by Rae Craig
Harriet straddled her bike, admiring the shiny metal basket and the red and white streamers bursting out the handles. The cushy black seat felt brand new. Dana and Ella wore face-cracking smiles from astride their bikes. With a silent signal they jumped on and stand-up pedaled at top speed through the village, whoops of excitement bouncing back and forth. Mom, Dad and Grandma waved from the shophouse porch. Dad must have something in his eyes, because he took his glasses off to rub them.
Dana peeled off at his house, his mom and dad waiting on the porch. Rosa smiled warmly while Hetric crossed his arms tight over his chest.
Ella peeled off at her farm driveway, shouting back at Harriet. “See you on May Day! See you at the Rose garden!” She jumped off her bike and with another whoop of excitement, ran through the open barn door, calling: “I’m back! I’m back!”
Harriet slowed down going up the hill next to the barnyard. Wonderful ideas of exploring the valley on their bikes spread out before her as she pedaled. She had gone from worrying about arriving late for bard training to knowing she would be early.
She would stop and have another look at those rings on the grave stones. The adults had acted funny when she had asked about the carvings. Normally when a young person asks a question, adults are eager to show they know the answer, but when they sort of sit real still and say just enough to answer and no more, that’s when they’re hiding something.
She leaned her bike against a tree and found Grandpa Hoier’s head stone. New baby leaves peaked out at the tips of his rose bush. Like she had planned, the raspberry colored blossoms would reach around to frame the inscription:
Clarence Hoier
Once<>Now<>Always
Lifemate of Helen Morak
Father of Jenny Wren
Grandfather of Clarence and Harriet
Above the inscription, nested rings with a center cup-like depression stood out in high relief from the granite. Nearby, Grandma Jameson’s headstone had the same rings, but Grandpa Jameson’s did not. Harriet examined several stones where moss had softened the lettering, but the rings were always moss free.
A graphite rubbing pencil balanced on the top edge of an older stone. Dana said he took rubbings of interesting carvings, so maybe he knew what the rings meant. He heard talk at the mill and had spent every summer with his dad, so he knew more about Shi-octon Valley than she did. But why did he hide from her on that first day? He wasn’t shy, just not a random talker.
Across the cemetery was the grave where Mom and Dad had huddled together all weak and worm-like. That was where Harriet would not and could not go. From here she couldn’t see the inscription, but her imagination forced a image into her mind:
Clarence Jameson
Once<>Now<>Always
Twin of Harriet
Son of Donnell and Jenny Wren
At the top of that headstone, double rings stood out clearly, even from this distance. If that was such an important symbol, why wouldn’t the adults talk about it?
A heavy wood gate stood ajar in the stone wall, inviting her to explore the woods behind the cemetery, but it was time to leave.
Fast pedaling took her around a curve and down the straight-away to the New River Bridge. She coasted faster and faster down the long slope using the foot brakes for control. Because she could, Harriet took her hands off the handlebars, feeling like she was flying with arms raised high in the air. Holding the handles again, she slowed down to ease onto the ramp-like river access, skidding to a stop in front of the lonely white house.
Theo Laird watched from a second story balcony above a large bay window. She saw Harriet and disappeared inside. The house gleamed white in the sun, light and airy with many windows, but constructed of grainy white stone and not painted wood as Harriet had thought. As Harriet raised her fist to knock, Theo threw open the door, slamming it back against the wall and adding to the big dent made by many previous door slams. There was no welcome, only Theo grabbing Harriet’s elbow to hurry her inside. Sunlight streamed through windows from the nearby stairwell, lighting up a white paneled entry hall. Harriet guessed that a closed door at the back led to the kitchen. Theo jerked open double doors into the bay windowed parlor. Gloom creeped out into the bright hallway. Heavy curtains smothered the parlor’s windows without a crack of light invading. What a shame not to see the river below and the bridge above. A painting over the fireplace caught reflected sunshine from the entry hall, lighting up horses pulling riders in carts with wooden wheels. She tried to make out more details, but Theo started barking instructions.
“Call me Theo. Not Mrs. Laird. Not with the connections you have.” She herded Harriet into the forlorn room. “Stand on this stool. Hold this drum. Hold this beater.”
Harriet balanced on a low stool, a leather topped wood drum cradled between her left elbow and her chest. The stout beater was carved in endless swirls, as was the drum. Sunlight bounced off the entry floor and dazzled her eyes.
Theo stated. “That is my drum and beater. You will make one for yourself. Be careful with mine.” The two black dogs from the truck strolled in and faced Harriet, as if to watch the show. Theo stepped back and clapped her hands in a simple three beat rhythm. “CLAP----clap--clap. CLAP----clap--clap. CLAP----clap—clap.”
She barked. “You must beat that on the drum.”
Harriet beat the drum.
“BEAT----beat--beat. BEAT----beat--beat.”
“Do not hold that beater like a hammer! Hold it like a pencil.” Theo snatched it up to show her, then shoved it back into Harriet’s hand,
“BEAT----beat--beat. BEAT----beat--beat.
BEAT----beat--beat.”
Harriet felt awkward, not only with the drum, but the stool wobbled with each beat.
“Do not stop! Practice that cadence till you do not even have to think about it- all the time.”
Harriet would look silly carrying the drum around, and anyway, what did this have to do with bard training?
“Beat the cadence while you say these words:
Once.
The Brydger and our-people sorrowed.
Ancient memories gone, connection to Founders lost.”
Harriet swallowed and started the cadence.
“BEAT----beat--beat. BEAT----beat--beat.
Once. The Brydger and-”
“No. Slower. With more power. Do not make the cadence loud; it is the undercurrent.”
Harriet swallowed.
“BEAT----beat--beat. BEAT----beat--beat.
ONCE. THE BRYDGER AND Our-”
“Not louder! More powerful! Separate your words. Leave a long pause after Once.”
Again and again and again. Each time Theo corrected her, Harriet felt herself getting worse instead of better. Theo never explained how to do any of this, just shouted demands when Harriet did not do it right. After almost two hours, Harriet was about done and the dogs snored at her feet.
She started again, fed up and disconnected, like she was watching herself from a distance. Waves of darkness pulsed at the edges of her vision.
She beat the cadence.
“BEAT----beat--beat. BEAT----beat--beat.
BEAT----beat--beat.”
With a voice from the ages, she intoned:
“Once.
The Brydger and our-people sorrowed.
Ancient memories gone, connection to Founders lost.
BEAT----beat--beat.
BEAT----beat--beat. BEAT----beat--beat.”
Silence watched from the shadows. The dogs stood at attention, their blue eyes connecting directly into Harriet’s brown.
Theo threw up her arms. “Full of connections!”
Harriet’s jelly legs collapsed to drop her butt onto the stool. Where had that come from? She had not only performed the lines exactly the way she knew in her heart they should be, but she had actually lived with the Brydger and our-people in their world, the same way she had become the stone mason building the Rose folly.
Harriet had been one with our-pe
ople in the night. The Brydger’s dark face had been hidden under a curly black beard, our-people gathered around him in sadness. Flickering orange light had reflected from a huge bonfire, throwing half their faces into shadow. What was the Brydger? Who were our-people? While she had shared their lives she had been one with them, but now it was all muddled.
Theo jerked the drum away from her. “You leave now. I will bring my drum and beater to Helen’s. You cannot take it on that bike. Practice all the time. Everyone knows you are training; they will expect it.” She grabbed the drum away from Harriet.
“Come back Mid-week.” She shoved Harriet out the door and slammed it, making the surrounding windows rattle.
Harriet stood on the step; confused by two hours of extreme concentration, her lack of understanding, and her sudden ability to bard. She knew if she barded those lines right now, no way could she even keep the cadence and speak at the same time. Hanging high over her head the spidery blue bridge calmed her.
Pedaling up the long rise from the river, she juggled her daily schedule in her head, trying to come up with a way to practice while still riding her bike. Ideas rolled around in her mind, but she couldn’t figure out a way to make it work.
Chapter Thirteen
May Day Morning
Mom opened the oven to stir the baked beans and smiled over at Harriet. “Someone hung a May basket on our door this morning.”
The rich smell of brown sugar and sorghum molasses made Harriet hungry as Mom arranged bacon over the beans. It would brown and crisp, adding salty flavor to the sweet.
Harriet grinned down at the bread she was spreading with nut butter. “Who could have done that?” She took a bite and mumbled as she chewed. “I’ve heard some stuff about May Day, but where is the picnic?”
“On the Commons.” Mom closed the oven door. “We’ll set out the potluck dishes in the dance hall and put the tables and chairs outside. The bonfire tonight is next to Glenmere.” Mom set a picnic basket on the table. “When you’re done there, pack plates, glasses and silverware and tuck a tablecloth in so stuff doesn’t rattle around.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s up building the bonfire.” She walked to the dining room and opened her drop front secretary. “I’m going to work here until the beans are done.”
Harriet finished arranging the basket and walked out the door. “I’m going up to watch Dad.”
But instead of turning right toward the Commons, her feet propelled her to the left past the mill, where a pickup truck was parked next to the saw mill door. She sped up to avoid Hetric Rethic, but instead, Dana came out and threw an armload of wood into the truck.
He brushed sawdust off his shirt. “Where’re you going?”
“I guess I’m going to the Rose garden.” She paused to search for a reason. “We need to plan our attack.”
“I’ll go.” He closed the tailgate.
Harriet trotted to keep up with his long legs. After they crossed the bridge she pointed ahead and shouted. “Somebody’s cutting trees in our garden!”
They scrambled down into the ditch and peered into the gap left by the cut saplings. Sawing noises came from under the next tree and there squatted Ella, but she didn’t notice them until Dana touched her shoulder.
“Oh!” She tilted her head up, blue eyes peering through her bangs. “You scared me! I’m investigating how we can tackle this mess.”
Harriet scowled. “Do you always carry a saw when you investigate?”
Ella looked down and laughed. “I figured we needed space to get Dana’s cart in here.”
The sound of wheels on gravel filtered through the thicket.
“Oh look. The outcast girl and her pitiful best friends.” A tall pale girl with hands on hips stood next to her empty wagon, looking down at them from the road’s edge and not thinking much of what she saw. Harriet remembered her; she was that rude girl making those so-called important deliveries on the first day. Harriet was afraid Ella would be upset about being called pitiful, but instead a beaming smile lit up the girl’s crystal blue eyes. Harriet realized the tall girl had called Ella and Dana her best friends. Those two important words were all Ella had heard.
Dana stepped out into the ditch to watch the conversation.
Harriet scrambled up onto the road, tugging sticks out of her hair. “I’m Harriet and this is Ella.” She pulled Ella up beside her and waved toward Dana. “And that’s Dana.”
She pointed to the wagon. “Are you making more important deliveries this morning?”
Clarence had practiced with her, so she could answer rude comments with pleasant conversation. He told her that would make the rude person madder than anything and would not get her into trouble like punching them did.
“Not that you need to know, but I’m Stevie. Now get out of my way, outcast.” She lifted her chin in the air and jerked the wagon toward the village, but turned around after just a few steps. “Oh, and sidekick best-friends; this outcast girl will contaminate you.”
Harriet asked in amazement. “Who is that girl?”
Ella answered. “She’s Stevie Gribes and her mom’s pottery stand is right next to our stand at Market. Yesterday she whined all morning about being forced to move heavy boxes and then when it came time to actually move them, she was nowhere to be found.” Ella still beamed that delighted smile. She had paid no attention to Stevie’s rudeness and had only heard two words: best friends.
Dana looked around while they talked. He moved closer to a small tree and pointed. “You stopped sawing on this one.”
Harriet and Ella scrambled down to join him.
“The tree goes under a rock and I was afraid I’d chip the granite.”
They squatted down, but couldn’t see much. Dana stood and forced two saplings apart, stepping through the gap onto the rock. They could see his feet, but his body was hidden by leaves.
He said. “Come in here.”
Ella and Harriet stood with Dana on a large flat rock. Harriet knelt and brushed away a thick layer of dirt, uncovering granite with more rose crystals than black.
Dana knelt next to her. “Here’s an edge.”
They crawled around on the flat stone. Ella said “It’s about four feet wide.”
Harriet asked. “Is that a guess?”
Ella held up her arm. “From my fingertips to my elbow is seventeen inches, it comes in handy to space out plants. This stone measures a little less than three arms.”
Harriet laid down. “My head is right at the top and I’m five two.”
Dana paced heel to toe below Harriet’s feet. “That’s four of my ten inch feet.”
Harriet sat up. “62 and 40, that’s eight and a half feet.” She looked at his shoes. “Do you use your feet to measure plants?”
“To space lumber orders.” He considered the enclosing thicket. “We can measure how thick the stone is after we clear this out.”
Sunlight shone down on them from between arching branches. They discussed how to clean the stone and decided who would bring what supplies.
A scuff and a gasp came from outside their hideaway. Rosa said. “Sorry---I stubbed my toe. Dana, I need you to carry a cake.”
Ella emerged last and slipped something small and shiny into her pocket. Harriet figured it was probably a stone for her terrarium.
As they passed the antique store Grandma stepped off her porch carrying a covered dish. She smiled. “I see you’re busy this morning.” She opened the gate and grinned at Harriet. “Do you know who hung a May basket on my door this morning?”
Harriet and Ella looked at their feet and grinned.
Grandma joined the girls walking behind Rosa and Dana. “Ella, Harriet’s Grandma Jameson loved May Day.”
Harriet asked. “Was there a special reason?”
“I think it’s because she was chosen May Queen when she was your age.”
Ella said. “Will there be a May Queen today? What does she do?”
“There is always a May Que
en and May King. The queen wears a crown of flowers and the king wears one of ferns.” Grandma looked into Ella and Harriet’s eyes. “To be chosen is a great honor.”
Chapter Fourteen
May Day Celebration
On the Commons, the band stand was decorated with greenery and flowers and near it, a tall pole had long braids of green and white ribbons hanging from the top. Flowers and ferns crowned what Harriet assumed was the May Pole. Tables and chairs were scattered under the pine trees over by the dance hall and on a rise next to Glenmere, an enormous pile of wood was assembled, with the area around it free of grass.
Harriet, Ella and Dana carried Rosa’s cakes and Grandma’s dish into the dance hall. Salads, baked dishes, vegetable creations and of course desserts fascinated them and they could hardly wait to try them all.
Grandma waved at them from under the pine trees where she was setting a long table with a cheerful jumble of different tablecloths and dishes. She handed them rhubarb snack bars. “Seeing that food has made you starving beasts, but we won’t eat till later.”
Musicians were setting up on the bandstand, arranging chairs and instruments. May Giffin sat with a drum cradled between the crook of her elbow and a more than ample bosom. With both ends of her beater moving faster than Harriet could follow, she played a complicated get-up-and-dance rhythm. Harriet didn’t think she could ever learn to play that fast.
They sat on a bench to watch, Harriet’s thoughts drifting back to the morning after her first barding lesson.
“Grandma?” Harriet had called as she pushed open the shophouse door.
Grandma called down from her garret bedroom. “Harriet, look on the kitchen table.”
