"Believe me, you've made enough noise to raise the dead—which I very nearly was, in spite of your modern medicine and hospitals and such."
Eyeing me glumly, Andrew sat down on a trunk. "I hope you haven't called me up here to switch places."
Taken by surprise, I stared at him. "What do you mean? Don't you want to go home?"
"Not yet, not till I'm stronger." He pulled up his pajama sleeve and showed me his arm. "See that? I'm just skin and bones. I look like death warmed over."
He shuddered at the image, but I was too upset to feel sorry for him. "I don't want to be you anymore," I said. "I want to be me, I want to go home."
"Give me more time," Andrew begged. "Please, Drew."
"You've had three weeks," I said. "That's long enough."
He fidgeted with the trunk's lock, flipping it up and down. "Couldn't we swap for keeps?"
I stared at him. "You aren't serious," I whispered, "you can't be."
Andrew huddled on the trunk, his arms wrapped around his knees, his face hidden. "What if it's my fate to die in 1910?"
"They gave you medicine, they cured you," I said. "You don't have diphtheria anymore."
Without raising his head, Andrew muttered, "I could fall, drown, be struck by lightning, get blood poisoning, catch measles, freeze in a snowstorm. There's plenty of ways to die besides diphtheria."
Andrew waited for me to say something, but I hardened my heart against him. I'd saved his life once—that was all I was going to do. Now he'd just have to take his chances like everyone else.
Finally, he raised his head and looked at me. "Suppose we make a bargain, a gentleman's agreement."
I stared at Andrew, worried by the sharp edge in his voice. He wasn't begging now. "What sort of bargain?"
He eyed me coldly. "I challenge you to a game of marbles. Ringer, to be exact. As long as I win, I stay in your time and you stay in mine. If I lose, we switch places."
"That's not fair," I said. "I don't know anything about marbles."
Andrew leaned toward me, his face pale and earnest. "It wasn't fair of you to take what belonged to me. I warned you, I said you'd be sorry. Have you forgotten?"
I opened my mouth to blame Aunt Blythe, but Andrew stopped me. "Don't tell me it was your aunt's fault," he said. "A true gent never blames a lady."
When I tried to argue, Andrew refused to listen. "We'll be like knights in the olden days," he said, "fighting for our honor."
Sliding off the trunk, he seized my hand and shook it firmly. "Meet me here tomorrow at midnight," he said.
I followed him to the top of the steps. Below was my room. I saw the electric lamp beside the bed, my posters on the blue walls, my shoes on the floor. I even heard a pop song playing faintly on the radio.
I started to run downstairs behind him, but the moment my foot touched the step, Andrew vanished, and the light went out.
"Andrew," I cried, "Andrew, come back!"
Someone gasped. Hannah was standing at the bottom of the steps, staring at me. "What are you doing in the attic at this time of night? You woke me up."
"Where is he? You must have seen him. He was right there."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Andrew," I shouted. "He ran past you. Where did he go?"
Hannah rushed up the steps. "Dear Lord, are you sick again? Is the fever back?" , „
She took my hand and tried to lead me downstairs. No, I shouted. It's not my room, it's his. I don't want to stay here, let me go home."
Hannah was stronger than I was, and in a few minutes, she had me tucked under the quilt. "Must I fetch Papa?' she asked. "Or will you lie still and behave?"
"Your father can't help. Only Andrew can, just Andrew, but he's gone, and so are the marbles. He has them."
Hannah shook me. Her face was inches from mine. "Wake up," she said, "you're dreaming, talking in your sleep."
The fear in her voice brought me to my senses. I stopped thrashing and gazed into her eyes. "Marbles," I mumbled, "I was looking for my marbles."
Slowly, she released me. Watching me closely, she said, "You frightened me out of my wits, Andrew."
"Bad dream," I mumbled, "nightmare."
Hannah stroked my forehead. "Your eyes were so strange," she murmured. "Nothing you said made sense. It was all gibberish."
"I just wanted my marbles." I turned my head, trying to hide my tears. What would Hannah think—a boy my age crying because he couldn't find a bag of marbles.
"You're as forgetful as a squirrel," she said. "If you promise to go to sleep, I'll give you mine."
Hannah tiptoed down the hall to her room. When she came back, she was holding a bag like Andrew's. Sitting beside me, she poured the marbles onto the quilt.
"Do you know how to play?" I asked.
Hannah gave me one of her vexed looks. "Goodness, Andrew, if it weren't for me you wouldn't know the first thing about marbles. Your brain is a regular sieve these days."
I tapped my forehead to remind her I'd been sick. She looked so contrite I felt guilty. "Will you teach me all over again?"
Hannah poured her marbles onto the quilt and sighed. Without raising her eyes, she said, "Girls my age are supposed to be ladies, but sometimes I get mighty tired of trying to be what I'm not."
Cradling an aggie almost as shiny as Andrew's red bull's-eye, she cocked her head, studied her targets, and shot. The aggie hit a glass marble and sent it spinning off the bed. Hannah grinned and tried again.
When all the marbles except the aggie were scattered on the floor, Hannah seized my chin and tipped my face up to hers. Looking me in the eye, she said, "If you promise not to tell a soul, I'll give you as many lessons as you want. No matter what Papa thinks, I'd rather play marbles than be a lady, and that's the truth."
"Ringer," I said sleepily. "Do you know how to play ringer?"
Hannah ruffled my hair. "You must be pulling my leg, Andrew. That's what we always play. It's your favorite game."
I yawned. "Starting tomorrow, we'll practice every day till I get even better than I used to be."
"When I'm finished with you, you'll be the all-time marble champion of Missouri." Hannah gave me a quick lass and slid off the bed.
In the doorway, she paused and looked back at me. "No more sleepwalking," she whispered.
When Hannah was gone, I slid the bag of marbles under my pillow. From their frame above the bureau, the three horses watched. Staring into their wild eyes, I made a promise. Sooner or later, I'd beat Andrew. Maybe not tomorrow night or the night after, but, before summer ended, I'd sleep in my room again and Andrew would sleep in his.
Chapter 11
The next morning, the minute we finished our chores, Hannah said it was time for my marbles lesson. Urging me to hurry, she whispered, "Don't let Theo see where we're going. He might tell Papa."
She ran out the back door, and I went chasing after her. The marbles clicked and bounced in my pocket, and my heart pounded in rhythm with my feet—I'll beat you Andrew, beat you, beat you, they seemed to say.
I followed Hannah under a rose trellis and came to a stop so quickly I almost tripped over my own feet. I was standing on the edge of a small graveyard. No one had told me people were buried behind the house. Maybe Aunt Blythe didn't even know they were there. Her lawn was so overgrown anything could be hidden in the weeds and brambles.
Hannah stared at me. "What's the matter? We've always played here, Andrew. Don't you remember?"
To avoid answering, I bent down to retie my shoelace. I didn't want Hannah to know I was so scared of cemeteries that I hid my face and held my breath every time I passed one.
"Surely you're not afraid of our dead." Hannah came closer.
"Of course I'm not." I tried to sound brave, but Hannah wasn't fooled.
Taking my hand, she held it tight. "You came so close to dying," she whispered. "It must make a body see things differently."
Hannah gazed at the five headstones, gathered in a group like old friends
. "Grandfather, Grandmother, their son Andrew, their daughter Susan. And our sister Lucy." Her eyes lingered on the last grave, and her grip on my hand tightened. "Thank the Lord, you're not lying here beside her, Andrew."
I shivered. For the first time in my life, I knew what people meant when they said someone was walking on their grave. Little did Hannah know how truly close her brother had come to keeping Lucy company beneath the green grass.
Face solemn, Hannah brushed away a tuft of moss growing in the L on Lucy's stone. "You were only three or four when she died, so you don't really remember her, do you?"
I shook my head and Hannah said, "I was eight and she was ten. We both had diphtheria. We were so sick Mama thought she was going to lose us both, but Dr. Fulton saved me. He couldn't save Lucy though."
While I listened, a cloud floated past the sun and cast its shadow on the burial ground. Leaves stirred and rustled. A mourning dove called, repeating the same sad notes over and over again.
Hannah squeezed my hand. "I'll tell you a secret, Andrew. For a long time after Lucy died, I'd wake in the middle of the night and hear her breathing. I'd forget she was dead and talk to her the way I always had, whispering in the dark. She'd listen, she'd laugh. Sometimes I even felt her hand touch mine."
The mourning dove called again, and the cloud drifted away. In spite of the summer heat, I was cold. "Weren't you scared, Hannah?"
She shook her head. "Oh, no, not a bit. I was glad Lucy was near. It comforted me."
I helped Hannah pick a bunch of clover blossoms to lay on her sister's grave. When she had arranged them carefully, she said, "I fancy Lucy sees what I see and hears what I hear. As long as I live, she'll be alive too. I carry her in my heart, Andrew." She struck her chest. "Right here."
Suddenly embarrassed, Hannah leapt to her feet and ran across the grass to a grove of trees on the other side of the graveyard. Ducking under the branches, I found her kneeling in the green shade, clearing a space around her.
"If you want to play marbles, help me make a smooth place for the ring." She sounded firm, certain, in control of things again.
While we worked together to level the ground, I glanced at Hannah from time to time. Her face was calm now, but it pained me to remember the sadness I'd seen in her eyes when she spoke of Lucy's death. Thank goodness, I'd saved Andrew's life, not just for his sake but for hers too. First a sister, then a brother—how could Hannah have borne so much sorrow and loss?
"There." Hannah got to her feet and surveyed the cleared space. Picking up a stick, she drew a lopsided circle in the dirt. She scratched a cross in the middle and laid thirteen target marbles on it—one in the center and three on each crossbar. Miggles she called them.
Outside the circle, she drew two lines about a foot apart, took ten steps back, and drew another one. "Now," she said. "We'll lag to see who goes first."
I stared at Hannah, my face burning with embarrassment. "I don't remember how to do that," I mumbled.
She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. The first line she'd drawn was the lag line, she explained, and the one behind it was the back line. The players stood on the pitch line and aimed their marbles at the lag line. The one whose marble landed closest got to play first.
"Let me show you." Hannah eyed the line carefully and pitched her aggie underhanded. It rolled through the dust and came to a stop about half an inch from the lag line.
Hannah stepped aside. "You try," she said. "Be careful not to let your shooter roll past the back line. That's an automatic loss."
Eyeing Hannah's aggie, I threw mine and watched it roll way past the back line.
"Looks like I'm first." Hannah shot four miggles out of the ring before she missed. Sitting back on her heels, she said, "Your turn, Andrew."
I tried to shoot the way she had, but my aggie rolled feebly out of my hand. It didn't even come near a miggle.
"For goodness sake, you've truly forgotten everything I taught you, Andrew. Hold it like this between your thumb and index finger." Hannah bent my finger around the marble and steadied my knuckles on the dirt. "Now flick your thumb hard."
The aggie rolled a little farther, but Hannah wasn't satisfied. "Keep your knuckles on the ground when you shoot," she said, "and don't move your hand while you're shooting."
When I finally managed to shoot my aggie all the way across the ring, Hannah said, "Now let's play a real game. Remember, the first to knock seven miggles out of the ring wins."
While I arranged the marbles, Hannah sat on a tree root and pulled off her shoes and stockings. Wiggling her bare toes, she sighed. "Don't tell Mama. She says my feet will grow if I don't wear shoes, but I don't care if I end up wearing size thirteens. As for being unladylike—pshaw. These shoes pinch like the very dickens."
Pushing the hair back from her face, Hannah knuckled down and shot. Click—her aggie sent a cat's-eye spinning across the dirt and into the weeds.
She hit five and missed the sixth. "Drat," she muttered.
Holding my aggie clumsily, I tried to shoot the way Hannah had taught me, but it was hopeless. The miggles were scattered all over the place. I aimed at the closest, missed, and lost my turn.
"That's one of the advantages of going first," Hannah said. "You have better targets when the ring is full."
I sat back, waiting for her to shoot. Even in the shade it was steamy hot. Gnats circled our heads, humming in our ears, taking little bites.
"Try again, Andrew," Hannah said patiently.
For the rest of the long morning, we played. By the time we quit, my thumb hurt, my neck and shoulders ached, and my finger felt permanently crooked. It looked like I wasn't going to beat Andrew anytime soon.
Chucking me under the chin, Hannah laughed. "Goodness, don't look so glum. It's a game, Andrew, not a matter of life and death."
I turned away quickly and began gathering the marbles. The things the Tylers said in ignorance were downright scary.
Behind me, Hannah grabbed a branch and swung up into a tree. "Race you to the top, Andrew."
I'd never climbed a tree in my life, but I didn't dare admit it. Sooner or later the Tylers were bound to think I was a complete lunatic. They still mentioned George Foster from time to time, though never deliberately in my hearing. The Fosters had sent George to the county asylum—what if Mr. Tyler decided to do the same with me?
I took a deep breath and followed Hannah up the tree, one limb at a time, higher and higher. Leaves brushed my face, the branches swayed, but I kept going. I wanted to please Hannah, I wanted to show her I could do what she did. If she told me to jump, I would. For her, I'd fly.
When Hannah had climbed as high as she could, she said, "Look, Andrew, you can see all the way to Riverview from here. There's the church steeple and the courthouse tower."
Feeling slightly queasy, I clung to a limb and gazed at barns and houses, fields and woods, cows and sheep, the river behind the house, railroad tracks shining silver in the sunlight. It was a nice view, but all I could think about was climbing down. We were up so high—how would we ever get back to earth without killing ourselves?
Suddenly, a loud popping and banging shattered the quiet. Almost hidden in a cloud of dust, a car roared along the road below us. Cattle lumbered to their feet, horses raised their heads and galloped away, a flock of chickens scattered in all directions.
Hannah gasped. "Oh, my Lord, it's John Larkin in his father's motorcar. If he catches me looking like this, he'll think I'm a common hoyden."
Her bare foot plunged toward me. The tree swayed violently, my head swam. Afraid to move, I clung to a branch.
"For heaven's sake, Andrew, hurry. He'll be here any moment!"
With Hannah pushing me, I slid from limb to limb, down, down, faster and faster. By the time I hit the ground, my legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand.
Without so much as a thought for me, Hannah grabbed her shoes and ran across the lawn. Her feet were bare, her shirtwaist untucked, her skirt dust
y. Twigs and leaves clung to her hair. As quick as she was, the Model T was quicker. Pursued by Buster, it rolled to a noisy stop under a tree.
Without pausing to say hello, Hannah darted past John, scurried up the steps, and vanished into the house. The door had no sooner closed behind her than it opened to let Theo out. Leaping from the porch, he flung himself at John and begged for a ride. Buster circled the car, barking and snapping at the tires.
The commotion brought Mrs. Tyler to the door. "Land sakes, Buster, hush!" When the dog didn't obey, she spotted me walking slowly toward the house. "Andrew, stop lally-gagging and do something with this animal."
Obediently, I put two fingers in my mouth and blew hard. The shrill sound got Buster's attention immediately. Tail wagging, he loped across the lawn toward me. Two feet away he skidded to a stop, obviously as surprised as I was. Curling his lip, he growled softly and then slunk off toward the woods, as disappointed as a dog can be.
Too astonished to move, I watched Buster disappear into the trees. No matter how hard I'd tried, I'd never been able to make a noise like that. A pitiful little hiss of air was all I'd ever managed to produce. Yet just now, without even thinking about it, I'd blasted the dog with a whistle loud enough to wake the dead.
The idea made me shiver. Scared of my own thoughts, I turned toward Mrs. Tyler. At that moment, the world around me quivered as if I were looking at it through heat waves. The Model T vanished, the Tylers disappeared. Weeds and vines spread across the lawn. Trees grew taller. The house aged, its roof sagged, shutters hung loose, ivy covered the bricks. Andrew faced me, his eyes huge, his skin pale. Like twin statues we stared at each other, neither moving nor speaking.
I whispered his name, but when I stepped toward him, he backed away, stumbling in his haste to escape. A sound like the buzzing of locusts filled my ears. "Wait," I cried, "come back."
The next thing I knew I was sprawled on the grass and a woman was bending over me. "Andrew, Andrew, what ails you?" She put an arm around my waist and helped me to my feet. "I heard you call out. Then I saw you stagger and fall."