She knew immediately that was the site of an important battle during England’s First Civil War. She loved reading about historical events in her free time—though, to be honest, teaching a group of rowdy eight-year-olds all subjects didn’t leave her with time for much beyond marking homework and organizing the next day’s class schedule. She sat back and continued reading, curious about why her parents had included that particular event in the journal.
The entry was an account of the defeat of the royalists by the parliamentarians. The strange thing was that it was written as though her parents had been there for the events. Her mother wrote from her heart about how she cried at the carnage and how her father risked his life to recover an artifact on the field only to have it disappear before his very eyes.
She read on and gasped. A photograph of her parents dressed in the garb of that time and holding what she was sure was King Charles’ chief military advisor’s feathered hat was pasted at the bottom of the page. From what she knew of England 1645, her parents’ outfits were more than knockoff costumes. And the events taking place around them, paired with their detailed written accounts, were not what a normal archeologist would be documenting. Plus, the type of photography hadn’t been invented at that time.
It was almost as if . . .but no. It was too ridiculous to think that her parents had actuallybeen there.
Still, they would either have had to be several hundred years old or been able to travel back in time.
She scoffed, trying to convince herself it was crazy to even entertain the idea of time travel. The white orb caught her eye, and she found herself momentarily captivated by the opaque surface. Something about the orb was definitely not normal, and she wondered briefly how it was connected to the journals.
Shaking her head to clear it of the absurd notion that time travel was possible, Abby glanced up at her siblings. They were also reading intently, and by the covert looks at the orb, they seemed to be having a similar experience.
Max had a deep frown embedded between her perfectly arched brows, and her mouth hovered somewhere between a sneer and a disbelieving smile.
Izzy’s eyes were wide and excited as they scanned the words in the book, and Garrett’s hands seemed to have a barely noticeable tremor to them as he continued flipping through the journal.
“This could be a plot for one of my novels,” Izzy said. “Or with the amount of info here, I could write a never-ending series. I guess I get my imagination from our parents.”
Abby smiled at her. “I guess we all get something from them. They’ve written up the history of their destinations perfectly, just like I would have, and look, Max.” Abby flipped to a picture of the first-ever games in Olympia. “These sections are for you. They were as obsessed with sports as you are.”
Max made a face. “I’m not obsessed. I’m merely interested is all.”
Izzy laughed. “Yeah, right. That’s why you have a hundred dans or whatever black belts in every martial art ever taught.”
She laughed. “I’m only sixth dan in karate, silly.”
“That’s still pretty cool,” Abby said.
Garrett turned his journal to the side and admired the middle pages. Abby hadn’t seen him so animated since he wasa child. He turned the book around so they could all see the magnificent drawing of a horse and wagon. “Check out the drawings. I guess I get my art skills from them as well.”
He glanced at Abby, and she thought just for a second that he was going to smile, but instead, his face shut down and he leaned back against the wall and returned to flipping through the pages.
Max threw her journal on the table. “This reminds me of when I was training. My mentor taught me not to believe all I read or saw. There’s always a logical explanation for everything.”
Keeping her gaze on the orb, Abby stood up and moved toward it. If only it were true. Time travel, a historian’s dream come true. “I don’t know, Max. I think the least we can do is read these journals and try to keep an open mind. Mom and Dad left them for us, and they would have expected us to at least believe them.” She waved her hand over the discarded notebooks piled on the coffee table. “The photographs could have been doctored, but I doubt it.”
Garrett had artistic eyes. If anyone could spot a fake, it would be him. “Garrett? What do you make of the photos?”
He glanced up with a slight frown as if processing what Abby had asked, and then peered at a page in his journal. “If they were manipulated, then I’d like to meet whoever did it. They’re perfect.”
“See?” Abby said to Max.
“But,” Garrett jumped in, “that doesn’t mean I believe they time traveled. They could have dressed up and hired actor lookalikes for the pictures.”
Izzy gazed at Garrett. “I think they’re authentic. Look at the backgrounds. There’s no way they would have had all that built just for a photograph.”
Garrett scoffed. “You just want them to be real.” He continued reading, already finished with the conversation.
Max huffedand also went back to her journal.
The doorbell rang, and Garrett raised his brows at his sisters.
Abby shrugged. “Might be Carter.” She rushed to the front door and swung it open. Before she could focus on who it was, a voice shrilled.
“Abby! How are you?”
Abby glanced over her shoulder at Garrett, who had followed her. He waved his hands as if to tell Abby not to let her in.
