Running Out of Time (2 page)

It was another mystery of Clifton, Jessie thought, like the haunted trees.

Once, when Jessie was little, she'd noticed a box at the top of one of the haunted trees. It was painted the same color as the branches, but it held a piece of glass that sometimes glinted in the sunlight. The box moved constantly, even when there wasn't a breeze. Jessie had been so curious that she started climbing the tree. She'd only gotten her right leg up on a branch when Mr. Seward ran out of his store and ordered her down. At first, Jessie thought it was funny to see the big man run. But she didn't laugh long. Mr. Seward spanked her, hard, and then Pa spanked her when she got home. Both of them shushed her whenever she tried to say something about the box.

After that, the box disappeared and was replaced by a
piece of glass in one of the limbs. Jessie never told anyone she saw it. But she would have loved to look at it up close.

The thing was, neither Mr. Seward nor Pa had seemed surprised when Jessie told them about the box. Did adults everywhere have so many secrets, or was it just in Clifton? Except when she was a baby, Jessie had never been any farther away from Clifton than a few miles up the hill to pick blackberries. So she had no way of knowing. Only, the adults in Clifton seemed to be acting more and more strangely lately. They'd confer in whispers, then pretend nothing was going on. Pa had told Jessie that everyone was worried about the depression, which started back in 1837 and didn't seem to have an end in sight.

Jessie could understand people being worried about that—Pa said even the state had gone bankrupt. But she still suspected the adults were whispering about something else. What could it be?

Sometimes Jessie wanted to be an adult right away, so she could learn all the secrets. And sometimes she never wanted to grow up.

Jessie giggled, thinking of the fight she'd had just that day with Hannah. Hannah said the only reason to grow up was to get married and have children.

“Who wants to cook and clean all day? I'm going to be a doctor,” Jessie had said.

“There's no such thing as a woman doctor,” Hannah said.

“I'll be the first, then!”

Hannah laughed at her, so Jessie teased her about being in love with Chester Seward. Was she ever mad about that! It was true, though. And Chester never even looked at Hannah.
Jessie had overheard Hannah ask Ma if she would be an old maid if she wasn't married by sixteen, like Mr. Seward said. Hannah could be so stupid. Jessie wouldn't care if she never got married.

“Jessie?”

Ma was out the Bentons' door now. Jessie stood and picked up the lantern.

“Can I help, Ma?”

“We need to go out to the woods to pick some, uh, herbs.”

It made no sense—they had every herb imaginable dried and hanging from the rafters at home. But Ma had a strange look on her face that told Jessie not to ask questions. Behind her, Mr. Benton came out and nailed a paper sign to the door. It had one word that Jessie could barely make out in the light:
QUARANTINE
.

“What's a quarantine?” Jessie asked. It looked like the kind of word Mr. Smythe, the schoolmaster, would put on the eighth-grade spelling list. But Jessie had never seen it.

“It's a word to let people know there's a dangerous disease inside, so they should stay away,” Ma said. “Mr. Benton's going to tell the Websters and the Harlows to put out signs, too.”

“Not the Sewards?”

Ma shook her head and put her finger to her lips. Another secret.

Ma and Jessie walked into the woods in silence. They passed plenty of herbs, but Jessie decided not to ask what they were looking for. Ma was acting too strangely.

Finally they stopped beside a huge rock that Jessie and her friends had played King of the Mountain on, before it was
forbidden. Ma bent down at the base of the rock. There was nothing but dirt there, but she motioned for Jessie to crouch, too.

Then, when Jessie had doubled over, her cheek pressed against the cold rock, Ma began to whisper.

“I may have to ask you to do something very dangerous,” Ma said.

Jessie felt a chill.

“What?”

Ma shook her head impatiently.

“You can't ask questions now. We may be able to avoid it. The signs may work.”

A thousand questions came to Jessie's mind, but she obediently pushed them away. Ma smiled, grimly.

“After school tomorrow, I want you to tell everyone you have to look for more herbs. Don't let anyone come with you. I'll meet you here as soon as it's dark.”

“Why?” Jessie couldn't help asking.

“I'll tell you then. If I'm not here, everything's fine and you can just go home.”

“But—“

“It's important that you do exactly what I say. And don't tell anyone.”

None of it made sense, but Jessie nodded. Then Ma turned away. She picked a few leaves without even looking to see what they were.

“
W
ake
up
, sleepyhead!”

Jessie groaned. How could it be morning already? But Hannah was standing over the bed, all dressed, her brown hair neatly braided and wrapped around her head. Even in the uncertain light of the loft, Jessie could tell by her sister's red cheeks that Hannah had scrubbed her face hard enough for both of them.

“You're not going to have time for chores if you don't hurry up,” Hannah said. “I don't know why some people need years of sleep.”

Jessie started to answer that “some people” had done more interesting things than sleep all night, but then she stopped. No one was allowed to mention Ma's midnight rounds during the day. It was another secret, though everyone knew about it.

Jessie sat up and remembered that last night was doubly secret. What was the “something very dangerous” that Ma wanted her to do?

Jessie had done pretty much everything dangerous there was to do in Clifton, she thought, without being killed. On a dare, she'd walked a fallen oak tree across Crooked Creek last May when it was flooded. Everyone was sure she'd fall off and drown in the speeding water. But Ma wasn't supposed to know about that. Jessie had also talked Pa into letting her help him shoe Mr. Meders's wild horse once, and the horse had reared and kicked his hooves at her. But Pa had pushed her out of the way then. Jessie couldn't imagine either of her parents actually putting her in danger.

“Jessie—” Ma called from downstairs.

“Coming,” Jessie said.

Hannah flashed her an “I told you so” look and disappeared down the ladder. Jessie thought about throwing her brush at Hannah, but didn't want to take the time to pick it up. And she would get in trouble. Hannah would see to it.

Jessie got out of bed and pulled her dress on, no more carefully than she had the night before. The dress was a threadbare woolen that had originally been Ma's; it was cut down for Hannah and then passed on to Jessie when Hannah became too stout. Jessie didn't think it was fair that she still had to wear Hannah's old clothes. Jessie was an inch taller. It wasn't her fault Hannah was fatter. But people in Clifton didn't care about a girl's ankle showing a little. She'd heard Ma and the other women say it was a scandalous thing back East, but on the frontier people had other things to worry about.

Wondering whether she'd ever have a chance to see the East, Jessie began her daily battle with her hair. It was dark and coarse and uncontrollable. Jessie braided it as tightly as she could, knowing wisps of hair would begin freeing themselves as soon as she finished.

Finally ready, Jessie climbed downstairs and started taking the family's chamber pots out to the outhouse. She hated that chore, but it was her turn. Two of her brothers, Nathan and Bartholomew, were helping Pa feed the cattle, pigs, chickens, and horses. Andrew, who was just two years younger than Jessie, carried wood toward Pa's blacksmith shop. Hannah and Katie, the youngest, helped Ma with breakfast.

Jessie stopped at the well to wash her hands. Pa, heading from the barn to the forge, stepped behind her.

“Morning, Jessica. Did milady sleep well?”

It was his joke, to call his daughters “milady,” even though he didn't believe in royalty. Jessie had heard Mrs. Seward say once that, for a Jacksonian Democrat, Joseph Keyser certainly put on airs.

“Yes, Pa,” Jessie said. She looked at him closely, trying to figure out if he knew about the “something very dangerous” that Ma wanted.

“What's wrong? Did I forget to shave?” Pa made a show of trying to look down at his chin. Jessie decided he didn't know anything about Ma's plans. That scared her, but she clowned an answer.

“I think you missed a patch right there—” Jessie said, pointing at a spot on his right cheek and bringing her hand up suddenly to splash water on his face.

Pa laughed and splashed her back.

“Pa! I don't want to be soaking wet at school!” Jessie protested.

“You started it!”

Jessie dried her hands on her apron as Pa, laughing, went on to the smithy. Jessie had heard Ma complain that Pa acted worse than the little boys sometimes. With his curly brown hair and laughing eyes, he looked a lot like Nathan. Jessie knew he was actually thirty-five, because it said in the family Bible, “Joseph Andrew Keyser, born May 18, 1804, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.” Ma was three years younger, but she acted older. The circuit rider minister, Reverend Holloway, always preached that wives were supposed to be obedient to their husbands. It didn't seem to work that way at Jessie's house. Oh, Ma pretended to be obedient, but she was really in charge.

Only, Pa usually knew what she was planning.

Jessie walked slowly back to the house, stumped about what Ma might want her to do. Usually Jessie could find some answer to any question at school, even when she wasn't entirely sure. But she couldn't figure out anything now. In the sunny yard, Jessie almost wondered if she'd imagined going to the King of the Mountain rock. Had she dreamed it? But no—when she stepped in the cabin door, she saw the wilted leaves Ma had picked on their way out of the woods.

“No dawdling, now,” Ma said as everyone converged at the table. Jessie could smell the salt ham from across the room. There were also eggs, biscuits, gravy, back bacon, apple pie, and mush.

The light from the fire glowed behind the table. The cabin was dim otherwise, because the oilpaper windows were so
thick. Often Jessie wished for glass windows like Dr. Fister's, but today the dimness seemed cozy. Across from the door, the ornate mirror on the back wall reflected little light. Even if it was one of the few heirlooms brought from Pennsylvania, Jessie had never liked the mirror. Maybe she'd been yelled at to stay away from it too many times when she was younger. But she'd been told just as often to be careful around the framed picture of Andrew Jackson and the tacked-up map of the United States, which hung on either side of the cabin door. And she had always thought the map and the picture looked downright friendly.

Pa began his prayer. As always, it was long, and Jessie wasn't the only one to open one eye and peek at the food.

“We implore you, Lord, to keep our village and family safe from any sickness abroad in the land,” Pa said. Jessie glanced up, but Pa's face wasn't any different from when he prayed for the wisdom of the government.

Jessie caught a stern glance from Ma and closed her eyes again until the “Amen.”

M
r. Smythe had asked the question twice, and Jessie still hadn't heard it.

“The presidents,” Mary Ruddle hissed. “Recite the presidents.”

Jessie nodded gratefully and stood up.

“George Washington,” she began. “Elected in 1789 and served two terms. Father of our country. Led the military in the Revolutionary War….”

She zipped through the rest—Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, J. Q. Adams, Jackson, and the current president, Van Buren—without thinking about them. Sometimes she liked to mention extra details, like her father's admiration for Andrew Jackson, even though it got her in trouble. But this time she did the list straight. She didn't understand why the others, especially Hannah, thought this recitation difficult.
Portraits of George Washington and Martin Van Buren hung on the wall over Mr. Smythe's desk, so it would be impossible to forget either of them. There weren't that many presidents in between. Hannah's problem was that she spent too much time craning her neck to see into the mirror that hung beside the eighth graders' desks. Jessie had never understood what it was doing there, unless Mr. Smythe wanted to torture vain students like Hannah.

“And the next presidential election—” Mr. Smythe prompted.

“This year. November 1840,” Jessie said automatically. Mr. Smythe always wanted his students to say what year it was. Jessie thought that was strange. Didn't everyone know?

“Good,” Mr. Smythe said, and turned his attention to third-grade reading. Jessie waited until he wasn't looking and made a face. She didn't like Mr. Smythe. He had hairs growing out of his nose and a way of looking at students as though he knew something they didn't. Jessie couldn't believe he knew as much as the students, because he always had to check their work with his books. Just the day before, he'd forgotten the year that Miles Clifton came up from Kentucky to found the village. And he threatened to get out the whip when the sixth graders tried to tell him the right answer.

“Did anyone ask you?” he'd screamed. And when all the other students looked up to watch him yell, he began fuming, “Am I talking to you? Everyone has to stay after school!”

Jessie hoped he wouldn't make them stay late today. She sat down and saw that her friend Mary had written, “What's wrong?” on her slate.

“Nothing. Just daydreaming,” Jessie wrote back. But then she felt bad about not letting her best friend in on something. “Did you see Sally and Betsy are sick, too?” she wrote.