and see the sweat flowing down his face. For a minute, Jessie forgot she wasn't standing in the shop herself, perhaps having stopped in after school to see Pa. But she couldn't feel the heat of the fire, and all these strangely dressed future children surrounded her.
Some were snickering.
"Couldn't he find an easier way to do that?" one boy asked.
"Shut up!" Jessie said. "He's the best!"
NINE
Well," Mrs. Spurning said as everyone stared at Jessie. "I see the blacksmith has a fan."
Jessie bent her head, afraid she would say more and betray who she was. She wondered what the wood-vented fan in the corner of Pa's blacksmith shop had to do with what she had said. She concentrated on listening to Mrs. Spurning. And don't say anything! she warned herself.
"It's true," Mrs. Spurning continued, "that by 1840 standards, our blacksmith here is quite talented. It's just that you're used to seeing the products of much more advanced techniques."
Jessie heard mumblings around the boy who'd made fun of Pa, something like, "touchy, touchy." But she didn't look at him. The vision of Pa, now staring at another horseshoe, swam in front of Jessie's eyes.
"Don't mind them," Nicole leaned over to say. "They're stupid. If it's not on MTV, they don't know what it is."
Jessie nodded without understanding. She wished everyone would leave so she could step into Pa's shop and have everything be normal again. She wouldn't even mind being scolded for skipping school. But she had to think about Katie. . . .
"Hey, why are you with our group? I've never seen you at Oakdale," Nicole said.
"Oh, I don't go there. I, uh, got separated from my classmates," Jessie said, not really lying.
"Hope you don't get in trouble when you get back."
"Me too." Absolutely, Jessie thought.
Nicole was still looking at Jessie a little strangely, and Jessie was afraid she might guess Jessie really didn't belong. She crowded forward, pretending to be very intent on Mrs. Spurning's explanation of how vital a blacksmith was to an 1840s community. Mrs. Spurning couldn't say enough about how important Pa was, Jessie thought. She clenched her teeth to keep from adding things.
But in a few minutes, Mrs. Spurning had finished with Pa, and she led the group to the next room. There, the image was of Mr. Wittingham making barrels. He got a couple minutes of explanation, the children stared, and then it was on to the next room.
To Jessie, everything they saw looked achingly familiar. Many of the women were standing outside in their yards boiling their laundry, while others tended cooking pots over their fireplaces. The maid at Dr. Fister's polished his silver tea service. Mr. Seward measured out flour, sugar, and salt for Mrs. Green on his dented scales.
But the children arouqd Jessie poked fun at almost everything.
"Hasn't she ever heard of a washing machine?" the girl called Heather said as they watched Mrs. Morrow expertly wring out a pair of long underwear.
"Look at that hat! Ug-ly!" another girl said about Mrs. Green's stylish bonnet. "She looks like a duck."
Jessie and her friends had made fun of Mrs. Green themselves—and she did look like a duck. But Jessie gritted her teeth to keep from saying something mean back. Didn't these girls know how silly they looked, wearing pants like boys?
Mrs. Spurning told Heather, no, in 1840 there was no such thing as a washing machine, and she should be glad they existed now. Jessie wondered what a washing machine was. Was it easier? She hated laundry.
When they had seen most of the rooms for the houses and shops, Mrs. Spurning brought the group back to the open area in the middle. Jessie saw several other groups behind them, working their way through the rooms Jessie's group had seen. All of them had guides like Mrs. Spurning, wearing what Jessie thought of as the right clothes. How many people watched Clifton every day?
"All right, kids, we're almost done," Mrs. Spurning said. "Before we see our last place, I want to remind
Some were snickering.
"Couldn't he find an easier way to do that?" one boy asked.
"Shut up!" Jessie said. "He's the best!"
NINE
Well," Mrs. Spurning said as everyone stared at Jessie. "I see the blacksmith has a fan."
Jessie bent her head, afraid she would say more and betray who she was. She wondered what the wood-vented fan in the corner of Pa's blacksmith shop had to do with what she had said. She concentrated on listening to Mrs. Spurning. And don't say anything! she warned herself.
"It's true," Mrs. Spurning continued, "that by 1840 standards, our blacksmith here is quite talented. It's just that you're used to seeing the products of much more advanced techniques."
Jessie heard mumblings around the boy who'd made fun of Pa, something like, "touchy, touchy." But she didn't look at him. The vision of Pa, now staring at another horseshoe, swam in front of Jessie's eyes.
"Don't mind them," Nicole leaned over to say. "They're stupid. If it's not on MTV, they don't know what it is."
Jessie nodded without understanding. She wished everyone would leave so she could step into Pa's shop and have everything be normal again. She wouldn't even mind being scolded for skipping school. But she had to think about Katie. . . .
"Hey, why are you with our group? I've never seen you at Oakdale," Nicole said.
"Oh, I don't go there. I, uh, got separated from my classmates," Jessie said, not really lying.
"Hope you don't get in trouble when you get back."
"Me too." Absolutely, Jessie thought.
Nicole was still looking at Jessie a little strangely, and Jessie was afraid she might guess Jessie really didn't belong. She crowded forward, pretending to be very intent on Mrs. Spurning's explanation of how vital a blacksmith was to an 1840s community. Mrs. Spurning couldn't say enough about how important Pa was, Jessie thought. She clenched her teeth to keep from adding things.
But in a few minutes, Mrs. Spurning had finished with Pa, and she led the group to the next room. There, the image was of Mr. Wittingham making barrels. He got a couple minutes of explanation, the children stared, and then it was on to the next room.
To Jessie, everything they saw looked achingly familiar. Many of the women were standing outside in their yards boiling their laundry, while others tended cooking pots over their fireplaces. The maid at Dr. Fister's polished his silver tea service. Mr. Seward measured out flour, sugar, and salt for Mrs. Green on his dented scales.
But the children arouqd Jessie poked fun at almost everything.
"Hasn't she ever heard of a washing machine?" the girl called Heather said as they watched Mrs. Morrow expertly wring out a pair of long underwear.
"Look at that hat! Ug-ly!" another girl said about Mrs. Green's stylish bonnet. "She looks like a duck."
Jessie and her friends had made fun of Mrs. Green themselves—and she did look like a duck. But Jessie gritted her teeth to keep from saying something mean back. Didn't these girls know how silly they looked, wearing pants like boys?
Mrs. Spurning told Heather, no, in 1840 there was no such thing as a washing machine, and she should be glad they existed now. Jessie wondered what a washing machine was. Was it easier? She hated laundry.
When they had seen most of the rooms for the houses and shops, Mrs. Spurning brought the group back to the open area in the middle. Jessie saw several other groups behind them, working their way through the rooms Jessie's group had seen. All of them had guides like Mrs. Spurning, wearing what Jessie thought of as the right clothes. How many people watched Clifton every day?
"All right, kids, we're almost done," Mrs. Spurning said. "Before we see our last place, I want to remind
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