“Kenny?” said the woman’s voice. “Is that you?”
Three
Think fast, I told myself. They had come through the mirror. They could only have come from the past. If I went through …
“Honey,” said the woman’s voice, “maybe I should go down. We don’t want a repeat performance of last time.”
“Okay. I’ll be right up here if you need me.”
“That’s fine. Kenny? I’m coming down to talk to you. It’s me—”
If I had stayed just a moment longer, I would have heard her name, but by the time her foot creaked on the top step, I was already pushing my way into the mirror. I’ve always wondered what would have been different if I had just heard her name.
I took the doorstop with me as I went. As desperate as I was to get out of there and close the mirror before anyone followed me, I paused in the Silverlands to make sure I wouldn’t be stepping out into a long fall or a watery grave. I couldn’t see anything, but when I stuck my hand through, I felt only air, and, crouching, I could touch the familiar wooden floor of the carriage house. I wrapped the string around my hand, wished for luck, and pushed the rest of the way out into a humid 1947 night.
Assuring myself that no one was in the carriage house, I felt my way down the darkened stairs, and made my way to the front door, just in time to see a flashlight emerge from the mirror. Either they were able to get into the mirror without me or they had pushed in before I left. I wanted to run straight to the trees at the edge of the creek, either lose myself in there or run along the path that led to the bluffs. Manse Valley was wide. While they were searching, I could work my way back to the mirror.
But no. It was dark. That would keep me safe enough. In the meantime, I had to know what was going on. I willed myself to hold still outside the carriage house door, pressed against the wall.
“Kenny?” said the woman’s voice again. She had come through the mirror. So they both had access? “This is all going to be a little shocking to you, I think. Are you there? We think you know a lot about what happened in the past that we don’t. We can help each other.”
Then the man’s voice. “He’s not coming. Probably gone by now.”
“The place down by the creek?”
“Who knows? You must know it better than anyone.”
The woman shrugged. “Ancient history. To him, it’s just a while ago.”
Where had I heard that voice before? It was just on the edge of my brain, but catching it was like grabbing a fistful of water.
The man’s voice: “Should we stay? Look around?”
“I don’t think there’s any point. We couldn’t find John Wald. There’s too many places to hide. I wish he’d just talk to us.”
“Too afraid he’s going to get knocked over the head.”
“Don’t joke about that. We have to find out what happened. That poor little girl.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t joking. Let’s get back, then. We don’t even know for sure he went into the mirror. This could be the wildest of goose chases, taking us away from what’s important. I want to know what he was doing up there in 1957.”
“What should we do about the mirror?”
“Let’s just leave it.”
“Okay. We’re lucky, aren’t we? That it owes me a trip forward and you a trip back?”
“Lucky. Yeah, that’s what I’d call us.”
And silence. It was tempting. I could call out to them before they left. Run if they tried to come after me. But had I heard they’d been hunting for Wald? That didn’t inspire confidence.
I waited for a long time before going back into the carriage house. Eventually, boredom took over, and I wandered outside of the hedges that bounded the little property and took a look at the main house. Peggy had been missing for almost a month. Was her mother back home? Did her father even realize his daughter was gone?
I shivered despite the humidity.
So they were from two different times?
It must have been after three in the morning when I went back into the carriage house and approached the mirror. Could they be waiting in the Silverlands? If they were, it was dark enough that they wouldn’t see my approach. Having left my backpack in the coal cellar in 1957, I didn’t have a flashlight to brandish as a club, so, feeling foolish, I took Anthony’s length of string and wrapped it around my hand, working it so the two spoons ended up on the outside, a makeshift and ridiculous set of brass knuckles.
I edged around the side of the mirror. I’d stick my head in first, open my eyes as soon as I could, and try to see if anyone was in the Silverlands. If it was empty, I’d go right in and survey the abandoned house, but then I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Tumble out and hope that the element of surprise would get me past? Wait until they left? I was determined about one thing: I wasn’t letting myself get stuck one more mirror into the past. If they tried to grab me, I’d kick, bite, and scream, anything to get on my feet and running.
I took a few deep breaths to get myself worked up, running through an internal pep talk all the while, then rounded on the mirror and stuck my face in.
Cold, as in downtime, the past, heading to 1937. Not hot as it should have been if I was going up. That was wrong. I was out of my time. Whenever I went into the mirror, it should be uptime hot. I didn’t get to go further back. That was against the rules.
Panicked, I pulled my face out and stumbled back. I tripped on a chair leg and fell onto the sofa where I had spent so many nights as Peggy’s secret guest the month before.
I lay there in silence for a moment, thinking about this new development.
The mirror was cold.
This was impossible. Against the rules.
I lay on the sofa and looked at the mirror for the longest time. It was supposed to take me home, or at least in that direction.
I felt stupid wearing my improvised spoon knuckles, so I unwrapped the string and put Anthony’s doorstop on the floor beside me. It was all I had. I was reduced from my backpack full of boxes, flashlights, a map, and a dwindling supply of money, to two spoons and piece of string. If I went back to 1937, would I find that Lilly’s mirror also opened only backward for me? Would it open only backward for Peggy as well?
I don’t know how long I lay there and looked at the stupid mirror, but I found no answers there. What was there to do in the end but go in? John Wald was missing in this time, maybe scared off by the interlopers or perhaps just steering clear while Peggy’s parents searched for her. I had no other friends in this time; my dad was seven.
I got up and with a weary sigh pushed my hand into the mirror.
Which was hot.
I jerked back.
What the hell was going on? For the first time all year, I was beginning to get angry at the mirror. How did it go all these months operating on the same rules, and then suddenly go back and forth. What had I done differently?
Other than keep a doorstop in it for a month.
Frowning, I bent down and picked up the string and spoons. For a month, these had kept a mirror open leading back from 1957 to 1947, Anthony’s passage. We had never done anything like that before, because it blocked access to the kids one jump further up and down. I held the doorstop up to the dim starlight leaking in the hayloft window, but it hadn’t changed in any way. Ordinary white household string, six feet of it, a tarnished spoon
