The Time of the Fireflies by Kimberley Griffiths Little

Author:Kimberley Griffiths Little
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Quickly, I cut off my screams and hyperventilated instead, trying to catch my breath. I swore I’d broken a couple of ribs this time, but when I got to my knees, I was breathing fine and nothing was sprained or bruised.

What was going on? I was slipping and careening through time like I was riding a demented roller coaster. “I want to go home,” I whimpered from the floor.

It took a minute to get my bearings, but I was back in the original plantation mansion. Fading roses bloomed in the fibers of the carpet, worn down by decades of footsteps. I tried to remember where I’d seen it before. It was the same old-fashioned carpet in the upstairs hallway when I was crawling around right after Daphne died giving birth to a baby girl named Kat.

“So what time am I in now?” I said, my voice wobbly. “This carpet had to be newer in 1912 but it wasn’t nearly this threadbare during Daphne and Hank’s time.”

Cold shivers ran down my neck. One of the bedroom doors was open just ahead. Late-afternoon sun spilled across the entrance in a shaft of pure gold.

A murmur came through the opening, and I finally got to my feet to tiptoe closer. An elderly woman with hair as thin as a spider’s weave sat in a wheelchair facing the window. The sheer lacy drapes had been pulled open, showing off the lawns below. I could see the tops of the cypress swaying, and the murky bayou water just beyond.

A young woman knelt next to the wheelchair, and she was holding the old woman’s hand. “Granny, you called me. You doing okay today? Can I get you something?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Kat. Quit fussing over me. ’Course, one never knows when an old woman like me is going to suddenly flee this earth. I might not wake up tomorrow, and that is why I need to give you something now. Before the wedding. It belonged to your mamma before she died, and I gave it to her on her wedding day as a family keepsake. Your mother was wonderful and beautiful and so talented. She — she never got to raise you, but I know she’d want you to have it.” The elderly woman’s voice broke.

“Dearest Granny, you’ve been like a mother to me. The best mother.”

“You turning out so fine is all due to your daddy. I haven’t been much use in this wheelchair.”

“That’s not true!”

“Pshaw,” the old woman said, but she quickly grew more serious. “We’ve only managed to keep body and soul together due to Hank’s hard work and tireless spirit. But that’s neither here nor there. So here she is. I’ve been saving her for you all these years.”

My eyes bugged out when the old woman placed Anna Marie, the beautiful porcelain doll, in the young woman’s arms. The young woman named Kat. My own grandmother. I shook my head, trying to keep it all straight. Because I’d been time slipping all over the place.

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