The Adventures of Conrad: One American Revolution…

1 Oct

A GSP release from our Author of the Week: Denise Bartlett.




His mother calls him from daydreams to go to school. His teachers summon him from them to answer questions in class. One day a revolutionary from the American war for independence called him into a daydream. Will Conrad be able to travel back in time to fulfill a soldier’s last request?



  Mr. Fantom’s history class was BORING. To listen to him made one think all the people who used to live on the earth died not of disease and warfare, but of sheer boredom. Surely it must have been exciting to live during the American Revolution.

    The picture on page 124 showed an old tavern where men of the time met to discuss treasonous ideas. The smells alone would have been interesting. Sweat, tobacco, ale, charred wood and smoke; the occupational smells of farmers, tanners, trappers and fishermen.

    “Hey, kid.”

    Conrad’s ears perked up. The voice was very quiet, almost located inside his head.

    “Come on in, I’ll show you around.” The tavern door was open now, and a man stood in the doorway. Conrad looked carefully around the classroom.

    No one else seemed aware of what was happening.

    Okay, he thought, but how.

    “Like this.” The man suddenly stood beside him; the classroom gone, the tavern reality, the stench verified that. The man ushered him into a small room off to the side of the bar. “Name’s Jake. Change into these.”

    Conrad slipped off his clothes and dressed in the ones the man handed him. They were an exact fit.

    “What’s your name, kid?”


    “It’ll do.” The man put Conrad’s clothes into a huge wooden wardrobe and they reentered the tavern.

    The man bellied up to the bar, and Conrad followed his lead. “Two pints, Johnny.”

    “Who’s the new man?”

    Conrad stood a little taller at the word ‘man.’ Well, why not? He was maturing quickly.

    “His name is Conrad. Conrad, Johnny serves the best ale in town.”

    Conrad nodded, and picked up the mug. It was heavy, pewter hammered into a rugged shape. The taste was something like muddy roots soaked in old beer. He swallowed deeply, and smiled at Johnny. “I believe you were right, Jake. The finest I ever tasted.” He felt a drip on his chin, and reached up to wipe his face with his sleeve, as he’d seen the other men do. His mustache seemed to be wet. What a change!                       




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