Elsbeth and Sim (Tales from the Emerald Mountains)

by Rhett DeVane

  Tales from the Emerald Mountains:

  Elsbeth and Sim

  by

  Rhett DeVane

  Tales from the Emerald Mountains: Elsbeth and Sim

  Copyright © 2013 Rhett DeVane

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or person—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing.

  Cover photo and design by Rhett DeVane

  First edition, Writers4Higher, October 18, 2013

  Dedication

  To my nephews and nieces and all their wonderful kiddos.

  Huge hugs from your crazy Aunt Rhett.

  Contents

  Copyright © 2013 Rhett DeVane

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  The children at Westside House changed, sometimes daily. From where she huddled— cot number ten in the first row by the windows —Elizabeth watched them from beneath her lowered eyes. Stay silent and they won’t notice you. She was good at that.

  This red brick building reminded Elizabeth of her old school, worn and dark with vast rooms like the sleeping hall where she spent most of her time, except there were no teachers or students. Only kids like her with no place else to go.

  Elizabeth held her sole possession, a patchwork hobo bag, close to her nose and imagined the scent of her home: flowers and sweet things cooking. The bag protected the supplies her mother had told her to always carry: a wind-up flashlight, matches, bandage strips, a water bottle, peanut butter crackers, a sewing kit, a silver whistle, and a folding pocket knife with two blades, a screwdriver, can-opener, and tiny scissors.

  “Always be ready.” Her mother’s words sounded in Elizabeth’s mind, though she had trouble remembering some details of her former life. Since the start of the last area war, when they had taken her parents, everything tumbled together. Her neighborhood, their house, the park with the pond where they sailed boats—how far from here? She had traveled so long, taken so many turns, slept in so many doorways, would she even recognize their street?

  Her gaze roamed the room. Nothing special, but she had a warm place to sleep and food that wasn’t picked from a garbage can—more luxuries than she had scrabbled from the city streets for the past five months. At least she didn’t have to worry about soldiers tromping through at all hours. Or rats. How she hated rats!

  Elizabeth stared through a barred window at the sky, blue like the robin’s eggs she and her father had once found in a nest in the garden hedge. A sunbeam slipped through the iron grate and splashed across her face. She tipped her head to drink in its warmth.

  Footsteps announced someone’s approach. Elizabeth drew her knees to her chest and folded herself into a ball, positioning her head so she could sneak glances of the hall door. Two adults—the doctor man and the white-haired nurse—spoke in low voices. She closed her eyes and focused on listening. If she could detect the faint squeak of a rat in a black alley, she could hear most anything. Grown-ups were supposed to have all the answers, only none of them at Westside House did.

  “Do you know her name?” The nurse asked.

  Elizabeth heard the shuffle of papers.

  “No clue. Medics found her. Looks to be around ten or eleven. She hasn’t spoken.”

  The voices paused and Elizabeth felt their eyes on her, sitting there so small in such an immense space.

  “She leaves this room only for meals. Sleeps most of the time. Other than that, she just sits and stares from the window. You have a knack with these kids, Bernice. There are so many.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Elizabeth heard the doctor walk away. The boards creaked with footfall, closer, then stopped at the end of her cot. A soft voice said, “I noticed the robins gathering in the little park across the street. Know what that means?”

  Elizabeth forced her gaze to remain on her jagged cuticles. Dirt circled her fingernails. No matter how many times she scrubbed the reddened skin, the stain remained.

  The old woman sat on the far end of the mattress. “Warm weather’s right around the corner. The robins are getting ready to fly north, past the Emerald Mountains.”

  The two sat for a moment before the nurse spoke again. “I know you don’t want to talk right now, but I could use a listener.”

  Elizabeth did not look up.

  “My daughter and I lived in the loveliest little white house. Had a garden with vegetables and roses in all colors. Oh, I wish you could’ve seen them—red, orange, yellow, pink. Roses take a lot of care, but I didn’t mind.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flicked up long enough to see a smile pass across the old woman’s wrinkled face.

  “I was a grandmother, too. A little girl with hair as dark as chocolate—like yours.”

  Elizabeth looked up again then quickly back down. The old woman had tears in her eyes. Why did everyone have to cry? It made her heart hurt.

  “We lost touch after the first area war.” The nurse took a shaky breath. “Will you look at me? I intended to come cheer you up. Such a mess I make of things.”

  Elizabeth heard the wire springs squeak when the old woman shifted position.

  “You’re a pretty little thing with your sweet brown skin. Your eyes—I saw them for a moment—are the shade of shamrocks, emerald green like our mountains, the color of good luck. And those freckles! They’re angel kisses, freckles are. I had a face full of ’em when I was your age. Still have a few trapped among these wrinkles.” She reached over and touched Elizabeth’s hand. “Guess angels don’t come around as much when you’re old like me.”

  The cot springs sang out again when the nurse stood. “Guess I’d best go now. Work’s not going to do itself without hands to help.”

  Elizabeth watched the old nurse shuffle from the room. Words gathered in her throat like legions of angels ready to come to her rescue. She couldn’t find a way to let them escape.

  Two days later, Elizabeth noticed the yellow-haired boy. The old woman with white hair piled atop her head like vanilla ice cream—Nurse Bernice—tucked him into the cot next to hers and sang some kind of low song.

  “This is Simon.” The nurse turned toward Elizabeth. “I’d introduce you, but I don’t know your name.”

  Elizabeth made her breathing shallow. She lay still, a girl made of stone.

  “Think I’ll call you pumpkin. Used to call my granddaughter that.” The nurse waited a few moments before she sighed and walked away.

  The other children—Elizabeth watched them come and go—were somewhere else, maybe playing
outside. No way would she step from this room, except to go to the dining hall and the washroom. It wasn’t safe, and it never would be. Not when every morning brought the sound of marching soldiers amidst the rumble of heavy trucks.

  Simon turned on his side and faced her. Elizabeth moved her eyes slightly to catch a glimpse. Lemon blonde hair, bright like the summer sun. Eyes so clear and blue they seemed to pierce right through her. Simon looked nothing like her. Elizabeth’s skin was caramel brown like her mother’s, barely light enough for the freckles to show. Her daddy had given her the Irish green eyes, from his people. “You are our sweet mix of light and dark,” her mother used to say.

  “What are you staring at?” The boy spat the words like arrows aimed at her chest.

  Elizabeth shook her head and did her best not to look his way again.

  “You look like a lizard.” Simon laughed, a mean sound with no joy. “Lizard! Lizard! Lizard!”

  Elizabeth flipped the sheet over her head and waited for him to stop. A few minutes later, she peeked from the edge of the covers. Good. He was asleep.

  Tears had marked tracks beneath his closed eyes, and his face didn’t look as cruel. Why did he call her a lizard? She didn’t remotely favor a lizard, and her skin wasn’t leathery. And besides, lizards weren’t so bad.

  Her mother had no problem touching any crawly thing, and did this trick where she held a green garden lizard up to her earlobe. When the small creature clamped down, it looked as if her mother wore a live earring. Elizabeth had tried it once. The lizard’s mouth didn’t pinch. She and her mother had laughed and paraded around the yard wearing their fancy living jewelry. They had released the little reptiles afterwards. “All things have feelings,” her mother said. “We must be careful not to harm them.”

  “I don’t mind being called a lizard,” she whispered. “I like lizards.”

  Except for a few muffled bad-dream cries, the Westside House dorm rested in silence. Elizabeth turned over and noticed the empty cot beside hers. For the past few days—seven, by the number of marks she had scratched in her small calendar—Elizabeth had watched her new strange neighbor. Simon never left the room when the others did; she rather liked having the company. Only, where did he go each night?

  Not long after the nurse turned off the lights, Elizabeth heard him slip from his cot and patter off into the darkness. Surely he wouldn’t venture outside where the soldiers patrolled the sidewalks.

  Elizabeth gathered her cloth bag and tiptoed down the center aisle, careful not to create noise. She peered into the dimly lit main hallway. Simon sat near a window in a small pool of moonlight with his legs tucked to his chest. His head snapped up when she approached.

  “What do you want, Lizard?”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak. Her lips moved, but her tongue seemed to have taken a permanent vacation. She tried again. No words came.

  “I can’t sleep, okay? So, shoot me.” Simon’s gaze darted around the hallway. “I hate this place. Never any lights on.”

  He sleeps all day, because he stays awake at night. So that’s it.

  “Think I’m crazy, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed.

  Elizabeth shook her head. She lowered herself and sat cross-legged a couple of feet away.

  Simon held out his hand. Moonlight gathered in his palm like rainwater. “I don’t like the dark. Doesn’t make me yellow or anything.”

  Elizabeth reached over and touched his sleeve. Simon didn’t try to push her hand away.

  He tilted his head up toward the one high window. The full moon hung in the sky like the garden lanterns her father had once made to light up the long summer nights. “But you’re probably okay with the dark. Lizards can see at night.”

  Elizabeth reached into the hobo bag, pulled out the flashlight, and gave the wind-up handle a few turns. When she flipped the power switch, the small bulb glowed. She handed the light to Simon.

  He played the thin beam across the wooden floor. “Lizard, this is . . . wow.”

  The words came tumbling out before she could stop them. “You can call me Lizard if you want, but my name is Elizabeth.”

  Chapter Two

  According to the rough-drawn calendar in Elizabeth’s hobo bag, it had been a month since the old nurse had first spoken to her, but everything had changed. Now the two talked every day, and the old woman treated Elizabeth more like a grown-up than a kid. Her parents used to speak to her the same way, as if she had been born wise. Westside House would never be home, but Simon and Nurse Grumly—they called her Nana B—made it a tolerable place.

  Bernice Grumly paused next to Elizabeth’s cot. “Look at you. You know how to sew!”

  Elizabeth lifted her head and grinned. “My mother taught me.”

  “Good skill to have. Is that your doll?”

  “It’s Jennifer’s.” Elizabeth motioned to a vacant bed across the aisle. “It has a tear and the stuffing’s coming out.”

  “Not so hard being a friend, is it?” The nurse pointed to the cot next to Elizabeth’s. “Where’s Simon? You two are always together.”

  “The doctor came and got him. Simon was goofing off and sliced his leg on the frame of his cot, and the cut’s all red and creepy.”

  “Glad it’s being taken care of. He’s really come around since you’ve taken him under your wing, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth handled the doll with care. Her stitches lined up in even rows. It was good to hear her real name, but Elizabeth missed the way Nana B’s eyes had lit up when she called her Pumpkin. Nicer than Lizard. Simon still insisted on calling her that.

  Elizabeth’s green eyes focused on the old woman. “Why is there war, Nana B?”

  Bernice Grumly chuckled. “Don’t waste any time asking easy questions, do you?”

  “War. I just don’t get it. All it does is tear up things and hurt people.”

  The nurse smoothed her stained worn apron and sat down. “Why don’t you tell me your take on things, and we’ll talk about it.”

  Elizabeth stopped stitching. Who could think about soldiers and war, and sew at the same time? “I don’t remember much from school. They closed mine when I was in the third grade. But Daddy told me some things. We had a television, until they took it away.”

  Nurse Grumly folded her hands and waited for Elizabeth to continue. Most adults made Elizabeth feel stupid, but not Nana B.

  “There were a bunch of wars, numbered like one, two, three. And some others. I don’t remember their names. Then there was this thing called the Great Split, I think, where our country broke apart. After that, area wars.” Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that right?”

  “Pretty much sums it up.”

  “But what I don’t get is why, Nana B.”

  “Answering that would take the wisdom of someone smarter than me, Elizabeth. I do have a few ideas, though,” the nurse said. “These days, folks will fight over most anything—the color of their skin, the things they believe about God or money. If you have a different outlook, someone will fight you over it. If you have money, you can buy power. The more power you possess, the better chance your group stands to win.” She shook her head. “It’s all so very confusing . . . and unnecessary.”

  “Everyone is scared, and people just disappear. Friends and moms and dads.” Elizabeth balled her fists until the skin went a strange purple-red color. “It makes me so mad!”

  Nurse Grumly reached over and touched Elizabeth’s cheek. “I know, honey. You have every right to be angry, but be careful of that. Anger has a way of filling you up and pushing out the good memories.”

  Elizabeth forced her fingers to uncurl.

  “Your parents must’ve been proud of you, dear. You’re smart beyond your years.” Bernice’s thin shoulders rose and fell. “Since this great united country fell apart, people don’t have a focus. The states, and now the cities, fight. If you say you believe the ones in charge, you are spared. Act in a different manner, and you aren’t.”

  Elizabeth inspec
ted her handiwork on the doll, then used a tiny pair of scissors to trim the stray threads. “My parents told me I should be myself, and that everyone’s a little different.”

  “If only more people felt that way.”

  Elizabeth smoothed the doll’s tatty dress and stored her sewing kit. “Do you have a husband?”

  The old woman’s eyes watered. “I did. Mr. Grumly—Sam—passed on a few years ago.”

  “Where’s your little girl?”

  Bernice’s expression softened. “Not so little now. Lucy’s a mother herself. I don’t know if she and my granddaughter survived the first area war . . .”

  Elizabeth tilted her head. “You’re an orphan, too.”

  “Suppose I am. When you’re my age, they don’t call you an orphan.”

  “Oh. Are you lonely a lot?”

  “Not so much since I’ve come here. And especially since I’ve gotten to know you and Simon.”

  Elizabeth pulled a frown. “I don’t have a family anymore. I’ll be lonely forever and ever.”

  “Bah!” Bernice Grumly snorted. “We have to stick together, love each other. No one can crawl inside your skin and share your soul. We come into this world alone. We leave it the same way. The best thing to do in the meantime is to keep one another company.”

  One of Elizabeth’s silent spells settled across her shoulders, pressing down. She crossed her arms and stared from the window.

  “I’ll check on Simon for you.” The old nurse stood. Her joints creaked like the springs in Elizabeth’s cot. “Tomorrow, maybe we can find a happier subject, eh? I’ll tell you another story about my old Tomcat.”

  From his usual nightly position, Simon noticed a shadowy figure. He fumbled in his pocket for the flashlight, then froze. If he stayed perfectly still, the thing hurrying toward the sleeping hall might pass him by. His second thought: Lizard. Lizard’s in there!

  He stood and rushed blindly toward the dark shape, and they collided.