Mr. Hornsby and the Time-Traveling Classroom: Book 2: The Mysterious Target

By Andrew Brezak and Daniel Brezak

Mr. Hornsby's back, and American civil rights are in jeopardy!

After traveling back through time with his students to the White House in 1891, seeing Babe Ruth play baseball in 1919, diving away from bullets on the frontier in 1844, and even rescuing the Roaring Twenties, he'd thought he'd seen it all. Yet nothing could have prepared him for what's about to come next!

In this thrilling follow-up to Secrets of the Pierce Journal, the evil group of time-traveling colonists known as the Loyalists have planted another deadly trap; and it's up to Mr. Hornsby and his best friend, Rosie, to once again take on the past to save the future. If they can't stop the enemy in time and unravel the truth behind the mysterious target, American history will be lost forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887319889

Book preview

Table of Contents

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About the Authors

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Mr. Hornsby and the Time-Traveling Classroom

Book 2: The Mysterious Target

Andrew Brezak and Daniel Brezak

Copyright © 2023 Andrew Brezak and Daniel Brezak

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-987-2 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-988-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

1

July 18, 1848

Mrs. Peacock stood at the doorway of the Wesleyan Chapel in Seneca Falls, New York. Tomorrow, Ethan Hornsby would be walking through these doors as the Seneca Falls Convention began, where famous suffragettes would present their Declaration of Sentiments and call for the right to vote, and the women's rights movement would be born.

But she was worried.

Another Calvin Coolidge debacle or Benjamin Harrison failure, and the other Loyalists would begin to question her leadership. They had to do better this time. She had to do better. Jim Wells and his band of Sons of Liberty were already on the ropes, and Ethan Hornsby was different. He was the only one of them born with his powers. Only the Lord knew what that could mean in the end.

She observed the priest in his white robe as he stood up on the pulpit to address his congregation in this barn-styled redbrick building only a jog away from the Erie Canal—only one cross, just two rows of basic rectangular windows, no apse or choir. Only some of the observers were fortunate enough to have an actual copy of the Bible. None of it felt holy.

Tomorrow, that was when real history would be made. People would forever use the word feminism after tomorrow. And that was why people still came back here over a century later to celebrate within these walls.

She squinted as the priest in white came in and out of focus. They happened more often than not now, these episodes where she was reminded that not even cataract surgery had remedied the years of medical neglect to her vision. It dated back to her blurry childhood in England, when children weren't given glasses. She wanted to see the priest clearly. There was something about his voice; it was a high, tenor-sounding voice reminding her of the priest in green, the one who warmly welcomed them into his church in 1987 after they arrived from Roanoke Island four hundred years earlier. He fed them, clothed them, taught them, and prayed with them. It had to be the work of God.

She thought of that morning in 1987 when it was raining so heavily it sounded as if God was using his fist to bang on the roof. The smell of mustiness was all around the church, and she was already missing her home.

The priest in green quieted them down and called for her, Stand before me, Mrs. Bradford.

Barely seventy-five pounds after the starving winter, she stood up from the crowd of time-traveling colonists, looked down at her three young sons, reached for each of their hands, walked across the altar, and stood before the priest.

Don't be scared, Mrs. Bradford. The priest held out his hands; but she would not offer hers, looking back for her husband, wondering where he went. I've watched you, the priest said, the way you care for your three boys, the way you honor your husband. I see a woman of strength, a woman who shines brightly.

The priest in green then held up a picture of a peacock for all to see. Notice its bright colors. This bird is a symbol of regrowth. And this is what this new chapter is for your colony. He turned his attention back to her. And I have chosen you to symbolize it all, Mrs. Bradford. After today, you will forever be known as Mrs. Peacock.

She looked back again for her husband, wondering why she was given this name without him.

Her memory faded. She was now looking once again at the priest in white in 1848.

She glanced back at the church doors. It was time to get back to Upper Kakapo Middle School. Tonight was open school night; and in only a few hours, she will be smiling at parents, knowing darn well that at some point back in time, this awful United States of America was going to fall and this mighty land would once again belong to its rightful owners: the English monarchy.

Once my plan is successful, you parents will have never existed. Smile wide.

She jotted down a few more notes in her small pad, pushed open the church doors, and stepped back through her portal. She headed straight to her large principal's office, but her heart jumped out of her chest. She dropped her pad. Cyrus was seated behind her desk.

Did I scare you, Dorothy?

Peacock quickly locked the door behind her. She walked over and closed her blinds. She took several deep breaths; her hands were visibly shaking. It didn't matter how many times she had seen the large scar that stretched from Cyrus's half ear to his glass eye; it still winded her. The scar dated back to when he fought for His Majesty's army against the French. The few teeth he had left were badly stained as he rejected modern dentistry, and because of his appearance, he never felt comfortable in the modern world. He was trying to run their Loyalist organization from the past, splitting most of his time between the 1780s and 1860s—eras he believed the United States was most vulnerable.

Hello, Cyrus. How long have you been waiting for me?

When were you going to tell me, Dorothy?

A vision of Cyrus covered in blood, with several scalps of natives in his hands, entered Peacock's mind. She exhaled a long breath but made sure to still stand up tall. Tell you what, Cyrus?

Cyrus approached and placed his hand on her cheek. Answer my question.

I don't know what you mean.

Have I ever not kept you safe, Dorothy?

You always have.

But you didn't feel the need to tell me that both Calvin Coolidge's and Benjamin Harrison's presidencies were uninterrupted?

I just assumed you knew.

Cyrus now held her jaw tight and moved his face close. She could smell the tobacco. He whispered, And when were you going to tell me about young Pierce?

Peacock swallowed hard. It's under control.

Cyrus pulled down a frame showcasing Peacock's college diploma from the wall and handed it to her. All of this, your degrees, working here—it was for you to complete one simple task: keep eyes on that boy's progress and report to me.

Peacock stepped back. We both knew Ethan Hornsby's powers would emerge at some point. We just didn't know when.

Stop calling him that. He's Elias Pierce's boy.

You can call him whatever name you want Cyrus, but he only knows himself as Hornsby: the name the priest gave Jane when we arrived here.

And which powers does he have?

I don't know his full abilities yet. The good news is, neither does he.

Cyrus grabbed Peacock's small pad and began to ruffle through her notes on the Seneca Falls Convention. How many of my men are assisting?

All of them.

We've never gone with a full arsenal before.

This will be the largest mission we've ever attempted.

Cyrus flung the notepad across the room. He stuck his finger in Peacock's face. Nothing happens until I say so.

I was told you green-lighted it.

Stop lying to me!

Peacock moved away in fear. I'm sorry.

Reel it in.

I can't. It's too late. It's already in motion.

You can't, or you won't?

You know our strength is our size. Jim Wells's Sons of Liberty group is down to five people, including Lou, who's too old to travel. We'd be foolish not to use all our resources when we outnumber them four to one.

Cyrus was once again in Peacock's face. My dear sister, once very loyal, now you travel and don't even visit. This is still about Jane Pierce, isn't it?

That was a long time ago.

I know how hard it was for you, Dorothy, accepting my order to banish her. Jane Pierce was your dearest friend.

Peacock reflected upon the exact moment Jane realized the portal would be destroyed and she would never see Ethan again. Jane didn't have time-traveling powers to return since they were passed on through her womb. Peacock could still see the fear and sadness inside her eyes. Jane was always there for her. She helped her with her boys on the never-ending, dangerous voyage over from England and was there for her at Roanoke, helping to wash clothes by hand and feed the children. She would even hold her hand in church as they prayed.

I'm so sorry for separating you from your only son.

Peacock gathered herself. All that matters now is that we fulfill our mission and destroy the United States.

Cyrus reached for a picture featuring Peacock's three sons as young boys. As tall as trees now.

Bart had his first confrontation with Ethan Hornsby in 1919 Boston.

Did he? And what did he say about young Pierce?

My boys only do what I tell them. You can trust it. And they are asking to take on more responsibilities.

Cyrus placed the picture down on its face. The next generation will never understand, Dorothy. They've had it too easy.

It's different for them, yes. They're inheriting an empire unlike any other with real estate ownership in all the different eras. They can always return home to modern technology and unlimited food.

I remember when your baby was crying all night, hungry. You couldn't even generate one drop of milk from your nipple.

I don't like to think about those times.

Who was there for you, Dorothy?

You were, Cyrus.

Cyrus walked over and wrapped his arms around her. He forced her to place her head on his shoulder. Then he placed his hand underneath her chin to raise her eyes to his. "When the sun went down and the Indians came for us every single night…who was there to keep you safe?"

You were, Cyrus.

When our governor, our supposed leader, just left us behind and headed back to England, who was there for you?

You were, Cyrus.

When your home fell apart, who fixed it?

You did, Cyrus.

When we all realized the rot had destroyed our crops and winter was coming, who was there to get you through it?

You were, Cyrus.

Cyrus gripped the picture of her sons again. Yet you authorize missions without my approval.

I'm sorry.

He slammed the picture onto the desk, shattering it. You think I don't know you're having your sons track me? Those amateurs?

Please…blame me, not them.

Why would you?

I was told you keep trying to get back to Roanoke.

You should teach your boys to mind their own affairs.

But why are you trying to get back there?

That's not your business.

You could just look at the website what it has become. It's all touristy now.

I'm aware of what's happened to Roanoke Island, all the money that's been made.

It won't let you back in, Cyrus. You should have learned by now.

Cyrus placed his finger back in Peacock's face. Cancel the mission.

I told you. It's too late to call it off.

Then you let each of them know they will remain strictly in the background. The only one who will deal with young Pierce going forward is me. Am I clear?

Yes, Cyrus.

Peacock thought about Ethan Hornsby as a child, then as a teen in school here, and now as an aspiring teacher. She thought about Cyrus back in England, wearing his red coat, butchering those poor Frenchmen. Then she recalled those chilly mornings at Roanoke, when she would step outside to breathe in fresh air and listen to the sounds of nature, as Cyrus returned drenched in blood—the Scalp Collector.

She jumped as her phone rang. I should answer that.

Cyrus nodded. He made his way over to the back door that led to a parking lot but was also his portal to the past. Peacock studied him, thinking about Ethan.

It doesn't matter how bright your future is, Ethan Hornsby. The past has come to hunt you down. She thought of Jane and felt guilt. I'm not sure I can save him from this, Jane.

My dear sister, I'll always protect you.

I know you will, dear brother.

Cyrus stepped back through the portal.

2

Mr. Hornsby stepped inside his classroom at Upper Kakapo Middle School, but nothing happened. He stepped back into the hallway and gave it another try. Once again, all he saw was an ordinary room filled with desks, computers, and a Smartboard. He leaned against the wall, trying to figure out how it went wrong.

He analyzed what was different about this morning versus yesterday, when he was able to take Ms. Bean and her class back to see President Benjamin Harrison sign the Forest Reserve Act of 1891 at the White House; or before that, when he traveled to Calvin's classroom in 1884; or when he got to see Babe Ruth pitch in 1919; or when he had to dive from bullets at Ben's farm in 1844. One week he was saving Calvin's and Ben's presidencies while rescuing the Roaring Twenties, and the next, his time-traveling powers had vanished.

His glasses had now been replaced by contacts after being roughed up in an old Boston alley, but that couldn't be it. Maybe it was these new comfy shoes he bought himself to be more prepared for country terrain. Nah, that couldn't be it either. He slid his backpack off his shoulder—the one he stuffed with energy bars, bottles of water, a medical kit, and, of course, the sharpest knife he could find in his kitchen—then threw it into the hallway closet in case it was holding him back.

His emotions were mixed.

On one hand, this was what he prayed for, a chance to just be a regular person once again. Now he could finally teach students of today, not from the past, and create the greatest lessons ever while really impressing Old Man Waters. It'd been his dream to teach American history at Upper Kakapo ever since he was a student sitting in the same classrooms. And it sure felt nice to be able to enter a classroom again without worrying about where he landed or about what his boring twin was doing back at school as it sat detached and disinterested at his desk.

On the other hand, his heart was aching for his mother. After years of believing she had abandoned him, he'd learned she was not only alive, somewhere back in time, but she could also talk to him. He decided to give it one more try and stepped out into the hallway, ready to reenter his room, but it was too late. The students were filling up the hallways after being released from their morning buses. He remained at the door, giving out a few high fives, plus a couple of good mornings, and then entered to distribute this morning's lesson.

He sat at his desk, drowning in his thoughts, his heart aching for his mother. Wait a minute. Maybe that's it. Mr. Wells taught him that time travelers must find balance and harmony with nature to create special connections with the past, but he had learned he was different. His time-traveling power came from emotion. But was he now too emotional?

It was eating him up inside, the thought of his mother being banished to the past. He hadn't slept a wink as his head swirled with the worst possible outcomes. Had she been stranded during the cold colonial winters? Or was she stuck in the Civil War era, too close to dangerous battles? Or what if she was starving during the Great Depression or had to fight a grizzly along the Oregon Trail? Could she even ride a horse? Had she remarried? Could it be she had other children? What if she was terribly ill and desperately needed access to modern medicines?

He reached over with his fist and slammed it down on the stapler. History was so large even if he was able to travel era by era, town by town, it would take an eternity. He stared at the black-and-white photo of her that Mr. Wells gave him.

Are you okay, Mr. Hornsby? It was that sweet seventh-grader, Angelina.

Mr. Hornsby smiled. That you care enough to ask just made my morning. Now I've never been better. Hornsby could see that a few more students were now interested. He decided to use his gloomy demeanor as a learning moment. But it's perfectly fine for any of us to feel sad some days. Just make sure to have someone to talk about it with. And I'm always here if you need me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Angelina.

Hornsby wondered how he should best handle that question. Angelina witnessed him last week sitting at his desk like a zombie, reading some old journal, and she had been helpful at answering his questions out in the hallway. She even recommended he use candy as an incentive to motivate students. But now she and others were witnessing him act strangely a second time. It was time to just be honest. I'm having trouble being myself right now because I really miss my mother.

That caught the entire class's attention. Did she die? asked Angelina.

No, she's alive. Hornsby was hesitant to share more, but then he thought about how many of these kids probably go home to broken families or might be missing a parent. A couple of days ago, I spoke with her for the first time in, well, a really long time. And I was reminded how much I miss and need her.

Why haven't you and your mom been talking?

She's somewhere else very far away. Hornsby looked over at the classroom entrance, still hoping he could create a portal. And I was hoping to go see her today.

You didn't want to come to school today?

No, no, I love being here every day with you kids. This has been my dream job since—

Mr. Hornsby, there you are! It was a familiar voice from the hallway.

Excuse me one minute, kids. Hornsby headed out to the hallway. Hi there, Ms. Bean.

"I've been telling everyone about yesterday."

Hornsby's blood pressure rose. And what exactly have you been telling people?

That you snuck in all those cool reenactors through the side door. I mean, the costumes—how authentic! And that magnificent set! I still can't figure out how they were able to set it up so quickly!

Hornsby breathed a sigh of relief. Pretty amazing, right?

The kids thought they entered a new world. I mean, an old one. Ms. Bean giggled. I have to admit, Ethan. You even had me fooled for a few seconds.

Those reenactors were really talented, weren't they?

It's as if they were the actual people. I even looked up Benjamin Harrison after. The one who played him was like his exact clone!

Hornsby kidded, Tell me about it.

But where did you find them?

Time to come up with another lie. Um, old college buddies.

"How'd you get them to just vanish like that? One moment I'm looking at