A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(80)

Something occurred to me, a flash memory of the diner we’d stopped at in 1965, and I asked, “Were loops segregated back then? By race?”

“Of course they were,” said Miss Annie. “Just because folks were peculiar didn’t mean they weren’t racist. Our loops weren’t some kind of utopia. In a lot of ways they were just a reflection of the society outside them.”

“But they’re not segregated anymore,” said Bronwyn, her eyes flicking to Hawley, the white boy wearing headphones down at the other end of the table, and the older white girl across from him.

“It took a good long time to integrate,” said Miss Annie. “But slowly, we did.”

“Hollowgast don’t care what color you are,” said Elmer. “They just want your soul. That helped bring us all together.”

“What about loops in other parts of the country?” said Enoch. “Do they have ymbrynes?”

“Ymbrynes down south got the first of it and the worst of it,” said Elmer. “But gradually, ymbrynes all over the nation disappeared.”

“Every single one?” said Bronwyn. “There are none left at all?”

“I’ve heard there are still a few,” said Miss Annie. “Some who managed to hide. But they don’t have anything like the power or influence they used to.”

“What about Native Americans?” Millard asked. “Did they have loops?”

“They did. But not many, because by and large they weren’t afraid of peculiarness, and their peculiars weren’t persecuted. Not by their own people, anyway.”

“That brings us to the twentieth century, which I can speak to,” Elmer said. “The Organization started fading away, mainly because there weren’t many ymbrynes left to kill. Normals began to forget us. Instead the loops began fighting one another. For territory, influence, resources.”

“It’s something the ymbrynes would never have allowed to happen,” said Alene.

“We heard a bit about what you folks were going through in Europe with the hollowgast,” said Elmer, “but the monsters mostly kept to your side of the pond. That all changed in the late fifties, when the wights and hollows came in with a vengeance. That put a stop to most of the inter-clan battles, but we could hardly leave our loops for fear of being eaten by these damned shadow monsters.”

“That’s when my grandfather and H started fighting them,” I said.

“Right,” said Elmer.

“So the normals in America,” said Bronwyn. “Do they still know about us?”

“No,” said June. “They haven’t for a long time. And it wasn’t many people who knew about us, even back in the 1800s.”

“No, no, no, Junie, that’s wrong,” Miss Annie said, shaking her head vigorously. “That’s just what they want you to think. Mark my words, there are those who still know. There are still normals who understand our power, who are frightened of us, who seek to control us.”

“What on earth are they frightened of?” asked June.

“Of an idea,” said Miss Annie. “The idea of us peculiars as anything other than divided up and scared of one another. The power that a united peculiardom could wield. It’s as frightening to them today as it was back in the day.” She nodded with a sharp finality, let out a breath, and picked up her fork. “Now if you’ll excuse me. You all have finished eating, but I haven’t taken a single bite.”



* * *



? ? ?

Everyone waited for Miss Annie to clear her plate before leaving the table, and then we began to clean up. It was obvious to me that Miss Annie was the one I was supposed to give the package to, so when she got up to leave I offered to help her get to wherever she was heading.

She told me she was going back to her house. I offered her my arm. After the short walk to her house, I gave her the package, which was just big enough to fit in my pocket. She seemed to be expecting it.

“You’re not going to open it?” I asked.

“I know what it is and who it’s from,” she said. “Help me up the stairs.”

We climbed the three steps to her porch, her back at nearly a ninety-degree angle, and when we reached the top she said, “Hold on a moment,” and disappeared into her house.

A few seconds later she returned and put something in my hand.

“He asked me to give you this.”

In my palm she’d placed an old, worn matchbook.

“What’s this?”

“Read it and see.”

On one side was an address—a town in North Carolina—and as if that weren’t straightforward enough, the other side read, It’s SMART to stop here . . . you get MORE for your money!

I tucked it into my pocket.

“When you see him, tell him thank you,” she said. “And then tell him to come here his damn self next time, so I can see his handsome face again. He is missed.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t give up on him. He can be frustrating and pigheaded and a pain in the rear end. But don’t let him convince you he doesn’t need help. He’s been carrying a lot of weight for a lot of years, and he needs you. He needs you all.”

I nodded solemnly and raised my hand to her, and she went inside and shut the door.