The well was the only familiar sight.
Below him, a golden field of wheat spread across the southern part of the island. Cows and sheep grazed next to the field, unbothered by the flock of chickens running around them. Before, the riverbanks were untangled in overgrowth. Here, there were clear paths leading to the river, well kept and lined with rows of trees and swings that swung out over the water.
Above him, Tommy could see all the way to the northern peak of the island—and what a sight this was. At the island’s top, where the river split, stood a humble wooden beacon tower that served as a lighthouse. Next to the tower was a small cabin. It reminded Tommy of something he’d visit on a school field trip.
The coolest part of this new island sat in between Tommy and the lighthouse. Rows of cherry trees stood next to rows of apple trees. And below them, a house. It wasn’t that the house was a spectacle. In fact, it was quite simple—and that’s what made it so appealing. Whoever lived here, didn’t need anything fancy. The island was their focus.
The house had a wraparound porch with tall windows on all sides. An American flag waved from a flagpole attached to the house. The flag was stained and torn at the edges, giving it a handmade appearance. A wooden fence wrapped in red and blue ribbons surrounded the yard. And it was clear that a grand party had just taken place here. Wicker baskets, tin plates, and corked glass bottles covered a long, make-shift table in the middle of the yard.
Tommy smiled and took in the entire island around him. It looked like a historic postcard.
He had not the slightest clue why or how he was transported here, but for now, this moment was a peaceful one. No lightning. No threats. No worries. But he knew that no answers would come to him on his own. He would have to find them. Which meant it was time to explore this new—or more accurately, old—island.
And he chose the house first.
It reminded him of his grandmother’s childhood house. High ceilings, patterned wallpaper, large, lace curtains, but very few belongings. It was simple and well decorated in red and blue ribbons to match the fence outside.
“Hello, is anyone here?” Tommy asked. No one answered. So, he kept exploring. Half-empty plates and cups were scattered throughout the house. A cigar left on a metal tray smoldered into the already smoky room. Whoever was here had just left.
Tommy moved upstairs and knocked as he opened the door to the master bedroom. His eyes widened. There was a man lying on the bed.
“Um. Sorry to intrude,” said Tommy. “But I was hoping you could help me.”
The man didn’t respond.
“Hello? Sir?”
Tommy inched towards him. The man’s snoring filled the room. His left hand was empty, but his right hand clutched an empty glass bottle. Tommy gently shook him. Didn’t work. So, he shook him harder. No luck. The man was in a deep sleep.
Tommy’s focus moved to the tin cup of water sitting on the nightstand. He grabbed it. Walked over to the man. And as he started to tip the cup over the man’s face—
Woo-wooo-woooooo!
A loud horn thundered through the valley outside. Tommy’s eyes peeled back. He put the cup back on the nightstand and raced out of the house.
The horn blasted again. It was coming from down the river.
Tommy sprinted down the cleared dirt path, not stopping until he was standing on the riverbank. His eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.
A large excursion steamboat drifted downstream, far past the bottom of Browns Island. The boat had two crowded decks, and its atmosphere echoed through the hills. There was music, joyful and fast-paced, accompanied by rhythmic clapping. It sounded like someone was playing a fiddle of a song that everyone on the boat knew by heart. Tommy felt like he stepped into a scene from Tom Sawyer. He wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he looked upstream and saw a log raft floating on the calm waters. After all, why couldn’t Tom Sawyer be floating downstream in this strange reality? Maybe anything was possible here. To satisfy his curiosity, he looked upstream with crossed fingers.
No dice.
No Tom Sawyer or homemade raft, but he did see long rowboats docked against the shore. Perhaps he was being called to go on his own adventure.
Woo-wooo-woooooo!
Tommy turned to look at the steamboat as its whistle blared again. It was signaling to any other boat that it was turning around the river bend. Tommy imagined how much fun those people on the boat must be having on such a beautiful summer day.
When the boat turned into the bend, he could now see a large American flag flapping from the middle of the boat. Then, he gasped. But it wasn’t the flag that shriveled his smile. It was that he could now clearly see the name of the boat printed across the middle deck—the Stanley.
He knew that name. But from where? And then it hit him like a punch to the gut.
No, no, no. It can’t be.
His mind raced. He looked in all directions. No sign of any houses or industry near him.
Was this the same ship Kaleb told him about? That would mean…
“I’m in the 1800s.”
But why?
And then a thought, a most immovable thought, materialized.
Am I supposed to stop that boat from wrecking downstream?
As soon as he had this thought, the boat disappeared around the riverbend. Tommy’s head shot back to the rowboats. He started sprinting to them but stopped just as quickly. Everything around him was turning black. The next thing he saw was bright, piercing light.
Day 2: Yesterday, Again
When Tommy’s eyes finally adjusted, he was once again back at the bottom of the well.
How did I get here?
And then he looked at his clothes—he was again dressed like he was from the 1800s. Thoughts spiraled, but he needed more information. He wasted no time climbing out of the well to investigate. As soon as he reached the top, he scared a red-tailed hawk perching on the well cover. The house and the picnic were just as they were from before. And the sun was just as it was, too, ready to fall under the hills in the west. His eyes followed the red-tailed hawk until it finally clicked—
This the same day all over again!
And that would mean—
I can save the Stanley!
He took off for the shoreline. The Stanley was at the bottom of Browns Island but not as far as it was the previous time he saw it.
Tommy grabbed the front of the long rowboat and pulled it into the water. It was built to ferry passengers, not to chase steamboats. Still, Tommy trusted his kayaking skills and quickly launched downstream. It took him a minute to find his bearings with the long wooden oars, scrambling to find his cadence until he saw the wooden pins on the side of the boat. He placed the oars inside the pins and went to work. If he wanted to change history and save these people, if he wanted to save his brother, he would have to row like a madman. And that’s what he did. He lowered his head, focusing on each row, until all of his muscles were locked up beyond fatigue.
When he finally looked up, he immediately looked back down. The Stanley was nearly at the riverbend. He had barely made any progress.
This is impossible, he thought. There’s no way I can catch this on my own.
And so he drifted, defeated, watching as the Stanley eventually turned into the riverbend. Tommy’s world once again turned black. And the next thing he saw was a bright, shining light.
He was back at the well.
Day 3: Now What?
Just like before, he climbed out of the well, scaring the same red-tailed hawk into the sky. He started to sprint to the rowboats but stopped.
What’s the point? There’s no way I can catch up to it.
His mind raced through ideas as he walked back towards the well.
Maybe there’s something in the cave that could help.
Nope. The cave was mostly unchanged. The same weapons lay across the floor behind the table. But unless he was going into battle, what were they for? The only thing that was different was the scale, or better put, the lack thereof. It was gone. Aside from the hourglass, the table was empty. When Tommy took a closer look at the hourglass, his head sank. Even though the top was filled, the sand was frozen. And the ramifications of this quickly set in—Tommy was stuck here.
His legs grew weak until his knees buckled. Hopelessness stabbed him as he sank to the floor of the cave, leaning against the crystal wall for support. To further kill his spirits, he thought he saw, or better put, felt an enormous shadow swim against the translucent wall behind him. He prayed it was the mysterious man, but when he turned, he only saw what appeared to be a massive fin. Lovely.
This really was a purgatory for what happened to his brother. He knew he deserved it, but why would he be sent here if he couldn’t succeed? Surely there must be a way to earn his way back to his time. How though? There’s no way he could catch the Stanley. He would need a speedboat for that. Or at the very least, he would need—
Wait a minute!
Tommy’s eyes lit up. And just as he sprang up, he blacked out again.
Day 4: Stuck in Time
When he saw light, he knew he was back at the bottom of the well. He quickly climbed to the top. Scared the red-tailed hawk. Sprinted to the house. Flung the front door open and ran up the stairs into the master bedroom.
“Help! I need help,” Tommy yelled as he opened the door—but the room was empty. The passed-out man was missing.
What? Shouldn’t he be here if it’s the same day? Maybe I confused the bedrooms.
So, Tommy raced into every bedroom on the second floor. Nothing.
“Hello,” Tommy screamed from the top of the stairs. “Is anyone here?”
Tommy didn’t wait for the response that never came and darted through the house, searching every room until no room was left. Nothing. So he ran outside. Sprinted around the porch, scanning all sides of the yard until he finally spotted something worthwhile. The door to the small cabin next to the lighthouse was open.
He ran until he was through the door. Inside, there was a gas lantern, a bed, and the same man Tommy had seen sleeping in the house a few days earlier. He was clutching an empty bottle against his chest. Tommy violently shook him until he was awake.
“Help. I need help. My family left in the boat without me, and I need to catch up to them.”
This jump-started the man back to life. He flung forward until he was sitting upright with the fear of God tattooed on his face. His eyes widened as he looked Tommy up and down like he was staring at an alien.
Did he not know English? thought Tommy.
Then, the man looked in no particular direction. His eyes stuck wide in shock.
“Sorry, sir. I have no time to spare,” said Tommy. “Can you help me row down the river?”
The man still didn’t move. After a few more contemplative moments, he stood up from the bed and looked at Tommy with stricken eyes.
“Tell me, son—was it the well that brought ye here?” He spoke with a rustic old English accent.
“Yes! At first it was just a well. And then it became a glass cave under the river. There were huge fish. Weird ones. And—” Tommy stopped. He would have kept droning on, but that would mean he’d be talking to himself. The man had run outside the moment after Tommy said he came from the well. Tommy chased after him to the shoreline.
When Tommy reached him, the man was looking downstream. From here, they could see the Stanley. It was moving past the riverbend. Tommy knew his time for this day was about to expire. Just as his world started to turn black, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Boy, the next time we meet, be ready to—” Day 5: Time Fights Back “GO!”
Tommy heard him before he saw him. The light was still too bright. Once the light dimmed, he saw the man looking down at Tommy from the top of the well. When Tommy reached the surface, the man was halfway to the riverbank. And the red-tailed hawk was already high in the sky, soaring over the river Tommy was running to.
The rowboat was in the water. The man sat on a bench with an oar in each hand, waiting for Tommy to man the two back oars already locked between the wooden pins.
No words were exchanged, only grunting and heavy breathing as they rowed as hard as they could. It took them a few minutes to get in sync, but when they did, they cut through the water with ease. Any doubt of reaching the Stanley was gone. As long as they maintained their speed, they would eventually reach the cursed boat.
This break from panic gave Tommy the chance to finally evaluate the situation. Whoever this man was, he had to be chosen like Tommy. How else would he have known about the well? This made sense. But there were two questions that Tommy couldn’t answer:
Who was this man, and where—or better yet, when—was he from?
These questions were burning a hole in him, but they would have to wait. They needed every breath for recovery in between rows, not discussing mysterious time continuums.
The Stanley was nearly at the bend, and they were on its tail. They could see the decks of the boat bustling with life. A sea of men in pale linen suits with boater hats on, laughing and dancing next to women who wore blue and white dresses in wide-brimmed hats adorned with ribbons and flowers. Children in sailor suits and laced dresses darted in between the adults, playing keep-away with a small American flag. The ship was decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons. The nostalgic scene came alive with the band on the boat’s top deck: a fiddle player next to a musician on the mandolin, and another playing a harmonica. If only they knew what was waiting for them downstream.
Tommy smiled. It was going to work. They would reach the ship and save them. He had no clue what they would tell them. Would it be as simple as telling them the truth? That Tommy’s from the future and knows that if their boat keeps going, it’s going to crash into another boat? Probably not. But that should be the easy part. Worst case, Tommy and his boatmate could act like madmen and crash their own boat into the back of the Stanley.
Tommy couldn’t help one intrusive thought surfacing between his optimism. What if they cramped and had to take a break? All progress would be lost. Thankfully, that never happened. Turns out, though, a cramp would have been preferable to the arrow that just cut through the other man’s shoulder.
FWIP! FWIP!
Two more arrows flew from somewhere in the woods. One landed inches from where Tommy was sitting. The other lodged into the stern of the boat.
Both of them let go of the oars and covered their hands as more arrows flew through the air. The man didn’t scream. He simply grunted. Then, he grabbed the arrow sticking out of his shoulder and ripped it in half, leaving the back end lodged inside him. His face was more scowl than pain. He seemed more annoyed than concerned about being sitting ducks for whoever was shooting arrows from the shore.
Tommy ducked against the floor of the boat. He shielded his head with his arms—but it wasn’t enough. The moment he felt an arrow hit him, his world went black.
