or 1942? What matters is the present. We are here and now in the twenty-first century—what is taking place to enrich, protect, or ensure our lives today?”
“You give me a headache,” Taylor told him.
“Better me than our illustrious teacher,” Maxwell said. He looked at Emily beseechingly. “You understand, don’t you?” he asked. “How can we care—really care—about a date or a battle or a treaty? They’re meaningless moments, lost in a time we are well rid of.”
At that moment Mrs. Comstock strode into the room, her short brown hair bouncing on her neck. “Come to order, please,” she said. She took a silent roll, looking up and down the rows to find the students, then laid her roll book on a nearby chair. Emily was surprised to realize that no teacher’s desk was in the room.
“This class is not going to be a testing ground in which we see how many dates we can memorize,” Mrs. Comstock said. “Dates are convenient hooks on which we can hang our memories of events. But history is all about people—people like you and me who did things to change the world, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. We’re going to spend six weeks learning about people and why they did the things they did. That’s history.”
Maxwell raised one eyebrow as he glanced at Emily. “This class may have potential,” he said, “
if
she means it.”
“The Longhorn Cavern is not far from here. It’s a state park that’s open to the public,” Mrs. Comstock continued. “The cavern is part of a series of caves that may stretch for hundreds of miles underground through the Hill Country and central Texas. Tomorrow we’re going on a field trip to visit the cave, but today we’re going to talk about the people who used it for their own benefit. Many years ago Comanche Indians used one of the large rooms for their council meetings. During the Civil War the Confederate army set up a manufacturing plant for gunpowder in the same large room, and later the cave was a hideout for a pretty wicked Texas outlaw named Sam Bass, who also used the cave to hide the gold he stole in train and bank robberies.”
Taylor spoke up, and Emily could hear the tremor inher voice. “Do we really have to go down into a hole in the ground?”
“There are stairs and handrails,” Mrs. Comstock answered. “And you can walk upright for most of the way. There’s just one low stretch called Lumbago Alley.”
She laughed, but Taylor shuddered and whispered to Emily, “I don’t want to go underground. It’s like being buried alive.”
“No, it’s not,” Emily whispered back, but she could tell that Taylor wasn’t listening.
Someone in the front row raised a hand. “I’ve never been in a cave,” she said. “Will we have to fight off bats?”
Mrs. Comstock smiled. “There are a few bats and some tiny cave mice, but either they’re in hibernation or they’ll stay out of your way. There are well-defined paths and electric lighting.”
The girl gave a sigh of relief. “So the cave is perfectly safe,” she said.
“I didn’t say that,” Mrs. Comstock answered. “There are deep drops and danger spots if you stray off the paths, and slippery places you’ll be told to avoid. Follow the rules, and nothing should go wrong.”
Only if Loki stays away
, Emily thought. Startled, she scolded herself mentally for even thinking of Haley’s silly rune stones. Were the warnings going to color everything she did at this camp? Not if she could help it.
During the rest of the morning Emily attended an English course taught by Arthur Weil, who rhapsodized about the joys of diagramming sentences.
“Gross,” Haley whispered to Emily, and Emily at first agreed, but by the time Dr. Weil had begun diagramming sentences from bad movie dialogue, looking for hilarious flaws, everyone in the class was laughing.
After a couple of lines from low-budget films, he went into dialogue they’d recognize from some blockbusters. On the board he
“You give me a headache,” Taylor told him.
“Better me than our illustrious teacher,” Maxwell said. He looked at Emily beseechingly. “You understand, don’t you?” he asked. “How can we care—really care—about a date or a battle or a treaty? They’re meaningless moments, lost in a time we are well rid of.”
At that moment Mrs. Comstock strode into the room, her short brown hair bouncing on her neck. “Come to order, please,” she said. She took a silent roll, looking up and down the rows to find the students, then laid her roll book on a nearby chair. Emily was surprised to realize that no teacher’s desk was in the room.
“This class is not going to be a testing ground in which we see how many dates we can memorize,” Mrs. Comstock said. “Dates are convenient hooks on which we can hang our memories of events. But history is all about people—people like you and me who did things to change the world, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. We’re going to spend six weeks learning about people and why they did the things they did. That’s history.”
Maxwell raised one eyebrow as he glanced at Emily. “This class may have potential,” he said, “
if
she means it.”
“The Longhorn Cavern is not far from here. It’s a state park that’s open to the public,” Mrs. Comstock continued. “The cavern is part of a series of caves that may stretch for hundreds of miles underground through the Hill Country and central Texas. Tomorrow we’re going on a field trip to visit the cave, but today we’re going to talk about the people who used it for their own benefit. Many years ago Comanche Indians used one of the large rooms for their council meetings. During the Civil War the Confederate army set up a manufacturing plant for gunpowder in the same large room, and later the cave was a hideout for a pretty wicked Texas outlaw named Sam Bass, who also used the cave to hide the gold he stole in train and bank robberies.”
Taylor spoke up, and Emily could hear the tremor inher voice. “Do we really have to go down into a hole in the ground?”
“There are stairs and handrails,” Mrs. Comstock answered. “And you can walk upright for most of the way. There’s just one low stretch called Lumbago Alley.”
She laughed, but Taylor shuddered and whispered to Emily, “I don’t want to go underground. It’s like being buried alive.”
“No, it’s not,” Emily whispered back, but she could tell that Taylor wasn’t listening.
Someone in the front row raised a hand. “I’ve never been in a cave,” she said. “Will we have to fight off bats?”
Mrs. Comstock smiled. “There are a few bats and some tiny cave mice, but either they’re in hibernation or they’ll stay out of your way. There are well-defined paths and electric lighting.”
The girl gave a sigh of relief. “So the cave is perfectly safe,” she said.
“I didn’t say that,” Mrs. Comstock answered. “There are deep drops and danger spots if you stray off the paths, and slippery places you’ll be told to avoid. Follow the rules, and nothing should go wrong.”
Only if Loki stays away
, Emily thought. Startled, she scolded herself mentally for even thinking of Haley’s silly rune stones. Were the warnings going to color everything she did at this camp? Not if she could help it.
During the rest of the morning Emily attended an English course taught by Arthur Weil, who rhapsodized about the joys of diagramming sentences.
“Gross,” Haley whispered to Emily, and Emily at first agreed, but by the time Dr. Weil had begun diagramming sentences from bad movie dialogue, looking for hilarious flaws, everyone in the class was laughing.
After a couple of lines from low-budget films, he went into dialogue they’d recognize from some blockbusters. On the board he
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