodness!"  Emily stopped to stare.  "Here's 457 Woodruff Street."  Sam marveled at the largest house on the block.  "Well, judging by the looks of this place, we may not be able to afford it."

The Steers' three-story Victorian home, was painted off-white with green-trimmed window frames.   Green and yellow-striped awnings hung over the second-story curtained windows.  The weathered porch, with turned columns, stretched half the house's length.   Two wooden doors with arched curtained windows and exterior wooden-framed screen doors served as the home's main entrance.   Floor to ceiling stained glass windows stood on each side of the doors.  Several red brick chimneys towered up above the slated and steep gabled roofs.

"That's the largest house I have ever seen," said Sam awed by its size.  He loved it, already feeling at home.  His love of history and nostalgia drew him to such places.  His parents, and more recently his grandparents, took him to museums, historic houses, and libraries.

"There are eleven windows just across the front of the house," said Emily.  Through the wrought iron gate, they strolled up the cement walk and climbed the worn steps.  "I hope it's not in the lease that we have to clean all those windows."

As they reached the top step, Mrs. Steers swung open a screen door at the right far end of the porch.  Coming towards them, her shoes clacked across the boards.  Her dress brushed against some of the potted plants lining the porch rail.

"Hello.  Welcome to my home."

"Hi," said Emily. "Thank you so much for letting us look at the apartment.  Sam, this is Mrs. Steers."  Still ogling the house, Sam glanced at her and smiled.

"Sam, it's good to meet you. Have you ever seen such a house?" asked Mrs. Steers. Sam shook his head.

"My husband's great-great grandfather built this house in 1897.  He was in the lumber business and imported goods from around the world.  The family continued to add to it and now it's...  well... big."  Mrs. Steers motioned for them to follow to the screen door at the end of the porch.

"There are a total of 14 bedrooms.  The family used it as a brief time as a hotel at the turn of the century.  Then my husband inherited it.  For a while, we lodged college students just to give the house a lived-in feel. Now, I live here by myself."  Opening the screen door, Mrs. Steers led the way up the stairs.  Sam gently closed the door behind him.

At the top, she opened a yellow-painted door.  Lace curtains in the door’s window provided some privacy.  Entering the apartment, the smell of fresh paint mixed with what smelled like floor cleaner hung in the air.  Mrs. Steers opened a nearby window.

"The painters finished last week and I had professional cleaners scrub the whole apartment," said Mrs. Steers.  "I hope you like light blue."

Peaking between his mom and Mrs. Steers, Sam could see the shiny floors which creaked when they stepped on them.  Mrs. Steers walked to the middle of the spacious room and conducted the tour from there.

"This is a combination kitchen, dining, and living room," said Mrs. Steers.  Emily and Sam walked into the large open space.  "The stove and refrigerator are new and there's plenty of cabinet space."

"Over there to the right is the bathroom.  The room next to the bathroom is the larger bedroom.  Then the laundry room.  And that's a smaller bedroom that faces the park.  The fireplace is gas and it works.  Good place to roast marshmallows in the winter, eh Sam?"   Sam loved that idea.  The marble around the fireplace reminded him of fudge swirl ice cream.

Sam glanced out one window and saw trees and the house next door.  He then looked out the front windows to the street and the park.   Mrs. Steers and Emily chatted, while Sam explored.  He wanted to be sure this was the perfect place for him and his mom.

Creeeeeak... Sam pushed open the white door to the bathroom with its white and black tiled floor.   The porcelain pedestal sink and toilet stood on one side and a large claw and ball footed bathtub on the other.

"Hey, Mom, come check out this cool bathtub. It has claws and glass balls for feet."  Sam realized he had interrupted their conversation, immediately apologizing.  Emily and Mrs. Steers returned to talking and Sam checked out the bedrooms.  First the larger of the two, then he went to the front bedroom.

"Perfect," he said to himself.   "Lots of room for my books! Now I can organize my library."

Leaving his newly chosen bedroom, Sam heard his mom and Mrs. Steers talking in the laundry room.  Emily asked why the rent was so low, but he couldn't hear the answer. Then Mrs. Steers showed Emily the washer, dryer and two doors – one on the back wall and one directly across from the dryer.  She pointed over her right shoulder at the one on the back wall.

"That door enters into my part of the house." She then pointed directly to her right.  "This one goes up to the attic.   I sometimes come through here to go up there, but I will call first.  I always keep them both locked."  Mrs. Steers turned to Sam.

"So what do you think, Sam?" said Mrs. Steers.   "Is there enough room to organize your books?   Perhaps, there are lots of adventures to be had here."

"It's perfect," said Sam, then turning to his mom.  "Can we live here?  It's closer to school and the library and it doesn’t smell."

"Who can pass it up." said Emily.  Mrs. Steers gave Emily the lease to fill out.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 1 -- Changes

While getting ready for bed, Sam Henry overheard his mom talking on the phone with his Grandma Henry.

"This would give him the perfect chance to build friendships, get a better education, and be closer to you two," said his mom.   "I really want to leave the Chicago area.   We need to start a new life.  And George's buried there."

Emily, his mom, paused from her cleaning the living room.  "No. Money isn't a problem.  We've got George's pension and his insurance, but we don't have any real friends here. And I’m worried about Sam.  His nightmares are getting worse."

It was true his nightmares were getting worse.

After further debate, Emily made a major decision.  They would move to Indianapolis, bringing an end to the traveling life for Sam.  Both his dad and mom's families lived there making it the perfect place for them to settle and start anew.

George and Emily Henry married while in college.  After graduation, George worked as an engineer with the military.  His job took him across the country to New York, Minneapolis, Seattle, and finally outside of Chicago.  Emily loved the traveling life, but Sam was more important right now.  With her library experience, she found part-time work at the local libraries as well as time to write her novels.

With his parents living like vagabonds, Sam saw many parts of the country.  However, this continuous travel made him somewhat of a loner, continually changing schools, unable to make close friendships, or even get to know his grandparents or other family.

Last April, Sam stood by a hospital bed watching his Dad struggle to breathe.  Reaching over the cold metal rail, Sam took his dad's hand. George opened his eyes and smiled at him.

"Hey Sam, how's my guy?"  Sam didn't reply, tears welling.    When Sam was a baby, he always giggled when George sang the song "My Guy." From then on, George always referred to Sam as "my guy."

"Don't worry," said his Dad gasping for breath.  "It'll be alright.  I need you to take care of your mom."

"Dad, you said you'd get better," said Sam.  "But you aren't.  You said the doctor would perform special magic on you and make you well."  Sam tried hard to hold back his tears and anger.  "It's not true, is it?  There is no such thing as magic or any special cure."

"Sam, sometimes the magic doesn't work, but you can't give up believing.  Sometimes it does work.  Miracles do happen, just not this time."  In those few moments, he began to grow up, losing his childhood fantasy that the world was a good place where miracles and magic could happen.

"Remember Sam," said his dad. "I don't want... you spending your time... sitting at the computer... playing games… Mom and I… have agreed to this.  Okay?"   Sam nodded, shaking his dad's hand. "We want you... to read books... be creative... and use your imagination.... I know that's not a problem… for you."

Nevertheless, Sam stopped believing.  Emily and Sam stayed at the hospital that night.  Something woke Sam and he got up to check on his dad. Arriving at his bedside, Sam's dad took one last gasp for air.   The beeps from the heart monitor slowed its pace down to a horizontal line.

"Dad..."  Sam squeezed his dad's hand, held it to his check, and cried.  A chapter in Sam's life ended.

After his dad's death, Sam grieved and fought depression, trying to find good in life.  Emily spent as much time as she could with him and even hired a grief counselor.   Experiencing the loss of a parent at a young age caused him to be more introverted.

Sam wasn’t like other kids his age. He grappled between being a kid of eleven and taking on adult responsibility.  In Sam's mind, he had to grow up, become the man of the house, and needed to be there for his mother.  While kids on the latest social craze or the newest gadgets, Sam got lost in his books, not really caring about the rest of the world. In school, he managed to pass with average grades. All of this played into Emily's decision -- give Sam the chance to heal, find peace with his dad's passing, and become closer to his family.

Several weeks later, their belongings were packed and loaded on a moving van.  Sam and his mom headed to Indianapolis to stay with his Grandparents until Emily found a job.

After a couple of months of job searching, Emily became a librarian.  They moved into an apartment building, waiting for something better to become available.

"This apartment building is so crowded," said Emily to Grandma Henry over the phone.  Sam sat at the kitchen table working on his math homework, his least favorite subject.  He tuned in and out of his mom's conversation.

 "I really want to move Sam somewhere else. Someplace more secure and closer to school."  His mom's favorite description about their apartment included "It's like sardines in a tin can" and always added "It smells like it, too."

 "...I know, but you guys are over an hour away... Here, it's so convenient for me to get to work... And Sam's settling in well at his new school..." Emily paused to listen. "Yeah... Mr. and Mrs. Sanders fight all the time.  I have no idea how he puts up with her.  And Mrs. Thompson across the hall smokes.  Sometimes she turns the television up too loud…" 

Emily wrapped up the conversation with "See you Saturday” and "Guess what!   Grandma and Grandpa are coming to get us for the weekend."  This meant time away from the annoying neighbors and the cramped apartment.

Without a car, Sam and Emily took the bus everywhere. Waiting at the bus stops, walking home in all kinds of weather, sometimes toting groceries, wore on their nerves as much as the smelly building and their apartment.  Sam's bedroom was no bigger than a walk-in closet.  He was tired of using his books for tables.  The one he always wanted was on the bottom of the stack.  This meant moving his books and then re-stacking.  Sam was annoyed with the disorganization of his library.  They needed a larger and nicer apartment.