The Chronicles of Trellah, Book One: The Perpetual Rain

by T. S. Graham

  “Sophina, where are you going?” called a voice from behind.

  Sophina froze in her tracks; it was Mr. Harris, her history teacher. She was too upset to face him. He was the one teacher besides Mrs. Tanner that she had spent time with outside of school, mostly on account of him being Erickson’s father, and she knew there was no chance he’d let her walk out the door.

  “I’m going home,” she croaked. “I need to know if Eliot and my mom are okay.”

  “I understand why you want to go, but you know I can’t let you,” Mr. Harris explained. “Power lines are down everywhere. It’s too dangerous out there.”

  He stepped around to face her. “Sophina—you’re bleeding.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t stay here and do nothing. I have to see them.”

  Mr. Harris pulled a cell phone from his pocket and checked the display. “I’ve got a signal, but just barely. Here, try calling your mom.”

  In her haste, it hadn’t crossed Sophina’s mind to try calling. She thanked Mr. Harris and accepted the phone.

  “Have you seen Erickson?” he asked as she punched in the number.

  “He’s with the nurse, but he’s okay,” she explained. “He just hurt his arm a little.”

  Mr. Harris relaxed. She was embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to tell him about Erickson’s condition sooner. He had stayed faithful to his job by remaining with his students during the emergency, but of course he was worried about his son.

  “Hello?”

  Sophina focused as her mom’s frantic voice came through the speaker.

  “Mom, it’s me!”

  “Sophina—thank goodness! Where are you?”

  “I’m at school. Are you and Eliot okay?”

  “We’re fine. But a tree fell—the car, so I ca—get you!”

  “Mom, you’re breaking up! Did you say a tree fell on the car?”

  “Yes! Just stay—you are, and I’ll—”

  Sophina strained to hear as her mom’s voice cut in and out.

  “—battery—phone—almost dead—”

  Then there was silence. She held the phone up, trying to reconnect, but the signal was gone. She explained the situation to Mr. Harris as she handed it back.

  “The land lines are down, but I’ll keep trying your mom’s cell,” he offered. “I’ll tell her that I can take you home once I’m cleared to leave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You should go see the nurse. That cut won’t clean itself.”

  Sophina thanked him again and retraced her steps back to the main hallway. This time, she had no intention of taking a detour.

  * * *

  The next hour felt like an eternity to Sophina. After waiting in a line that stretched down the hall, Nurse Sebasco finally dressed the cut on her forehead and fitted Erickson’s arm with a sling.

  As they left the office, Sophina saw Andy Dresden standing with Mark Rumford and some other boys from the soccer team. He turned his back to avoid her harsh glare, which only confirmed that he knew what he’d done was spineless. Confronting Andy wasn’t an option, for she knew the trouble he could cause Erickson if she were to do that. She just wanted him to know that someone saw him for what he was: a gutless phony.

  Sophina and Erickson spent the rest of the morning sitting on the floor against the lockers in the hallway, attempting to eavesdrop on any conversation between the teachers that might tip them off as to Mrs. Emerson’s condition, but they heard nothing.

  Finally, Mr. Harris came to them with some good news: The last of his students had gone home, and they were cleared to leave.

  As they stepped outside, Sophina was pleased to find that the wind was light, and the rain had tapered to a soft drizzle.

  They climbed into Mr. Harris’s old sedan and he drove onto the short road that connected the school grounds to Main Street. Sophina could see that the lane leading out of town was clogged with traffic, and that Nathan Lee, one of Thomasville’s three full-time police officers, was manning the intersection. Many of the stranded motorists had left their vehicles and were now standing in groups beside the road.

  “Hey there, Mr. Harris,” greeted Nathan as the sedan rolled to a stop. “Are you the last ones out of the school?”

  “Just a few more stragglers,” Mr. Harris replied. “Is the chief having any luck finding that extra shelter space?”

  “The school gym and the old theater are all he’s got so far,” answered Nathan. “We’d be okay if it was just the locals, but with all these people in town checking out the storm, we’ll need more space for sure.”

  “Let him know I’d be happy to open the old Grange Hall,” Mr. Harris offered. “I can’t take more than a few dozen folks, but it’ll help lighten the load.”

  “I’ll tell him,” replied Nathan. “That’s real nice of you.”

  “Hey, Officer!”

  Sophina recognized the voice as that of Channel 6 newsman, Spike Branson, who was striding toward them.

  “I asked you ten minutes ago to find out what the holdup is,” Spike barked. “The boat my station hired to take me across the river will be here any minute—and I’m still stuck way back here!”

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but we’re dealing with a dangerous situation,” Nathan explained. “Once the folks ahead of you get turned around, you’ll be on your way.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” asked Spike. “It’s three-thirty. I’ve lost my live-link, and I’m scheduled to go on the air at six.” He pointed to a news van with a broken satellite dish tipped sideways on its roof. “So, how about you hop in your cruiser and clear a path for me? I’ll pay you double what you make in a day.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave my post,” Nathan explained without a hint of annoyance. “Schoolkids still need to pass through here to get home.”

  “Schoolkids?” muttered Spike. “Look, Officer . . .”

  “Lee.”

  “Lee . . . How your department comes across in my story depends on whether or not I’m at that river in fifteen minutes. So, I suggest you find a way to get me there.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Spike mumbled something about hicks as he strode away. When he was out of earshot, Nathan turned and peered into the car with an unexpected smile.

  “For some reason, I just can’t bring myself to tell him he isn’t going anywhere. The harbormaster has closed the river to boat traffic—no exceptions.” He gave Sophina and Erickson a wink. “You folks have a safe drive home.”

  The mood in the car was lightened as Mr. Harris turned left onto Main Street. As they passed Spike, Sophina spoke through the open window, just loud enough for him to hear: “Nice hair.”

  “What was that about?” Erickson giggled as Spike checked his reflection in the news-van window, clearly worried that something was out of place.

  “Inside joke,” Sophina replied as Mr. Harris turned onto the branch-strewn side street that led to Dirigo Drive. She didn’t want to think about it, but it was obvious that Mr. Harris knew more about what had happened at the river than had been revealed.

  “Mr. Harris, what’s going on at the river?”

  He glanced into the rearview, noticeably bothered by what he was about to say. “The bridge is gone.”

  “What?” Sophina and Erickson blurted in unison.

  “The runoff from the downpours created a surge on the river. The old bridge just couldn’t handle it.”

  “But the bridge was our only way out of town!” Sophina exclaimed.

  There were two common ways in and out of Thomasville: by car over the bridge, or by boat. The third option—trudging over or around Jagged Mountain through miles of dense forest—meant that it would take hours to reach the next town, something few would be willing to try with the threat of another squall looming.

  “I’m sure the State will get their best folks right on it,” said Mr. Harris. “But for now, we have everything we need right here. There’s no reason to panic just yet.”

&nbs
p; Sophina looked at Erickson. Judging from his expression, he also understood the impact of the lost bridge: total isolation from the rest of the world.

  Sophina looked out the window to try and take her mind off the enormity of the situation. She saw Mr. Randall, the owner of the corner gift shop, straining to pull a large branch off the hood of his car. Next door to him, a muscular bald man—all the kids called him “Mr. Clean”—was gathering up his collection of pink flamingo lawn ornaments that had been strewn across the neighborhood. One flamingo had even found its way into the upper branches of a towering oak across the street.

  As surreal as all of this was, Sophina had expected the destruction to be worse. So far, she hadn’t seen a single broken window—surprising, considering what had happened at the school. Perhaps this part of town was buffered from the winds by the trees and houses that stood farther up the hill. Whatever the reason, she was relieved that her block seemed to have been spared the worst of the damage.

  Mr. Harris turned onto Dirigo Drive—and stepped hard on the brake. Now Sophina saw why her mom was unable to leave the house: The soaring spruce that had shaded their home her entire life was now spread across the driveway. The crushed hood of the family’s red minivan peeked out through its torn branches.

  “At least it didn’t fall on your house,” said Erickson with genuine optimism.

  Much to her surprise, Sophina cracked a smile. “My mom hated that car,” she said with a snigger. Erickson smiled back and, if just for a moment, she forgot about all the crazy things that had happened.

  Mr. Harris pulled up to the curb and looked in the rearview mirror. “I want to thank you, Sophina.”

  “Thank me? Why?”

  “You stayed with Erickson during the storm. It took a special person to do that.”

  Sophina’s cheeks grew warm, a surefire sign that she was blushing. “Oh, that. Anybody would’ve done it.”

  “Anyone?” asked Mr. Harris. “Then maybe you can explain to me why you’re the only one who did?” He showed her a subtle smile, letting her know in his own way that he didn’t need an answer.

  Sophina thanked him for the ride, said goodbye to Erickson, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  “Sophina,” Mr. Harris called after her. “Tell your mom we’ll save room for your family at the Grange Hall. We have a generator, so the food will be hot.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell her.”

  Sophina glanced up at Mrs. Tanner’s turret as the Harrises’ car pulled away, half expecting to catch her neighbor peering down at her again. But this time the curtain was drawn tight.

  Sophina came to a decision as she skirted the splintered spruce and walked toward the front door. From this point forward, Mrs. Tanner meant nothing to her. No more wondering why she had abandoned her students; no more trying to convince herself that there were sensible reasons for her actions; and, most important of all, no more hoping that things would magically return to the way they’d been. She had wasted too much energy thinking about Mrs. Tanner, and the time had come to turn the page.

  A sense of optimism lightened Sophina’s step as she hopped onto the cobblestone walkway. Mrs. Tanner had distracted her from what was truly important in her life. Now she could focus all her energy on the relationships that mattered.

  Just then Sophina saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to find a pulsing red glow shining through Mrs. Tanner’s basement window. The light wasn’t intense—a brighter day would have rendered it invisible. It appeared to be filtering through something. Not a curtain or shade, but . . .

  The window is painted black, she realized.

  Sophina was captivated as the light quickly intensified. She was also aware of a hissing noise—like the sound of a lit Fourth of July sparkler—emanating from Mrs. Tanner’s house.

  She stepped toward the window . . . and it all disappeared. The window went dark as the hiss faded to silence. Then, for an instant, a brilliant flash of white illuminated the glass as a muffled ripping sound—like a stack of paper being torn in half—reverberated throughout her neighbor’s home.

  Sophina gaped at the window, unable to turn away. She didn’t know the significance of the light-and-sound show she’d just witnessed, but her gut told her that it wasn’t to be ignored.

  “Sophina, what are you doing?”

  Sophina turned to face her mom, whose eyes were instantly drawn to the bandage on her head.

  “What happened to you?” Mrs. Murray moved down the steps and reached out. “Let me look.”

  “It’s just a cut. It’s no big deal.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Sophina stepped back, thwarting her mom’s attempt to peel back the bandage. There were bigger issues at hand.

  “Stop it! I think Mrs. Tanner is doing something illegal in her basement.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She painted her cellar window black. That means she’s trying to hide something.”

  The creases on Mrs. Murray’s forehead deepened. “Sophina, I know you’re upset with Mrs. Tanner, and you have every right to be. However, I’m sure she has a legitimate reason for painting that window.”

  “What reason can there be?” Sophina pressed, her voice rising as her frustration grew. “I’m telling you, she’s up to something. I saw a strange light—”

  Sophina stopped short as her eyes were once again drawn to her neighbor’s house. A curtain in a first-floor window had moved, revealing a sliver of Mrs. Tanner’s face.

  “What strange light? Sophina, what’s wrong?”

  “She’s watching us,” Sophina whispered. “Through the window.”

  The curtain fell slack as Mrs. Murray turned to look. “I don’t see her.”

  “She was there, I swear. She was watching me this morning, too.”

  “Okay, so Mrs. Tanner looks out her window,” Mrs. Murray said. “I’m not sure why that’s a problem.”

  “It’s the way she does it!” Sophina snapped. “She sneaks around in there like a criminal!”

  “Sophina, stop it,” said Mrs. Murray with a touch of authority. “What Mrs. Tanner does is none of our business—and you shouldn’t accuse people of wrongdoing without serious proof to back it up.”

  Sophina knew her mom was right. Mrs. Tanner was up to something for sure, but she didn’t know enough about it to jump to conclusions.

  “I’m sorry I raised my voice,” said Mrs. Murray with restored calm. “You just need to accept the fact that you can’t always choose who’s going to be in your life. . . . Sometimes, a person you thought would be there forever will walk away for reasons you can’t understand. When that happens, all you can do is remember the good things you learned from them, and move on as best you can.”

  Mrs. Murray’s advice resonated with Sophina, who had a feeling her mom was speaking from personal experience. Moments later they walked hand in hand up the porch steps, her mom’s words having helped push any thought of Mrs. Tanner’s peculiar behavior to the back of her mind.

  * * *

  Flames crackled in the fireplace as Sophina and her mom stepped into the living room. Eliot sat on the sofa with a bowl of kettle-popped corn on his lap, a sight that made Sophina feel as though she had stepped into a past era, when family gatherings around the hearth were a nightly event.

  “Hey, sis!” greeted Eliot with his usual exuberance. “Want some popcorn? I only got a little bit of spit on it.”

  “Sure . . .” Sophina sat beside Eliot as Mrs. Murray placed a fresh log on the embers. She waited for him to pull his butter-slathered fist out of the bowl and then buried her hand deep into the popcorn, trying to avoid the slimy pieces on top. She popped several salty kernels into her mouth, but didn’t reach for more. There was something she needed to get off her chest.

  “Mom, did you know Mrs. Emerson was hurt? She was hit on the head by a tree branch. I don’t think she’s doing so well.”

  “Doc Bailey told me what happened,” Mrs. Murray
said. “He didn’t have much time to talk, so all I know is that it doesn’t appear serious. He’s caring for her at his house until it’s safe to cross the river.”

  Sophina couldn’t put her finger on why, but she was sure that her mom was holding something back.

  “If Mrs. Emerson died, you’d tell me, right?”

  “Of course I would.” Mrs. Murray ran her fingers through Sophina’s hair. “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Did you know that she saved Erickson’s life?”

  “Yes, I heard that.”

  “Then she can’t die, right? That just wouldn’t be fair.”

  Eliot, who had been lost in the dazzling firelight until just then, stopped chewing and turned to them with an expression as complex as the thoughts behind it.

  “Someone died?”

  “No, baby,” responded Mrs. Murray, “nobody died.”

  “Oh.”

  “But some other things did happen. Things that will change the way we live for a while.”

  “What things?” Eliot asked with great interest.

  “Well, for one, the power will probably be out for a few days,” Mrs. Murray explained, “so we’ll have to go without a few things.”

  “Like no TV?” Eliot gushed in dramatic fashion.

  “No TV,” confirmed Mrs. Murray. “But we have lots of board games to play, and we’ll get to cook our food over the fire, just like we did the popcorn.”

  “Can we go to Nana’s house instead?” pleaded Eliot. “Her TV shows cartoons all day long.”

  “I wish we could go to Nana’s, but we can’t.”

  “Why can’t we?”

  “We can’t go anywhere. The bridge was washed away by the storms.”

  “Really?” Eliot’s eyes seemed to double in size. “That’s so cool.”

  “It isn’t cool,” Sophina interjected. “It means we’re trapped in Thomasville.”

  “I told you it was gonna flood,” Eliot goaded.

  “All right, you two,” Mrs. Murray scolded gently. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while, so let’s start getting along.”