by Rae Craig
Her voice rang out like a bell. “For our son, Clarence!” She thrust forward with her flaming torch. “WOOSH.” Flames completely engulfed the bonfire.
What could Harriet do? Everyone had heard! Everyone would ask about her brother.
Harriet spun and fled toward home, already picking up speed after only three desperate leaps. “BANG!” She slammed flat into Hetric Rethic and fell on her butt. He reached down with both hands to pull her up.
Harriet yelled. “Excuse me! Excuse me. I’m fine. I don’t need help.” At least that’s what she meant to say; she had no idea what actually came out of her mouth.
Hetric Rethic grasped her shoulders, easily setting her on her feet. He gazed at her with a serious, but not unkind expression. Then she did the dangerous thing. She looked into his eyes.
Moments stretched into eternity. His eyes became eyes-within-eyes, like that trick with mirrors where reflections go on forever. But the deepest eyes were not Hetric Rethic’s, they were her brother’s eyes, connecting directly into Harriet’s heart. Not like a photo, but with an alive connection to his twin. Time expanded. In that eternity of an instant, Clarence gifted his absolute permission for her to remember him and miss him, but truly live without him.
She stumbled back, releasing Hetric Rethic’s grip and breaking eye contact.
He straightened up, pulled down his shirt and pointed. “Ella and Dana are over by the May Pole.”
Ella called. “Over here, Harriet, we’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Harriet’s heart still hammered wildly. Dana reached out as soon as she got close, touching her shoulder and giving her an encouraging smile.
Ella said. “Where have you been?”
“For a while I watched the bonfire,” She looked at Ella, gauging from her expression that she had not picked up on Mom’s reference to Clarence.
She turned and made eye contact with a soft-eyed Dana, who obviously had. “Then I crashed full out into your dad.”
She smiled back at Ella. “I’m so glad you’re May Queen; you deserve it.”
“I thought I broke the May Pole! I was so scared.”
Harriet remembered Ella’s desperate whisper: “I broke the May Pole! What should I do?” Now, instead of her usual fear of the blue-eyed girl’s need to be her friend, Harriet realized she felt comfortable in that friendship. Dana’s touch did not irritate her, it made her know he had heard Mom’s “For our son!” and understood, but wouldn’t intrude.
They walked past the bonfire, its leaping flames reflecting out onto Glenmere. Further down the bank, the hill above the lake outlet loomed as a dark shadow. Right in the middle of that darkness a flickering light shone out over the water.
Harriet pointed. “There’s a light over there.”
Dana said. “It’s coming from inside the outlet tunnel.”
They soon stood on top of the hill and looked over the edge. Ella said. “Is there somebody in there?”
They scrambled down the backside of the hill, glints of light reflecting off the water shooting out the tunnel and over a waterfall. Massive wood doors stood wide open, held back by iron hooks buried in the granite walls. Leading into the tunnel, narrow walkways bordered both sides of the rushing water. The stone ceiling rose high over their heads and crystals in the walls sparkled in the light. With Harriet leading the way, they shuffled sideways along the ledge with their backs to the wall, so close together that their arms touched.
On the other side of the channel a stone lamp lit up a niche, surrounded by carved rings that danced in the flickering light. Next to Harriet’s shoulder, another lamp shown from an identical niche and shadows brought out the details of the rings carved into the granite.
Harriet said. “It’s a ring within a ring, like the gravestones.”
Ella said. “What do they mean?”
Harriet answered. “I can’t get anyone to talk about it.” She touched the outer ring with her finger. “I’ve read about rings carved into standing stone circles on a lonely island far away. Archeologists discovered that the ancient people suddenly disappeared, but have no idea why or where they went. I asked Grandma Hoier about the rings, but she changed the subject and the adults acted nervous.”
Ella leaned forward over the water to see ahead. “There’s a doorway just past the light on both sides.”
They bunched up in the opening. Inside, another lamp lit a spacious round room, with stone shelves and bins alternating around the wall. The stacked stone walls tapered upward to a pointed dome. Harriet walked into the snug room, but stumbled over a hearth in the center. The hearth ring was higher than the floor and difficult to see in the lamp light. On the far wall, light shone from another doorway.
They were through that doorway in a second. Another lamp lit room, with shelves and bins and a child sized opening into darkness on the far side. They hurried over and ran their fingers over swirls carved around the opening. The flickering light made the swirls seem to move like snakes. Although only blackness flowed out of the space, she felt a tingling around her eyes, as if they were straining to see an energy other than light.
Dana shielded his eyes, like he stared into the sun. He backed away, tears streaming down his cheeks. Harriet saw the lamps reflection flash over his grey irises, noticing for the first time a brown ring circling his right pupil and a gold ring around his left. That’s what gave him that lopsided friendly look she had not been able to figure out.
Ella peered in. “It’s empty, and it’s so small.”
Dana wiped his eyes with his t-shirt. “We need to come back.”
Ella said. “Harriet can bring her archaeology stuff.”
Harriet agreed. “There could be deposits between the stones or in the hearths. What we find will tell us more about all this. Too bad we can’t do carbon14 dating to find out when people lived here.”
Dana considered for a moment. “Mom got a letter from Professor Persa at the college. They’re doing test runs on their new carbon14 equipment.” He deliberately turned his back on the dark chamber. “They need more samples and he sent instructions.”
Harriet knew that the carbon14 tests would tell them how long ago the people lived here. Now she just had to accept how great Dana’s idea was even though it wasn’t hers.
Chapter Sixteen
Drum
“You have the touch, but that drum of Theo’s is made for keeping a cadence, not playing music.” Sitting with Harriet back in the store’s food prep area, May swung her own drum under the crook of her arm and pointed out how features of her drum and Theo’s could be combined. “The drum you build yourself will connect the music you play to your inner rhythm.”
May made Harriet’s first lesson enjoyable, sharing funny stories of mistakes she had made when first learning to play. Harriet felt no strange reaction to the rhythms other than the urge to dance around.
Harriet had no idea how to make a drum. May said she must do it herself, with just minimal advice from Dad and Harriet had not even known he could play.
May explained. “Everyone in Shi-octon learns to play an instrument, but most people eventually give it up because they’re just not musicians at heart.”
As Giffin’s door jangled shut behind her, Harriet knew she would learn to play and even wanted to, at least for a while.
As she walked past Dad’s store window, she saw the antique desk she had cleaned last week. Belongings she had unearthed in the drawers helped her imagine the former owner. She had even discovered a secret compartment under the document drawer, but had found only a brittle slip of paper with ‘again’ scrawled in ink the color of dried blood.
May had told her Dana was sorting lumber today and Ella was scrambling up and down ladders cleaning cobwebs in their barn’s milking parlor. May had laughed and said Nori was not much for heights. After the parlor was spider free, those cows got their spring baths and haircuts and May said their best milker even got a blue ribbon tied in her top knot. Harriet figured May heard lots o
f news as people shopped and felt it was her duty to pass it on. Because May was curious about their work at the Rose garden, Harriet had shared their plans to clear the thicket, but secretly the Glenmere outlet tunnel was constantly on her mind. Although they had not discussed it, Harriet, Dana and Ella knew they must keep that project a secret.
Drops of rain fell on her glasses and Harriet ran the rest of the way home. Theo’s drum must not get wet. She sheltered in their open garage to catch her breath. On the workbench sat a drum rim made of striped wood and next to it lay two cross braces, a stiff slab of goat skin, and a wood rod about a foot long. She picked up the rim, running her fingers over the silky wood. She knew how hard it was to sand wood to just a semi smooth finish, so this silkiness must have taken hours, or even days. The braces were too long to fit inside the rim; how could she fix that? And she certainly couldn’t use this stiff skin, there must be something wrong with it. Finally, the wood rod was too thick and long to be a beater and there was no holding area in the middle. Midweek in two days would be her next barding lesson and there was no way she could finish the drum by then.
Donnell walked in, noticed his daughter’s frustration and ignored it. “You’ve found the drum.” He picked up the skin. “I remember when I built my drum. I couldn’t figure out how a ratty old goat skin could ever be part of the beautiful instrument I wanted to make.”
He lifted a hand saw from a hook, setting it on the workbench. Next to it he placed a hammer and short nails with flat, wrought iron heads. Over in the corner he whisked the cover off a shiny black machine that Harriet remembered from the farm’s workshop. Finally, from under the workbench came a metal wash basin.
Dad explained. “This will get you started. Soak the skin in hot water till it’s soft, then stretch it over the drum rim and hammer nails on opposite sides until they’re evenly spaced all around. It’ll shrink a lot, so don’t make it tight.” He pointed out the shallow groove around the rim. “That’s where the tacks go, then later when the skin is dry, you can glue a leather strip over them if you want.” He turned the rim over, running his fingers over the striped wood. “This is lightning wood. It catches fire very easily, so be careful.” He smiled at Harriet. “It makes a drum with a rich deep tone and I know you’ve always liked those kinds of sounds.”
“How long till it dries, because I go to Theo’s in two days?” She touched the cross pieces. “And these are too long.”
“It takes a few days, and the more rain we get the longer it’ll take.” He stepped over to the black machine. “This is Grandpa Hoier’s lathe. After he couldn’t do farm work anymore, he made walking sticks to sell at Market. When you were five years old, he made a frame for your birthday photo.” He hesitated a moment, a smooth but sad expression sliding over his face. After a shake of his head he said. “You’ll use the lathe to turn the rod into a beater, then add hand carving if you want.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll be working at my desk if you have any questions.” He hesitated. “Oh, and you sand the cross pieces to fit the rim, but don’t do that till the skin it completely dry.” He stopped, considering the rain. “The first time you use the lathe I’ll come out to show you how to use the gouges.” He pointed to a hook attached to the stand. “Always wear those safety glasses with power tools.”
Harriet carried a bucket of hot water up from the basement laundry area. Her hair got soaked in the warm rain and she didn’t care. After she submerged the skin in the basin, she laid Theo’s beautiful beater next to the blank rod. She wanted hers to be longer and with egg shaped ends. The lathe controls were pretty simple: off, on, and reverse. She lifted a rack of gouges from under the stand and chose the one that looked the most used. She secured the wood rod in the lathe’s holding brackets. Ready to go, but first she checked the basin.
After 30 minutes of soaking, the skin was soft and stretchy. She draped it over the drum rim with several inches hanging down around the outside. May had said. “If you put the thick part of skin in the middle of the drum, you can beat that area to change tone.” But by putting it slightly off-center she had a larger beating area away from the deeper tones. Holding a nail against the side, she gave it a sharp whack with the hammer, but the whole rim scooted over and the nail didn’t go in much. She butted the rim up to a vise attached to the workbench. With an old rag to pad between the rim and the vise, she could pound in the nails, as long as she was opposite to the vise. Turn- pound, turn- pound, turn- pound, she attached opposite sides of the skin, keeping the top slightly loose. The groove to hold the tacks was wide, so she did a zigzag pattern. That looked so good, with the black nails contrasting against the tan leather, she knew she wouldn’t cover it up.
After admiring her drum in the watery light from the open doors, she wondered if the lathe was plugged in. A quick switch to on and a loud whirring noise said yes, but Dad needed to be here when she used it the first time. Before getting him, she leaned the gouge on the tool rest, the tip almost touching the spinning rod.
As he walked in Dad said. “It stopped raining. If it looks like rain Midweek, Mom will give you a ride. You know how Theo Laird is about her drum.” He saw the skin attached to the drum rim and turned to the rod spinning in the lathe. “I heard you test the power. Is it working okay?” He smiled at her enthusiasm.
Harriet switched off the lathe. “I was coming to get you. What do you think about this gouge?”
Dad noticed her hand tremble a bit, even though she tried to hide it. “That’s a spindle gouge and it’ll work well for turning your beater.” He smiled at her. “You’re good at visualizing things, so trust your ideas. It’s easy to mess up though, so you can always get another rod if you need it.” He ran his finger over the rod. “Birds eye maple is brittle, so take it slow.”
Dad showed her how to use the gouge, which she had already figured out, but he spent most of the time going over safety rules. He went back inside after being careful to offer technical advice, but no hands on help.
Her hands trembled as she switched the lathe back on and used the gouge to chew away the rod as it spun. She removed only a tiny bit of wood at a time, standing back every few seconds to consider her work. She compared the spinning rod to the design she had in her head. Little by little, she chewed away at the wood, leaving graceful curves ending with egg shaped ends. Removing the beater from the lathe, she sawed off the extra wood on the ends and held the almost finished beater above the freshly attached drum skin. Sanding rounded off the beater’s too sharp ridges and grooves. First medium grit sandpaper, then finer and finer to make it as silky smooth as the rim. Time went by without her noticing. Where was the light switch in this garage?
The bare overhead bulb shone on the beater. Small circles were scattered through the wood, like bird’s eyes. On the ends where she had sawed off the extra wood, a flat area waited for a carved design. What about the cup and rings? Would that make the adults uncomfortable? She hoped so. With her pocket knife, she gouged out a round dimple in the middle and carved two rings around it. After doing the same on the other end, she deepened the carving until it matched the picture in her mind. Harriet was not as good at carving as Clarence, but this was pretty simple. From a shelf above the workbench she reached for the finishing oil and from a box underneath pulled out a soft rag. As she rubbed in the oil, the bird’s eyes darkened, contrasting with the lighter surrounding wood. She would add another coat after this one dried.
Harriet owned this beater: it was hers, just hers. Clarence had not been here to do the boring parts of the job and she could never expect that again. Maybe the boring parts added to your satisfaction at the end. But Clarence had always been so eager to help and that made him happy.
She carried her beater into the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were eating supper. Mom nodded at their food. “We didn’t want to interrupt you. I figured the potato soup could be reheated.”
Harriet placed her beater carefully between them on the table. Dad picked it up, turning it in every direction to inspect
it thoroughly. He rubbed his thumb over the double rings on the ends. “Grandpa Hoier would be proud. He made beautiful walking sticks and carved the Shi-octon rings on the head of every one of them.”
Harriet looked down at her beater for a moment and stated quietly. “I made this.”
Mom dished up potato soup and poured her daughter a glass of milk, then she and Dad took their coffee to the living room, leaving Harriet alone to think. Grandpa Hoier had made a picture frame on the lathe for their fifth birthday and she had found the other birthday photos in the attic, so maybe she would find the frame there. She washed her dishes and wiped off the table.
Upstairs, she made normal walking around noises in her bedroom, then tiptoed down the hall into the attic tucked under the kitchen roof. A pull chain turned on a bulb sticking out sideways from the wall and she rearranged boxes until she found the picture box. Inside was a mish mash of frames and photos; she had not left it neat after her last excavation. Buried in the bottom a warm wood frame held a photo of Clarence and herself facing each other, with boxing gloves raised, but instead of fighting they were laughing toward whoever held the camera. The frame was made of wood turned on a lathe and then split lengthwise so it was flat on the back.
The design followed a repeating pattern of two ridges and one valley with the Shi-octon rings engraved on the flat corners. She smoothed her fingers over the wood, thinking about Grandpa’s hand carving the rings.
The frame fit on her bookshelf next to the photo of Grandma Carrie, Dr. Don, Heart, and Captain Daddy posing in front of the Donnellson house. Clarence would have loved solving the scent bottle mystery. He would have been fascinated by Ella’s wonder at the world around her and would have understood Dana much better than she did.
She removed the hidden birthday photos from under her bottom drawer and organized them by year on her red star quilt. Fitting in the five-year-old photo, Harriet studied the pictures, twelve years of memories arranging themselves alongside the photos. After a long time she repacked the portraits, placed them in the bottom drawer instead of under it and set the five year old photo back on the bookshelf. She changed into her pajamas and went downstairs for a snack.
