The Singing Stones

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “They don’t tell me anything, but sometimes my thinking clarifies when I hold them, and they often relieve tension.”

  I was the tense one, not Julian.

  He dipped into the basket beside him, took out a blue stone, and handed it to me. “This is a piece of turquoise from Colorado. Keep it and let it work for you, Lynn. The Chinese believe that turquoise protects us from evil.”

  “Why would I need protection from evil?”

  “Don’t we all?” He showed me the smooth turquoise stone set in a silver ring on the little finger of his left hand. “I always wear it myself. But it only works if it is a gift from a loving friend—as my own ring was. I hope I can be that sort of friend while you are here, Lynn. In any case, turquoise can relieve anxiety. It has a wonderfully calming effect. But watch its color. If it turns green you may be in trouble. It’s the only gem-stone that changes its color in order to warn us.”

  I took the bit of sky-colored stone, warm from Julian’s fingers. All that he said might be true—if only I could believe.

  “Forget all the questions that can’t be answered,” he told me. “Concentrate on the child. Remember that she is why you’re here.”

  “You keep saying that—but I don’t know how to help her.” I heard a new sadness in my voice. “When I watched her dance last night my heart broke a little. I’m sure she’s trying to be like her mother in her dancing. But she’s not ready and her own failure defeats her. Yet when she let herself go into uncontrolled dancing of her own, she was filled with a power that was almost terrible to see in someone so young. She might grow up to be a greater dancer than her mother.”

  “If she grows up,” Julian said.

  “What do you mean? She seems healthy and strong, and—”

  “Jilly is dying. That’s why I wanted you to come.” He dropped the small pebbles into the basket as though they could do nothing more for him at the moment.

  His words shocked me. “Is she really ill?”

  “Not physically. Not yet. Human beings die when hope goes out of their lives. Stephen will manage to die—somehow—whether by his own hand or not. It’s too late for him. And Jilly—who could have a wonderful, rich, creative life—will die young because she’s without hope, without love from those she loves most. Some children are tough. They survive, no matter what the circumstances. Jilly isn’t, though she can pretend to be. Besides that, she’s carrying some secret, inner burden as well. Perhaps she’s more of a challenge for you than any of the children you care for who are wasting away physically. Even with them, it’s their spirit you treat, isn’t it?”

  I closed my fingers about the blue stone, even though I was doubtful of its power to help me.

  “There’s still time,” Julian said, watching me. “You needn’t make up your mind this minute.”

  “I made up my mind almost as soon as I arrived. I’m still not sure why I agreed to come.”

  “You don’t believe in destiny?”

  If I did, I might have thought it was my destiny to marry Stephen and stay married to him for all my life. So how could I believe now that my destiny had anything to do with Jilly?

  When I didn’t answer, Julian picked up a framed photograph on his desk and turned it toward me so that I saw the face of a beautiful little girl—as fair as Jilly was dark.

  “My daughter,” he said. “She was just five when she and her mother died—a good many years ago.”

  I took the photograph from him and studied the happy young face that looked out of the frame. Was this why he championed Jilly’s cause—because she’d taken the place of the child he had loved and lost? This might explain his concern, and a new sympathy for Julian Forster touched me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said and gave back the picture. “That’s a loss a parent never recovers from.”

  “I have recovered,” he said calmly, returning the frame to its place on his desk.

  A strange thing to say—as though he rejected his own lost daughter, even though he kept her photograph where he could look at it every day. In another frame I noticed a recent color photograph of Vivian, her eyes wide, accepting, loving, her hair an aura of gold about her face.

  “I took that picture of Vivian myself,” Julian said. “Of course it’s impossible to take a poor shot of Vivian. Did you know that she used to be a model before she married Larry Asche?”

  That was easy to believe. “How did you meet her?” I asked.

  “Larry Asche and I were friends when his first wife was alive. I was away for a few years and when I came back she had died, and he had married Vivian. So they both became my friends. After Larry’s death Vivian and I came together as two people who had loved him. We needed the comfort of finding each other.”

  He spoke simply and openly and my liking for him increased. Now, however, it was time to tell him what I had come to say.

  “There’s something I want to speak to you about, Julian. Carla Raines isn’t good for Jilly. I’m sure you already know that and you’ve just gone along with what Oriana wants. But isn’t it possible to get someone else to stay with her? This is very important.”

  Julian looked uncomfortable. “Carla is Oriana’s friend, and Oriana still has the say when it comes to Jilly.”

  I couldn’t accept this. “Last night Carla came to my rooms. She looked a little—deranged—and she told me this was a house of death. She spoke of murder. Apparently she was warning me to leave. She even said it was too late for the rest of you in this house. Have you any idea what she was talking about?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “I wish I could help Carla. Sometimes it is possible to regress a person into a previous life. If she would allow me to do that, she herself might discover what sort of baggage she is carrying from a past existence. Then she would be able to release it—let it go.”

  This was hardly the solution I’d expected. “I think something needs to be done about Carla right now. She’s certainly not what Jilly needs.”

  “Perhaps you are what Jilly needs, if only you would stop resisting your own best instincts. Even more than Carla, I would like to take you back into a previous life and see what you might learn that could possibly help us all. Hypnotism, as I use it, is quite harmless, you know.”

  The very idea of putting myself into his hands in this way made me shiver. I remembered Carla’s words—not to let Julian beguile me.

  “No thank you,” I told him. “That isn’t for me. But what about the other things Carla said about murder? She wasn’t talking about any past life.”

  “All self-deceptive, I’m afraid. You mustn’t worry about this.”

  That was easy enough to say. I held the bit of turquoise tightly in my fingers, seeking some sort of inner quiet.

  “Last night,” I went on, “when I couldn’t sleep I stepped outside on the deck. The air feels so wonderful here—not just because it’s free of pollution, but because it’s invigorating—it lifts the spirit.”

  “This is a special piece of earth. There’s an extraordinary quartz content in these mountains that gives off good energies. Quartz and crystal are used everywhere for their special qualities—that quartz watch on your wrist, for instance. When we find so great a concentration in the ground, the vibrations can affect us.”

  I remembered the quartz rock Stephen had given me after the ground breaking, and wondered what had become of it.

  “When I walked outside,” I said, “I heard something strange coming to me on the wind. A faraway sound—almost musical. A sort of humming, very clear and pure, as though harp strings had been touched and were vibrating.”

  Julian seemed unexpectedly elated. “Wonderful! Lynn, this means that you can hear them. Not everyone can. I’m not sure what this signifies, but I know that humans who hear that sound are touched in a special way. You must tell Jilly that you heard them.”

  “Them?”

  “The Singing Stones.” He spoke in an oddly muted manner, as one might use when stepping into a place of prayer.
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  Julian Forster had drawn me into some region where I didn’t feel comfortable, but before I could press him further, voices reached us from down the hall—Vivian’s light, musical tones, and a second voice that I remembered. A stronger, more vibrant voice, that could only belong to Meryl Asche, Everett’s wife and Stephen’s sister-in-law.

  The two women appeared in the doorway and I stiffened against still another encounter, probably with more questions I couldn’t answer. Meryl had always been enormously curious, and I suspected that she wouldn’t hesitate to probe.

  4

  In appearance, Everett’s wife had changed very little in the twelve years since I’d last seen her. At first glance, in contrast to Vivian’s gentle beauty, she seemed unattractive physically—rather short and a bit chunky. Her round face was piquant, rather than pretty. Her nose turned up at the tip, and her eyes were a little too wide-set. But the same vitality that I remembered came through in her every move. There had always been a special earthy strength in Meryl Asche that Julian and Vivian seemed to lack. As I recalled, she’d been able to manipulate her large, aggressive husband very easily. It would never do to underestimate Meryl.

  Her gestures had always seemed oversized and dramatic, and now she flung her arms wide and rushed to embrace me.

  “Vivian phoned to tell me you are here for only a short time, so I drove over as soon as I could manage. I’m taking you to lunch, Lynn. We have years of catching up to do. You, too, Viv, if you can come.”

  I wasn’t here to rush off on social visits and I felt much too unsettled for hours of chitchat with Meryl.

  “It’s good to see you, Meryl,” I began, “but I don’t think—”

  Julian broke in. “Meryl, that’s a fine idea. Do go, Lynn, and have lunch. It may help to give you a bit more perspective. Why not take Jilly with you, Meryl?”

  “Will she come?” Meryl asked, sounding doubtful.

  “Ask her and find out. This would give Lynn a chance to see Jilly in a more social atmosphere.”

  What he’d told me about Jilly had struck through my guard. For the first time I wondered if there really might be something I could do for this little girl who was Stephen’s daughter. At least I might, as Julian suggested, see her in a different setting.

  “All right,” I agreed. “Thank you, Meryl.”

  She nodded. “And you’ll come too, Vivian?”

  “Not this time. It’s better if there aren’t too many grown-ups along. I’ve told you why Lynn has come, Meryl, but she isn’t sure yet whether there’s any help she can give us with Jilly’s problems.”

  Julian smiled as he spoke to his wife. “Run along now with Meryl, even if you don’t go to lunch, and see if you can sell Jilly the idea of a trip to Charlottesville. It shouldn’t be too hard. She needs a change.”

  When the two women went off, I moved about Julian’s study looking at books on a shelf.

  “You’re pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” I said over my shoulder.

  He laughed softly. “I’m pleased with you.”

  I let that pass. The titles of the books in one section caught my attention and I read some of the authors’ names aloud.

  “Ouspensky, Eileen Garrett, Edgar Cayce? You’re interested in the occult?”

  “Let’s call it parapsychology. The psychic field. Perhaps Vivian has told you that I’m writing a book. At least, I am exploring, outlining, trying to find my way. Clairvoyance interests me, ESP, channeling, near-death experiences, reincarnation—everything that comes under the heading of psi, which has come to be the accepted term for all this field. I’m not interested in writing more past history—that’s been done to death. The old prophecies of Nostradamus fascinate me as they concern us now. The end of our century may be moving into tremendous earth changes. However, I’m afraid that all I have for my book at the moment is a title: Sand, Stone, Fire and Ice.”

  “I like the sound of it. What does it mean?”

  “That’s why I’ll write the book—to find out.”

  I had come to a more modern book on the shelves—Robert Monroe’s Journeys Out of the Body. “Have you had any of these experiences yourself?”

  “Perhaps. Who knows where we go in our dreams? Or why certain individuals can see something that will happen in the future, or seem to read thoughts, or remember other lives? Perhaps we all have undeveloped talents. I do have a few convictions that I’m exploring.”

  This was all strange territory to me, though I liked to think of myself as open-minded.

  Before we could continue, Meryl and Vivian returned, and Jilly came with them. The little girl had changed from her long, old-fashioned dress to something more school-girlish—a plaid skirt, with a white blouse and navy jacket. Her long socks were navy blue and came to just below bare knees. Neat black oxfords, well polished, had replaced her play shoes. In spite of this transformation her elusive spirit hadn’t been quenched and I sensed that she came with us reluctantly.

  In spite of our encounters, this was the first time I’d met Jilly formally, and when Julian introduced us, her eyes wouldn’t meet mine.

  He went on, speaking directly to her. “I have something for you, Jilly. Something I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Perhaps this is a good time to give it to you.”

  She went at once to stand before him, more at ease with Julian Forster than with anyone else, and clearly curious now. She watched as he opened a lower drawer of his desk and took out a shallow wooden box, holding it out to her. “These are for you,” he said gently.

  Jilly took the box with an expression of wonder, looking more alive, more like the young dancer I had seen the night before. The shadow that always seemed to touch her lifted as she opened the box and took tissue wrappings from it. When she saw what lay inside the paper her smile was beautiful.

  “But these were for your little girl?” her voice questioned as she lifted out a strand of amber beads.

  “Amber for Amber, Jilly. They were to have been hers when she was older. Now they’re yours. I think she would have liked that. You know what they mean, don’t you?”

  She nodded solemnly and he put the strand over her head, lifting her long hair and tucking the beads under the collar of her blouse. Sunlight through glass touched a warm glow into the heart of each bead and Jilly touched the strand as if she drew courage and strength through her fingers.

  “What do they mean?” Meryl asked.

  “Perhaps Jilly will tell you sometime,” Julian said. “But only if she wants to. Jilly, I’ve given Lynn a piece of turquoise from my basket because she needs help too. Will you look out for her today?”

  Jilly gave me a quick glance, as though his words had made me less of a mysterious threat. Again, she nodded, though she was still shy and ready to dart back into her shell.

  “Okay—I’ll try,” she said.

  “Thank you, Jilly.” I hoped that my smile was natural. All my senses were alert now, though I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. Julian had his own ways of reaching the child—so why did he need me at all?

  “Let’s get started,” Meryl said impatiently, and Julian, looking pleased, came to the study door as we left.

  Vivian and Jilly walked ahead down the driveway to Meryl’s car, while Meryl put her hand on my arm, slowing me.

  “I’m glad you saw that, Lynn. I don’t like all this mystical nonsense Julian feeds the child. No wonder she’s tied up in knots. Amber for Amber! What does that mean? And what is turquoise supposed to do for you?”

  “It’s to protect me from evil,” I told her lightly, and Meryl’s snort of scorn dismissed Julian and his notions.

  “What a swamp you’re into!” she went on. “Vivian tells me you’re here to help Jilly. But what on earth can you do when her own father is no help at all, and her mother’s always off somewhere performing?”

  A little to my own surprise I spoke with a confidence I didn’t feel. “I suppose the first step is to reject the idea that nothing can be done.”
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br />   “Oh, good—I wish you luck!”

  Meryl ran ahead to catch up with Vivian and Jilly, and I followed more slowly, the bit of turquoise still clasped in my fingers. I wasn’t as ready as Meryl to dismiss the matters that interested Julian. I’d experienced a few “healings” with children that weren’t explainable by any realistic standards. At least I could accept the fact that there was a great deal I didn’t know enough about.

  Just as I reached the driveway, Paul Woolf hurried toward us from the direction of Stephen’s rooms. He still wore his startling “uniform” of green jumpsuit that showed off his muscular build. Beneath the band of tight curls across his forehead his features seemed sharp and lacking in humor. I wondered how Stephen, who’d always had a great sense of humor, could get along in this man’s care. Perhaps it was enough that Paul could make his patient physically comfortable.

  “Mrs. Asche,” Paul said to Meryl, “Stephen would like to see you for a moment before you leave.”

  Meryl didn’t look pleased. “Right now?”

  “If you can manage it.” There seemed an insistent note in the man’s voice.

  “Oh, all right. Wait for me,” she said to Vivian and me. “I won’t be a minute.”

  She and Paul went off together along the deck.

  “I’ll get my handbag,” I told Vivian. “And I want to put this away.” I held up the turquoise on my palm.

  Jilly spoke quickly. “Don’t put it away—you should keep it with you always.”

  Vivian smiled. “I don’t think I have as strong a belief in evil as Julian has—but he’s very wise, and you’d better listen.”

  I ran up to my room and slipped the bit of turquoise into an inner pocket of my handbag. Perhaps Julian’s collection of stones would give me an opening with Jilly, if they interested her.

  Before I rejoined the others, I stepped out on the deck where I could have a clear view and breathe the sparkling fall air—breathe in courage and strength. Touches of color appeared amidst the green, promising autumn beauty about to burgeon, and once more I savored this view of tier upon tier of circling mountains.