He looked less pale and the fact that he was grousing probably meant the spell was passing.
“You should have told me, Da.”
“Already had too many females pestering me about what I couldn’t do. I weren’t letting you and Elise cackle at me also.”
So Elise hadn’t known either. For a moment, Miri was glad she was no longer a teller. Knowing about her dad’s injury would have changed her telling of the landslide story. It was a popular Ravenscar tale, and she must have been asked to tell it fifty times.
It hit her heart sorely thinking that if she had to choose between being a storyteller and flying, she would choose being a teller.
“I’ll do it,” she said abruptly. “I’ll go to Belle’s and see what I can find out. I can’t tell Elise’s story, but if I can figure out why she died, I’ll tell you and Jean. So you can tell her kids when it’s time.”
“Thank ye,” her father said. He pulled her into his arms. “You’re a good girl to do that for us.”
She buried her face against his chest, glad he didn’t know that good had little to do with it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Trey felt the air shift as he parked the car in front of the Corbins. Too dark for this early in the evening, he saw storm clouds building in the west. A squall was coming.
“How long do we gotta stay?” Jeff asked. He’d cheered up some since meeting with the sheriff, but he obviously still dreaded coming to the wake.
“It won’t be that bad, kid. The food’ll be good and the talk even better. It’ll be nice for you to hear stories about your mom.”
“Will Aunt Miriam tell the stories?”
The idea of hearing Miri tell stories again so startled him that his throat seized.
Jeff didn’t seem to notice and added, “I guess she won’t. She’s been gone too long.”
Trey coughed. “Yeah, your mom was not that much older than you when Miri left. It might be good to hear stories of what she was like in school, eh?”
Jeff tried to hide it, but he did look interested.
“Go in now,” Trey said. Something caught his eye on the lane that ran along the ridge. “I see the Rogers car here, so you’ll have friends inside. And Vince will be along directly.”
“Okay.” Jeff hurried inside not wanting to enter with his father. The boy had become allergic to his presence since starting the second floor at school two years earlier. It might have bothered Trey if he didn’t remember feeling the same himself at that age.
He grabbed the bag he’d put in the back of the pickup truck. He slipped inside the house to tell Jean that he’d return when he could. Then he drove the truck to the lookout just below the ridge that curled around the pine forest.
From there he saw more clearly Miri walking the lane. He scaled the steep verge to catch up with her.
“Miri.”
She turned. “Trey.” He didn’t actually see welcome in her face but no outright rejection colored her skin either. If anything, he saw only dread. What was she up to?
Maybe a small thing, but he felt a little cheered that he could still read her.
He lifted the bag. “I found your things.”
A delighted grin lit her eyes and banished the dread. “Thanks. I thought I wouldn’t be getting them till morning.” She immediately sat on a boulder and switched to the shoes in the bag. “Much better for walking.”
“Where are you going?”
A wary look crossed her face. “I’m taking the back way to Belle’s.”
Immediately he understood. “Jeff will be pleased that you’re telling Elise’s story.”
“I’m not!”
He almost took a step back at her vehemence. Then seeing her desolation, he wanted to take a step forward and comfort her.
“I meant…” She looked away from him. “I told my father I’d see what Belle had in her stores.”
“May I go with you?” His question startled him as much it did her.
“We’ll be talking story business,” she said slowly.
“Private guild stuff that I shouldn’t hear?”
He thought she muttered “more like private me stuff,” and then she sighed. “It’s okay. You can help me sort. Might be good for you to see the raw data and decide what Jeffrey should know.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t you be at the wake with him?”
“I dropped him off at your dad’s house. He needs this time with your folks.” He hesitated and then took the plunge. “I should be with you.”
He felt her immediate withdrawal and backed off. “To find out what happened with Elise. For Jeff’s sake.”
She nodded. “Let’s go then.”
The skinny path to Belle’s bungalow, uphill all the way, looked as though only rabbits used it. During the last fifteen minutes of hiking, they walked single file and arrived at the small house out of breath.
When Belle first became ill, the village had showered her and her daughter Skye with casseroles and visits. The postman, taking the long badly damaged public lane to the house, delivered dozens of Get Well cards and carried pies from his wife.
She had a slow illness and over time, the village’s attention turned from the story keeper. After four years of treatments and palliative care, Belle’s small house showed neglect. A few old friends of Belle checked on the two women and gave Skye time to run errands while they sat with Belle. Trey’s housekeeper was one of them.
Last month, Mrs. Jenkins asked Trey to replace their water heater. He’d been shocked to see how worn Skye looked. Three years ahead of him in school, she now looked twenty years older. They’d been without hot water for days and other necessities were also in disrepair. He fixed several electrical problems, their internet, and upgraded the computer. He called a few of his friends to help with the yard work, a leaky pipe, a broken window, and a backed up sewage line. Then he’d been busy with a new work project, Jeffrey, and Elise’s death, and hadn’t checked on Belle for weeks.
The yard work had made a sizable dent in four years of neglect but much more needed doing. The window had been replaced, but the house badly needed painting. He felt shame seeing the shock on Miri’s face.
“Da said Belle’s been ill for ages,” she whispered.
“We tried to get her to move into town,” Trey said. “Belle wouldn’t go.”
Miri smiled sadly. “This was Phillip’s house, where they fell in love, married and made a home. Where Skye was born and first spread her wings. Where Belle found her calling as keeper and stored every Ravenscar story since the town began. Leaving would have meant that sickness had stolen everything from her.”
He heard a faint echo of storytelling cadence as she spoke. Her lip trembled as she added, “I think it brave of her to stay.”
A porch step teetered beneath her and spoiled her determined march to the front door. He had to steady her from falling. The years that separated them disappeared when she relaxed against him. “I’ve lost the dramatic moment, haven’t I?”
He chuckled as the front door opened. “Trey, is that you?” Stepping onto the porch, Skye gaped at Miri. “Mother woke this morning and spoke of you. She told me to make scones because you'd be coming.”
She blinked as if she still couldn’t believe her eyes. “I thought it was the morphine talking, but I baked scones anyway.” She stared at the porch planks as if staving off tears. Trey felt another wave of remorse seeing her weariness.
“Come in,” she said.
As they entered, Trey took Miri’s hand. It seemed unnatural not to. She squeezed his hand as they entered the room. He knew why. No matter how the house looked on the outside, the parlor looked the same as it always had. Order among the clutter and well dusted. With the care that Belle required, it looked better than it should.
“Mother said you’d be wanting Elise’s story.” Skye paused, but she was a daughter watching her mother die in increments. She couldn't afford sentiment over a woman she hardly knew.
“You can sort the computer files by her
name. I can show you how or Trey can. Depending on how far you want to go back, there’s town scrolls in the case here in the parlor, records and photos in the spare bedroom, and videos in the attic. All tagged on the computer.” She gestured to the hallway. “Mother’s in the first room. She’s waiting for you. I’ll have the tea and scones ready in a jiff.”
Watching Skye walk with a tired sway, a third pang of remorse assailed Trey. He shook off the guilt. He was here now.
Miri slipped her hand from his and headed for Belle’s room. Mentally he girded himself for Belle’s worsening state. Since she was at the morphine stage, she had to be nearing the end. Seeing her, he gulped and headed for the chair in the shadowy corner, hoping she hadn’t seen his appalled expression. Although Skye had obviously brushed out her mother’s wispy hair and sat her half up in bed, Belle was literally a wraith.
Unlike him, Miri sat on the chair closest to the dying woman and took her hand in hers. The expression on her face was the exact opposite of his: serene and joyful. “Mrs. Jellico, it’s good to see you again.”
Belle’s voice was weak and creaky, but her eyes seemed clear of drugs.
“Oh, pshaw. Ye are too nice, my dear. Look at yer young man over there. I know I look shocking.” Her fingers twitched on the quilt. “Drat this disease. I’d welcome ye with a hug if I had any strength and didn’t look monstrous.”
With a trill of laughter, Miri said, “Let me then.” And she embraced her gently.
“That’s better,” Belle said afterwards. She had more color in her face and eyes were wet with tears. “What’s with the “Mrs. Jellico?” Ye’re a grown woman, and we’re colleagues. Call me Belle.”
Miri smiled wistfully. “Colleagues? I’m not in your class, ma’am. But I’d be pleased to call you Belle.”
Pain crossed Belle’s face. “Let’s get to it, girl. I can only hold off the morphine so long. Ye see yer aunt whilst ye were story collecting?”
“I went to her first,” Miri said. “She was living in a community in Rhode Island, so I stayed there awhile. Learned all I could about collecting stories from foreigners.”
“Foreigners …” Belle smiled.
“I know,” Miri said defensively. “I had more in common with them than I did with humans, but they weren’t Ravenscar people. It took me much longer to learn their slang and culture than it did Aunt Shelly. In the last fourteen years, I lived in eight different communities and collected wonderful stories. I brought you a thumb drive full of them, but collecting each one was like pulling out pinfeathers.”
Trey sat as quietly as he could, glad that they’d forgotten him. He had heard rightly earlier—Miri had been afraid of revealing herself in talking to the keeper. And now he knew that she had missed Ravenscar.
“We’ve been without a collector since Duane died in the landslide,” Belle said. Her voice sounded weaker. “Though Shelly knew she weren’t a terrific storyteller, only filling in after yer mother died and till ye were old enough, do ye think she’ll return to Ravenscar to be our collector again? It’s been a burden for me to do the gathering and the storing.”
“Oh, Belle.” Miri gently clasped Belle’s twitching fingers with sweet compassion. “In all the places I’ve visited, I thought it so unfair that some villages had a half dozen or more storians while we went without or tried to do the work of two like you have. South of here, I talked with someone who’ll consider moving here. She’s a collector. Her tribe lives in a community in the shadow of Mount Baldy. She has nothing to hold her to her own people and likes the idea of living in a town that needs her.”
She smiled and released Belle’s hand. “I thought I’d best do some recruiting since I knew Aunt Shelly will never return. She’s an adventurer at heart and finds home wherever she flits.”
“Ye find us a teller too?”
At the question, Miri’s smile vanished. Although visibly fading, Belle’s eyes sharpened on her. “Why will ye not stay? We need a storyteller as much as we need a collector.”
“I’m not a storyteller anymore.”
Belle’s eyes narrowed to slits as if she were half asleep, but something glittered in her gaunt face.
Such grief poured from Miri that Trey almost went to her. He forced himself to remain still, neither women reacted to his abortive movement. He was only a witness to what needed to be said between two storians.
“I lost it, Belle.” Tears welled in Miri’s eyes. “In wanting to experience something outside of Ravenscar, I lost the gift of telling. In carefully collecting every word, I lost the sense of weaving only certain threads and in sharing only the right story. In collecting every emotion, I lost the skill of only keeping the feelings needed for my listeners. In being so analytical about every detail, I lost the reason and art of telling.” Her voice caught on a sob.
“I thought I wanted adventure, but I lost myself. I lost my home and everyone here.” She hid her face in Belle’s quilt and wept till Trey thought his heart would break.
His attention was so fixed on Miri, he almost missed the entreaty in Belle’s eyes. He immediately went to the other side of the bed and leaned over her.
“Tell Skye, I need my medicine, “ she wheezed. He straightened to obey, but she exhaled again.
“You know what to say to Miri?”
He had no idea what Belle meant but her body had gone rigid with such suffering, he couldn’t ask her.
“I know,” he lied and went to find Skye.
CHAPTER FIVE
Darkness fell hours ago. Miri rubbed her burning eyes. Trey had helped locate Elise’s information on the computer. She spent ages in their glorious basement that went six levels under the Jellico house. Each floor stretched the size of a football field. The bottom floor was dedicated to the founding of Ravenscar and filled with parchments, maps, drawings, and land grants back to mission days and earlier. She wanted to explore, but she knew Elise’s story hid in more recent files. She stopped the ancient elevator on B1 and went from computer to computer until she had what she needed.
Trey helped find which computer was dedicated to what information before leaving. She didn’t need to ask where he’d gone. He'd had his eye on that porch step that had nearly thrown her. He’d not relax until he’d mended it.
Her mind hummed with what she found on the computers. She scanned videos in the parlor and stopped when something caught her eye. Someone put a scone in her hand and urged her to drink tea. She figured she’d eaten when she discovered crumbs on her tunic later, but she didn’t remember.
Trey and Skye talked about information gathered before Belle took to her bed four years ago. She’d been glued to photo albums in the parlor’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelves as she searched for Elise. Only now she recalled that quiet conversation.
Belle and Skye hadn’t lived as solitary as Miri thought. Everyone in Ravenscar came to the bungalow to talk about their families, sometimes with Belle, sometimes with Skye. The archives had reams of emails and Facebook entries, though some were too thin to be helpful. They'd gleaned and recorded newspapers, newsletters, school yearbooks, and town council meeting minutes.
Her father had visited, as had Jean. Even Andrew McVey dropped by and more than once. Elise came with pumpkin seed muffins and soup, and stayed to talk for hours. Belle and Skye recorded the conversations. Miri read the transcripts in the basement.
She filled a notebook with what she learned about her sister. She quivered with shame over her careful notes. She hadn’t needed them when she’d been a storyteller.
In the attic, she cruised through racks and trunks stuffed with old clothes and mementoes. She could almost see story phantoms circle in the dust motes, ghostly arms reaching for her attention, voices whispering tales, their mouths an open scream.
She was holding Elise’s wedding slippers, when she heard Trey’s voice.
“Miri?”
She hastily wiped her eyes, making sure her tears didn’t stain the satin.
“I’m up here, Trey.”
Hearing the strain in his voice and quick steps on the stairs, she quickly re-boxed the shoes and turned. Trey stood at the top of the stairs, his face grey with worry.
“Your father called. Jeff and Vince are missing.”
CHAPTER SIX
As they tore out the front door, Trey grabbed Miri’s hand, taking comfort from her reassuring squeeze.
“Your father said the boys disappeared after hearing townsfolk talk about Elise dying on Skellars beach,” he said. “The Roger boys found their clothes in the backyard. That was forty minutes ago. Vince’s dad Oren is driving there now.”
Thunderclouds boiled in the west, and he could smell rain. On the same wavelength, Miri panted next to him, “Squall over the water.”
Instead of veering downhill to the ridge where his truck was parked, Miri shook off his hand. She leapt off the path and headed right.
“Faster flying.” She sounded hoarse.
Suddenly her clothes hung wrong on her and fell to the forest floor. In a flurry of black, she skimmed easily from her scooped neck tunic and launched into the air, winging west.
He had to stop to untie his shoes while undoing the first three buttons on his shirt. Cursing, he fumbled with his belt buckle, feeling his bones thin and blood thrum in his ears. Then he sprang upward, face feathers ruffling in the wet wind, pumping hard to reach Miri.
The thousand thoughts pinging him since Corbin’s call were now stripped away in raven mind. The mix of emotions vanished too. Only the mission remained: fly west and rescue the boys.
Good to fly in flocks but this was better. The female of his heart winged next to him, like-minded, single purpose.
They rode thermals, but the storm made a jumbled mess of the air. It rolled and pummeled them at every turn. They pushed forward, battling the storm in slow knots.
Diving under another powerful gust, they landed in a red willow and scanned the beach. The storm had strewn driftwood and clumps of bull kelp, eel grass, and purple laver over the sand. Made finding two black-feathered boys difficult. He fixed a long moment on what he thought was them but closer focus made it a pile of dark sea lettuce.
The Last Storyteller (Ravenscar Shifters Book 1) Page 3