Verwandte Artikel zu Thunder and Mercy: A Novel

Thunder and Mercy: A Novel - Hardcover

Barr, Jennifer Robin

 
9781635923261: Thunder and Mercy: A Novel
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1635923263 ISBN 13: 9781635923261
Verlag: Calkins Creek, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

“A dazzling plot with characters who are rich and real and unforgettable.”—Lynda Mullaly Hunt, New York Times best-selling author of Fish in a Tree

★ School Library Journal, starred review

Is a hidden diary the key to an unsolved secret from the American Revolution?

It’s 1979 and twelve-year-old Theodora “Thunder” Underwood is dreading her summer vacation once again. Every year, her scientist parents disappear on far-flung scientific expeditions, leaving her with relatives who clearly don’t want her around.

But this summer, Thunder is sent to Mount Pleasant, her aunt’s historic yet crumbling old mansion outside of Philadelphia once owned by Revolutionary War traitor Benedict Arnold. When Thunder discovers a mysterious diary written by Mercy, a girl her age who lived through the American Revolution, Thunder is plunged into a mystery that involves a shadowy prowler, a hidden ring, and mysterious spies—making her summer far more exciting than she ever expected.

Fast-paced and full of twists, this suspenseful middle grade novel transports young readers between the 1770s and 1970s as Thunder uncovers the truth behind a Revolutionary-era spy network—and discovers the importance of friendship, family, and her own voice along the way.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jennifer Robin Barr grew up in the Philadelphia area during the 1970s and ’80s, spending her summers immersed in imaginative play with neighborhood friends, whether diving into games like home free or acting out scenes from Charlie’s Angels. Her writing focuses on weaving fictional stories around historical events, especially those lesser-known stories from Philadelphia’s past. She finds inspiration in the city’s historic neighborhoods and old cemeteries. Jennifer’s debut novel, Goodbye, Mr. Spalding, was named a 2019 Booklist Top 10 Sports Book for Youth. Visit her at jenniferrobinbarr.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

CHAPTER ONE

There’s a storm brewing in my head, rumbling and raw. Mount Pleasant is not at all what I expect, and I’m about to call it home.

I lean my head against the back seat of the taxi as it slows and click off the timer on my digital watch. Eight hours, one minute, and twenty- seven seconds. I’m a long way from where I started.
“You want me to just keep rolling along?” The taxi driver smirks as we approach the mansion.

“Very funny,” I sigh.

He rolls onto the circular driveway, gravel crunching below the! tires, and shifts his gear to park. That’s my cue to take yet another step in this journey, to another new city, with another distant relative.

“You sure we’re in the right place, kid?” he asks, turning the radio dial lower. Sister Sledge’s new song “We Are Family” vibrates from the car speakers.

“Yep. This is home,” I say. “For now.”

I look through the greasy car window and wonder how I could have gotten it so wrong. This is not Mount Pleasant, at least not the Mount Pleasant I expected.

I hoped for the estate that I saw in the old historic photo, the one that showed horses and carriages lined up in front of the grand mansion. I expected it to at least resemble its original form.
This home is crumbling. There’s a well near the edge of the property with stone collapsing around the base, the towering brick chimneys are stained black near the tops, and there are tall, wide windows. In between damaged shutters, broken glass panes, and windswept corner carvings are hints of a home that once was something special. Maybe even celebrated. But not today.

“You gonna get out?” “Just give me a minute.” I stall, smoothing my clothes after a full day of travel. I had chosen to wear a burnt- orange pantsuit for the trip, but instantly regretted it when I climbed on that first hot bus. I’m a sweaty, oily mess. So much for making a good first impression.
My long brown hair, fresh and wavy early this morning, is now matted to the sides of my face, crinkled and curled. I try to comb it with my fingers, glancing in the rearview mirror as I part it in the middle. The driver catches my eye in the reflection.

“Golly, mister! Just one minute, please!”

“I already shut off the meter,” he says. “Time to go, kid.” He twists his body to see me in the back seat. “You got a parent, or someone who can collect you?”

“Look, mister.” I crane my neck to see his name tag. “Mr. Cooper. In the past eight hours I’ve traveled through four cities on three separate buses, sat next to two different people named Mack, and eaten one not- quite- right hot dog. I just need one minute.”

“That’s three dollars and fifty cents,” he says, not at all moved by my situation. “You gotta pay before you get out so I know you won’t run.”

“I have bags in the trunk,” I reply. “And besides, you obviously know where to find me.” I overexaggerate an eye roll in the mirror and get out of the car, waiting by the trunk to collect my belongings.

I dig in my pocket for the money my parents had given me, just before dumping me at Cousin Erin’s house a month ago. “Use it wisely,” they said. I don’t think they would call a bus trip to Philadelphia wise. They also didn’t expect Erin to get sick of me so quickly.

“Bottle up that sass,” Erin said over her blaring disco music when she dropped me off at the bus today. “Be a butterfly, not a bee.” It was rich advice coming from someone who had just kicked a child out of her home.

Mom and Dad thought a summer with Erin would be “exactly what I needed.”

“She’s a smart young woman who is studying to be a chemist,” Dad had said, and that’s all he needed to say, like being in college makes her “exactly what I need.”

What Dad doesn’t know is that Cousin Erin spends most of her free time with her friends from the Clamshell Alliance organizing some sort of protest at a nuclear power plant. At first she had me help paint signs like “Honk for No Nukes!” and “Better Active Today Than Radioactive Tomorrow!” But eventually I was just getting in her way. One month of me was enough.

I first tried to convince her to let me stay. I promised that I would be fine on my own. I’m used to being alone. But once she mentioned Aunt Hazel, I zipped through the apartment to pack my bags before she could change her mind. A historic mansion? Yes! In historic Philadelphia? Yes, yes!

“This place is gonna fall down with one strong gust of wind,” the taxi driver says, snapping me out of my thoughts and setting my bags down with a grunt. “And I hear it’s got secrets. Plus, there’s a prowler on the loose,” he says more quietly, like some sort of ghost might hear him. Just then I see a man looking at me through an upstairs window of what looks like a guest house on the right. He quickly moves out of the frame when our eyes meet.

“Yeah, well, your taxi smells like egg salad,” I say, and quickly hand him a fifty-cent tip.

“I’m not sure that house is gonna be any better.” He glances back at Mount Pleasant before getting in his taxi and speeding off.

He might not have been the nicest driver, but he’s spot-on about Mount Pleasant. I pause at the base of the eight front steps, a suitcase in each hand, looking up. “How is this still standing?” I whisper to myself, lost in won der before the grand estate.

“Theodora! Mi amor!” Aunt Hazel bursts through the front doors and stops at the top of the steps, looking down at me with a big. Her arms are outstretched, awaiting my embrace. “Welcome to Mount Pleasant!”

Each summer while my parents globe-trot for research, I’m usually sent to the family of one of their professor friends who bring me in with kindness but are often stiff and awkward, and it always feels like I’m messing up their lives. That’s how it started with Cousin Erin one month ago.
Aunt Hazel is different. It looks like she’s expecting me to run up the steps and leap into a bear hug. She lowers her arms when she realizes I am not going to do that.

“It’s Thunder,” I say. “Not Theodora.”

“I heard you were clever. Where’s Erin?”

She looks up and down the gravel driveway, her flowy red- and- pink patterned dress swishing as she moves. It has wide-open sleeves and reaches just above her ankles. Dad always called her a hippie, and not in a nice way.

She certainly doesn’t look like any of the stiff, wool- wearing academics my professor parents hang around. Despite wearing no makeup, her skin glows, and long, gray, wavy hair falls around her face and below her shoulders. She’s wearing open-toed, strappy leather sandals and layers of bangles that clink together whenever she moves her arm.

Aunt Hazel looks like an offshore breeze, soothing as a warm summer day.

My dad would certainly disapprove. In fact, he has always disapproved of Aunt Hazel, so much so that I’ve never even met her. It’s a good thing he doesn’t know I’m here. She was the one sibling who did not follow Dad’s family tradition: become a world- renowned scientist, develop breakthrough discoveries, and eventually join the staff at an Ivy League university.

“Squandered intelligence. A mistake I will not let you make,” Dad said to me more than...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Verlag
Calkins Creek
Erscheinungsdatum
2026
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1635923263
ISBN 13 
9781635923261
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar