The Truth Against the World

by Sarah Jamila Stevenson

  His dad shot him a look. “Not off the top of my head. But it was just off the beach, Gareth. Don’t you remember?”

  “He was too busy with his phone,” his mum said. Gareth rolled his eyes.

  After a moment, his dad added, “We have an old Ordnance Survey map of the coastline there. If you can find it, take it. Maybe there’s some GPS app you can download, too. If you go exploring, I don’t want you getting lost.”

  “Cheers, Dad.” If his parents had a map of the area, then there was little doubt in his mind the cromlech was on it somewhere. Wyn was expecting him to know where it was, and he didn’t want to disappoint. Even worse, he didn’t want to admit he hadn’t really been paying attention the last time—at least, not until he’d lost his mobile.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t bother Wyn or her family,” Gareth added. “But if she needs a friend, at least I’ll be there.”

  His dad gave him a skeptical look.

  “Friend … or girlfriend ?” Tommy said.

  “Honestly,” Gareth began, but then he sighed and gave up on explanations. Maybe after it was all over, he’d tell them everything. At this point, he still wasn’t even sure what was going on himself.

  The next day, after digging through an old shoebox of brochures and maps in the boot of his dad’s car, Gareth triumphantly pulled out a bedraggled copy of an Ordnance Survey Outdoor Leisure Map of the South Wales coast. There were rips at some of the folds, and it smelled musty and ancient. His parents must have used this very same map when they’d taken him out on holiday as a boy; maybe even on their last trip, not that he would have noticed.

  At first glance, the map was nearly impossible to read, crammed full of tiny symbols and town names and minuscule

  boxes for houses and neighborhoods and farms. Not to mention the parks and footpaths and incomprehensible geographical symbols.

  On the other hand, everything was on this map. Everything. If he could find Cwm Tawel on it, and the nearby beach, then he could trace all the possible paths in the area. That would give them a starting point for exploration, for finding the gravesite. And then … he didn’t know what would happen after that, but hopefully he and Wyn would figure it out together.

  Tracing the coastline westward from the Gower Peninsula, he found Swansea on the map, and then Llanelli and Carmarthen, and not far from there, Cwm Tawel itself. The whole area was crisscrossed with trails, bridle paths, cycling paths, and narrow country roads. There was a multitude of sandy beaches, and the area was also positively littered with ancient sites. The historical ruins that dotted the hills and cliffs along the seashore were labeled in a tiny calligraphy font: Cross, Settlement, Standing Stones, Homestead. And, to his chagrin, all along the coasts and inland areas too, over and over: Cairn, Cairn, Cairn. He didn’t see the word “cromlech” anywhere. But the mapmakers would have to note something as large as the one he’d fallen into—perhaps they just called it “standing stones”?

  He let out a groan of frustration. Maybe it would be worth it to buy an online map, especially if it was searchable. Or try to find a tourist map when he got there.

  He put the map aside for the time being and checked his email. A forwarded joke from Amit; a rather long tirade from Anita about his behavior at the end-of-year-dance. Then a grin sneaked onto his face; there was a message from Wyn at long last.

  Dear Gareth,

  I’m so glad you’re coming. I think my parents are still weird about me meeting you, though.

  I can hardly believe I’m here. Everything is really surreal right now. I had a dream about my Gee Gee’s old house, so I asked her where it was, but when I went to find it, it wasn’t there anymore. Just a block of flats now. But I dreamed about the locket, too, the one Olwen was wearing in the picture you sent. I didn’t realize it was a locket in the dream. Not until you said something. It looks familiar … I wonder why.

  The museum was closed when I tried to go. Peter Robinson, who works there, was an evacuee as a child in my Gee Gee’s house. He has to know something. I’ll keep trying to talk to him.

  I’ll be at the Carmarthen train station with my mom to pick you up on Saturday afternoon.

  —Wyn

  Gareth felt a prickle of anticipation. It felt like some of the puzzle pieces were finally starting to mesh, or at least like they were on the right track. Maps. Museums. Lockets.

  Something had to be significant there. He hit Reply and started typing.

  Gareth’s room was a maelstrom of dirty clothes, clean clothes, waterproof jackets, extra socks, and half-filled baggage. His dad’s old brown suitcase teetered on the edge of the bed as he put things in various piles. Meanwhile, he was listening to Amit’s ridiculous romantic advice, which he had no intention of following at any time in his life whatsoever.

  “Remember what I said about pickup lines?” Amit’s voice coming out of the speaker phone was tinny. “Did you get that email I sent? With the list?”

  “I assumed that was a joke,” Gareth said.

  “I’m telling you, though, they work! Think of how many girls I’ve gone with just this year.”

  Gareth pulled a lightweight yellow windbreaker out of one of the piles and rolled it into a crinkly ball, shoving it into one corner of his suitcase. “I’m not questioning your ability to attract the girls,” he said. “Just your ability to keep them.”

  Amit said an extremely rude word.

  Gareth laughed. “Hey, when I get back, let’s organize a game with Dobbs and them.”

  “Are you serious? You, playing football?” Amit asked with exaggerated surprise.

  “I meant Halo.”

  “Figured,” said Amit. “Still, you could build up some muscle while you’re there. Chasing sheep around or something.”

  Something about that annoyed Gareth. “There’s more in Wales than just sheep.”

  “Yeah, there’s your American girlfriend!”

  “Is that all you can think about?” Gareth packed up several rolled-up pairs of identical black socks and his new dark-blue jeans. He’d miss Amit’s usual antics, but he’d only be gone for two weeks.

  Would he and Wyn be able to find the gravesite, the cromlech, in that amount of time? They’d have to.

  Gareth was sleeping on top of the covers with the windows open when his phone buzzed. He opened his eyes to see the darkness of his room, faintly lit by a yellowish street light. His first thought was, Something’s happened to Wyn’s gran.

  He blinked, then fumbled for his glasses and his phone.

  When he squinted at the screen, it showed a new picture message. Unknown Number.

  He opened it, his hand trembling just a little.

  The photo was a close-up: the girl’s worried face, pale and thin, took up the left side of the picture, her eyes dark glittering hollows glancing off to the side. Following the direction of her gaze, he focused on the background landscape: green grass going right up to the edge of a cliff. Whitecapped ocean waves, a sandy beach in the distance. A different angle than the other picture, a view without the cromlech.

  After a moment, he realized he was breathing heavily. His hair was damp with sweat.

  And then he smiled.

  Whatever was happening, whatever strange and frightening things were now a regular part of his life, Olwen was helping him. She wasn’t one of those vengeful Hollywood ghosts—he hoped. She’d sent him a picture of where she was.

  She wanted him to find her.

  Of course, what he’d do then—what she would do—he hadn’t a clue.

  14

  Goreu gwaith yw gobeithio.

  The best work is hope.

  Welsh proverb

  Born to Wyn, July 11th, 8:48 a.m.

  I slept great our first night here, but not anymore. Groggy in the daytime. Can’t fall asleep at night. Waking up at random times, wide awake, only to discover it’s t
he wee hours of the morning.

  No dreams.

  I’m actually writing this at 3 a.m., by the way. Can’t post it until morning. Only the main farmhouse has wi-fi.

  This place really IS no-place, lost in time.

  I felt less lost the next morning, after going to the farmhouse to check email and publish my blog post. I let myself back into the cottage, closed the door against the wind and rain, and flopped down on the sofa, letting out a huge yawn. I slid sideways until I was in a lying-down position and closed my eyes.

  “Don’t go falling back asleep now,” Mom said from the kitchenette. “If you keep to a regular sleep schedule, you’ll get used to the time change more quickly.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, stifling another yawn. “I got up on time this morning, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but we want you alert.” Mom leaned around the doorframe and smiled at me, then went back to clattering dishes around.

  I pulled myself upright and got up to get some tea. Caffeine would help. In the kitchen, I filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave.

  “Your dad and I are taking a quick trip to the Tesco in Carmarthen to pick up groceries. Will you be okay here by yourself for an hour or two?”

  I nodded. “I’ll spend some time with Gee Gee.”

  The rain was sheeting against the kitchen window, a summer storm flinging huge splattering drops everywhere and sneaking cold drafts into the cottage. It had started yesterday afternoon, but today there were brilliant blue gaps in the clouds far off over the hills, above the ocean. I was glad to see some sky. In two days we’d be picking up Gareth, and it would be time to really start the detective work … and I did not relish the thought of hiking the hills in the rain.

  Settling back onto the sofa with my mug of tea, I tried to picture Gareth here. I tried to imagine what it would be like to actually talk, in person, to someone who understood how I felt, who would believe the strange things that had been happening to me.

  Gareth might be the only one who could help me figure this out. Especially if something happened to Gee Gee. I didn’t want to think about that eventuality, but it was an eventuality whether I tried to ignore it or not.

  The last few days, I hadn’t even been able to pretend anymore. The cold and wet weather, or maybe just the illness, had seemed to weigh on her. She spent all day in bed or on the couch, sleeping or watching news and Welsh soap operas on the small 13-inch television. Her frame seemed smaller than ever, cushioned by a nest of pillows, and her skin was slack and papery. When Lisa Morgan came in the afternoons to bathe her, she lifted Gee Gee with what seemed like no effort at all. But Gee Gee’s eyes were still clear and alert, and she didn’t seem to be in pain. And she seemed glad to be here, in Cwm Tawel. Sometimes I’d catch her gazing out onto the hills, a slight smile on her face.

  Today, as the rain pounded away, she was still in her bedroom. When I went in to check on her, the hospital bed was levered so that her torso was mostly upright. Her eyes were sharp and there was a book in her lap, but she was staring off into the distance, at nothing. This was happening more and more now, like she was just … somewhere else.

  “Gee Gee, do you want tea?” I hovered in the doorway.

  “Oh! Hello, dearest. No, I’ll just take some hot water, thank you.” Her voice was low and a little hoarse-sounding.

  “Are you cold? I can’t believe it’s raining so much in July.” I squirted some lotion from the large bottle on a tray next to the bed and rubbed it into Gee Gee’s dry, cracked hands, massaging them gently.

  “That’s lovely, blodyn. Just having my family nearby warms my heart.” She smiled, though it seemed to take some effort. I pulled an extra blanket out of the closet and lay it over her legs, then climbed onto the bed myself, snuggling up beside her. She didn’t smell like lily-scented powder anymore; just soap and lotion and something indefinably hospital-like.

  “I hope you’re getting out a bit, seeing the village,” she said.

  “Yeah. I saw Hugh yesterday. He said to say cofion cynnes.” Warm regards.

  “Your accent is improving quite nicely. You’ll be speaking Welsh in no time, I’m thinking.” She looked pleased, but a little sad.

  I bit my lip. “Do you miss it?” I asked, quietly. “Speaking Welsh every day? Having a life here?”

  “Well, dear, we can’t always predict what life is going to give us, can we. Moving away was what John and I had to do at the time. It was good for William, too, and then for your father. They grew up with so many opportunities we didn’t have for … for our families here.” She yawned.

  “It’s so beautiful here, though. I’ve never seen hills this green.” It was true. “And the history. I can’t wait to explore some of the ancient sites. Like cromlechs.” I looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her response. Hoping for something. But her eyes were faraway now.

  “Yes, it’s lovely … it is that.” She paused and drew a shuddering breath. “Dearest, you must understand—there were things I had to leave behind. Difficult times during the war and after. I was just so afraid that something would happen to little William, or to one of us. It was simply … safer in America. Peaceful, I thought.”

  I sighed with frustration, tired of being cautious. “But why was being here so terrible? I’m sorry, but I just look at all of this”—I gestured around me, outside the window—“and I can’t understand why anybody would leave.”

  She smiled a distant smile.

  I didn’t want to upset her, but at the same time, I didn’t know if I’d have many more chances to ask her this. I had to figure out what in the world I was supposed to do, besides finding the cromlech and the gravesite. Something was still hidden; something important. I just didn’t know exactly what, where, or how.

  “Why did you leave, Gee Gee?” I tried one last time.

  “Listen now,” she said, a bit of challenge in her voice. “We were all on edge after the war. Things were mostly all right out here in the countryside, but those poor folk in Swansea, their houses and lives destroyed … We could see the planes flying overhead, you know. And we had a few close calls ourselves. Those were frightening times. Many didn’t survive. Life was just too hard for some of the little ones. Especially the ones that came in from the cities, leaving behind everything they knew. You can ask Petey about that.”

  I would, if I could ever make it to the museum when it was actually open. Maybe Petey could show me some more old photos.

  I stiffened. Maybe he knew who Olwen was.

  Gee Gee’s voice had been growing quieter and weaker throughout her brief speech, and now her eyes closed. I stroked her hair, gently, smoothing down the white wisps as if she were a child. At my touch, she stirred slightly.

  “Oh, Olwen fach, my Olwen, always so curious,” she breathed. “Such a clever girl. Fy merch am byth … ”

  My eyes brimmed with tears.

  “I’ll miss you too, Gee Gee,” I whispered. I kissed her on the cheek and silently left the room.

  That night I dreamed about my great-grandmother.

  Gee Gee was standing in front of me in a white dress, the one from my old nightmare. But instead of being overtaken by darkness, she floated in the space in front of me. We were outside. Her figure was translucent; through her and behind her, I could see the hills of Cwm Tawel rising gentle and green. We faced each other for what seemed like several minutes, neither of us saying anything, Gee Gee’s face smiling and sad.

  “I love you, Olwen fach,” she said.

  “I love you, too, Gee Gee,” I answered, my voice breaking. She began to recede, moving imperceptibly farther and farther away.

  “Wait!” I reached out. Gee Gee reached out, too, and in her hand was something silver, sparkling on a chain. I stretched and tried to grab her hand, but everything was fading now, and gradually it all became darkness and I slid into deep sleep.

&nb
sp; My footsteps echoed along the quiet streets of Cwm Tawel. I’d finished the chores my parents insisted on and gone walking into the village. I hadn’t had a set plan, but now I found my subconscious had led me back to the street where Gee Gee’s house had once stood. The narrow lane, called Lôn Brynmelyn, was lined on both sides with gray-and-white two-story apartment blocks—nice in their way, with wood trim and colorful hanging flowerpots. No little house called Awel-y-Môr.

  I stood back a bit, in the street, gazing at the flats. In a way, I was glad Gee Gee couldn’t be here to see this.

  Or maybe she’d be glad?

  I heard a car rumbling along, growing louder, and then a distant toot-toot of someone tapping on the horn. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, but the car slowed anyway and then rolled to a stop with a faint smell of exhaust. It was a black taxicab, and inside it was Hugh, waving out of the open window.

  “Hey, there, bore da!” He grinned. “Fine day today, isn’t it? Mae hi’n braf heddiw.”

  “Ydy, mae hi’n braf heddiw.” I managed a smile. “What are you doing, out in the taxicab?”

  “Oh, just back from taking old Mrs. Williams down to the bus, out to visit her sister in Tregaron for the weekend.” He looked closely at me. “Listen, now, got anything on your social calendar for lunch today?”

  “Not really,” I said. Social calendar indeed. “We’re going to pick up Gareth in Carmarthen this afternoon. Maybe visit a castle beforehand.”

  “Carmarthen, eh? Well, if you have time, maybe you’d like to join me and Annie at HMS Tasty’s—that’s the fish and chips shop on the main road. Well, you’d be welcome. We’re meeting there in about half an hour.”

  “Maybe. Thanks,” I said.

  “Keep it in mind. Sure you need a meal out of the house now and then.” His smile was kind. “And we can practice some Welsh conversation if you like.”