Driftwood

by Valerie Sherrard

  The painting of the bridge was finished when I got up the next morning and Mom was humming while she made scrambled eggs and toast. She threw me a smile and poured me a glass of orange juice. She looked happier than I’d seen her in a long time.

  I knew it was the twins—how they’d reacted to the painting and what they’d said. I was glad but it puzzled me a little too. I seemed to remember my dad saying practically the same things, with no result at all. Maybe what got through to Mom was the look on Mackenzie’s face when she was talking about all the things she’d paint, if she could.

  After we’d eaten, Mom asked Dad if he wanted to go for a walk, which was another new thing. Since we’d gotten to Schooner Point, she’d mostly spent her days inside, in front of the easel. It seemed that was going to change, too, because she asked Dad to set it up for her in the field looking out over the water.

  “I don’t know when I stopped looking at the world,” she said. “I feel as though I’ve had blinders on for the longest time.”

  Dad hugged her then and I high-tailed it on out of there before they started up with a repeat of yesterday’s mush. There should be rules about kissing in front of your kids.

  The twins were already outside, and I almost blurted out that their painting was ready. I’d already said, “Guess what?” when I realized I should leave it to Mom to do in her own time and way. Of course, by then, the girls were looking at me inquisitively.

  “What?” they asked together. I had to think fast.

  “There’s an old guy up the beach who’s blind and he pays five bucks for driftwood, if he can use it,” I said. “He makes stuff out of it. And he tells cool stories about where it came from.”

  They had a few questions but as soon as they could tell I wasn’t making it up, they were eager to go exploring.

  “Which way have you looked lately?” Makayla asked when we got to the shore.

  “That way—Theo’s house is in that direction, too,” I said.

  The girls pointed out that it made sense to explore in the other direction in that case, and we turned left and headed along. It was slow going with those two. They had to stop and examine every shell and shiny stone they saw.

  “We should have brought a bag to collect things,” Mackenzie said after a while. “Adam could have carried it and we could have filled it with treasures.”

  “We’ll remember the next time,” Makayla said. They both seemed to think that was a great idea. Nobody asked what I thought of it.

  We walked what seemed to be a long way without any luck. It was thirst that made us decide to give up and turn back, since none of us had brought anything to drink. That gave the girls more brilliant ideas about things I could carry the next time. By the sounds of it, they were planning to turn me into some kind of human pack mule to lug around their water and snacks and whatever they scavenged along the way. I figured it was lucky I was there to hear all of this, so I could think of an excuse not to go with them again.

  We were in sight of the shore area that’s across from the cabins when we saw someone heading our way. I realized, with a sinking feeling, that it was Nevin. His movements struck me as menacing, and as he got closer I could see a look of pure gloating on his face.

  I turned to see if there was anyone behind us, but there was no one else on the shore. The girls were looking straight at Nevin, but they obviously hadn’t clued in to the fact that this encounter meant trouble. I was about to whisper a warning to them, but he spoke up before I had a chance.

  “Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”

  “We didn’t expect to not see you either,” said Makayla.

  “To be honest, we weren’t out here giving you a whole lot of thought,” added Mackenzie.

  It was like they were trying to make things worse.

  “I’m not dumb, you know,” Nevin said, his voice getting louder. “I know you guys put that worm in my food.”

  “True,” Makayla agreed.

  “So you admit it!” Nevin said, glowering.

  “Yes—that’s what ‘true’ means,” Mackenzie pointed out.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re going to get away with it,” Nevin thundered. “Because you’re not!”

  “What did you have in mind?” Mackenzie asked. She sounded curious but not one bit afraid. I was wondering why neither of them was telling him the worm hadn’t been real and that he hadn’t actually eaten any. It was all I could do not to blurt it out myself, but I knew the girls would think I was a coward if I did.

  “How would you all like to eat a little sand?” Nevin asked.

  “None for me, thanks,” said Makayla.

  “Oh, there will be some for you all right,” Nevin said. “There’ll be some for all of you! And that’s just the beginning.”

  “You’re going to make us eat sand?” Mackenzie asked, like she just wanted to be sure.

  “That’s right,” Nevin said. I could see he was puzzled why the twins seemed so calm. To tell the truth, so was I.

  “That doesn’t sound like a very smart idea to me,” Mackenzie told him. “I know one thing. I wouldn’t go around feeding sand to a cop’s daughters, that’s for sure.”

  All of the triumph drained right out of Nevin’s face. He flapped his mouth and sputtered a few times before his voice cooperated enough for him to speak.

  “I didn’t mean I was going to do it—right now. I was just giving you a warning. But you’d better not mess with me again.”

  The girls smiled at him so innocently you’d have sworn they were a couple of angels out for a stroll by the water. Nevin scowled but he didn’t say another word. He turned around and hurried back the way he’d come. It only took a couple of minutes before he reached the path up to the cabins and disappeared from sight.

  “I didn’t know your dad was a cop,” I said.

  “He’s not,” said Makayla.

  “He’s a podiatrist,” Mackenzie added.

  “But you said—”

  “I didn’t say my father was a cop. All I said was that I wouldn’t feed sand to a cop’s daughters—which I wouldn’t,” Mackenzie said. “Anyway, I’m thirsty! Let’s go get a drink!”

  ...

  A few days went by before we decided to go exploring again, and this time we found a pretty decent-sized branch along the shore that stretched toward Theo’s place. It must have come in with a recent tide because it was sitting out in the open with seaweed still clinging to it.

  We picked the limp, wet strands from it and brushed off the sand. That reminded me of something my dad had told me.

  “Did you know that they use sand to make glass?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Makayla said, crushing my hope that this might be something new—and interesting—to them. She scooped up a handful and let it run through her fingers.

  “I wonder how many grains of sand it takes to make a water glass,” Mackenzie said.

  “Maybe a million,” I said, “or a billion.”

  “There’s a big difference between a million and a billon,” Makayla said. For some reason, she looked kind of cross about it.

  “I know that,” I said.

  “In that case, how long do you think it takes for a million seconds to go by?” she asked.

  “A year?” It was a wild guess but I was hoping I might get lucky.

  “Nope. About eleven and a half days,” Mackenzie said.

  “And how long do you think it takes for a billion seconds to go by?” Makayla asked.

  “Probably about three or four months,” I guessed, hoping I was closer this time.

  “Almost thirty-two years!” the girls shouted together.

  I have to admit I was pretty surprised. And I was hoping I could remember it to impress my friends when I got back home. (I knew Billy would have found it cool, so it was too bad for him we weren’t friends anymore.) I repeated it in my head the rest of the way to Theo’s place.

  When we got there, I introduced the twins. Theo’s face lit up with a great big sm
ile as they started their usual jabbering.

  “We were just teaching Adam the difference between a million and a billion,” Mackenzie told him.

  “Is that so, now?” Theo said.

  “It sure is. We try to teach Adam a few things every day. He doesn’t know nearly as much as we do.”

  “That’s because we collect interesting infor-mation,” Mackenzie added. “Hardly anyone our age knows all the things we do.”

  “My, my,” said Theo.

  “But, I hope you don’t think we’re bragging,” Makayla said.

  “We wouldn’t do that,” Mackenzie claimed. “We’re just stating the facts.”

  Theo chuckled.

  “Oh! And guess what!” Makayla said then. “We found a piece of driftwood.”

  “And we brought it here for you,” Mackenzie said. She nodded at me, like that was my cue to pass it over, since, naturally, it had been my job to carry it.

  “I told them about how you collect it,” I added, as Theo reached out to take hold of the piece of wood.

  I could tell that the twins were excited as they waited to see if Theo would have a story about the driftwood, like I’d said he would.

  He didn’t let me down. Within a few minutes, Theo’s voice was taking us to another time and place.

  THE MOUNTAIN MAHOGANY

  This fine branch comes from a tree called the Mountain Mahogany. The tree it was part of grew before the white man came to North America, back when the native peoples lived by the laws of their ancestors. There were many tribes and one of those was called the Southern Paiute. They were a peaceful people who lived off what the land provided.

  One of the Paiute tribes lived near the Great Basin in what is now known as Utah, in the United States of America.

  In this tribe there was a young brave who was known as Little Spear. Little Spear wanted to go along with the men when they hunted for food but he was too young. When they were preparing to leave, he would beg and make a pleading face. The answer was, “No.” Then he would make a sad face, and later on, an angry face. None of those faces helped. The answer was still, “No,” and he was left behind.

  Little Spear’s mother watched her son stomp about and grumble that he was almost a man. He was as straight as an arrow and growing tall but his body was still young and slender. It was not yet the body of a hunter. Even so, his mother’s heart was stirred by his longing and his misery.

  “Little Spear grows restless,” she told his father as the sun fell from the sky one evening. “I fear that his impatience may make him bitter.”

  Little Spear’s father said nothing but he pondered her words. The next time that the men gathered to hunt, he called his son to him.

  “It is time for you to begin your journey,” he said. “If you will be a hunter someday, you must learn to be still and watch. Are you ready for this step?”

  Little Spear nodded. He listened carefully as his father gave him his instructions. At daylight of the first morning after the men had been gone for three sunsets, he must go and climb into the branches of a grey tree at the top of the nearest hill. From there, he was to watch for the hunters returning. As soon as he spotted them, he must run back to tell the others. In this way, by the time the men reached their home, preparations for cooking the meal would be completed.

  “It is an important job,” his father told him. “I know you will do it well.”

  Little Spear was proud to have a new res-ponsibility. On the third morning after the hunters left he set out for the hill and climbed into the tree, just as his father had instructed him. Before long, a coyote came along. Little Spear was not afraid even though the coyote was known as a trickster and a troublemaker among the Paiute people. He knew the coyote could not reach him in the tree.

  The coyote sat down very close to the tree. He did not seem to notice that Little Spear was there. Hours passed and the task of watching the horizon for signs of the men made the young brave’s eyes tired and sleepy. He wished he could climb down to the ground to limber up and chase away the drowsiness.

  “Coyote!” he said. “Why don’t you move along somewhere else?”

  The coyote looked at him with sad eyes. “I will go if you do not want me here,” it said.

  Little Spear thought it must be a trick, but the coyote made its way along a path toward the river. When it was out of sight, Little Spear climbed down and stretched his arms and legs. It felt good, but he was haunted by the coyote’s sadness.

  The next day, Little Spear again took his place in the tree. The excitement he’d felt over his new job was fading like the mist on a summer morning. It was difficult not to think of how pleasant his days had been before he had been given this new responsibility. It wasn’t only the discomfort of sitting in the tree for long hours that he minded—it was the boredom. The worst thing was, he knew that if the hunt did not go well it could be many more sunrises before the men returned.

  On this day, Little Spear had not been in the tree very long when the coyote made its appearance.

  “Hello, friend,” it said as it settled down near the tree.

  “You are not my friend,” Little Spear said.

  “Who told you that I am not?” asked the coyote.

  “Your teeth are sharp and quick to destroy,” Little Spear answered. “This truth is well known among my people.”

  “That is most peculiar,” said the coyote. “For I have been taught to fear your kind.”

  Little Spear was still thinking about this when the coyote spoke again.

  “What are you doing in the tree?” it asked.

  “I am watching for the hunters to return,” Little Spear answered. “Perhaps the next time I will go with them.”

  “Why watch from the tree?” asked the coyote. “You would be much more comfortable here. And you can see almost as far.”

  “My father told me to watch from the tree,” Little Spear said firmly. The coyote gave him a sympathetic look and said nothing more. Later, when Little Spear suggested it might be time for the coyote to leave, it trotted off with a friendly wave of its tail.

  The next day, the coyote was back again. It said, “Good day, friend,” before stretching out flat on the ground. Little Spear could not help but notice how relaxed and comfortable the coyote looked, especially when it rolled onto its back and writhed a little in the warm sand.

  “Are you sure your father wanted you to sit up there the entire time?” the coyote asked.

  Little Spear tried to remember his father’s words. He wondered if he’d made a mistake. Perhaps he only needed to go up now and then. After all, as the coyote had pointed out already, he could see almost as far from the hilltop itself.

  For the next three days the coyote continued to visit. He told Little Spear stories about his family, and about what his childhood had been like. He shared coyote legends of great feats of strength and courage. They were not so very different from some of the stories Little Spear had heard about his own ancestors.

  The best story the coyote told was of the time long ago when their ancestors had all been friends. They lived and hunted together, and when there was trouble for one, the other rose up to help. “That time is no more,” the coyote said sadly.

  “Perhaps it will come again someday,” Little Spear suggested, but his visitor only shook his head, got to his feet, and ambled away.

  The next day, the coyote did not come. Little Spear watched and waited in vain, and the day dragged by more slowly than any other. On the day after that, when he saw the coyote heading slowly toward him, his spirits lifted.

  “Hello!” he called.

  “I have come to say goodbye,” said the coyote when he reached the hilltop.

  “Why?” asked the boy.

  “Because you will always see me as your enemy.” The coyote’s head dropped low.

  Little Spear’s heart began to hurt at those words. He spoke quickly. “That was before,” he told the coyote. “Now that I know you, I see that you are a friend.” />
  The coyote looked at him warily. “How do I know you are telling me the truth?” he asked.

  Little Spear knew what he must do. He climbed down from the tree and crossed the few steps to where the coyote sat. He smiled and kneeled beside his new friend. He put his arms around the coyote’s neck and laid his face against the coarse fur.

  Suddenly, a low growl came from deep in the coyote’s throat. His head turned toward the boy and Little Spear looked into the creature’s eyes for the first time. In those yellow pools, Little Spear saw cunning and triumph, and he knew he had been deceived.

  What came next happened so fast that the young brave barely had time to react. The coyote spun, its sharp, white teeth flashing as its jaws opened and snapped on Little Spear’s arm.

  The boy struggled to his feet, striking back with his free hand. He slammed it hard on the coyote’s nose. That made the coyote yelp and Little Spear pulled his injured arm free and leapt toward the safety of the tree. He scrambled up as the coyote reached the trunk and lunged toward him.

  This was the day that Little Spear discovered a great truth. The most dangerous enemy of all is the one who comes disguised as a friend.

  I knew the twins weren’t shy about speaking their mind so I was a bit nervous about what they might say when Theo’s tale was finished. One look at their faces told me I had nothing to worry about. Their eyes were shining and it was clear they were spellbound by the story.

  “That was fantastic!” Makayla said. “It must be incredible to be able to touch something and know all about it that way.”

  Theo smiled and his head turned toward her, even though he couldn’t see her face. “I consider it a rare and wonderful gift. Never had it as a young fellow. It’s only in the last few years that I’ve been able to feel the story from a piece of driftwood in my hands.”

  “Well, it’s amazing!” Mackenzie said.

  It struck me that the twins’ voices sounded a lot like they had the day they talked to my mom about her paintings. They were breathless and excited, as if they’d made the greatest discovery of their lives. And even though it seemed like a girl thing, I couldn’t help thinking it must be fun to go around being that enthusiastic about stuff. No wonder they remember so many things—it all matters to them.