Escaping Fate
by
DelSheree Gladden
Smashwords Edition
*****
Published by:
DelSheree Gladden on Smashwords
Escaping Fate
Copyright 2010 DelSheree Gladden
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For Ryan, Everett, and Abbey,
who inspire me every day
Table of Contents
Chapter One
The whispered voices that woke her were the beginning. Pounding and screaming were the next sounds she heard. She sat up trying to shake away the dream. As her father rushed over to her she quickly realized that this was no dream.
“Konētl, child, don’t move. Don’t make a sound." He rushed over to the window and peeked through the slats of wood covering the window above his bed. She saw his body stiffen at what he saw and fear paralyzed the young girl’s body. All her life she had been haunted by the fear that this would one day come. She knew, but she asked her father anyway.
“Tahtll, Father, what is happening?” she asked.
Shuffling away from the window her father went to the door and pressed his aging back against it. They both knew that the men outside meant them harm. Holding a finger up to his lips he signaled for his daughter to stay quiet. Huddling in her thin blankets, she tried to keep herself from crying. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as the chaos continued.
The crashing and pounding grew louder every second and the young girl cried out to her father. “Why are they doing this? Why won’t they leave us alone, Tahtll?”
The angry mob’s thunderous hits knocked the old man away from the door for a brief second before he could force himself back against it. He continued to strain against the door as he called out to his daughter. “Go, hide, konētl. Do not let them find you or they will take you. Hide!”
Needing no further motivation, the terrified girl ran from her pallet bed just as the splintering of wood announced the intruders’ arrival. She lunged for the only real piece of furniture in the room, a large wooden cupboard that stood just high enough off the ground to let the girl slip under it. Curling up on the floor, she tucked in every part of her body and tried unsuccessfully to shut out the sounds around her.
“Give her to us. Now!” somebody shouted.
“Get out of my house! You have no right to be here. Leave my daughter alone,” the girl’s father pleaded. He tried to block them from entering any further, but the crowd of angry men pushed him aside. The mob’s feet trampled through the tiny hut, knocking over chairs and tossing the two beds in search of the child. Burying her silent sobs in her hands she prayed to the gods that they would not find her. Her father had kept her alive so far. He had to be able to do it again.
The young girl could hear her father’s voice as the men searched, begging them to leave and even resorting to threatening them with harm. Her father was an old man, though. He had little strength left to try and defend the last of his family.
“Please leave us alone,” he sobbed. “Please do not take her away from me. She is all that I have left.”
“Shut up, old man,” someone bellowed. “She belongs to the gods now.”
“No!” her father screamed. She saw his gnarled feet scramble across the floor as he tried to overcome one of the men. The crack of his bones resounded in the little hut. The girl cried out when his face fell into the dust just inches away from her own. Dark blood dripped down his unmoving face.
Covering her mouth right as she realized she had screamed aloud, she prayed that no one had heard her cry. The gods were not listening to her pleas tonight. They wanted her for their own. Hands plunged in at the girl and grabbed at her from every angle. Screams burst out of her as she tried to wriggle out of their grasp. They fought over her, yanking her back and forth, before they finally pulled the screaming girl out from under the cupboard.
“Let go of me,” she screamed. “Let go! Get your hands off me!”
Nobody listened to her screams. They simply drug the girl upright and started dragging a dusty, roughly woven bag over her head. She tried to scream again for help, surely someone in the village would help her, but the dust filled her lungs and sent her into a coughing fit. Tight cords wrapped around her hands and feet as they all laughed about their conquest. Helpless, she could do nothing as they carried her away to meet the gods.
But the meeting could not happen until she was purified.
The girl’s raven hair was brushed until it shone. Each stroke with the fine bone comb tilted her head, rippling the black cascade of her hair. Her almond stained skin, shining with fragrant oils, glittered in the flickering candle light. The scents from the citrus and vanilla oils were so strong it was intoxicating. Her expressionless face was dusted with heavy white powder, covering her tear streaked cheeks and red eyes.
Delicate magnolia flowers were carefully woven into her silky black hair, by fingers aged and skilled. A harsh black paint accentuated the lids of her strange, silvery eyes. Yellow fell down her cheeks like rain. Each color they applied had a meaning and purpose specific to the ritual. She knew the ritual well even though her father had tried to protect her from it all her life.
A simple, roughly woven, white dress was tied around her thin body. Heavy earrings hung down to her shoulders. Turquoise armbands that pinched her thin arms hinted at the pain awaiting her. Knotting the red sash tightly around her waist, a thick woven blanket was drawn back from the doorway allowing the malicious sun to display her to the waiting, bloodthirsty crowd beyond.
The noon hour warmth could not pierce her angry heart when she beheld the great stone temple that would be her final destination. Memories of facing the priests the day before made her anger surge. They were responsible for this. They put her here. A sharp word from one of her caretakers finally forced her to step out of the hut and into the sunlight. She blinked at the sun’s glaring glory and hated it with all her soul. She had loved its beauty as a child, but now she feared it.
The bright sun gave away her secret fear, stinging her eyes and releasing her tears. Her painted face gave no glimmer of emotion. Only her shining silver-green eyes hinted at the terror she felt beneath the façade.
The women who had prepared her for this hour guided her toward the temple. The crowds parted before them, cheering for their sacrifice. But the beautiful young woman heard nothing and saw only a haze of movement. Her feet could no longer move as they should have. Each one of her steps was halting and fearful.
Her tremendous fear made her legs quiver, and she almost collapsed when her bare soles touched the first step of the temple. The soft touch of her feet on the stone seemed to echo with deathlike finality. Now she could never turn back.
Hope abandoned her as she halted on the first step. She was joined by two towering figures, her guards. They did not touch her for fear that they would also die. To keep her secured, one stood in front and one followed behind. The solemn procession began the slow climb up the temple steps. The tear streaked ceremonial makeup could not hide the growing horror that gathered in her heart as the stone path took her to her end.
As her tears fell, a grey mist gathered around the scene. The raven haired girl was slowly consumed by it, hiding her from view.
Chapter Two
Gasping, I sat up in bed and drew a thin blanket up to my shaking body. The dream had come again. For the past two nights I had dreamed of the strange girl. Each night the dream began again, adding a little more each time. Every night revealed more of the helpless child’s story. Child, I thought, she’s looks like she’s the same age as me. At fifteen, I had never experienced anything as horrible as what the poor girl faced in my dreams.
The night the first dream came, I had woken with my heart racing. I had seen the girl drug from her house, bound, and carried away from her family. Her screams echoed in my mind as I sat in bed, willing my speeding pulse to calm down. I passed the first dream off as a nightmare, just another reaction to stress. When the dream continued the next night, the real fear started to seep in.
The only thing that remained constant in the dreams was the immense terror I awoke with every night. I was gripped with the girl’s awful fear. The haunting look of desperate horror in the young girl’s face pulled at my soul, begging me for rescue. I watched with pity and anger that I could do nothing to ease her fear.
I awoke that third night, so fearful that I could not force myself to close my eyes again. I feared slipping back into the dream and having to feel such desperate pain once again. Lying in my bed, I watched the curtains sway in the breeze, seeking something familiar and innocent. Slowly my mind and body came back to my own time. The haunting faces disappeared, letting me escape into a welcome and dreamless sleep. Resting in the stillness of my own mind, I swam in the blackness until awakened by the familiar warmth of the sun.
As dawn’s orange shadows fell across the unfamiliar floor, I slowly opened my eyes and blinked away the last traces of the dream. The beige carpet and neutral toned walls immediately made me grimace. I was not yet used to waking up in a room I did not recognize as my own. Nearly a week ago I had moved from my former life of popularity in Manhattan, to a painfully, mind-numbingly boring little town in rural New York, hours away from anything.
I loved city life. The constant noise and activity of living on an island filled with one and a half million people was invigorating. Every day held the promise of something new for me, but for my parents, every day held new dangers. My parents made the decision to move from our stylish Manhattan apartment to escape the violence and crime, as well as to be closer to my aging grandfather.
Seven long hours from New York City, Grainer was the absolute opposite of what a town should be. With a population of less than fifteen hundred people, Grainer had fewer stores in the entire town than Manhattan held in a single block. I hated everything about the town. The first few days had been miserable, but ever since the dreams had started I had become increasingly convinced that the move was even more of a terrible choice than I had realized and longed to go back.
Holding my misery close to my heart, I crawled out of bed and picked my way between unopened boxes on my way to the bathroom. I tugged a pair of denim shorts and an off white linen peasant top from my still packed suitcase as I stumbled along. The rest of the house was slowly being put away, but my room looked the same as it had when the boxes and bags had been first unloaded a week ago. It was a worthless attempt at protest.
The bathroom floor was surprisingly neat. I had not left it like that the night before. I sighed, knowing that my mother must have snuck in after I had fallen asleep and cleaned up the piles of dirty clothes. My mother was desperately trying to make the transition to my new home town as painless as possible. I felt a small measure of guilt at my obstinate behavior, but not enough to give in.
I had made my opinion on the move very clear to my parents. In the end, their fears had outweighed my objections. The apartment was packed up within a month of the decision and one by one the boxes and furniture were carried down to the waiting moving van. I sat in the room that would no longer be my own and cried. The worst part of moving was being alone. I left all of my friends in Manhattan. My only ally, my brother David, stayed behind, ready to start college in the fall. Now, I was alone, alone in my own home.
The night of the first dream had been the first night I had not woken up crying because of the move. I had suddenly found a new source of fear. Hoping to scorch away thought, I turned on the shower until the streams of water were hot enough to make me wince. I stepped in and let the dull pain clear my mind. As I showered, I rinsed away the unsettling feelings the dream had left me. Everything else remained.
I ached for someone to know as I finished my shower and stood brushing my hair in front of the foggy bathroom mirror. My silver-green eyes sparkled in contrast to my thick black hair. As I stared at my own face in the mirror, it suddenly changed into the face of the raven-haired girl from her dream, blurred by sacrificial paint. The stranger’s eyes held fear and blinked away burning tears.
I reached up to brush the tears away, only to find my face completely dry. I blinked, my eyes opening to find only my own face, clean and almond colored, staring back at me. I drew back from the mirror, fearful that the face would return. Shivering despite the warm misty air that surrounded me, I quickly left the room.
I had woken up so early that neither of my parents were awake by the time I left the bathroom. The stillness of the house made it seem safe enough to leave my room. I would have at least a few hours of peace before my mother continued her relentless battle to force me into loving my new life. I wandered into the box strewn living room and pulled a book off the top of a stack of boxes.
I was more into blogging and video chatting than reading, but that was something left behind in Manhattan for the time being. The book I held had been opened out of pure boredom my second day in Grainer. Surprisingly, I had blown through the first half of the novel in just a few days. I had no idea where the novel had come from, most likely another thoughtful gesture by my mom, but I was glad to have found it. Plunking down onto the couch, I sat down to read. Hours later, my mother wandered out of her room, fully dressed and ready for the day.
“You’re up early,” my mom commented.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“One of these days you’re going to have to get used to this place.” My mom sighed at my melancholy. “Arrabella, run down to the grocery store and pick up these things,” she said, “and I’ll make us some breakfast.” The list she handed me was written on one of the brand name medication notepads my dad often brought home from his office. Her perfect handwriting was nothing like my dad’s hurried script.
“I’m fine with cereal,” I said.
“Well you don’t have to eat, but your father and I would like some breakfast. He starts his new job today in case you’ve forgotten. I won’t send him to work on an empty stomach, so go,” she said. Her voice had taken on the firm tone that I knew not to disobey.
Picking up the list as I dramatically rolled my eyes, I headed out into the morning sun. I did not want to do small town things like shopping in the neighborhood grocery store. I had always been more than happy to shop for groceries in Manhattan. I loved the street side stands and the hundreds of tiny specialty markets in Manhattan. There, I was free to wander about deciding what I wanted, moving from store to store until I had everything on my list. I loved the endless variety of the markets.
If the small store in this town did not have the items I was looking for, too bad, it was the only grocery store there was. How primitive, I thought. I was not a small town girl.
The sign hanging above the grocery store entrance had been hand painted, and not in the trendy art deco style popular in retro art galleries. The store was small and quaint and disgusting. I plastered a disapproving grimace on my face as I walked in. Scowling at the rows of products, I quickly gathered the items on my mother’s list. Checking the last item off, I walked the short twenty steps to the checkout counter.
The cashier was a girl not more than a year older than me. She greeted me with a smile and began scanning my items. At least they’re not completely backwards here, I thought when I saw the electronic scanner. In my fog of self-pity and dislike, I half expected the cashier to pull out a pencil and calculator. The happy chirp of the flashing red scanner deepened my scowl.
“You’re new in town, right?” the cashier asked.
I wondered if her lopsided smile had anything to do with my sour expression.
“Yeah,” I said. Aren’t small towns great, I thought in my most sarcastic inner voice.
“It’s not so bad here,” she said. “Most of us go down to the beach on the weekends to hang out during the summers. If the weather’s alright this Saturday, we’ll all be there for a bonfire.”
“Who’s most of us?”
“The high school kids, mostly just juniors and seniors.”
“Are there more than just you and me?” I asked. From the size of the town, I would have been surprised to find out that our graduating class consisted of more than five students.
“Of course,” the girl said. Her laugh said she was not surprised by my reaction. “It’s not that small of a town. My name’s Dani, by the way.”
“I’m Arra.” I watched Dani put the last of my groceries in a plastic bag. Her friendly smile made me feel a little less alone. I was suddenly looking for a reason to stay at the counter a little longer. “So there’s a bonfire at the beach this weekend?”
Dani nodded. “You’re more than welcome to come if you want.”
Back in Manhattan I spent most weekends out with friends, but I was strangely nervous to accept her invitation. I did not want to care what anyone in Grainer thought of me, but it seemed unnatural not to care at least a little. “I don’t think I even remember how to get to the beach,” I said. “It’s been a few years.”
“Just head east out of town. You’ll eventually run into it. There’s pretty much nothing between here and the coast,” Dani said. “If you think you’ll get lost, you can always just stop back by the store and I can show you how to get there.”
The frown I had been trying so hard to hold onto softened into a smile. At least that was one good thing about Grainer. The beach was close and usually pretty empty. “Thanks Dani. I’ll definitely think about it.” I walked out of the store, my steps less sluggish than before.
Chapter Three
When I finally got back to the house, ignoring an irritated glare from my mom, I could feel my bitterness starting to slip away. As much as I wanted to, I knew I was not going to be able to despise my new home forever. Day by day it would grow on me until I felt at home in the quiet little town. Day by day. I laughed. It was already beginning to feel more normal.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, I took the strawberries out of the grocery bag and began slicing them. Their sweet smell filled the kitchen. I could not help popping one into my mouth. Sugary bliss swam over my taste buds. It was possibly the best strawberry I had ever tasted. My mom had always complained about store bought produce. She missed the homegrown fruits and vegetables she had grown up on. I used to think she was just complaining because she didn’t like the city. Now I had to admit she was right.
I sat listening to my mom hum as she turned pancake after pancake. I smiled as the pancake stack grew higher and higher. The fluffy tower made me think of my brother David. He was only one person, but the family’s food consumption had dropped significantly when he moved into his own apartment just before we left Manhattan. My mom still had not gotten used to the change. She even had to put back the extra plate when she began setting the table and serving the food. Thoughts of David not being here dulled whatever small bit of contentment I had found earlier.
Despite the allure of the special meal, I just stared at the strawberry covered pancakes, absently mashing them with my fork. My mom kept glancing over at me with an anxious look, but my funk had settled in again. Strawberries and pancakes were my favorite breakfast food, but I hardly touched the meal. Knowing my mom had made the meal especially to cheer me up, plus the staring, eventually won out. I took a bite with a faint smile.
“Well, I know that you wanted to work on your own room again today, but I could really use your help sorting photos. Those movers did an awful job of packing. The album pages have all fallen out and the photos are just in piles at the bottom of the boxes. It will take me forever by myself,” my mom said with a smile after seeing me spoon the food into my mouth.
“Yeah, sure, Mom, I can help,” I said. My enthusiasm was miles short of genuine, but my mom ignored it. I knew that my mom could sort the photos much more quickly by herself, but she probably just didn’t want me spending another sulky day alone in my room. I had been “arranging” it since we got here. And so far nothing had actually moved. My mom’s obvious plan to speed my progression towards well-adjusted and happy annoyed me considerably, but the sigh of relief and pleased smile mellowed my irritation.
Taking another forced bite before pushing the plate away, I said, “I’ll go get started,” and left the table. I saw my mom’s smile twitched a little as I got up, but I kept moving. She sighed disappointedly as I left the kitchen.
***
The two of us quietly, but slowly, organized the dismantled photo albums. Every so often my mom would pick up a photo of one of us kids, usually me, and tell the story about the day it was taken. I smiled at each of the stories, but wished she would just let me work in silence. Or better yet, let me go back to my room.
Pulling another box over to me I wished it were the last one. When I opened the box that had once contained carefully scrapbooked pages of me and David on summer vacations, an overwhelming loneliness settled over me. Me and David were very close, or had been before my parents left him behind to prepare for college. I still had not quite forgiven him for abandoning me, but at the same time I was excited for him to be on his own.
To my fifteen year old mind, college was a dreamlike escape, a wonderful life silently waiting for me. It was only a painful three years away. When David called earlier in the week, I begged him for every detail of what adult life was like. Going to work, living on his own, going out on the weekends. I was so jealous. I longed for college life. David, of course, had teased me to no end about being stuck in Grainer, but his excitement quickly bubbled to the surface as he poured out practically every hour of his week to me. He was so lucky.
I looked back down at the picture I was holding and was pulled out of my college dreams by a tiny face looking back at me from the photo in my hand. The photo was black and white, slightly yellowed, but the features were still in perfect detail. Raven black hair, beautiful tinted skin, and glittering silvery eyes, just like my eyes, stared up at me.
The girl was about seven years old. She was cute and perky, just like every picture I had ever seen of myself, but I wrinkled my face in confusion when I realized that the little girl was riding a horse. I was absolutely sure this was me. The face was identical to the one my mom had already hung on the wall, but I was terrified of horses. I had never ridden one in my life, and if I had, I certainly would not have been smiling about it.
“Mom, when was this picture taken? I’ve never ridden a horse. I can’t stand them. But isn’t this me?” I asked. I felt silly asking whether or not I was holding a picture of myself, but I was too confused to care.
My mom took the picture. She turned it over. In delicate handwriting was printed, Katie Malo, age 7.
“Who is Katie?” I asked.
“Why this is your Aunt Katie, your dad’s sister. You two do look amazingly similar. The same silvery eyes even. You remember…, no I guess you wouldn’t. She died before you were born and your father never mentions her. I actually never even met her either. I only know who she was from doing genealogy. I asked your father about her once,” my mom said sadly.
“How did she die?” I asked. I was astounded that I had never even heard of this beloved aunt. How could my dad not talk about having a sister? How did that never once come up?
“It’s very sad. Your father doesn’t talk about her much. He blames himself for her death,” she said. She shuffled through some pictures as if trying to decide what to say.
My mom sighed and continued. “When your father was nineteen, he came back home for the summer after his first year in college to see Katie. She was turning sixteen. Katie loved riding horses, so for her sixteenth birthday she and Robert went out riding. Katie’s horse got spooked and it threw her. The fall broke her neck. I’m sure you can understand why your father doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Neither of us said anything for a while. I just stared at what looked like a ghost now. The aunt I had never known stared back at me from decades past, giving me a glimpse of her life, but leaving me wondering about her death. Only sixteen, I thought as I wondered what plans Katie must have had for her life. What did Katie want to be when she grew up? Did she have a crush on some boy from school?
I had so many plans for my future already, especially college in New York, and I deeply regretted the fact that I never got the chance to kiss Ezra Lathrup before leaving. It startled me to think that all my planning and dreaming could come to nothing just like it did for Katie. What would that feel like? I shuddered and hoped I never knew.
I looked back at the photo and suddenly wanted to know everything about my dead aunt. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to hear her story. The picture seemed important. It was my only link to her besides our similar appearances. We could have been twins. It seemed so odd to me that I should even have an aunt, and I did not want to forget her like everyone else apparently had.
“Mom, can I keep this picture?” I asked without really knowing why I wanted it.
“Sure. I doubt your father will miss it. He hasn’t looked at these photos in years,” she said.
Soon my mom was back to her normal jovial self, sorting through the hundreds of pictures still scattered around the room. I kept sorting along with my mother, but I wasn’t really looking at the pictures anymore. I could only think about Katie, dead at sixteen. A shiver ran through me, and I suddenly felt the desire to keep digging. I felt as if I had been touched by something from the past, something that did not want to stay in the past.
Chapter Four
I was still sorting through the scattered photos when my mom stopped to make lunch. Since it was summer break, even my mom was taking her time settling into the new house. Mom and Dad had gotten all the major pieces of furniture set out in their new places, but every room was still covered in half put away boxes. Most of our sleek and modern furniture looked glaringly out of place in the antique cottage we now lived in, but my mom seemed to find it charming. I thought it looked ridiculous. I was certainly in no hurry to settle in myself, but learning about my aunt Katie had momentarily shifted my attention from pouting in my room to finding out more.
With the picture in my hand I was less concerned with being back in busy Manhattan and more interested in discovering more about the strange aunt that easily could have been my own twin. I tucked the picture under the cover of the novel I had been reading and took the lid off another box. Anxious to find more evidence of my aunt, I nevertheless felt a strange need to keep my interest from my mom.
She had told me easily enough about who Katie was, but I had gotten the distinct impression that she either knew more and was not about to discuss it, or had tried to find out more herself and did not want to repeat that experience again. The lingering feeling kept me from tearing into the mess of photos. I carefully slipped photos back into the plastic sleeves, searching for another glimpse of Katie. She may have disappeared from my family’s memories, but I knew there would be more than one lonely photo. At least I hoped there would be.
The jingling of keys in the already unlocked door barely even reached my hearing. My dad pushed his way into the mess laughing at himself for trying to unlock the door and I looked up with a smirk. We never left the door unlocked in Manhattan, even when we were home. I guess my mom was already feeling much safer being away from the city. My mom greeted my dad with a quick kiss and excused herself to start making lunch. With a quick wave and a mumbled “hi” to my dad, I waited until they left the room before digging into the boxes and getting back to my search. All the photos of Katie I could find went straight into my book.
I had only asked to keep the one picture, but each new snapshot I found added to Katie’s life and I found that I could not let go of any of them. The pictures were filled with life and activity. Katie’s smile and obvious energy were contagious. I found myself grinning every time I stopped to look at a photo for too long. I wondered if we would have been close friends had she lived long enough to know me. The happy photos were bittersweet, knowing that Katie had not lived past sixteen. Sixteen. That thought sent pins and needles up and down my spine. I was almost sixteen myself.
The small amount of pictures I found echoed Katie’s short life, but having to dig them out of the piles no one had looked at for years affected my even worse. Katie had died and then was nearly forgotten by those who had loved her in life. Knowing the pain of loss had, in a way overridden love, sent a quiet panic through my mind. It made me shudder to think about it, and I hoped this was not a normal reaction to death. Would everyone put away my things if I were gone? Would David’s children know my name?
Sounds of my mom making lunch filtered out of the kitchen, as I searched the rest of the box I was working on for photos of Katie. The connection I had to my aunt grew with each new picture. I felt a need to understand why Katie died. While wondering what it had been like for Katie to confront death, I stumbled across another picture that looked like it might be my aunt.
Studying the photo intently, I was not sure what I had found. It looked just like Katie except for the clothes and hair style. Katie had been a child of the seventies, wearing bell-bottom jeans and flowers in her wild black hair more often than not. This lookalike was wearing a full skirt and button down blouse with a perfectly styled, bobbed haircut.
I turned the picture over and saw Maera 1959 printed in scrawling handwriting on the back. Who was this new ghost, I wondered. Their faces were almost identical, especially the eyes. This new photo was also black and white, but her startling silvery eyes could not be hidden by the colorless world.
Suddenly brought out of my wonder when my mom called me to the table for lunch, I stuck the photo I had just found into my book with the pictures of Katie. Stopping by my bedroom on the way to the kitchen, I pulled the drawer out of my nightstand and held the pictures over it. I wanted to hide the pictures away because of my mom’s warning about how my dad might react, but changed my mind at the last minute and headed back towards the kitchen. I wanted to know more about the photos, especially the newest one I had found, the one that was not Katie. I barely made it to the table before my question about the second picture burst out.
“Mom, who is Maera?”
“Maera? Um, I’m not sure. Let me see,” she said as she took the picture I was holding out to her. She looked at the back. “1959, hmm. I can’t remember. I’m sorry. I just haven’t looked at any of this stuff in so long because of the move.” She turned the picture towards her husband. “Honey, who’s Maera?” she asked him.
My dad turned away from the picture with a frown and said, “She was your grandfather’s sister, your great aunt.” Why had he not just said that when I first asked the question?
“Was?” I asked.
“She drowned when she was a kid. I don’t know much about her,” he said quietly.
Drowned as a kid? I wondered if my dad was thinking about his own sister. I hoped he was. Maybe if he thought about her more often he would eventually talk about her.
“How old was she?” I asked.
“I don’t know. My dad didn’t talk about her much,” he said taking a bite of his tuna sandwich and pushing the picture back across the table towards me.
My dad’s words bothered me. Maera died young, too? The coincidence was definitely not lost on me. Maybe because my dad saw death and sickness every day at the hospital, a young girl drowning was simply a sad occurrence and not something to dwell on too much, but I could not put the pictures down. I shook my head and sighed. I hated the thought of people dying, and the strangeness of the two girls dying young made me sad and somewhat concerned. Something felt a little off when I thought about it. The feeling was wrapped up in the strange compulsion I felt to learn my about my dead aunt. Glancing over at my dad, I could see that he did not want to continue the conversation. I wanted to push him, but the firm set of his jaw made me hold back. Setting the pictures back on the table, I sat down for lunch.
As the pungent tuna filled my mouth I kept wondering why they died and if the same thing could ever happen to me. I shook my head at my runaway imagination and tried to think more rationally. Even if the deaths were only a strange coincidence, it did bother me that my dad would not talk about his sister. Putting aside the uneasiness settling in my mind and the hard look on my dad’s face, I asked my dad about Katie.
“Dad,” I said, waiting for him to look up before finishing, “why don’t you talk about Katie? I didn’t even know that you had a sister.” A quick look from my mom almost made me regret the bringing up the topic.
My dad had turned away from the photo of Maera when my mom tried to show it to him. I don’t think he had even noticed that there was another photo on the table. He saw the photo now, and despite his wince, picked it up.
“Wow,” he muttered, “I can’t believe how alike they look.” He looked up at me, and stared at me as if he had never really seen me before “Even you, you look so much like my sister Katie. I never knew Maera, but look,” he said, pausing, but not turning the pictures for anyone else to see. “Isn’t it amazing how much the three of you look alike? It’s uncanny.”
My mom smiled warmly at him. She patted his arm in support, but I had not gotten an answer to my question yet. I doubted I’d have another chance any time soon to bring it up, so I pushed a little harder.
“But, why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”
“If I hadn’t taken her out riding that day, you would have been able to get to know her yourself,” he snapped. The photos dropped back to the table as he stood up and turned away. His meal was only half finished, but I stared at his back as he stalked out of the kitchen.
“Arra,” my mom sighed, “I told you he didn’t like to talk about Katie. Why did you have to bring it up?” She quickly cleared the dishes and put them in the sink before moving to follow after her husband.
I felt awful for pushing my dad, but why should I? I was just trying to find out about my own family. My dad should not pretend that Katie never existed. It was a terrible thing to do to someone.
“But, mom,” I said. She stopped and turned back. “I get that it’s hard for him to talk about her, but how could he just forget she ever existed?”
“Arra, he hasn’t forgotten. That’s the problem. He thinks about her all the time and blames himself for getting her killed. Would you want to talk about something like that all the time?” she asked.
“What if it happened to me, mom? Would everybody just stop talking about me and put away all the pictures of me, just so it wouldn’t hurt as bad? Could you do that?” I asked. I felt like I was on the verge of tears. I didn’t understand why I was so upset about this, but when my mom hurried over to my side, I wrapped my arms around her and tried to hide my tears.
“Honey, please don’t judge your dad so harshly. Maybe one day he’ll be able to talk about Katie more, but you have to give him time. And don’t worry about anyone forgetting you. I would never let that happen,” my mom said with an extra tight squeeze of my shoulders. “But why are we even talking about that. Nothing is going to happen to you. Just put it out of your mind for now, okay?”
Put it out of my mind. That was exactly what I did not want to happen, for me or the girls in the photos. But what else could I say. “Okay, Mom. I’m sorry I brought it up.” With a satisfied nod my mom left the kitchen and headed towards her room where I knew my dad was waiting. I wanted to believe my mom when she said nothing was going to happen to me, but as I looked down at the pictures again, I couldn’t help but feel that she was very wrong.
Chapter Five
My mom’s quiet steps whispered across the beige carpet when she came back from talking with my dad. She did not go back to sorting photos. Instead I heard the ripping of packing tape off of boxes in the kitchen. I could see her emptying each box of kitchen supplies and finding places for them as I walked out of my bedroom and across the living room floor. I got the hint that we were done sorting photos for the day, but I wanted to know more about the girls, and I knew exactly who to go to for answers.
My parents had forced me to move to the middle of nowhere for one main reason. To be closer to my grandfather. He was lonely in his old house, and his weekly invitations to visit were rarely accepted when we lived in Manhattan because of the distance and my dad’s busy job. Even though before the move I had only seen my grandfather once or twice a year, and even less over the past few years, I remembered the visits well and looked forward to seeing him each time.
My grandpa’s stories had always entertained and enthralled me. I remembered sitting in his lap for hours as a small girl as he fed me cookies and tall tales. Even now I could easily sit down with him to hear about crab fishing in Alaska or trekking through South American jungles. I knew he would gladly talk about most any topic, but would he tell me anything more about Maera and Katie than my dad had?
He would not be too afraid to talk about a sister who died nearly fifty years ago, would he? My mom said that I just needed to give my dad time to come to grips with his guilt over Katie’s death. How much time did it take, though? Something told me I could not afford to wait too long for answers. Thinking of ways to approach the subject of Maera’s death, I piled a stack of stray photos back into a box and wandered into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom,” I began, “would it be okay if I went to see Grandpa this afternoon?”
My mom smiled. “I would love for you to spend some time with Grandpa, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Why,” I asked, my voice dangerously close to whining. Did she have some other pointless task for me to do?
“Your grandpa had to go to the city for a doctor’s appointment today. He’ll be back this evening,” she said. “Why don’t you plan on visiting him tomorrow morning?”
“Why couldn’t Dad just check him out?” I knew my constant complaining irritated my mom on a regular basis, especially lately, but it annoyed me that the one time I really wanted to visit Grandpa was the one day I couldn’t. My mom was constantly reminding me that growing up often meant things did not always go the way you wanted them to. Every time she said it just made me clench my teeth in frustration and wish time would speed up for me. Things always seemed to work out just fine for the adults I knew. I was the only one who was constantly being handed the short stick.
“Your father is not a cardiologist, Arra. I think it is a much wiser choice for Grandpa to continue seeing his regular doctor.” Her eyes rolled lightly in my direction, though a little less poignant than usual. “I’m sure his stories will keep until tomorrow.”
“They don’t even have the doctors they need in this town,” I muttered under my breath. I knew that in all actuality that issue had been the exact reason the local hospital had been so ecstatic to hire my dad. Grainer had a hospital half the size of what a real hospital would be and not enough doctors to staff even that. Nobody wanted to move to Grainer. Nobody but my parents.
I started to leave the kitchen, but the thought of spending another day sitting alone in my box filled room sounded much less appealing than usual. Perhaps it was the photos I had decided to put away in my nightstand after lunch. I did not want to go near them at the moment. Every time I looked at them, the girl’s smiles seemed a little less happy and somewhat more desperate. It had been a very strange morning. I wanted a break from my dad’s foul mood, my mom’s smothering concern, and the strange pictures.
“Do you mind if I go walk around town, then. I need to get out of the house for a while.”
The surprise on my mom’s face was enough to make me laugh. She had nearly been reduced to threats earlier that day just to get me to run to the grocery store. The change that had come over me was abrupt, but my mom always knew how to make the best of any situation.
“That sounds lovely, dear. Just don’t wander off anywhere, and be home in time for supper,” my mom cautioned. “I might need some help getting dinner ready tonight.”
I could not imagine anything too dreadful, or even vaguely interesting, happening to me in this tiny town, but twenty-five years living in Manhattan was hard for my mom to overcome. Pleasure that I was finally leaving the house of my own accord was mixed with worry on her motherly face. It would be nearly impossible for my mom to adjust in the few short weeks since we had moved. Even I still felt the need to peek over my shoulder when walking alone through the town. That little hint of fear in my mom’s eyes felt oddly natural. I would have been more bothered if my mom didn’t worry than by her cautious nature.
I doubt I could even get into trouble here if I wanted to, I thought. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I just want to see what’s here.”
“Have fun, dear.”
A soft breeze blew through the little town as I walked its length. Glancing at the shop windows, I found nothing that caught my interest. Wandering away from the main road, I turned randomly down some of the side streets. When the hard pavement eventually turned to gravel the change made me pause, but only for a moment. The main bulk of the town could still be seen easily. I strained my eyes and thought I could even see my house from where I stood.
Kicking pebbles along the way, it felt good being out of the house, out of my room especially. I had barely come out since the move in protest of being here, but after the first few days it had become incredibly boring. Of course I could have entertained myself forever if I had just unpacked my room. Somewhere in those boxes were my computer and video games and DVD’s. If I had unpacked though, it would hardly have looked like I was angry about moving.
I sighed. It made no sense, of course, and only made me even more miserable while my parents simply went about their business, but I felt like I had to make some kind of attempt at protest. As I took in the sweet smells of the trees and plants and let the wind toss my hair, I had a feeling that I would start unpacking my room soon enough.
A quick rustling of leaves, followed by a small rabbit darting across the road, drew a strangled cry from me. My heart was pumping as I watched it disappear into another set of bushes. Annoyed that the animal had surprised me so much, I kicked a rock in the direction it had run.
“It’s just a rabbit,” someone said. A quick laugh followed the voice.
Spinning around I looked for the source. I hadn’t seen anyone else on the dirt road since stepping onto it. It was the main reason I’d kept going. I had assumed it was just an access road to the nearby forest. Three boys, about my age, or maybe a little older, watched me from less than ten feet away. I couldn’t stop myself from gawking at them. Where had they come from? A crimson blush crept over my cheeks until the laughter started again. My eyes narrowed. What were they doing just standing there laughing at me? I wished I had another rock to kick at them.
“Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you,” the middle one said. “We’ve just never seen anyone get so scared by a rabbit before.”
“I wasn’t scared of it,” I snapped, “it just startled me. I’m just not used to Bambi’s little friends running under my feet.”
The shortest of the three snickered again, but a swift elbow to the ribs from the leader ended it quickly. Embarrassed and annoyed at their immaturity, I turned away, just wanting to continue my walk. If these three were the only boys in town, I could definitely do without dating for the next few years. The crunch of gravel behind me only made me walk faster.
“Wait a minute,” the same boy who had elbowed his friend called out. Running over to me, he came up short right in front of me, forcing me to either stop walking or run right into him. I stopped. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to embarrass you. Evan can be a real jerk sometimes.”
Evan. That must have been the chuckler’s name. Evan and the quieter one were still in their original positions. “What are you guys doing out here?” My desire for a quiet place to think had led me to the gravel path, but I could not fathom the reason anyone else would want to come out here. It was just a dirt path through the trees. What on earth do you do in a place like this?
The boy held up his right hand. At first I thought he was trying to keep me from walk off, but that hardly made any sense since I was still just standing in front of him. Then I realized he was trying to show me something. A leather strip draped from his middle finger to his wrist and was held in place by thin leather ties. The strap meant nothing to me. Was it some kind of backwoodsy jewelry? If it was, I’d have to make it a point to never get into that fad. My expression must have relayed as much.
“Archery,” he explained. “We were shooting at targets in the field.” He gestured to the field behind where his friends were standing.
I was shocked to find three portable targets sitting amid the tall grass. The brightly colored rings were plainly visible from the road. I had not even noticed them before. I looked back and the other two, one of them, the quiet one, still had a bow in his hand. How did I not notice that, I wondered, even more annoyed with myself than before. I was pretty used to being careful about who and what was around me when I was alone. Shaking my head, I marveled at how much this place was already affecting me.
“Oh,” was all I could say.
“What, you’ve never seen a bow and arrow before either?” he asked.
“No, actually, I haven’t.” My smug voice matched my stance, but the sweet smile in the boy’s face made me falter. “Except for on TV, if that counts.”
“Not really,” he said, his smile growing even wider. He shrugged his shoulders and looked back at his friends before turning back to me. Extending his hand, he said, “I’m Tanner. You must be the new doctor’s kid, right?”
My smile slipped immediately. I hated small towns. Was that how I’d be known for the next few years? The new doctor’s kid? I managed to force a smile back on my face before I tried to speak again. “Yep, that would be me. My name’s Arra though.”
“Arra, huh?”
“Arrabella, actually, but I prefer Arra,” I said.
“Cool, I like it,” Tanner said. He was a completely random person, who could turn out to be a total freak for all I knew, but the fact that he liked my name had me trying to hide a delighted smile. He was pretty cute.
Motioning for his friends to join us, Tanner pointed to the shorter one. “This is Evan and that’s Jackson.” The quiet one raised a hand with a quick wave.
“Where are you from?” Tanner asked.
“Manhattan,” I replied, wishing I was there now. The three boys looked impressed, like being born in a big city was some kind of accomplishment. They should have been looking at me with pity.
“How do you like Grainer?” Evan asked.
I made a face that made answering unnecessary.
“That bad, huh?” Tanner said with a laugh.
“I miss the city,” I admitted.
“Grainer’s not so bad,” the quiet Jackson replied.
“There’s nothing to do here.”
“There’s archery,” Tanner said. “Come on, we’ll show you.”
Evan and Jackson started back toward the field where the targets were set up. Tanner lagged behind, probably making sure I was not going to run off. I looked back at the dirt road. There was no chance of returning to the peaceful walk now. Reluctantly, I followed Tanner into the high grasses.
I had never really enjoyed participating in sports, but watching the boys practice did seem like it might be a welcomed distraction. My thoughts had been consumed by strange dreams and disturbing photos all day. Suddenly playing at bows and arrows with three teenage boys sounded very appealing, if somewhat dangerous.
Chapter Six
Evan and Jackson were already back in their places when I walked up behind them. I watched Evan ready his first shot, and had to stifle a laugh when I saw Tanner creeping up behind him. The second before Evan took his shot, the end of Tanner’s bow thumped Evan’s elbow, making the arrow spring out of his hands and land at my feet. Evan took a swing at Tanner, but was smiling as he did it. I tossed the arrow back to Evan and decided to move much further to the side of them.
Staying safely out of the way, I watched the guys practice. The quiet Jackson hit the target more often than the others, even if Evan celebrated his few successes louder than any of his friends. Tanner ended up practicing on the target nearest me and managed to question me about Manhattan and what kind of activities I liked while he worked. Despite the cloud hanging over me, I actually started to enjoy myself. I clapped when one of the guys hit the center of the target, but left the ribbing to them.
“Do you want to try?” Tanner asked suddenly.
I stared at him stupidly. Was he joking? Evan snorted, rolling his eyes. That was all it took. Throwing a withering look at Evan, I jumped up. “Sure,” I said, reaching for the bow. The weight of it surprised me. Heavier than I expected, the metal bow dipped my hand slightly. I wanted to hold it with two hands, but I was pretty sure that would make holding the arrow quite a bit harder. “If you’ll help me, that is.”
Tanner smiled and stepped in closer to me. Was he hoping I’d say that?
“No problem. Come over here,” he said. Tanner showed me where to place my hand on the bow. “This is the riser. You want to look right along the top of the riser to sight the target.”
“Okay,” I said. Tanner’s two friends moved back, a few yards behind me. Jackson looked a little worried. Evan just looked like he was getting ready to laugh. “Are you sure you want me to try this?”