The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 15 -- Group Discussion

Chapter 15 -- Group Discussion

In the back parlor, Mrs. Steers and her guests came back to life.  Stretching, yawning, and rubbing their eyes, the group glanced at each other.

"That was interesting," said Xavier Graff.  "I'm not sure what to think."

"Did we miss something? I'm thinking those scalawags were onto us before we even got there.” Ari, short for Aristotle, stood up from his chair, towering at six feet.  He had been born in Greece, but lived much of his life in a sponge diving community on the Gulf of Mexico in Florida. He arched his back, stretched, and scratched his stomach.

"Xavier, you seem to have led us on a wild chase for the goose.  You had better recheck your notes," said Rose, cocking her eyebrow.  "Maybe the facts were mixed.  Are you sure we had the right place and time?" 

Rose Menowin was youngest, at the age of twenty-two.  Her brunette hair was pulled back so her bright green eyes wouldn't be blocked by it.   She wore traditional clothing of her homeland, Romania, bright and colorful like a gypsy fortune-teller.

"That's ‘wild goose chase’," retorted Xavier. "And the place and time were exactly as I was told."

Rose smirked.  “I know I said that just to annoy you.”

Mrs. Steers rubbed her eyes then glanced over at the crack in the purple velvet curtains.  "I think while we were gone, we had some visitors outside the window.” She winked.

"Really?" said Rose.  "Xavier, what do you think? Peeping-toms, perhaps?"  She got up and poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table.

"I hope so, Rose dear," said Xavier, sticking his head around the side of the chair.  "Would you be a love and pour me some?"

"Does he know anything?" said Rose.  “Why else perform this charade?”

Mrs. Steers looked up at him.  "Not yet. I've been trying to gain his trust… and even more his interest.  I didn't think an eleven year old would be so hard to convince."   She rubbed the back of her neck with both hands. "First, I've got to get him to believe in time travel before even telling him about us and the boneheaded Doctor."

"We need his help," said Xavier.  "He is our link.   I know you spent a lot of time watching him grow up.   You are sure it's him."

"Yes, I'm positive," said Mrs. Steers.  "It took a long time for me to track him down.  He is the youngest descendant.   There are other family members, but Sam will have to do it.  If I could just get him to believe.  I'm going to try desperate measures next time."

Xavier sipped his water.  "Right now, I am more concerned about this last trip. I will recheck my facts."

"We must have been given bad information," said Mrs. Steers.  "The Doctor and his gang aren't as dumb as we originally thought."

"Given wrong information on purpose," said Rose.   "They know we are getting closer.  Which one do you think it is?   Number one?"

"We've already retrieved three of them," said Mrs. Steers.  "Only four more to go, after I get this one from Rupert.  Let's hope the records in the archives are correct."

Ari opened the pocket doors separating the back parlor from the front library.  They all strolled into the front parlor, all in deep thought.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 14 -- A Quick Peek

Halloween arrived.  Despite his lack of enthusiasm, Sam agreed to go out with his Grandpa Henry, a job once filled by his dad.  This would be the first year with a new chaperone.  For his costume, Sam dressed up like Sherlock Holmes using an old tweed overcoat his Grandpa Henry had given him.  From his center desk drawer, he retrieved his magnifying glass with the fake bone handle, a gift from his mom for his last birthday.  Sam needed one more item to complete the outfit.

"Where is it?" Sam rummaged through the bottom dresser drawer until he felt what he was looking for.  His dad's old deer-stalker cap.  Standing in front of the mirror, he put it on.   Sam stared, allowing his mind to stray for a moment, to the last time he saw his dad wear it.  His eyes teared up and he had to refocus.

"Sam... or should I say Mr. Holmes, are you ready for some trick or treating or maybe some sleuthing?" asked Grandpa Henry coming to his bedroom door.  His Grandma and Grandpa Henry had arrived earlier with a bag of goodies for Sam.  They had brought Sam his favorite Halloween candy -- peanut butter cups and milk chocolate bars.

"Yes, Dr. Watson," said Sam.  "I'm ready."

"Alright, you two be careful," said Grandma Henry, pouring herself a glass of red wine.  "Don't let the goblins get you..."

"Okay, Grandma," said Grandpa Henry.

"Right-on, Grandaddeo..."  Grandma Henry raised her glass in toast.

Trick-or-treaters and their parents paraded up and down the steps to the houses and the sidewalk.  Mrs. Steers was ready for them.  Not only did she have the largest house, but she also had the most decorated for Halloween.  Two large carved pumpkins with glowing grins greeted guests.  Bed-sheet ghosts with dark eyes hung from the rafters and swayed in the breeze.  Bundles of corn stalks were wrapped and tied around the porch columns.

After about an hour, Sam and Grandpa Henry returned home.  Mrs. Steers was dressed in black and was talking to a middle-aged woman Sam didn't recognize.  As they reached the top step, a pointy-nosed witch leaped out from behind a porch column.  Her frizzy green hair stuck out from underneath a black pointed hat.

"Stop, I say," she said in squeaky voice.  "Or I'll turn you into a frog!"

Sam rolled his eyes.  "Excuse me?"

"It's just me. Bon."  She pushed back her fake pointy nose.

"Oh. Hey, Bon.  Great costume.  I didn't recognize you."

"Thanks," said Bon.  "I didn't realize you lived around here."

"Yeah, my mom and I rent the apartment upstairs."

"Cool," said Bon. "You get to live in this great place!  It always reminded me of a haunted house.   Have you seen any ghosts?"

Before Sam could answer, Mrs. Steers butted in.

"Hi, Sam," said Mrs. Steers.  "And you must be Grandpa Henry?"   They shook hands.  Mrs. Steers introduced Bon's mom, Veronica.

"Sam, I know your mom from the library," said Veronica.   "I appreciate all her help with my research. She’s found me lots of great recipes."

Sam acknowledged her compliment with a smile.  "She's upstairs.  Would you like to come up?"  They accepted with "for just a moment" and headed up.  Mrs. Steers said goodnight and stepped back inside.

"Hey." Emily was surprised to see Veronica and Bon.  While they visited, Sam asked Bon if she would like to see his latest attempt at a building block creation.

"Sure."  Bon took off her fake nose and put it into her bag with her loot.  I like being a witch but I wish this nose was more comfortable."  Sam led the way into his bedroom to show her the three building street scene he had created on a table in front of the window.

"How long have you been working on this?" asked Bon.  "It doesn't look finished."

"About a month," said Sam in a somber voice.   "I'll finish someday.  My dad and I built stuff together."

"You miss your dad."  Bon noted his tone.  Sam didn't answer, instead he was peering out the window.  Bon looked out to see what caught his attention.  Xavier Graff walked with a broad-shouldered robust man and a wildly dressed woman.  They crossed the street and came up the steps to the house.

"Mrs. Steers sure has some weirdo guests," said Bon.  "Aren't they a little old to be trick-or-treating?  I've never seen them around here."

"The shorter guy was talking to Mrs. Steers the other day about some kind of plan...  Maybe they're part of a gang?"

"What?  Mrs. Steers involved with a gang?  No way." Bon shook her head. "She doesn't look like the type.  They're probably late trick-or-treaters."  They watched them disappear up onto the porch.

Sam said, "Let's go down and peek in the windows and see what they're up to."

"Why?" said Bon.  "They just dress weird that doesn't mean they're up to something."

"Oh please.  You saw them.  Do they look like your typical trick-or-treaters?" said Sam. "I'll tell you what I think, Mrs. Steers is up to something.  Don't you think she's mysterious?"  He pondered for a moment.  What if he told Bon about the time-traveling stories?  No. Sam was afraid she might tell her mom and then she might tell his mom.  And that might get him in trouble.

"Hmmm," said Bon.  "You know about Mrs. Steers' husband, don't you? One day he went sailing and his boat sank.  They never found his body. Or at least that's what I heard.  You've talked to her.  Has she said anything about him?"

"Well, some..." Sam thought hard now about Mrs. Steers' stories and whether he should tell Bon.  He caved, making her promise not to tell, and told her about the time-travel.  Bon stared at him for a moment before saying anything.

"That's the most bizarre story I've ever heard."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me."  Sam shook his head.

"Ok.  If you're so smart, let's go down and see what they're up to," said Bon.

They told to their parents that they were going down to check out at the decorations one last time.  When they got to the porch, it was dark and Mrs. Steers' front door was closed.  The streetlamps provided some light.  First, they checked the front windows, but the curtains were drawn tight.   They snuck down the porch stairs and around to the end of the house.  No luck at any of those windows. The back porch spanned half the length of the house, so they could easily look in each window.

As they started to climb up the porch steps, the first one squeak. Sam stopped immediately looking behind him at Bon then started up again.

"Look, there's some light in that far corner window," whispered Sam.  They snuck over and peered in through the crack in the curtains.   "I've not seen this room of the house.  It must be the back parlor."

A fireplace similar to the one in the front parlor stood on the outside wall.  Books packed the built-in bookcases around the room.  Framed photographs and knick-knacks lined the mantel.  Above the mantel hung a painting of an Egyptian scene with pyramids and workers along a dark river.  Multicolored cushions were scattered on the floor.

In the center of the room, five high-backed chairs sat in a circle around a cloth-covered table with a large oil lamp in the center.  All the chairs, but one, were occupied. Mrs. Steers, Xavier Graff, and the other two sat with their eyes closed as if they were in trances, napping, or in deep concentration.  The warm flickering flame of the lamp glowed on their faces.

"What are they doing?" whispered Bon.

"I don't know... maybe it's a seance," said Sam confidently.

"I bet they're trying to communicate with the late Mr. Steers," said Bon.

They watched for what felt like an eternity. The chair's occupants didn't move, sitting perfectly still like wax dummies. 

“This is crazy,” whispered Bon, getting restless.  “They’re just taking naps. And besides I’m tired.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Bon's mom spoke up.  "All right you two.  It's time to break up this party and head for home." 

The long evening was over.

"Give me a kiss, Sam," said Grandma Henry.  Sam pecked her on the cheek. "Did you have fun tonight? Not the same as your Dad, was it?  He used to call me on Halloween night and tell us about the fun you two had."   Sam nodded, trying not to look at her.  She gave him another hug.

"Alright, Broom-Hilda," said Grandpa Henry.  "Time to get your broom out of the closet so we can go."  Grandma Henry shook her finger at him and stuck her tongue out.  They left, heading over to a nearby bed and breakfast for the night.

"That was totally weird downstairs," said Bon.  "You should ask her if she knows how to contact the dead.   That would be cool if I could talk directly to Queen Victoria, then I could write it into my report. Wouldn't it be great if you could talk to Jack the Ripper?  Your report would get an A+, don't you think?"  Sam flashed her a glance like she was nuts.

"Oh yeah, right!   There's a couple of problems with that plan.  First, what am I going to say?" said Sam.  "Excuse me, Mrs. Steers, but could we talk to Jack the Ripper.  Second, what is Mr. Martin going to say?"

"Fine," said Bon.  "Why don't you have her teach you to time-travel?  I dare you."

"Alright, I'll take you up on your dare.  I'll ask her to teach me how to do.   Then maybe she'll stop telling me those stupid stories about her adventures into the great beyond.  I'll talk with her tomorrow." 

 The dare was on.  Bon and her mom left for the evening.  Sam changed into his pajamas.  He thought about the dare and what would come of it.  Was Mrs. Steers playing a game?   His mind wandered into one of his daydreams…

He was sitting on a large stage in an vast auditorium filled with scientists wearing white lab coats.  The murmur echoed softly.  A portly scientist with a goatee and small round glasses stepped up to the podium and spoke into the microphone.

"Attention, please.  May I have your attention?  Fellow scientists, we have with us today a most distinguished scholar, avid researcher, and fellow scientist.  His work on time-travel has revolutionized the way we think about ourselves, our history, and the universe.  I am please to introduce Dr. Samuel Henry.

Sam stepped up onto a wooden crate in order to see over the high podium.

"My fellow scientists," said Sam leaning into the microphone.  " I have successfully time traveled to numerous places and eras over the past several months.  I am pleased to announce I am now willing to teach the world to time travel."

A roar of applause echoed throughout the auditorium.   Sam smiled and bowed as the crowd began to chant his name... "Henry! Henry!"

"Samuel…  Samuel Henry!"  Sam came back to reality to find his mom standing in his bedroom door. "Sam, I've been calling you. Didn't you hear me?"

"What?  Sorry, Mom," said Sam.  "I was thinking about the fun we had tonight."  Sam followed Emily into the kitchen.

Sam opened the refrigerator door to retrieve the milk and spied a jar of strawberry jelly.

"Mom, I have a question?  Did you tell Mrs. Steers what kind of jelly I like?"

Emily stood at the kitchen sink rinsing dirty glasses.  "Not that I remember.  We talk a lot about writing and my books, but nothing that personal.  Why?"

"Oh nothing, just wondering," said Sam. "She knew my favorite jelly was strawberry.   I just wondered if you had mentioned it."  Sam poured himself some milk.

"Maybe I did," said Emily.   "We chatted about so much I may have said something about it.  Or maybe she reads minds."   Emily grinned.

"Really?  Do you think she can?"

"I doubt it.  Off to bed."

"Good night."  After handing her the empty glass, Sam gave his mom a hug.  He shut his bedroom door behind him.

He crawled into bed pulling the soft blanket up to his chin.   Now he had to make a plan to talk Mrs. Steers into teaching him how to time-travel.  He had a dare to fulfill.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 13 -- The Ripper

Later that night, Sam stewed about Mrs. Steers, her husband, the odd book, the disappearing bookshop, and this whole hocus-pocus story.   He couldn't decide if she had lost her mind after Albert died.   Or if she liked to be creative and tell stories.  After all, she is a writer.  Her imagination must run wild.  No matter, Sam kept thinking of the photograph of them in London and the newspaper.   The whole story rolled around in his head.  He had to get to sleep.

The clock read 10:30.  The air filter whirled.  Sam couldn't stand sleeping in silence.  Outside, the street lamps glowed softly, lighting the room above the green curtains.   Soft, gentle, glowing light from outside.  Sam focused on it until he drifted off to sleep.

Sam was awakened by a rustling from the closet.  What was that?  It sounded like something fell to the floor.  Maybe a shirt off a hanger.

Strange he could hear it above the whirling air filter.  Sam looked over at the ajar closet door.   He had concealed the newspaper with the fingerprint on the closet shelf, putting it there for safe-keeping, afraid something might happen to it. 

Is the closet door opening?  Shaking his head, he snuggled under the covers, thinking nothing of the noise. The light must be playing a trick.  It must be the light.  Maybe the trees were moving in the wind casting weird shadows.  It's nothing, a trick of the light.

He closed his eyes. The closet door flew open.  The brass knob banged against the wall.  Sam jumped, but then found he couldn't move, feeling tied to the bed.

Slowly from the closet's darkness, a cloaked menacing shape emerged.   It flowed out from the darkness of the closet.  The shape had a slight glow to it, brightening the bedroom.  The mass shifted into a figure.   Sam could now make out a hooded head.  The dark figure floated in a hooded cape which rippled behind it from a nonexistent wind.   Flowing gracefully… billowing…

Darkness filled the hood where a face should be. Even though there was no face, Sam felt it focus on him the moment it fully emerged from the closet.  Moving slowly at first… then faster.  Its cape rippled behind it.

Laying flat on his back in bed, Sam stared wide-eyed as it moved closer towards the bed.  Slowly, a right hand, then an arm, emerged from the darkness of the cape's sleeve.  It held something silver and shiny.  A long sharp carving knife.

The dark figure moved towards Sam ready to stab.  Sam panicked and tried to move, but couldn't.  His heart raced.   He felt his whole body tense up.   It was as if he were frozen.  He tried to yell out, but no sound came.  It felt like he had no voice.

I must be glued to the sheets.   Why can't I move?  He was the intended victim of this dark evil figure.   He just knew it.  It flowed closer.

I have to yell… Scream… Anything.  Sam could feel his heart racing. Sweat rolled down his face.  Surely Mom heard the bang of the doorknob against the wall...  She might run in at any moment…  The shape moved closer.

Gotta move…  Must scream…  Sam tried but couldn't.  The dark figure now loomed over him, but his voice was frozen.   Looking down at him, somewhere in the darkness of the hood must be eyes, locked on him.  Preparing to kill its victim.  The knife was ready to cut.  Sam could see a bony hand around the knife's handle.   It reflected the glow from streetlamp light outside on the sidewalk.  The dark figure raised its hand.  The knife was ready to come down.

I need to scream!  His eyes were wide open, watching the knife.  The dark figure lurched.  The shining blade dropped quickly towards his stomach.  Sam's mind began swirling.

I'm going to die… Nooooooooooooo…

Sam sat up like a shot.  It was morning.  His sheets were twisted around him; his pillows flung on the floor.  The blankets had been tossed off the bed's end. Sweat beaded on his forehead.   Tasting blood in his mouth, Sam got up and looked in the mirror that hung over his dresser.  He had bit his lip.

What a nightmare!   Sam was exhausted.  He sat back down on the bed.  He glanced over at the open closet door.  Now, he couldn't remember if he closed it or not.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 12 -- To the Edge

After supper, Sam worked on his report.  Sitting at the kitchen table, he used his mom's laptop to type some notes from the library books.  He wished they had the Internet at home but Emily had decided against it, afraid Sam would spend too much time web surfing.  Besides, it was free at the library.  Sam wished he had looked through more of the books, but then he got two ideas.

 "Mom, I'm going down to see Mrs. Steers," said Sam.   His mom was putting away the last of the dishes from dinner.

"Why?" Emily asked.

"She has a lot of books.  Maybe she has some about my topic," he replied.  His second motive was to see if she would mention the newspaper if he talked about Jack the Ripper. What a prop for his class presentation!

Sam daydreamed for a moment…

Sam stood before his history class ready to speak.

"Please go ahead," said Mr. Martin.

"For my presentation, I chose Jack the Ripper, the famous serial killer.  And here, in this box, is a clue to his identity."   Sam opened the box and a bloody human kidney rolled onto the floor. Students screamed and raced out the door.

"Hmmm… that's strange.  Where did that come from?"

Sam snapped out of his daydream with the sound of his mom's voice. "Sam?  Did you hear me?  Don't bother her if she's busy."

"Okay, I promise."  He dashed downstairs.  After ringing her doorbell and waiting, Mrs. Steers finally opened the door.

"Hello, Sam."  Mrs. Steers greeted him in a cheerful voice.  "Come in.  I was getting ready to cut the sugar cream pie I made this morning. Would you like a piece?"

Sam's mouth watered from the smell of the pie.  He loved sugar cream pie.  Following her to the dining room, the sweet aroma of the pie lingered.  He saw it on the dining table, as well as two plates, two forks, and two glasses as if she were expecting him.  The rich creamy pie tasted like the ones his Grandma Henry made.

Before sitting down, Mrs. Steers picked up the red Christmas box from the sideboard and placed it next to him.  "Oh and here's this. The newspaper.  I left it in the box for safe keeping.  I hope your classmates won't take it too seriously.  How would you explain it?  Who would ever believe you had a real finger print from Jack the Ripper?"

Sam stopped chewing on the last bit of pie and stared at her.  He sat back in his chair, still holding his plate and fork in hand.

"Mrs. Steers!  How did you know I wanted to ask you about borrowing the newspaper?"  His stomach started churning and he became little light-headed.    He started to shake.

Sam was having a panic attack, something that happened when he became overanxious, extremely uncomfortable, or scared.  Sam dropped the plate and fork onto the carpet.  He grabbed the edge of the table trying to get up from the chair.  The room began spinning and went dark.  For the first time, he fully passed out, falling to the dining room floor.

Sometime later, Sam awoke on the red overstuffed couch in the front parlor.   Mrs. Steers was draping a cool, damp washcloth across his forehead.

"You gave me quite a fright." Mrs. Steers leaned over Sam.

 "What happened?  Where am I?"  Groggy, Sam looked up at her.

"You passed out.  I had to drag you to the couch from the dining room."

"You did?" said Sam. “I’ve never passed out before.”

"Does this happen often?" inquired Mrs. Steers.  "I didn't want to bother your mother.  You have one more thing in common with Albert.   You have panic attacks.  He did the exact same thing, only he never passed out.”

"Really?  The last I remember… was something greenish…"

"Lie still for a moment.  Let me get you some water."  Mrs. Steers reached for a glass and a pitcher of water on the side table.  She poured some water for them both.

"Take a few sips.  You need to rest for a few moments.  In the meantime, let me tell you about one of Albert's mysterious travels. Even though I know you don't believe me, please indulge me for a few moments."

Sam rolled his eyes.  Mrs. Steers retrieved a small silver cardboard box from a writing desk across the room.

"Let me see. This was about twenty-five years ago, maybe late January… hmmm… lots of snow that year.  Albert and I were snowbound for a couple of days.  We didn't mind.  By that time, we had been living here about a year and were still unpacking his books.   Albert had so many books."  Sam glanced up at the packed bookcases on each side of the fireplace.

"We worked for days arranging them.  One day, I got tired of opening boxes of books and decided to go to my sewing room.  I was working on a new quilt for one of the guest bedrooms.   I had never made a quilt before.   What a challenge that was!  I had bought a new sewing machine and a quilt kit with the material already pre-cut.  The instructions said all I had to do was sew it together…  Humph, that's another story!

Anyway, Albert was taking a break and was reading something about Queen Victoria, her family, her reign, and something else… The next thing I knew in walked Albert, bouncing like a kid, into my sewing room.

"Lottie, I've decided to travel back to London for Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee in 1887.   Want to come?"

I was so frustrated by that damn quilt… Oh pardon me…  I mean that darn quilt… and was trying to get a seam to line up or something…  I muttered "Oh go see that darned old Queen."   I wasn't nice… It wasn't the Queen's or Albert's fault… I was furious with that easy-to-piece-together quilt!

Albert went back downstairs to the back parlor and took off, so to speak.  He had moved his high back chair and table down from the attic.  About fifteen minutes later, Albert came running back into my sewing room.  At first, he stood there and looked at me.  Exhausted and sweaty.   Albert wasn't the same after that trip.   Each time, we traveled somewhere, it was as if he had some sort of mission..." She stopped mid-sentence and squinted her eyes, as if pondering her last statement.

"Anyway, that trip to London had been different somehow.   He babbled on for a little while.  I remember thinking maybe he wasn't feeling well.  He kept going on about someone named Graff, some Irishmen, and dynamite.

I said "Albert, maybe we had better stop this time-traveling. This last trip has upset you.  He said it was nothing, trying to reassure me.  But then, his tone changed.  "Lottie, I have something to show you." He held out his hand and in it was this."

Mrs. Steers removed the lid from the box.  Inside, on a piece of fluffy off-white padding laid a silver broach with what looked to be diamonds around the edge and a prominent red stone in the middle.  Sam had never seen such a piece of jewelry.

"What is that?" asked Sam, puzzled by it.

"Part of an intriguing mystery," said Mrs. Steers staring into Sam's eyes.  “You like mysteries, Sam."  Sam grinned at her mention of the word 'mystery.'

"Yeah." replied Sam softly.  "I love 'em."

"Albert actually picked up this silver broach and brought it back with him." said Mrs. Steers.

"But how did he..." said Sam.

"Let me ramble for another moment.  Albert was so exhausted after that trip that he took an afternoon nap.   He hadn't napped before in the afternoon.   But eventually, he told me all about it.   Seeing London, celebrating Queen Victoria's fifty years of being… well, the Queen."

Mrs. Steers drifted back to that day and told Sam yet another tale.

"Albert hung out with Queen the whole day and well into the next.  Let me think…"  Mrs. Steers retrieved a book from the shelves in order to check her dates.  "Ah yes, it would have been June 20th … definitely 1887.  My mind!  I can remember the stories but never the dates.   I've been to so many places."  She returned the book to its place on the shelf.

"Albert watched the Queen at Buckingham Palace, and later that evening she had a large dinner with her family. Albert enjoyed watching the whole affair.

Later, he saw the Queen in her carriage riding through London.  A little short and stout but having a presence that made her outshine all around her.  This was a momentous day in history, not just for the Queen, but for my Albert.  It was on that day that Albert saw someone looking at him."

"You mean looking through him?" said Sam.  "He wasn't actually there for anyone to see. Right?"

"That's right.  He wasn't there," said Mrs. Steers. "But across the street stood a mysterious fellow looking right at him. Albert said it startled him at first, but then he realized the stranger must have been looking at something else behind him.  So, Albert started walking down the street, but the man appeared to follow him.  After a few steps, Albert got scared and began to run.   He wasn't sure what to do.

Soon, the man shouted at Albert to stop.  "Stop! Namvelt. You have Namvelt's  book."   That got Albert's attention so he stopped and the man caught up with him, stopping a few feet away.

"Please… I can see you. You are not of this time.  I've been following you for a while. I didn't want to scare you."

Albert panted from running.  "Yes, I have Namvelt's book, but how did you know? Who are you?"

"I know you received it from Rupert Jameson in London several years ago. I am Xavier Graff.   I want to talk to you."

That has to be the same Xavier who visited Mrs. Steers earlier? Sam thought to himself as he sat up catching the wet wash cloth as it fell from his forehead.

"From then on, Albert would sometimes bring something back with him," said Mrs. Steers.  "We picked up many common items like a pencil or a glass, but also many interesting and unusual pieces as well.  I always numbered them and kept a list of them."  Sam remembered the #39 on the note with the newspaper.  That explained at least one thing.

"After that trip to the Golden Jubilee, Albert started getting odd telephone calls.  I overheard one of Albert's conversations.  Something about time shifting… getting the books… grabbing things…  And then strangers I didn't know showed up and asked to see him.  Albert would meet them on the porch, then go sit in the park.

I began to suspect Albert was involved in something more than just time travel. I'm not sure if he had told someone else about our trips.   I also wondered if he was selling what he brought back, but everything was always accounted for."

This story is getting weirder and weirder, Sam thought.  And what about this Xavier Graff?  The guy I saw was young.

Sam took his opportunity.  "Who is Xavier Graff?  He must be really old."

"Xavier was a fellow time-traveler.  He passed away a few years ago.  He had a son, but I don't see him much anymore, but his grandson stops by to visit."

Ah-ha, now we are getting somewhere, Sam thought.  But that didn't explain the conversation he heard.  I can't mention it.  She might get mad about my eavesdropping.

The mantel clock chimed five times.  "Is it five?  My mom's going to be mad at me for taking up your time.  And I have homework to do."  Sam raced towards the front door.

"Sam," said Mrs. Steers.  "I know you don't believe me.  I hope we can talk about it again soon.  Oh, and don't forget the newspaper."   She smiled and handed him the box.  Sam took it, thanked her, and let the screen door slam behind him.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 11 -- Homework

The next day in history class, Sam squirmed in his seat, trying to concentrate on the lesson. All he could think about was Mrs. Steers’ crazy story.  Mr. Martin, the teacher, continued with their study of Victorian England and its empire. 

 

Sam thought Who cares about kings and queens?  Like someone's gonna stop me on the street and be like whose the Queen of England in 1660? Pffft… Mrs. Steers might.  She probably knows them by heart.

Sam found French history offered more interesting stories -- royalties on a one-way trip to the guillotine, rolling heads, blood, riots in the streets…  The French sure knew how to make history interesting.

"Jack the Ripper murdered five women in 1888," said Mr. Martin. Sam perked up.  "Basically, he cut them open and removed internal organs."  Students gasped and murmurs erupted.  "There was some speculation about the Ripper being a doctor or butcher since the victims looked as if they had been dissected. There's even a theory about Jack being a woman.  Mrs. Jack the Ripper."

 

Wow! I wish I had that newspaper from the attic right now, thought Sam.  It would be totally cool to show in class.  Of course, it's a fake… or at least I think it's a fake.   Great!  Now I'm starting to think like crazy Mrs. Steers.

Mr. Martin pointed to an area on the London map hanging on the side wall.   "All were done in the Whitechapel area of East London.  This part of town housed many of the poorest families and many immigrants.  It was a nasty area.  Try to imagine garbage in the streets... or how about throwing the contents of the chamber pot out of the window..."

"Gross!"

"That's disgusting," one girl whispered to her classmate making a grossed-out face.

Sam was enthralled by the unsolved mystery of the killer's identity. Daydreaming for a moment, he drifted off to become a world-renowned famous detective.  He saw himself wearing a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker cap and having a pipe in his mouth talking to the chief inspector of Scotland Yard…

"Well, Inspector, I have the final clue that will lead us to the identity of this serial killer."

"Yes, go on, Mr. Henry," said the Inspector, who surprisingly enough looked like Mr. Martin.  "What have you got?"

"A fingerprint on this newspaper" Sam, the detective, held the one he had found in the attic. "We should be able to identify the killer using it."

"Very good, Mr. Henry, but there is one major flaw …  We have yet to invent fingerprinting!  Didn't you pay attention in Mrs. Wayne's science class when she talked about fingerprints?"

Sam snapped out of his daydream when the real voice of Mr. Martin cleared his throat and ended the story on the famous killer.

"Class, we have finished British History, at least to the later part of the nineteenth century.  Next week, I have decided to move to another part of the world.  We will start talking about Ancient Egypt, instead of American History as I had originally planned.  So, for your assignment, I want you to choose a topic from British History and write a six-page report.  Internet searching should be limited.  No Wikipedia as a primary source. I want you to use books and articles, please.  And be prepared to do a presentation for the class."

Some students groaned at the mention of homework. Others complained about using books.  Others immediately began to discuss what their topic might be.  Before long, the school bell shrilled signaling the end of another day. 

Outside, snow flurries floated down from a grey overcast sky.  Buttoning up his jacket, Sam headed to the public library, wanting to get the good books before anyone else.   When he entered, Emily had finished assisting a stout middle-aged man at the reference desk.

 "Yes, these books are perfect.  Thanks for your help."

"Good," said Emily.  "Glad I could help."

"Hey Mom," said Sam.

"Hey there." Emily hugged Sam, then sat down behind the computer at the desk.  "Looks like we're getting some flurries out there. How was school today?"

"Good.  I have to write a report on something from English history," said Sam.

"Chosen a topic?" asked Emily.

"Yep.  Jack the Ripper," said Sam.  His mom crinkled her nose at his choice of topic.

"Are you sure you don't want something a little less bloody," said Emily.   That did it.  If mom didn't want him to do it, then the topic was right for him.

 "You know how I love mysteries," said Sam settling at a nearby table spreading out papers and his school books.

"Are you sure? If you get nightmares, I'm not going to feel sorry for you."

"Yes, I am sure," Sam answered emphatically, heading to the stacks.

Juggling a stack of books from the English history section, Sam struggled back to the table and settled down to read.  After thumbing through several books, he found information about Jack the Ripper and his five known victims.  One book had crime-scene photographs of the slashed-up bodies of Catherine Eddowes and Mary Kelly.  The body of Kelly hardly looked like a human body. Blood splattered all over and dissected body parts here and there.

 "Hey! I'm talking to you."  A voice broke Sam's concentration.  Looking up from his book, Bon Wilkinson from his class smiled at him.

"What?" said Sam.

"I was asking if I could take a look at some of those," said Bon, pointing at the stack of books.  Her bobbed light brown hair swung as she shook her head.  "You have most of the good ones."

"Sure. I'm not checking them all out.  Just these two."  Sam pulled them towards him. 

Before sitting down, Bon yanked up her black leggings, adjusted her knee-length black skirt, and straightened her beige cashmere sweater.  She was the other loner in his class. She wasn't only the smartest student in the class, but also the toughest.  Sam had witnessed her slug Billy Franks, the class bully.  She had mastered judo and karate. 

Bon sat down across the table from him.  "I've chosen Queen Victoria. She was one of the greatest queens ever.  She and Cleopatra.   Maybe I'll paint a scene of her doing something like sitting on her throne with her crown on her head."  Sam had seen some of Bon's artwork.  She could grow up to be a well-known artist.

"I'm visiting my dad next month," said Bon.  "We'll have to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and take some pics of any paintings they might have of her.  My dad lives in New York City and knows one of the curators, so I'm sure we can get a special tour."

 "How about you, Sam?" asked Bon.

"I'm researching Jack the Ripper," replied Sam.  "Mysteries are one of my favorite subjects."

"Cool," said Bon.  "Are you going to show pictures of his victims?  I hope they're good and bloody!"

Sam glanced at her.  "Really? It doesn't seem like you'd want to see pictures of bloody dead bodies."

"I do!  I totally want to be a doctor."  Bon had surprised him once again. He pictured her as the first female President if not a famous artist.  They settled down to read.

Time passed before he knew it, his mom stood on the other side of the table with a stack of books in her arms.  "Didn't you hear me?"

 "I'm sorry," said Sam rubbing his right eye.  Bon closed her book.

"You must've been into that book," said Emily walking away and pushing a metal library cart.   "Sam, get your books checked out.  I'll be ready in a few minutes."

Sam pushed his notebook into his book bag. "I'm checking these two out.  You can have the rest."

"Thanks.  I'm taking this one on Queen Victoria.  See you later, Sam," said Bon.

"See you at school."  Sam slung the book bag over his shoulder and picked up his chosen books.  He hurried over to the check-out desk where he waited his turn.

 "Hi, Sam," said Mrs. Fessler from behind the counter.  "Working on a school assignment?"

"Yes," said Sam laying the books on the counter and handing over his library card.  "I'm doing a paper on Jack the Ripper for my history class."

Mrs. Fessler scrunched her nose.  "That's a gory topic. Why don't you do something more pleasant like a king?"

"Not into kings, too boring.  I love mysteries and Jack the Ripper is an awesome one."  She handed him his books and he put them in his book bag.

"Have fun. Try not to get nightmares."

Sam thanked her and lingered by the main entrance, watching the flurries.

"Ready to go?" asked Emily.

"Yep. Checked out my books."

They trekked home on their usual route.