“Hello, Kit. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I’m not so different—just taller. You’re a lot taller, too.” Kit and Jessamine looked at each other, and Kit suddenly felt shy. But Jessamine seemed pleased to see her.
“Which school do you go to?” Kit asked.
“I’m in a new school now.”
“Is it near here?” Kit asked.
Jessamine pointed down the street. “It’s that way, all the way past the railroad tracks.”
“Oh!” Kit said. “I think if you turn and go up the hill instead of crossing the tracks, that’s where my Uncle Hendrick lives.”
“Right…” said Jessamine slowly. “I know what neighborhood you mean.”
“So where do you live now?” Kit asked.
Jessamine busied herself with her jacket as if she hadn’t heard Kit. The teachers were lining their classes up, and Kit knew she had only a minute before they’d leave the library.
“It’s nice to find you again,” Kit said. “Maybe sometime we could…” But they couldn’t really play in the cars anymore, or swing on the tire, and white children didn’t usually play with black children in their city. But…why shouldn’t we see each other sometime? thought Kit.
“Where do you live?” she asked Jessamine again.
“We’ve got a long walk back to school now,” Jessamine said abruptly, not meeting Kit’s eyes. “Good-bye.” She moved away.
“Wait!” Kit called.
Mr. Leiser motioned Kit into line. As they walked back to school, Kit told Ruthie how Jessamine had turned away. How Jessamine wouldn’t tell her where she lived.
“She was always so nice,” Kit said sadly. “I thought she’d want to play together again.”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” asked Ruthie.
Kit raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“Well, your father lost his business. So her father lost his job, too.”
Kit nodded slowly. “You’re right. We were able to keep our home by taking in boarders, but maybe Jessamine’s family lost their home.” Her heart felt heavy. Were the Porters living in a hobo shack down by the train tracks?
Kit decided she would ask her parents if there was any way to help Jessamine’s family. If only there were more rooms in Kit’s house! But…would a colored family move into a white family’s boarding house?
Kit didn’t think so. She remembered how Jessamine’s class had sat at the back of the semi-circle in the library, even though they had not been the last to arrive. There were no black children in Kit’s class, and there were no white children in Jessamine’s class.
For a second, an image like a moving picture flickered in Kit’s mind—of two girls hanging together on a tire swing, flying through the air, shrieking with laughter. It seemed to Kit that it should be a simple thing to be friends with Jessamine, but she realized it was not.
...
As they walked home after school, Kit, Ruthie, and Stirling discussed what sort of presentation to do for their class assignment. Kit suggested their group write a report about the local homes that were part of the Underground Railroad. They could start by talking to Miss Mundis! Maybe she had some historical records packed away.
“There’s nothing I’d like better,” Kit said, “than reading an old diary left by an escaping slave. Wouldn’t that make an amazing primary source for my newspaper article? Mr. Gibbs at the newspaper always says that primary sources are better than gold to a reporter!”
“Well, I don’t think most slaves could write,” said Stirling. “They weren’t allowed to learn.”
Ruthie said she’d rather do a play of the folktale Mrs. Newcomb had told them.
“But that’s not real,” Kit protested.
“Well, it’s more interesting than writing an old report,” Ruthie responded. “If we put on a skit, we can have costumes and props and maybe even special light effects!”
“Well, what if you play Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Kit plays a reporter interviewing you?” suggested Stirling as a compromise. “That’s factual, but you’d still get to wear old-time costumes.”
“Good idea,” Kit said. “And you could play the photographer,” she told Stirling.
Kit left Ruthie and Stirling discussing how to stage the skit and hurried along on her way to Rivermead Manor.
chapter 4
The Time Portal
KIT KNOCKED ON the front door of Rivermead Manor. Through the colored glass she could see Miss Mundis limping down the hallway.
Miss Mundis greeted Kit with a weak smile. “Oh, good! I thought you might be that man again.”
“What man?” Kit offered Miss Mundis her arm to lean on as they walked to the kitchen.
“He came last week and again today, trying to convince me to turn Rivermead into a boarding house! The fellow believes it is the civic duty of people with big houses to provide low-cost places for the homeless.” She sighed, looking around her large kitchen. “Maybe he’s right. But I just don’t have the strength on my own.”
“We have a new boarder at our house who was just talking about that same thing.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize your family took in boarders.”
“We had to—after my father lost his business.”
“Well, bless your heart.” Miss Mundis pursed her lips. “I believe the man who came here told me his name was Mr. West. He’s a tall, gray-haired fellow.”
“That’s our new boarder!” said Kit.
“Your mother has her hands full, then,” Miss Mundis chortled. “Now here’s an idea. I’ll take in lodgers who pay their rent in home repairs! Something always needs doing around here. Lightbulbs are always burning out, and now I can’t get to the store for new ones. There’s a water pipe leaking in the cellar, and it’s left a puddle of water on the floor. This old house will be the death of me!” She shook her head. “I wish I had the money to hire a handyman. But I’m sure you’ll be a great help.”
“Well, I’ll mop up the water in the cellar for you,” Kit offered, a bit hesitantly. “But I don’t know how to fix pipes…”
“Now don’t you worry. I’ve lived here since I was born, and I’m sure I’ll find a way to keep the house holding up for the next generation. This house has quite a history, you know. My ancestor, Edgar Mundis, built Rivermead over a hundred years ago, and it was part of the Underground Railroad.”
Kit seized this opening. “Mrs. Newcomb, the librarian, told us that,” she said. “And she said it had a secret hiding place. Is that true?”
“Well…yes.”
“May I see it?” asked Kit eagerly. She explained about the article she hoped to write for the newspaper.
“I’m afraid I cannot show it to you now,” Miss Mundis answered, lowering her voice. “I don’t want to frighten the time travelers away.” She sank into a chair at the table. Her cat leaped into her lap.
Time travelers again! “Tell me about them,” urged Kit.
“They came last week. I nearly telephoned the police when I first heard noises—bumps in the night, and footsteps on the stairs. Then I saw them with my own eyes, running through the garden! I only saw them from the back, but I could see they were wearing long