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Chapter 21~ A Very British Rescue
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The wind was picking up as it always did when the darkness fell. The snowstorm was being ushered in to freeze all those in its path. Little shards of ice fell from the sky like newly broken glass, ready to dig into some unsuspecting flesh. The ice formed a clear film over the entirety of London, trapping each and every person inside like a perilous snow globe—and Kit Calvin was no exception.
She trudged through the snowed-in sidewalks, leaving the world behind her. A hundred different thoughts had been battling it out inside her head ever since leaving Hyde Park. But, hurt was seeming to gain the upper hand. However, Kit refused to sit and acknowledge the pain any longer than she already had. She wasn’t there in London to trapeze like a child through parks and parades. She was there for a sole purpose. So, she went back to her plan:
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- Get to New York
- Convince Flora Mae to help find Father Time
- Find Father Time
- Save world.
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So, she was halfway through. At least she had that. Kit paused on the sidewalk and leaned against a nearby brick building, fiercely wiping away the remaining tears on her cheeks. She pulled her bag off of her back and dug her arm deep inside, groping for Flora Mae’s clock. There were her gloves, her wallet, her water bottle, her toothbrush, her snow globe, Bernard’s stupid blue scarf…No clock. Kit’s brows kit together as she set down her belongings to dig deeper in. But, it was gone. The clock was gone. Kit threw a look back down the street, a sudden fear crawling across her spine. Someone knew her plan and had stolen the clock. Why else would her wallet be left?
Kit started to hyperventilate, pressing a hand to the wild beating in her chest. The clock was lost, and she was stuck in London with no way to fix this mess. Kit slid her back down the wall, landing at its base. Her face was still and despondent. She’d ruined it all—her great heroic plan, her family’s trust, even her friendship with Bernard. Kit’s face knit up as she snatched up the first thing she could find and hurled it against the sidewalk, shrieking in anguish.
“No, wait!” she yelled, watching her snow globe shatter and fly out in a million glass pieces. The water and snow soaked the cement as all that was left was the very base of the snow globe. Everything stopped, even the pounding in her chest. Kit’s breath, frozen and white in the air, clouded her vision. She stared at the broken mess that had once been her most precious object. Slowly, her shaking fingers picked up the jagged base, dripping in glitter and water.
“No…” she murmured, “No.” She held the glass in her fingers, letting the edges prick her flesh and draw blood. “No, please…” The blood ran from her fingers and dribbled onto the cement, mixing with the water and specks of snow. “I’m…so sorry.”
Like a weight that she’d been fighting off, tiredness fell on her shoulders, pressing her down, and Kit clutched the broken snow globe to herself. She dug back into her bag and wrapped Bernard’s blue scarf around her neck. Mint and old books.
She got to her feet, nearly trembling from the cold, and grabbed her bag. And off she walked to find someplace warm and safe.
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When the morning came, Kit woke up in a bed that was not her own. Her eyelids peeled themselves open, crusty with yesterday’s tears. She was greeted with a small but very blue room, decorated with white angels and many china plates. She was warm and comfortable but could not remember how she came to be there. Kit pulled off the quilt over her and sat up. A tightness bound her hand, and she noticed her right hand was bandaged from the cuts of the snow globe. Kit looked all around her and found her backpack at the end of the bed and her shoes on the floor. Cautiously, she got to her feet and reached the white-painted door. Suddenly, it flew open, smacking into Kit’s forehead. Kit stumbled back as a small English voice cried out in fright.
“Oh, dear, are you okay? I am so sorry!”
Kit blinked back the fuzzy spots in her vision and saw a woman about her height with neatly rolled blonde hair and a tray of food. The woman quickly rushed past her to set down the tray. “I told my husband Frank that you’d wake soon, and I hoped to get some grub in you before you damn-near faint.”
She wrapped her arms around Kit’s shoulders and sat her back on the bed. “Truly didn’t mean it, dear. I hope I didn’t bash you in or nothing.”
Kit pressed a hand to the pain on her head. “Where am I?”
The woman nodded, putting her hands in her lap. “Of course. You see, I couldn’t have just let you freeze out there. Would’ve been quite unneighborly of me, I’d think. You were out like a light, a flickering light, you see. So, I bundled you up like a babe and brought you in. Your hand was quite a sight, all soaked in blood and whatnot, so I patched that up, too. But, I can only imagine what a tot like you was doing all by yourself out there in the freezing cold.”
Kit was quiet, looking over at her hand and noticing the bandage on her cheek.
“Well, you are going to speak, aren’t you? Where are your parents anyhow?”
“Um,” Kit started, “Not here.”
“Not here,” the woman scoffed. “Why kids your age can be such a lock to pick. You think you’re the first I’ve scraped off the sidewalk and brought in? Not in the least. There’ve been dozens. Well, maybe not dozens, but certainly many. What’s your name, girl?”
Kit looked back at the quaint, middle-aged British woman who’d rescued her. “My name is Kit.”
“Hm,” the woman squeaked, looking at Kit up and down, “Kit, is it? Well, I’m Victoria Clives. But, you may call me Vicky. I’ve brought you some food. You ought to eat up and wash so I can phone your parents and get you home.”
“I can’t stay,” Kit piped up, standing up.
“Rubbish.” Vicky got up and sat Kit back down. “You can and you will. Where’s a kid like you got to be the day before Christmas Eve?” Vicky laughed to herself and left the room, shutting the white door behind her.
Kit sat in the quiet for a moment as all of the events of the night before came back to her. The trip…the museum…the park…the kiss. She turned to the plate of breakfast consisting of fat brown sausages, tomatoes, ham, and eggs, and a pot of tea on the side. The emptiness in Kit’s stomach came as a grim reminder, and she ate.
Vicky came back once more with a pair of fresh clothes she’d saved from her daughter’s old wardrobe after she’d left for school. And Kit scrubbed the sweat, dirt, and grime from the past several days away from her, delighted to feel the comfort of warm water run over her once more. And afterward, she dressed in the green turtleneck sweater, jeans, and coat that Vicky had given her. She left a pile of twenty pound bills on the dresser as a ‘thank you’ gift.
“You sure you have no folks to call? None at all?”
“No. I have somewhere I’ve got to be. But, I can’t thank you enough for your help. Truly. Merry Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas, dear.”
And just like that, Kit was back on the London streets in perfect health with nowhere to go.
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