Elsbeth and Sim (Tales from the Emerald Mountains)

by Rhett DeVane

  Elizabeth headed in the direction of the noise. The whistle trilled, nearer now and more intense. She gasped for breath and skittered down a steep hill toward a copse of boulders.

  Simon waved his arms and blew the whistle. When Elizabeth reached him, she bent over and sucked in huge gulps of air. “You . . . you . . . okay?” she managed.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Simon stood with his arms akimbo. “Look what I found.” He pointed to a round stone structure.

  “What’s that?”

  “A deep well.”

  “A what?”

  Simon shook his head. “Don’t you know anything, Lizard? I’ve found water!”

  Elizabeth twisted her lips. In New Haven City, water came from pipes. Okay, sometimes the pipes were dry, but when they did work, water came out and you saved it in any kind of container you could for the times it didn’t.

  Simon leaned over the well’s edge and yelled his name. An echo called back. He straightened up and grinned. “My granddaddy had one. All we have to do is lower this bucket hanging from the rope.”

  She helped him turn the steel handle. The dented metal pail sank from view. It seemed to take forever, but finally the rope jerked and grew slack. Simon nodded and they turned the winch handle clockwise.

  Elizabeth grunted. “Why’s it so hard?”

  The rim of the bucket appeared. “It’s full of water. That’s how come.”

  Two more turns brought the pail to the top. They swung it away from the deep hole.

  “Is it okay to drink?” she asked.

  “Country water comes from springs. Not full of bad stuff, like in the city.”

  Elizabeth started to dip her cupped hands into the cool liquid, then thought better of it. Her skin, her whole body, was filthy. “We’ll have to carry some back. As soon as I wash my hands, I’ll find a way to take some of it up for us to drink.”

  They lugged the first bucket inside and Elizabeth used a cloth to wipe the sink. Then, she added the stopper and they poured in the water. Before Simon could stop her, she grabbed the soap and squeezed in a generous dollop.

  “Good move, Lizard. I thought we were going to drink.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Right. Dumb of me. I just can’t stand all this dirt!”

  Simon started to speak, but the look on Elizabeth’s dusty face seemed to stop him. “I’ll manage a pail by myself. You can start doing your cleaning thing.”

  After he left, she added another long ribbon of soap and mixed. Bubbles scudded through the air. When Simon returned, he took one step inside and slid halfway across the room—dancing and flailing—barely managing to upright himself before he spilled the bucket. His next step sent him spiraling again, bouncing into the chair and grabbing with his free hand to catch his balance. Each time he moved, he slipped as if he waltzed on ice.

  “Geez, Lizard. What’d’ya do?” He set the bucket down.

  Elizabeth looked up from where she knelt, biting her lip so she wouldn’t snicker at the acrobatics he had pulled to remain on his feet. “I kind of used a little too much soap.”

  His gaze took in the bubbly scum mixed with dirt. “You think?”

  He lost his wiggly balance, landing on his hands and knees. Then they slipped from beneath him and he splayed on the wet floor. Elizabeth held her breath, expecting him to go all crazy mad. Instead he laughed: little sniggers at first, then big belly whoops as he rolled around in the suds holding his sides. Elizabeth tried to keep her face serious, but gave in. It felt good to laugh. They did it awhile until the guffaws gave out.

  “Hand me a rag.” Simon took a shaky breath and one last chuckle slipped out. He helped her wash as much of the soap from the boards as possible.

  It took five trips to get enough water to wipe down the cabin floor. With the final buckets, they filled any container they could find, then saved the rest for quick baths. Simon went outside while Elizabeth shed her clothing and used a sudsy cloth to swipe the grime from her face and body.

  A few minutes later, Elizabeth stepped from the cabin wrapped in an old sheet she had found in a wooden chest. Simon chortled. Elizabeth huffed. For someone who had once seemed so angry, Simon was turning into a big goof.

  She propped her hands on her hips. “What? I couldn’t stand to put on those stinky clothes. I washed them out.”

  He looked down at his own pants and shirt, caked with dirt, leaves, and smears of foul-smelling garbage. “Got a sheet for me?”

  “On the chair. The sudsy water I used to rinse my clothes is in the sink. Fresh water’s in the bucket.”

  “Hope you didn’t put in as much soap as you did for the floor.” He chuckled and ducked inside.

  Elizabeth took a quick look around the room. It wasn’t such a bad place, cleaned up. Other than the table and chairs, the only furniture was a worn sofa covered with a quilt to hide the holes, and two sets of bunk beds. The two of them had dragged the thin mattresses outside and used sticks to beat away the dust. No pillows, but they did have another set of sheets besides the ones they wore like togas. A piece of rope strung between the chairs served as a line for their damp clothes.

  Elizabeth held an open can over her mouth and drained the last bit of juice. She couldn’t remember corn ever tasting as good.

  “Going to be dark soon,” Simon said.

  Darkness and Simon didn’t go well together, and she didn’t really relish the idea herself. “We could make a fire.” She motioned to the hearth.

  “Right. How are we supposed to do that?”

  “You mean there’s something you don’t know how to do? Imagine!”

  “And, like . . . you do?”

  “We once lived in a house with a fireplace.” Elizabeth stood. “And my parents used to camp before the wars. I can figure it out. We don’t have an ax, but maybe we can find enough stuff to burn.”

  Simon jumped to his feet. “I’m game.”

  The two combed the nearby woods and found several dry branches. They hauled armfuls and stacked them beside the cabin door. Elizabeth noticed one fallen sapling that was partially rotten. Simon helped her drag it into the clearing. Using their body weight, they jumped up and down and smashed it into small enough pieces to fit into the rock fireplace.

  Simon crammed a large branch into the hearth. “Okay, now what?”

  Elizabeth removed the limb. “First of all, this is too big. Daddy always said you had to start small and work your way up.” She broke off a few twigs. “Once these get going, we put on the little bit bigger ones.”

  “And we light it with what? Your lizard breath?” Simon grinned.

  “Funny, Simon.” She dug in the hobo bag and handed him a tiny box. “I have matches.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Simon pulled out a match. Elizabeth held up her hand. “Wait!”

  “What now?”

  “I just remembered something about that house with the fireplace. The first time my dad lit it, the whole place filled up with smoke.” Elizabeth stuck her head inside the hearth and turned her neck to look up, then she reached in and tugged on a steel handle. A metallic snap sounded and soot dumped onto her head.

  “Nice move, Lizard.” Simon offered her one of the damp rags.

  She mopped the black powder from her face. “That thing was the damper. It keeps the chimney sealed when you’re not using it, but it has to be open when there’s a fire.”

  “Who would figure you’d know that?”

  “I know a lot of things. More than you think.” She motioned to the twigs. “Now you can light them.”

  Within a few minutes, the small flame grew. They added branches, then pieces of the sapling. The cabin filled with a soft orange glow. Warmth fought the evening dampness creeping through cracks and crevices in the rough wooden walls.

  “One of us has to keep the fire going,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe we can sleep in shifts.”

  “I’ll stay awake.”

  Both of them had been up most of the night and all day,
and her eyes felt so heavy. She didn’t object. She handed Simon his shirt and pants and made him turn away while she exchanged the sheet for her torn shirt and underwear. Her pants were still a little damp. Tomorrow, when she had more energy, she’d take time to mend the holes.

  Elizabeth crawled into one of the lower bunks and used her hobo bag as a pillow. The ragged covers smelled musty. The last thing Elizabeth saw before sleep washed over her was Simon, sitting in front of the glowing fire. He hummed a low song that went up and down and around, until the notes echoed in her dreams.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth dreamed of popcorn. She watched it jump and dance in the deep saucepan her mother held over the campfire, amazed at how the yellow kernels puffed up to airy white balls. Her mouth watered, waiting for the last few quick snaps before her mother would drizzle melted butter on top.

  The pops and cracks grew louder and her nose burned. Each breath she drew in stung her lungs. Fighting to break free of the dream, she opened her eyes. The room looked as if she viewed it through fog, but the scene was all wrong. Above the hearth, the wooden beams glowed red and flames licked the walls.

  Elizabeth sat up and peered through the thick air, searching for Simon. She threw back the covers and leapt from bed. Her father’s words sprang into her mind: If you’re ever in a fire, get on your hands and knees. Smoke rises and the best air is near the floor.

  Elizabeth dropped, crawled toward the mattress where Simon lay, and shouted, “Wake up!”

  “Wha . . . ? Lizard, go back to sleep.” He moaned and tugged the sheet over his head.

  “Get up!” She shoved him hard. “I’m not kidding. The cabin’s on fire!”

  Simon jerked awake and sat up. The ladder of flames danced up the wall to the ceiling.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” Elizabeth signaled for him to crawl behind her. She snatched up her shoes and hobo bag, grabbed her pants from the rope, then held her breath and stood long enough to open the door. They burst outside, coughing and gasping. The fresh air pumped life into the growing fire.

  “Water! The well!” Simon snatched the flashlight from his pocket and spun the charging lever. As soon as he managed a thin beam of light, he grabbed the bucket he’d left by the door.

  Elizabeth tugged on her pants, then ran behind him without taking time to put on her shoes. By the time they made it back with a full bucket, the whole structure glowed red and orange. Both windows shattered, sending shards of glass like war arrows into the clearing.

  Simon looked from the blazing cabin to the bucket. “We’ll need more. Help me dump this!”

  A wall of severe heat hit them. Elizabeth put a hand out to stop Simon from charging ahead. “It’s no use.”

  “What’d’ya mean? Don’t stop now.”

  “No, Simon! It’s gone. The cabin’s gone.”

  They backed off to the edge of the woods where the heat was less intense and watched. The roof caved in and fell, shaking the ground. One by one, the walls gave way, until the only things standing were the thick charred door frame and the chimney. By the time dawn lit the eastern sky, a blackened pile remained, snapping and sizzling like a sleeping dragon.

  Elizabeth spoke first. “What’ll we do now?”

  Simon shrugged. Elizabeth looked around, searching for somewhere, anywhere, they might find shelter. The only thing she noticed was a knurled hollow stump with tufts of purple wildflowers at its base, not large enough for either of them. A gentle morning breeze stirred the branches overhead, bringing fresh air into the clearing. The peaceful little valley was a good place to call home, only now that was impossible.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Elizabeth plopped down, brushed the dirt and grass from her feet, and laced on her sneakers. The bottom of her feet felt sore and cut. She noticed Simon had his shoes on—what, had he slept in them? Kind of weird.

  “Guess I fell asleep.” Simon ran his fingers through his sooty blonde hair. “Maybe if you hadn’t worked me so hard cleaning and toting water, after all the miles and miles we walked, I wouldn’t have been so tired.”

  “So now it’s my fault?” Elizabeth stood up and paced. “Don’t put this on me, Simon!” The more she crisscrossed the clearing, the more irritated she became. “You never ever leave a fire unattended; my mother and father taught me. What will become of us now, Simon? What!”

  “Quit yelling at me.”

  “I’m not yelling!”

  “Um . . . yeah you are.” Simon’s voice barely made it past a whisper. His calmness fueled her anger.

  “No, I’m not!” She stomped one foot, hard.

  A clatter rang out behind them. “What in the blue blazes is the ruckus?” a voice called.

  A dwarf of a man poked his head from the stump, looked around until he spied Elizabeth and Simon, and frowned. “First, I have to put up with the bears waking up and moving around. All they do is grumble and root around for food. And every bird in creation is singing about the glory of spring. The noise! The infernal noise!”

  The little man pulled himself from the hollow and groaned as he unfolded his arms and legs. “Now, this. What’s all the hollering, enough to wake the dead?” He sniffed. “And what’s that awful smell?”

  Elizabeth had never seen anything like him, and was pretty sure Simon hadn’t either. The man’s craggy face bore a remarkable resemblance to the hollow stump. He stood with his stubby arms propped on his hips, glaring at them. A shabby brown jacket hung over his thin shoulders, but his shirt and pants looked a size too small. When he scratched his beard, a couple of twigs dropped to the ground. “And exactly who are you?”

  Elizabeth willed her mouth to work. “Um . . . I’m Elizabeth and this is Simon.”

  The little man grunted. “Some of them, I suppose. Couple of lowlanders, up here to cause trouble.”

  “We’re not here to make trouble, sir,” Simon said.

  Elizabeth took a couple of steps back, closer to Simon. “Honest. We’re not.”

  “What’d you come for?” The dwarf narrowed his eyes.

  “We escaped the area war in the city,” Elizabeth said. “Nana B told us—”

  “Who’s this Nana B?” the little man asked.

  Elizabeth forced her voice to remain even. “That’s Nurse Grumly. We call her that.”

  The little man threw up one hand. “Wait! Did you say Grumly?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Bernice?” He tilted his head and eyed the two of them up and down.

  Elizabeth nodded again.

  “Why didn’t you say so to start with?” The little man’s lips curled up, showing a line of startling white teeth. “You can’t be all bad if you’re part of Bernice’s clan. She and Sam and their little one are the only lowlanders fit to live, you ask me.”

  Elizabeth shot Simon a wide-eyed look. No need to tell this odd mountain man they weren’t actually related to Nana B.

  The little man stuck out his hand, noted the dirt on his palm, wiped it on his jacket, then stuck it out again. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Elizabeth swallowed the fear of whatever bugs he might have living on his skin and shook his hand. Simon did the same. Wasn’t like either Elizabeth or Simon were clean, even after their wipe-down baths. Elizabeth couldn’t recall how long since she’d felt well-scrubbed, or when her clothing smelled fresh.

  The man studied the smoldering remains of the cabin. “Bernice isn’t going to take too kindly to her house burning down.” He turned his head back their way. “You do that?”

  “Not on purpose,” Simon said.

  The man tugged at his beard. “Did you build a fire in the hearth?”

  Elizabeth and Simon nodded.

  “If I told Bernice once, I told her a thousand times. That chimney needed to be swept at least once a year. Pitch builds up on the rocks after a while, from the wood smoke. It can flare up and catch fire.” He scowled. “Knew I should’ve done it last spring. Pooh on me.”

  Elizabeth’s spirit sank. She
had dumped all of the blame on Simon. She reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

  “Neither here nor there, now.” The dwarf shrugged. “Not enough magic in the Emerald Mountains to bring it back.”

  “What’s your name?” Elizabeth moved the hand the man had touched behind her back and wiped it on her sweater.

  “Tapswillowipahzkroot,” he said. “Folks call me Taproot. The other’s too hard for most to say.”

  “I like it. Kind of different.” Elizabeth nodded. “You live here?” She gestured to the stump.

  “Good a place as any. Don’t have to fight the bears for a cave. My hollow suits me fine.”

  Fascinated, Elizabeth forgot about their problems for a few moments. “What do you do up here?”

  “Do?” Taproot’s bushy eyebrows shot up. He trundled over to a nearby pine tree, leaned back, and rocked side to side to scratch between his shoulders. “Hard to say. Little of this, little of that. Bit of everything. Watch the flowers grow. Count the seasons. Been called all kinds of things—elf, magician, dwarf, wizard. Don’t know if any of those fit.”

  “Sounds pretty cool.” Simon sat down, cross-legged.

  Taproot considered. “Try not to be cool, especially in the winter.”

  Elizabeth laughed and plopped down next to Simon. “Cool means exciting, or maybe great.”

  Taproot smiled, revealing his perfect teeth again. Strange, since the rest of him looked so unkempt. “Oh that’s me, for sure. Great.”

  Simon shifted and flinched. The stitched gash on his ankle gaped and a fresh trickle of blood stained his skin.

  “You’re injured.” Taproot jumped up and ducked into the stump, returning in minutes with a wooden bowl and a pouch. Elizabeth watched the little man mix a few drops of amber liquid into a blend of leaves and green powder. Why she trusted the strange fellow, she didn’t know. But she did, and Simon didn’t resist his help. The dwarf used a clump of moistened grass to wipe away the dried blood and mashed a handful of the goo onto Simon’s leg.

  “Ouch! What’s that stuff?” Simon asked. “It stings.”

  “A poultice made from herbs and spider webs.” Taproot added a second layer of goop and pressed it down.