By Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
Chapter Five "Paper Boats"
For all the grumbling of the grown-ups, Saturday dawned as innocent and fresh as any October day any of the children could remember. The wind from the sea was picking up as the seasons began their change, and sent a renewed invigoration throughout the landscape. What Sarah's Grandmother called "The Gods of Autumn," were being roused to their full force as Halloween appeared on the kitchen calendar, a large red X having already been drawn through it by Sarah.
It was a day to bring a smile to the grumpiest crone, or scraggliest old bachelor who might sit by a closed window in obedience of the calendar date rather than walk abroad following the common sense of his nose and skin. Sarah forgot all about her worries for the strangers in her house and threw the window in her room open wide. Surely Missy would want to come out and play on a day like this. And just as surely, her parents would let her.
Sarah gazed out over the long downward slope that moved toward the bay, where a glint of the everlasting sea blinked back at her with a silvery dimness. There was a bustle of birds and critters outside; squirrels were racing each other over the roof and burying fallen acorns all over the yard. They knew winter was still on its way, and they were going to make the best of their time before the world was one unending sheet of snow from hill to shore.
Sarah virtually raced down the stairs once she was dressed. Her mother was singing in the kitchen. Apparently, the voting at the Political Committee had gone the way her mother had wanted, and Mrs. Tone was singing in a flawless contralto a traditional tune about the great wheel of justice rolling on and on.
"Oh the wheel is blind that crushes us down The wheel is deaf that raises us up The wheel is well that takes us onward, Ever onward where no harm breathes a word."
"There's Eggo waffles and veggie bacon in the microwave, my dear Sarah." Mrs. Tone waved toward the toaster, which popped as if on command. Sarah accepted the gold-trimmed plate her Mother handed to her and flipped the Eggos onto it with a clatter. A large pot of heated syrup stood in the middle of the kitchen table, and Sarah poured it liberally over her waffles.
Mrs. Tone was listening to morning opera on the radio, which was interrupted with local news and weather. As Sarah ate, the radio nattered on.
"A massive storm front is moving in over the sea. In local politics, the Traeshurstaene Political Committee, lead by Berny Cottswold, has carried a motion against the strikers of the dockworkers' union...."
Just as Sarah was polishing off her first Eggo waffle, Granny Pansy entered from the back door, trailed by her cousins Abbey and Dar. On her arm was a large woven basket full of fresh vegetables. "Oh, put that out of your mouth, Sarah. We've fresh-picked here, and I've let some bread dough rise overnight. It should just be coming out of the oven now. Gwynnith..."
"I thought I smelled something wonderful!"
Mrs. Tone was in such a good mood that she didn't even mind being ordered about by her mother-in-law. In two shakes of a lamb's tail, as Granny Pansy might say, there were fresh eggs benedict, saffron cakes, real bread, and actual bacon on the table. The basket also held a dozen oranges that Dar squished on the juicer with a fierce glee. Abbey had carried in a bouquet of late daisies to garnish the breakfast table, and by the time Mr. Tone made it back in from some early morning chores, there was a peck of happy talk and a mountain of good food to eat at his table.
"Whay, its Christmas dinner! I ain't seen a spread like this at the table in mony a fine year." Mr. tone seemed more happy and relaxed than Sarah had seen him in some time, as if some noisome burden had been lifted from his shoulders during the night. Like Sarah, her Father was always glad to have his mother, Granny Pansy, in the house.
Mrs. Tone rose up and put Mr. Tone into his place, tying a kerchief around his neck, and running a warmed plate of breakfast across the kitchen to his place mat. Mr. Tone wasted no more words, but tucked in with a hearty appetite. The only reservation he expressed was when the newscaster repeated the news about the dockworkers' strike.
As Sarah gladsomely cleared the plates and began to wash up, she mentioned her intention to run over to the Quicknass' and fetch Missy out for a day full of mischief.
"Oh, no, Sarah, sweetie. Take your cousins with you. The wood'll be lovely today."
Sarah protested this maternal command with an appeal to her father. "Daddy, do I have to?"
It seemed to Sarah that her Saturday was about to be commandeered by these strangers who had their gear thrown all over Gilman's room.
"Now, do as yer Mother says," her Father recommended, wiping the last of the syrup from his lips with a corner of the tablecloth. Sarah could see that no appeal would be effective against her Father's full stomach. "Your mother an I have some important business to discuss as it is." And with that, he snapped open the paper, which had an above-the-fold picture of Berny Cottswold.
"OK," she sighed, defeated, but still, despite herself, full of expectation for the open day. "Follow me."
Abbey smiled openly, and Dar followed the girls out the door, drawing aim at a squirrel in the yard burying the last of its treasure.
"Bang! Bang!"
* * * *
Their walk was slow and monotonous, but not without appeal. The trees were almost singing with color, and the sun made them shiver with a joy just at walking. After all, it was still Saturday, even if it meant that Sarah had to share the day with Abbey and Dar. Maybe they wouldn't be so bad. Abbey was picking flowers from the roadside as they crunched down the pebble path toward the wood that overlooked the Traeshurstaene Inlet.
"Riv-ver!" cried Dar evenly as they came upon a stream in the wood. This was the Mickleswift, as it was known locally, and many faeries had been seen beside its banks by late afternoon picnickers or midnight revelers. Some say that such sightings had more to do with the local brewery than with the Mickleswift. The water gushed and flattered the banks with laughing activity, and there was a brightness to it in the strong October sunlight that seemed more than the golden yellow rocks at the stream's bottom could account for.
"Ooh, Granny never said anything about their being a stream so close by," said Abbey excitedly. "We had walked the other way into town and had never even heard it. And now, it seems so loud!" This last Abbey said with a raised voice, as if to prove her point. But indeed, the were coming upon the notable Crossamum Falls, which was more like the fall beside a mill stream than a proper falls. Down at the bottom of the falls was a secluded pond, overshadowed with limber birch trees and a reedy patch at one side where there was some marshy run-off.
Sarah hurried to the pond and knelt carefully beside the water. She pulled a few sheets of paper from her large front skirt pocket. This was a homework assignment that her Granny Pansy had usefully tucked into the pocket as Sarah and the others sped out the door from breakfast. Now Sarah took a sheet--of algebra homework, she noticed--and began to artfully fold a small boat on the bank. Actually, it was more of a galley or barge than anything, and Sarah could imagine members of the Roman navy rowing bravely forth to battle in the long open-decked craft she was fashioning. When it was done, Sarah bent over the river, and without further ado, set the boat sailing in the wet. It took off in a straight line without a waver in its course.
"Boat!" said Dar, and came hurrying from his inspection of a rotten log half sunk in the weeds. Even Abbey turned from her preoccupation with flower-gathering and came over by Sarah to see.
"Boat!" repeated Dar, and added, "sail!"
"Please show us how you made it," Abbey requested. "Dar'll love it." Sarah looked at her keenly, not completely unlike the look she had given Bart the day before. "And I have some interest myself," admitted Abbey. She knelt respectfully beside Sarah, who handed her a sheet of Latin homework, took up her unfinished geometry answers, and began to demonstrate her unique boat-folding technique.
Abbey chuckled when she saw that the paper boats were to be made from unfinished homework assignments. "Best use of schoolwork I've ever seen. Brilliant!"
Sarah laughed.
Abbey watched Sarah's fingers carefully. "How do you get the keel quite like that? It seems a bit tricky."
"Its really not hard to do this at all, once you know how," started Sarah. "But I've added my own touch to the keel that makes 'em go straighter than most."
"I'll have to teach you a cat's cradle Granny Pansy showed me on the train ride out here."
"All right," agreed Sarah. Somehow, with the beautiful day all around them, Sarah was looking forward to the lesson.
For a few minutes, they were all busy folding paper and listening to the Mickleswift continue to fill the pond which already seemed perfectly full.
Before you could say "Jack Frost," there was a virtual flotilla on its way to Carthage, with a few stragglers winding up embattled in the reeds. The girls and Dar were chasing the boats around the pond lightheartedly. It seemed that the girls might get along well after all, despite being cousins. The paper boats were light enough to just skim the running surface of the pond, using the currents underneath to propel their untroubled brightness. Dar was in ecstasy over the nimble gyrations of the fleet. After a few frantic minutes of chasing the paper boats about the pond and calling out guesses as to which boat was whose and which was winning, Sarah and Abbey came to a panting halt, the galleys slowing down as they started to get soggy.
"Oh, they're sinking!"
"Bound to happen," said Sarah.
"Yes, I suppose it must. But somehow it makes me sad, is all."
Sarah let there be silence between them.
"I'm sorry we're messing up your home and everything. We really couldn't help it. Mommy and Daddy just aren't getting along is all. They're separating."
The word hit Sarah like a cleaver. For all her parents' problems, Sarah couldn't even dream of them not being together. It would be like watching the earth open up under her feet. She looked up at Abbey, who gave her a weak smile. Sarah didn't know what to say.
"That's awful," she managed.
"Yes, it certainly is. And now Dar and I have to bunk together in that horrible dusty old boy's room."
"You take that back," said Sarah, instantly angry. "That dusty old boy's room was my brother Gilman's room. You take that back."
"Well, its a horrible old room. Its full of war nonsense and scouting badges and pictures of pouting girls."
Sarah knew that the only pouting girl in Gilman's room was the photo of her that he had. It was taken just after Sarah had come in second in a singing contest; she'd had no interest in memorializing her losing. But it was Gilman's favorite picture of her nevertheless, and so there it stayed. The picture of his high school sweetheart was smiling. The more Sarah thought of it, and of the injustice that Abbey should be able to spend so much time in Gilman's room when she had been locked out of it all this time since he was killed. And now, adding insult to injury, Abbey didn't even care that she had the privilege of being in Gilman's room. It was too much to bear.
Sarah punched Abbey in the mouth. "You just shut up," she practically screamed.
Abbey took an involuntary step backwards, and reached up to touch her mouth. She looked, at first, indescribably surprised. And then, her eyes began to shine as tears welled up in them, and then rolled down her face. Dar, poking a sinking galley unconcernedly with a stick, sensed something was wrong, and started walking back toward his sister and Sarah. Sarah looked at Dar approaching innocently along the water's edge, and then at Abbey's now uncontrolled weeping--for she was crying not just about having been struck by the only girl who night have been her friend in the strange, new place, but because she was losing her parents. And because of all their long nights of arguing when Abbey had lain helplessly in bed, holding her hands over Dar's ears so he wouldn't hear. But she heard. Abbey always heard. And now it was as if each of those bitter words had turned into tears and were itching their way down her cheeks. The whole pond and everything simply melted into a sunny blur. Dar came over and held onto her leg.
When she had quieted down enough to hear the reeds whispering again, she wiped her tears and looked around. Sarah was gone.
END OF CHAPTER FIVE