Butterfly Serials 1.5

The Adventure Never Ends; Butterfly Serials 1.5

© 2024 by Amber Wright

June 1973.

Liza Reno was stuck in the basement of the Madison Mental Hospital with a flashlight and one of the diaries. Instead of WWII, it was set in the Civil War. Winnie Lang's relative or something...

Date: July 1863

Place: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“Well, that was an adventure!” Mrs. Mills still stared away with glazed eyes as the train braked at the Philadelphia station and black smoke curled into the cloudy afternoon sky.

Polly grinned as she saw Jina waving at the platform and Pete shaking his teddy bear. Uncle Peter and Aunt Millie stood there, looking pleased with themselves. Polly waved back.

“We're here, Mrs. Mills!” Polly stood up excitedly, ready to tell Jina everything about their adventure. The soldiers in shiny brass buttons. The Yankee camp. The White House. Meeting the president! She practically flew down the aisle with her travelling back, eager to get out of that train.

A hand stopped her as she neared the exit. Heart pounding, she looked up. It was the Mr. Accent. “You!”

“Yes, me. We meet again, miss.” He tipped his hat and handed her the purse he had stolen from her. “Good afternoon. I hope your trip was pleasant.”

“Good afternoon!” Polly jerked away from his grasp and ran the rest of the way, panting for breath once she reached the others on the platform. “Jina, you'll never going to believe what happened!”

“Tell me all about it on the way,” Jina grabbed her arm and rushed her towards the carriage where the driver sat stiffly on top. They climbed in. “We're going to eat at Ucci's as soon as you and Mrs. Mills freshen up at home. Now, what happened?”

Polly talked all the way to the house, paused as she freshened up in a jiff, and talked all the way to Ucci's. Once she stepped into restaurant, she stopped talking and looked around at everything and everyone. The workers were all nice and olive tanned. Who was who?

“Where's your cousin, Jina?” Polly was desperate to know.

“He's pouring that glass of lemonade over in the corner,” Jina nodded in direction.

Polly stared. He was so good-looking! “Did you think he will actually teach us to cook? He won't think I'm too little and insignificant, will he?”

“Of course not,” Jina's dark eyes flashed and widened with a grin. “He knows my cousin is the most wonderful person in the world! I told him you were coming and he said he'd love to meet you. Now, let's—”

“Jina, we're being seated now. Come along,” Aunt Millie gave her a stern look.

Jina ducked her head close to Polly's. “We have to behave to the tittle here or Mama will hear from Grandmama.” She grinned.

Polly understood. “I'm starving anyway! We can meet him afterwards, maybe?”

“After we eat,” Jina whispered with a look of conspiracy, “we can go to the powder room and then make a dash for the kitchen to meet Marc!”

“Okay,” Polly found herself seated on a plush armchair at a satin smooth cherry wooden round table. In front of her was a rolled up napkin with silverware and a crystal clear glass.

The waiter asked what drinks they wanted and took their orders. Polly ordered what Jina had. Cheesy sauce with chicken over noodles and chocolate cheesecake for dessert.

When their drinks came, another waiter set baskets of steaming garlic bread on the table and little bowls of tomato sauce. It smelled scrumptious.

“I'd get fat if I lived here!” Polly inhaled the aroma with a blissful sigh.

The food came in heaps and Polly was thoroughly delighted. The meal passed in a whirl of singing tastebuds and swallows. The cheesecake set her meal to perfection.

“Now,” Jina whispered with a little grin. She excused them from the table and they were off.

The powder room was filled with mirrors and the scent of rose soap. “What is this?”

“It's an indoor outhouse,” Jina pointed to the compartments with doors. “We may as well wash our hands while we're here. It's real rose soap imported from Italy!”

Polly felt as rich as a queen using the rose soap and soft towel. “I could get used to this.”

“If we step out real quietly,” Jina motioned for Polly to follow.

They made it to the kitchen and were in giggles when Marc arched one black eyebrow.

“Jina, my adorable little cousin!” Marc kissed the top of her head. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

“Marc, meet the Polly Andrews of Leavenworth, Indiana!”

Polly's tongue was paper dry but she managed to stammer out a few replies and soon they were on their way to the table again, Marc promising them to come tomorrow to give them a cooking lesson. Polly was high in the clouds by the time she went to bed, chatting with Jina until they dropped off to sleep.

The morning passed in a whirl of packing and chatting and a walk on the grounds. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. And Marc was coming at ten o'clock!

Ten o'clock could not come faster, Polly thought, as she packed her things with Jina adding some gifts for her. Polly felt guilty as she had nothing to give back to her. Suddenly, she realized she did have something to give her. “Here's my purse from Leavenworth. Take it! So we'll both have a purse from where we each live. It's not much but it's all I've got with me to give you.”

“You shouldn't!” Jina started to protest.

“Please? Just for a souvenir? From the Leavenworth, Indiana?” Polly grinned and Jina relented.

“I'll put it in a glass case then,” Jina fingered the old purse like it was a relic or something. “Wait, there's something in here!” She pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

“Read it,” Polly got excited and nearly flattened her straw hat as she put it into its hat box. “What does it say?”

“We meet again, and we will meet again. Until then, Horace.”

“How dare he!” Polly fumed, staring at the sheet of paper as if it was a coiled snake ready to strike her. “First he steals my purse and then tells me I have to meet him again! Never!”

“Never say never,” Jina giggled, folding the paper. “Do you want to keep it as a souvenir from your Rebel spy?”

“You keep it. It might bring me good luck so I won't have to see him again.”

Jina stuffed the note into Polly's old purse. “I wonder who he is.”

“Well, I don't.” Polly gulped down a mouthful of fear. “Is it time for Marc to come yet?”

The clock struck ten and Polly was downstairs in an instant, Jina at her heels. The girls were in giggles again as Marc arrived promptly and they headed towards the kitchen where Cook frowned as they entered. Evidently, she did not approve.

The next hour was spent wearing huge white aprons and laughing over their cooking mistakes.

“Mine's too sticky. See, it won't come off my fingers!” Jina wailed, eyeing the gooey noodle dough with a grimace.

“My noodles are doing okay. It's just my sauce is refusing to sauce!” Polly glared into her pot of chicken and cheese sauce that looked as milky as old milk. “What's happened, Marc? Did I overcook it or do I have to cook it more?”

“You put too much milk in,” Marc added some more cubes of cheese and the sauce began to sauce beautifully.

Polly squealed, stirring it constantly like Marc told her. “You're my favorite person in the world called Marc!”

“Humbled,” Marc bowed and turned to help Jina's noodle catastrophe. “Just a little more flour, Jina. There. That's right!”

Jina looked pleased as she put her dough through the noodle grate again. It came out wonderfully separate and like proper noodles. “I suddenly feel very grown up!”

“I'm really pleased with both of you,” Marc told them, watching them cook. “I told Aunt Millie you girls were cooking lunch.”

“What!” girls exclaimed, jaws dropping.

“Noodles are almost ready. Let's drain them,” Marc took charge of the noodles and the girls continued to stir their sauces. “See, we do have a fine luncheon here. Let's eat!”

Polly felt as proud as a rooster on Easter morning. “We did it, Jina! We made our first Italian luncheon and Mrs. Mills is going to be so envious of us because Marc taught us!”

“Why?” Marc set the lid back onto the drained noodles.

“She'll say, if I was only twenty years younger,” Polly giggled and Marc laughed.

After the luncheon and everyone praising them, it was time to leave for the afternoon train to Pittsburg. “Goodbye, Jina! Marc! Uncle Peter! Aunt Millie! Pete!” Polly waved from the carriage as the horses broke into a trot down the driveway.

• • •

Polly sleepily boarded the train to Louisville, Kentucky from the Pittsburg station. It had stormed all night long and dark clouds still lined the sky. After a few minutes of jolts and rumbling thunder, she dozed off. She was that sleepy.

Polly awoke to screeching breaks and the train stopping. She quickly rubbed the sleepy from her eyes and looked around. They were in the middle of of the woods. What happened?

“What's this?” Mrs. Mills looked petrified as she straightened in the seat beside her.

“Maybe the storm blew branches on the tracks,” Polly answered confidently.

Mrs. Mills agreed with her, arranging her travelling bag and reaching under the seat to see if their suitcases were doing fine from the jolting stop.

Then Polly saw them. Those gray uniforms. “Mrs. Mills, the Rebs are here!”

As the Rebel soldiers boarded the train, a chaos followed. Children cried. Women screamed. Everyone turned into a state of panic. What would happen to them all? Were they all now Rebel prisoners?

“They're not getting my things,” Mrs. Mills clutched her purse and travelling bag close to her, defiantly glaring up at the Rebels passing them in the aisles.

Polly gulped, clinging to her things and reaching down to hold onto her suitcase...just in case there would be a fight for property. “This is so inconvenient!” she hissed.

“Sorry, miss, but cain't be helped,” one of the Rebs winked down at her.

Polly fumed, clutching her things tighter than ever.

“How old are you, pretty miss?”

“None of your business!” Polly snapped. “We don't marry so young up north.”

“Who says?” another Reb laughed, enjoying the joke.

Polly glared out of the window. First, the storm all night. Now this. At least the pouring rain had stopped and it looked like a good enough day to walk in—if they dared escape.

“Cut it out, guys!” a familiar voice shouted at the two cackling soldiers.

Polly's heart leapt inside her. “Dick!”

Dick Lang turned to stare down at her before recognition sank into his bony, war-torn face. “Polly Andrews, what you doing here all the way from home?”

“Mrs. Mills took me to visit my uncle in Philadelphia.”
“In this war?”

“Don't you think us two are perfectly capable?”

Dick glanced at Mrs. Mills' frowning face. “Perfectly! Now,” he lowered his voice, “I have a small cart you can use to get you home—okay?”

Polly nodded. Dare they?

“Goodbye, Polly.” Dick patted the top of her head affectionately.

Polly said in her goodbye in a choked voice. “Thanks for everything, Dick.”

In the middle of the chaos, Polly and Mrs. Mills managed to slip out of the train without anyone spotting them. The little cart stood under the trees as if waiting for them. They dropped their bags into it and climbed aboard.

“Hope this old nag will get us home safe and sound!” Mrs. Mills clicked to the old horse to go and they were off.

A few shots rang behind them but the little cart flew along over rocks and between trees.

• • •

Liza came back to 1973 with thunder booming overhead. Who did Polly get with—Marc or Dick?