Read Online Past Perfect by Leila Sales - Free Book Online
Authors: Leila Sales
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Mystery & Detective, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Traditional British, Friendship, Dating & Sex, Adolescence
Ads: Link
pony.
“Don’t you spell your name with a Z ?” she asked. “‘Elizabeth’?”
“Well, maybe. I mean, I never write it down. I could spell it with an S if I wanted. Anyway, don’t you spell ‘lies’ with an i ? Spelling is clearly not this gravestone’s best subject.”
“And aren’t you sixteen?”
“I used to be fifteen, though. Not even that long ago.” Linda shrugged. “Okay.”
“How do you think she died?” I asked, gazing at Elisabeth’s 64
PAST PERFECT
headstone. I didn’t care what Linda thought; this was my doppelgänger. My forbearer . We had a soul connection.
“A fifteen-year-old girl in 1706? There are any number of ways she could have died. Childbirth, disease, an accident . . .
There aren’t very good records on these people, except for the famous ones. Tell whatever story you want, and it’s bound to be true of someone in our graveyard.” Then Linda went off to yell at some kids who were climbing on the table tombs, and I went back to roaming around and reading headstones, even though I had already decided that Elisabeth Connelly was my favorite.
Eventually it was time for my lunch break. I walked along the dusty main road to Bristol House, where I found Tawny eating lunch under a tree. I crouched down next to her, and an overweight modern man snapped a photo of us, exclaiming to his overweight modern wife, “Lookit, a Patriot eating a sandwich!” Which is why there’s a rule that we’re not allowed to have lunch where moderners can see us. But Tawny doesn’t care about rules.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said to me, immediately springing to attention. “I’ve had a brilliant idea.”
“Great,” I said. “Hey, how was your first day of work?” Tawny furrowed her eyebrows at me, like I was completely insane for trying to discuss anything other than the War.
“Forget it,” I said. “What’s the plan?” The spark flashed back into her eyes, and she leaned for-65
LEILA SALES
ward conspiratorially. “We’re going to take them down from the inside,” she muttered, then quickly looked around her, as if for spies.
“Cool,” I said. “How does it work?”
“We’re going to make our own Civil War uniforms,” she hissed. “And then we’re going to waltz right in there like we belong, and they’ll think we’re Civil Warriors, and we’ll use that inside access to tear the place down. You never suspect one of your own.”
Now that I understood it, I saw that Tawny’s plan actually was brilliant. More than a hundred people worked at Reenactmentland; they wouldn’t all recognize one another, especially not this early in the season. Even if they thought we looked unfamiliar, they’d assume we were Civil War reenactors from a visiting regiment. If we were properly costumed, they would never suspect us of being Colonials.
“Except they’d recognize me and you,” I pointed out to Tawny. “Since they just kidnapped us on Friday and all.” Tawny flipped her hand dismissively. She’s a visionary, not a details person. This is why she needed a Lieutenant in the first place. “We’ll send a few of the guys,” she said. “No big deal. It doesn’t have to be the two of us.” Too bad. I would have enjoyed taking Reenactmentland down from the inside, if only because it would have given me the chance to see Dan again. But all I said to Tawny was,
“I like it.”
66
PAST PERFECT
“Good.” She grinned. “’Cause I already enlisted the milliner girls to start sewing Confederate uniforms.” Ladies and gentlemen: Tawny Nelson.
Our strategizing complete, Tawny leaned back against the tree and returned to her anachronistic sandwich. I continued on to the silversmith’s, to get my own lunch. The upstairs of the silversmith’s workshop, like the upstairs of a lot of buildings at Essex, is modernized. There’s a fan and a refrigerator, where my cheese sandwich was waiting for me.
A few moderners stopped me along the way, asking for
“Don’t you spell your name with a Z ?” she asked. “‘Elizabeth’?”
“Well, maybe. I mean, I never write it down. I could spell it with an S if I wanted. Anyway, don’t you spell ‘lies’ with an i ? Spelling is clearly not this gravestone’s best subject.”
“And aren’t you sixteen?”
“I used to be fifteen, though. Not even that long ago.” Linda shrugged. “Okay.”
“How do you think she died?” I asked, gazing at Elisabeth’s 64
PAST PERFECT
headstone. I didn’t care what Linda thought; this was my doppelgänger. My forbearer . We had a soul connection.
“A fifteen-year-old girl in 1706? There are any number of ways she could have died. Childbirth, disease, an accident . . .
There aren’t very good records on these people, except for the famous ones. Tell whatever story you want, and it’s bound to be true of someone in our graveyard.” Then Linda went off to yell at some kids who were climbing on the table tombs, and I went back to roaming around and reading headstones, even though I had already decided that Elisabeth Connelly was my favorite.
Eventually it was time for my lunch break. I walked along the dusty main road to Bristol House, where I found Tawny eating lunch under a tree. I crouched down next to her, and an overweight modern man snapped a photo of us, exclaiming to his overweight modern wife, “Lookit, a Patriot eating a sandwich!” Which is why there’s a rule that we’re not allowed to have lunch where moderners can see us. But Tawny doesn’t care about rules.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said to me, immediately springing to attention. “I’ve had a brilliant idea.”
“Great,” I said. “Hey, how was your first day of work?” Tawny furrowed her eyebrows at me, like I was completely insane for trying to discuss anything other than the War.
“Forget it,” I said. “What’s the plan?” The spark flashed back into her eyes, and she leaned for-65
LEILA SALES
ward conspiratorially. “We’re going to take them down from the inside,” she muttered, then quickly looked around her, as if for spies.
“Cool,” I said. “How does it work?”
“We’re going to make our own Civil War uniforms,” she hissed. “And then we’re going to waltz right in there like we belong, and they’ll think we’re Civil Warriors, and we’ll use that inside access to tear the place down. You never suspect one of your own.”
Now that I understood it, I saw that Tawny’s plan actually was brilliant. More than a hundred people worked at Reenactmentland; they wouldn’t all recognize one another, especially not this early in the season. Even if they thought we looked unfamiliar, they’d assume we were Civil War reenactors from a visiting regiment. If we were properly costumed, they would never suspect us of being Colonials.
“Except they’d recognize me and you,” I pointed out to Tawny. “Since they just kidnapped us on Friday and all.” Tawny flipped her hand dismissively. She’s a visionary, not a details person. This is why she needed a Lieutenant in the first place. “We’ll send a few of the guys,” she said. “No big deal. It doesn’t have to be the two of us.” Too bad. I would have enjoyed taking Reenactmentland down from the inside, if only because it would have given me the chance to see Dan again. But all I said to Tawny was,
“I like it.”
66
PAST PERFECT
“Good.” She grinned. “’Cause I already enlisted the milliner girls to start sewing Confederate uniforms.” Ladies and gentlemen: Tawny Nelson.
Our strategizing complete, Tawny leaned back against the tree and returned to her anachronistic sandwich. I continued on to the silversmith’s, to get my own lunch. The upstairs of the silversmith’s workshop, like the upstairs of a lot of buildings at Essex, is modernized. There’s a fan and a refrigerator, where my cheese sandwich was waiting for me.
A few moderners stopped me along the way, asking for
Similar Books
