Free Foxworth Academy by Chris Blewitt

his pocket and found some coins and paper bills, thoroughly confused as to how much each coin was worth.
    The woman chuckled and grabbed a few coins from his palm.  “That should cover it,” she said.  “Now then, I assume you will make your way to the harbor?”
    “Yes,” he said.
    “Well, you better get going,” she said looking at the clock on the wall.  “Have a safe trip.”
    “Smooth,” Ally joked when the woman was out of earshot. 
    “Have you ever seen pence before?” he replied.
    “Nope.  This hat is so itchy,” she said, reaching under and lightly scratching her forehead.
    He laughed.  “Looks great though.”
    She cocked her head and gave him a disapproving look.  “Well, I guess we should get down to the harbor, wherever that is.”
    “We could ask,” he said, taking one last sip of his lukewarm tea.
    “She already thinks we’re going there, we can’t ask.”
    “What about that bum over there by the bar?  He seemed to have a liking for you.”
    “Funny.  Let’s just walk.  It’s probably where we saw all the boats.”
    They got up from their chairs and Brett stopped and said softly, “What do I tip?”
    She shrugged and replied, “I don’t think they tip over here.”
    He dropped a couple of coins on the table and said, “Better safe than sorry.”  They pushed the chairs in and made their way to the exit.  The street was getting busier and many people were walking in the same direction in groups.
    “You know what?’ Ally asked.  “There are no cars here.”
    “Good point.  Guess in 1912 they hadn’t been invented yet.”
    Brett and Ally followed the streams of people, hoping it would lead them to the harbor.  They turned the corner, quickly noticing the residential area had turned into a manufacturing area.  Workers were hustling into fenced-off properties and were ushered into small doors on the sides of brick buildings.  As they continued, more people walked in their direction.  They arrived at a dead end, turned left, and could smell the ocean.  Seagulls squawked overhead, and a horn blew in the distance.
    “Must be close to the harbor,” Ally said.  “I love the smell of the ocean.”
    “Yeah, but then what?”
    Ally shrugged.  “Beats me.”
    They made one more turn and the harbor came into view.  Small boats were rowing and motoring out into the channel and larger vessels could be seen in the distance, their smoke plumes drifting aimlessly into the sky.  They followed the crowd along the water.  In the distance, music was playing.  The breeze coming off the water was cool, prompting Ally to wrap herself in her own arms.  They made one last turn around a bend of trees and stopped dead in their tracks.
    “Wow!” Brett said.
    “What’s going on?” Ally replied.
    There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people standing near the dock.  Policemen on horseback sauntered along, controlling the large crowd.  Some people danced to the sound of a band, a brass ensemble, playing an upbeat tune neither Brett nor Ally recognized.  Children bounced balls to each other, while dogs were running rampant, without leashes or collars.  The scene was festive and alive until Brett was caught by surprise when he noticed something sitting in the harbor beyond the mass of people.
    Brett grabbed Ally’s hand and started walking toward the crowd.
    “This is it,” he said.
    “What?” she said.  He could barely be heard above all the noise.
    “This is it! This is our mission.”
    “What is?”
    He didn’t reply, instead walking ahead.  A sign read: White Star Line.  To the left, a hoard of people milled about, and to the right, was one of the biggest ships he had ever seen.  It reminded him of a ten-story building back home in Wilmington.  He picked up his pace, jogging the length of the ship.  As he neared the bow on the port side, he stopped and stared.
    “Slow down,” Ally said, catching up to him.  “What?  What is our mission?”
    Neatly