Orphans of Stone: HomeComing: A Curious Middle Grade Fantasy

by Rae Craig

  Jenny let out a huff of amusement and tapped Donnell smartly on his springy black curls.

  He continued. “Harriet, we’re in luck. It’s baloney, greens and mayo sandwiches for lunch and I’ve been trying to convince Grandma we should taste-test the pies. We must protect our customers tomorrow.”

  Golden brown pies cooled on the counter. Grandma set one on the table. “All right, Donnell, but you’ll have to eat your entire slice, even if the pie turned out terrible.”

  After two sandwiches and a sliver of pie each, they were ready for Dad’s official pie judgment. He put his palms flat on the table and faced Grandma, grinning sideways at Ella and Harriet. ”It’s definitely edible, but I detect a special flavor, as if you had expert help.” He pushed his chair back and carried his plate to the sink. “Tomorrow we’ll serve pie and tea to our customers. Harriet, you’ll help Grandma.”

  Harriet asked Ella. “Can you help?”

  “I wish I could, but we take eggs and rhubarb to Market tomorrow and I have to pick the rhubarb and tie it into bundles; then I’m in charge of selling it and keeping track of the money, so I’ve got to be there.”

  Harriet thought over their morning while she and Ella washed the dishes. “You were talking about your rock collection and I have a rock field guide at home. We could look up those oily crystals.”

  “Okay, but I’ve got to get home soon.”

  Grandma came in and shooed they out of her kitchen. “You’ve worked long enough; go have fun.”

  Chapter Three

  The Old Cellar

  Ella skipped backward in front of Harriet. “Can I collect snails and watercress from the creek? Who should I ask for permission?” After leaving the shophouse, they had checked out the rose crystals in the bridge, studying their oiliness, formation, and color. Now they walked toward Harriet’s house to look them up in the guide book.

  Harriet said. “The spring flood takes time to go down. The creek’s too dangerous now.” Ella’s animated expression drooped, making Harriet want to encourage her. “But anyone can collect stuff from the creek; you don’t need permission.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up. “Are there snails and salamanders? How about watercress?”

  “There’s a deep pool in the creek farther down, right where New River Road branches off. When I was little, Grandma and Grandpa Jameson lived on that corner, but their house is empty now. Back then, we had fun catching tiny fish with nets and then putting them back in the creek to grow bigger. I saw snails, but not salamanders or watercress.” Harriet remembered the ancient maple tree she and Clarence had learned to climb with Grandma Jameson’s help. It stood on a rise overlooking the creek. She wondered who took care of the Jameson garden now.

  Ella interrupted her thoughts. “I’ve heard about your new porch. We’re remodeling our attic this summer.”

  “Grandma Hoier built the porch before we got here. She’s amazing.”

  When they reached Harriet’s house Ella squatted under the porch and ran her hands over a foundation stone. “Where did Aunt Helen get this beautiful granite and why are there ridges carved around it?”

  “The carpenters dug them up when they tore down the modern porch and Grandma reused them. I didn’t notice the ridges.” They both knelt down to feel three ridges circling each stone.

  Harriet stood up, brushing off her knees. “They must be for decoration, but they would’ve been hidden. So why bother?”

  They climbed the porch steps, making guesses about what they would find in the guide book. Harriet opened the screen door, but Ella walked to the far end of the porch and leaned out over the rail.

  She pointed. “There’s a big hole lined with rocks over in that thicket- what will you use that for?”

  “Bang!” Harriet let the door slam shut. “I didn’t notice that. Let’s go look.”

  They crossed the lawn to the edge of small trees and brush. No path entered the thicket larger than a groundhog could make. Following the overgrown edge, they entered the neighbor’s garden. A small barn perched on the hill above them, with a large pyramid of stone down on their level. The stacked granite was twice their height and wider than that across the base.

  “What beautiful stones.” Ella cried as she dashed forward and flattened her palms onto the granite. “There’s way more rose crystals here than in the bridge. Grandma Matta has lots of crystals in her rock collection, but nothing like these.” She climbed toward the peak, Harriet climbing next to her.

  Peering upward Ella said. “That ring of upright stones at the top has more clear quartz.”

  “I noticed it last night.” Harriet turned and sat on a projecting stone. “Grandma said people used to think this made an attractive garden decoration.” She brushed dirt off the stone. “It’s called a ‘folly’. The Mac family back then must have loved their garden. Grandma says Threda Mac still lives here.”

  Ella swiveled to face Harriet. “Mom was a Mac before she married Dad. Maybe Threda Mac is related.”

  Back to their search for a way into the thicket, at first they couldn’t see though it any better than they had from the porch, but in a few steps a gap appeared.

  Ella pointed. “Someone cut down those little trees. I bet Dana Rethic got them for your mom.”

  “They’re the right size for legs. That needs to be the strongest part of a chair.”

  Harriet squeezed into the gap, avoiding the sharp stumps with difficulty. Unsteady and awkward, they advanced slowly. Harriet grabbed a sapling when her next footstep found only air instead of solid ground. Behind her, Ella bumped into Harriet’s arm, throwing them off balance.

  “We’re right on the edge.” Harriet warned.

  She parted the branches to discover a tumbled in stone cellar, open to the sky. Ella peered over her shoulder. In the cellar lumpy dirt mounded up in the middle, sloping down to meet the partially collapsed stone walls.

  Harriet said. “Follow me.”

  They circled close to the edge, gripping small trees to keep from falling. Along the creek valley the stone foundation had collapsed. They clambered over the tumbled rocks and onto the lumpy fill, surrounded by stone walls with young trees arching overhead. Green tinged sunlight painted moving splotches across their faces.

  Harriet held out her hands. “What is this? No one said a word about any building ever being here and with my parent’s constant planning, you’d think they’d have talked about it- after all it’s right next to our house.” She turned to Ella. “Do your parents talk about Shi-octon?”

  “Not much about the place; a little bit about the people. That’s why I was surprised when we moved to Aunt Helen’s farm.” She picked up two sturdy sticks and handed one to Harriet. “Do you want to live here?”

  Harriet didn’t know that answer. Her expression grew guarded and no words came. A few quiet moments later she said. “For me it’s the opposite. Mom and Dad planned to live in Shi-octon as soon as they could. They retired early from teaching and here we are.” This girl did not need to know any more than that.

  They poked at the lumpy fill as they talked. Harriet blew out a breathy “Oh!” when her stick skidded off something smooth, throwing her off balance. The surface dirt had cracked like broken pottery. What slippery thing could be underneath? Harriet gently pried out an oblong ball of dirt using her fingernails. Ella pulled a ragged cotton bag out of her pocket and Harriet placed the crusted lump inside.

  “Do you always carry a bag?”

  “If I have a pocket, I have a bag. Mom says it saves wear and tear on my pockets and her sanity.” She laughed. “One hot summer day I forgot to take a dead fish out of my pants pocket. I was going to dissect its stomach to see what it ate, but forgot and threw the pants in the wash basket. Then we left for a week and when we got back, I could smell rotten fish even before Dad unlocked the front door.” She hung her head with a guilty smile. “I had to wash down the laundry room walls to finally get the smell out.”

  They poked their sticks around the mound
, working their way back toward where they could scramble out. Harriet was curious. “Do you collect anything other than water plants and animals?”

  “Rocks are my favorite, but also feathers, pinecones, mushrooms, bones. Anything interesting. I’ve got shoeboxes full under my bed to make nature displays. I got a glass tank when I turned twelve, so I’m making a terrarium.” She stopped and turned to Harriet, her blue eyes sparkling. “Do you want to help?”

  “That would be nice.” Harriet said without much enthusiasm. She was more interested in how things worked than just looking at them.

  They climbed back up the tumbled foundation and found a trail that followed the top edge of the creek valley. Bordered by spring growth, the path snaked around trees and granite outcroppings, overlooking the black flood waters that churned down the valley. With the memory of her brother’s death locked deep inside her mind, she should avoid any situation that would remind her of that horrible day, but a terrible desire to connect with the creek’s power taunted Harriet. They trotted down a short slope that dropped them onto a hidden lower terrace of Mac’s garden perched just above the rushing water. Blue, pink, yellow and white flowers carpeted right down to the water and also partially smothered the old stone steps leading back up to the folly level. Spring blue bells and blue-pink May flowers, which Harriet knew, but also delicate white blossoms and waxy yellow ones that she did not, drew her closer to the water churning against the terrace.

  Harriet stood with her toes hanging out over the drop-off, staring down into the rushing current. She became more and more connected to the cold, angry water, leaning forward into a dangerous overbalance, when Ella shouted, “I found it!”

  Harriet staggered back, jerked awake from an instantly forgotten nightmare.

  Ella held a wildflower guide warped to the shape of her pocket. She pointed to an entry for the white flowers. “Bloodroot. Used for heart and lung problems.” She glanced up to include a silent Harriet. “And the sap is red.”

  Ella carefully picked the white flower so they could examine the stem’s hollow end. Dabbing it on themselves, circles of red juice stained first the back of their hands and then their cheeks. Covered in the tiny blood-red rings, they checked the guide again to discover that the waxy yellow flowers were cowslips.

  Harriet, with her mind finally cleared of the flood’s power, read out the rest of the bloodroot entry. “Tea has been used for seizures. Sap can cause serious skin irritation.”

  They lay on their stomachs at the water’s edge, washing the red off their hands and faces.

  Ella stood and shook her hands. “Lucky you noticed that. I got poison ivy all over myself last summer, and I mean all over. Mom had a fit and said I knew better- ‘Leaves of three, let them be.’ If I came home with a rash again, that would just be it.” She smiled and wiped her hands on her pants.

  She went over to lift up the clinging flowers that spread over the stone steps. “I’d love to talk to whoever made this garden, but from the look of this grainy old cement; that was a long time ago.”

  They each picked a bouquet, and walked toward the folly. From the angle of light through the trees Harriet could tell it was late. She hoped the blue-eyed girl would not hurry away.

  She said, “We didn’t look at my rock guide, but I guess it’s too late now. How about washing off this lump, so we can see what it is.” She knew Ella was excited about their discovery.

  As Harriet walked ahead, behind her Ella’s open, happy face slid through worry, ending up with panicked eyes staring out of a vacant face. Her voice changed to a lifeless drone. “I need to go home.”

  Harriet ignored her and turned on the squeaky garden tap tucked behind the folly. The water flowed through a screened tray on legs into the gravel below.

  “This will work.” She reached into the bag Ella held open with rigid arms. Harriet didn’t pay any attention when the girl recoiled, but instead focused on the lump’s weight swaying down the screen. She turned it this way and that under the running water, scrubbing with her hands and prying dirt chunks off with her fingernails. A glass bottle emerged, the bottom curving out in a graceful silhouette. The neck flared around the top so there were no grooves for a screw on lid. Harriet turned it bottom up, where she saw and felt a raised flower within a ring. She was careful to inspect it right in front of Ella, but got back only a blank cringing stare.

  Harriet said, “It’s shaped like a flower vase.” The weathered glass felt soft instead of polished. “What do you think was in it and why was it in that pile of dirt?” Ella did not answer. The quiet became uncomfortable so Harriet leapt back in to fill it. “I’ll ask Dad; he’s got lots of old glass in the store.” She spoke rapidly, filling the disturbing silence. “Or we can ask him together. Can you stay for supper? We’ve got plenty of leftover soup.”

  Ella jerked to attention, her bouquet exploding out of hands that frantically pushed Harriet away. “No! No! I’ve got to go. I’ve got to cut rhubarb right now. I’ve got to tie the bundles up with cotton string. Mom says people buy pretty food.” She spun away without another word and staggered down the street with her arms twitching.

  Harriet was bewildered. Sometime in the last few minutes she had made a terrible mistake. Really this whole afternoon had been a mistake. Not only did she not need friends, she did not want friends.

  No matter how intelligent she was supposed to be, Harriet did not understand emotions. They could not be researched, understood and therefore controlled. Her ability to connect with others had died with her twin brother, Clarence.

  Gravel crunched under her feet with each step toward home. Her parents watched her from the porch. She wiped the small vase on her sleeve as she walked.

  Mom asked. “Why did Ella hurry away? I had a message to send with her.” When Harriet didn’t answer, Mom continued, “What do you have there?”

  Harriet stuck out the bottle. “We found it in the old cellar hole.”

  Dad asked, “First off, what cellar hole?”

  Harriet angrily jerked her head toward the thicket. “Right over there. I can’t believe you don’t know about it.”

  Mom soothed, “You remember Don, it was listed on the property papers.”

  He reached out toward Harriet. “Let’s see what you found.”

  She let him take the vase. He turned it over, inspecting all the surfaces, especially the bottom. “I’m not sure which factory made this, but it’s a scent bottle from about 100 years ago and expensive at the time.” He ran a finger around the chipped opening. “It had a decorative glass stopper and you can tell it’s been out in the weather, because of the soft feel to the glass. I’d say it probably held lily of the valley scent. They used it back then to freshen linens and clothes.”

  He handed the bottle back and she took it to the kitchen for a thorough scrub, paying particular attention to the raised flower on the bottom. It was a lily of the valley, like Dad said. She set the bottle on the counter and walked back over to Mac’s garden to get Ella’s flowers and arranged them in the vase with her own. She set the bouquet on the kitchen table and went up to her room.

  What had she done to that girl? She had followed all of Clarence’s rules for friendly manners: let people talk about their interests, ask questions about those interests, use a kindly tone of voice. His rules worked for him; why not for her? Her legs went to sleep as she glared out her low side window. Stomping around the room to bring the feeling back, she longed for comfort and turned to her surest source: the calendar waiting for her under the mattress. Late afternoon quiet drew her out the back of the house, away from her parents. There she settled onto the wide cement entry pad, leaning back against the house while absorbing the low, golden light. Warmth from the cement soaked into her jeans, contrasting with the approaching coolness of evening.

  She snapped the rubber band from the calendar onto her wrist, the stinging a welcome distraction.

  The marker smelled of defeat and frustration, not comfort. No matter how black she i
nked today’s 346th square, Harriet would not be soothed.

  Pushing the pen’s tip down harder, the ink sodden paper disintegrated into juicy rolls of blackness. For a second the world froze around her, then, fury burst out from her center, buzzing into her hands.

  Exploding up with a roar, Harriet hurled the now useless marker as far as she could into the pine trees beyond the grass.

  Today was gone.

  Her last connection to Clarence lost.

  She slumped back, cradled by the warm cement.

  Chapter Four

  Dana

  Harriet grasped the door knob, ready to leave. This morning she would help Grandma serve pie, but although she had packed a basket of supplies, she was sure she needed one more thing from upstairs.

  Standing in the middle of her bedroom, empty space filled her brain. What in the world had she needed?

  From under the mattress her calendar teased with an offer of comfort, but its connection was ruined without the 346th day.

  An aching need for connection pulled her into the empty third bedroom…the bedroom that should have been her twin’s.

  The yellow quilt held her body’s empty hollows from yesterday. Morning light streamed through the rear window, lighting up a fluffy yellow rug. Like the bed, it was perfectly arranged, placed exactly where Clarence’s feet would have landed when he woke up.

  With no memory of getting there, she found herself standing on the rug, looking down at her sunlit feet. The rug’s thick golden tendrils reached up and clung to her canvas shoes, partially submerging them in vivid yellow.

  Sunlight dazzled her eyes, sharpening the edges of everything in the room. Harriet felt she looked down at someone else’s feet, but those must be her feet because they were attached to her legs. Fluid waves beat at the edge of her vision. She stared down at the rug.