Time Maiden

By Kyle J.E. Miller

Lindsey is an orphan who knows nothing of her family. Worse, she’s bullied at school and failing her history class. Yet Lindsey knows a secret, one her city of Baltimore does not want her to know.

The history they are teaching in school is wrong. It’s a fake, whitewashed version, sanitized so America is painted as a more perfect union with liberty and justice for all, from 1776 to now. Suddenly forced out on her own, Lindsey encounters the Resistance. They offer her a chance to fight to preserve history the way it actually happened.

Lindsey accepts. She fights Baltimore and the government, forcing them both to acknowledge America’s past, dark as it may be. However, is it possible for Lindsey to uncover not just Baltimore’s secrets, but also her own personal history as she travels through the past, present, and future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665710602

Kyle J.E. Miller

Kyle J. E. Miller enjoys learning about the past as much as he enjoys creating fiction. When not writing, he plans vacations to see America’s national parks and historic sites, often dragging his family and friends along. He can be reached at [e-mail] or on Facebook at Kyle J. E. Miller.

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Copyright © 2021 Kyle J.E. Miller.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1059-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1058-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1060-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021915867

Archway Publishing rev. date: 09/16/2021

Contents

Part 1 Present

Prologue

Chapter 1 George Washington

Chapter 2 Lunch

Chapter 3 Little Italy

Chapter 4 Flight

Chapter 5 Resistance

Chapter 6 Training

Chapter 7 Locust Point

Chapter 8 Inner Harbor

Chapter 9 Hampton House

Chapter 10 Rifle Training

Chapter 11 Good Children

Chapter 12 A Tell-Tale Heart

Chapter 13 Mt. Vernon Protest

Part 2 Future

Chapter 1 New Baltimore

Chapter 2 Trade-Off

Chapter 3 Old Resistance

Chapter 4 Past and Oreos

Chapter 5 White Ghost

Chapter 6 Heart of the Necklace

Chapter 7 For Love of Copper

Chapter 8 Jellyfish Spit

Chapter 9 Preparations

Chapter 10 Operation McHenry

Chapter 11 Within the Beast

Chapter 12 Final Battle

Part 3 Past

Chapter 1 Restart

Chapter 2 Defense of Fort McHenry

Chapter 3 Mother of Baltimore’s Past

Chapter 4 Sultan of Swat

Chapter 5 Carroll of Carrollton

Chapter 6 Hattie the Barmaid

Chapter 7 Teach a Man to Read

Chapter 8:10 to Baltimore

Chapter 9 Murray v. Pearson

Chapter 10 Murder at Gunner’s Hall

Chapter 11 Terrible but Necessary

Chapter 12 Our Past

This book is

dedicated to my family,

especially to all my cousins.

And to my niece, the inspiration

behind this book.

PART 1

Present

Prologue

In my dreams, the car rode up and down the hills of the county road. Dad drove. Mom was in the copilot seat, tired but smiling as she picked songs. My aunt and uncle sat in the backseat with me. My uncle was in the middle, half dozing, half amusing me. My aunt slept. We were all tired and all smelled of the lake. We spent the day there.

Dad said something that made Mom laugh. My uncle protested when Mom changed the song. Something about it being a good song, leading Mom to snap, Who’s in the front seat, you or me? Uncle grumbled how being youngest sucked, to which my aunt woke up and said middle was worst. Then both Mom and Uncle said she was Grandpa’s favorite child.

I wish I knew what happened next, but I don’t. I never do. Something happened, and there was screaming, yelling. I remember Uncle holding me tightly as the world turned and turned.

There were more screams, more yelling. Thunderbolts too, I think, but couldn’t be—not if we spent the day at the lake. Something was terribly wrong, but what? I don’t know.

Then my uncle was there. He reached to his neck, pulled off his necklace, and placed it around my neck. The necklace dwarfed not just my neck but my entire body. The necklace was cold. I remember that. I also thought we were in our seats, but I remember seeing them above us. Oh, everything is so confusing.

Let this protect you, my uncle whispered. I heard him over the yelling. No more thunderbolts but loud crunching, like someone eating a cookie with their mouth open. It was loud and irritating. Let this protect you as your mother and father, aunt and I, have protected you, Lindsey.

m1.jpg

1

George Washington

Lindsey.

She opened her eyes.

Lindsey, it’s time to wake up.

She groaned and looked over. 6:23 a.m., the clock said brightly. Time to wake up.

Lindsey did so with a yawn. Her familiar room greeted back, as did the familiar children waking up around her.

Lindsey and the other children dressed, heading to the communal bathroom to freshen up and brush their teeth. Five minutes later and a staircase down, they stood in line for breakfast. Same bland oatmeal as before, as was served yesterday, and the day before, and the month before, and the year before, and so on.

The children ate methodically and quietly. Nursemaids, both organic and machine, kept watch. Lindsey ate at the same pace as any other. Deviation otherwise resulted in strict punishment, as she and the other children learned the hard way. Individualism and personality were discouraged; only the collective unity of togetherness kept America safe from harm—whatever that meant.

The dishes were put away. Three minutes later, everyone gathered their clear-plastic backpacks crammed with books, tablets, and other necessary educational necessities. Some backpacks had stickers on them, for creativity was accepted and encouraged. Most, Lindsey included, had no stickers.

The buses rolled in, and the buses rolled out, loaded with children. Lindsey’s bus was just one of many heading into the city for mandatory schooling.

Quarter past the hour, the buses stopped at the timeless school building. Unlike the rest of the city, the school was short, squat, and only three levels high. Lindsey and the other children got out.

The school lockers were filled with books and equipment needed later. With two minutes before the half hour, school began with a chime, a good morning, and the Pledge of Allegiance, which all the students said from heart and mind.

I pledge allegiance to this flag

Of the United States of America.

And to this democracy, for all lives stand,

One nation, under equality, indivisible,

With liberty and justice for all.

History class. Lindsey’s worst class.

Now then, drawled her teacher, a short, balding man named Mr. Smith. The War of 1812 was what some Americans called the Second Revolutionary War, for in a way it was. And blah, blah, blah. Lindsey knew what happened, from how the war was started by the British conscripting American sailors and mariners into the Napoleonic Wars and how they swayed the Native Americans to kill Americans.

Lindsey knew this not because she read ahead (she did) but because of a forbidden book she owned. She had saved this book from the orphanage incinerator and hidden it in the mattress of her bed, back at the orphanage. When the other kids went to bed, she’d break it out and learn what really happen. She knew the book was the truth of what happened to America, for it was copyrighted back in the year 2021!

Lindsey listened with half an ear to Mr. Smith as he talked about how the war was bad for the first two years with the British blockading the East Coast, how America failed to invade Quebec, the loss of Detroit and horrible atrocity following River Raisin, the capital burning …

But Dolly Madison, the wife of the president, was brave, Mr. Smith droned on. She saved important American documents before the British burned what we now call the White House. Does anyone know what she saved? Maddie?

The Declaration of Independence? Maddie asked.

No, no. William, do you know?

Uh, William drawled, blanking.

Lindsey?

And she said without thinking, The only portrait of George Washington.

The silence was immediate, broken only by the snap of Mr. Smith slamming his tablet on the desk.

What? he barked.

Lindsey flushed. She saved the only portrait of—of—George Washington Carver! Yeah, George Washington Carver, famous peanut doctor and American hero!

But her correction fell on deaf ears. It was bad enough she uttered what she said, but for Mr. Smith to hear it too!

No, Lindsey, he drawled. You said George Washington. Without the Carver.

I— Lindsey sighed. I did. Lying would get her into more trouble now.

You know better than to say his name.

But he was our first president! Lindsey protested.

No, he wasn’t. Who was our first president, Lindsey?

Meekly, cheeks flushed, she answered, John Adams.

And George Washington?

Still meekly, A slaveholder.

Right. George Washington is a slaveholder, and a notorious one at that. And owning slaves is—?

Bad, Lindsey sighed.

Good. Now then—

But if slavery is so bad, why was it originally in our Constitution? Why have the Thirteenth Amendment then? Or the fourteenth or fifteenth amendments? What was the Missouri Compromise about, or Bleeding Kansas, or even Abraham Lincoln?

As soon as Lindsey uttered the actual sixteenth president’s name, she knew she had gone too far. How she wished she could take it back.

Lindsey, principal’s office. A swipe and a tap on his tablet later, Mr. Smith looked at her again. And the principal knows you’re coming, so don’t be tardy or you’ll have more than just an afternoon detention to worry about.

Face burning with shame and embarrassment, Lindsey gathered her items, shouldered her backpack, and began the trek down the curved corridor to the principal’s office.

Freak, someone whispered to her back.

m1.jpg

2

Lunch

If Lindsey were an adult, she’d say she was on a first name basis with the principal. Such was how often she saw him. Since she was in middle school though, she knew him simply as the principal.

Lindsey, he began.

Principal, she replied.

He sighed. What am I going to do with you, Lindsey? You know why you’re here, don’t you?

Now it was her turn to sigh. Because I acted up in class.

You know you did more than act up in class, Lindsey. You lied in class.

I didn’t lie! I spoke the truth! Lindsey protested.

The principal lowered his tablet. According to Mr. Smith, you said Dolly Madison rescued a portrait of a very horrible man before adding said horrible man was the first president of this great nation. Now we both know our first president was John Adams, do we not? Please don’t slouch, Lindsey; it’s bad posture.

Yet Lindsey didn’t move. She knew this argument all too well. In America, there was no suffering. There was no injustice, or if there was, it was dealt with swiftly and harshly. Everyone is equal; everyone had a happy past together, from 1776 to now.

But she knew it was wrong. She knew America’s past was dark and tragic, filled with heroes and villains, rights and wrongs. Her stolen history book showed that. The ones the school gave her were wrong. America wasn’t founded for equality for all, not at first. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were presidents. Once upon a time, Americans did own slaves and had a great civil war over it. And other horrible past events too!

But who was she to tell that to the principal? He was an adult whereas she was a kid. And he ruled the school with an iron fist, courtesy of the public education system.

Lindsey, the principal said with a sigh. You know what I’m going to do, right?

I do, she said. She knew all too well.

Good. Afternoon detention with Mr. Smith, and once done, someone from the orphanage will come and pick you up.

Yes, sir.

Lindsey?

What?

One more detention and you’ll face a suspension, the principal warned. And you don’t want that now, do you?

No, sir.

Good. Now head back to class and be a good little girl.

Yes, sir.

Lindsey reached class by the time the bell rang. She picked up her backpack and left. Mr. Smith avoided her gaze. She was glad because she knew rumors of her were already spreading. By the time she’d hit the lunch line, everyone would know what she did, if they hadn’t already.

Sure enough, when she reached the cafeteria doors, she felt every eye on her. For a brief moment, no one spoke. Then conversation resumed, albeit lower, whispered, and about one topic: her.

Lindsey moved toward the lunch line. She ignored the whispered names, jumping over feet hoping to trip her. But she couldn’t jump over all of them. She sprawled at one such foot.

Geez, Lindsey, you’re such a homeless klutz! said a vicious girl named Katie Sturke. She laughed. Her gaggle of like-minded and like-bodied friends laughed too. Can’t you watch where you’re going?

Whatever, Karen, Lindsey muttered loud enough for Katie to hear.

What did you say to me? Katie demanded, standing up to her full height. She wasn’t tall, but she more than made up for it by her money. Her mother and father, as she told anyone who’d listen, were important politicians helping the people of America do better and be better.

I said I’m sorry, Katie, Lindsey corrected. She wanted to say more but kept her mouth shut. If she was sent to the principal’s again, then what tentative hold she had on the middle school hierarchy would be gone and she’d known as troublemaker Lindsey.

No, no, no! You didn’t say Katie! You said another K-name.

Kailey? Lindsey offered, though she knew she shouldn’t.

No, not Kailey. It sounded like—like— Katie frowned, trying to remember.

Excuse me, but I’m hungry, and I’d like some lunch, Lindsey interrupted before the blonde could cause an even bigger scene. She moved to the side.

Katie leapt from her seat and blocked Lindsey. No matter which way the girl went, the blonde blocked her.

You said the K word! Katie accused loudly, loud enough for everyone to hear. Already Lindsey heard someone recording this, no doubt putting it live for the whole world to see. You called me the K word!

Katie? Yes, Katie is a K word, Lindsey replied. A vein throbbed in her head. All she wanted to do was eat. Why couldn’t Katie let her eat?

You know what K word I mean! Katie shouted. And I am not that!

Should I call you a bi—

Lindsey! a new voice shouted.

If Lindsey did not know who the voice was, or saw Katie’s disgusted face, she would have thought a teacher finally stepped in. However, it was someone far better.

Joe! the girl exclaimed, a rare smile cracking her features.

The black boy smiled back. How are ya, girl? Long time no see! And Katie, how are you? How’s your mom, Karen? Joe’s voice boomed, so the now silent cafeteria heard him.

Katie turned beet red. Her friends sat there, shocked. Katie’s mom’s name was not Karen.

Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but it’s hot dogs today, so I’ll take my girl here and you and your little girlfriends can go on eatin’ your wieners. Joe took Lindsey away from Katie and her posse, swinging her to the deserted lunch line.

Thank you, Lindsey whispered.

Hey, no problem. That’s what friends are for. Besides, Joe said as he smiled, Tom texted me you probably needed help. Something about you standing up for slavery again?

Lindsey burned, but Joe laughed. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke about things like that. Like it’s my fault my ancestors thought they had a free boat ride to the New World way back when.

Careful, boy, a cafeteria worker warned, for they were at the counter. Don’t joke about things like that.

And you’re too tight, man, Joe replied. My tab. She’s with me.

Hold on. The worker ducked behind the counter then appeared with two half pints of chocolate milk. On the house. Due to the sugar content of chocolate milk, only the rich kids could afford them.

Thank you, my man, Joe said.

And Lindsey?

The girl stiffened.

What you said about that girl is funny. Wrong, but funny. He laughed when Lindsey visibly relaxed. Make sure it doesn’t happen again, OK? I don’t want to see you in trouble. Either of you.

I won’t, and thank you, Lindsey murmured.

No one tried to take her out or called her names as she and Joe found their seats. Joe opened his chocolate milk and took a long swing. Wiping his mouth with the back his hand, he said, I love the taste of brown cow milk!

Lindsey giggled.

There we go, Joe cracked. That’s the girl I love.

She sobered up. Why do you hang out with me, Joe? she asked.

Because you’re interesting, crazy. I never know what you’re going to say next. You’re a hoot ’n holler, but most importantly of all, you’re my friend and I enjoy hanging out with my friend.

Lindsey blushed.

And speaking of hanging out, word in the halls said you hung out with the principal today.

Lindsey looked at her watch. Five minutes. Is that a new record?

Almost. Three fifty is the best, but five minutes? Top ten, if not top five.

Lindsey smiled again, then sighed. "Yeah, I did. During Mr. Smith’s class, we were talking about how the British burned down DC