Down to Earth

by Betty Culley

  “We hit the biggest gusher I’ve ever seen.” Lincoln’s usually quiet voice is raised.

  It’s not like Lincoln to speak up so loudly, and everyone turns to listen.

  “The town has all the water it needs now.”

  There are cheering and clapping and foot stamping all through the room.

  Lincoln holds his hand up, and everyone quiets down and waits for him to speak.

  “The person you have to thank isn’t me. It’s HENRY here, who dowsed for the water himself.”

  Then the people who cheered for Lincoln come over to shake my hand, pat me on the back, and thank me. Everyone talks at once.

  “Well done, Henry.”

  “I always knew you’d make this town proud.”

  “I guess like father, like son, when it comes to the dowsing gift.”

  I look for Dad. He’s in the living room staring at me. When I go over, his eyes are wet.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  Dad rubs his eyes.

  “I’m completely surprised. I had no idea you were going to try to dowse today.”

  “You didn’t think I could do it? Is that why you never asked me to dowse?”

  “Oh no.” Dad clears his throat and puts an arm around me. “That’s not why at all. My father was always talking about whether us boys had the gift. Then Lincoln did, and my father made a big fuss over it, but Braggy didn’t and I worried I wouldn’t, either. It was a hard thing wondering if I would let our father down, and I wasn’t having you troubled that way.”

  “Would you have minded if I couldn’t dowse?”

  “Will you care any less about Birdie if she can’t dowse?”

  “No.”

  “There you have it. It’s certainly good, but it’s not everything.”

  “One more thing.” I speak into his ear. “Before Lincoln drilled, I put the little stone that Dr. Morgan gave me on the bottom of the drill bit. I think it helped bring the water.”

  “I’d never have thought of that. I wish I could have seen the gusher.”

  I almost say I think the stone might also be what helped me find the water and I’m not a real dowser, but it feels good to have Dad’s arm around me.

  I check the room to see if Braggy is there. He’s sitting on a folding chair next to the desserts and holding a plate with three different slices of pie. He waves to me, stands up, and addresses the group.

  “No surprise to me! With Bower Brothers Well-Drilling, water is their business. When they drill, wells fill! Three generations, make that four generations now, at your service.”

  After his speech, Braggy sits down again and holds his plate in the air.

  “Get yourself some pie, Henry. See, I’m trying the apple, the blueberry, AND the pumpkin. Don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by not choosing their pies.”

  Along one wall of the living room there’s a stack of cardboard boxes that weren’t there before I left with Lincoln this morning.

  “What’s in those?” I wonder out loud.

  “They’re for your family,” Mrs. Gaucher answers. “We know you had to leave your house in a hurry, so people donated what they thought you could use. There’s clothes, boots, winter coats, even some toys for Birdie in that one there.” She points to a big box at the end.

  The box with toys in it has a stuffed cat that’s white and orange and black.

  “Look, Birdie.” I lift it up to show her. “Someone sent a calico cat for you.”

  She glances at it and shakes her head. I find another stuffed animal in the box. It’s a purple parrot puppet. If James was here, he’d make the puppet say something funny, but I try my best.

  “How about this one?” I put it on my hand and make the parrot’s mouth open and close. “Hi there, Birdie, I’d like to be your friend.”

  Birdie turns her back on it.

  Mrs. Kay points to one of the cardboard boxes. It’s marked for henry.

  “That’s for you,” she tells me. “Have a look. They were donated to the library years ago, and we already have a set.”

  In the box there are World Book encyclopedias in alphabetical order. They have black leather covers with gold letters on the bindings. The C and L volumes are missing, but all the others are there. I take out the R encyclopedia. It’s stamped discard on the inside.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Kay. All I have from my old set is M,” I say.

  All around the room neighbors talk to each other.

  “It’s a terrible thing, hurting an innocent boy.”

  “As if that boy hasn’t been through enough. Almost drowned with his mother, if she hadn’t been so clearheaded.”

  “We have a window that might fit that space.”

  “It’s not right, the things some ignorant people are saying.” Ms. Ouellette puts her hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Especially with you losing your house and poor James being hurt right in front of you.”

  Mom reaches up and squeezes the teacher’s hand. “We appreciate everything everyone’s done. We’re lucky in our friends and our community.”

  Mrs. Stockford, wearing an apron and holding a pie server, speaks to the crowd. “I want to say this. Marie’s husband, Tolman”—Mrs. Stockford nods to Nana, whose name is Marie—“drilled our well for just the cost of materials back when George got sick. He was there to plow the driveway when we came home from the hospital. And he raised three good boys who help their neighbors just like he did. Alice, don’t think I forgot who brought all those garden tomatoes and green beans to us when we couldn’t keep a garden.”

  Mom waves a hand in front of herself. “That’s what neighbors do,” she says.

  “That’s right. So you let us help you now,” Mr. Stockford says. “You need help building a house, Alice, we’ll be there with our tools. And you tell Wendell, he needs anything when James comes home, he doesn’t have to ask.”

  At the mention of James, some people look at me.

  “What are you hearing about the boy?”

  “He still hasn’t woken up,” Mom says. “I’m going to visit him in a bit. Wendell asked that Henry and I stop in today. He hasn’t hardly left the hospital since James got hurt.”

  “That poor child, losing his mama so young, and now this,” Mrs. Stockford says, and some people shake their heads.

  Fiona gives me a big envelope. When she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, I notice a Big Dipper constellation on her left cheek.

  “Our class made cards for James, for him to see when he wakes up. Can you bring them when you visit?”

  “Sure.” I take the envelope.

  “You’re the one who found the meteorite,” she says.

  “Yes, I saw it fall.”

  “I saw your picture in the paper. James always talked about you. He said you’re his best friend. He told me you’re building a stone wall. Can I see it?”

  “It’s underwater now.”

  “Sorry,” Fiona says.

  She sounds so genuinely sad I say, “I can build another wall sometime. There’s lots of good wall-building rocks around.”

  “When I help my parents at the store, I carry boxes of groceries out to people’s cars. Some of them are really heavy. So I can definitely move rocks around. Let me know when you start.”

  “Sure, it goes faster with two,” I answer.

  “Are you going to have some pie, like your uncle said?”

  I realize how hungry I am after being outside in the cold all morning.

  “Okay.”

  “We brought the pumpkin. You should try it, it’s really good.”

  Fiona cuts a piece of the pumpkin pie and hands it to me on a plate. Her hair is almost the same orange color as the pie. She watches while I take a small bite.

  “It’s very good. Very pumpkiny,” I say.

  “I don’t think that’s a word. Pumpkiny,” she says.
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  “You just said it,” I point out.

  “That doesn’t make it a word.”

  “Anyway, I like your pie. It’s very good.”

  “I know. So how come you’re homeschooled?”

  “My mom says I can learn whatever I want to right here. But each year I get to choose—home or school.”

  “Are you ever going to choose school?”

  “My sister might miss me if I was gone all day.”

  Birdie is swinging in her swing in the living room, still wearing the red tie. And I realize I just gave Fiona an answer that’s not really an answer.

  “She’s sweet.” Fiona waves at Birdie. “Did you know that all the seventh graders at school are getting their own laptop this fall? For free. All the seventh graders in Maine can get one.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said. “If I had a laptop, I could email the curator of the science museum. He came to see the rock and gave me his business card.”

  “You probably could, if you wanted to. Oh, and I heard about your house. I’m sorry it got flooded,” Fiona says.

  “Thanks. The meteorite is safe where it is, though. Do you want to see it sometime?”

  “Yes!”

  I see Mom getting her coat on.

  “I have to go. Thanks for the pie suggestion,” I say to Fiona, and hurry into the kitchen. I find one of Nana’s small canning jars and run the tap. If you didn’t know to look for them, you could hardly see the colors anymore. Maybe whatever minerals the rock pulled out of the earth are almost gone. I hope there’s enough left of whatever cured Miles Morgan and fixed Nana’s knees.

  I wait until I see flashes of green and yellow, put the jar underneath just in time to catch them, and seal the lid tight.

  The Clackamas Indians held the meteorite to be a sacred object and believed that a union occurred of the earth, sky and water when it rested in the ground and rainwater collected in its many folds and basins.

  —The New York Times, June 23, 2000

  JAMES HAS HIS own room in the hospital, and one wall is all glass. In the glass wall, there’s a glass door, and a nurse slides the glass door open for me and Mom to come in. James’s dad, Wendell, is standing behind the glass door.

  If you saw Wendell and James together, you’d know right away that they were related. Wendell’s hair is not as blond as James’s, but his eyes are the same bright blue. Today he looks like he forgot to pack a comb and a razor when he left for the hospital, because his hair sticks out on top and I don’t think he’s shaved in a while. He smiles when he sees us and gives Mom a hug.

  “It’s darn good to see you. It’s all strangers in this place,” Wendell says.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Mom answers, “and to see your boy.”

  “Your boy, too. We both know how James feels about you and your family. And I couldn’t keep doing shift work at the mill without your being there for him.” Wendell glances behind him where James lies. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get myself some lunch down in the cafeteria while you’re here. I hate to leave him alone, even if he’s not awake.”

  “Take your time,” Mom says. “We’ll be here.”

  Wendell lets himself out of the glass wall, and Mom sits down on a stool next to James’s bed.

  First, I look at everything in the room except James, who lies there as still as he did on Nana’s floor.

  At the bottom of the bed there are square buttons with up and down arrows that say head head bed bed foot foot.

  There are things attached to the wall over James’s head that look like they’re made from old plumbing parts. I can’t even guess what they’re used for. Plastic bags with coils of plastic tubing are hooked to the bed. It reminds me of the tubing the big maple syrup farms loop through the woods in spring. There’s a helium balloon floating below the ceiling that says get well. I wonder if James’s school friends sent it. I put the envelope Fiona gave me on a nightstand next to James’s bed so he’ll see it when he wakes up.

  James’s room has a bathroom attached to it. The door is partly open and I can see a sink and a toilet but no shower.

  I’m running out of things to look at in James’s room when Mom starts singing a song I remember from when I was little.

  The barn swallow roosts

  on the rafters.

  The deer beds down

  in the pines.

  And what about you,

  my child,

  where do you rest

  when darkness comes?

  A nurse brings in more plastic tubing and I watch him move around James’s bed.

  “I don’t see anything for James to drink,” I whisper.

  “James can’t drink just yet. See this?” The nurse shows me a plastic cup half filled with water and what looks like a toothbrush with a pink sponge on the end. “We wet his mouth with it.”

  When the nurse leaves the room, I take the plastic cup into the little windowless bathroom. I close the door behind me, pour the water down the sink drain, and quickly refill the cup with water from the canning jar in my coat pocket. When I hold it up to the mirror over the sink, I see a swirl of bright green that disappears as quickly as a green garter snake in tall grass.

  I go to the opposite side of the bed from Mom and stand near James. Except for a bandage on his head, and the fact that his eyes are closed, he looks the same. Same short blond hair and same light eyebrows. The white bandage has brownish-red spots on it.

  I swish the pink sponge round and round in the water in the cup. With my back to the glass wall, in case the nurse looks in, I squeeze the sponge over James’s lips. I squeeze it again and again, trying to make the water go in James’s mouth and not drip down his chin. Mom watches but doesn’t say anything. She keeps singing, holding James’s hand in hers.

  The honeybee sleeps

  in the flower,

  the spider hangs

  from its web.

  And what about you,

  my child,

  where do you rest

  when darkness comes?

  When Mom stops singing, I lean over and speak in James’s ear.

  “If you can hear me, James, I have an idea. Our road ends in a deep stream now, so there’s no use putting out the Honor Box table. Nobody will drive past anymore. I was thinking, since everyone has to go by you on Bog Road now, we could set up the Honor Box at the end of your driveway. You could sell stuff you find and Mom and I could bring our things there, too.”

  James doesn’t move. His chest breathes up and down and his eyes stay shut. Wendell comes back and Mom stands at the glass door talking to him.

  While they’re busy talking, I take what’s left of the water in the cup and pour it over the bandage on James’s head.

  “I’m sorry, James,” I whisper, shaking the cup upside down so the last few drops come out on the stained bandage.

  It’s dark when we leave the hospital. I look up at the windows, trying to figure out which one is James’s. We rode the elevator to the third floor and then went down two long halls. All the windows on the third floor are lit up, and they’re all the same size. I wish I’d taped something to James’s window so I could recognize it from outside.

  Mom drives down Bower Hill Road, but instead of turning into Nana’s driveway, she keeps going until we reach the concrete barricades blocking the road. She turns the car off and opens the window. We can hear the water streaming down the hill.

  “Why did you come here?” I ask her.

  “Let’s just watch the water a minute.”

  “But it’s dark out,” I say.

  “Yes, it’s almost the new moon. Give your eyes time.”

  As my eyes adjust to the dark, I see the faint sliver of the moon above the water where our house used to be. In the marshy field I see the silhouettes of birds, their long, thin legs like sticks holding
up their big bodies. Their necks are long, too, and their beaks are pointy. I count each tall shape.

  “There’s fifteen cranes,” I tell Mom.

  “They love the water,” she says.

  “The water is losing its color.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Why did you sing James a lullaby if he was already asleep?”

  “I don’t know. Just the song that came to me when I saw him.”

  “That girl Fiona asked me if I was going to go to school. She’s in James’s class.”

  “It’s up to you. Wherever you are, you won’t stop learning.”

  “People are saying they’ll help us build a new house. Are we going to build a new house?”

  “Do you want us to build a new house?” Mom asks me.

  “At first I did. But I’m getting used to Dad and Braggy’s old room. I like how quiet it is when the door is closed. And Birdie has her swing in the living room.”

  “Okay, then,” Mom says.

  “Did the collector call about the meteorite?”

  “He did. Your father took the call the other day.”

  “Did Dad tell him the meteorite is too hard to cut into? Does he want to buy the whole thing?”

  “I didn’t hear him talk about how hard it is. But I did hear your father say that some things aren’t for sale.”

  It’s too dark to see the meteorite in the corner of the field, but I’m sure if I had to, I could find my way to the rock without a flashlight. Ever since it fell, I’ve kept its position fixed in my mind, like old sailors used the North Star.

  “Are you glad I can dowse, like Dad and his father?” I ask Mom.

  “If you are.”

  That sounds like both a question and an answer.

  “Yes. It was amazing feeling my stick move, and I’m happy we got the water back for the town. But I’m not sure I could do it again. I think the little stone Dr. Morgan gave me was what helped me dowse.”

  “You know that’s not the only gift you have, Henry,” Mom says.

  “No?” I don’t know what other gift she means.

  “You see the world with your own eyes, and you’re kind to your sister.”