Running Out of Time by Margaret Peterson Haddix Read Free Book Online Page B

the future not allowed in Clifton. But why did the woman say it so angrily?
    Jessie gave up wondering and looked around. They were heading down the same corridor Jessie had crept through the night before. But in the bright light from those miraculous glass globes, now Jessie noticed pictures on the wall. Moving slowly toward them, Jessie saw they weren't paintings or drawings but something else, something that seemed to capture scenes just as someone might see them. They were incredible. How could such pictures exist?
    Jessie remembered Mr. Smythe telling the school about a new invention called a daguerreotype, but she'd only half believed him. It sounded crazy, that someone's image could be captured like that. And, of course, she'd never actually seen a daguerreotype. The first one in the United States had been taken only the year before, in 1839. Maybe that's what these were. Why, she'd be the first person in Clifton to—
    Suddenly Jessie realized how silly she was being. Everyone else walked by the pictures as though they were nothing. The rest of the world had seen hundreds of these daguerreotypes, probably. She had to remember this was 1996, not 1840.
    Then Jessie noticed all these scenes were from Clifton: Mrs. Harlow cooking over the open fireplace, Mr. Seward measuring out a poke of flour for Mrs. Ruddle, Mr. Smythe looking stern as the schoolchildren stood and recited. And yes—Jessie was in that picture, in the fifth-grade row. She looked younger, but it was definitely her.
    Jessie looked around, wanting to tell someone how strange it was to see herself as she'd looked two years ago. But she couldn't. That was the last thing she should tell anyone.
    Remembering the danger, Jessie moved away from the pictures. She tried to walk in the center of the group. Cautiously, so no one would catch her staring, she looked around at the others. And she got another jolt: A few of the children, she discovered, were actually Negroes! At least, their faces and hands were a shade or two darker than Jessie's. Some of them had curly hair, but others' hair was straight. Jessie had never seen a Negro, and she was disappointed that their skin wasn't pure black and their hair pure curl, as she'd always heard. Jessie didn't think they could be
    slaves, because they acted just like all the other children. Maybe the abolitionists in Clifton had gotten their wish, and there wasn't slavery anymore.
    By this time, the group was beyond the door Jessie had come through the night before. A bit farther down the hall, Jessie saw a woman wearing a long dress, apron, and bonnet. It made Jessie feel better to see someone dressed like that, but the woman wasn't from Clifton.
    The group of children reached the woman and she motioned for them to stop.
    "Good morning!" she said, a little too cheerfully. "Welcome to Clifton. My name's Mrs. Spurning and I'm going to be your tour guide today. I understand you've come on a school trip from"—she looked at a card in her hand— "Oakdale Junior High School?"
    Some of the children mumbled yeses. Any adult in Clifton would have reprimanded the children and ordered them to say, "Yes, ma'am," promptly and crisply. But this Mrs. Spurning only smiled.
    "Well, we have quite a treat for you today. This will be like going back in a time machine. When you left for school this morning, it was 1996. Here, it's 1840. The people here live without TVs, VCRs, stereos, refrigerators, freezers, or even running water—"
    "How do they survive?" one boy with spiky yellow hair asked. Several around him laughed.
    Mrs. Spurning ignored his smart-alecky tone.
    "They survive just like many of your ancestors did. Some would say they live better than you, because they aren't weighed down with your possessions."
    "I doubt it," the boy said. The others laughed again.
    Mrs. Spurning forced a smile. "Why don't you wait and
    see?"
    She continued, speaking dully, as though she'd said the same words many times before. She sounded like Mr.