Chapter 23 Chapter 22 The Forgotten Promise

Tom's first thought when he awoke on Thursday morning was that he had missed a precious opportunity of going back to the garden last night.Then he thought of the hiding place under the floorboards. He almost thought that the discovery must have been something in his dream, but when he opened the closet door, he saw that a floor had been pried open, and there was his pencil sharpener next to it.He saw two brown paper packets in the hole and took them out and opened them: a pair of skates with the skates still firmly attached. Then he saw a note still in the hole in the floor.He took it out and read the above:

"To anyone who finds this. These skates are the property of Harriet Melbourne, but she left them at this place in fulfillment of a promise she once made to a boy." The note was signed and dated June 20th.The year was still written on it, but it was blurred by some dead insect, and Tom could only make out the first two numbers: a one and an eight. Tom spent much of that day contentedly admiring Hatty's skates—his skates.The skates were an old style unfamiliar to Tom, and were used in an older way of skating.They are swamp ice blades with long, curved blades that cut through the rougher ice as skaters glide long distances across the open ice that stretches as far as the eye can see in the swamp.

He tried his best to take care of the pair of skates.He said nothing to his uncle and aunt, but looked around for sandpaper, and finally found it in his uncle's toolbox, and he used it to carefully wipe off the rust on the skates.Perhaps it would be best to resharpen the skates, but that was beyond Tom's strength.He stole a bottle of olive oil from his aunt's pantry and dabbed it on the wooden heels and cracked skate straps.He tried the skates on and they fit perfectly—a little too big, maybe, but ideal.He can wear two pairs of socks inside. As Tom oiled his skates, something surfaced that he had been looking for: an answer—so perfect and ideal—the answer to his question about timing.

My aunt was out shopping, so Tom had no qualms about applying olive oil to the skates on the kitchen table.The kitchen clock was across from him—staring at him intently.Suddenly Tom remembered that night--some night many days ago--he had stared at the clock with such concentration, first in disbelief, then in great amazement.At the time, the clock told him that it took him several minutes to go down to the garden gate and up again, and the kitchen clock didn't show a little bit.He spent time in the garden, but not a second of his usual time.It seems that this may be the meaning of the grandfather clock striking thirteen o'clock: the hours after twelve o'clock do not exist in ordinary time, they are not bound by the laws of ordinary time, they are not only the ordinary sixty minutes , they are infinite.

Tom rubbed the oil on his belt, and his thoughts seemed to flow smoothly: he could stay in the garden as long as he wanted.He could have two things at once—the garden and his home—because he could be in the garden forever and his home was always waiting for him next Saturday afternoon.Here, time will stand still for him on Thursday.Time restarts only when he leaves the garden and returns to the suite. "I can stay in the garden forever," said Tom to the kitchen clock, laughing happily, but then shivering a little, for "forever" sounded so long and lonely. "Anyway," he thought, "I'll try it tonight: I could stay there for just a few days, a few weeks, or even a year, if I get tired of it,"—in fact he meant If he gets homesick—"Come back anytime. Then there's another chance on Friday night: I can stay longer and come back when I've seen and done everything in the garden. "

Tom is thinking about all the fun in the garden as he tends to the blades of his skates.When the work in hand was over, he had made up his mind and was in a very happy mood.He was fully prepared mentally for what happened at night. Only one thing went terribly wrong that Thursday.Just as Tom was going to bed, he suddenly remembered: "I didn't write to Peter yesterday!" "It's okay." The aunt tucked the quilt for him and said. "But I promised him." "It's bad to break your promise, but I'm sure you didn't mean it. Fortunately, it doesn't matter to Peter. Come to think of it, he'll see you the day after tomorrow."

Tom knew it meant a lot to Peter.Breaking a promise was sad enough, and Tom also knew how anxious Peter would be if he didn't hear from him.Peter needed Tom's letters to feed his imagination and nourish his dreams. "Write to me again and tell me about the Garden and Hatty," he had begged Tom once. "Tell me what you're doing . . . Do tell me what you're going to do." "I'm sorry, Peter," Tom murmured into the pillow, feeling very sick.He hoped that by this time Peter would no longer suffer from his breaking his promise.Peter went to bed earlier than Tom, so he was probably asleep from a day of disappointment.

On this point Tom was wrong.Peter wasn't asleep, he was still in pain.He hadn't heard from Tom today, and he didn't know why—Tom didn't usually forget promises so easily.Peter didn't know what Tom did last night, what secrets Tom had now, and what wonderful things Tom was going to do tonight. Peter stared at the dark bedroom for a long time with wide eyes, his vision was blurred by tears, and then became clear again.He longed more than ever to be with Tom--to know what Tom was doing right now.Then, at last, he fell asleep with this longing, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyelids was the postcard of Erie from Tom, on the mantelpiece in the bedroom opposite the bed.

Tom fell asleep too, but woke up as soon as the time came.He put on two pairs of socks.This time, he stuffed both slippers in the slightly open door of the suite.He came downstairs with the skates in hand.Of course, it was quite possible that it was no longer winter outside--but he believed it was still winter.When he opened the door, he found that he was right.There was thick snow and ice everywhere outside, covering all the trees, flowers and plants in the garden tightly, and there was no movement or sign of life in sight.The whole garden seemed to be carved out of stone.It's really cold and snow-covered.

In the deep silence Tom heard his name whispered hesitantly behind him.He turned and saw that Hattie was standing in the hall, wearing thick warm clothes, a fur hat, and her hands hidden in a fur muff. "I'm not sure if it's you or the glare of the ice, Tom." "Of course it's me," said Tom, wondering if Hatty's eyes weren't right. "I was expecting you to come--I was expecting you. Look!" Hattie drew a hand from the muff, and Tom saw her pair of skates hidden in the muff.In answer, Tom raised his skates too.Hatty nodded in satisfaction, but she didn't seem surprised that the two sets of skates were identical.She knows nothing about what Tom knows.

"James is coming down soon," Hatty said. "It's his turn to go to the market today, and I'm going with him. He doesn't know I want to go skating this afternoon, let alone where I want to go. I'm going to Skate to Erie." "All right?" asked Tom, startled. Hatty misunderstood his words. "Yeah, of course, I shouldn't do it. It's really not a lady's thing to do, so I can't tell anyone, but it's even more inappropriate to skate alone..." "I mean, is the river frozen enough?" "Sturdy, Tom—you know, Abe's grandpa said he'd never seen ice so hard and so long. The river froze from here up here and down here in Castleford and Ely .The river here is too near the headwaters to be safe, but down from Castleford, and all the way down the moor—oh, Tom, come with me!" Tom was thrilled and stunned at the same time. "Now? Not going to the garden? Not going through the garden?" "The garden's always going to be there anyway," Hatty coaxed him, "it's a rare big freeze—" She stopped talking suddenly, and turned to look at the stairs, where someone was coming down.Tom made up his mind at once, and went to stand beside Hatty: he was going to leave the garden for a while, and go with her. The newcomer is James, also in his out-of-town clothes.He greeted Hatty and took the market bag and two thick traveling rugs from a ledge in the hall.Then the three of them went out the front door—the front door of the house in Melbourne, which Tom had never been out of before. Out in the driveway, a horse and a buggy were waiting, and Abel stood by the horse's head.The look on Abel's face when he saw Tom clearly said, "It's amazing to see you again!" All the old fears were gone from his face. They climbed into the carriage and two blankets were wrapped around James and Hatty.Abel took the opportunity to sneak a friendly wink at Tom.Then James snapped the reins on the horses and off they went: up the Melbourne driveway, up a lane between the orchard and the meadows, turned right at a white log cabin, and, on the On the frozen road between the frozen field and the grassland, the horse's hooves were light and the sound was clear, and they walked for more than five miles.To their left were the low hills, like sleeping giants on the flat fields.Out of sight to their right, the creek wound and twisted in the same direction as the road, towards Castleford. Tom had walked this way with his aunt and uncle before, but then the view was blocked by crowded houses.And he takes a bus or a car every time.To tell the truth, he had never traveled in a carriage in his life.For the moment, he watched obsessively as the pony's compact back and hips moved vigorously almost under his feet.He felt the jerk and jerk of the tireless wheels as the carriage drove forward, steady and fast. They came to Castleford with the market crowd.James kept the horse and buggy "college of the university" (a curious name for the inn, as Castleford did not have a university).Farmers, millers, and other traders from all over the country seem to do the same.Then, James was carrying his market bag, ready to go to his business. "Hatty, will you give me a lift on the way back?" "Thank you, Cousin James," she said, "but I don't know when I'll be able to go back." "Anyway, you can take the train anytime," he said.So they broke up. On the streets of Castleford, many people were carrying ice skates.Some were walking towards the river, which wound its way across Castleford's little bridges between the grassy slopes of its banks.The ice here is already firm, but not much distance to slide.Hatty is still looking for something more exciting.She went through some of the narrower alleys, and trotted--Tom followed--a narrow lane, and came at last to the point where the river widened and deepened away from Castleford.From here the river flows into the marshes, and many other tributaries—ditches, channels, and canals in their artificially designed straight lines, creeks, brooks in their original winding course—will join in due course. Come in.The narrow creek that ran through Hatty Gardens became the broad Ouse before Ely.After flowing through Erie, the vast Ouse River swallowed up such tributaries as the Lake River and the Wesey River, and moved forward in a mighty way, and was about to merge into the vast sea.And at the time of Tom's visit, all these rivers, and other waters of the marsh, were firmly shut up by the memorable Freeze.