Authors: Julia Watts
Cal broke in. “You mean someone on the side of the law.”
“You could put it like that. Admiral Vernon—Old Grog, he was called—captured the city of Puerto Bello, in Panama. Seventeen thirty-nine it was, and I assisted him by being only nine years old at the time and not yet a pirate.
“A winding country lane led to a farm, named Portobello by a patriotic farmer. A hundred years later, it was a favorite spot for people to gather on Saturday nights and watch side shows, have their palms read and pick up a bargain at the market.”
He sighed. “And now it is what it is today. Nothing stays the same. My city’s gone—I barely recognize it. All the people I knew are gone.”
He stroked Baxter and allowed him to lick his salmon-flavored fingertips. “Visiting seventeen seventy-two made me realize that I don’t belong there anymore either. But the sea—that’s a friend that never lets me down. So I’ll be on my way now. Stay in touch if you like.”
He stood up straight and wiped his hands on his pants. “But don’t go using that box again.”
He offered his knuckles for fist bumps all around, gave a two-finger salute and walked out of the room, out of their lives again.
The party was winding down. The music had stopped, and tables once piled high with food and drink were now filled with soiled dishes and glassware. Conversations continued, but they were subdued.
“Mom and Dad’ll want to head out pretty soon,” Anthony said to Frederica. “If you want to see your presents, you’d better come now. They’re in the kitchen.”
“Go on,” said Liv. “We’ll catch up in a minute.”
She watched them disappear through the swinging door, then asked Frederica, “How’s it going with your parents?”
“Better than I expected. We’ve started some counseling, and I think it’s helping. I go by myself one day every week, and Mum and Dad go on another. If we do well, we’ll get to try some sessions together.”
“Oh, I think you will, and soon.”
Frederica’s smile lit up her face. “I believe you’re right,” she said. “Whatever our differences, they’re my family—they stuck up for me in a crisis. Who knows? Maybe this year will be a good one at school, if I give people a chance, try to make some friends.” She turned to hug Liv. “Thanks for helping me learn how to make a friend.”
Liv returned the hug. “Same here.”
In the kitchen, the four of them gathered, accompanied by the sounds of Precious and McGinty gnawing away at the fruit in the Wescotts’ gift basket, a thank you to the Havards for letting Liv practice in their home.
Liv presented her gift first, and Frederica pulled off the ribbon and opened the box. “A short-sleeved blouse,” she whispered, eyes shining.
Anthony nudged Cal, and the two of them pulled their baseball gloves from behind their backs. Anthony opened his to reveal a ball.
Frederica scratched at her cheek. “You’re giving me your gloves?”
“It’s an even better gift,” Cal said proudly. “We’re going to teach you how to catch a baseball! Meet us tomorrow morning in the park.”
Frederica shook her head and laughed. “I’ll be there. Wait— I have something for you, too.”
She disappeared down the hallway and returned a minute later with a small box. “Here,” she said, handing it to Liv. “I guess you’ll have to work out how to share it. I could afford only just the one.”
Liv lifted the lid of the cardboard box.
“Whoa!” breathed Anthony. “I know what that is—an H4 replica! Very cool!”
“It’s perfect,” said Liv. Cal nodded in agreement.
“And I bought it at the perfect place,” she said. ‘The First Shop in the World’ now back in its proper place, at zero degrees longitude.”
The beginning of the return flight home was the only time a window seat would matter to Liv, so she’d bargained with the boys. It was hers for the first hour, then Anthony and Cal could split the rest of the time.
She planned to savor her last views of England. As the plane climbed into the sky, she wistfully watched the ground slip away. They skimmed over houses and highways, then soared higher and higher as the view changed to an achingly beautiful patchwork of emerald green fields dotted with sheep and bordered by stone fences.
She admired the scenery and considered how her life had changed in two short months. There’d been plenty of adventure, some incredible luck and too many close calls.
Carelessness with the Quimbaya secret and the box had almost cost the lives of two men, and the effects of going back in time to fix that had rippled into the present and almost gotten Morehouse and Anthony killed.
On the positive side, her most perplexing enemy, Frederica, was now a good friend. Both the Cumpstons were enemies, but she wasn’t going to count them. Everyone was better off with Lance and his crew arrested, and though old Octavius hadn’t appreciated it, she had helped keep him from becoming a murderer.
The only one she couldn’t quite call a friend was McGinty, and after all she’d done for him! He’d continued to pester her up to the last minute, and Precious wasn’t much better, squawking and urging him on with cries of, “Run a shot across the bow!”
At least they were happy with each other, and that made Liv smile. Maybe her happiness didn’t depend on having everything fit her vision of perfection.
She’d practiced the piano well enough, stayed active and in shape, and kept up with her debate team. The positions she’d walked away from in June might be waiting for her when she got back.
If not, it was going to be okay. She wanted to be on the debate team—she no longer needed to be on it. And if someone else was soccer team captain—well, that might be a little harder to let go, but she could do it. And she had a friend she could talk to about it.
Her parents had invited Frederica to visit them in America next summer, and they had each other’s email addresses.
She sat back in the seat as the plane continued its ascent, the beautiful English landscape now replaced by clouds. Then they left the clouds behind and sailed into the azure blue sky toward home.
Dianne C. Stewart lives in Knoxville, Tennessee, with her husband, Tim, and teaches fourth graders. The characters in her stories are drawn from real life and her imagination. She wants her readers to believe in themselves and their ability to shape the future of the world. She invites them to visit her website at www. diannecstewart.com or to email comments and questions to her at [email protected], with a book-related subject line.