Rush Revere and the First Patriots: Time-Travel Adventures With Exceptional Americans Page 9

  “Mr. Revere,” called Tommy, “I say we take Elizabeth with us the next time we time travel. Seriously, I know just the person she should meet. I bet she’s a direct descendant.”

  I knew exactly whom Tommy was thinking of.

  “I knew Thomas would get it,” said Elizabeth.

  “My name’s Tommy,” he said.

  Elizabeth sighed, “Tommy is a child’s name. Thomas is much more sophisticated. Plus, Thomas and Elizabeth sound much better together, don’t you think?”

  “Excuse me?” asked Tommy with a stunned look on his face.

  “I’ve been thinking since you’re the star quarterback and I’m the most popular girl in school that we’d be perfect as the homecoming king and queen. Then we can rule the school together,” Elizabeth said, smiling, “just as long as you do exactly what I say.”

  Cam nearly laughed out loud and Freedom just rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t know what warped fantasy world you’re living in,” Tommy replied, “but keep me out of it.”

  Elizabeth ignored Tommy’s remark and impatiently said, “The day isn’t getting any younger, people. I want to time-travel now.”

  “Now?” Tommy asked, surprised.

  Liberty looked heartbroken. “But I thought it was time for me to finally perform for the class my stomp act about the Stamp Act!” he whined.

  “If she’s time-traveling, then count me out,” said Freedom, crossing her arms.

  “Me, too,” said Cam.

  “Me, three,” Tommy said.

  Elizabeth grabbed Tommy’s arm and said, “I insist that Thomas travel with me. Riding behind him will be the only thing that gets me on that horse.”

  “Oh brother,” Tommy mumbled.

  Elizabeth continued: “And another thing: I’m not wearing any colonial clothing. It makes you look like orphans. Except for you, Mr. Revere. You look like you should be in an insane asylum.”

  This girl was starting to get on my nerves. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She would have to wear the appropriate clothing if she wanted to time-travel but I’d deal with that later. I sighed and said, “Very well, Elizabeth, if time-traveling is what you want, time-traveling is what you’ll get. But for the record, you’re not forcing me to do anything. I’m happy to take you and teach you what only history can share. But mark my words, history has a way of showing us the good, the bad, and the ugly. Are you prepared for that?”

  Elizabeth simply shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Mr. Revere,” she said, “I deal with the good, the bad, and the ugly every day at Manchester Middle School. For example, my fashion sense is the good. And Freedom’s fashion sense is the bad and the ugly.”

  “I’m outta here,” Freedom said, giving one last glare to Elizabeth. “Bye, guys, I’m going to class.” As she walked toward the classroom door she turned back and looked at Liberty. I suspected she was sending him a telepathic message.

  Liberty whinnied and smiled. He whispered, “Freedom thinks we should take Elizabeth to the past and leave her there.”

  “I’m outta here, too,” said Cam. “I better change my clothes before all the girls see me. That’s right, I’ve seen Elizabeth like she’s all desperate to know how I make these colonial clothes look so good! We can hang later, Lizzy,” Cam winked.

  “My name is Elizabeth, you moron.”

  “Whatever,” Cam said, casually. “Maybe I’ll see you guys at the football game tomorrow night.” Cam gave us a giant smile and strutted toward the bathroom.

  I turned to Elizabeth and said, “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to wear something more appropriate for our eighteenth-century visit?”

  Elizabeth sighed as if she felt sorry for me. She replied, “I should be asking you the same question.” And then in a very condescending tone she began pointing to what she was wearing and slowly said, “This is a Le Pluer jacket and these are Yass jeans and my Pomanelli shoes are from It-al-y. You, on the other hand, are wearing scraps and rags from the thrift store. I’m surprised you’re not pushing a shopping cart with all your belongings inside.”

  My mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief. Did she just call me a hobo?

  Tommy replied, “Elizabeth, you can’t show up like that and not expect people to start asking questions . . .”

  As he continued to try to explain the potential danger of a girl wearing jeans in the eighteenth century, I turned to Liberty and whispered an idea into his ear.

  Liberty mused, “Hmm, yes, that might be the perfect solution.”

  “Good,” I whispered, “and I still have Freedom’s colonial dress; that should fit Elizabeth.” I interrupted Tommy and Elizabeth and said, “It’s time we show Elizabeth what time-jumping is all about.”

  Tommy lifted himself up onto Liberty’s saddle and I helped up Elizabeth, who sat right behind him.

  “Liberty, it’s time we visit Windsor Castle in England. It seems like a place that would suit Elizabeth.”

  “Windsor Castle is a part of American history?” Tommy asked.

  “It’s the residence of King George III,” I said. “And he was very involved in shaping American history.”

  “Meeting a king sounds great but what are we waiting for?” asked Elizabeth sounding irritated. “Enough chitchat. Sitting on top of your donkey is making me gag. Seriously, the smell is like a manure pile. Let’s go already!”

  “Some people need a swift kick in the you-know-where,” Liberty snorted.

  “Let’s just stick with our plan,” I reassured him.

  “Fine!” said Liberty. “It’ll be my pleasure.” He took a deep breath and firmly said, “Rush, rush, rushing to history!”

  As the gold and purple time portal started to open, I hoped our plan would work. I ran closely behind Liberty as he galloped toward the portal. I shouted, “England, Windsor Castle, 1766, King George III.”

  As Liberty jumped I heard Elizabeth scream as she passed through the portal. I immediately followed and in the time it takes to hurdle a small fence I landed on the other side. The first thing I saw was Elizabeth sailing over Liberty’s head and landing face-first in the middle of a small pond with several lily pads floating on the surface of the water.

  Windsor Castle, Berkshire, the royal residence in England.

  Tommy quickly jumped off Liberty and raced over to the edge of the shallow pond and yelled, “Elizabeth, are you okay? Let me help you out!”

  Elizabeth pushed herself up, sopping wet. Her red headband was floating in the water and in its place was a limp lily pad. Her jacket and jeans were muddy and her mascara was smeared. As she slowly walked to the lawn that surrounded the pond I noticed she was missing one shoe. I could barely see it stuck in the mud about two feet under the water. Her hair was matted to her face, and although her mouth was open I wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

  Finally, the silence was broken when she screamed, “Ahhh! What. Just. Happened! What kind of horse stops like that! Are you kidding me?!”

  Liberty confessed: “Um, well, I really didn’t think you’d fall face-first into a pond. Sorry about that. The plan was to get your clothes a little muddy so you’d want to change them and wear something from the eighteenth century.”

  “I’m the one that makes the plans around here, remember!” Elizabeth shouted. “Ugh, just help me get out of this sewer! It smells putrid, almost as bad as Liberty.”

  Liberty ignored the insult, distracted by the new scenery. With wonder in his voice, he said, “Now that is a castle!”

  Directly in front of us was a tall, massive, round stone tower. It was ancient-looking but matched all the smaller castle-like towers and buildings that surrounded us. The smaller towers were connected by a large stone wall that was clearly meant to keep out the unwanted. After a moment, I realized we were inside the grounds of Windsor Castle. The yard was beautifully landscaped with a variety of trees, shrubs, and flowers. The aroma from many varieties of roses was intoxicating. Birds chirped from the trees as bees buzzed around the gard
en. The scene was a paradise and very different from what the colonists were dealing with in a new country.

  As Tommy helped Elizabeth to a small stone bench just a few yards away, I reached for my travel bag that had the colonial dress.

  Suddenly, a voice from behind us yelled, “You there! What is your business?”

  I turned to see three British soldiers running in our direction. Their red-coat uniforms looked brand-new. Their black boots shined and their gold buttons sparkled. Even their muskets looked polished, as if they had never been used. Life behind castle walls was certainly much different than life in the American wilderness, where British troops had to try to control headstrong colonists every day.

  “How did you get into the castle?” asked the lead soldier. He sounded very annoyed.

  “Would you believe we dropped out of the sky?” I said, jokingly. Apparently, my joke wasn’t very funny, as the soldiers just glared at me. “As a matter of fact we have urgent news for the King,” I said.

  “Only those invited get to see the King,” said the soldier, briskly. “Do you have an invitation?”

  I paused for just a moment before Tommy butted in and lied: “We did but it’s probably at the bottom of the pond. As you can see we had a little accident.”

  I smiled and said, “Yes, that’s right. Poor girl. And now’s she’s wet and freezing and I’m sure the King would not want any harm to come to one of his invited guests, especially one so young and beautiful.”

  A portrait of George III, King of Great Britain and Ireland (1760–1820).

  Elizabeth just sat there looking cold and miserable.

  The soldier looked at Elizabeth and then back to me. He paused before he finally said, “Very well. Follow me. But if the King is not expecting you—”

  I interrupted and said, “I assure you the King will be glad we have arrived. Our news is of the utmost importance.”

  Soon we were following the lead soldier, with the other two soldiers following us. We approached a very large door big enough for Liberty to fit through. Two more Redcoats stood guard on either side of the door. We quickly entered into an immense hallway with colorful tapestries that hung from the stone walls. On one side of the hallway were full suits of armor from the Middle Ages. The armor stood like sentinels ready to come to life and protect the castle if need be. When we were halfway down the hallway we saw a tall man descend a stone stairway. The man was in his mid to late twenties. He looked young but was dressed in clothing worthy of a king. Everything he wore looked expensive and new. The rich colors of his clothes, his perfect posture, and even his powdered face intimidated me. The vision of this man was so royal, so majestic that I could barely speak.

  As he reached the last step of the stairway I forced my tongue to comply with my mind and while bowing low I said, “King George, Your Excellency.” Liberty bowed as well, which seemed to amuse the King. “I am Rush Revere, history teacher and historian. And these are my students, Tommy and Elizabeth. We’ve come to bring you news from the New World.”

  “Your Highness,” the lead soldier said with a bow, “they insisted that their news was urgent.”

  The King looked me up and down as if to say what are these peasants doing in my presence? His eyes turned to Elizabeth and said, “Elizabeth is a fine name, a royal name. But why is she drenched from head to toe? Guard, find the maids and have them dress her in something appropriate. Take her to the Red Drawing Room when she is fit for company. And you can burn those rags she’s wearing.”

  Elizabeth was staring at King George III as if he were a rock star. Surprisingly, she did not complain about her clothes getting burned. In fact, I wondered if she had heard him at all. Instead, she bowed low and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty. Your clothes are magnificent. You shine like gold. It’s been a long journey but I am honored to be in your presence.”

  I was shocked by Elizabeth’s sudden change in character. She was actually being nice and extremely polite! She played along perfectly and curtseyed to the King and then followed the guard while leaving a trail of water still dripping from her clothing.

  “Is that the same girl we know? That’s what you call sucking up!” whispered Tommy with a grin.

  “Is something amusing?” King George asked, reminding us quickly of our surroundings.

  “No, Your Excellency, quite the opposite,” I said standing up straight. “There is a serious situation happening in the colonies.”

  “Let us retire to the Red Drawing Room. Guard, take Mr. Revere’s horse to the livery.”

  It didn’t take us long before we entered a magnificent room adorned with red velvet chairs with golden armrests. Huge golden-framed paintings of kings and queens lined the red fabric walls. The ceiling looked like it was painted with real gold leaf. Golden tables with intricate and expensive-looking vases and statues and golden clocks reminded me that we were indeed in a real castle with a real king and his real riches! Several of the King’s guards entered the room with us.

  “Tell me this important news from the colonies,” said the King as he gracefully sat in a royal-looking chair and crossed his legs.

  The king didn’t smile but he wasn’t frowning, either. Tommy and I found chairs and sat down. I said, “We are here to tell you that the people are not happy in America.”

  The King looked mildly interested in what I was saying but not very concerned. “What concern is that of mine?” he asked.

  I was thrown off a bit by his question. I had expected him to ask me to explain further. Tommy looked at me with his eyebrows raised as if to say, what now?

  I knew I couldn’t change history, and I hadn’t come to pick a fight. But I was determined to explain the colonial situation and, hopefully, learn some historical truth in the process. I said, “This should concern Your Majesty because the people are getting more and more angry. They left England for a reason. They were looking for freedom and the chance to really succeed with their lives.”

  “You came all this way to tell me that the colonists are fighting with the motherland? You think this is important information for me? You are a foolish man!” said the King in a raised voice.

  I must say that his insult got under my skin. I respected that he is a king but I was born an American, and I wasn’t thrilled about getting treated this way! I held my temper enough to say, “Your Excellency, please if you would—you are mistreating the people, the taxes are too severe, and they cannot vote! This isn’t the way to lead.”

  “Revere, I should throw you out in the moat this minute for your ridiculous statements. How dare you tell me how to be a leader! I am the head of England; I know exactly what I’m doing. The New World is our land and the people are ours. They must share their wealth with the homeland, they must pay taxes to England, and they must obey the wishes of the King!”

  The guards in the room moved closer to King George as if I was some kind of threat.

  Normally, I’m as cool as a cucumber, but this was getting out of control. The King was really laying into me now and I must say it was getting to me.

  Tommy whispered, “No wonder Elizabeth is a fan! He’s a bigger diva than she is!”

  “Your Excellency, you are a smart man,” I said. “Why are you pursuing this path? What benefit is there to Britain?” I was trying to remain detached as best I could, an observer of history.

  “I do not need you to tell me I am smart! I do not need you to tell me anything, you buffoon!” the King said, pounding the bottom of his fist on his knee.

  “With all due respect, Your Highness, I’m hardly a buffoon.” I tried to maintain some sense of relaxed scholarship, but I was starting to sweat and my heart was starting to beat faster. I was either scared or angry or both! I continued: “I am just trying to figure out why you are so dedicated to limiting the rights of the Americans. Why do you treat them this way? Why are you taxing them so much?”

  The King squinted at me and asked, “Do all the colonists dress like you?” Before I could respond the King rep
lied, “The hat you wear, it is atrocious. Your coat is that of a commoner. Your shoes look pale and unpolished. And your speech sounds ghastly. Do you have a speech impediment or was your mother simply as dumb as you are?”

  Did he really just insult my mother? This king was pompous, rude, and inconsiderate. Frankly, he was a jerk!

  “No matter, I will answer your insidious question,” the King said. “The colonies are behaving like children. They have forgotten their mother country and for that they must be disciplined. They are not their own land or their own people! They are part of this country! They are under my rule and always will be!”

  I knew I shouldn’t provoke the King and was doubtful that anything I could say would get through to him. But he did insult my mother! I finally said, “Yes, children can be very rude. In fact, you, yourself, look very young. Was it you who chose to punish the colonists by creating the Stamp Act and Quartering Act?” My comment seemed to strike a nerve in the king.

  “How dare you!” shouted the King.

  The King’s guards pressed forward and unsheathed their swords. King George raised his hand and the soldiers stopped. I imagine they thought my words had sentenced me to the dungeon. I doubt many people, if any, dared speak to the King of England like I had.

  King George eased back in his chair and coldly said, “Parliament creates the rules based on what they feel is best for the colonies and best for England. The thirteen colonies need order. They need England like a baby needs its mother’s milk.” When he finished speaking he smirked with satisfaction.

  I forced myself to remain calm and replied, “That is a good point, Your Highness. But the colonies believe they are no longer babies. In fact, they believe they are no longer children. Their economy is thriving, their businesses are successful, and they refuse to be told what taxes they have to pay—”