by Rae Craig
Yellow rug….yellow feathers….yellow rug….yellow feathers.
Her vision switches back and forth.
The rug fades away. The feathers become yellow baby ducks that huddle around her feet, hopping over and onto her feet. Hands not her own, her brother’s hands, reach out to settle a lost duckling back amongst its siblings.
Everything changes.
On her knees, she scoops up three half-dead baby ducks, thrusting them inside her drenched shirt.
“Rumble, CRACK.”
She jerks up her head, sucks in desperate breaths, then slices into the water with a flying dive.
Everything changes.
Yellow feathers….yellow rug….yellow feathers….yellow rug.
The yellow feathers faded. She stared down at the yellow rug, the sun warming her ankles.
Stumbling toward the door, she looked back to see two foot shaped depressions in the crooked rug. Fleeing to the kitchen, she jerked her hair back as she filled the sink and plunged her face into the cold water, not drawing her next breath until minutes later when wetness dripped off her nose into the draining sink.
Is that how he had died? Wasting his precious life trying to save useless baby ducks? She couldn’t think about it or she would explode.
She dried her face on the kitchen towel. Helen Hoier expected her help today and she didn’t need a crazy exploding granddaughter.
Last night, waiting for sleep, she had imagined an alternative life. What if they had moved to Shi-octon a year ago? Would she still have an alive brother? If she thought about that possibility hard enough could she make it happen? Was that possible here? But she was thinking foolishly, the same thinking she had always scoffed at when Clarence had spoken with his unrealistic imagination. Last night her mind had raced like a mouse in a wheel, thinking Clarence type thoughts.
She took a deep breath.
This was real life.
At the store Mom had set out her Twisted Twig furniture on the wide sidewalk. “Harriet. The weather is so fine we put the tea table in Grandma’s front garden.”
The shophouse gate thudded behind Harriet, bringing a smile from Grandma who was busy cutting pies. Harriet asked, “Do you have a vase? I have a bunch of flowers from Mac’s garden.”
Grandma said. “Use one of the old jelly jar glasses. They’re in the cupboard next to the sink.”
The kitchen smelled of apple pie and fresh spring air. Harriet chose a sparkly glass with raised ridges running down the sides. She lifted it from the shelf, thinking about all the family hands that had touched it, including Grandpa Hoier’s and Clarence’s.
The bouquet energized the already charming table with its white cotton cloth, creamy pottery teapot and spicy apple pies.
People arrived. The Matta’s were handing out tickets at their Market stand to be traded for a slice of pie when the customers stopped here on their way out of the valley.
Harriet served, answering questions about Dad’s antiques and Mom’s furniture while Grandma kept the teapot filled. All the customers came from outside the valley, so they asked no uncomfortable family questions and she could relax. She worried they would run out of pie, but Grandma said the number of tickets matched the pieces of pie.
During a lull Mom got her attention from the gate. “I need two of the new stools from the workshop.”
Grandma added, “Don’t dawdle, the Matta’s are stopping by after Market and I’ll need your help.
She headed across Center Road. Surprise--- the Matta’s were visiting. Would Ella still be angry?
At the grist mill, the pony-tailed woman sold bags of flour from her painted cart. Harriet slid by to avoid eye contact, her socializing patience used up. Around the corner, the saw mill doors were cracked open, but only silence came from inside. She hurried down the drive to Mom’s workshop.
Inside, sunlight streamed through the windows, dust motes suspended in the brightness. Water whooshed by in the mill race. Near the door two stools waited for her, but instead, she sank into a sun-drenched mostly finished rocker. Stillness soaked into her skin, the moment stretching into minutes.
“Plink----plink----plink.” Pebbles fell from the sky into the mill race. Someone was tossing them out of the sawmill window above. She couldn’t imagine Hetric Rethic finding that amusing.
Grabbing the stools, Harriet hurried up the drive and approached the sawmill doors. Peering through the crack she watched Hetric Rethic organizing receipts on a long counter. He wrote on each page before placing it onto a stack.
A tall thin boy tossed a pebble out the window and leaned out to watch it splash.
She awkwardly shifted her feet and the door creaked and slid open.
Hetric Rethic turned with a scowl, but the dark blocky man’s expression changed to a pretend smile when he saw who it was. “Little Harriet Jameson. I’m surprised to see you during Market. I thought your family would be busy.”
“We are busy. I came over to get stools.”
“You haven’t met my son Dana.” He looked seriously at the boy. “Dana, help little Harriet carry the stools and come right back. Don’t forget, our customers will be here when Market closes and you must be here too.”
Harriet fixed her eyes on Hetric Rethic as he talked. She knew just a little more study would help her remember how she knew him. Sunlight steamed through the windows, lighting him up from behind. He continued to speak in a forced jolly tone of voice, but she focused her entire attention on examining him and did not listen to his words.
As she stared into his face, a halo formed around his body, as if another person occupied the same space. At first, she thought it was a trick of bright light, but gradually, the halo person’s edges became firmer, like flesh and blood. Vengeful, controlling eyes she recognized watched her from the half-formed face. She took a panicked step back, dropped her stools with a thump and closed her eyes tight against flashing sun spots.
Harriet heard Dana move closer and she opened her eyes to see fur-like reddish brown hair that stuck straight up out of his head, contrasting with his creamy, lightly freckled face. He moved smoothly, with comfortable looseness in his long arms and legs. He certainly didn’t look anything like his short, bronze father. Dana stepped forward to pick up a stool.
He stared at her as intently as she had stared at his father, but with an added expression of helpfulness. His arm reached down to pick up the stool closest to him. With that gesture, an absolute knowledge of his identity coursed through her; he was the unknown beckoning figure in the cemetery. Like before, looking into his face brought calm, mixed with reassurance.
Hetric Rethic waited for her reply.
She forced herself to turn from Dana and say what she thought would be polite. “Oh. That would be great; these stools are heavier than I thought.” She gestured toward the one Dana held.
Dana added, “’I’ve heard about Helen Hoier’s pies. I wouldn’t turn down a little taste.” His voice drawled out smooth and unhurried, deeper than usual for a boy of about her age.
More disturbed by Hetric Rethic than she wanted to admit, she had to work hard to be sociable as they walked. “Did you work at the old cellar yesterday? I saw the willows you cut.”
He took a moment to consider. “I can’t work near the creek, so I’m cutting trees.”
“The trees you cut cleared a pathway into that abandoned cellar. Ella and I discovered an old scent bottle in the lumpy fill. Do you know what that cellar used to be?”
“Never did know.” He glanced thoughtfully at Harriet. “I’ve dug up old bottles there. Is that okay with your parents.”
“I don’t know why they’d mind. I have no idea what land goes with our house.”
Dana said. “Dad talked to Helen Hoier. She’s Shi-octon treasurer. You have from Threda Mac’s around to the mill. It’s mostly under water now.”
They delivered the stools. There were no pie customers right now. “Grandma, can Dana have a small piece of pie? He helped me with the stools.”
Grandma handed him a very small slice. “Is your dad ready for customers? He said you have several large orders.”
“Lumber’s ready and Dad will have the receipts ready.”
“Go sit and rest for a minute.” Grandma waved them to the end of the porch.
Before taking a step, Dana cocked his head and studied the slice of pie, cut the point off squarely with his fork, and deliberately chewed it. The next bite went down with the same attention to detail. “Thank you, Helen. Your farm has the best apples.”
Grandma said, “I’ll miss the orchard, but I can get apples from the Matta’s.” She turned to welcome a customer. Dana and Harriet sat on the end of the porch floor, their legs swinging.
Harriet offered. “Would you like tea with that?”
He shook his head. “Dad needs me. Everyone gets there at once.”
Harriet told him all about digging up the scent bottle. He asked questions that encouraged her to tell more of yesterday’s story, including how they had explored Mac’s folly. He focused on that, asking questions about what kind of stones were at the top and the overall size of the folly.
He asked, “Did you feel anything when you touched the folly?”
She didn’t know how to answer that.
She felt a strong urge to tell him about Ella’s odd behavior, because it would be such a comfort to share her worries, but Dana was still a stranger, despite her sense of trust.
His pie finished, he unfolded his long body from sitting to standing, dusting crumbs off his pants.
Harriet drew in a breath to thank him, but instead swung around in alarm.
“That’s the problem! She has to do it! She doesn’t have a choice!” Blunt shouts broke the quiet. Theo Laird stood with hands splayed stiffly out from her sides, shouting up into Dad’s astonished face. He spotted Harriet.
“I disagree. She does have a choice.” He calmly motioned his daughter over. Dana stood by a few steps away.
Dad said, “Harriet, Theo has an interesting offer for you.”
Harriet turned from Dad to the wild haired woman, reminding herself that Theo Laird had good intentions.
“I heard you telling stories to that gangly boy.” Barked Theo, “You have the gift and you must be taught and I’m the only one left to do it.” She reached over to touch Harriet’s shoulder with surprising tenderness. “Midweek. Arrive at the ferry house after lunch. Your voice is full of magnificent connections. Bard training is absolutely necessary!”
Theo waited.
Harriet’s thoughts bounced around. Magnificent connections--what was that? Bard training--like telling stories to little kids? Was the ferry house that lonely white house under the river bridge?
Helen stepped up next to her granddaughter. “Theo, you have this poor girl totally confused.” She explained to Harriet. “We have a long barding tradition in Shi-octon. Only certain people can tell our stories well and Theo says you’re one of them.”
Everyone waited for her answer. Mom looked concerned but hopeful as she walked up next to Dad. She encouraged Harriet with a smooth lipped smile.
Harriet turned back to Theo and stated. “I’ll be there.”
Theo Laird nodded briskly, got in her truck and drove away. Today no howling dogs accompanied the engine’s roar.
Grandma said. “Theo has always caused a stir. But her storytelling is unforgettable.” The adults left to help new customers.
Dana had hung back, but now approached. “You’re lucky. I’ve heard Theo Laird bard a story and I will never forget it. I became part of the story. I lived in it.”
She must try hard to be polite. “Thank you, Dana, for your help with the stools. I’ll see you soon.”
He turned and walked away, but quickly swung back to stand directly in front of Harriet. She looked at him curiously. He obviously wanted to say something.
“What is it?” She needed to help Grandma.
He looked into her eyes while he transferred a smooth, stick-like object from his closed hand into her open palm. “You shut your eyes when Dad talked to you. He is intense.” He dipped his head toward her hand. “You will need this.”
She looked down----the black marker rested in her hand.
She raised her head to ask him she didn’t know what, but he had walked away without another word.
Mom had overheard as she helped her customer load his car. She asked Harriet. “Are your eyes bothering you? Did Hetric Rethic upset you?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just I can’t get rid of this feeling that I know him, and it’s frustrating. I probably acted brainless, but not rude.” She had had some issues with rude in the past. Not because she intended rudeness, but because she did not know the right thing to say.
Mom said, “I’m sure you’re just getting used to living here. Meeting new people can be confusing.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”
A blue farm truck that must have been painted with an old broom pulled up to the shophouse gate. In the back, sandwiched between empty crates, grinned Ella. “I have a taste for apple pie.” She announced as she scrambled out of the truck.
An athletic blond woman hopped out of the driver’s seat. “I’ve heard this restaurant has famous apple pies. Will you trade for eggs and rhubarb crisp?”
Jenny drew in a sharp breath and stepped forward to enfold the woman into her arms, then moved back while still gripping her shoulders. “Nori Matta, you look ridiculously healthy. Farming must agree with you. Where’s Herm?”
“You know him and his deals. He stopped at Giffin’s to bargain down the price for a second freezer locker.”
After a few minutes, a brown man with black hair shouldered himself between the two women, captured Jenny in a fierce hug, and then turned to hug Donnell right off the ground. Both men laughed, their dark faces beaming with delight.
Nori said. “Herm! Put Donnell down. He’s not one of those sacks of feed you sling around the barn.”
Herm reached over and opened a dented cooler in the truck bed. “We have farm eggs and rhubarb crisp to trade for your famous apple pie.” He pulled out two packages, balancing them on his palms above his head. The grin that Ella had inherited flashed through his long windblown hair.
Grandma said, “Enough of your show, Hermando; I’ll put the skillet on.” She spoke to the Ella and Harriet. “Come and set the table. These children need time to themselves.”
While the girls make toast, Grandma went to call through the screen door. “The skillet’s hot. Bring in those eggs.”
Rhubarb crisp with crunchy topping took center place on the table, balanced by the last apple pie and stacks of thick buttered toast.
Grandma said. “Everyone sit down, the eggs will be done soon.”
Harriet liked to watch eggs cook. Transparent whites became solid from the edges in as Grandma spooned hot bacon fat over them. Ella sat next to Harriet with no awkwardness left over from yesterday. She even entertained her parents with the abandoned cellar story, leaving out the part where she flung her bouquet into the air and staggered away. Both sets of parents were interested in Harriet’s description of the Mac’s stone folly.
Herm said to his daughter. “Blue, that’s Aunt Threda’s place. That side of your mom’s family lives for gardening.”
“Sort of like you live for your animals.” Nori said and everyone laughed. “That reminds me of the folly in the Rose garden. It’s so overgrown, even worse now than when we were kids.”
Jenny said. “It’s an orphan garden.”
Grandma added from the stove. “When I was a girl, young people met there, but it was already looking sad. After Grandma Rose passed to memory no one took care of it.”
She set the sizzling skillet right on the table, dishing out two fried eggs with crispy brown edges for each person. This used to be a favorite meal for Harriet. She would eat the whites, saving the yolks for last, but Clarence had always broke into the moist yolk, spreading it over the white. He had copied that
from his namesake, Grandpa Hoier, who insisted the white and the yolk must be eaten together for the best taste. But she and Grandma insisted that each taste was perfect, no mixing allowed.
She studied her eggs.
Picking up a fork, she popped the pointy tines into the soft yolk, spread hot gold over the white and cut the eggs into bite sized pieces. Transferring a bite into her mouth, she saw Grandma nod in understanding.
“You eat your eggs just like I do! But it is kind of messy.” Ella spun sideways to face Harriet. “We never did look at your rock book. I found a big rose crystal in our basement wall. What could they be?”
Harriet was confused. Which blue eyed girl was the real one? It was hard enough to know the right thing to say to anyone, but it was easier if she could figure out their personality. She carefully explained. “I have to unpack my books. Maybe those crystals will be in the rock guide.” She saw Ella’s enthusiastic ‘let’s do it now’ expression. They talked over what else they would find in the abandoned cellar.
Ella answered a question from Donnell while Harriet spoke quietly to Mom. “Can Ella stay overnight?”
Mom grasped Dad’s hand under the table and nodded yes. “Girls, Nori and I were best friends growing up. Her family ran the cheese factory across from the farm.”
“You’re the Jenny in Mom’s stories.” Ella grinned. “I’ve heard all about your adventures.”
Nori said. “We were lucky to grow up in Shi-octon and now for our daughters to meet. It takes me right back.”
While the adults talked about their businesses, the girls went out on the porch steps. No more busy Market traffic. Even the lane into the mill was quiet.
Harriet said. “A porch swing is going out here this week. Dad had two in his last shipment, one for Grandma and one for us. We’ll be able to see everyone come and go from here.”
Ella said. “I figure I met every person that lives in the valley today. There were outside people too, but we don’t know them yet. I don’t have chores tomorrow, so could we look at the rock guide?”
“I’m going to unpack my books.” Harriet watched for the blue-eyed girl’s reaction. “Would you help me?”