And right then, G shot off the log pew and ran.
The Three Boulders
That Gertrude Biggs could move for a girl in a skirt, lugging a backpack full of journals.
I tucked my bandaged hand against my belly and ran behind her, up the church path to the main gravel road. I passed the softball field, where a couple deer were grazing in the outfield, and the empty dining hall. I ran up the road that was hugged by all the tiny log cabins, but then I lost G. She had vanished into the trees ahead. I slowed to a walk, not sure where I was going anymore. I hadn’t been beyond the road yet.
I was on a narrow path that wound through giant clumps of trees. The path had squishy pine needles that cushioned my feet better than that gravel. It was shady and cool inside all these tall trees and bushes, but ahead I could see sunlight.
When I reached that sunlight, most of the trees disappeared. I stood in a grassy clearing and ahead of me were three of the most enormous rocks I had ever seen.
They were clumped together: one in the back, like a tall arched tower; the second, low and flat to the ground; and the third, fat and round, just to the right of the flat rock. The sun beat down on them and they sparkled like glitter. I thought I could see little rays of magical electric stuff come off them. If I touched one of them, maybe I’d absorb some strange power. Maybe it was God’s power. A tingle rippled through my whole body. I wished Pop could see these rocks.
G sat on the flat rock. She had her knees drawn up under her chin, hugging them tight. I sat down next to her and touched the hard gray surface.
G had a glazy, spaced-out look on her face. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Maybe these boulders put a spell on her, a calmness spell. The really weird thing was that maybe I was feeling that same spell.
“Are these the three boulders?”
“Yes.” G lowered her knees, stretching her legs forward. She smoothed her long skirt over her thighs. “The tall, spiked one is called Redemption. This big round one is called Forgiveness.” She patted the round rock. “The one we are sitting on is called Community.”
“Someone named them?”
“Old Red did,” G answered. “Mountains and rivers have names, why not boulders?”
Redemption? Community? Forgiveness?
“But those are terrible names,” I said. “That’s like calling a dog Happiness or a tree Beauty. These rocks deserve great names.”
I jumped off the flat rock and stepped a few paces backward so I could view all three boulders.
“The tall one is definitely the coolest, and it rules over the others. It should be named something like . . . Majestic Arch.”
G turned her neck and peered up at the spiky boulder.
“And the flat one reminds me of a turtle’s shell. It should be something like Tortoise Back. And the round one”—I paused—“well, it looks like steel. Maybe it could be . . . Steel Marble.”
“The names are symbols,” G said.
That was plain crazy, if you asked me. I jumped back onto the flat boulder and sat down again.
“I think things should just be what they are,” I said. “In fourth grade, my teacher read this poem about a flower, and she said it was filled with stuff that the flower symbolized and that the poem was a beautiful statement of love. That made no sense to me. If the poet wanted to tell me about love, why didn’t he just say it?”
G pulled her knees up to her chest again. She kind of laughed and said, “The names represent what Three Boulders is all about.”
Redemption. Forgiveness. Community. My brain wasn’t ready to think too hard about those names. I thought they were dumb, no matter what they represented.
G got quiet again. I noticed her blue journal resting next to her, the People of Three Boulders.
“Are you writing in your journals?”
She shook her head. “I’m just looking at all the people who live here and wondering where they will go.”
“I’m sorry you have to leave, G. Maybe you can move to Willis. It’s an okay town. Pop and me have lived there for almost a year. There’s real town-like things there. You know, McDonald’s, grocery stores, paved roads, parks. All the stuff you don’t have here.”
“But I like it here. It’s my home. I don’t need all those town-like things.” She had teardrops in the corners of her eyes. “Don’t you have someplace that’s truly your home?”
“Of course. I have Pop. My home is wherever Pop is.”
I could tell by the way G tilted her frizzy head that she was trying to understand what I was saying. G was a thinker.
“The only thing that matters is that I’m with Pop. We’re a matching pair of socks, me and Pop. We fold up together perfectly.”
“Then why did Officer D bring you to Three Boulders without him?” G asked.
I was surprised by her question because it didn’t sound like the polite, law-abiding, journal-toting Gertrude Biggs I met two days ago.
“If I tell you, are you going to write it down in those journals?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
And I believed her because her brown eyeballs stared directly at my gray eyeballs.
“I’m here because Pop is sick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” G put her hand on my back. “Is it . . . is it cancer?”
I jerked, which knocked her hand away. “No!” I said, probably louder than necessary. “He doesn’t have cancer! He’s just in the hospital in Willis for a while. Twelve days, actually.”
“Why?”
I wasn’t sure the best way to explain to G about Pop and the bad ogre inside him. I wasn’t completely sure that she would understand. Not many people did, not my teachers, not the foster people I had to stay with, and definitely not the nosy social services people. No one understood Pop like I did. “He’s in rehab,” I said. “Because of his drinking too much.”
G gazed at me. I think she had to take a moment to find that word in her brain dictionary.
“He’ll be fine,” I hurried to explain. “He always gets better in rehab. Twelve days, and he’s dry as a camel’s mouth in the desert. That’s what he always tells me.”
“Always? You mean he’s been in rehab before?”
She looked at me again as though Pop was dying, so I explained. “Just ’cause he drinks a little doesn’t make him a bad pop. He’s sad sometimes, that’s all, and when he gets sad, he drinks, and then he just needs some medicine. That’s why he goes to rehab. It’s like medicine to make him feel better.” I started rubbing my wrist. Thinking of Pop’s sadness and his drinking made it ache a whole lot. I tried to think of some good me-and-Pop times instead, like when he taught me to make a grilled cheese sandwich, and when he showed me how to use the right tools to fix the broken porch steps.
G watched me rub my wrist. “What happened to your hand?”
I stopped rubbing and swallowed a gulp of air. My brain swirled with a memory, a memory that was not a good me-and-Pop time. “I burned it.”
And that was mostly the honest truth.
“Oh. Did—”
“My pop is a good pop,” I added quickly.
G put her hands behind her, propping herself on the flat surface of Tortoise Back. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad he’s a good pop to you.” Her fingers stroked the hard rock. “Three Boulders is a good home to me.”
Then we were just quiet, sitting there on those stupidly named boulders, staring at the clump of pine trees in the distance, thinking our sad and happy thoughts, side by side.
Day Four
A Plan
On Wednesday, my fourth day in Three Boulders, G informed me that once a week, all the kids spend two hours working in the community garden. This was yet another weird law of Three Boulders, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like it too much.
As we walked through the garden gate, I breathed in the smell of cow poop, and I plugged my nose. But I also took my first good look at everything. This garden was beautiful enough to be pictured in fancy
magazines. These folks took care of their plants. G said that the wooden rectangle sections were raised beds, and I followed her along the pebble paths that wove through the beds.
We joined the other kids at the shed where Mr. Biggs stood, passing out tools and gloves.
“Jane!” he said. “You have your yellow shirt. That makes you an official Three Boulders student.”
“Just for nine more days. That’s all.”
“Might as well be nine days for all of us,” pudgy Mitchell Landau complained.
“Chin up, Mitchell,” Mr. Biggs said firmly. “Chins up, everyone. We need to be more accepting of all this. Mr. Norton wouldn’t sell this land if it wasn’t necessary.”
The sunshine kids stood still, staring at Mr. Biggs.
“Tonight we are having a special record night. Mr. Norton thought Jane might like to see one while she’s here.” He smiled at me, then turned to the short girl standing next to Marty, “Lizzie, are you ready to continue the challenge to be Three Boulders’ top speller?”
“Yes!”
G whispered to me, “Lizzie and Mrs. Carter are having an ongoing spelling bee. Neither one has missed a word in the last four months. Lizzie is only nine.”
Mr. Biggs continued. “We haven’t had a speed multiplication challenge for quite some time, so we’ll do that tonight. All of you will be in that challenge.”
“Speed multiplication?” I said.
That’s a dumb record.
“Yes, Jane. Five minutes. Five pages of multiplication problems. We’ll see who gets the most completed and correct. Our current record holder is Mr. Stein. Loam, you were so close to beating him last month.”
Dandy clapped her hands.
“Anyone who wants some speed practice can come to my cabin today.” He picked up a shovel and handed it to Loam. “All right, everyone have gloves? Gertie, please help Jane.”
G looked at my hand with the fresh bandages Officer D had changed earlier, then pulled out some plastic gloves. “Here, put this on your burned hand so it doesn’t get dirty. Maybe only use your right hand to pull weeds.”
Mr. Biggs made one final announcement. “Okay, work hard, kids, and let’s meet at the fire pit after lunch to discuss our nature projects.” He left the garden as G stretched the plastic glove over my bandage.
Blondie Millie Donald searched in the shed, scratching her head. “The Three Boulders vortex has sucked away my favorite purple gloves.”
“I haven’t been able to find that little silver trowel for weeks,” Marty Landau said.
“What difference does it make?” twin blondie Megan added. “We’re all leaving. I don’t know why we’re bothering in this garden.”
“Because we aren’t leaving today,” G said. “It’s Wednesday and we work in the garden on Wednesday.” She handed me a short digging tool and led me to a bed with a sign that said Turnips. She leaned over her long tool and began poking in the dirt.
“How come we’re working in the turnip section?” I asked. “Nobody actually eats turnips.”
“You did last night,” G said. “They were in the beef stew.”
Oh. Last night’s stew was nothing but spicy meat and veggie deliciousness.
“Well, still. Can we work in the tomato section? I like tomatoes.”
G shook her head. “No. This is my family’s crop. Preston Farmer assigned us turnips, so that’s what we tend.”
“Who has the tomatoes?”
“The Steins.”
“What veggie does Officer D have?”
“She doesn’t have one. She’s busy during the weekdays, so Mr. Farmer has her help with turning the compost on Saturdays or Sundays.”
This Preston Farmer was a good organizer, but I hoped there would be no compost turning for me while I was here. That sounded smelly.
“Hey, Gertie, I can help you today,” Loam said. “My mom was so upset yesterday about Mr. Norton’s announcement that she came down to the garden and pulled every weed she saw in the spinach bed.”
Dandy, standing close to her brother, clapped her hands.
“My dad’s been angry for three days now, ever since he learned the news. He doesn’t want to move back to a city,” the Stein kid said. I couldn’t remember his first name.
Timmy Spencer added, “Mama spent the whole day with Miss Noreen in the kitchen. She said they cried tears into the stew last night.”
“Daddy said that Sunday will be our last softball game,” Lizzie Cooper added. “I just learned to bunt.”
I leaned over and pulled a little weed from the turnip bed, listening to the sunshine kids complain. No one was doing much work.
The blondie twins moved toward Dandy and had a group hug. “We’re going to miss seeing you each day, Dandy.” And they squeezed that poor weed girl, holding down her flappy hands.
“This is so unfair of Mr. Norton.” The Stein kid spoke again, which started the eyeball waterworks, at least from the blondies and Lizzie Cooper and even G.
I was tired of all this whining, so I dropped my little digger and said, “Remember what Mr. Biggs said? He said ‘chins up.’” I looked at them all. Their shirts didn’t seem so sunny with their sad faces. “If none of your families want to leave this place, why don’t you do something about it?”
“What can we do, Jane?” Millie asked. “Mr. Norton made his decision. It’s his land.”
“But he’s going to sell the land,” I said. “You all seem to think this boonie place with your record nights and fire pit church is pretty great. If you all want to stay so badly, why don’t all your families just buy the land from Mr. Norton?”
Those nine sunshine kids got dead silent. I might have been able to hear their brains ticking together like one big machine if I listened close enough.
“Of course!” G said. “Jane, that’s so simple, but it’s brilliant!”
There was a big smile on my inside right then. People never said I was brilliant.
I reached into my cargo shorts pocket and pulled out three quarters. “Here.” I put my hand toward G. “You can have these. I have more money in Officer D’s room in my sack.”
G smiled at me and then she took command. “Okay. This is what we’ll do. Everyone talk with your parents tonight. Ask them about their money situation. We’ll meet tomorrow morning before breakfast down at the church fire pit.”
“Before breakfast?” Loam asked.
“Of course. This is important. This plan could save Three Boulders!” G said.
Dandy Moonbeam began clapping, which got all the other sunshine club kids clapping too.
This was a good plan.
A Glitch
I took that plan seriously too. I dug in my plastic sack later that afternoon as I waited for Officer D to get back from Willis. I found six one-dollar bills, seven quarters, five dimes, ten nickels, and 28 pennies. I used my excellent adding skills and calculated that I had $9.03. I tucked two dollars back into the pocket of one of my hoodies for emergencies, and set the rest on the little table next to my lumpy couch bed.
The door opened and Officer D entered the room wearing her serious cop face. I figured she’d had a rough day down in Willis. Probably had to arrest all kinds of bad guys. My plan to buy Three Boulders would cheer her up for sure. I knew how much she loved this place. Maybe as much as G.
“Officer D, look!” I jumped off the couch and pointed at my money on the table. “All the Three Boulders kids are collecting money. I figured since people were sad about leaving Three Boulders that everyone should just put their money together and buy the land. Do you want to help? Do you have some extra money in your pockets or maybe in a bank down in Willis? Pop doesn’t have much money in the bank, but you have a good job, so you probably have more.”
I couldn’t help myself. My words were spewing out of control. Officer D raised her man paw, giving me her special silent signal. She sat on the couch, but she didn’t comment on money or my idea. Her cop face remained unbroken.
“Let’s talk.
” She patted the couch, and I sat next to her. She put her hand on my knee. “Jane, there’s been a glitch with your pop.”
I knew about glitches. Glitches were nothing but annoyances, stuff that slowed you down, like planning to make a grilled cheese sandwich and then finding the outside of the cheese has a layer of mold and you have to slice off all the furriness before you can begin making the sandwich. That was a glitch.
I didn’t like glitches.
Ever.
“What are you talking about? Did he break a rule in rehab? Did he miss a meeting? What kind of glitch?” Question marks shot off their dots like bullets in my brain.
Pop never had glitches during rehab. He was a perfect twelve-day patient. In and out. Done. All better. Back to good Jane-and-Pop times.
Officer D shook her head firmly. She glanced at my hand. “No, Jane. His rehab is going fine.”
“Then what is it?”
She looked up at the ceiling before she spoke, like there were words stored up there that needed to drop into her head. “Today, your pop was interviewed by social services.”
Social services again. Those interfering people and their questions that made my belly twist like Slinky coils.
“So?” I prodded her.
Now she looked at me with her worried face, and that worried me.
A lot.
“Jane, I brought Fran from social services back to Three Boulders with me. She wants to talk to you again.” Officer D moved to the door and pushed it open.
Social services Fran stepped into the room. She was the person assigned to me and Pop. She was the one who placed me with Mrs. Dubois when we moved to Willis. She was the one who visited me and Pop every month and checked out our house. She was the one who talked to me Saturday night in the hospital. I stood up and glared at her.
“Hello, Jane.” She moved toward the couch.
I moved away from the couch.
Mostly the Honest Truth Page 6
